#i was surprised to learn he is twenty eight

[kainagant]

i really like overhaul's character design. not just because he's pretty, but also because as far as character designs that accurately portray who the character is, overhaul really succeeds to convey many different things at once, which i think can be difficult. the suit and tie? all yakuza boss. the plague mask conveys his desire to cure, while also looking eerie as hell and drawing upon the strong association with ravens, sickness, and death. the gloves drive his germaphobia home while also looking classy, adding another point to the yakuza column.

i could make an argument against the bomber jacket and white sneakers, since it makes him look more casual and is therefore at odds with the suit and tie, however. i personally think this could have been an intentional choice to make him look youthful. really giving "young head" rather than "wise old mafia boss". it emphasizes the rivalry with tomura that was presented in the arc. they are both young upstarts who are in a position to inherit the criminal underworld following all for one's arrest. also the white sneakers do give "obsessed with cleanliness" energy. there is no defending the jacket though.

[the-witty-pen-name]

Meddling Mr. Munson

Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Wayne is your favorite regular at work. Plus- his nephew is really cute.

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff and good feels you’ll get a toothache, allusions to pregnancy, alcohol mentioned, mentions of bullying

The first time you meet Wayne Munson, you’re eight hours into your six hour shift at the only diner in Hawkins that's open twenty-four hours. You’re working the overnight shift, and you were supposed to be relieved at 4:00am, but the waitress who was supposed to relieve you called from a payphone to tell you her bus broke down and she can’t get to work until the replacement arrives. So now, you’re brewing a fresh pot of coffee for the only patron you’ve had before the breakfast rush- which hopefully you’ll be missing.

You chit chat with Mr. Munson while he sits at the counter nursing his black coffee. He works overnight at the plant you’ve learned, and he asks you questions about your college classes. He doesn’t admit it, because he’s not the type, but he really enjoys the daily chats with you as stopping at the diner after work becomes one of his routines.

“You should come meet me for breakfast on your way to school,” Wayne suggests one night when he and Eddie are watching TV. His suggestion is met with Eddie blowing a raspberry and a grumble about not wanting to wake up that early. Wayne tosses his hat at Eddie, harmlessly making Eddie jump. “I ain’t asking,” Wayne reiterates and Eddie nods sheepishly, sinking into the couch.

Your eyes light up when you hear the bell on the front door. You already know it’s one of your favorite regulars before you even look up. “‘Morning, Mr. Munson,” you say cheerfully, “Take a seat, I just put on a fresh pot.” You look up and you’re surprised to see he isn’t alone. “Oh, hi Eddie,” you say with a grin, surprised to see Wayne isn’t alone. Eddie’s brain short circuits because he doesn’t know how you even know him, and you are very pretty.

You step out from behind the counter with two mugs in hand as they slide into a booth. “You don’t remember me,” you tease, filling both the mugs with coffee. Eddie fumbles over his words apologetically and Wayne smirks to himself. “That’s okay, we weren’t really friends,” you explain and tell him your name, “You sat in front of me last year in Ms.O’Donnell’s class. We didn’t really talk much.” He’s silently thanking you for omitting that you didn’t talk because he was hardly there. However, he’s practically soaring that despite that you somehow remembered him and aren’t recoiling in disgust.

“Eddie’s got her again this year,” Wayne interjects and Eddie wants to roll under the booth. He’s suddenly embarrassed that he’s repeating senior year again and he wished you didn’t know that. Wayne means nothing by it, literally just making conversation, and the news Eddie is in her class doesn’t seem to even phase you.

“She’s brutal,” you exhale, “If you want, I think I still have my notes somewhere. They’re all yours.”

“T-that’d be great,” he manages to get out. You smile at him and his limbs feel like clay.

“Yeah, of course,” you wave it off like it’s nothing. “I’ll come back in a few and grab your orders, take your time.”

Wayne is using his menu to hide his grin from Eddie. He didn’t know if Eddie and you would hit it off, he just had hopes. He’s not one to meddle, especially in his nephew’s love life, but when you had told Wayne you didn’t have a boyfriend, he immediately wanted to introduce you to Eddie. He knew Eddie would just reject the idea, so he didn’t say anything.

“She’s cute,” Wayne says after a minute when you disappear behind the door to the kitchen.

“God, cut it out,” Eddie exclaims, dramatically covering his face with his hands. His face is bright red. This seriously can not be happening right now. “Wayne, seriously, you are not seriously trying to set me up right now?”

“I’m just trying to treat my nephew to breakfast, I thought it would be nice. We haven’t done this in a while,” he says evenly, but Eddie knows the truth. “I think I’m gonna get the meat lover’s omelet,” he muses, acting oblivious to Eddie’s antics.

Eddie’s nervous bouncing of his leg is making the booth shake, and the coffee spills out over the rim of the mugs ever so slightly. Wayne slides over extra napkins, and chastises Eddie about leaving rings on the table.

“Are you all set?” You ask, getting your notepad out of the front pocket of your apron. Wayne nods and Eddie is staring blankly at the menu in front of him, paralyzed.

“The pancakes are really good if you’re still trying to decide,” you offer, thinking Eddie is actually reading the menu.

“U-uh yeah, that sounds good,” he replies. You nod and scribble it down on your pad.

“Your usual Wayne?” You ask and he nods.

“You’re the best,” he smiles, passing you the menus.

“It’ll be right out,” you reply, “Do you want me to top these off?” Wayne offers you his empty cup and Eddie manages to shake his head no. You disappear behind the doors again to ring in the order, and Wayne nudges Eddie to snap out of it.

“You’re being rude,” he says, “Look I get it, I’ll stay out of it. But you don’t have to freeze her out. She’s being lovely.”

Of course you’re being lovely, Eddie screams internally. You are lovely! He can’t bring himself to correct his uncle that he’s not ignoring you to spite him, but he’s actually tongue tied and completely fumbling. He can’t give Wayne the satisfaction of being right and he also doesn’t want to say anything out loud in utter fear you’d hear him.

“Food should be right out,” you say with a sweet smile. You walk over to the opposite side of the diner and wipe down a few of the empty booths. Eddie flexes his fingers over his thighs repeatedly to try to relax. Wayne watches Eddie, starting to notice he’s a lot more twitchy than he usually is. Eddie’s always animated but this is new. Maybe, Wayne muses, his little plan might actually be working.

Wayne really only ever wants Eddie to be happy. He’s had a front row seat to the abuse Eddie has received from his peers his whole life. Under the tattoos and the hair and the ripped jeans, Wayne still sees the little boy he tucked into bed and the little boy who sat on the kitchen counter while he helped clean his scraped knees. He wished the pain he had to help Eddie navigate was still that simple. Wayne thought maybe you’d see Eddie the way he did.

You’re nice, and genuinely so. Wayne thought if anyone could see Eddie, truly see him for the amazing kid he was, it would be you. Even if this whole stupid plan of his amounted to nothing more, you’re treating Eddie with such a normal level of human decency and you have no idea how much that means to the both of them. For Wayne, that’s more than he could ever ask for. He knows as much as he’s resisting, Eddie will leave here and go to school feeling a little bit better. For a brief moment in an empty diner, he can see the world isn’t always out to get him. Sometimes, the world is nice- with pretty girls to talk to and uncles who love you more than life itself.

When you bring out the food, Wayne watches the way your eyes linger on Eddie. You’re also being a little shy. He smiles to himself, keeping his head low while he starts to dig into his food. You ask Eddie about his band, and Wayne watches his nephew’s eyes light up, his usual confidence returning to the forefront as he tells you all about Corroded Coffin. You listen, and Wayne realizes you’re not just placating Eddie, you actually care.

“I’ll have to come to another show sometime,” you say, “I say you guys at The Hideout like a couple months ago actually.”

“Really?” Eddie’s eyes widen in disbelief. You giggle, and nod.

“Yup, you guys were awesome,” you assure him. “If you guys ever sell a tape, let me know. I want one.”

As they finish up their breakfast, you drop off the check, and Eddie thinks he might die when he sees you’ve scribbled your number on the receipt for him. The check has been comped and the note read:

“Wayne, Happy to treat my favorite customer! Eddie, in case you’d want to go out sometime? No pressure.” With your number underneath.

The most recent time you saw Wayne Munson, he pulled you into a hug and thanked you for inviting him over. It’s the first time you and Eddie are hosting a holiday in your new apartment.

He smiles as he looks around. You and Eddie have really done an amazing job making a cozy little life together. He smells the turkey finishing up in the oven and he can’t believe he can finally witness his nephew this happy. The two of you insist he sit in the living room while you both finish cooking for him. He’s enjoying watching the two of you work in the kitchen together, moving synchronously like you’ve done this dance a million times before- and you have.

He settles in and Eddie brings him a beer. Wayne looks around at Eddie’s and your new home and he can’t help but beam with pride. This is all he could’ve asked for Eddie- all he’s ever wanted to see him have. Eddie’s still as dopey grinned and smitten as he was the first day back at the diner. Wayne knows you’re the one- he knew before you or Eddie knew.

Eddie’s his son, even if he’ll never be called Dad. He doesn’t want that anyways. But, he knows your the best daughter-in-law he could have ever asked for. A best friend and a confidant from the first day he met you. He’s so glad to have you both together in his life. Little did he know, that tonight after dinner when he’s long past just full- but not too full for pie- Eddie would hold your hand and you’d both sit across from him, giving him the best news he could possibly hear in this lifetime.

His small trio, will shortly be adding a fourth band member.

[inknopewetrust]

𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐅𝐥𝐲

Summary: Tyler’s always wanted to show you something he loved—it just took some bad weather for it to appear. [Tyler Owens x Reader] [WC:2.6k}

Warnings: language, college-aged Tyler & reader, fluff, romance, this is a comedy? Idk folks. No smut though—sry :/. Just good ole fashion kissin’ in the rain. And what if I said this story was my real life experience, then what?

Quick Links: Masterlist [including other twisters fics]

“Where are we going?”

The tires of the truck were clunking along the rocky path to… well, nowhere. Thick trees surrounded you; the sun barely peeking through them as it began to decline in the sky and yet the truck kept tumbling along.

Shit. You thought for a brief moment as he didn’t reply. He might murder me.

“I told you,” his voice rang through your mind like a pinball machine. “It’s a surprise.”

“What if I said I didn’t like surprises?”

Tyler glanced at you as the truck hit a rough patch. Your hand was white-knuckling the grab handle above the window and your face was torn up in concern for the locale.

“I’d say, ‘honey’,” he put a hand on your clothed thigh. “I ain’t gonna murder you.”

“Well now that makes me think you are gonna murder me.”

Tyler laughed, squeezing your thigh joyously.

He was a maniac—Tyler Owens.

But he was also many things you did not know of yet. The first time you laid eyes on him was around eight months back when he walked in two minutes before the chemistry lecture. Every seat in the room was nearly filled except for the lone seat on the inside of the lecture hall beside you.

And when he sat there, you couldn’t focus on one goddamn thing.

It was silly—being twenty-one and having a crush on a guy in your science class. You weren’t in high school anymore but you sure as hell felt like it. When he asked for an eraser, you were too eager to provide it. One day he forgot his computer so he asked for some paper in the notebook you elected to use.

Each day you’d arrive a minute earlier than before with a childish hope that he would too and you’d be able to talk to him, learn about him. You weren’t in the same lab section so it was growing increasingly difficult to manifest a semblance of potential when it only occurred twice a week for an hour and fifteen minutes.

Fuck college schedules, is what you had concluded when he wouldn’t show up twenty minutes early to class.

Yet fate had a funny way of dictating what happens when.

Three months into class, your roommate suggested getting out and heading to a frat party one Saturday night and it shouldn’t have been a surprise to see him there. And out of some kindness, he went out of his way to say hi to his “lecture buddy” who’d helped him in times of need.

Every class that followed grew something in you. He came early to lecture to talk to you, joking about anything but the subject and going on and on about what he wanted to do when he graduated. His smile was contagious, as with his laugh. Bellowing and loud; Tyler Owens was everyone’s friend and everyone’s crush and you happened to be lucky enough to sit beside him until it was all over.

The semester ended and your interactions with Tyler ceased.

And it made you feel a little crazy for feeling down and out about your luck. Your roommates and friends tried everything to get you on the market: going to parties, joining strange clubs, playing trivia at the bar on Wednesday nights but nothing.

It was all nothing until something caught your eye.

You saw a flier for a meteorology seminar with a guest speaker from your local news. The premise wasn’t overly exciting for any one student at the university but for you, it was interesting enough to attend on a vacant Tuesday evening.

Like fate had promised before, it dealt you a winning hand.

Tyler spotted you as you walked through the door and waved you down. In your dumps, you forgot to think his attendance was a possibility even after he mentioned time and time again that he’d love to be on television, that he’d die to help people protect themselves.

So when he got ready to leave after the lecture, you weren’t going to die without facing a fear. You had to protect yourself from another six weeks of imaginary mourning and asked for his number.

And six weeks later you concluded he was going to murder you in some remote location in the plains of Arkansas.

“I’m not gonna murder you, alright?” He chuckled. His eyes were illuminated with a mischievous glow you couldn’t escape. You saw his eyes in dreams and knew you’d never want to imagine a day without them.

Fuck, you thought. It was way too early to be thinking of that.

“Then tell me!” You looked over at him with reason. “This road is so shitty I can’t imagine what’s on the other end!”

“Paradise, baby!” He smiled. “When I was a kid, my pops used to take me and my brother down here to go fishing. It’s this picnic area that I think,” he glanced at you with raised eyebrows, “no one else knows about. So don’t go runnin’ and tellin all them about this, ok?”

Oh.

It was personal.

“I won’t,” you promised.

“When my grandpa died I was,” he thought back on it as if it were long ago. “Nine and I came here with my mom and just sat. We stared out at the water and watched the ducks and the birds fly over until the sun went down. This was his spot and he passed it on to me.”

You suddenly felt an urge of regret pass over you as the comments from before soured.

“Tyler,” you said solemnly. “I didn’t—“

He brushed the nonverbal apology away.

“It’s alright,” he reassured. “There are plenty of reasons why you could have felt that way.”

It was heartwarming that Tyler didn’t dismiss your fears. There were so many guys, barely men, who would have called you crazy for a lot less. Tyler never made you feel that way.

Being with him was like chasing a high of the greatest strengths. Everything he did revolved around his ability to be free and willing to do what scared him the most and it was enchanting.

You could feel the sparks hit your heart.

“I’ve never taken anyone there before.”

“No?”

“You’d be the first.”

The two of you let that sit in the air as the road became more suitable for driving. The smoothness was welcome as his admission settled between you.

The first. He thought you special enough to be the first person to witness this place. You could have been ten feet tall at that moment. Never had anyone ever made you feel so special.

As the roads improved, the clearings of trees and bushes began to open up to a wider area with a paved lot on a taller hill.

It was beautiful.

Only the fairy tales could conjure a place like that. Billowing pines and lush greens on the bank of a river cut off by a large damn. The rushing water filled your ears amidst the squawking of wildlife uninterrupted by human activity.

It was so peaceful, charming.

The sun’s orange rays twinkled down onto the water and made it sparkle. Flowers in bloom, the buzzing of cicadas at the arrival of a hot and early spring warmed your cheeks as Tyler put the truck into park.

He watched you take in your surroundings of pure nature. A slight awe in your eyes, shallow breath at the sights. You were a vision in his favorite place.

“I thought we could have dinner here,” he tipped his head to the back seat where he had plastic Walmart bags full of food, unprepared and prepared for whatever fit your fancy. “And then, if we’re lucky, maybe it will rain.”

“Rain?” You turned to meet his eyes and they crinkled at the sides. Endearing, charming—just like this place.

Tyler hummed. “You mean to say you’ve never heard of rain?”

His words quickly became a joke. You rolled your eyes, hitting his chest with the back of your hand. It was solid under your touch and you were reminded that he was real. It wasn’t a fairytale and you were very much living it.

“Ha-ha,” you replied dryly.

“I’ll keep that one as a surprise.”

“I checked the weather before we left and,” you pointed to the sky. “No rain.”

Tyler unbuckled himself and opened his door.

“They just don’t see what I do.”

“And what’s that?” You asked him but he shut the door, moving to the backseat to take out the bags of items he procured, and then as ever the gentleman, opened your own door.

“Magic.”

You laughed but he was being serious. His eyes still gleamed with the same sly nature he was born with, but his touch was comfort. Hands carefully guiding you to a spot that he had meticulously planned out—even if this appeared to be a spur of the moment outing for you.

Everything was planned. Tyler wasn’t going to take just anyone to this spot. He’d be a fool to lie and say he hadn’t spoken to his mother about his plans just to hear her perspective on whether it was creepy, brilliant, or just plain sad.

However, he carried on to face his fears of bringing someone he liked to a place near-sacred to him. Tyler wasn’t a fool of love, he just hadn’t found anyone worth sharing these bits of him. And he also didn’t expect the feeling to come about so quickly.

Those fears he let simmer never truly came about in the reality he lived.

You were smitten. Absolutely fallen into this little spot in this tiny corner of the world with a man who was opening up before you. Tyler made the puzzle pieces of a perfect date fit together wonderfully.

The food, the drinks, the atmosphere—he hit an apex of the paragon of “partner,” “boyfriend,” or “lover.”

And you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face as the sun began to truly fade.

You took a sip of your drink, coming down from a high of laughter at a story Tyler shared at his brother’s detriment. The sky was a shimmering shade of reds and deepening blues now; orange melting away for the sake of night.

“No rain,” you pointed out. He shrugged his shoulders, moving from a lounging position on the worn blanket to a lying one. His arms perched behind his head.

Tyler stared at the stars beginning to form.

He could see the shapes of the clouds, the movement quickening and the air cooling. It was as special as this place, his talent for finding the storms. Whether they brew inside or out, he found them and chased them with a passion—unrelenting and fierce. He sought the thrill.

“The night’s not over yet,” he said coolly. “Don’t count me out.”

“I’m not counting you out,” you defended, moving scraps of discarded food away from you to lay next to him. You shuffled to get comfortable in his vicinity.

“How often do you stargaze?” Tyler asked.

“Not often. I don’t think there’s an opportunity for it when I have nowhere to go.”

He agreed with a grunt. “I think you’re lookin’ in the wrong spots, honey.”

Oh those godforsaken nicknames. The country in him seeped out at their mention.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he removed his arms from the back of his head and pointed to the now appearing stars the darker it became. “See here?”

You moved closer. “Not really.”

“There,” he pointed again. “Right there in the middle of those two clouds.”

There were two stories at play here: one of him proving that rain was coming in the guise of stars and the second of you trying to be aloof in order for him to touch you.

You’d spent the last hour with him. Watching him talk, eat, smile, and laugh at anything that brought him joy. Those lips begged you to kiss them. They beckoned you like a ship lost at sea and in the clouds, the water would find it.

You shook your head innocently.

“I don’t know what I’m looking at, Ty.”

“Here,” he took your hand in his and pointed to the stars. “Look.”

In the sky above, a faint outline of the Little Dipper appeared in your vision. You smiled lightly. His hand with his finger pointing was still outstretched and connected to yours which made it grow wider.

You were giddy.

Tyler moved his finger to fully cup your hand but as you kept looking at the sky, he looked at you. You could feel his eyes on you, the turn of his face and the low breaths he released through his nose.

“What else do you see?” He asked lowly.

You breathed in deeply. It was just too beautiful to explain one thing. The clouds grew thicker, dense in the night as light was swallowed up by the moon. The air was now cool enough to send a chill down your spine and wish the blanket was more than a thin excuse for a sheet.

“It’s getting cloudy,” you observed. “There are more stars and it’s cooling off.”

“Anything else?”

“It’s just beautiful.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “It is.”

“I’m can—“

You stopped mid-sentence at the sensation that hit your cheek.

It wasn’t air or breath or a bug or grass but a wetness that could have come from only one place: the sky. You waited for another to fall and it did not a second later. A third and fourth drop followed until it was a hundred drops or more into a steady downpour.

You scoffed in disbelief, sitting up to feel the rain in your palms and Tyler sat up too. His laugh was one of joy that followed yours.

“Oh my god!” You exclaimed as the water began to drench the area around you and your clothes.

“I told you!” Tyler shouted over the rain falling harder and harder. You blinked at him.

“How’d you know!?”

“Just did!”

“And what’s so magical about getting rained on?” You asked him.

He didn’t have a solid plan if it rained. All he knew is that he had seen this in the movies. A downpour catches two people in the rain and it creates one thing: magic. It’s innocent and daring, carefree and transparent. Rain makes lovers fall in love. It binds them to one spot, one moment in time where all the elements line up to craft one singular point that would forever be cemented in their memory.

“I don’t know,” he confessed.

Tyler positioned one hand to lean on behind your back while the other cupped your face. The rain dropped onto his hand but you were warm against the coldness of his hands. Your eyes glistened at him as the movies described.

“I don’t know what’s so magical about it.”

“Me either.”

“Can you kiss me?” You asked him. It wasn’t a question, per se. He was going to kiss you.

Tyler nodded his head, leaning in to meet your lips as the rain fell harder around you both. The sound of the rain disappeared when his lips met yours. Only the beat of your heart, the rush of your blood flooded your ears and body. You lifted a hand to grip his arm as he tilted his head, using his leverage to position you the way he wanted and deepened the kiss.

You could feel the tendrils of a story weaving in your bones. The place, the time, the kiss… it was a fairytale.

You dropped everything and kissed him in the pouring rain in a spot now forever implanted in your history, you felt the sparks fly higher.

A/N: thanks for reading! As always comments, reblog, and likes are always appreciated. I love hearing from all of you and your reactions motivate us greatly!

[blushk1tten]

Ok, imagine you're a guest on Chuckle Sandwich, and the topic of Ted going to every MargaritaVille and the Rainforest Cafe comes up. Then, it turns to how you and Schlatt should go to every (whatever restaurant) in the country as a challenge. At first it was a joke, but then it slowly became something you and Schlatt started planning on. And during the trip, you guys starting getting closer and closer, knowing each other more and more. Where at the point you guys are flirting, touching, kissing, and even to the point you guys have sex.

I can even imagine that during one of the hotel rooms you guys were staying at, you accidentally see Schlatt full body naked. And seeing Schlatt absolutely embarrassed about it, you show Schlatt your naked body to make things even between you two.

i’m sorry this took so long but this prompt had me frothing at the mouth. i hope you enjoy <3

"no, because i loved when you went to every margaritaville and rainforest cafe," you explained to ted as you sat sandwiched between him and schlatt on their podcast. "i've had a similar idea for a while. i want to go to at least one cat cafe in every continental state, and along the way promote some shelters for people to adopt at."

ted raised his eyebrows curiously. "really? that sounds pretty cool. maybe you should take schlatt with you, since he's a lonely cat man and all."

"ignoring the fact that having two cats does not make me a lonely cat man," schlatt shot back at ted. "that sounds like a cool idea. i know there's plenty of cats like jambo and the other guy who need adopted."

you couldn't help but laugh a bit. "maybe ted's right. you sound pretty passionate about it for a totally not lonely cat man. you could come with me, and not be so lonely."

"fine!"

with that final word from schlatt, you had accidentally and officially locked yourself into the trip with him. he began to help you research cat cafes and shelters in every state, and helped you to plan the road trip map as well. that was only the start of the two of you getting closer. on the trip, it was a whole different thing.

"let's play twenty-one questions!" you suggested after leaving the cat cafe in austin, heading for your hotel and the next one in louisiana. after all, you had a roughly eight hour drive ahead of you.

schlatt scoffed, looking over at you. "isn't that a game for teenagers tryin' t' date someone?"

"no," you protested back. "it's for people to get to know each other better! i'll go first if you're going to be a dick. what's your favorite animal other than cats?"

he paused for a minute, then admitted his answer in a gruff voice. "bearded dragons. i used t’ have one when i was younger. he was a chill dude."

"see, that's nice, and i learned something new about you," you gave him a small smile. "now you ask me a question."

"are you a virgin?"

"schlatt! i'm not answering that."

the game continued to go similarly, with you asking genuine questions to get to know schlatt, while he asked raunchier questions to poke fun at you and get under your skin. about halfway through your journey though, you gave in, and began to answer him.

"what's your biggest turn on?"

"any kind of intimate touch."

he raised his eyebrows, surprised that he finally got an answer. "intimate touch? what does that mean?"

you could feel your face grow hot as you tried to explain. "any touch from a partner of mine, even if it's casual."

"even if they, like, shake your hand?"

that eased the tension, and you burst out into laughter as you shook your head. "okay, maybe not any touch."

with each leg of the trip, the two of you learned more about each other and grew closer. about halfway through the trip though, was when things began to heat up between the two of you. it wasn’t uncommon for the two of you to flirt or use pet names with the other.

“hey, toots,” he called to you, keeping his voice quiet so he didn’t startle the cats. “look at this one. i think it likes me.”

you couldn’t but giggle from your spot on the floor, where a gaggle of cats and kittens had been swarming you for affection. throughout your trip, you had come to find that most of the cats preferred you to schlatt. some found his large stature imposing, while others just didn’t like men, so it was a special moment whenever any cats would come up to him. this time, it was an old, graying tabby, purring loudly from its spot on schlatt’s lap.

“the first time you’ve ever gotten pussy in your life, big guy?” you teased, standing up and moving to sit beside him.

“oh, fuck you,” he scoffed softly, though he looked at you with a smile. “he just knows i’m the better person out of us. look, he’s not interested in you at all.”

it was true. the cat was completely content with schlatt and paying no attention to you. meanwhile, you couldn’t help but pay attention to schlatt. with a soft smile on his face as he scratched the cat’s chin and back, he looked endearing. dare you say it, he looked handsome. you couldn’t help it when you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

schlatt stopped petting the cat instantly, looking at you with surprise in his brown eyes. then, after a moment, he spoke up. “you missed.”

this time, you could feel the surprise on your face as he leaned in again and kissed you on your lips, soft and tender. it wasn’t until the cat on schlatt’s lap meowed in displeasure at the lack of pets that you broke apart.

“i’ll— i’ll edit that out.” you stammered, glancing at the various cameras you had set up while schlatt resumed petting the cat.

“yeah,” he nodded, a light blush on his cheeks. “that sounds good.”

from that point on, flirting and pet names came with the addition of kisses. sometimes they happened on camera in the cat cafes, while other times one of you would invite the other over to their hotel room for a heated makeout session. soon enough though, the trip was coming to an end. you only had a few more cat cafes left before the road trip was over. that would mean an end to the flirting, the pet names, and the kisses that managed to steal your breath each time.

you were thinking about it forlornly as you headed to schlatt’s hotel room, hoping for a nice makeout session to cheer you up. he had actually given you the extra key, so you didn’t think twice as you swiped the card and opened his door. however, you didn’t even make it a step in before you noticed schlatt, completely nude with his bath towel in hand.

“oh my god!” you exclaimed, catching his attention as well.

the last thing you saw before turning on your heel and slamming the door was a glimpse of something massive between his thighs, heat filling your face as you ran back to your own room. you had no idea how you would address that incident, nor did you know if you wanted to. the flirting, pet names, and kissing was one thing, but seeing him naked and anything beyond that was something else.

eventually, you heard the buzz of a keycard opening up your room, though you kept your gaze firmly on the floor as you sat at the end of your bed.

“doll,” schlatt spoke up after a moment. “i’m not mad at you or anything. i gave you a keycard t’ my room so you could come whenever you wanted. i should’ve changed in the bathroom or said somethin’ when i heard the door.”

you shook your head, hoping that any embarrassment on your face was gone as you looked up. “no, jay, it’s my fault. i should’ve knocked before coming in.”

he sat down next to you on the bed. “we both could’ve done stuff differently, but hey, shit happens.”

you nodded, the wheels in your brain turning. you wanted to make it up to him somehow. then, it hit you. the best— or possibly the worst— idea that you had ever had. “i could get naked and let you see to make up for it.”

schlatt went silent for a moment, staring at you as if you had just spoken another language. “what?”

“i’m serious,” you told him. “i got to see you, so you should get to see me. then, we’ll be even.”

his throat bobbed as he swallowed. then, he nodded. “well, toots, better get to it.”

with that, you stood up and began to strip, first pulling off your top, then tugging your shorts down. the whole time, you could feel your heart pounding. you’d gotten naked in the past for others, but something about doing it for schlatt, the same schlatt you’d been growing feelings for, felt different. still, you continued, taking off your bra and underwear as well until you were finally naked in front of him. schlatt’s first words were the same as yours.

“oh my god, doll,” he took a sharp breath as he looked you over, his eyes beginning to smolder with lust. “you look perfect. like everything i’ve imagined and more.”

you couldn’t help but blush, though you were a bit surprised as well. “what do you mean everything you’ve imagined?”

schlatt blinked, his lust fading in confusion. “doll, you have t’ know how much i want ya by now, i just— i didn’t want t’ make you uncomfortable, so i took what i could get.”

“what do you mean when you say you want me?”

“platonically, sexually, romantically. whatever i can get.”

it felt like a weight came off your shoulders when schlatt said that, and you couldn’t help but smile as you walked forward to sit on his lap. “what about all of the above?”

he nodded, then like so many other times, he leaned in to kiss you. this time though, it was different, full of a special kind of passion that came with knowing your feelings were reciprocated. of course, there was also the fact that you were completely naked in schlatt’s lap, his hands running over every inch of skin he could reach.

“jay,” you whined between kisses. “wanna fuck you.”

“fuck, hold on, doll. lemme get my clothes off and get you prepped.”

he didn't take long in stripping, allowing you to finally get a good look at his body. that included his long, thick cock, hanging heavy between his thighs and curving slightly to the left.

"how is that supposed to fit?" you mumbled quietly to yourself, though schlatt chuckled as he heard.

"don't worry, doll," he promised, moving down and pressing a kiss to your clit. "i'll make sure you're nice and wet f' me."

you couldn't help but gasp as he dived in, your fingers tangling in his hair as he ate your pussy like it was his last meal. his own fingers were busy playing with your clit, as he drank up the slick coming from your cunt. "jay!"

schlatt moved and pressed a kiss to your clit before pulling back with a grin, switching to sliding two fingers in your pussy. "c'mon, doll. we're just getting started,"

a high-pitched whine left your mouth, and your back arched as he began to search for the spot that would make you fall apart. it didn't take long either, his grin growing as you called out for him again. "there it is. that's my pretty girl, soakin' my fuckin' fingers. are you gonna cum, baby?"

you nodded, crying out as he began to suck your clit as well. it was your undoing, and you quickly reached your orgasm as he continued to pump his fingers. "i'm cumming, jay! i'm cumming!"

he pulled off and gently pulled his fingers out, face shining slightly with your slick. "good girl. did that feel okay?"

once again, you nodded, panting for breath. "felt amazing."

schlatt leaned in to kiss you, a string of slick connecting your lips as he pulled back. you both laughed, and he pulled back further to break it. "so, are you ready for the rest?"

"yes please," you murmured, him carefully getting into position over you. "just be gentle."

"i promise." he replied, leaning in again to give you a quick kiss before he pushed in.

despite how wet and open you felt, schlatt was big enough that it was a stretch. your nails dug into his back, and you couldn't stop the whimper that escaped you. "oh my god, oh my god—"

he stopped for a minute, looking down at you in concern. still, you could see how hard he was working to keep still. "you okay, doll?"

"just give me a minute. your dick is fucking massive."

the two of you stayed in silence, each trying not to move until you finally gave the go ahead. this time, as schlatt finished pushing in and began to move, you could feel pleasure starting to run up your spine.

"feeling better?" he grinned, his smug attitude beginning to return as the pleasure was clear on your face.

"mhm," you agreed, beginning to roll your hips in time with his thrusts. "feeling a lot better— fuck!"

he adjusted your position into a mating press, making it so you could hear the wet sounds of your pussy as he thrust in, and let out a groan. "fuck, doll. your pussy's so wet f' me. gonna pump you full of cum, get ya even more slick,"

you couldn't help but whimper, clenching around his cock at that statement and making him chuckle a bit. "you like that idea? me fillin' you up with all my cum, gettin' your tummy all round?"

"please," you begged with a sob, making him pick up his pace with another groan. "please breed me, jay!"

"shit, doll, is that it? you want me to make you a mama?"

you nodded, drunk with pleasure. "mhm, please, jay. need your cum so bad."

"you'll get it doll," he grunted, moving his hand down to your clit as well. "just give me a minute. want you to cum too."

sure enough, it didn't take much longer for schlatt's thrusts to grow sloppy and his breathing to grow ragged. "you ready, baby?"

"yes, jay," you moaned, back arching once again as you felt your orgasm building. "gonna cum!"

"then cum, doll. need you to cum so i can give you a baby." he grunted, fingers continuing to dexterously play with your clit.

that was all it took for you to peak, tumbling over the edge with a cry. you could feel yourself milking schlatt as you came, causing him to cum shortly after. you couldn't help but feel tears prick at your eyes from the full feeling. it was everything you could have dreamt of with schlatt and more.

he helped you clean up afterwards, gentle and caring, before snuggling with you in bed.

"so," he eventually murmured, playing with your hair. "we're going to keep this up for the rest of the trip, and even after, right?"

you smiled softly, cuddling closer to him and giving him a kiss. "i think we'll be doing this for a long time to come."

[animasolaoriginal]

I n f a t u a t e d ♦️THREE

CHAPTER ONE◾TWO THREE FOUR◾FIVE SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾️TEN ELEVEN◾TWELVE◾️THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN◾FIFTEEN SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN◾TWENTY

He finds out the girl he picked up on a whim is the perfect candidate. So innocent, so submissive already, with just the right amount of Daddy issues. But she still has a lot to learn, and he's determined to teach her everything.

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon elements. Dom/sub dynamic. Sex toys. Fingering. Cunnilingus. Orgasm denial. Oral sex/deepthroating. Anal play. Creampies. (For more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 4.9k

TWO 🟥 THREE 🟥 FOUR

He's surprised how quickly she adjusted to her new surroundings, to the things he's asked of her, forced on her. Maybe she's still feeling the after-effects of the drug he's given her last night, maybe she doesn't understand the situation just yet, maybe she's simply the perfect candidate for this. To stay here, for him. She's barely putting up any fight, only seems embarrassed most of the time, but the way she's sucked him off has shown him how eager she really is.

Even though she still has a long way to go. Too fucking innocent.

She's that little ball of hair and limbs on his lap, curled up, melting into him, small hands that have been around his cock now gripping his shirt. Feet tucked under his thigh, deep little breaths against his chest. It's been only a few hours, and she's already so submissive. He's almost disappointed he didn't get to break her first. But maybe her defiance is yet to come. He's certainly looking forward to it.

His phone chimes on the coffee table, and he throws a quick look at the display. The courier is here. Good. Without a word, he stands, picking her up effortlessly. She hums against him, leans into him as he carries her into the bedroom. When he puts her down on the bed, leaning over her for a moment, he meets her hooded eyes. So pliant, so innocent. He can't help but lean down further to press his lips to hers.

She melts into the mattress as he pushes her deeper, putting his weight on her, elbows on either side of her shoulders as he gives himself a few minutes of a bit more much-needed pleasure before he has to leave her. She's hesitant at first, but as soon as he slips his tongue between her lips, her own jumps into action. A groan escapes him as she kisses him back with more and more confidence. His fingers dig into her hair, their tongues wrestling, his cock stirs back to life against the fabric of his pants.

He leans back abruptly, breathing a little harder, the girl beneath him panting as well, her lips parted and red, glistening. Her eyes on him. “I gotta take care of something,” he tells her quietly. She only blinks. “Be a good girl and wait here for me, okay?” The way her pupils dilate when he calls her that makes his stomach tense up. He's noticed it before, how she reacts to his praise. It's an intoxicating sight.

He crawls off her and stands, looking down at her small frame. White lace was a good choice, accents her innocence perfectly. Those little embroidered flowers barely cover anything, but it's still enough fabric to keep it interesting. She's beautiful, the way she lies in front of him, chest rising and falling, that flutter to her stomach, the little twitch to her thighs as she presses them together and tries to hide her sex. He raises an eyebrow at that.

“While I'm gone,” he says, a smirk growing on his lips, “I have a little task for you.”

He steps towards the nightstand and pulls open the first drawer, randomly picks some of its contents and throws them onto the bed next to her. Her eyes widen when she follows the gesture and stares at the colorful toys. He picks up one of the smaller dildos and braces himself on one arm as he leans over her.

“I want you to be very wet when I come back,” he whispers, gently taking her hand and placing the object onto her small palm. “Understood?”

She still looks at him in shock, and he can already tell she's never used any of the things he's presented her with. Another challenge, another thing he's willing to change. He leans back and looks down at her, head cocked to the side. His eyes narrow slightly when she doesn't reply.

“Understood?” he repeats a little harsher.

A tiny gasp escapes her and she sits up, nodding frantically. “Yes, sir.”

His hand finds her cheek, a gentle caress, thumb running over her bottom lip. He watches her intently. “Good girl.” The shiver that runs through her amuses him immensely. Patting her cheek, he then turns away and leaves her to her own devices.

Returning to his phone, he sends a message to the courier, and minutes later there's a chime on the door. His men are good, and fast, and when he looks through the things in the box that was brought up to his place, he nods in contentment. The things she left in the club, a jacket, a phone, case stuffed with some money, some keys and her ID. He's surprised that she's actually 19, when she looks quite a bit younger. Not that it really matters. His eyes scan her name, memorizing it. Fits her.

There's a folder tucked into the side, all the information they could gather on her, and the more he reads, the wider his smile gets. She is perfect, a random pick, an instinct, and it has still been the best choice. Alone in the big city. He checks her phone, swipes through pictures and messages. There's only one new message, someone congratulating her. Not many social contacts, no Mom or Dad or other relatives. Does explain a few things though. The girl definitely lacked the presence of a proper authority figure in her life, or at least someone who could give her the attention she needs, someone to hug her even, guide her through life, tell her what's right or wrong. No wonder she's so overwhelmed with his advances, yet strangely compliant at the same time.

Daddy issues.

What a perfect little thing that found her way into his clutches. He turns the phone off and puts it back into the box, then locks it securely in the safe in his office, before he focuses on the bag that came with the delivery. Clothes he ordered for her, more underwear mostly, some dresses, shoes. He doesn't plan to take her out much, not yet, so she won't need too many clothes anyway. They're just an illusion of safety for now, something she feels more comfortable in, before he'll take that away as well.

Grabbing the bag, he returns to the bedroom – and freezes. The bed is empty, except for the array of sex toys on the blanket. Untouched, unmoved. And the girl is gone. Something hot rises inside him, his hand tightens around the straps of the bag. He checks the bathroom, also empty. When he opens the door to his walk-in closet, he hears a soft little gasp, before his eyes move down to the far back where she's curled up on her side, wide eyes staring at him from under her lashes.

Like a beaten animal – and he hasn't even done anything to her yet. Not really, anyway.

He puts the bag down on a shelf and approaches her slowly. The dildo he gave her lies in front of her, just as untouched as the rest. She curls up even more, a little ball of hair and limbs, white lace in stark contrast to the dark rug she's lying on. He crouches down, hands resting on his knees as he watches her.

“What are you doing here, baby?” he asks quietly. “Are you hiding from me?”

She sniffles, shakes her head. “No,” she mumbles, wide eyes following his every move. Why is she so skittish all of a sudden? The drugs probably wore off. Poor thing.

He doesn't care. His hand reaches out and grabs her elbow, pulls her closer. A little yelp escapes her. He sits down on the floor and pulls her between his legs, she struggles against him but his fingers close around her arm, squeezing harder than he intended. She winces, a deep shudder rushing through her small body when he drapes her legs over his thigh, making her lean against him. One arm securely around her, holding her with enough authority that she stops squirming, he raises the other hand and grabs her chin, makes her look at him.

“What happened?” he asks, looking at her, scanning her face, fear and shock evident on it.

She averts her eyes, chewing on her lip. He squeezes her chin.

“Look at me.”

She does, with a soft little whine, blinking rapidly, eyes glistening as she meets his gaze. “M'sorry...” she mumbles.

“For what?” His voice is stern, and she frowns at his tone.

“For... for not... doing... what you told me...” she whispers, the first tear falling from her lashes. “I... I couldn't...”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why not?”

Her cheeks are bright red by now, her eyes moving over his face in frantic little flutters. “Felt... wrong...”

He watches her, letting go of her chin to move his hand straight between her legs. She flinches and yelps when his fingertips brush against her panties. The fabric is a little damp, warm against his touch. He doesn't hesitate and slips a finger under the hem, testing the waters. She turns her head away, whining softly as her blush spreads over her shoulders. “Do you need my help?” he whispers.

She only stiffens in his hold as his finger glides along her slit. Warm, wetter than he expected. He doesn't know why she was so stressed about this task or thinking she failed him. She's perfectly responsive. His lips brush against her temple.

“Tell me you need me to help you...” he breathes against her.

Her thighs twitch. “I... I need you to... to help me...” she mumbles out, burying her face in his chest in a little gesture of embarrassment. So fucking cute.

“Good girl,” he hums and kisses her forehead while his finger slips between her folds, gathers her slick and promptly dips into her entrance.

She flinches, but keeps quiet, leaning into him as he nudges her legs apart with his thumb. His finger slips in and out of her, her tight walls gripping him in a way that makes his cock throb. Her wetness gathers around him, quiet squelching sounds filling his ear. She lets out little noises of discomfort, barely-there whines, almost-sobs but in a way that doesn't seem too distressed. She's slowly adjusting, relaxing in his hold, her breaths deeper.

His thumb finds her clit, and when he pushes gently on it, she wails a little louder, her legs trembling, her small hands gripping the front of his shirt as she melts into him more. He keeps drawing tight circles around her nub, his digit pushing deep, in and out, faster, her wetness runs over his hand. The moment she becomes really still, a sharp inhale cutting through the air, he stops, pulls away, and she looks up with her lips parted, almost pouty, eyebrows furrowed, disappointed.

He smirks at her and brings his wet finger to her lips. She doesn't fight it when he slips it into her mouth, rubs it over her tongue and along her gums, pushes deeper. She freezes again, stares at him, but then she closes her lips around his finger and sucks, her tongue flicking around it, licking up her own juices. He pulls it out with a wet pop and leans down, capturing her mouth for a quick, deep kiss, sucking on her tongue, tasting her. She melts into him, clinging to him, but as soon as she starts to relax again, he lets go, leans back, leans around her to grab the dildo still lying behind her on the floor.

“Here,” he says and puts the small pink object into her hand. “If you want to finish it, do it with this.”

She stares at him, eyes wide, fingers curling around the toy, her face flushed. And then she shakes her head, catching him off guard.

“No?” he whispers, raising his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

Her breaths are loud through her nose as she holds his gaze, not saying anything.

He narrows his eyes. His first instinct is to grab the toy and shove it deep into her tight pussy himself, but he refrains, pushes her off his lap and stands, then grabs her wrist and drags her out of the closet. She stumbles after him and yelps when he throws her onto the bed.

Scrambling to her knees, her lips parted and trembling, she stares at him with her eyes wide in shock. He ignores her for now and walks to the bedside table, rummaging through the drawer until he retrieves a little teardrop shaped object, bright pink as well, smooth silicone with a little antenna.

A high-pitched squeal escapes her as he grabs her and pushes her onto her stomach, one large hand on her lower back, holding her down as she starts to squirm. “Stay still or this'll be more uncomfortable than it should be,” he tells her through gritted teeth. She stiffens, her breaths loud and frantic as she white-knuckles the sheets.

He moves the toy between her ass cheeks, pleased to see the butt plug is still in place. Nudging it slightly, he makes her wince. Pushing her legs apart a bit more with his knee, he slides her underwear aside, grabs her thigh to steady her and lets the small vibrator glide between her slick folds, and it's only a little push of his thumb before it slips into her, swallowed up by the tense muscles of her pussy. She lets out a strained whine. He wipes his palm over her mound gently, then tugs on the fat string until he finds the thicker bit at the end. The button clicks audibly when he presses it, and she gasps when the first vibrations shake her body. It's low, but still definitely overwhelming for her.

He puts her thong back in place and grabs her elbow, dragging her off the bed. Her legs are trembling, the low hum between her twitching thighs barely audible, but he hears it, sees her reaction to it, feels his blood pumping into his cock, the throbbing almost painful, and he wonders why he's taking his time with her. He could have had her last night, this morning, any time he wanted, fucked her hard and mercilessly, any hole he desired, and yet he waits, eases her into it, with a patience (or restraint) that surprises himself.

Sighing loudly, he grabs her hand and leads her out of the bedroom, she follows him on shaking limbs, too stunned to protest now. They reach the open kitchen, and he grabs her waist and sets her on the island, hears the faint clanging noise when the base of her plug hits the marble top. Spreading her legs, he steps between them, braces one arm on either side of her, stares down at her darkly.

Her eyes are wide, glistening, shock and uncertainty on her face, but there's also a deep blush and a tightness to her lips as she fights the sensations pulsing through her small body. Her hands fidget between her legs, a nervous little gesture. He rips them away, tells her to sit on them. She does with a bit of hesitation as she watches him with bated breath. He leans in, lets his breath fan over her cheek, then kisses the corner of her mouth, and there's a jerk in her neck as she turns her head, trying to meet his lips.

He pulls away before that, exhaling through his nose. His hands move over her legs, thumbs brushing along her inner thighs until he pushes them against the damp fabric of her underwear. Her wetness seeps past it already, staining the white satin bit, and he licks his lips at the sight. His restraint is slipping, he can't help it, he can smell her arousal, and it's driving him insane.

In one swift motion he grabs her hip, pulls her to the edge and leans down to press his mouth to her inner thigh, quickly kissing up the soft skin to where the little pink antenna pokes out of her. His free hand tugs at it, then he drags her panties aside and closes his lips around her folds. She yelps softly, body jerking against him. His fingers dig into her flesh, hold her in place as he laps up along her slit, gathers her sweet wetness on his tongue, drinks her up like a man parched.

She whimpers when he sucks on her clit, teeth grazing her soft, sensitive skin while he fumbles with the toy and presses the button a few more times, feeling the vibrations increasing, her hips jerking, thighs pressing against his head. Her noises are getting louder, helpless whines and mewls as she squirms on the counter, hands still squished under her legs while he continues to eat her out with a passion that he hasn't felt in ages.

Holding her with one hand, he tries to counteract her uncontrollable twitches, while his other hand rubs over her thigh before his index finger pokes at her entrance, following the toy inside. It's thrumming hard against her tense muscles, and he pushes it around a little with his finger before he finds the right spot, and that's when she really wails, body spasming against him, the heels of her feet thudding loudly into the cabinet as she tries to ground herself somehow.

He holds the toy pressed to her g-spot, still sucking on her clit, eyes moving up to watch her lose it in front of him. She's arching her back, head tilted upwards, chest pushed out, arms trembling before she can't keep her composure any longer and pulls her hands from under her legs and grabs his hair, two sets of small fingers with an iron grip that surprises him. Either to push him away or hold him right there, he isn't sure. Whatever the case, he lets her, gives her that one moment of control.

Her walls tighten around the toy and his finger, rhythmic clenching, her orgasm is so close, she's right on the edge, and it's that moment that he hooks his finger around the toy and pulls it out, leaning back, slipping from her suddenly limp fingers, and leaves her throbbing and panting, watches her deflate as her orgasm slips away again. A whine escapes her, and she falls backwards onto the counter, body convulsing without release, hiding her flushed face behind her shaking hands.

He straightens himself, licks his lips and then his finger, puts the vibrating toy on the counter before he turns it off. She's sobbing now, overwhelmed and left hanging. Poor thing. But it's not over yet.

Hooking his hands under her arms, he hoists her off the counter and pushes her down on her knees in front of him. She's too surprised to react, slowly lowers her hands and looks up at him, tears streaming down her red cheeks. Without a word or command, he unbuckles his belt and opens his pants, then snaps his fingers at her. Despite her trembling state, she follows the order instantly, automatically, that inborn desire to please stirring within her, when her small hands move up to push his pants and underwear down enough to free his erection.

The initial touch is almost enough to push him to the edge and over, but he braces himself, puts his hands on his hips and watches her as she closes her fingers around his length, slowly stroking up and down like he's shown her. Her eyes stay on him, watching him closely, and he tilts his head, pressing his lips into a thin line, a slight furrow between his eyebrows. He sees her swallowing, and barely a second later, her lips brush against his hot skin, the contact enough to coax a little groan out of him.

He watches her closely as she moves her lips up and down his shaft, tongue licking along his bulging veins, circling his tip, flicking over his slit, before she opens her mouth and takes him deeper. She's a little hesitant, careful, one hand still on his girth, the other braced against his thigh as she slowly bobs her head, lips closed around his tip, cheeks hollowed, the little suction really tempting his self-control. He wants her to find her own pace, get better on her own, learn to pleasure him properly, but he also really wants to fuck her throat and make her choke on his cock. The struggle is real.

His hands move to her head, a gentle little caress, fingers sliding through her hair, slowly nudging her closer, she shifts on her knees, the hand on his thigh pulling her into him. Her eyes are closed now, and he can see tears forming under her lashes as she keeps moving her head back and forth, the hand that's tight around his girth keeping her from taking him deeper. He feels her warm mouth, that little tongue flicking around his tip, hot and wet, sucking softly, almost meditatively, and he can't help it, he bucks his hips slightly against her, his cockhead poking into her cheek when she turns her head with a little muffled whine.

One of his hands moves down to grab her chin, holding her in place, head slightly tilted, as he repeats the same motion, pushing into her mouth, watching her cheek bulge. He hasn't noticed it before, but she's a natural at keeping her teeth out of the way, her jaw opened wide enough to allow him to slip in and out fairly easily. Her eyelids flutter open, and she meets his gaze, her eyes glistening, pupils dilated more than he has expected. She's enjoying this, huh?

He smirks at her, moves her head a little and tilts her chin up before he pumps his hips a little harder against her, more of his cock slipping into her small mouth. She stiffens, both hands now gripping the fabric of his pants, bracing, a sliver of panic in her eyes. He watches her closely, the grip on her chin hard as he concentrates, holds back, fights the urge to just fuck her cute little face. His breaths are quick and loud through his nose.

She holds still, doesn't fight it, and he uses that submission to move faster and eventually slips deeper, feeling his tip prodding the back of her throat. She gags almost immediately, a sudden reflex, her body convulsing against him, fingers digging into his legs, and he lets her pull back with a deep cough, saliva dripping from her lips. But he only lets her relax for so long, before he pushes his cock back into her mouth, deeper, to that spot once more, and she gags again, spit filling her mouth, coating his tip, yet this time he holds her head in place, and she lets out a pained little howl, muffled but clearly distressed.

Sighing, he grips her hair and pulls her back again, lets her catch her breath, swallow the excess spit. Tears stream down her face, her eyes are red, eyebrows furrowed, a helpless expression mixed with something like indignation looking up at him. A low laugh escapes him, and he grips her chin and pulls her back, cock slipping into her mouth, her tongue scraping along the underside, frantic little breaths through her nose, warm on his skin.

“Relax,” he tells her, and strangely enough it's that command that lets him slip deeper, past her gag reflex, further into her tight throat. It's only a few seconds though before she gags yet again, fingernails sinking into his legs, that little uncontrollable twitch as her body fights the new sensation of having her throat stuffed. She gurgles, desperate to breathe, too panicked to relax anymore. He pushes her away, and she splutters, spit and precum flying from her trembling lips, her shoulders shaking.

It takes all of him to loosen his grip on her, but when he lets go of her chin and her hair, inhaling deeply, she looks up almost surprised. Bracing his arms on the counter behind her, he closes his eyes, fighting the urge to make her choke again. That feeling when her throat tenses around his tip, squeezes him, it's something he enjoys a little too much, almost as much as watching her suffer through it, with her tears streaming down her face and her hands digging into his legs, that desperate struggle for control.

He'll force that urge right out of her, soon. Another time.

“Suck,” he grunts instead, standing still as he leans over her.

She resumes her ministrations, one hand around his girth, pumping and stroking, while she closes her lips around his tip again, sucking and licking it, keeping it far away from the back of her throat. She's shaky and sloppy, her wet slurping noises echoing through the room, her body still trembling, but she somehow manages to bring him right to the edge after all. He feels his balls tightening, his stomach tensing up, his cock throbbing in her hold. His hands itch, clenched into fists on the counter, his body shivering. So close. So fucking close...

A deep groan escapes his throat, and he leans back abruptly, grips her hair and pulls her off him, a sharp inhale coming from the girl beneath him. Her eyes are wide as she looks up at him, and he just ignores her, hooks his hands around her elbows and pulls her to her feet. She's that tiny body he can manhandle however he wants, and she ends up on her stomach on the counter, short legs dangling off the edge, feet kicking before he cages her in, one hand on her lower back, the other moving straight to the little shiny knob sitting between her plump ass cheeks.

Before she can comprehend what's happening or try to fight him, he drags her panties aside and pulls the plug out with a plop, puts it on the counter with a clang, before he grips his throbbing cock and pushes the tip against her sphincter. She lets out a surprised wail, her hands reaching back to swat him away, but he only grabs them and bends her arms behind her back, held by one large hand. She still struggles as he pushes further, forcing his tip deeper. He doesn't have time to prepare her properly, he's close to exploding.

She whines, writhing on the counter despite his unrelenting hold, and he watches her tight muscles give way to him, the grip almost as good as her tensing throat. His crown slips in, and he stops, letting it rest there as he strokes his shaft hard and fast, until he feels that tension finally dissolve. He comes with a deep grunt, arching his head back, feeling his cock throb and twitch in his hand and in her ass.

Spurt after spurt shoots into her tightness, filling her up until the first drops seep past the tight ring of muscles that clench around him involuntarily as she squirms helplessly, sobbing softly. When he relaxes against her, shoulders sagging, the grip on her arms loosening, he wishes he'd prepared her better, made her more pliant, open her up properly to take more of him. But this'll do for now. Once the twitching subsides, he gently pulls his cock out, watching her ass gape for a moment, his thick seed slipping out almost immediately.

He pushes it back in, feeling her tense muscles close around his finger. Then he grabs the plug and brings it back into position, holding her down again as she starts squirming more, the cold metal slipping into place, plugging up his warm cum. He exhales deeply once he is done, and when he lets go of her and steps back, he can't help but slap her plump cheek once for good measure.

She sobs louder, but remains lying on her stomach, legs dangling off the edge, immobile, all the fight gone from her body. He watches her as he puts his spent dick back into his pants. “What a good girl you are,” he whispers, noticing a wave of goosebumps rippling over her skin. His hands are on her round rear, gently sliding up and down, thumbs teasing between the cheeks. He fixes her thong, nudges the plug, smirks when she flinches at the motion.

Then he grabs her waist and pulls her off the counter, turning her so he can scoop her up into his arms. Despite her reluctance and the fact that she's still crying softly, she leans against him, needy little fingers digging into the collar of his shirt. No matter how hard she fights him, fights the sensations and experiences he gives her, she is clearly craving this, his attention, the care he gives her afterwards, the gentle moments after however rough he treats her.

It's a good dynamic. It'll work, he's sure. She will be absolutely perfect.

He carries her into the bedroom, carefully putting her down on the bed. She immediately rolls onto her side, knees pulled up to her chest, wiping at her wet face, avoiding his gaze as he watches her closely. When he leans down, she flinches, but he only grabs the edge of the blanket and drapes it over her small body.

“Rest now,” he tells her, straightening back up. “I'll order us some food.”

TWO 🟥 THREE 🟥 FOUR

End notes: Just a little side note on where this story is set: it could be literally anywhere (where there are skycrapers or a downtown area with taller buildings). I did not have a specific place in mind, could be any major American city, could be a bigger European city, anywhere you like to think of. It doesn't really matter anyway. (And if it is set in America, just imagine his club to be one of those more lax ones where the drinking age isn't 21 or at least nobody cares about it.)

Also, you may have guessed it, but our male protagonist is a little bit more than just a nightclub owner. I won't go into too many details, just know he's influencial, if you'd like to call it that. And definitely intimidating enough for anyone to bow before him, not just our poor girl who might just be a little in over her head at this point.

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Monday!

TAG LIST: @qmsvpx @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

CHAPTER / / / ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE◾

SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾️TEN

ELEVEN TWELVE◾️THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN◾FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN◾TWENTY

[sheeple]

Heirs of Hogwarts | part 1

Genre(s): Nuisance to Lovers / Fake dating / Fluff / No Voldy au Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Mattheo Riddle x Hufflepuff!Reader Summary: After finding out your (now ex)boyfriend cheated on you with the girl he told you not to worry about, you decide to get into a fake relationship with the kid of another founder of Hogwarts. What could go wrong? Warning(s): Cheating boyfriend (Matt could never) / Matt is a cheeky shit A/n: Kinda tried something new with the notes. Lmk if you like/dislike it [Masterlist] [HoH masterlist]

There is a certain expectation that comes with having a well-known surname. People expect you to act in a way that befits a Malfoy, Abbott, Prewett or any other name on the Sacred Twenty-Eight list. And while there is no person left who carries the Gaunt name anymore, a Riddle is as good as a Gaunt in the eyes of the Pure-Blood community.

The one thing nobody realises that also carries on for the ones who are literally Wizarding World royalty. Like you. A Hufflepuff. No, not like the house. But your surname is literally Hufflepuff. Helga Hufflepuff is your great-grandmother many times over. And it sucks.

You're expected to be the embodiment of Hufflepuff House. Be kind, be ready to help everyone who asks, be patient, be humble, be just, be good at Herbology. You hate Herbology! The dirt under your nails. The smell of the classroom. The way magical plants are not really safe for children to be around. I mean... hello? Mandrakes? Yeah, didn't think so.

And it's not like you're not all those things. You are kind, you do help others when asked, you are humble, maybe not as patient as you should be, and just. Just not all the time. 

Like right now. Right now you are not patient with Hannah and Susan for hogging the bathroom. You've slept like shit and you are hungry. So, you've decided to go to breakfast without them and have them join you later. You can always brush your teeth after breakfast

As you walk across the common room, you greet your Great-Grandmother in passing. "Morning, Meemaw."

"Good morning my little Badger!", she calls after you cheerfully, earning a couple snickers from your housemates. You choose to ignore them and make your trek up the stairs in silence, giving every student who greets you a polite smile.

You don't even know half the people who call out your name when you pass them. They don't even use your name. Just a variation of Hufflepuff. Huff. Puff. Badger. Queen Badger — you really hate that one. You nearly punched a guy for calling you the Top Notch Yellow One. But to be fair, you were in an abysmal mood that day.

By now you've got a pro at tuning out the stares when you walk into the Great Hall. It's mostly the first years who stare at you with wide eyes and mouths agape once they learn who you are. 

You plop down at a free spot and start to plate up some food and pour in juice. Just as you're mid-sip, you feel someone loom over you.

"Good morning", gets whispered in your ear before your boyfriend takes a seat next to you.

You hum and slump against his shoulder. Malcolm pats your head as he knows that is the best attempt at getting a response from you before you've got a semblance of food in your stomach. 

Malcolm Preece and you have been dating for almost a year now. He's a year above you and on the Quidditch team. Your friends don't really like him — and if you are completely honest with yourself neither do you. He's too possessive. He always needs to know where you are and with whom. It also drives you absolutely up the walls.

It has always been expected of you to be in a respectable relationship by the sixth year. Even non-Slytherin families have that kind of pressure. Surprising hmm? You needed your parents off your back and Malcolm was there. Do you feel bad for the guy? Yeah, of course. And it's not like you don't care about him but it's more an obligation; the kissing and the touches and the handholding.

"Guess what", you grumble, whipping your mouth. Malcolm hums as he butters his bread. "My first class of the day is Herbology."

Malcolm laughs and shakes his head. He places a kiss on your hair before saying, "I know. You've been whining about it all last evening. Is there absolutely nothing you can find to enjoy about the subject. Or why don't you ask Sprout if you can drop the course?"

You give him a look. "You know I can't do that. Everybody in my family graduated top of their class and I am not about to be the first one of my siblings to royally piss off my parents. Amelia came close when she almost dropped Meemaw's cup." 

Your boyfriend laughs but doesn't say anything else. Because your hate for Herbology doesn't come from your general dislike of dirt. It comes from the first thing you see when you walk into the glasshouse.

You share many classes with other houses. You also share many classes with Slytherin. That also means you share many classes with Mattheo Riddle. He's a pompous prat who likes to make your days worse for absolutely no reason. 

Normally you sit on the other side of the classroom and ignore him and his friends. He's not above pulling your hair or bumping against you in the hallways. It's petty. And you have no idea why or how it started in the first place.

Herbology is the only class you actually have to interact with Mattheo. For the others you usually sit with Hannah or Susan. But Professor Sprout wanted to hustle up the usual groups and pair random students with each other. That's how you got stuck with Mattheo.

"What is it, princess? Scared a little mud will ruin your manicure?", he says with a shit-eating grin as you put on gardening gloves. You shoot him a glare but continue to tend to you Fluxweed.

"Looks like your Fluxweed can use a little manicure." You give a pointed look at the sad sprig that used to be a plant and continue to do your own thing. "That reminds me, we have to finish our report on Fluxweed. Do you have any time this week? I mean, between your busy schedule of pestering first years and tripping up Neville Longbottom."

You hear a snicker behind you. Hannah holds up her hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter and you wink at her while Mattheo sends her a scalding glare.

"Sure", sneers Mattheo, "if you have any room between tea parties and snogging that sad sack you call a boyfriend."

"I don't have-", you want to interject but you know it has no use. Only if Professor Sprout wouldn't be hoovering around you all the time you would have 'accidentally' stomped on his feet.

You turn your back towards him and walk towards the supply closet, searching for a pair of shears. But Professor Sprout keeps them on the top shelf. As you want to grab your wand, a hand suddenly tugs at the ribbon in your hair. 

With a gasp, you whip around and you are met with Mattheo's chest, his tie hanging loosely around his neck. He gives you a bored look before turning around and walking back towards his table. 

You shake your head and turn around. When you want to Accio the shears to you, you see that they've been placed on the shelve at eye height. Huh.

Once your classes before lunch are finally over you walk out of the classroom with a smile as you spot Malcolm waiting for you. But your smile soon falters at the person standing next to him. Gladys Prescott stands way too close to your boyfriend. She's twirling a lock of hair with her finger as she laughs obnoxiously at one of Malcolm's jokes. They're great, but not that funny.

When you first started dating Malcolm you voiced your questions about his and Gladys' relationship. You were under the impression that they were dating because of how close they were. You and your friends were surprised when he asked you out on a Hogsmeade date.

The worst thing is that Malcolm swears nothing's going on between the two. That they're just friends. But the way he looks at her and treats her makes you glower. It's not that you're jealous. Just... you don't want to get berated by your parents for choosing the wrong partner.

"Ready?", you plaster on a wide smile, clutching your books in your hands.

Gladys and Malcolm look like they are snapped out of their little world before Malcolm registers that it's you and he returns your smile. "You don't mind if Gly joins us, do you?"

You turn to the girl, who gives you a fake ass big smile. "Of course not. The more the merrier! Now, tell me about your morning."

The two of them speak more to each other and don't bother to include you. Resting your chin on your hand, you look around the Great Hall. Susan and Hannah are doing their Prefect duties so they are unable to join you for lunch. 

Tuning out Malcolm and Gladys, your eyes flicker to the other students who are enjoying their lunch. You suddenly make eye contact with Mattheo over at the Slytherin table. He raises his brows at you. You mimic his expression before continuing with your surveying. But when you look back he's still looking at you.

His expressionless eyes flicker towards your boyfriend and Gladys before back to you. He raises a single eyebrow at you, silently asking if you tolerate it. 

You send him a pinched look back before zoning back into the conversation. Malcolm and Gladys are laughing loudly and Gladys has a hand clasped over his. The hold on your fork tightens and you swear you feel it bend in your hold.

You stand up abruptly. Gladys and Malcolm pull their hands away like they're burned and look up at you. "I'm... I have to ask Professor Slughorn something before class begins." You think up the excuse on the spot.

"Oh... Do you want me to walk you..?" Malcolm looks at you with big eyes.

But you shake your head. "No. I wouldn't want to pull you away from your fascinating conversation." You give Gladys a sickly sweet smile, which she doesn't return.

Instead of making a left once you leave the Great Hall, you keep on walking until you're at the edge of the forest. You survey if nobody's following you. With a deep breath, you crouch down and feel your bones and skin snap and pull.

One thing that nobody seems to know about Helga Hufflepuff is that she is a born Animagus. And she has given the ability to transform into a badger at will to all her descendants. The Ministry knows about it and every Hufflepuff descendant gets tested at age ten. By then most children are already used to the transformation.

And you love it. It helps you clear your head and release frustration. As of late you've been doing it a lot more. 

Your little legs move easily over the forest floor towards your little burrow. You know, the Dark Forest isn't that scary when you're one of the animals. Mostly because you know which sides of the forest you need to dodge. Badgers are vicious but spiders are a paint in the butt. 

The afternoon is spent frolicking in flower fields, munching on berries and nuts, and reinforcing the little stick bridges you made for your fellow badgers and woodland creatures over the many rivers that pass through the forest.

By the time you return to the castle, it's already dark and you're tired. You want to curl up in your bed and hear about Susan and Hannah's day. 

But something stops you in your way when you pass a dorm. A whiney, feminine voice comes from Malcolm's room. Gladys. "For how long do you have to pretend to like that stuck-up brat?"

You inch closer to the door and peer between the crack. Malcolm and Gladys are on his bed, her between his legs and they're pecking each other's lips, naked. Your chest tightens at this display of intimacy Malcolm never wanted to show you. Too 'old-school'. Or so he claimed.

Malcolm hums. "I know, Pookie. But next year I'm graduated and I want a good job. If I manage to sit it out any longer Mr Hufflepuff might recommend me for a good position at the Ministry."

Anger bubbles from within you and you turn around, marching out of the common room. You ignore the calls of your name and keep on walking until you're outside and on one of the old defence walls of the school. Your thinking spot.

It doesn't hurt that he is cheating on you. You weren't blind. What hurts is that he is using you to get further in life. He's just like the others. 

Your shoulders tense up at the sound of someone making them up the stairs and the smell of cigarettes. Great. You really need him to bother you right now.

Mattheo halts once he spots you sitting between the battlements, your feet dangling off the edge. He blows out a puff of smoke before sitting next to you. Out of politeness, he offers his cigarette. He doesn't expect you to accept it and take a drag.

"I didn't know you smoked", muses Mattheo as he watches you blow out the smoke mesmerised.

You glance at him while giving the cigarette back. "I don't."

The two of you stay silent, neither of you wanting or knowing what to talk about. Until it's Mattheo who breaks the silence. "What has the pretty Princess so stressed?"

"I'm not stressed." You opt to ignore the princess part for your sanity.

"Sure. And I can't talk to snakes. You're destroying your nailbeds", he points out and you look down. Your fingers are picking at the skin around your thumbnails. You've managed to make it bleed.

Sticking your thumb in your mouth to suck the blood away, you stare defiantly at the darkness that envelops the forbidden forest. "Malcolm's been cheating on me", you say after some contemplating, eyeing the Slytherin boy next to you.

Mattheo raises one brow unimpressed. "What?", he asks when you give him a look, "do I have to act surprised?" He dramatically fake gasps. "Oh, my Merlin! He did not!" He impersonates an American Valley Girl while covering his mouth with his hand.

You roll your eyes annoyed. Of course, you shouldn't have brought up the subject to Mattheo fucking Riddle. "Forget it if you're going to be a dick about it." You push yourself up and dust off your hands.

But Mattheo's hand around your wrist stops you and he leans back, his eyes somewhat apologetic. "No, don't go. I'm sorry. How did you find out?"

This time you raise your eyebrows. Mattheo Riddle never apologises. What in the... 

Against your better judgment, you sit back, your hands folded in your lap. "I just came back and I heard him talk about it with Gladys. How he wants my dad to give him a good job when he graduates." You take a deep breath, the nicotine tickling your nose. "I had a hunch he was fooling around with her. But using me, that hurts, you know?" 

He nods as you glance at him. Mattheo knows. He, just like you, is used to people only talking to or befriending him because they want something from him. They think getting in his good graces gets them somewhere. Absolutely not.

"You knew?"

You hum. Your fingers start to attack your nailbeds again as you think back to the many times you've had to bite your tongue. To keep face in front of the others at school. "I needed someone to keep my parents off my back. My parents expect all of us to have a steady partner by our sixth year. My siblings did it, but only the oldest actually had a girlfriend. The twins just told me to find someone to play the part."

A groan escapes you as you bury your hands in your face. "And now someone will rat to their parents about my break-up, who in turn tell my parents and then I'll get a stern letter about my future. This whole break-up is more an irritation than a heartache."

The Slytherin boy next to you is deadly silent. Why would you be so stupid to air your grievance to him? It's not like he cares. Standing up for real this time, you give him a curt nod. "Thank you for listening, Riddle. Best not to mention our meet-up with anyone, alright? Goodnight." 

You make your way back towards your dorm and crash into your bed. Pressing your face against your pillow, you try your hardest to forget today.

But as suspected, sleep doesn't come easily. Or not at all. And you feel like a zombie walking towards breakfast, your friends giving you worried looks after you explained what happened last night — minus the Mattheo part. 

"I swear if one more busybody comes up to you to say they're sorry", grumbles Hannah as she gives the students around you glares. She balls up her fists and punches the air in front of her. You and Susan chuckle while students around you look at her weirdly.

It's the worst when you enter the Great Hall. The general breakfast noise quiets as your peers start to whisper when you pass them. You keep your eyes focused on a far-off point until you are at your usual breakfast spot.

The three of you eat mostly in silence. Hannah and Susan try to engage you in a conversation but you just play with your food. 

"Can we talk?"

You tense up and drop your fork. Slowly, you turn around and look up at Malcolm. He has a guilty look on his face and it angers you. "I don't know. Can we?" You cock your head condescendingly to the side.

You turn back around and start abusing the piece of toast on your plate. Malcolm lays a hand on your shoulder but it gets promptly ripped off by Hannah. "I strongly advise you to back off."

Malcolm scoffs, looking down at the girl who stands protective in front of you. "Or what? Can't I speak with my girlfriend?"

You slowly rise and turn around to face the prick. "Don't speak to her like that, you insufferable twat. You best believe my dad will make sure you won't get a job anywhere in the Ministry, not even as a wand polisher", you bare your teeth, your chest raising rapidly. The Great Hall has fallen silent, watching the exchange.

"You little bitch." Malcolm's jaw ticks and he balls a fist. But the voice of a teacher stops him.

"Mister Preece, I would strongly advise you to step away from Miss Hufflepuff if you don't want to lose your position on the Quidditch team." Professor McGonagall comes striding from the teacher's table, where they could have seen the interaction between the two of you clear as day.

Malcolm's eyes flicker from you towards the professor and back. "This isn't over", he grumbles before leaving the Great Hall.

"Thank you, Professor." You give the woman a small smile as you collect your schoolbag. She waves you away and you grab both Hannah and Susan's hands, dragging them out of the Great Hall, the stares the whole ordeal created starting to creep you out.

Hannah grumbles all the way towards Charms how's she going to 'beat his face in the next time he dares to look at you'. Susan and you share a look but you're glad you've got Hannah to look out for you.

It's again Hannah who sends glares around as the three of you take place at your usual spot — upper bench all the way at the end. That way the three of you can whisper among each other without bothering anyone.

The class goes as usual before a paper bird lands before you. You look surprised to the other side of the classroom. Mattheo Riddle is already looking at you and miming for you to unfold the bird.

You raise your brows at his note. He has such a chicken-scratch handwriting.

"What is it?", asks Susan in a whisper, leaning closer to you to read the note. A soft gasp escapes her and she looks over at Mattheo. Who's eyes are still trained on you, by the way. "Since when are you and Mattheo Riddle sending notes to each other?!"

"Since never!", you hiss, "what time are we done today?"

Hannah looks up from her book. "Three. Why?" She snatches the note out of Susan's hands and her eyes trail over the words. "He needs to fix his handwriting, my brother in Christ. Is 'Fluxweed report' some kind of secret code?"

You snort and swat her chest, earning a smug smile from the girl.

"I think it's rather romantic", says Susan, the hopeless romantic that she is.

A grimace forms on your face. "What is so romantic about finishing a Herbology essay?"

Susan sighs exorbitantly as she rolls her eyes. "You're officially single now! Free to go and explore and find someone who you really like! Mattheo obviously has seen his chance and took it!"

You and Hannah look at Susan as if she just swallowed a flobberworm. She gives the two of you an exasperated look. "What?! Isn't it like so romantic if the two descendants of Hogwarts founders end up dating? I bet ten galleons that he asks you out on a Hogsmeade date."

You huff out a breath. "Fine. But if he ends up humiliating me I'm going to enjoy those ten galleons with all my heart. Now, what do I write him back?"

"Oh! You should ask to meet at those tables at the back of the library where nobody really comes. That way you two could really cosy up."

You turn towards Hannah, feeling betrayed. "I thought you were with me on this?"

Hannah shrugs. "I'm always down for some drama. Besides, he has been staring at you and I always wondered when he would make his move."

"Since when has Mattheo Riddle been staring at me?", you ask genuinely shocked.

"Since like forever! He always manages to look away just in time. You were also too busy with him who we won't name. Bad joojoo."

You ignore Hannah's observation and pen an answer back.

You wait to send it towards him when Flitwick isn't looking before chucking the balled-up paper towards the other side of the classroom and hitting him in the face.

You clasp a hand over your mouth while you and your friends stifle your laugh. Mattheo unfolds the paper, his eyes following every letter you wrote before he shows a thumbs up. 

"Dibs on being you guys' child's Godparent", whispers Susan with a grin and you elbow her in the ribs.

You try to bring your focus back to Flitwick, but you keep on glancing back at the curly-haired boy across the room. Has he some sort of plan to ask you so publicly to study? What is his motive? It can't only be studying, right?

Throughout the day you've grown quite nervous about meeting Mattheo. If it wasn't for your stupid friends and their stupid words you wouldn't have thought about this afternoon like any different from any other Herbology class. 

For Merlin's sake! You just broke up with your boyfriend and your friends are already pushing you onto the next. You wanted to take it slow for a while and enjoy the rest of your year without the worry of having to please a guy!

You fix your hair and uniform behind a bookcase as you see Mattheo already sitting at the table. With a curt breath and nod to yourself, you walk up to the table and take place in front of him. "Hi. Sorry if you've been waiting for long." You send him a small smile as you grab your book and notebook out of your bag. "It takes more time than I imagined to get from Divignation to here."

Mattheo gives you a half-smile and waves away your apologies. "Don't worry. I just got here too actually. So... what needed to be in that essay again?"

The two of you work together surprisingly well. If Mattheo isn't throwing his snide remarks around anyway. You also don't feel the need to be as snappy as you usually are with him. It's actually... nice? For once. 

As you're writing the last part of the essay, you feel his eyes on you. You look back up and raise your brows, silently asking what his deal is.

"I was thinking", he begins.

You let out a chuckle. "That's dangerous."

Ignoring your quip, he continues, "you need your parents off your back, right? And I imagine that you would like to smite Preece after that embarrassing stunt he pulled this morning."

You lean back with your eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't quite call it that. But continue."

Mattheo licks his bottom lips as he instead leans close to you, his voice softening. "Go out with me. Just a couple of dates so that you're seen with me. You know it will drive him nuts seeing you move on so quick."

You contemplate it for a moment or two. He is right. Malcolm always was a bit too paranoid for your taste when you talked with a boy. 

He hums. "So you agree?"

"What do you out of it? This all is a bit too suspicious."

He laughs and he runs his tongue over his teeth. "You don't believe me that I'm just content with having a pretty girl by my side?" When you shake your head he grins. "Smart girl. Maybe by 'dating' you, it will pull Preece's attention away from Quidditch and they'll lose the cup."

"So I'm sabotaging my own house?", you muse, your eyes flickering between his own.

Something seems to falter inside Mattheo's eyes for a second before a teasing smile grows on his face. "Well, you can't have everything princess."

Huming, you fall back into your chair. "Sure. When and where will our first 'date' be?", you use air quotations when you say date.

"I've heard that Saturday is going to be a sunny day."

"Sure. Eleven okay? We could meet up in the Clocktower courtyard. That way a lot of people see us leave together."

And with that, quite casually, your totally not fake date with Mattheo Riddle is agreed.

Taglist (bold means I couldn't tag you): @mylosz0 @kermits-bitch

[strawbeerossi]

Punishment

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Unsub!Spencer Reid

Description: Spencer has had enough with you not listening to his instructions.

Content/Warnings: Mean Spencer, scolding, spanking with a belt, crying, brief fingering.

Word Count: 0.6K

Kinktober Day Twenty Nine: Impact Play

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

You had a hard time listening. Spencer wasn’t very fond of it. He had told you not to go outside for your safety, yet he found you sitting on the front porch of the house on his walk home. You had no idea why you had both suddenly had to pack up and leave DC, nor did you understand why your husband’s job suddenly let him go.

You weren’t aware that you were both on the run, having to hide from the outside world in a small cabin that Spencer found deep in the woods of West Virginia. Sure, the woods would make it hard for anyone to see you, however Spencer wasn’t taking chances.

He’d gotten home at six in the evening when he seen you on the porch, book in your hand as you sat quietly on the steps. “Why are you out here?! I told you that it’s not safe.” He spat, hand quickly grabbing your arm as you were pulled inside. It wasn’t rough enough to hurt you, however he pulled at your arm as if you were a little rag doll that he could drag around. “It’s such a nice evening out! I don’t see what the big deal is, Spencer. We are fine.”

The both of you weren’t fine. If Spencer was found, he’d be dragged back to prison while you were made aware of the carnage and bloodshed he left back in DC. He got sloppy, leaving behind a key piece of DNA that had every major news outlet in the country reporting on him. You didn’t need to see that. You were happy with him, he didn’t want you to be afraid.

“I don’t care! I told you to stay in!” Spencer scolded, hands working on his belt as he was keeping a tight hold on your arm before leading you to the couch.

Your body was tensed up as you knew what was coming, heart beating in your chest as his body was lowering onto the couch before he was tugging you over his knee. “I didn’t do anything wrong!” You tried to protest, the male ignoring your words as he was tugging your pants and panties down your legs, belt in his right hand.

“Shut up and take your punishment. I wish you’d just listen. You know the rules. You’re counting.” He spoke, hand rubbing over your smooth skin as he was getting the belt situated in his grip.

You’d just about accepted your fate when you felt the leather belt coming down on your ass, a sharp pain shooting through your body as you let out a yelp of surprise. “One!” You shakily spoke while glancing at your boyfriend, hoping for some form of mercy as his eyes were focused on yours. “Tell me you’re sorry.” He spoke, making your lip quiver. “I’m sorry.” You whispered, although another rough smack had your hips jerking upon contact. “I’m sorry! Two!”

There were eight more that came after that, your flesh burning hot from the amount of spanking as Spencer’s big, calloused hand was rubbing over the irritated skin in an attempt to soothe you. “I don’t like doing this but it’s the only way you seem to fucking learn..” He huffed, tossing the belt on the couch beside him before his hand was gently slipping between your thighs.

Your pussy was wet, the amount of friction of your clit dragging against his thigh previously being the one to thank. “God, should I help you or should I leave you to deal with it yourself?” He asked, amusement glistening in his eyes as you were blabbering about how you didn’t want him to leave you to deal with the issue alone.

As his pointer finger slipped into your wet cunt, he was only groaning in satisfaction as your walls clenched around the digit in an effort to suck more in. “Such a greedy little cunt. Wanna be stuffed?” His words were calculated, enough to make a whine of desperation fall from your lips as you were nodding quickly. You needed him desperately and he was making you wait.

You hated this game.

“Prove it.”

[emjayewrites]

the best gift • jules koundé one shot

SYNOPSIS: Jules and Maya celebrate Christmas together…Sequel to Turkey Day

PAIRINGS: Jules Koundé x Maya Richardson (fc: Ebonee Davis)

TAGLIST: @hopefulromantic1 @lettersofgold @sinflowersugar @alika-4466 @peyiswriting @leilaxaliel @serpenttines-library @certifiedlesbianbaddie @niahxo @jack0357 @chaoticcoffeequeen @greedyjudge2 @yeea-nah @saturnville @cranberryjulce

Jules watched from his kitchen as his mother, Sophie, fussed over the already immaculate house for the third time that morning. Her nervous energy was palpable as she adjusted throw pillows and muttered in rapid French about wanting everything to be perfect for Maya's parents' first visit to Barcelona.

"Maman," Jules called out gently, "tout a l'air magnifique. Veuillez vous asseoir avant de porter un chemin dans mon sol” ("Mom, everything looks beautiful. Please sit down before you wear a path in my floor.")

Sophie turned to him, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Je veux juste qu’ils se sentent les bienvenus, mon chéri. Et mon anglais... ce n’est pas aussi bon que le français de Maya." ("I just want them to feel welcome, mon chéri. And my English... it's not so good like Maya's French.")

Jules smiled, remembering Maya's first meeting with his mother six months ago. Despite the language barrier, Maya had charmed Sophie with her attempts at French and her genuine interest in family photos of a young Jules. This time would be different though – Maya's parents would be joining them.

"Le Dr et M. Richardson vous aimeront, Maman. Tout comme Maya." ("Dr. and Mr. Richardson will love you, Maman. Just like Maya does.")

His phone buzzed with a text from Maya: "Just picked up my parents from the airport. Dad's already commenting on all the soccer stuff everywhere 😂 Be there in 30!"

Jules checked his watch. The timing would be tight – they had his match against Leganes that evening, and he'd need to leave for Camp Nou in a few hours.

The door opened exactly twenty-eight minutes later. Jules turned to find Maya beaming at him, her parents behind her looking jet-lagged but excited. Dr. Angela Richardson immediately moved to hug him while Miles Richardson extended his hand for a firm handshake that felt warmer than their first meeting at Thanksgiving.

"Welcome to Barcelona," Jules said, ushering them inside where his mother waited.

"Bonjour!" Sophie stepped forward, her smile bright if slightly nervous. "Welcome, welcome! Please, come in!"

Maya hugged Sophie warmly, switching to French. "Sophie, c'est si bon de vous revoir!"

Sophie's face lit up at the familiar language, and she launched into rapid French that had Maya nodding along, occasionally asking for clarification.

"Your home is beautiful," Angela said, looking around the modern space with its floor-to-ceiling windows displaying Barcelona’s skyline. "And what a view!"

"Merci," Sophie replied, then looked at Jules for help.

"Maman helped me decorate," Jules explained. "She has much better taste than I do."

Miles was examining the wall of Jules' framed jerseys – his first Bordeaux shirt, his Sevilla kit, and several Barcelona and French national team jerseys. "Quite a collection you've got here, son."

"Those are just the special ones," Maya said proudly. "You should see the storage room."

Jules led them on a tour of the house, ending in the kitchen where Sophie had prepared a light lunch of quiche, salad, and fresh bread. She'd been cooking since dawn, determined to make a good impression.

"This is delicious, Sophie," Angela said after her first bite of quiche.

Sophie looked to Jules for translation, beaming when he conveyed the compliment. "Merci beaucoup! C'est une recette de ma grand-mère."

The conversation flowed surprisingly well despite the language barrier, with Maya and Jules acting as translators when needed. Miles, to everyone's surprise, revealed he'd been using a language learning app to pick up basic French.

"Merci pour le repas," he said carefully, making Sophie clap in delight.

All too soon, Jules had to leave for the stadium. "I've arranged for a car to take you to Camp Nou," he told Maya's parents. "Maya knows where the family box is, and Maman will be with you."

"Good luck, baby," Maya said, kissing him quickly. "Show Daddy what real football looks like."

"That's right," Miles added with a grin. "Show me what all this fuss is about."

Three hours later, Jules stood in the tunnel at Camp Nou, waiting to walk out onto the pitch. He knew Maya and their parents were up in the family box – Maya had sent a photo of them all together, his mother and Maya's parents wearing Barcelona scarves, Miles looking slightly bemused but game.

The match itself was electric. Jules had always played well with Maya in attendance, but having both their families watch seemed to elevate his game even further. In the thirty-seventh minute, he made a crucial sliding tackle that started a counterattack, leading to Barcelona's first goal. The roar of the crowd was deafening, but he could have sworn he heard Maya's distinctive voice among the 90,000 fans.

Barcelona won 2-0, with Jules putting in a man-of-the-match performance. After the game, he found their families waiting in the designated area for players' guests. Miles' expression had changed from polite interest to genuine excitement.

"Now that," he said, pulling Jules into a surprise hug, "was something else, son! That tackle in the first half? Reminded me of my playing days, except you got right back up and started the attack!"

Maya was practically bouncing with pride, while their mothers chatted animatedly despite the language difference, Sophie's hands flying as she tried to explain something about the game's tactics.

"See?" Maya whispered to Jules. "Daddy's coming around to soccer."

"Football," Jules corrected with a grin.

The next few days passed in a blur of sightseeing and family meals. Jules showed them his Barcelona, not just the tourist spots but the hidden gems he'd discovered since moving to the city. Sophie took Angela shopping in the boutiques along Passeig de Gràcia, while Miles surprised everyone by developing a deep appreciation for Spanish wine.

On their last evening in Barcelona, before flying to Atlanta for Christmas, they had dinner at a small Catalan restaurant Jules loved. Watching their parents interact, seeing Maya laugh at something his mother said in broken English, Jules felt a certainty settle over him. The small velvet box that had been hiding in his home since before Thanksgiving seemed to burn in his mind.

The flight to Atlanta was long but comfortable, with Jules arranging for first-class tickets for everyone. His mother dozed most of the way, while Maya worked on her dissertation, occasionally asking Jules to help her with some Spanish terms.

Christmas in Atlanta was everything Sophie had hoped for and more. The Richardsons' home was decorated magnificently, with a enormous tree in the family room and lights everywhere. Jules' mother was immediately absorbed into the controlled chaos of the Richardson women's holiday preparations, her limited English forgotten as she and Angela communicated through the universal language of cooking.

On Christmas Eve, after returning from the candlelight service at the Richardsons' church, Jules asked Miles if they could speak privately. Maya was helping her mother in the kitchen, and Sophie was engaged in what appeared to be a spirited game of charades with Maya's brothers and their wives.

Miles led Jules to his study, a warm room lined with books and family photos. He sat behind his desk, a knowing look in his eyes.

"Sir," Jules began, then paused to gather his thoughts. "Mr. Richardson..."

"Miles," Maya's father corrected gently. "I think we're past 'Mr. Richardson' now, don't you?"

Jules smiled, some of his nervousness easing. "Miles. I wanted to speak with you about Maya."

"I had a feeling this conversation was coming," Miles leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "Ever since Thanksgiving, actually."

Jules straightened in his seat. "I love your daughter, sir – Miles. She's the most remarkable person I've ever known. She challenges me, supports me, makes me laugh... makes me better. And I want to spend the rest of my life with her."

"And the distance? Your career? Her career? Have you thought about all that?"

"Every day," Jules replied honestly. "We've talked about it extensively. Maya's dissertation defense is in three months, and she's already been offered a position at the Universitat de Barcelona. It's not just me asking her to fit into my world – we're building our world together."

Miles was quiet for a long moment, studying the young man before him. Finally, he smiled. "You know, when Maya first told us she was dating a professional soccer player – football player," he corrected himself with a chuckle, "I was worried. Worried about the lifestyle, the distance, the culture differences. But watching you with her, with our family, with your mother... you're a good man, Jules. You see Maya for who she is, and you love her for it."

He stood up and walked around the desk, placing a hand on Jules' shoulder. "You have my blessing, son. Though something tells me Maya would say yes regardless."

Jules laughed, relief flooding through him. "She would. But having your blessing means everything."

"Have you thought about how you're going to ask?"

"I have some ideas," Jules admitted. "But I'd appreciate your input..."

They talked for another hour, Miles sharing stories about his own proposal to Angela, offering suggestions, and finally showing Jules an old family photo album. When they emerged from the study, Maya raised an eyebrow at them suspiciously, but Jules just kissed her temple and joined in the charades game, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

Christmas morning dawned bright and slightly cold. Sophie was overwhelmed by the American Christmas traditions – the mountains of presents, the matching pajamas Angela had gotten for everyone (even managing to find some in Jules' size), the seemingly endless supply of food.

"C'est magnifique," she kept saying, her eyes wide as she took in the scene.

Jules watched Maya help his mother understand the rules of the gift exchange, translating when needed, treating Sophie with the same easy affection she showed her own mother. The ring box was still hidden back at home, waiting for the perfect moment he and Miles had discussed the night before. But watching Maya now, radiant in her Christmas pajamas, teaching his mother how to say "Merry Christmas, y'all" in her best Southern accent, Jules knew he'd made the right decision.

That afternoon, while Sophie was helping Angela in the kitchen, several of Maya's cousins who hadn't met Jules' mother yet arrived. DeAndre was the first to notice Sophie as she emerged from the kitchen, wiping flour off her hands on a festive apron and chatting animatedly in French with Maya.

"Wait, hold up," DeAndre said, looking between Jules and his mother. "You're mixed?"

Before Jules could respond, MJ's hand connected with the back of DeAndre's head with a soft thwack. "Man, where are your manners?"

"I was just asking!" DeAndre protested, rubbing his head.

Jules laughed, used to the question by now. "Yes, my mother is French – white French," he clarified with an amused smile. "My father is from Benin."

"That's why he got that good hair," Trey joked, earning himself a slap from Michael this time.

"Y'all are embarrassing," Michael sighed, but there was fondness in his exasperation.

Sophie, who had been watching the exchange with curious eyes, leaned toward Maya. "Qu'est-ce qu'ils disent?"

Maya translated the conversation, making Sophie laugh. "Ah, oui! Jules' father... très beau homme," she said in her limited English, making everyone chuckle.

"See? Ms. Sophie gets it," DeAndre grinned, seemingly recovered from his earlier scolding. "Beautiful people make beautiful people."

Later that evening, as both families gathered in the family room for games and dessert, Jules caught Miles' eye. Maya's father gave him a subtle nod and raised his glass in a quiet toast. Across the room, Maya was teaching Sophie how to play Spades, while Angela and the rest of the family cheered them on.

"Je suis très heureuse," Sophie said to Jules quietly, watching Maya with obvious affection. "Elle est parfaite pour toi."

"Oui, Maman," Jules replied. "Elle l'est."

The rest of the visit passed too quickly, filled with more family meals, impromptu dance parties (Sophie proving surprisingly adept at line dancing), and quiet moments that felt like snapshots of their future together. When it was time for Jules and his mother to return to Barcelona, the goodbyes were emotional.

"You come back soon," Angela said, hugging Sophie tightly. "Family doesn't need language to understand each other."

Sophie, tears in her eyes, hugged her back. "Oui, famille," she then managed in English. "Family."

Miles shook Jules' hand, then pulled him into a hug. "Take care of yourself, son. And remember what we talked about."

"I will," Jules promised, catching Maya's curious look. "Thank you... for everything."

On the plane back to Barcelona, Sophie dozed against Jules' shoulder, exhausted but happy. His phone buzzed with a text from Maya: "Missing you already. But I'll see you in three weeks for my conference in Madrid ❤️"

Jules smiled, already planning how he would transform their Madrid weekend into something unforgettable. But that was a story for another day.

"Étaient-ils ce que vous attendiez?" he asked his mother.

Sophie opened her eyes, smiling. "Ils sont de la famille," she said simply. "Et Maya... elle sera la plus belle mariée."

"Maman!" Jules laughed, but didn't disagree. After all, mothers always knew best.

Three weeks later, Maya was in her hotel room in Madrid, getting ready for what Jules had told her would be "just a nice dinner" to celebrate the successful presentation of her research at the conference. She had no idea that Jules had spent the last month planning every detail of this evening, or that both their families were anxiously waiting for news.

In their year and a half together, she'd grown used to Jules' thoughtful gestures and reverent attention, but something about tonight felt different.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Jules: "Car will pick you up in 15 minutes. Can't wait to see you ❤️"

Maya smoothed down her dress – a deep emerald number that she knew Jules loved – and checked her reflection one last time. Her bohemian braids were styled in an elegant updo with the curly strands purposely hanging out, small golden earrings catching the light when she moved.

The car took her through the twinkling streets of Madrid to a historic building in the city center. When she stepped out, Jules was waiting, looking devastatingly handsome in a perfectly tailored suit.

"You look beautiful, mon cœur," he said softly, kissing her cheek and offering his arm.

The restaurant was intimate and elegant, but instead of heading to the main dining room, Jules led her up a private staircase to a rooftop terrace. Maya gasped as they emerged into what looked like something from a fairy tale. Hundreds of tiny lights were strung overhead, creating a canopy of stars. White roses – her favorite – were everywhere, their sweet scent mixing with the crisp winter air. A single table was set for two, with champagne already chilling.

"Jules," she breathed, taking it all in. "This is..."

"Too much?" he asked, suddenly looking nervous in a way she rarely saw on the football pitch.

"Perfect," she finished, squeezing his hand.

They sat down to a meal that somehow combined French cuisine with touches of Southern comfort food – a detail that made Maya's heart swell with love for this man who always thought of everything. As they finished their main course, Jules grew quieter, more contemplative.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" he asked suddenly.

Maya laughed. "Of course. At that charity event in London. You were so serious until I made that terrible joke about football existing during Shakespeare's time."

"'To kick, or not to kick,'" Jules quoted, grinning at the memory. "It was the worst joke I'd ever heard. But your smile..." He paused, taking her hand across the table. "Your smile made me forget every smooth line I'd practiced in English."

"You'd practiced lines?" Maya teased.

"Mmhmm. None of them as bad as your joke, though." He stood up, still holding her hand. "But that's what I love about you. You make me laugh, you challenge me, you support me... you see me, not just the footballer or the public figure, but me."

Maya's heart began to race as Jules moved to stand beside her chair. "Jules..."

"I talked to your father at Christmas," he continued, and then he was down on one knee, producing a small velvet box from his jacket. "Because while I know you're perfectly capable of making your own decisions, I also know how much family means to you. To us."

Maya's free hand flew to her mouth as Jules opened the box, revealing a stunning ring that somehow managed to be both elegant and unique – just like them.

"Maya Simone Lynette Richardson," Jules said, his French accent wrapping around her name the way it had since the day they met, "you make every day better just by being in it. You've brought so much joy and love into my life, and if you'll let me, I want to spend the rest of my days trying to do the same for you." He took a breath, his eyes never leaving hers. "Will you marry me?"

Through tears of joy, Maya managed to nod. "Yes," she whispered, then louder, "Yes, yes, absolutely yes!"

Jules' hands shook slightly as he slipped the ring onto her finger, then pulled her into a kiss that felt like a promise of forever. When they finally parted, the waiters who had been discretely waiting burst into applause, and champagne appeared as if by magic.

"I love you," Maya said, admiring how the ring caught the light. "And I can't wait to see what Sophie and my mama do with wedding planning."

Jules groaned good-naturedly. "They've already started, believe me. Your mother and mine have been texting on WhatsApp for weeks."

Maya laughed, the sound carrying across the Madrid rooftop like music. "Of course they have."

As they celebrated under the canopy of lights, with the Madrid skyline twinkling around them, Jules felt a profound sense of rightness. Their lives might be complex, stretched between continents and cultures, but their love was simple and true. And really, that was all that mattered.

Later that night, after Maya had FaceTimed both their families (who, to no one's surprise, were all gathered at the Richardsons' house waiting for news), she curled into Jules' side and said, "You know what this means, right?"

"Hmm?"

"You're officially officially part of the family now. No backing out of Homecoming next year."

Jules laughed, pulling her closer. "Wouldn't dream of it, future Mrs. Koundé."

"Dr. Maya Richardson-Koundé," she corrected with a smile.

"Even better," he agreed, and kissed her again.

August 2025….

The historic Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta had never seen such a blend of cultures, but on this warm August morning, the sacred space buzzed with an energy that transcended language and tradition.

Jules stood in a side room, adjusting his bow tie for the hundredth time. The past few months had been a whirlwind since he'd posted that simple photo of Maya's hand with the ring, captioned only with a heart emoji. His Instagram had exploded – teammates sending congratulations in multiple languages, fans ranging from supportive to devastated ("It should've been me! 😭"), and even a few celebrities chiming in. Maya had taken it all in stride, her academic's analytical mind finding humor in the social media frenzy.

"Bro, stop fidgeting," Aurélien said, slapping Jules' hands away from his tie. "You look perfect. Though not as perfect as some of these wedding guests I saw walking in..." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Jules shook his head, grinning. Some things never changed. "Behave yourself. These are Maya's family friends."

"I'm just saying, Atlanta's reputation is well-deserved," Aurélien defended, then whistled low as he peeked out the door. "The hats alone..."

Indeed, the church was a sea of elaborate hats and fans, church mothers dressed in their Sunday best having arrived early to claim prime viewing spots. Jules could hear their voices carrying through the walls, a melodic mix of excited chatter and occasional "Well, bless his heart" when someone mentioned how nervous the groom must be.

The media attention had been intense at first. Maya's academic credentials and their cultural backgrounds made them a source of fascination. But they'd managed it carefully, keeping their private life private while sharing just enough to satisfy public interest. Maya had given one interview to El País, conducted entirely in Spanish, that had won over even the most skeptical Barcelona fans.

"It's time," Reverend Richardson, Maya's grandfather, appeared at the door. He would be performing the ceremony, adding another layer of significance to the day.

Jules took his position at the altar, Aurélien beside him as best man, along with his other groomsmen including several teammates and childhood friends. The church was packed, every pew filled with a perfect blend of their two worlds – his football family alongside Maya's extended clan, French relatives mixed with Southern aunties fanning themselves with wedding programs.

The music shifted, and the wedding party began their entrance. Jules watched as Maya's cousins and friends glided down the aisle in deep burgundy dresses, followed by her sister-in-law as matron of honor. Then the music changed again, and everyone rose.

Maya appeared in the doorway, escorted by her father. Jules felt his breath catch in his throat. Her dress was a masterpiece of elegant simplicity – off-shoulder with delicate lace details that traced her collarbones, a fitted bodice that flowed into a full skirt, and a cathedral-length veil that seemed to float behind her like a cloud. But it was her smile, radiant and certain, that brought tears to his eyes.

"You better cry for her!" came a loud whisper from somewhere in the congregation, followed by Maya's grandmother turning around with a stern look that could have frozen hell itself.

Miles walked Maya down the aisle with measured steps, his eyes glistening with barely contained emotion. When they reached the altar, Miles hugged Jules before placing Maya's hand in his, whispering, "Take care of each other."

The ceremony was a beautiful blend of traditions. Reverend Richardson spoke of love's power to bridge any distance, any culture, any difference. They exchanged vows in English and French, Jules' voice steady despite the emotion evident in his eyes. After the rings and the "I do's," a beautifully carved broom was placed before them – a tradition dating back to enslaved ancestors who couldn't legally marry.

"Jump into your future together," Reverend Richardson announced, and amid cheers and applause, Jules and Maya joined hands and leaped over the broom into their new life.

Their first kiss as husband and wife nearly brought the church down, the celebrations reaching a fever pitch as church bells began to ring. As they ran down the aisle, guests blew bubbles that caught the light streaming through the stained glass windows, creating tiny rainbows around them.

Outside, they ducked into a classic white Rolls Royce, Maya's massive bouquet of white roses resting between them as they headed toward their reception venue in downtown Atlanta.

The reception space was transformed into an elegant wonderland. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting warm light over tables decorated with towering centerpieces of white roses and burgundy dahlias. French and American flags stood alongside the Beninese flag near the head table, representing all parts of their heritage.

After their first dance – to both a French love song and Al Green's "Let's Stay Together" – and the traditional parent dances, Jules found himself standing with Aurélien and Hugo, watching as Maya lined up with her sorority sisters. The opening notes of their Delta Sigma Theta call had the crowd cheering as Maya and her fellow Deltas, including her mother, showed off their steps.

"C'est incroyable," Hugo murmured, filming on his phone. "The energy..."

"This is just the preview for Homecoming," Jules said proudly, remembering Maya's stories about her days at Clark Atlanta. He'd already marked his calendar for October, arranging his schedule to make sure he wouldn't miss it.

The Deltas' performance transitioned seamlessly into Maya's brothers and father taking the floor with their Omega Psi Phi fraternity brothers. The energy in the room shifted again as they hopped and stepped in precise formations, their purple and gold colors flashing.

"Your new family is full of surprises," Aurélien laughed, still recording.

Later, as the evening wound down, Jules held Maya close during a slow dance, her head resting on his shoulder. The dress she'd changed into for the reception sparkled under the chandeliers, but not as brightly as her eyes when she looked up at him.

"Happy?" she asked softly.

"Beyond happy," he replied, spinning her gently. "You are the best gift I could ever ask for. The perfect match I wasn't even looking for."

Maya smiled that smile that had first captured his heart in London. "I love you, Jules Koundé."

"Je t'aime, Maya Richardson-Koundé," he whispered, and kissed her as their families and friends cheered around them, their love story now written into the fabric of both their worlds.

Tomorrow they would leave for their honeymoon in Bora Bora, and after that, they would return to their life in Barcelona. But right now, in this moment, they were simply Jules and Maya, two hearts that found each other across oceans and cultures, proving that love truly knows no boundaries.

"Ready for our next adventure?" Maya murmured against his chest.

Jules tightened his arms around her, thinking of all the moments that had led them here – from that first laugh in London to Thanksgiving chaos to Christmas to this perfect day. "With you? Always."

And as he leaned down to kiss his bride one more time, Jules knew that while he might have won championships and accolades on the football pitch, this victory – this love – was by far his greatest achievement.

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Twenty-Four

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

No tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty | Chapter Twenty-One | Chapter Twenty-Two | Chapter Twenty-Three

AO3 LINK

Author's Note: My love to @foxinthegodswood for the last minute beta! And many thanks to everyone hanging in there with me <3 HAPPY SMUTMAS

Summary: A long awaited interlude between Aegon and Abby.

Chapter Twenty-Four - Came Into My Bed, Told Me That My Hair Was Red

Abby had checked on the security of the mounted braziers around her rooms three times. She had shifted the protective grate in front of the fireplace double that, ensuring the rug was out of reach, that no linens were hanging too close to any sources of fire. She lay in bed, alone in the quiet with the curtains closed, open, half closed, and still she could not find sleep.

Rising once again, she peered out through the diamond glass windows to the gardens, observing the flickering light from the torches that bordered the meandering trails. Abby had seen Lord Tyland and her cousin, Elayna, slipping away after supper, flushed with drink and their arms wrapped around one another into the gardens. Aegon’s company eluded her, despite her longing for escape. There was always someone lurking, watching. As if their play would result in her walking down the aisle in two days with a swollen belly.

It didn't matter. She’d asked to be alone that night, gently pushing Wylla from the bed. The elder girl had cocked her head, reaching down to stroke the stray curls from Abby’s face before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Are you sure?” Wylla had asked her softly as Abby curled in on herself in the bed. “I know I’m not who you need right now,none of us are, mo chara ghràdh, but I would not leave you alone in your head.” Abby had giggled softly amidst her strange aching. It had been interesting the past few days, learning the minor differences between the northern tongue and the riverlands. Both were so deeply similar, yet certain words were different. It helped ease some of the ache, but Wylla had been right. None of them were who she needed.

It was the peace she would have to make.

The scrape and clink of the lock drew her attention to the door and Abby shifted on the window seat to watch Aegon slip in. Abby did not run to him, curled up as she was, but she did give him a wan smile after he’d locked the door behind him.

“Were you waiting for the coast to be clear?” she asked him, pulling her legs further up against her chest and burrowing deeper into her nightgown. She should have retrieved her dressing gown for the extra warmth, but could not bring herself to do so.

“Your northern guard came and got me,” Aegon said as he approached, taking his own robe off and wrapping it around her snugly before he sat on the bench beside her. His blood ran hot, skin always warm, so she’d found it surprising he’d worn a robe to come see her. Modesty, perhaps? That also seemed strange for him. Regardless, Abby hummed and snuggled into the warm velvet, and Aegon reached out to lift her feet into his lap, wrapping his hands around them. It almost hurt at first to feel how hot his skin was against how cold her toes were and she wiggled them. “Pity I missed the pair of you in bed together.”

“That is our private time,” Abby said primly. “No boys allowed. And thank you for addressing her as my guard.” Aegon’s nicknames had been unkind, and she’d made sure to put a stop to it, just as she prodded at Wylla for her own contributions to the sniping. She would not have the two of them poking each other too harshly, and even when it made her feel uncertain and babied, she appreciated their getting along since coming to Harrenhal.

Aegon’s teeth flashed in the streak of moonlight coming through the window as he grinned at her, fingers working into the balls of her feet that made her toes spread out and a shiver course up her spine. “Do you like that?”

“Mmmm, yes, don’t stop.” She flexed and stretched her legs out further so he could more easily tend her. Abby leaned her head back, fingers playing with the end of the coil of hair over her shoulder, eyes looking up at the cloudless sky littered with stars. Tomorrow, the festivities began. Fireworks from Dorne and candlelit barges along the lake, dancing and music would be held in the gardens and in the yard surrounded by the melted towers of Harrenhal. Firefly-like lanterns would adorn the space. The Riverlands and the realm had all come together to celebrate their wedding.

To wait and see what upheaval the crown would announce.

Hands left her feet and grabbed her arms. Abby yelped as Aegon hauled her into his lap, maneuvering her around so her back was against his chest, and his feet propped up so she sat along his legs. She wriggled in protest, but Aegon’s arms tightened around her and his lips brushed along her ear, teeth nipping softly.

“You were going far away,” he told her, as if scolding her. “I had to catch you.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, and she sighed, knowing he was right.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the ache pulsing in her chest constricting her words. “I did not mean to.” Tendrils of things she could not see had hooked around her limbs since she came back to the riverlands, tugging her like the song she swore she heard on the whistling wind through the cracks of the castle. Aegon always had the knack for pulling her back to the moment when her thoughts whirled so quickly she was a feather on the breeze. Now, it seemed, she needed to hold his hand lest she vanish into the forest like she nearly had the day of their arrival, the morning mist clinging to the edges of her skirts, the song and the whispers drawing her away and deep into something that tickled in the corners of her mind.

Aegon’s warm fingers cradled her jaw, and he tilted her face so their eyes could meet. The lilac of his gaze was a thin rim, pupils blown in the dim room, a pensive look on his face seeming more intense as the shadows highlighted the cut of his jaw and his cheekbones, deceptively soft in the light of day. His touch did not hurt, but it was firm. If she wanted to pull out of it, Abby knew that she could. Instead, she melted further into him, meeting his gaze.

“Do… do not go far from me, Abrogail,” he whispered, only barely audible in their proximity. He tightened the arm he had banded around her, and Abby wanted to break open his ribs and crawl inside to reassure him, greedily claiming the warmth and possession of the man who held her—the one who was still so lost, still such a boy in so many ways. Abby reached up a little awkwardly to cup his cheek in her cold hand, thumb stroking along his lightly freckled skin, drinking in the warmth of his touch, the love in his gaze.

“I will not go far from you,” she swore, a vow meant for blood. “I will not, I swear.”

The kiss was anything but chaste and innocent, as they’d been forced to satisfy themselves with beneath the many watchful eyes. Aegon licked his way deep inside, claiming her, reminding her of his taste and his touch. She trembled against him and her fingers dove deeper into his silver curls while she shifted in his lap to better take him. There was nothing in her head but the taste and feel of him, the way his hand moved from cradling her jaw to cupping her throat, his thumb pressing gently along her hammering pulse. Her free hand pressed against his shoulder to shove him back against the pillows so he would stay still, but there was no illusion who drove the kiss. She could feel the arousal tug deep in her belly with each stroke of his tongue, the pressure along her pulse from his hand. When they broke apart, she pressed her forehead against his, the pair of them gulping each other’s exhales and their lips brushing, unable to stop.

She tried to find words, say his name, but could not. Aegon let out a small whine beneath her. Abby gave him a gentle, suckling kiss to soothe him, and his hips rolled up into hers. He whimpered into her mouth as she ground down, taking in her own mewling reply before he broke them apart, pushing her away slightly.

They were both breathing hard, Aegon’s fair skin flushed, his mouth swollen red. His gaze raked over her face and his large, hot hands cupped her cheeks, thumbs stroking against her skin, against the corner of her mouth. She nipped at the pad of his thumb with a little growl, rolling her hips against him as a lazy smirk bloomed across his face and his eyes fluttered at the pressure of her against where he’d grown hard.

For her. Only for her.

He would be her husband and share her bed. It would be her that he swore vows in front of the realm and to the gods. Not Cassandra Baratheon or some exotic Essosi bride or a fair-haired Lannister or a Redwyne with a fleet to challenge the Sea Snake.

He was her Aegon, who whimpered beneath her mouth and hungered for her, who begged for her to not leave him, who she was certain would tie and bind them together just as desperately as she wanted to and the need only grew. She was not a dragon. Fire did not course in her blood. She was his rabbit, she liked being his rabbit, but she was a lion too and she had claws that she didn’t quite know how to use, but she would, just as fiercely as any dragon.

“You’re mine,” she snarled, the anger and hurt that Cassandra had burned inside her flaring. Was it a snarl that escaped her? She didn’t know. Her blood was a pounding drumbeat pulsing in her neck, in her ears. Abby watched the way his eyes widened, the slow smirk turning darker, delight and curiosity, and shades she couldn’t recognize but felt a tug deep and low in her belly. “This is my castle, and you will be my husband.”

Had she ever let herself do this? The hungry way he looked at her told her that she hadn’t. Of course she hadn’t. Abby kept it locked away, always giving and never taking. She wanted to take. She deserved to take after giving everything, didn’t she?

Aegon pulled at the rich robe he’d wrapped her in, harsh and impatient tugs while she turned and wriggled in his lap, turning her way out of the robe and the brocade falling to the floor. She straddled his lap and her knees pressed into the soft, red velvet cushions on either side of him, the soft fabric of her nightgown hiked up along her thighs with the angle. Abby pushed the hair from his brow, teeth caught on her lip as his gaze raked over her, his eyes dark with the heat that reflected her own. Aegon toyed with the coil of copper hair over her shoulder, pulling soft whimpers from her with each tug.

There was so much left. So much that had not been touched that she dared not crack open. She wanted to trust him, and part of her did, but it had been buried so deep for so long that Abby didn’t know if anyone could be trusted to unearth what she'd hidden away.

He nipped at her mouth, hard enough that it might have hurt had it not sent a flood of heat between her thighs, or drawn a whimper from her, his name dragged out on her broken voice. Aegon’s hands dropped to her knees and tucked beneath the embroidered hem of her linen nightgown, shoving it up to bare her thighs. His hands were burning on her cold skin and she relished in it.

“Come here,” she commanded in a trembling whisper with her mouth against his so not even the ghosts could hear her. Only Aegon. Only for him. “Fill me up.”

‘Break me open and come inside.’

Arousal was sticky and hot in her veins, coursing thick and making her languid, making her shiver. Refusing to be denied, Abby dove into the heat of his mouth as his fingers found the damp heat of her cunt and stroked her experimentally. Her knees buckled and Aegon swallowed her delighted gasp, the pair of them trembling, her with relief and anticipation both.

Give me this, please, oh please.

As if she spoke aloud, Aegon didn’t hesitate. He didn’t tease her before sinking two fingers inside. She cried out, loud and bright and without restraint, rising up on her knees and her hips rocking into his touch. The stretch was warm, only a slight discomfort at the initial intrusion. With the broken kiss, Aegon’s mouth found her cheek and jaw, teeth and lips nipping and grazing, suckling kisses along her skin and sending blooms of heat beneath each affection.

The neckline of her nightgown was untied at some point and fell down to gather around her waist and the tops of her thighs. His teeth caught on her breast, biting with more purpose than his suckling kisses that left blossoms of red in his wake. She cried out, fingers tangled in his hair and pulling, desperate for all of him. The sound of his fingers inside of her was nearly as loud as her cries and she rose on her knees to give his hand more space. Abby’s head fell back and her eyes looked out the window and the way she could see the moon just past the dripping wisteria that he’d brought from Rhaenys’ garden and the slight ripple of their own reflections between the colored glass rivers that decorated the paned glass.

His fingers twisted against that spot inside of her that he taught her how to find and Abby’s vision went hazy, knees buckling and nails clawing at his shoulder when she gripped him for purchase. Words were lost, Aegon’s mouth noisily suckling her breasts and the ridges of her collarbones and her cries joining the sounds of her soaking cunt its own song in the chamber.

A loud half squeal, half cry tore from her when Aegon leaned up to drag his teeth against her pulse and her hips lost their rhythm, stuttering and losing the easy roll that she’d developed as the pressure inside of her increased, a bow drawn taught. His thumb swiped against the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs and between the pressure inside and out, Abby came with a loud cry, heedless of who heard, a gush of wetness soaking his arm and both their laps, her hands clawing and pulling at him, his mouth sealed along the soft curve of her jaw, teeth holding her in place.

“There you go,” Aegon whispered into her skin where her pulse rushed, drawing her into him as her trembling thighs could no longer hold her up. There was the touch of teeth again, the sound of his mouth kissing against her skin. His other hand came up to push the tendrils of hair that clung to her sweaty temples, her cheeks and the corners of her mouth. She nosed into his hair and felt the pounding of his heart echoing into her chest where her breasts crushed against him, aching nipples scratching against the linen of his own shirt.

He lifted his slick hand, sucking a finger into his mouth before holding his hand up to her. Abby swallowed his middle and ring finger down, greedily tasting herself as he grinned at her before leaning down to lick some of her slick that had coursed down his arm. The obscenity of it should have shocked her to stillness, but instead, it only spurred her own, rubbing herself against him like a cat in heat. She needed more as she sucked on his fingers before he drew them away with a pop.

“You’re so beautiful when you fall.” Abby’s gaze caught his; fire and such a possessive want that had the arousal heating even as her body struggled to come down.

“Come with me,” she begged, or maybe she was ordering him, her shaking fingers pushing the hair from his face and tilting his head back a little more. Aegon laughed, low and vibrating through her. She smiled in return, the giddiness rushing through the arousal and began pulling at his shirt, chanting, “Off, off! Get this off!” as they both laughed, tangled and twisting from the clothing.

The pair of them tossed aside the flimsy material. Abby immediately leaned down to run her mouth and teeth along his shoulder, shifting awkwardly while Aegon worked her own gown over her legs to lay discarded along with his.

“I’m sick of waiting,” Aegon said, leaning her back just a bit and capturing her mouth, tongue stroking against hers, licking at the soft insides of her mouth. She whined, and he whimpered when she wrapped her hand around his cock, the flared head slick with moisture that she used to aid her movements.

She shifted on her knees to take him, but a loud slap! and the accompanying sting and startled cry gave her pause. “What was that for?” she hissed, pouting and confused. “You said-”

“Let me,” Aegon commanded, his voice low. Abby felt a deep pulse between her thighs as the tone of his words ignited sparks through her veins. She struggled against his manhandling, only enough to hear him growl and smack his hand across her bottom again.

Aegon shifted on the window seat, spreading his legs a little more and adjusting her before he lifted his damp hand to spit in his palm. He held it up to her. “Go on, help me,” he said, his lilac gaze nearly blown completely black. Abby nodded and spat in his hand, watching curiously as her spit mingled with his. She giggled when he nipped her mouth sharply, tugging at her lower lip hard enough for her to feel it when he let go. Abby gripped his shoulders to steady herself as she rose on her knees and looked down, their heads touching as they both watched him wrap a hand firmly around himself.

Abby stared and audibly whined while watching him stroke his cockhead through her slick folds, his other hand on her hip to keep her from moving too much. The tip of him nestled in, familiar and warm as he gently pressed inside. He’d pressed only the tip inside her, dragging against her, teasing the pair of them over the past months, and she was so tired of waiting.

If he put a babe in her belly now, it would be seen as a fortunate sign from the gods; a wedding night blessing of their union.

She wriggled in his hold and Aegon groaned, his fingers spasming on her hip. “Easy now,” he instructed, their gazes fixated on where he was slowly sliding into her. Abby lowered herself down, the stretch of him increasing, the pressure and discomfort something she was aware of beneath the desire and the all-consuming want of him.

She soon discovered it wasn’t easy. Abby could not drop down, nothing so simple as when she would drag her needy cunt over him to content herself with the shape of him pressing against her. She tried to sink down a few inches and found that her progress had stopped. Slowly, Aegon helped her rise back up and she lowered herself again, lip caught between her teeth in concentration. Gods help her. He felt so good, but the stretch was more than she expected. There was a sting, a burn as she tried to take him that she had not anticipated. It was sharp, like the feeling of slicing one’s finger on parchment, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek at the new discomfort. Once more she rose and once more she sunk down, taking him in bit by bit.

“I-I can’t… I want.. Why won’t it…” She gulped for air. The arousal was still sticky hot in the depths of her belly, in the crooks of her elbows and where the sweat gathered behind her knees, but her frustration was growing, the subtle pain growing with it as she felt her body tense with the newfound limits of her body. Abby looked at him helplessly. His flushed face was contorted in pleasure and heat, gaze fixed on where they were joined before he met her eyes.

Aegon leaned in to lick into her mouth, stroking against her tongue like how his fingers stroked inside her. “Breathe,” he told her between kisses and looking down at where he disappeared inside of her. Again she rose, and this time Aegon tugged her down further. Something in the way he pushed past her body’s resistance twisted the coil in her belly tighter and she cried out, mouth wet, eyes fluttering. It hurt, yes, like the feeling of thorns pricking along her skin, but more than that was the pleasure of finally having him.

Aegon’s breathing grew labored as they slowly worked her down, his fingers pressing hard enough into her waist to bruise, the other hand gripping her left thigh now that he no longer had to hold himself steady lest he slip out of her.

When he finally sunk fully into her, she could feel him in her throat, behind her ribs, nestling inside her like she’d always wanted. The need to crack open her ribs and cage him inside of her to keep her warm, to keep him safe, to keep him with her always and forever, never far from her, never gone, never alone finally, for this moment, felt fulfilled. Complete.

“Aegon,” she whined, hiccuping at the end of his name, and leaned down to kiss him, to taste him, her hands gripping his shoulders as his own gripped her waist, her thigh. Abby thought he might leave bruises come the morning.

‘Mark me, claim me. Stay inside me, don’t ever leave me. Never leave, not you.’

Aegon slowly helped her rise higher and higher until Abby thought he’d slip from her and she grew frantic, her fingers clawing at his shoulders until he hissed with pain and pleasure. “Don’t you dare take me off, don’t you dare, Aegon.” Her attempt at ordering him to keep his cock in her was a shaky, hiccuping mess that earned a throaty laugh. Aegon kissed her words away and helped her back down until he was fully seated in her.

Again and again, Aegon lifted her because her legs were useless things, a fawn unable to hold herself up. Up and down, over and over, until the pinch and discomfort of her body trying to accommodate him began to fade. Finally, she was able to fight his control, if only a little. Abby rocked her hips, pushing down on his shoulders for purchase while trying to lift herself, seeking the control, refusing to give it all to him.

Aegon needed to know he was hers. He was hers to seek pleasure from. Hers to claim. Just because he was a dragon didn’t give him the right to decide how quickly she could ride him.

She would not admit that there was a coil of heat that spread through her as he controlled, guided, commanded her. Abby simply would not share it for now.

The rhythm was soon found between suckling kisses and insistent twitches of her hips, Aegon’s own hips snapping up as Abby found her balance. A dance she was unfamiliar with, but her body seemed to understand what was expected, even if they weren’t in sync, much like how she would step on his feet or bump into him during dance practice. Between moans of pleasure and thready laughter, Abby gave into the feeling. One hand continued to grip his shoulder, leaving red, crescent moons from her nails and scratch marks when she scrambled and the other reached up to press against the cold glass window so she could get on her knees to better ride him. She squealed when Aegon leaned down to lick at the ticklish skin beneath her arm before snaring an aching nipple with tongue and teeth. Her skin was mottled red from his bites and kisses and she’d relish each one in the morning.

The cold glass against her palm centered her, kept her from fully giving over into the haze of pleasure, the shine of lightning through her veins, the roiling, syrupy heat that made her hips jerk. When she came down, Abby ground her hips against his in an attempt to find a new bit of pressure that pressed against that place inside of her. Aegon’s hand went between them and his calloused fingers rolled her clit idly, stroking absently like he would her temple when she rested her head upon his shoulder. The light and tender touch had her cry out, body taught and back arching.

“Come on,” he consoled her. “You’re so close. I know you are, hunītsos.” He kissed her cheeks, her mouth, and she sought his taste in return. Aegon’s fingers still danced over her, his other arm banding around her to hold her close. Abby clung to him as the pressure increased, his thumb moving faster, his hips rolling up until the kiss broke, a wordless cry echoing through the chamber as she clenched around him, sobbing as pleasure rolled through her. She could barely hear his own grunt and shout after her, but she could feel the warmth of him spilling inside of her, filling her in all the ways she’d been desperate for these months.

Coming down didn’t feel like crashing. It felt like she was floating, warm, hazy, and heavy-limbed, melting into Aegon’s arms until she was certain that she would simply slip beneath his skin. They slumped back against the window seat and her legs splayed awkwardly on either side of him, face buried into his neck and he nuzzled into her hair. Aegon’s breathing labored in her ear and her own rushed through her. Dimly, she was aware of an ache, but it didn’t deserve her attention right now.

“I love you,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his salty skin and snuggling in more. “I love you so much.”

Aegon vibrated beneath her, humming into her hair. “I love you too. Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head and sighed, further relaxing into him. “Did I hurt you?” Aegon’s answer was a soft laugh and a whisper of the negative against her ear, arms wrapped tightly around her. Abby rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, a sleepy smile across her face. “Thank you for letting me ride you.”

Aegon’s answering laughter was just as loud and bright as her earlier cries of pleasure.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

For the newly added Klee and Clara

Having there older sibling S/O person thing! Put on some charisma to try & bail them out of time out

(Genshin Impact/H:SR) Sibling!Reader trying to get Klee and Clara out of time out

"Retry the speech check, just reload and retry!" - The Russian Badger

Jean sighs as soon as she sees (Y/N) enter the room. Putting down her pen for a moment, she then looks at them approaching.

(Jean) "(Y/N)..."

(Y/N) "Master Jean! I am so sorry for the trouble Klee caused today!"

(Jean) "She knew the consequences when she decided to go blast fishing-"

(Y/N) bowed apologetically.

(Y/N) "It was my fault, Master Jean. There was something in the waters that spooked me, and she was only trying to help. I swear she didn't do it on purpose."

Jean watched their expression with close scrutiny before lowering her shoulders and giving a sympathetic look.

(Jean) "And you are telling me the truth?"

The sharp gaze of the Acting Grand Master made (Y/N) fidget.

(Y/N) "Yes, as embarrassing as it is..."

Jean walked over and put a hand on their shoulder.

(Jean) "I understand. You are a good older sister/brother for wanting Klee's situation cleared up."

(Y/N)'s expression suddenly beamed-

(Jean) "And as an older sibling myself, I know when another one is lying."

-And quickly reverted to fear.

(Jean) "(Y/N), you know the consequences."

...

Klee was sitting in "solitary", which was really just a relatively empty room inside the Knights' Headquarters, barring a few shelves, tables, and chairs.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and (Y/N) awkwardly walked in, with Jean behind them, arms crossed.

Klee jumped up in surprise, running up to her sibling.

(Klee) "Big bro/sis? What are you doing here?!"

(Y/N) "I uh...got put in time out as well."

(Jean) "You'll be able to come out when you think about what you have done wrong."

Jean gently closed the door, and both of them heard it lock, her footsteps slowly fading away.

(Klee) "Aw man, now we're both in big trouble..."

(Y/N) smiled as they knelt down to pat Klee's head.

(Y/N) "Don't worry, I have a backup plan."

They slowly reached into their pouch and pulled out a wrapped fish, charred to perfection from Klee's bombs.

Klee gasped as her eyes sparkled, looking at their brother/sister.

(Y/N) put a finger to their lips playfully.

(Y/N) "Not a word of this to Jean, got it?"

Klee nodded enthusiastically before the two shared their meal together.

Neither of them really learning their lesson, much to Jean's dismay.

A/N: Good luck with the speech check on THIS one, good lord.

Svarog stood stoically in front of a terminal, the light from his mono-eye gently pulsating.

Upon hearing (Y/N)'s footsteps, he turned around to face them.

(Svarog) "(Y/N). What is it?"

(Y/N) "Why is Clara in the corner?"

The light pulsated for a moment before turning around to the terminal once again, but still giving a reply.

(Svarog) "Clara has disobeyed a direct order to not eat the dessert before her dinner. Therefore, disciplinary protocols are in effect."

(Y/N) paused for a moment to remember what he was talking about.

(Y/N) "You mean the jar of cookies? It was only the one gone-"

(Svarog) "It does not change the fact it will ruin her appetite. Early sweets lead to fullness, which leads to food being wasted. Something that cannot be tolerated for someone of her age."

(Y/N) walked up to the terminal, giving puppy eyes to their robotic father figure.

(Svarog) "As the older sibling, you must not spoil Clara. Nor should I.-"

(Y/N) "It's just been a while since she got to have a cookie, Svarog. Surely you can remember that!"

His head slowly whirred to face (Y/N).

(Svarog) "My memory circuits are functioning normally. It has been twenty-seven days, eight hours, and fifty seven minutes since you and Clara have last had dessert.-"

(Y/N) "So that's why you can go a little easy on her! Clara didn't want to disobey you, but she was just having a craving! I promise she'll eat every last bite during dinner."

Svarog remained silent, barring the mechanical noises emitting from his body.

He turned completely to (Y/N), in what nearly sounded like a sigh from his gears moving.

(Svarog) "Your argument is...logical. Reducing disciplinary protocols, your presence is required."

(Y/N) smiled at that, following him outside the room to where Clara was standing quietly in the corner of their living room.

(Svarog) "Clara. You are permitted to leave time out."

Clara's head looked up in surprise before turning around and seeing her family, wiping one of her eyes.

(Clara) "I'm sorry, I won't do it again-"

(Svarog) "Do not apologize. My measures were...harsh for your actions."

(Y/N) "Next time you want to take a cookie before dinner, just ask either of us, okay?"

Clara looked at Svarog as he slowly knelt down and wiped away a tear gently with his mechanical hand.

(Svarog) "Your brother/sister is correct. Given permission, you will not be punished."

(Clara) "...T-Thank you!"

She gave Svarog a hug before running up and doing the same to her sibling.

Svarog watched silently, but both of them could tell he was at least happy to not see Clara sad.

(Svarog) "I must go back to monitoring the other humans outside the camp. Dinner will be prepared at 6:00 PM."

Svarog nodded and walked back into the control room, leaving the two alone.

(Clara) "Did...you convince Mr. Svarog to let me leave?"

(Y/N) ruffled her hair gently.

(Y/N) "Mhm. Just had to remind him that treating yourself won't spoil your dinner. Let's go out for a little bit until dinner so you can work up your appetite, alright?"

Clara smiled and nodded excitedly.

(Clara) "O-Okay!"

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-eight of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

“I'll show you how it works,” Tim says, smiling a little helplessly at him for no good reason. Kon's just–pretty. And cute. And wearing slightly smudged eyeliner, like he went out of his way to learn how to apply it just for this and didn't quite get enough practice with it during said learning process, which might be a little much to assume but sure is a thought either way. “There'll be placards and stuff that explain how it all goes too. If you don't like it we can leave, obviously, we'll just go to dinner early.” 

“You wanna do dinner too?” Kon asks. 

“My intentions tonight are for this exhibit, dinner, and then another surprise destination,” Tim says. “Do you like Japanese food, because I got us a reservation at a Japanese place I know, but if that's not your thing, there's always other options.”

Tim definitely did not make three back-up reservations in a Bat-panic, because that would be an insane person thing to do and he's operating with fully rational behavior for fully rational reasons here. Obviously. Of course-ly. 

Just like, yeah. There may or may not be back-up reservations. 

Contingency plans are vital, okay? 

“I like Japanese food,” Kon says. “Well–I like sushi and musubi and poke bowls and that kinda thing, at least. So like . . . same diff, right?” 

“Right,” Tim assumes, with still no idea what either musubi or poke bowls are. He'll google it. It'll be fine. If nothing else, Kon can get sushi. He'll buy him one of those huge fancy boats of it if he's gotta. 

. . . actually that's not a bad idea, Kon could probably use the calories. Hm. 

“You planned all that stuff, though?” Kon asks, peering around the gallery as they finally step out into it and frowning in confusion. 

“I promised you I'd take you someplace nice,” Tim says with an easy shrug. “So I found some nice places to take you. That's all.”  

“You only promised me one nice place,” Kon says with a little laugh, shaking his head. “Now it's three?” 

“I'm intending to take you to a lot of nice places, Kon,” Tim says, and feels his chest clench up a little when he sees the way Kon's expression softens at the sound of his name. He needs to be using it more, he thinks to himself. Like–way more. “Or just wherever you wanna go.” 

“Sure,” Kon says, ducking his head, then glances around the gallery again as his frown reasserts itself. “What's everybody doing? They're like–messing with everything.” 

“It's a sensory exhibit,” Tim repeats in clarification. “You're supposed to interact with the exhibits. Touch or listen to or manipulate them. Things like that.” 

Kon . . . blinks, slowly. Then he glances sidelong at Tim, biting his lip. 

He doesn't ask, but the question in his eyes is obvious enough, Tim thinks. 

“It's tactile telekinesis, isn't it?” he says. “So I thought you might be interested in something tactile.” 

“You . . . did?” Kon says, glancing back towards the rest of the room. 

“It at least seemed like a valid theory,” Tim says. Kon had kept touching the cashmere on and off for as long as he’d worn it, and petted the goat, and had apparently been clocking the whole damn mall most of the time they’d been there, and he’d just thought–well–

Kon really does talk about his TTK so much, whether it’s relevant or not. Doing something that might be deliberately relevant to it had just seemed, well . . . natural. 

If nothing else, it might help keep Kon interested in him a little longer. Tim still isn’t sure how long to expect Kon to stay interested, depending, so until he knows one way or the other, he might as well frontload his success here. Or at least try to, anyway. 

Look, he’s going to do his best, alright? His best is just the best he can do. 

“You know, if you wanted me to touch something, you could’ve just volunteered,” Kon jokes, but the way he says it doesn’t actually make Tim want to laugh. It’s actually all he can do not to frown, the way he says it. Just . . . something about it’s a little off, maybe.

“I told you I’d take you on a date,” he says. “Just telling you to feel me up doesn’t seem like putting in much effort there. Definitely not nice levels of effort.” 

“Oh,” Kon says, ducking his head as he glances away again. He’s still holding his hand. Tim wonders what kind of dates Kon’s even been on before–and if he’s ever been the one getting taken on one, too. Especially since as far as he knows Kon’s only dated girls, and there were probably some assumptions set in place there. Like–it seems likely that there would’ve been, at least. Even if just self-imposed ones. 

“Want to try?” Tim offers. “Like I said, if you don’t like it we’ll just go to dinner early.” 

“Um, sure,” Kon says. “We can try it. Um . . .” 

“This way,” Tim says, and leads him towards one of the closer stations in the exhibit. Kon looks a little unsure where to start, so he figures it’ll help if he gives him a little push. Though it’s weird to think of Kon as needing any kind of a push, except maybe a push to actually stay still and listen for ten seconds. Or like . . . anything remotely along those lines. 

The station is a low, hip-height sandbox full of . . . well, sand, unsurprisingly. There's stones and rakes and general Zen garden-style paraphernalia laid out inside it, and patterns and colors already marked and dyed into the sand to be mixed-up and deconstructed at will, though no one seems to have gotten too far into that yet. Kon tilts his head as he looks down at the display, his eyes briefly unfocusing. 

“You're just supposed to play around with it,” Tim says, wondering what that unfocused look on his face is about. “Rearrange the patterns or make new ones, I guess.” 

“Huh,” Kon says. “Okay. Like just however?” 

“I mean, what, are they gonna yell at us for doing it wrong?” Tim asks with a shrug. Kon smirks at him. 

“I could come up with something they'd yell at us for,” he says with a teasing leer. 

Tim suffers. 

“Let's wait a couple stations before we get ourselves kicked out,” he manages, swallowing awkwardly. Kon grins at him, then leans over the sandbox and presses both hands flat against the sand inside and immediately starts rearranging everything with his TTK. Tim is about to reflexively protest him not even pretending to check for any onlookers before realizing that there is literally no possible way that anyone could look at them right now without Kon being able to feel them turning their way, and also the two security cameras that were previously in their range are both cocked askew now.

Okay, so he could be worse at passing for civilian, Tim figures, and just leans over and lets himself admire the wave-like ripples spreading across the sandbox as Kon carefully constructs a swirling rainbow of an ocean with all of the brighter colors and a dark beach stretched out alongside it, accented with little rocks scattered around like shells and driftwood. The wave patterns look surprisingly accurate, but then again, he probably did get a great aerial view of the ocean on the regular back in Hawaii, didn't he. 

Tim takes his phone out and sneaks a quick pic or two of both Kon and the box on old reflex, and Kon laughs at him. 

“You like, babe?” he asks with a teasing smirk. 

“Most things about you, yes,” Tim replies frankly, because he's not Robin right now so he can do that, and Kon laughs again even as he blushes and straightens back up, the sand all brushing itself off his hands. 

“Only most?” he asks. “Guess I gotta step up my game, then.” 

“Find another excuse to wear that crop top and you'll be fine,” Tim advises, and Kon laughs so bright for that it's almost flustering. 

Well, no, it's definitely flustering. Actually it's very, very flustering. 

Adorable bastard. Absolute fucker. Tim should throw him off a bridge, but he'd just fly back up anyway, the asshole. 

Tim wants to kiss him so bad right now. 

Kon's eyes half-unfocus again, and then the sand and rocks and tools all . . . shift. Tim blinks, a little surprised, and then realizes–oh. He's sorting it all back. Like . . . very accurately back, in fact. The colors and patterns are all returning to the exact same designs as they were in when they first stepped over here. Which is probably for the best because again, they’re currently playing civilian, but–

“Holy shit,” Tim says as the patterns all settle back in and his eyebrows shoot up, more than a little incredulous. Okay, well–he's slightly less sure that Kon doesn't have Superman's eidetic memory now. Also, considering how mixed-around all the colors were, he doesn't even know how he did that so effectively. “How the hell did you do that?” 

“Wasn't hard,” Kon replies casually, but he looks smug about it, the–again–adorable bastard. Fucker. “Just undid what everybody already did, yeah?” 

Tim looks at the sand and belatedly notices that yes, in fact, Kon also reverted everything else that'd been done to it back to what was clearly the original design too. He cannot even fathom how Kon could tell how to “undo” any of that. Like–the pattern-recognition, fine, he could've done that himself–Bart could've, if he'd been interested enough to bother–but tracking back a design after undoing the whole thing to begin with and keeping the different colors of sand all correctly separated? Seriously? 

“Jesus,” he says. “That's incredible.” 

“No big,” Kon says, but looks very pleased about the compliment all the same. Tim thinks of about three thousand tactical applications for this skill alone and really wants to know why Kon doesn't brag about this part of TTK more. Or like, ever. It's always punching things and ripping up the street and tearing doors off their hinges and things like that, when he can do things like map an entire building blind and control sand down to the fucking individual grains? 

Tim might need to have a talk with all of their teammates about their actual abilities, actually, seeing all this. Like, some assessment tests might need to happen. Questionnaires. Something. The informal approach was clearly not thorough enough. If nothing else, he's definitely following up with Kon. 

“I honestly did not realize how good you'd be at that,” Tim says, and then has to watch in disbelief as Kon smirks smugly at him while simultaneously–without even looking–builds a little sand castle without even bothering to put his hands in the sand this time. Which he doesn't have to, obviously, because the sand is in the sandbox and it's part of the table which is on the floor he's standing on and Tim objectively understands how TTK works, but that really seems like it'd be much harder to pull off. Just–damn. Damn. 

. . . technically, if Kon can control things as small as a grain of sand, how small can he go? Could he–theoretically, at least–manipulate dust? Air molecules? 

Atoms? 

Because if he could, if things like that counted . . . well, the transitive properties of TTK would be a lot less of a limitation outside of maybe the vacuum of space, wouldn't they. There's always air, after all. And if Kon could manipulate anything on the atomic level . . . 

Jesus. There's a thought. 

As soon as Tim's done being desperately, overwhelmingly turned on and also reformatting several of his supervillainy-connected plans, he's gonna have to start drafting that superpower skills and applications thereof questionnaire. Like. Immediately once he's done, actually. 

Just–again, just Jesus. 

“I mean, it's just a party trick, but it's a fun one, right?” Kon says with another laugh. 

Tim is going to lose his actual fucking mind. 

“You call that a party trick?” he says in disbelief. There is no possible way that any lock could be secure against that. No one could ever hide behind cover. No one could even carry a concealed weapon without him knowing, for fuck's sake! 

. . . Tim is very glad he's been leaving the birdarangs home for his not-dates and current-date with Kon. Very, very glad. 

Jesus, that would've been fun to explain to Bruce. Well I didn't TELL him I was Robin, but I DID encourage him to tactile-telekinetically feel me up in a changing room while I was strapped with Bat-gear, sooooo . . . I mean, you never told me I couldn't do THAT. 

That's exactly how he would've explained it, obviously, but still. Bruce would not have taken it well. 

What a fucking way to come out to Batman, too.

[ashrodisiac]

VENTI X READER

╰⁠(⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠´⁠꒳⁠`⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠)⁠╯

✧ SMUT

✧ proofread: no

✧ time spent: 47 minutes

(⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠)⁠つ

Venti's your tutor, who's always eager to help you with your schoolwork!

✧ ASHRODISIAC'S NOTE: ✧

Send help i forgot to review for my summary test and i ended up failing😓😓 but thats ok:3 (its not btw) whats not is that i deleted the scara x reader smut ive been working on😒 my life is going downhill 🙀

╰⁠(⁠*⁠´⁠︶⁠`⁠*⁠)⁠╯

You pressed your bare chest against the cold wood of the table, desperately clawing at it to find something to grab onto, finally gripping on the edge of it.

"you know, you're noisy for someone who, ngh... someone who doesn't want anyone to hear... personally, I think it's more fun if people hear..."

You could only manage to stutter a "shut up," between moans. Your response could barely be heard anyways, over the absurd sound of skin slapping, your hips meeting with his.

Venti chuckled, pressing his lips against your neck. "That was reaaaally disrespectful. It's only right to teach you a lesson, yes?"

He stopped thrusting, making you whine, tears blurring your vision.

"Now, now, tell me the answer to number three, windbloom~"

Your eyes drifted towards the abandoned worksheet, the paper all crumpled already from earlier.

"Don't.. know.."

"don't tell me you don't know! I bet you barely even took a glance."

Venti's warm hands kept your hips in place. You just needed him to continue...

"twenty eight," you said, saying any number that came to mind. He raised an eyebrow and hummed briefly, before delivering a smack to your ass, making you flinch in surprise. He smiled at the lingering red mark it left on your plush flesh, and your pained expression. "I don't like it when you guess..." he said with a mocking pouty voice. You groaned, burying your face into the crook of your elbow. "Windbloom, how will you ever learn?" He clicked his tongue and, without warning, began to thrust again. You yelped in surprise, your nails scraping at the table again. Then you felt it. The knot in your abdomen.

Venti felt your walls clench around him, making him groan. "You're close,"

Thanks for pointing out the obvious, you would've retorted with a roll of your eyes if he wasn't brutally thrusting his whole length in and out, stretching out your gummy walls at that moment.

As you felt your nearing climax, your moans reached a higher pitch, but his pace slowed down painfully.

"V-Venti!" You said, your voice shaking.

"I did say you needed a punishment, right?" He sounded almost playful, following it with a cruel chuckle that came off innocent. "You need to learn. How else are you supposed to?"

You finally brought yourself to actually focus on number three, then with a gulp, you answered, "a hundred and s-seventy two."

He beamed, and then pushed your ballpen closer to you. "Go on, write it."

You could barely even lift up your heavy hand, and he noticed this. His fingers slithered under your palm and carried it to the paper, then put his hand over yours to guide you in writing.

"There we go!"

He took his red pen and wrote a checkmark on it, then, with a hard thrust of his hips, brought cum dripping out of your abused hole after hours of being denied of it. "Oh, it looks like you really needed that one," he, however, did not pull out yet. He wasn't going to unless he had came as well.

Sensitive from your orgasm, you cried out as he pushed back in, then spilled his own seed inside of you. He pulled out and fingered the sticky liquid back in you, looking proud at his own work, and glanced at your worksheet.

"Great! Three numbers done, seventeen more to go!"

[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 22/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FORTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY TWENTYONE

CHAPTER TWENTYTWO

                Sleep is a rare and precious commodity, one he cannot allow himself to luxuriate in while he works at finalizing the menu. While he sources vendors and suppliers and picks out flatware and tablecloths and what kind of light fittings will look the best. Leandro and Silvia arrive and take over for a bit and it feels so nice to just feel like he can take a breath. The fact that there is a film crew dogging his every step isn’t helping, but he also knows the publicity and exposure he’ll get will all be worth it.

                Leandro makes him make everything on the menu, then tastes it as he cooks and he refines it further. Listens as Leandro gives him further tips about what can be prepped in advance and what things must be done fresh. He goes through Bradley’s wine selection as well, pares them with different meals and makes Bradley do a blind taste test. He thought he’d learnt enough, but he’s quickly learning he’s got a lifetime of education in front of him.

                He okay with that.

…            …            …

                “Did you know you were Jake’s first kiss?”

                “Yeah, he did tell me that…” Leo says with a soft smile he directs Jake’s way and Jake pulls a face at Nicola, because of course she’d be the one to try and humiliate him the most.

                “Oh. Damn. I was hoping I could embarrass him.”

                “Well, at least you’re honest about your intentions,” Jake mutters.

                “Do you have photos of him as a kid or teenager? That’d work.”

                “No!” Jake yells, but both Nicola and Amanda are already running and his dad is laughing. So much for his dad helping keep his sisters under control. He should have known better. Leo’s arms are around him though, stopping him from going after his sisters, or just to hold him close, it doesn’t matter.

…            …            …

                “Try not to fuck him up okay?”

                “Yeah, no, of course not,” Bradley starts, not really sure if this is a threat or well wishes or what exactly. Then he gets a shoulder pat so hard he won’t be surprised if it bruises and decides it’s likely a bit of both.

…            …            …

                He leaves Leo in bed with a promise to return later and while he doubts it will happen he really hopes to find him still in bed when he gets back from helping his sisters at the farmers market. He gets to the lot where they set up and of course they’re already there, used to doing this without him but he still feels a little bad, quickly following directions and moving things to where they want them, calling out greetings to equally bleary-eyed people, although some are bright and cheerful and even after ten years in the Navy he still hates naturally early morning people a little.

                “Jake. Jake! Come on, where’s your head at?”

                He startles, and Nicola is looking at him with a mix of irritation and concern. He shakes his head and mumbles an apology under his breath.

                “I was going to ask what you were daydreaming about, but I don’t think I want to know…”

                “You don’t think it’s… going too fast?”

                “Oh. You’re head’s not here. And fast? You’ve never let a little speed scare you off before.”

                “I’m not scared,” Jake scoffs. “I agreed to… date him didn’t I?”

                “Yep, and now you’re second guessing your decision. Why?”

                “Just… what if I fuck it up?”

                “Oh. Oh Jake… what if he fucks it up?”

                “He won’t.”

                “Wow. So certain already. Look. I saw the two of you being very… sweet with each other last night. And it’s only been a week, I know that, but he seems to really like you. Like… really like you. Let him like you. Don’t invent problems or issues because you think it should be more difficult.”

                “Yeah.”

                “I know, easier said than done sometimes. But I know you can be a stubborn shit head when you put your mind to it.”

                “Thanks Nicky…”

                “Also he’s hot and really into you…”

                “Yeah well, that helps too,” Jake says with a smirk and Nicola rolls her eyes and slaps his arm to get him moving again.

…            …            …

                He spies him walking toward them, trays of coffee balanced in each hand and Jake lets his eye travel up Leo’s body, the long legs covered in light denim that Jake’s had wrapped around his hips. White tank making his skin look even more golden and warm in the increasing heat of the Texan summer morning. Then a muted Hawaiian shirt flapping as he strides toward them and yeah, it’s only been a few hours but he’s starting to feel like he’s getting a taste of what coming back from being deployed is going to be like.

                “Hey. Wasn’t expecting you. What are you doing here?”

                “To help. I got you guys all coffee from the coffee cart. I might not want to get up before five to help, but being here for the rush from eight is much more respectable time. Maria and Olivia said I’d be the most use then.”

                “Yeah. He can carry people’s things to their cars.”

                “Oh yeah, the church ladies like to see flexing muscles,” Jake says with a grin, and Leo’s answering smile is wide.

                “Ugh. Stop looking at each other like that. You’ll make the fudge jealous.”

                Jake blinks. Frowns.

                “What?”

                “Tooth rotting fluff,” she says, gesturing between them and he shrugs, because he’s not going to disagree.

…            …            …

                “Come back to my place.”

                “Your place?”

                “Yeah, my apartment I share with Nicola. It’s close.”

                “Close huh?”

                “Yeah. We can have a shower. Wash our clothes.”

                “And what will we do while our clothes get clean hmm?”

                “I’ve got a few ideas.”

                “I bet you do. Lead the way.”

…            …            …

                The rest of the weekend feels relaxed. He does end up making brunch for Maria, Olivia and Nicola on Sunday, much to Jake’s pretend annoyance. At least he thinks it’s pretend, and it might just be the fact that he left Jake alone in bed at his apartment and went back to his rental so he could cook. He finds having Jake in his working space, the kitchen, easy, despite the fact he usually hates having people hovering. If they’re in the kitchen they should be working, and he’s used to them working and moving around him. Jake doesn’t move; every time Bradley bumps or brushes against him he gets a kiss or hug for his efforts so he starts doing it on purpose. That, combined with the fact that Jake doesn’t seem at all interested in the food, isn’t going to critique his knife skills, and simply seems to want to be in the same space he’s in makes him want him there in return.

                Now, it’s Sunday afternoon and Jake has gone to spend some time with his nieces and nephew at Bradley’s encouragement; already feeling bad at monopolizing so much of Jake’s time the last week. He looks at the pounds of tomatoes in front of him and rubs his hands before rolling up his sleeves. He has an idea, and it might be a complete bust, but he can’t not try. He’d sort of alluded to on Friday night, when Olivia had talked about Jake’s mild obsession with ketchup. Or mayonnaise, depending. Sometimes Jake will mix the two, but there is always ketchup and he wonders what it is exactly about it that Jake likes so much. He’s determined to find out. Then he’s going to make a version so good Jake won’t ever want store bought again. He’d noticed all their eyes on him while Jake had been putting the sauce on his plate and he’d just been amused. He is not a snob when it comes to food, but he might be something of a perfectionist.

                He roasts the tomatoes first, enough to split the skin and give them a little blistering and char because he wants that depth of flavor. Then he has to peel them, and they’re fucking hot but he works with a paring knife and one glove, working quickly. He’s also roasted some garlic bulbs whole, squeezes them out as he sautés some onion in butter. All the texture will be lost of course, he knows he’s going to have to strain it through the finest mesh he can get his hands on, and most of his personal cooking equipment went back with the crew, except for his knives. That’s fine, he’s learnt to improvise.

                He separates the sauce into four smaller pots, leaves one untouched and then ponders what he can do to each one to hopefully make them taste different enough that Jake will be able to tell and not just nod and smile and say they all taste great. Of course, he doesn’t have any liquid smoke on hand, but he definitely wants to try making one more smoky and tangy, like a barbecue sauce while still being close to ketchup for Jake’s liking. He adds more sugar to one, although he’s already wondering if he could use stewed apple for the sweetness instead. To another he adds some of the salsa verde and hums appreciatively when he tastes it, because that adds a kick and the flavors have had time to intensify in the best way possible. Okay. Plain, spicy, sweet and hopefully smoky. That covers enough bases for now and gives him a decent starting point. He’ll see if he can source some liquid smoke tomorrow when the shops are open.

…            …            …

                “I’m going to go for a run. All this food has been great but I can’t slack off otherwise I won’t pass the pre-flight checks…”

                “Can’t you go later?” Bradley grumbles.

                “Leo, babe, it’s summer in Texas. I don’t have a death wish. It’s now or never baby…”

                “Ugh. Wait for me. I’ll come with you. I’ve been slacking off.”

                “You mean you don’t come by this naturally?” Jake asks playfully, reaching over and giving his ass a slap.

                “Got to work to look this good.”

                “Mmm. Well, your body is a temple and I’m but a humble worshipper…”

                He can go for a run later.

…            …            …

                “Blind taste test…”

                “You’re blind folding me? Kinky.”

                “I want you to try something… several somethings actually.”

                Jake groans.

                “No, no… it’s just fries in sauce okay? Homemade ketchup. I want you to tell me which is your favorite out of these four.”

                “It really bugs you that I add sauce to everything I eat huh?”

                “No. Well. Yeah, maybe a little. But… I just want you eating my sauce.”

                Jake smirks and Bradley flushes as he realizes the double entendre that could be inferred.

                “Just try the fucking sauce you pervert.”

                “Oh, I’m sure I could be a lot more perverted…”

                “I’m sure you could too, it’s not a very high bar. Come on…”

…            …            …

                “I’m really sorry to do this, but can you look into Houston and Austin and San Antonio?”

                “Wow…”

                “Shut up.”

                “Oh no. I am just going to sit here and tell you I told you so. Bask in being right, because you know I am…”

                “Can you do some site visits?”

                “Not in the next couple of weeks, I’ll have to do some considerable research considering these are three entirely new locations we haven’t done any market research for.”

                “Yeah, I know… just. Tell me if it’s a really fucking bad move okay? From a business point of view that is.”

                “Oh, you know I won’t hold back. I take it from this request that things are going well?”

                “Yeah, yeah, mucca curiosa… how much detail do you want huh?”

                “None. You sound happy. Relaxed. It’s good. Keep it up. Or not.”

                “You’re so gross.”

                “Your mind went there too!”

…            …            …

                Jake likes all the different sauces. He truly does, and he can tell the difference fuck you very much Maria. They’re different enough that he wouldn’t mind having a bottle of each, because the smoky one goes really well with burgers and hotdogs, but the spicy one is best with the Mexican food for some reason, then the sweet one is his favorite to have with fries. But the original is best for putting on eggs at breakfast and god, he really needs to go for a run.

CHAPTER TWENTYTHREE

[creedslove]

BETRAYED - PART EIGHT

Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Summary: Pedro invites you to be his plus one for the night but his attention is caught by another woman and leaves you with a broken heart

Warnings: angst, age gap, established friendship, unrequited love/one sided feelings, a lot of fluff but also angst, pregnancy scare

A/N: You guys voted and here's the continuation, I know some people didn't like what happened in the previous chapter but it was just for the drama. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and there's only two more to go with this story :')

A/N part 2: I still can't manually tag people on the works because I use the app and it won't let me do it, that's why I don't have a tag list at all! 

2k words

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX | PART SEVEN

Pedro took your hands in his and caressed them so gently "shh baby girl, it's okay… I know you are anxious and nervous but I need you to calm down and tell me exactly what happened" he asked with his warm brown eyes, pooling inside of them nothing but comprehension and calm.

You took another sip of the water he'd brought you and took another deep breath, telling him everything again from the start. You'd been sick about six weeks or so and took strong antibiotics, which later you learned that could affect your birth control. In the meantime you'd been with Liev a couple of times but you only thought about things when you realized your period was late.

You panicked and went to the nearest drugstore, getting the first test you could find and the rest was history. He nodded and went silent for a few seconds, getting some strands of hair out of your face "so you only took one test? I mean, it could be a false positive, couldn't it?" He suggested and chuckled as you frowned at him, surprised he even came up with that possibility.

"I had a girlfriend years ago, way before you and I met, and well, we went through that. I panicked as I really didn't want to be a dad back then, but it turned out to be just a scare and nothing else, so there's a chance that's the same with you" he assured you and took you by the hand.

"Come on, you're tense, scared and tired, let's get you to my place, so you can have some peaceful moment without worrying about that piece of shit coming back"

•••

"We'll make a quick stop, okay hermosa?" Pedro broke the comfortable silence you two had as he drove through the streets. You were somewhat calmer now, though your heart was still tight in your chest and you could feel your tears lingering around, so close to breaking free again.

You nodded softly "o-okay" you whispered. It was always so hard to calm down when you were going through an emotional distress, but you tried your best.

Pedro parked in an empty spot and quickly crossed the street, going to the drugstore and disappearing inside for a good twenty minutes before getting behind the steering wheel again. He handed you a bag and started the car once more, focusing on traffic.

You curiously peeked inside and saw two pregnancy tests and looked at him.

"If it's a false positive, then we'll know when the result comes, Y/N" he glanced at your surprised face before looking away once more "I also got you some pills so you can calm down, you know, the ones safe for pregnant women just in case" he shrugged softly and went quiet again.

You placed the tests back inside and smiled softly as you found one of your favorite candy bars inside the bag as well,

The man smiled "figured you needed something sweet"

Your heart warmed in your chest as you thanked Pedro for the treat and waited anxiously to get to his home.

•••

"You know everything here so I don't even need to tell you to make yourself at home, cariño. You can take the test now if you'd like, I'll be by your side, through it and through everything else that comes after, I really meant that" he said gently and walked to the kitchen. Pedro filled his ice pad and groaned as he sat heavily on the couch, pressing it against his face as he finally realized how much his face hurt after being punched like that. He was already thankful enough his nose wasn't broken, as he was sure his manager would be thrilled to tell all the executives the actor they hired for their productions had an issue with his face.

You felt incredibly guilty as you watched him, seeing he was in pain and it was kind of because of you. You sat next to him and gently grabbed the pad, placing it over the wounded skin, where you could see a darker bruise forming.

You applied some pressure by accident, hearing his grunt and immediately apologizing, not wanting him to suffer.

"You didn't have to take the punches, Pedro… He hurt you and even though you didn't break anything, you will still have some bruises on your face, that's not good for an actor"

Pedro couldn't help but scoff softly, raising his eyebrow at you "do you really think I thought about work at that moment? That guy wanted to get to you, of course, he also wanted to punch me which he did very enthusiastically by the way, but still, his anger was towards you, so yeah, I did have to take those punches because he would have to fucking kill me before he touched you in any way" he said deadly serious and stared into his eyes.

"You don't take me seriously, and I don't know what to do to make you believe me, Y/N, but I can assure you I won't ever let anyone hurt you in any way" he sighed.

"Did you really mean what you said? I mean, about being here for me, as a father?" You finally gathered the courage to ask him. The curiosity eating you up alive, you needed to know if he was serious, you were so confused and exhausted at everything that happened, you just needed some comfort at that moment.

"Yes, Y/N… there's nothing I've been dreaming about more than having you. You are the last thing I think of when I got to bed and the first one when I wake up… I-" he blushed deeply "I've been dreaming about us, as a couple, having our own kids… it usually happens right here" he pointed at the other couch "you're always sitting there beautifully, like always and then our kid comes running to you, calling you mommy and it just melts and breaks my heart at the same time, because I know time is passing by, I'm getting old but at the same time you're the one who can give me this, because I want this with you and no one else" Pedro teared up "so come on, mariposa, do the test, so we can kill this doubt already, I know it is not the ideal but we can make this work if you want it to work as well" he said, holding your face gently and pecking your lips.

You nodded, being convinced at his words. You had no idea what you'd do if those lines came out blue, but if they did, you knew he would be by your side no matter what.

You grabbed the tests and locked yourself in the bathroom, following the instructions by the book, your mind was a mix of thoughts and your heart, a turmoil of emotions. You figured you wouldn't be able to wait by yourself and called Pedro, asking him to be by your side.

He immediately pulled you to his arms, holding you the entire time as you two sat down on the floor, your backs against the tub as time dragged on. He made sure to distract you, talking about many other things, though your minds lingered around the result that seemed to be taking forever to get ready.

Pedro set a timer on his phone, but tried to forget about it. He was focusing mainly on your body against his, your breathing against his neck and how you kept your eyes closed, in hopes things would be alright. He was clueless at what was on your mind, he couldn't even guess what you'd do if you were indeed pregnant but he hoped really hard he'd be included in whatever plans you had for it.

His phone buzzing woke you both up from your individual daydreams. It was about time to face the truth and your anxiety made itself present as you both stood up and went to check the results. You didn't want to see it, at the same time you had to see it. Your heart hammered in your chest, you could hear your ears ringing with your blood pumping through the veins. Your hands went cold and sweaty at the same time and when you finally gathered courage to look at the tests, you let out a whimper of relief and turned to Pedro, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face into his chest. You didn't say anything and he didn't even have to ask. He just held you while you shed your relief and happiness tears at the fact you were indeed not pregnant.

•••

You woke up tangled in Pedro's arms. You hadn't had sex, surprisingly, Pedro was too much of a gentleman for that, even if he was burning in desire for you, he wanted nothing but to see you comfortable. He loved how your eyes lit up and your entire body relaxed at the moment you got the news, he could see you were finally feeling happy again and that was enough for him to feel happy too.

Then, he insisted on filling up the tub so you could take a relaxing bath, getting you some of your own spare clothes you'd left there a few months ago and got you some things to eat and a bottle of wine.

You two killed the bottle of wine probably way too faster than you should have and your last memory of that trouble day was lying in his bed, his arms pulling you closer, wrapped around your waist as you both fell asleep.

When you woke up, you felt him stirring in bed, he was awake as well, but he hadn't let go of you yet, he couldn't bring himself to do it nor he didn't want to.

He nuzzled your neck gently, kissing it gently, chucking at how you squirm and rubbed your back

"Morning princesa, don't get up just yet, you need to rest some more, I'll fix you some nice breakfast" he whispered and got up, going to the bathroom and freshening up a little before heading to the kitchen.

He went through the fridge trying to find something good enough for you but there was nothing he could work on, so he decided to get some last night pizza and get it on a plate for you. It wasn't the first time you two shared breakfast pizza and it wouldn't be the last time.

When you finally showed up in the kitchen, Pedro smiled brightly holding two plates in hand "hey there, hermosa, I got you some breakfast, it's not the best, but it'll do honey" he winked.

You took a step closer and took the plates off his hand, placing them down the counter and held his cheeks between your hands.

"I'm gonna talk and I want you to listen, Pedro" you said seriously and saw worry in his eyes, looking away for a split second so you wouldn't chicken out at the sight of his lovely sad brown eyes.

He nodded and waited for you to go on

"I'm leaving Pedro, I am so sorry but I can't do this, it's too much. I can't just walk out of a relationship with Liev and get into one with you, as much as I love you, because yes, you were right, I lied, to you and to myself, saying that I got over you, but I also honest when I said now I love myself more than anyone else. I gotta take some time on my own, I gotta work on myself, think things through and I can't have you running after me like a sad puppy" you said, tears in your eyes as you could see how you were breaking his heart.

"I am so thankful for everything we lived and I forgive you Pedro, but we can't be together, thanks for being by my side when I thought I was pregnant, and I really loved that scenario you told me about, you know, how you dreamed of us and our kids… maybe someday that could be true, but not today, Pedro. I'm sorry" you said, sniffing and giving him one last kiss.

You excused yourself and Pedro watched you walk away from his life, his heart was shattered, but he knew he would always love you.

_____

A/N: did you guys really think I'd be crazy enough to make either of them be forced into having kids with people they didn't love? I am crazy for a happy ending, though the end of this chapter wasn't exactly happy but hey, there's still two more chapters to go and a lot can change!!! I hope you liked it ❤️

[mystargirl-interlude]

𝑩𝑶𝑹𝑵 𝑻𝑶 𝑫𝑰𝑬

chapter 1 in the 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑫𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑨 𝑭𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹 book

When you are born in one of the districts in panem you are born to die, wether or not you are reaped or not.

if you aren't reaped you live in poverty and starve to death unless you're in a capitol district and if you are reaped and some how win the games the suffering never ends.

13 year old persephone sat one of the multiple rows at her second reaping, somehow making it through her first despite her name being in the bowl eight times due to her being caught multiple times trespassing, but now at 13 and her name being doubled in the bowl now at 16 pieces of paper.

"Hello! Hello! welcome to the 66th annual hunger games!" Says the district four escort who's name persephone couldn't care to remember

tuning out the screeching of her voice and deciding to take a look at her surroundings and everyone around her, she makes eye contact with last years winner, Finnick odair. She wouldn't deny that he was unbelievably attractive, but then she remembered she was being sent to get killed while he watched.

I hope i at least look good while being brutally murdered since the whole country was going to be watching she thought.

when she snapped out of her thoughts she saw that finnick and her were most definitely still in deep eye contact, he gave her a challenging look almost expecting her to look away first but she sent that look back 10 times harder, making him furrow his brows and quickly look away just in time as the movie about the history of the games ended

"well! let's get started with this years tributes, as always ladies first" she said as she dug her hand into the bowl

persephone wouldn't be surprised if the half the bowl was just her name

"and this years tribute representing district four is" she says unraveling the paper

"Persephone Levito!" it almost felt as the whole room went quite as the young girl was well known throughout the district for singing by the beach and her outfits, but before persephone it was her grandmother, she was well known and well loved and when she passed it took a toll on everyone in 4

Not surprised she rolls her eyes before remembering her act she needed to put on

eyes watering she slowly walks up to the stage wrapping her arms around ber self slightly shaking

she imagines she looks like one of those gross old chihuahuas her neighbor has

"hello dear, and how old might you be?"

"thirteen" she shakily exhales

"Lovely! and now on to our male tribute!" she smiles like she didn't just send a child off to her death

"and the male tribute representing district four is.. Christopher Monroe!"

if it was possible the day just got twenty times worse.

persephone knew christopher and she fucking hated his guts, they went to school together and he was the most annoying, obnoxious, disgusting specimen she's ever had to be around.

"These are our 66th Hunger games district four tributes! you may now shake hands!" she says

as they grasp hands she grip as hard as she can without breaking his hand while still maintaining her good girl façade

he pulls away as soon as possible and then they are pulled into the back to head to the train, all tributes are allowed five minutes to say goodbye to loved ones but persephone couldn't give two shits about her family as they never cared for her.

immediately heading to the train she walks inside and sees multiple blue velvet couches and a rectangle dinner table, deciding to pass time she looks around being nosy, as it was what she was best at.

about 6 minutes later everyone starts coming in including what she assumes are going to be her mentors and the escort who's name she learned was Anya

"Well hello, lovely's, please meet your mentors for your games, Mags flanagan and Finnick Odair"

persephone felt a switch flip in her, it was almost like a different person, the persona she had to put on to even attempt to make it past the bloodbath.

looking up from her empty plate she gives them both a small smile

"Please introduce yourselves guys" anya says smiling with a slight aggressive tone almost like they are embarrassing her when persephone never even met her let alone know her name until 2 minutes ago

"Christopher Monroe, Big fan of yours finnick" the boy spoke with a sickening tone of confidence

finnick gave him a awkward smile almost like he was embarrassed for him and he then looks to persephone

"Persephone Levito" she says with a shaky voice

"Yeah i know who you are, i would see you at the beach when i was younger" finnick says in the softest tone trying to comfort the clearly scared young girl but at the same time he feels as if there's something off about her

christopher looks over at them rolling his eyes in annoyance at the girl.

finnick and christopher make small talk while persephone puts an awkwardly small portion of food on her plate sampling each thing on the table and then sections them off into perfectly even sections

finnick can see what she's doing out of the corner of his eye and he furrows his brows taking a glance at the girl before cutting christopher off of his ramble that he was barley listening to

"Let's talk strength and weakness, chris would you like to go first?" finnick asked

smiling cockily he starts listing off his strengths while persephone struggles to not roll her eyes at the boy.

tucking her legs under her oversized white button up she listens to every word chris says despite hating his guts she had to know what she was going up against.

and him being the fucking dumbass he is he starts listing off every weakness he has but something that did make her start thinking was when he said that he had to get surgery on a tendon he had in his knee as he tore it when he was younger and immediately after he said that he said it was hard to use his dominate hand so he wanted to get better using his left because he broke a bone in his right and it was harder to use now

"what about you persephone?" finnick asked her

"yeah what about you" chris says smirking like he didn't just make the biggest mistake ever by him practically telling his whole fucking life story when all finnick asked for was strength and weaknesses

but who is she to talk, for all she knows chris could kill her the moment the game starts

"Um - i don't know, i guess i'm good with tying knots" she says with an embarrassed smile resting her chin on her knees forcing herself to not stab chris in the eye when she hears him scoff at her

"it's okay, that's what me and mags are here for, we are going to try our best to help you survive"

he says placing his hand on mags' shoulder

to be honest persephone forgot mags was even there with how quiet she was but she was cut off from her thoughts by the voice of anya

"I think it's best we all get some rest so that we are ready for tomorrows parade!" she says

persephone is the first to get up and leave the table.

walking to the room that anya had showed her earlier she looks in from the door way and then looks over her shoulder to see finnick looking at her, the look she gives him before waking into her room has him in deep thought, like she knew something he didn't. he's never been more confused by anyone in his whole life let alone and girl who was a year younger than him.

★ ✰ ★ ✰ ★ ✰ ★ ✰ ★ ✰ ★ ✰ ★ ✰ ★

The day after the parade was the first day of training.

walking into the training room with a few of the other tributes by her side she looks around at all the the different stations.

deciding to walk over to the knife throwing station she already knows she's going to have to embarrass her self in order to not seem like a threat.

persephone does a bit of each station before looking at what the other tributes are doing, of course she sees chris with the careers at the archery station.

keeping an eye on each one to see what skills their best at.

when she was younger, her grandmother would train her every day until the day she died to make sure if she ever got reaped she would be prepared, she's learned her way around the different weapons.

Day two goes by smoothly besides the fact that the careers and their groupie which unfortunately was her district partner were making fun of her the entire time.

Waiting for her name to be called for individual sessions she starts thinking about stories her grandma would tell her before bed and the disappearance of the 10th hunger games victor

"Persephone Levito"

snapping out of her thoughts she walks into the room taking a look at the different supplies laid out, making her way to the spears she grabs three and stands a few feet away from the targets.

she lazily throws each of the spears cringing as she misses each each target, she finishes her session as soon as possible due to the unbearable embarrassment she was feeling despite the fact that she was doing it on purpose.

sitting in a large room with chris, finnick and mags in front of a large TV awaiting their scores.

Ceaser begins listing off the tributes and their scores and then gets to district 4 "District four! Christopher Monroe with a score of, 8!" finnick and mags both congratulate him as he cockily smirks

"Persephone Levito with a score of 3!" with a thin lipped smile she looks over at finnick who gives her a look of pity.

The last of the days have been a blur especially with the interviews.

her last day at the capital has been pretty shitty and even more with the fact that everyone is treating her like a toddler, she's had a few more conversations with finnick but just briefly, and mostly just him telling her how to survive out there.

standing in a small metal room with her stylist who she's grown quite fond of

"what can you tell me about the arena?"

"it seems like it's going to be a constant change, you may be looking at forest mountains based on the shoes, weather may go from cold to humid because you have removable layers."

60 seconds

"good luck persephone, i know what you're doing i strongly believe i'll see you after the games"

her stylist stella tells her in a shaky whisper

"i'll see you later" persephone smirks before walking into the clear tube

Being lifted up into the arena she can already feel the cold breeze, looking around she sees fog, thicker in certain areas thinner in others, not bothering to see the other tributes next to her, her eyes narrow to the cornucopia, eyes landing on a belt with multiple daggers and knives and a back pack.

She realized she probably made the biggest mistake of her life by not making any allies

fuck

ladies and gentlemen let the 66th hunger games begin.

as soon as she heard the gong go off she ran as fast as she possibly could, her legs practically going numb she runs into the cornucopia grabbing the belt and then going for the back pack but a force pulling her back  has her heart skip a beat, not even bothering to see who it is she grabs a small dagger stabbing it into their pulse point, blood spraying all over her, her eyes dart around landing on a career coming straight for her.

Grabbing a another knife she throws it landing directly in between his eyebrows knocking him down but she then feels her airways being cutoff by someone putting her in a head lock, kicking her legs up and pushing off from the metal wall they both fall down, having to think quickly she grabs a longer knife from her belt she stabs it in the tributes gut she drags it up all the way to just below the sternum of the girl who she recognized was from district two, hearing ber ear piercing screams felt like she was about to go deaf but they soon stopped once her eyes rolled back in her head.

Looking up persephone sees that everyone has left the cornucopia and she sees chris and the tributes from 1 and the boy from 2 running into the forest.

collecting her knives and grabbing anything else she finds to be helpful she makes her way towards the foggy woods opposite of the way the others went.

after what felt like a few hours of walking she comes across the end of a rocky hill which leads to a water stream. her blonde locks look like they have been dyed red and brown.

walking down the hill she goes straight for the water immediately dipping her hands in the wash off all the caked on blood and then collects some of the water in a water bottle she found in a back pack she stole from one of the tributes.

mentor viewing room

finnick has been in staring off into space ever since the bloodbath ended

the once scared blonde that barley spoke two words was now covered head to toe in blood that wasn't hers

he didn't know how to feel, proud? scared?

he settled on proud for now and just decided to see where it would go.

arena

a  day has passed and so have four more people at the hands of persephone, she's washed her skin off a few times in the river but some sections were still stained red.

the day was pretty boring as nothing had happened but she was woken up in the middle of the night to harsh whispers and leaves rustling.

"she's asleep we can just kill her now, it's easier if she doesn't put up a fight" she heard a feminine voice say

"okay fine, do you wanna do the honors?" she heard a male voice say, she can practically hear the smirk in it

tightening her grip on her knife she shoots up immediately stabbing the male in the esophagus hearing the canon go off she then hears his partner scream, persephone slaps her hand over the girls mouth and then proceeds to stab her straight it the tit where she knows it hurts and then continues once she's on the floor. when she's done the girl at least has 7 stab wounds on her.

gathering her stuff the starts making her way in the opposite direction as the scream most likely drew attention.

Another day goes by and many more dead, sometimes done by others, most of the time done by persephone.

With almost everyone dead all that's left is chris and the one of the careers.

after waking around for a few hours she hears two people arguing. Climbing up the nearest tree as fast as she can she gets as high as possible and looks down at the last two standing. Fucking dumbasses, they aren't even aware of their surroundings.

Deciding to have some fun messing with them as it was once again night time and they couldn't see her. Throwing a stick on the floor next to them and them being the dogs they are they run straight to it giving her enough time to climb down the tree as quietly as possible.

"HELLO? YOU CAN COME OUT WE DONT BITE" chris yelled as they both laughed and for once in the games the whole arena got quiet, no birds, no crickets, just the sound of heavy breathing

"psst!" the girl from one turned around frantically ready to fight but that was soon ended as a gut wrenching scream was let out.

persephone stabbed her repeatedly in her torso, the clouds now moving past the moon letting the moonlight shine through which let her see a lot better.

Chris jumped on top of persephone pulling her off of the girl she just murdered, putting his hands on her neck once again having her airways cut off for like the fifth time, having to react quick she knees him as hard as she can between his legs which knocks him off of her.

she swears they have been having a wrestling match for what feels like forever. frantically looking around

to see if she can find anything that would kill him her eyes land on a sword that the other girl had persephone tried to reach for it but unfortunately for her chris also had his eyes on it and immediately pulled her back which led to her literally face planting on the dirt, he begins choking her again

"jesus- fuck why does everyone go for the- neck" she says in between wheezes. she remembers when he was talking to finnick how he said his weak spot was his right arm, despite the fact that both her arms had multiple gashes and stab wounds she builds up as much strength and punched her hand into his elbow dislocating it which makes the most disgusting pop noise that makes her gag

"you dumb fucking bitch, you broke my arm!" chris says practically spitting him her face. rolling him off of her she grabs knife that was still lodged in the girl from 1 she stabs him on his side but he didn't go down without a fight, he threw persephone off him him and stood up, now fighting standing up she continues to stab him wherever she can get her knife through but he still has a tight grip on her, at this point she doesn't even know how he's alive, there's blood pouring out of his mouth and she's sure she hit every major organ

"why.... won't- you.. die. FUCKING HELL ARE YOU IMMORTAL OR SOMETHING?" she says between gasps with one swift slit to the neck the cannon finally goes off.

there's a moment of silence before the announcer comes on

"ladies in gentlemen, your victor from the sixty sixth hunger games! persephone levito!!!" she hears the voice say

"FUCK" where the last words she remembers saying before passing out.. face planting the dirt.. again.

hi queens so this was like the introduction to my new child persephone and how she became a victor, there wasn't much finnick but there is definitely going to be a lot more in the next chapter, the next one is going to be briefly of the 74th games but just for her mentoring purposes but it's mainly just gonna be other stuff, anyway!

WC: 3168

© mystargirl-interlude

[animasolaoriginal]

I n f a t u a t e d ♦️SEVEN

CHAPTER ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT◾NINE◾️TEN ELEVEN◾TWELVE◾️THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN◾FIFTEEN SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN◾TWENTY

He's not a patient man, but he's trying his best, giving her some well-deserved cuddles after testing her limits a little too roughly. But in the end, he can't help himself. She's too perfect, perfect enough to take her once again.

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon elements. Dom/sub dynamic. Aftercare! Fingering. Vaginal sex. Oral sex. (For more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 5.1k

SIX 🟥 SEVEN 🟥 EIGHT

He may have overdone it a little.

The girl is this pliant thing in his arms as he carries her into the bathroom, covered in spit and cum and tears, limbs too weak to support herself, too far gone to protest anymore, eyes hooded and unfocused.

He hasn't planned to treat her like that. Well, he has wanted to fuck her ass, that's been on his mind since the last time he's been in there, but the throat fucking afterwards happened on a whim. She's looked so fucked out, so defeated and willing, so pretty, he just wanted to see what she was capable of. He may have overdone it. But once he's felt the tight grip of her throat, he's been a goner.

And she'll live. No harm done. He's treated women way worse before. She'll adjust. She has to. She'll understand that eventually.

He carefully sits her down on the vanity and grabs a wash cloth, pours water on it and starts to wipe at her soiled face. It's a strange, intimate thing to clean her like this, he usually expects his whores to clean themselves or stay dirty for all he cares. But she's different. And not a whore, she's something else he cannot name yet. Innocent, pure, even after everything he's done to her. She needs to be clean.

She's barely present when he moves the cloth over her cheek, just sits there, motionless, blinks from time to time, but there's no other movement. Maybe she's in shock. Surprised and disturbed by his treatment. Overwhelmed by what he expects of her. Lost in her own mind. Poor thing.

Once her face is clean, no more traces of spit or cum or tears, he leans down and presses his lips to her cheek, then scoops her up in his arms again and walks to the living room. Her breaths are soft, barely there against his collarbone as he presses her to his chest. He sits down, positions her on his lap, holds her tightly. She winces when her butt is moved over his hard thigh, but keeps quiet right after, letting him settle her against him.

He exhales loudly, moves her hair. It's hard for him to just sit with her, let her come down from whatever is keeping her holed up in her head, let her come to terms with her new environment, her new life, her new role. He's not a patient man, but he knows that she needs it. The memory of asking her if she wanted this is clear in his mind, the innocent excitement in her eyes, how she said yes, having absolutely no idea what to expect, what he's capable of. It's almost as cute as her admission that she's had a crush on him.

Oh the poor, poor thing, letting silly little feelings cloud her better judgment.

For him, however, that has been the last puzzle piece falling into place. It's been an idea in the back of his head, for a while, and it had never worked out. But since she's stepped into his life, this sweet innocent girl, inexperienced, submissive, blinded by a childish infatuation, ready to be molded into something he wants her to be, he's known it'll work this time. She is perfect for this. Perfect to submit to him and him alone. And she'll learn to love it too, he's sure.

Right now she probably hates him, and he can't blame her. He's been a little unpredictable today. Asking her to cockwarm him (which has been quite the challenge for him too, an exercise in restraint, but no matter how he's felt about it, she's done a good job considering it has been her first time to do so), to rewarding her in a way she hasn't expected (having filled all her holes by now, he really can't decide which is his favorite, but luckily he doesn't have to decide, he can have them all, she is all his, to use and fill, use and fill, over and over again...), to testing her limits (and his, she sure has a way of bringing out the most primal urges in him, he's always had a high sex drive, but filling her up multiple times in a row is quite new to him). It's been an eventful morning.

He shifts slightly beneath her, coaxing a little hum out of her. His hand rubs along her back, soothingly, warm and heavy, and he feels her breathing deeper against him. But she's not asleep yet, no matter how worn out she may feel. His other hand finds her chin, gently pushing it up until he can see her hooded eyes, still a little unfocused, but when she meets his gaze, there's something else burning within them. Something like defiance, he can tell, and it brings a smirk to his lips.

He moves his finger over her jaw, carefully massaging it, and to his surprise the tension in her face lifts a little. She even bites her swollen lip. “Feels good, hm?” he whispers, applying light pressure to her strained jaw. “You've been such a good girl, holding my cock for so long,” he adds, looking at her with warm eyes. “Your little mouth felt so nice, you know that?”

His thumb moves along her bottom lip, gently nudges against it, slips higher, and maybe it's an instinct, maybe it's need, but she parts her lips and allows him to push it into her mouth. He's gentle, just presses it lightly onto her tongue, feels the wet warmth and soft texture. She watches him from under her lashes, while he pumps his thumb slowly in and out, still massaging her jaw with his fingers.

“Relax, it's okay.”

She does, closes her lips around his digit, even hollows her cheeks and sucks on it a little as she breathes deeper through her nose. He tilts his head down, nuzzles her cheek, then pulls his thumb out and presses his lips to hers. Leaning back, he smiles at her.

“Show me your little tongue,” he says, a whispered command, and she complies, blushing heavily as she hesitantly sticks her tongue out, pointed at first, then flat, and he smirks, leans in to close his lips around it, sucks on it, licks it softly. She winces slightly, but then her eyes flutter shut, and she lets out a soft mewl, her tongue moving against his, meeting his motions.

The kiss is soft but messy, his hand closes around her jaw, holds her in place, as he tastes the inside of her mouth, meets her tongue, feels her lips. She's squirming on his lap, her small hands moving against his chest, fingers clawing at the fabric of his shirt. She's slowly coming out of her shell. He shifts her on his thigh, makes her straddle him, and she lets him, his hands moving down her back to cup her rear, hold her, move her against him, kiss her deeper.

When they're both breathless, she's clinging to him, arms around his shoulders, forehead resting against his throat, her chest heaving. He rubs his hands along her sides, into the dip of her waist, over the swell of her hip, until they slip under the skirt of her dress and find her warm ass cheeks, fingers dipping between them. She lets out a little whimper, but he kisses the top of her head, shushing her.

“I don't want to hurt you, you know that, right?” he whispers when she leans her cheek on his shoulder and looks up at him, lips a little bit more swollen than before, cheeks flushed, eyes wandering over his face. “But,” he continues, kneading her rear softly, “you make me so goddamn crazy, it's really hard to hold myself back...”

She blinks at him, chewing on her lip. He moves his hands back up until he cups her face, pulling her closer to him, his eyes boring into hers. His fingers dig into her hair, a little hoarse gasp escapes her. Leaning down, he brushes his nose against hers.

“And you said you wanted this,” he says gravelly. “You wanted me to do these things to you... remember?”

She leans against his hands, tries to move back. He lets her, fingers gliding down her neck, resting on her shoulders as he watches her closely. Her lips move, but no sound comes out. Her tongue darts out, wets her lips, she takes a deep breath, her hand closing around her throat. “N-not... like... that,” she manages to croak out, her voice still raw, a breathy, hoarse whisper.

“No?” he replies, raising his eyebrows. “Did you expect me to make love to you under the covers, in the dark? Boring vanilla sex, in and out and done?” He laughs darkly, shakes his head. “Sweetheart, that's not what I do, and I thought you knew that...”

She furrows her eyebrows, a little pout to her full lips. “Aw, baby girl,” he coos, cupping her face. “Look at you. So fucking cute!” He kisses her small nose, smirking as he leans back and sees her averting her eyes, cheeks even redder than before.

“Be honest,” he then starts, and she yelps breathlessly when his hands quickly move down to grab her waist to shift her on his thighs, putting her sideways again, one hand on her lower back, the other heavy on her legs, spanning over both of her thighs as he holds her. “If I'd tell you how much I want to fuck you, right here on this couch, pressed into the cushions, or bent over the side or the back, your cute little cunt on display or your ass in the air, would you not imagine it too? Would you not be completely soaked by the thought alone?”

He watches her closely as he speaks, his hand slowly prying her legs apart, and when he's done, his fingers slip between her thighs, right against the thin fabric of her thong. A smile grows on his lips as he tilts his head.

“Yeah, that's what I thought,” he whispers, nuzzling his nose against her cheek as she turns her head away in embarrassment. “You're wet, baby, wet for all the vile things I wanna do to you...” She grabs his wrist, but he keeps his hand between her legs, pushing her damp panties between her folds, rubbing up and down. “Wet for me...” She squirms against him, quiet whimpers falling from her lips. “Don't fight it, it's okay. I want you to be wet for me, all the time, it tells me you're enjoying this...”

She hides her face in the crook of his neck, mewling quietly. He holds her side, pulling her against him as he nudges her legs further apart and slips his finger under her thong, dipping into her slick. Shushing her, he rocks her gently on his lap before he slips his fingertip into her dripping pussy, humming in approval at how well she takes him.

“Does it still hurt?” he whispers softly.

She mumbles something against his neck.

“Speak up.”

“N-no,” she mutters a little louder. “F-feels... g-good...”

“Yeah?” he says with a smirk, pumping his finger deeper, massaging her squishy flesh. “Feels good, huh?”

She nods against him, her stomach fluttering, thighs twitching slightly. He continues to rub her insides, slowly adds another finger, keeps the slow and steady pace. Her breaths are warm against his skin, rapid little huffs mixed with cute little cooing sounds. He bites his lip, forces himself not to move faster, not to plunge his fingers deeper, not to add another one or another.

Ugh. To have his whole hand in her tight little cunt, feeling every single clench against his fingertips, his knuckles, her entrance clamping around his wrist, pushing deep into her wet warmth, stretching her, hearing her whines and cries, seeing her tears... His cock twitches angrily against his pants. Fuck.

He leans his head back against the couch, stares at the ceiling, keeps fingering her slow and easy, two fingers, not more, in and out, gentle, soft, carefully. What has she done to him?

Her moans are quiet in his ear, barely there, but they make him move his fingers a little faster, a little deeper, her wetness squelching around them. He can feel the plug pressing against her soft walls from the other side, and she must feel it too with how she twitches against him. His own breaths are rougher, his heart pounding in his chest, his blood pumping into his cock. He turns his hand, adjusts the angle, keeps pumping, fingertips rubbing against her clenching muscles, and when she twitches a little more, he smirks, curling his fingers, pressing hard against her g-spot.

Her wail is hoarse, but louder than he's expected. Her hands grab at him, she squirms on his lap, gasping, whimpering, legs kicking, shoulders shaking. He watches her, head arching back, neck exposed, lips parted, mouth opening wider, eyes rolling back. He can feel her cunt clamping down on his fingers. His other hand grips her waist, holds her in place, as he curls his fingers into a claw and pushes in and out fast, always bullying that special spot, his thumb pushing against her clit with every deep plunge.

“Come for me, darling,” he whispers gravelly.

She cries out, struggling against him, hips bucking into his hand, and when she comes, she presses her thighs together hard, squeezing his hand, body curving and convulsing in sheer ecstasy. He stills his fingers, feels her muscles contracting around them, her wetness coating his skin, seeping out of her, she may even have squirted, but she's clamped her legs together before he could have seen it. Pity. He'll have to try to see that again, another time.

She's breathing heavily, collapsing against him, forehead pressed to his collarbone, hands clawed into his shirt, a little bundle of twitching limbs. “Good girl,” he coos, kissing the top of her head. She hums in response, mumbling something else he can't quite understand. “What was that, baby?”

She inhales sharply, moving her head, chin leaning against his clavicle as she looks up at him, red spots blooming on her cheeks. “Thank you,” she croaks hoarsely, a shy smile on her trembling lips.

He stares down at her, unable to resist smiling back. His cock twitches. He slowly pulls his fingers free from her clenching cunt, nudging her legs. She opens them reluctantly, blushing harder when she turns her head to look down. His hand is completely drenched, just like his pants, her wetness seeping through the fabric onto his thighs. “You made quite the mess, huh?” he says with a smirk.

An embarrassed whimper escapes her. “M'sorry,” she mumbles, burying her face back against his shoulder as she squirms on his leg.

“It's okay, you know what to do, right?” he replies, holding his wet hand up to inspect it, spreading his fingers, watching the thick strands of her cum connecting them.

His other hand moves up her back until he grips her nape, pulling her back so she looks at him. When she does, he brings his wet fingers to her lips, feeling his stomach tightening even more when she gingerly puts her small hands around his wrist and leans in, tongue extended, before she licks along his fingertip, then slowly sucks his digits into her mouth.

A groan escapes him. She looks up at him as she sucks on his fingers, his jaw clenching at the sight. The face of an angel, full lips strained around his knuckles, an innocent blush on her hollowing cheeks, but there's a fire in her eyes, a temptress, something that might ruin him completely. He breathes loudly through his nose. “You're so fucking beautiful,” he mutters through gritted teeth, a low thrum in the air, mirroring the throbbing of his cock.

Her tongue flicks around his fingers, slips between them, before she leans back and releases them with a wet popping sound, licking her lips before a shy smile grazes them. His hand, coated in her saliva, slips into her hair, grabs her face and pulls her up at the same time as he leans in, capturing her mouth for a searing kiss full of fervor. He's desperate to taste her, still fighting the urge to throw her onto her back or stomach and rail her with abandon.

Instead he plunges his tongue into her mouth, a little surprised just how hungry and passionate she responds to his motions. She wants this. She might fight the sensations, fight him, cry and whine and wail, but she's wet for him. She fucking wants this too. And the restraint is slipping...

One hand on her face, the other on her nape, he tilts her backwards, lips still connected, until she's lying beneath him. She's not even squirming when he adjusts on top of her, braced on his elbows, knee pressing between her legs, hovering over her, breathing harder through his nose. Her hands grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

He's ready to devour her, his kiss nothing short of animalistic, rough, urgent. She mewls into his mouth, meets his tongue, his lips, his whole frame above her with a need that radiates warm and wet against his knee pressing hard into her sex.

“I know you're sore,” he groans against her, hands digging into her hair, hot breaths mingling. “But I gotta fuck you... right now...”

She looks at him, breathing hard, a glint of panic in her big eyes. He doesn't care. Kissing her cheek, he leans back, moves her legs around his waist as he kneels between them. Her dress is pushed up, balled between his fists as he takes deep, steadying breaths, staring down at her small shaking body in front of him, holding back, trying to, but then he just can't.

With gritted teeth and a loud grunt, he rips the dress from bottom to top, she yelps hoarsely, the fabric tears, until it's torn in half, and he wrestles it out from under her and throws it across the room. The sight of her small tits quivering, her chest heaving, nipples already erect, makes him growl.

His hands roam up her torso, so big on her small body, close around those soft mounds, knead them, rub them, while she mewls quietly, a mixture of shock and anticipation on her pretty face. He keeps groping her with one hand, while the other slips lower and pushes her thong aside; not to rip it as well is almost impossible, but somehow he manages it.

His head is fuzzy, throbbing with a desire that makes him almost blind. He opens his belt and his pants, pushes everything down with a shaking hand before he grabs his angrily throbbing erection and puts it straight against her entrance.

Her whimper causes him to look up, her panicked expression squeezes his heart – and his cock. He leans closer, hand moving from her breasts to her face, caressing it gently. “Shh, it'll be okay,” he rasps. “Be a good girl for me, yeah?”

She shivers, inhaling sharply, but when she nods, he smiles at her, kisses her quivering lips and leans back abruptly, his hand slipping down to her dripping cunt, palm rubbing over her folds before he grips his cock and lathers it in her wetness.

The tension in his stomach is painful. Without prolonging it any further, he prods his tip into her slick, nudges it into her inch by hard inch, ignoring her quiet wails. His grunt is loud and low when he slips in fully, savoring the way she grips him so perfectly.

His hands are on her waist, his eyes on her flushed face, contorted in fear and discomfort. He rolls his hips a few times, slow and steady, but his restraint is non-existent at that point. With a groan and a squeak from her, he lies down on top of her, braced on his forearms, body pinning her down, hands finding her face before he showers it with kisses.

“You feel so fucking good, baby,” he growls against her. “So tight and warm...”

She lets out an unsteady breath, almost a little whine, but then her hands snake around his waist and grip the fabric of his shirt. He holds her gaze, wide watering eyes staring up at him, as he starts to move his hips, every slow downwards motion pushing her deeper into the cushions of the couch, and the more he moves, the faster he gets, until he's bouncing them steadily up and down.

Each deep plunge makes her gasp and moan, or so he thinks, her voice is still just that croaking sound in the back of her throat that tumbles over her parted lips. He's clearly overdone it. As much as he likes to fuck her throat, deep and hard, he has to be more careful in the future. Hearing her soft noises is something he doesn't want to miss.

He leans down and puts his mouth to hers, a messy kiss while he pounds into her tight heat, her walls clenching around him, squeezing his cock, wet squelches mixing with the squeak of the couch and her soundless little puffs of air. His own sounds are low groans, almost primal growls, predatory noises building inside him as he keeps ramming his hard cock into her soft pussy.

Her fingers claw at his shirt, fingernails digging deeper, her legs twitch, bouncing against his sides with every thrust, the heels of her feet hammering against his lower back. “Wrap your legs around me,” he grunts into her, giving her a moment of reprieve as he slows his motions. She does, crosses her feet, thighs pressed against his waist, holds onto him tightly, causing him to slip a little deeper. “Good... girl...” he huffs, watching her pupils dilate even further as she looks at him, this tiny thing beneath him, submitting to him so completely.

He leans back on his elbows, shoulders tight as he arches his back to move his pelvis against her, up and down, in and out, slowly picking up the pace again, his eyes on her every little twitch. Her face is flushed, mouth hanging open, eyes hooded and glistening, chest rising and falling fast, hair fanned out around her, exposing that delicious column of her neck – and the mark that's slowly fading on her skin. What has been a deep purple, has turned a brighter red mixed with edges of green and yellow, a slowly disappearing sign of his possession.

He can't have that.

So while he keeps snapping his hips against her, plunging deep and fast, he leans down to press his lips to her neck, kisses it, nibbles on it, sucks the blood to the surface, all along her pulse, rough pants against her skin as he marks her up all over again. He's quickly losing track of how many hickeys he's created, his vision starting to blur as his cock starts throbbing angrily inside her, his balls so tight it's almost painful.

To ease the tension, he moves his mouth to the soft flesh between her neck and her shoulder and sinks his teeth into it, biting down hard enough for her to squirm and cry out, her hands drumming on his back to make him stop. He does, licks up the blood that pools on the little indents of his teeth where he broke her skin. Sucking on it, it fills his mouth, turns him even more animalistic.

His thrusts are rapid now, his hips pistoning against her, cock plunging deep, definitely bruising her already battered cervix. She wails beneath him, hoarse little cries of pain, but her arms and legs are tight around him as she clings to him in an almost desperate fashion, and he can feel her hips trying to meet his fast movements. This spurs him on even more, and he shifts on his elbow, leans a little away, angles his pelvis, eyes on her face as he moves a hand between them, quickly finding her throbbing clit.

She gasps breathlessly, eyes widening, sweat clinging to her skin, hair stuck to her slick forehead. He stares at her, his own rapid breaths coming loud through his nose as he clenches his jaw, holding back as he focuses on her. “Come,” he orders. “Come for me...” he presses out through gritted teeth, rubbing her nub harder, rougher, while increasing the snaps of his hips, skin slapping against skin, her wetness squelching out loudly.

Her lips are quivering, breathless sounds slipping from them, a faint “Ah... ah... ah...” that echoes in his ears, and when he pinches her clit between his fingers, she manages a louder “Ahh!”, an almost scream that can't form in her hurting throat but still forces its way out of her. Her eyes roll back, shoulders pressing into the couch, spine curving into a beautiful arc, chest pushed upwards, hips bucking, legs tensing up, her fingernails like claws digging through his shirt into his back.

And her cunt clamps down on him hard, so hard it's his turn to groan louder. She comes with that delicious contortion of her body, a pliant little thing beneath him, convulsing uncontrollably, completely giving in to the pleasure that rushes through her. It's a sight that burns itself into the back of his mind.

He fucks her through her orgasm, panting heavily, hips slamming, cock being milked by the tight grip of her pussy, but before he can follow her over the edge, he leans back, grabs her waist, pushes himself to his knees, slips from her wet depths almost too easily. She's still caught in her release, slowly slumping back down into the cushions, limbs boneless, eyes closed, mouth open, unaware of him climbing over her until he's crouching over her chest, knees on either side of her shoulders.

“Open your mouth,” he grunts, barely able to speak with how hard his cock is throbbing in his tight fist. Her eyes flutter open, unfocused, quickly widening as she notices his new position. There's a deep furrow between her brows, fear in her glistening eyes, panic in the way her lips quiver. But she complies, slowly opens her mouth, tongue out flat, rapid little breaths through her nose as she stares up at him.

He doesn't wait long, can't wait any longer, as he pushes his hard cock into her mouth, holding it at the base, mindful not to push too deep (a restraint that surprises him despite the fuzzy state of his mind), his other hand closes around her throat, pushing her down as she starts to squirm, her hands clawing helplessly at his arms and knees, anywhere they can reach as he pumps his shaft hard and fast until he finally feels the sweet release.

He comes with a deep groan, head rolling back, his stomach tensing, balls twitching as he shoots his load onto her tongue and into her throat, and with how he holds her down, she can only take it, muffled whimpers ringing in his ears, turning into gurgles and panicked attempts to breathe. She's close to hyperventilating when he eventually pulls back, the last spurts of cum hitting her lips and cheeks, one shoots against her eyebrow and she flinches, squeezes her eyes shut, tears rolling down the sides of her face.

He leans back on his knees, cock slowly deflating in his hand as he moves his other hand from her throat to cover her mouth, holding it shut as he stares down at her. “Swallow,” he groans, panting above her like a wild animal.

Her eyelids flutter, her rapid breaths hitting his fingers, but eventually there's a quiet gulp, and another, her throat moving, jaw tensing, and when she stops, he takes his hand away and puts a finger to her bottom lip, prying her mouth open.

She presents her flat tongue to him, mouth wide and empty. A smile crawls onto his lips. “Good girl,” he whispers, wiping at her lips and her wet cheek. She looks at him then, breathing hard, face flushed, eyes burning with what he thought was defiance earlier. A little darkness behind the fear. He only smiles wider, moves his finger along her face and wipes up the glob of cum on her eyebrow before he holds it to her lips.

She may hate him again, or still, but she nevertheless follows the unspoken order and flicks her tongue around his fingertip, licking up his spend. He feeds her more until her face is more or less clean of him, and she takes every single drop. Then he shifts on her chest, hand flat on her cheek and leans down to give her an almost chaste kiss that seems to surprise her as she freezes before her hands close around his wrist, holding him there.

But he leans back, slips from her weak grip easily and climbs off her, putting his spent cock away while he watches her closely. Some would say she looks pathetic how she lies on the couch, a little beetle caught on its back, arms and legs splayed around her, hair messy, face wet, body covered in sweat and her own release, pussy glistening and still exposed, thong carelessly pushed aside. A used body. But for him it's an image he wants to see again and again.

His work. His marks on her. His claim inside her, swimming in her belly.

It would be an even better image if his cum would slowly drip from her clenching hole, but he can't do that until she's settled on birth control. That's the only restraint he's giving himself.

His eyes move down to the bejeweled base of the plug poking out of her ass. Something warm rushes through him. He sits down beside her, his hand running along her bare leg. She stiffens under his touch, dark eyes following his every move. His finger trails towards her wet cunt, but instead of touching it, he fixes her thong in front of it, rubbing softly over the fabric, gathering her wetness in it.

She flinches when he pokes at the plug – and yelps when he gives her inner thigh a playful slap. “Alright,” he says, inhaling deeply as he stands up, looking down at her. “Let's get cleaned up, hm?” Not waiting for any reply, he gathers her in his arms and carries her towards the bathroom.

Despite having just fed the beast within him, he can feel his cock twitching all over again as he thinks about what to do next to his pretty little plaything.

SIX 🟥 SEVEN 🟥 EIGHT

End notes: Can you even call this fluff in a story like this? Well, it was a little softer anyway, right? We all needed that after those last chapters...

Thanks for reading! Next chapter on Monday!

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AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

CHAPTER / / / ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE

SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾️TEN

ELEVEN TWELVE◾️THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN◾FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN◾TWENTY