#should she be perfect? because that would be fucking boring

[crab-people-overlord]

I’m finding tumblr confessions w wendy slander so interesting because what is this, reddit lmao? I haven’t been apart of the Tumblr SP community as long as I have the Reddit one simply because I’ve had Reddit for much longer, but it was truly a breath of fresh air to come here and not see the constant Wendy hate.

This is no hate to OP or anyone who doesn’t appreciate Wendy, as everyone is entitled to their own opinion and can favor whatever characters they want to. But I genuinely don’t understand actually hating her.

Yes, Wendy gets jealous really easily. You know who else does? Stan, and not just to Wendy (he gets so petty and jealous in episodes like ‘Follow That Egg’ and ‘Cupid Ye’). He also is pretty emotionally distant from her (👍👍, also ‘but I haven’t talked to her in weeks!’ at his confusion over the first break up) and one time is the one to break up with her before starting a business with his bros, telling Clyde he was gonna be ‘drowning in bitches’ (lmfaooo im sorry but that part always gets me. like our boy Stan seriously needs to tone it down there lol).

They were never meant to be presented as a perfect couple- they are 9 year olds on a COMEDY where the writers constantly write their main characters as doing crazy shit much like the actions mentioned above for Wendy. Both Wendy and Stan are pretty equally bad at being in a relationship- and you know what? That’s okay. Them being so shitty at it because they are literally children is often the whole point of the jokes. Literally all the kids do very unhinged things, even your neutral moral good folks like Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Butters. Doesn’t mean they’re supposed to be hated for it.

Also, the whole Kyle and Wendy being the exact same is kind of overblown in my opinion, BUT at the same time there is some truth to it. They are so similar in that Kyle ALSO flies off the rail at every tiny little thing, and yet I don’t see as many people being willing to admit this is both a strength and a flaw in him in the same way so many immediately jump to paint Wendy as automatically overbearing and bossy rather than a brave moral center the way they do Kyle. I’ve always found this double standard fascinating.

And going back to what I was saying about Wendy and Kyle’s similarities often being overblown- I think this is a massive oversimplification of Wendy’s character and don’t view her as also being a moral compass as ‘redundant’ by any means. She approaches things differently than Kyle in a way that I think is refreshing. I don’t think she’s perfectly written and I think like all the girl characters she is majorly underutilized, but there are some differences in the way she handles moral crusades over Kyle. I’d say in recent seasons especially we’ve seen a strong emotional intelligence paired with it to know when to stop. This is why we don’t see her verbally attack Cartman as much, or like in the Smurfs episode where she initially refuses to even engage with it until it was impossible, but even then she handled it in such a calculated and fantastic way.

She’s also been shown to be very good at working behind the scenes patiently by herself like in Fractured but Whole as Call Girl- and it expands in her natural flirtiness in the game, which goes back to some of what OP describes as her flaws, but I see her flirtiness as a funny neutral aspect of her personality. (she’s a very flirty person lol. Love her flirty interactions with MC in the game when they’re a boy as well as the ways she flirts with Toolshed and Mysterion in battles. And before anyone gets mad at her for this, her flirting is really not all that much different from Toolshed’s suggestive banter with Human Kite in the game lmao)

I don't think the reason people hate Wendy is for "being like Kyle" (which kind of makes her redundant) but for her jealousy and hypocrisy. She openly flirts with Bridon, KISSES CARTMAN!, dumps him for Token, did the mass breakup and other things without regard for Stan's feelings AND YET she flies off the handle at every little thing he does wrong.

[alisonsfics]

wrong name

pairing: tyler owens x best friend!reader

summary: you were doing a great job suppressing your feelings for your best friend until you hooked up with a guy and called out tyler’s name in bed. but it’s fine, tyler would never find out, right? right?

word count: 3.4k

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, car sex, fingering, praise kink, dirty talk, minors DNI (18+ only)

It had been one week since the most mortifying moment of your life.

You’d gone on a first date with a guy named Finn because that’s what you do when you’re trying to get over your crush on your best friend. You hope that maybe you’ll meet a guy that you’ll fall harder for and stop crushing on the guy who would never see you like that.

So, you went back to his place after dinner, and the sex was mediocre at best.

At first, Tyler only popped into your head for second. You imagined how much better it would feel if it was his hands running over your body. Then, you had more intrusive thoughts. Like the thought of Tyler bending you over and fucking you.

It’s only because you were desperate. There was nothing worse than trying to pretend you were having a good time when you were just bored out of your mind.

So, you suggested to Finn that he should blindfold you.

From there, your imagination really soared, and you allowed yourself to believe you were with Tyler.

It was a fun little secret, just for you.

Until you both came, and you called out Tyler’s name and not his.

You were praying you’d spontaneously combust because you couldn’t face him after that. You quickly scrambled back into your clothes and went home.

You were doing okay at pretending it never happened. When you were lying in bed at night, the memory liked to sneak up on you and mortify you all over again.

So, you were boycotting dates for the moment because you couldn’t risk doing it again.

You had a boring night of wine and a movie planned for yourself when Tyler called you. “Hey, Tyler? What’s up?” You asked him, cheerily.

“You got any plans tonight? I was thinking about going out to a bar.” He suggested.

Even over the phone, his voice ran right through you. Goosebumps ran down your arms as you tried to hide your excitement. “That sounds great. Pick me up at 8?” You suggested.

“Sounds perfect, see you soon.” He replied.

You hung up the phone and flopped backwards onto your bed. The heat rushed to your cheeks. You had to fight the urge to giggle and kick your feet.

You’d been friends with Tyler for years, which didn’t mean you stopped getting butterflies around him. You just got better at hiding it.

You both had been through a lot together, and you didn’t want to jeopardize it by letting he find out you were harboring feelings for him.

So, you picked out a cute black dress to wear. One that Tyler’s eyes would linger over, but he’d never admit it. Just like every time the two of you went out to a bar.

You’d just finished getting ready whenTyler’s red truck pulled up outside your apartment. You quickly ran down the stairs to greet him.

“There she is,” he said, his eyes running down your body as he got out of the truck. That look of awe was enough to make you feel dizzy.

You could feel the butterflies start to swarm as he walked closer to you. “You look gorgeous as always.” He said, taking your hand and spinning you in a circle.

You thanked him as he pulled you in for a quick hug.

“Your chariot awaits.” He joked, opening the passenger door for you.

The drive there went by in a flash. You and Tyler knew each other like the back of your hands, so you could easily spend hours talking about nothing and everything.

“So, any particular reason you wanted to go out tonight?” You asked, looking over at Tyler as you both took a seat at the bar. You knew Tyler’s favorite solution for problems at work was going out drinking with you. No one could calm Tyler down the way you could.

“Can’t it just be because I wanted to hang out with my best friend?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. You rolled your eyes at him, swatting his arm. “While I am a delight, I know that’s not it.” You encouraged him, letting your hand linger on his forearm.

His eyes darted down. The way your small hand was gripping onto his muscular arm was enough to distract him. You quickly pulled your hand away, feeling slightly embarrassed after seeing his reaction.

“Just tornado stuff. We had this big opportunity to get a bunch of data, but some of the equipment malfunctioned. We lost almost everything.” He explained. He was eager to move the conversation past how he had almost malfunctioned because you grabbed his arm.

You gave him a small sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, Tyler. That’s frustrating. You’ll figure it out. I mean, you’re the tornado wrangler after all.” You said, cheesily trying to cheer him up. Tyler chuckled and looked down at his hands.

Ever since Tyler had been branded the “Tornado Wrangler,” you loved to tease him about it.

“Oh, c’mon, you know I hate when you call me that.” He groaned, smiling at you. You cheekily shrugged your shoulders.

“I gotta go to the bathroom real quick. Can you watch my drink?” You asked him. Tyler quickly nodded, sliding your drink over in front of him. You rushed towards the bathroom, where you assumed there’d be a line.

“Two shots of tequila please,” Tyler heard a man come up to the bar and order beside him.

He didn’t pay a lot of attention to it, until he saw the man down both shots back to back, out of the corner of his eye. “Rough day?” Tyler joked, looking over at the man.

“Rough week,” the man corrected him, with a grim expression. Tyler looked at the man’s face, not being able to shake the feeling that he knew him from somewhere.

“Wait, do we know each other? You look familiar.” Tyler said, furrowing his eyebrows as he thought. The man gave him an awkward smile and shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, man.” He said, knowing he’d never seen Tyler before.

That’s when he saw Tyler’s eyes light up in recognition. “Oh, wait. You’re Finn, right?” He asked him.

Finn’s expression only became more anxious and worried. “Yeah, umm. I am, but how do you know my name? I don’t think we’ve ever met.” He asked.

Tyler quickly shook his head, trying to assure the man who was growing more nervous. “No, we haven’t met. You went on a date with my friend Y/N last weekend. She showed me your picture before you guys had your date.” Tyler said.

Finn nodded in recognition. All the memories of that night came rushing back to him. “Oh, yeah. That explains it.” Finn said, sheepishly. It was clear to Finn that this man he was speaking to didn’t know anything about how that date went.

“Sorry, don’t want to be rude. I’m Tyler, by the way.” Tyler said, quickly shaking Finn’s hand. Finn stared blankly back at him. “Tyler?” He asked, feeling his blood run cold. Tyler nodded, giving Finn a friendly smile.

Meanwhile, you were on your way back to the bar.

“Hey, Tyler. I’m back.” You said, reaching to grab your drink back from Tyler. Your gaze drifted past Tyler to the man that was standing beside him.

“Hey, Y/N. Good to see you.” Finn said, with a fake smile. You felt yourself freeze. You wanted to run away, but you couldn’t convince your feet to move.

“Oh—uh, Finn. Yeah, good to see you.” You nervously lied. Your eyes darted between Tyler and Finn. You were praying Finn hadn’t found out Tyler’s name. You were also praying he hadn’t told Tyler what happened.

“I guess you haven’t told your friend, Tyler, here that our date was kind of a bust.” He said, coldly.

You wrapped your hand around Tyler’s bicep, trying to tug him towards you. You wanted Tyler to get the hint that you really wanted to leave.

Tyler turned to face you. He saw the pure panic in your eyes. “You okay?” He asked you, quietly.

You tried to form the word “no,” but no sound would come out of your mouth. All you could imagine was Finn telling Tyler what happened. You could practically see the way that Tyler’s face would change.

“I think the guy deserves to know.” Finn said, noticing the way you were tensed up. You weren’t hard to read in this moment, but Finn had been humiliated when you said the wrong name. So, he wanted revenge.

“That’s none of his business.” You said firmly. You refused to look Tyler in the eye. You were worried that if you did, he’d somehow see into your soul and know what happened.

“Let’s go.” Tyler said, standing up and wrapping his hand tightly in yours. Tyler knew how uncomfortable Finn was making you and wanted to get you out of there as quick as possible.

Tyler turned to leave, pulling you with him when Finn yelled after you both.

“We hooked up, but she called out your name, not mine.” Finn said.

You felt the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Your stomach sank. You felt like the floor was going to open it up and pull you under.

You tugged your hand away and ran out of the bar and into the parking lot. Tyler was trying to process what he’d just heard.

He turned around to face Finn, who had a grin on his face. “The lady told you to shut up.” Tyler practically growled, shoving Finn against the bar.

Tyler turned on his heel to follow you towards the car.

When he got outside, he saw you standing by the passenger side of the truck. Your arms were crossed, and your eyes were focused on the ground.

“Sweetheart—” Tyler started to say before you cut him off.

“I want to go home.” You snapped. Your tone came out harsher than you meant to.

Tyler slowly nodded. He didn’t want to push you to talk about something you didn’t want to talk about. You both got into the car in complete silence.

Tyler hesitated before putting the keys in the ignition. He glanced over at you. He could see your eyes starting to water as you still refused to look at him.

He cautiously reached over to let his fingers interlace with yours. “Will you please look at me, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere. You’re not scaring me away. I promise.” He said, softly.

You hesitantly looked over at him. He gave you a soft smile, trying to calm you down. “Finn was a douchebag for telling me, but I’m not going anywhere.” He assured you. You softly squeezed his hand.

He used his other hand to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. “So…you were calling out my name, huh?” Tyler asked you, with a cocky smirk.

Your eyes went wide. You tugged your hand away from his and covered your face with your hands. “Tyler,” you complained, dragging out his name.

He chuckled to himself. “I wasn’t trying to tease you.” He said, holding his hands up in surrender.

You peeked at him through your fingers. “That’s exactly what you’re doing, Owens.” You said, groaning to yourself.

He shook his head. Then, you felt him grab both your hands. His rough calloused skin scratching against your soft hands. He moved your hands away, looking you in the eye.

“I was just offering to make your little fantasies a reality.” He said in a low voice.

You leaped across the car, grabbing the collar of his shirt and kissing him. His hand flew to the back of your neck as he kissed you back.

You could taste the liquor on his lips. The kiss was sloppy and hungry. You’d both wanted this for too long to be patient. His fingers weaved through your hair, holding on tightly.

His other hand grabbed your waist. His fingers caressed the silky material of your dress. His mind could only think about how much softer your skin would be under his touch.

You seemingly read his mind. “Go ahead,” you mumbled against his lips. You could feel his lips curve up into a smirk. He slipped his fingers under your short dress, caressing your upper thigh.

He noticed the goosebumps that were covering your legs. It only encouraged him more. His hand slowly moved higher up your thigh.

You whimpered against the kiss. You felt the familiar aching between your legs. You needed his touch like you needed air. “So needy for me, baby,” he said, cockily.

The pet name sent a shiver rolling down your back. You bucked your hips up against nothing. “Please,” you begged him.

He rubbed his thumb across your clothed heat. A small wet patch had formed in your panties. Another whine came out of you.

He quickly pushed your panties to the side and plunged a finger into your folds. You gasped, pulling out of the kiss. Your eyelids softly fluttered closed.

“Oh, fuck,” you mumbled softly. Tyler peppered kisses to your shoulder as you leaned your head back. Your senses were overwhelmed. There wasn’t a single coherent thought in your head. He curled his finger inside of you, making you buck your hips against his hand.

“You want another, sweetheart? Can you handle that?” Tyler asked you. You furiously nodded your head. He could feel his jeans becoming strained as he watched you writhe under his touch.

He added another finger, stretching you out. Your mouth hung open as you adjusted. Your wetness only allowed Tyler to move his fingers quicker. He quickly moved them in and out, watching as your breath quickened.

Your stomach started to tighten. You reached for anything to sink your nails into. Your hand landed on Tyler’s bicep.

He pressed his thumb into your clit. “Tyler,” his name fell effortlessly from his lips. He quickened his pace. Every breath and moan from you made him go faster.

“Cum for me, baby,” he praised you.

He started rubbing circles around your clit. You whined, helplessly grinding your hips down against his hand. You swore you were seeing stars. “Oh fuck, Tyler, I’m gonna—” you swore, biting down your lip.

“Go ahead. Cum on my fingers.” He instructed. Your orgasm hit you. You clenched around his fingers, riding the high. “Tyler, so good,” you mumbled. Your legs were shaking, and you threw your head back against the headrest. He continued pumping his fingers into you.

“That’s it. There you go.” He softly praised you. Tyler’s fingers slowed down, helping you down from your peak. He brushed your hair out of your face and kissed your lips softly.

He wiped his soaked fingers on his jeans. You softly nipped at his bottom lip. His smirk grew again. “What do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?” He asked you.

Instead of answering him, you climbed across the console into his lap. Tyler pulled out of the kiss to watch you, in shock. His eyes were wide at the sight in front of him.

You were straddling his lap. Your skirt was hiked up to your hips while your cum was running down your thigh. Your makeup was smudged. Your lips were swollen. And you looked tired out from your orgasm.

“Hold on, just a second, baby,” he said, quickly sliding his seat all the way back and leaning the chair as far back as it would go.

As soon as you both had more room, you were back all over each other. Tyler’s hands were possessively holding on your hips. You unbuttoned Tyler’s shirt as you kissed him. Feeling the last button come undone, you raked your nails over his bare chest. Tyler groaned into the kiss. Your touch was magic on him.

“Need you,” he mumbled against your lips. You tugged his shirt off his shoulders and threw it in the back seat.

Tyler leaned back as you reached for the hem of your dress. He watched with a cocky smile as you pulled the dress over your head. He’d just been fingers deep in you, but the sight of you in your bra and panties was enough to make him crazy.

“So fuckin’ beautiful, darling,” he practically moaned. He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you down to kiss him again. Your hands struggled to undo his belt while he unclasped your bra.

Having Tyler’s hands on you had your skin burning. You felt like your skin was on fire, in the best way. You could sense his desperation. His hands explored your body, not wanting to leave any part untouched.

His hands covered you, helping you undo his belt and unzip his jeans. He quickly tugged his jeans down to his knees.

You pulled out of the kiss to take a breath. Tyler buried his face in between your breasts, leaving sloppy kisses and a trail of saliva. He leaned forward, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

Your eyes rolled back, grasping onto Tyler’s arms. “Need you, Tyler,” you mumbled.

“All you had to do was ask, baby.” He said, tugging down his boxers. His cock spring out, slapping against his stomach. He watched as you practically drooled over him. He brought you back into the moment as he pulled off your panties.

“You want to do this right here? Or you wanna move into the backseat?” He asked you, smirking at your eager expression.

“Right here,” you said. The words came out rushed as you captured his lips in a kiss. He smirked against your lips. “Hang on, sweetheart. If you’re gonna ride me, you’re gonna need this.” He said, grabbing his cowboy hat from the backseat and plopping it on your head. A bashful smile appeared on your face.

You shifted your weight, holding onto Tyler’s shoulders. “Go ahead, cowgirl.” He encouraged you with a wicked smile.

You slowly sunk yourself down onto his length. A low groan escaped Tyler’s lips at the feeling of you wrapped around him. “Fuck, darling,” he moaned, grabbing at your hips. He helped lift you up and let you plunge back down on his cock.

“Oh, Ty— so good,” you mumbled, rolling your hips back into his.

Tyler took a mental picture of you riding him while wearing his hat. He wanted to remember it forever.

With his assistance, you sped up the pace. You were ramming your hips down against his. With each thrust, you could feel Tyler reaching deeper inside you.

“This what you were thinking about with that other guy? Thinking about wrapping your sweet pussy around my cock. You fit perfect. It’s like you were made for me.” Tyler praised you. His comments went straight to your core. Your legs started to shake.

His name fell from your lips. He bucked his hips up to meet yours halfway. “Need to…f-f-faster,” you stuttered, feeling your muscles begin to tighten.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help ya,” he assured you, grabbing a tight hold on your hips. He slammed you down on his cock.

You could feel him brush up against your g-spot. You clenched your eyes shut, a whimper escaping your lips. “That the spot, sweetheart? Don’t worry. I’ll give it the attention it needs.” He said, flipping your body over so he was on top.

“You did so good, honey. But just let me do the work. You focus on cumming for me.” He instructed you.

He braced his leg against the console and started pounding into you. Your legs began to shake. You wrapped your hands around the headrest, your knuckles turning white.

“I’m almost—” you said, breathlessly. The noises bouncing off the truck walls were almost pornographic. You could hear every thrust. From Tyler’s low groans every time you squeezed around his cock to the sound his cock made as it slipped through your wetness.

His hand flew down to your clit, rubbing small tight circles. “Can’t last much longer, darling,” Tyler moaned. You could tell from his erratic thrusts that he was telling the truth. You vision was starting to go white as the muscles in your abdomen contracted.

“Oh, shit. I’m gonna— oh, fuck, Tyler.” You called out as you came around him. Your walls clenched down around his cock, pushing him over the edge. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned, bucking his hips into yours and he came inside you.

He collapsed against you, slowing his pace and bringing you both down from your highs. His sweaty body pressed against yours.

“So, how’s that compare to what you were imagining?” Tyler asked you, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

You gasped for breath. “S-so much better,” you mumbled, breathlessly.

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[clairecrive]

Hey there, I got an idea for a request Alfies secretary is a quiet girl and Alfie is always flirting with her he loves to make her cheeks blush red. And one day she finally becomes brave and says something flirty back to him and he gets all flustered first as he wasn't expecting it and then he's like "fucking hell" with his cheeky grin and makes his move while he has the chance and gives her the best kiss of her life💖

A/n: Hello everyone!! It's been ages since I last wrote anything, let alone for Alfie. However, lately I 've been right down obsessed with him again and couldn't fight the urge to write for him. I found this in my inbox and I'm so so sorry it took me this long to write this!

I'm not going to tag anyone because I don't even know if there's still anyone reading this blog lol. but let me know If you want to be tagged.

MASTERLIST

"Cat and mouse"| Alfie Solomons x reader

"Hello, luv."

"Hello, Mr Solomons."

"Ah, pet how many times do I have to tell ya, eh?" You had been working for Alfie for a while now. Enough time to make you a trusted employee. Even more than that actually. if his relentless flirting was enough of tell.

By now, you were on first name bases. But even though Alfie was quite outspoken about his appreciation of you, the only way you told him it was somewhat reciprocated was by flushing furiously whenever he flirted with you.

It wasn't enough. Not anymore. And while Alfie was patient and respectful of your shy nature, you were done with this cat and mouse dance. You wanted him. You're just waiting for the right time to go for it.

"There's Mr Shelby waiting for you in the hallway, should I let him in?"

Alfie groaned at the name. You knew it was only to keep up his burly grumpy man persona he got going on. Deep down, you thought he didn't mind Tommy's company much.

"Only if you come in with him, pet. I need something beautiful to look at to survive that fucking bore, right?"

Blushing at the insinuation you nodded before going to let Mr. Shelby in and retrieve pen and paper. This was actually part of your job description. Alfie's request was more because he was a flirt and he liked to see you flush.

Nothing but charm in his vein, let me tell you.

"Ms. Y/N will be with us so she could take notes and whatnot, I hope you don't mind Tommy but to be fair, I don't give a fuck if you do, right?"

"She always does Alfie." Tommy drily pointed out while lighting a cigarette.

"Yeah well, I like to be surrounded by beautiful things, don't I?"

"So do I, Alfie. So do I." Tommy agreed

"Alright gentlemen, if you could stop flirting with each other and move onto business please. Mr. Solomons. has a packed schedule, as I'm sure you have as well Mr. Shelby." Rearranging the papers and documents in front of you, you dressed the two men. You knew that they could go on for while like this. Especially alfie had a way of talking for hours without actually saying anything. It made for a perfect business strategy but you knew that he actually needed to settle things with Tommy.

The brume acknowledged her with just a light tilt of his lips while your boss sputtered in shock.

"Fucking hell, pet. What the fuck are ya on about, eh?" He looked at you, and you could see that other than the shock for your outrageous implication, there was actually surprise in his eyes. And then a pleased glimmer.

You only raised an eyebrow at him to silently suggest to just get on with the meeting.

"Fucking women, eh Tommy? Wild creature they are, I tell ya. You never can guess what's on their fucking mind, can ya."

"If you'd get on with it, then maybe you'll have enough time this evening so that I can tell you over dinner."

You had never seen Alfie Solomons speechless. Hell, you had never seen him be silent for more than one minute. You bet that he talked even in his sleeps.

Well, would you look at him now. Eyes wide and mouth almost open. If you hadn't just taken a huge leap out of your comfort zone, you'd find this situation funny.

Tommy Shelby probably did.

"You know what, Alfie? I'll come back tomorrow." And with just a tilt of his head in your direction, the brummie was off and out of Alfie's office.

Meanwhile, Alfie was still looking at you. Which was making you nervous. And when you were nervous, you tended to rumble.

"What? Is it such a preposterous idea?" you said being defensive.

"Fucking hell, pet. Didn't know you had it in ya."

"You're not the only one who can flirt, you know." You mumble, suddenly shy.

"Of course, not. And I fucking hope you're not going to stop either." He smirked at you. Pushing away from his desk he turned so that he was completely facing you.

"Now, why don't you come here and show me exactly what's on yer mind, eh?"

Burning. Your cheeks were burning red by now. But you did exactly what he said. You got up and you walked so that you were now facing him.

With him sitting down and you standing in front of him, you were almost the same height.

You didn't know what to do with your hands, with yourself really. That sudden burst of courage was long gone now.

Taking you in, Alfie could see that as well. Smiling, he gently pulled you even closer to him.

"We could wait 'till dinner and even after that, pet y'know? There's no rush, yeah?" He softly promised. He had been flirting with you for months after all, what's a few more weeks or however much you needed?

"I don't want to wait anymore, Alfie. I just don't know what to do." You looked at him under your lashes, all bashful and cute and Alfie could barely restrain himself.

"Then let me show ya, right?"

Gently cradling your face, Alfie leaned in. He let his nose touch yours in a gentle caress so that you had time to pulled away if you wanted to.

Then, when you didn't he finally kissed you.

It was gentle and soft and, in your opinion, the best kiss in the world.

[patrixjia]

Bad Behavior

Plot Overview:

Y/N flirts with Changbin at an industry event, pushing Chan’s buttons just to get a rise out of him. But what starts as a game turns into something darker when Chan drags her away, determined to remind her who she belongs to. The punishment is raw, intense, and filled with possessive heat. But underneath it all, there’s something deeper—an undeniable bond that even the roughest moments can’t break.

WARNINGS: dom/sub dynamics, rough sex, jealousy/passion-driven behavior, possessiveness, public setting (implied), mild degradation, choking (soft), oral sex, punishment kink, emotional intensity

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The ballroom buzzes around you with that sickly sweet scent of money and power. Fake smiles, fake conversations. You’re standing beside Chan like the perfect little accessory—silent, pretty, obedient. But the second he introduces you to someone and shifts his attention, you let the brat peek through.

Because tonight, you’re bored. And when you’re bored, you get dangerous.

He should know that by now.

He feels your hand slip from his. Doesn’t say anything—just glances sideways, watching you float across the floor in that little black dress he picked out. The one that rides up when you walk, the one that gets you looks from every man in the room, and you love it. You live for the tension building behind his calm, calculating stare.

You don’t stop until you reach Changbin, who’s already grinning like he knows you’re up to something.

“Y/N,” he says, eyes trailing down your body a little too slowly. “Damn, you clean up nice.”

You let out a soft, syrupy laugh, fingers brushing his arm. “That’s sweet. I was worried no one would notice me tonight.”

He raises a brow. “Hard not to notice when you’re looking like that. Chan let you out like this?”

You lean in, whispering just loud enough. “He doesn’t let me do anything.”

You know Chan hears that. You want him to.

It only takes thirty seconds.

You feel it before you even see him—the weight of his presence behind you, the heat radiating off his body as his hand wraps around your wrist like a fucking collar.

“Outside,” he growls, voice low and full of warning. “Now.”

No room to argue. No pet names. Just ice.

He doesn’t look at Changbin. Doesn’t need to. The grip on your wrist tightens just a bit, not enough to hurt—just enough to remind you who you belong to.

The alley outside is cold, dim, silent—until the car door slams shut behind you. Chan pushes you back against the SUV, both hands slamming into the metal beside your head.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

You smirk, slow and challenging. “Something bothering you, baby?”

“Don’t fuckin’ play dumb.” His voice cuts like a blade—cold, sharp, controlled rage. “Flirting with him like a little slut… is that what you want me to think?”

You blink up at him innocently. “I didn’t touch him.”

He laughs once—humorless, dark. “Oh, so that makes it okay? You think batting your eyes at him, whispering in his ear like that, acting like you’re not mine—you think that’s gonna end well for you?”

You shrug, mouth twitching. “You’ve been ignoring me all night.”

That’s when he really snaps.

Chan grabs your jaw, fingers firm, forcing your gaze to his. “You forgot who the fuck you belong to.”

He leans in, nose brushing yours, voice deadly low.

“You want attention so bad, I’ll fucking give it to you.”

Then, he steps back, undoing the buttons on his blazer with that cold, calculated calm that’s always the most dangerous. He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he unbuckles his belt slowly, letting the leather slide free with a sharp snap.

“On your knees.”

You pause—because it’s not just a command. It’s a promise.

His eyes darken, jaw tense. “Now.”

You sink.

He walks closer, wrapping the belt around his hand, then looping the end around your throat—not tight. Just there. A reminder. A threat. A leash.

“You wanna be a brat?” he hisses, the belt tightening ever so slightly. “Then I’ll treat you like one.”

The leather is warm against your throat, soft but firm—tight enough that you feel it when you swallow. He grips the end of the belt like a leash, holding your gaze from above as you kneel in the gravel, knees bruising slowly beneath you.

Chan looks down at you like you’re the most disobedient thing he’s ever owned. And you are.

His free hand moves to his belt buckle, yanking open the rest with sharp, practiced movements. There’s no teasing, no slow build-up. Just raw frustration and punishment.

“You know what to do,” he mutters, voice dark and low. “So do it.”

You reach up, fingers trembling slightly as you undo the rest of his pants. He hisses when your hand brushes against him—half from the contact, half from the control it takes not to just grab the back of your head and shove you down.

But he wants to watch you work for it.

And you do, slow at first, lips parting as you take him in. His breath stutters, head falling back for a second before he snaps it forward again, eyes locked on the way your mouth moves around him. The belt in his hand tightens, pulling your neck slightly closer.

“Look at me,” he growls.

Your eyes flick up, and fuck—he looks unhinged. Jaw clenched, eyes dark, a vein in his neck pulsing. He’s holding himself back, you can tell.

“Of course you’d suck cock like this right after acting like a whore,” he spits. “Is that why you were teasing me all night? Just wanted to be put back in your place?”

You moan around him, the sound sending vibrations up his spine.

“Fucking hell,” he grunts, hips bucking forward once, rough and unforgiving. “You’re mine, Y/N. Mine. And you don’t get to forget that just because we’re in public.”

He starts thrusting into your mouth, not letting you set the pace anymore—his hand in your hair now, the belt still wrapped tight in his other fist. Each time his hips slam forward, you choke just a little, tears starting to prick your eyes.

But you love it. Every second of it.

“This what you wanted?” he snarls, fucking your mouth harder. “You wanted me angry? Wanted me to ruin you for even looking at someone else?”

He jerks you forward until your nose hits his stomach, holding you there as you gag softly around him, spit sliding down your chin.

“Good fucking girl,” he grits out. “That’s what you are when I’ve got your throat full, huh? Not so fucking bratty now.”

When he finally pulls back, his cock slick and twitching, he keeps the belt around your throat and yanks you to your feet.

You’re breathless, lips swollen, eyes glossy.

But he’s not done with you.

He slams the car door open, dragging you inside the backseat with him. You barely get a second to breathe before he’s flipping your dress up, tearing your panties to the side.

“You wanted attention?” he pants into your ear, one hand already between your thighs. “You’ve fucking got it.”

You barely have time to blink before you’re thrown onto the backseat, face down, his hand pressing hard between your shoulder blades to keep you there.

“Stay fucking still,” he growls into your ear, voice dripping with venom and want. The belt is still wrapped around your neck like a collar, and he uses it to pull your head back slightly—just enough to remind you who’s in charge.

You whimper beneath him, knees sliding apart instinctively. You can feel the heat of him against the back of your thigh, the roughness in every movement. He’s beyond restraint now—every touch filled with frustration, jealousy, possession.

“This what you wanted, huh?” His hand slides under your dress, yanking your ruined panties down your thighs. “Wanted me to lose my fucking mind over you?”

You try to answer, but all that comes out is a needy sound, breathy and desperate.

He lets out a cruel laugh, lining himself up and pausing—just barely brushing his cock against your dripping folds. “No. You don’t get to be quiet now.”

He grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back again, his breath hot against your ear.

“Say it. Say you wanted me like this.”

“Y-Yes,” you breathe, barely able to form the word. “I wanted it—wanted you—like this.”

“That’s right,” he snarls. “You wanted me pissed. You wanted to be put on your knees and used.”

And then he slams into you.

Hard.

You gasp, nearly lurching forward from the force of it, but his hand on your back keeps you pinned like a fuckdoll—one he owns, one he’s reminding belongs to him.

He starts fucking into you mercilessly, hips snapping forward with every thrust, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the car. You’re a mess under him—moaning, clawing at the seat, eyes rolling back with every punishing stroke.

The belt digs in tighter with every movement. Not choking, not dangerous—just controlling. Holding. Reminding you who owns your body.

“Not so bratty now, are you?” he grits out, slamming into you again. “You take it when I give it to you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you cry out, legs trembling. “Yes, yes—Chan, please—”

“Please what?” he snarls, leaning over your back, fucking you deeper now, slower but harder. “Please make you come like the desperate little slut you are? Huh?”

You nod frantically, tears spilling down your cheeks.

He wraps the belt tighter, biting at your shoulder as he growls, “Then fucking earn it.”

His hand snakes down between your thighs, fingers finding your clit with perfect precision—circling, rubbing, matching the pace of his hips. You shatter in seconds. It hits you like a wave of white-hot heat, your orgasm tearing through you as your vision goes black around the edges.

But he doesn’t stop.

“Mine,” he grunts, still fucking you through it. “You belong to me, Y/N. You don’t look at anyone else. You don’t want anyone else.”

“I don’t,” you cry out, voice ragged. “I don’t—I swear, I only want you—”

“Damn fucking right you do.”

He groans as he slams into you one last time, holding you still as he finally spills inside you, your name tumbling from his lips like a curse.

For a long moment, all you hear is breathing—heavy, uneven, laced with everything he didn’t say. Then, slowly, his hands soften, tracing over your hips, your back, loosening the belt from around your neck.

He leans down, presses a kiss between your shoulder blades.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, quiet now. “Don’t make me remind you like that again.”

His breathing is still ragged against your shoulder, forehead pressed to your back as his hips still, hands resting gently where they’d just been gripping hard enough to bruise.

Neither of you says anything for a moment.

Then he moves—slowly, carefully. He pulls out, drawing a soft, broken whimper from your lips, and you collapse onto your side, spent and shaking. Your thighs are slick, your skin marked, your heart racing. And he’s already sliding closer, pulling you into his chest with one arm while the other gently strokes your hair.

“Fuck,” he mutters into your hair. “I went too far, didn’t I?”

You shake your head immediately, voice hoarse but sure. “No. It was perfect.”

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, his features softer now, but still laced with that possessive fire.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs, brushing damp hair from your forehead. “You’re mine, Y/N. No one else gets to have you, not even for a fucking second.”

You smile—tired, blissed out, full of affection. “I like when you remind me.”

His jaw clenches for a second, but then he leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips. Gentle this time. Slow. He lingers, breathing you in.

“Still,” he whispers against your mouth, “you okay?”

You nod. “Just… wrecked. In the best way.”

He chuckles softly and kisses your cheek, then your shoulder. “Let me get you cleaned up.” His hands move with that post-rage tenderness, wiping you down with tissues from the glove box, adjusting your dress so you’re covered again, sliding his coat over your shoulders like a blanket.

Once you’re both composed, he helps you sit on his lap sideways in the backseat, arms wrapped around your waist, head tucked under your chin.

“You scared the hell out of me tonight,” he murmurs. “Thought I was gonna lose it when I saw you with him.”

You play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “You did lose it.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I did.”

You tilt his face up, pressing another kiss to his lips, softer this time, full of quiet love beneath the chaos. “You don’t ever have to doubt who I belong to, Chan.”

His eyes search yours, something raw flickering behind the softness. “You say that now, but—”

“Always.” You interrupt him firmly, pressing your forehead to his. “I tease. I push. But it’s you. It’s only ever you.”

He closes his eyes, arms tightening around you like he’s afraid you might slip away if he lets go.

“Good,” he breathes. “Because I don’t think I could handle it if it wasn’t.”

You sit there like that for a while, wrapped up in each other in the quiet, the city buzzing faintly outside the car windows—his heart finally steadying, your breathing finally soft.

He kisses you one more time, just above the bruises he left on your neck.

“Let’s go home.”

taglist: @velvetmoonlght @lezleeferguson-120

[kawhh]

Your normal and healthy luke blurb gave me ideas. Because what if.....quinny n Jack end up getting obsessed with his sweet gf? Since Luke won't make sure she is safe all of the time, THEY will. Luke's out with friends but you had mentioned going to this cafe for lunch? Jack was just thinking about the same thing! Quinny is suffering all the way in Vancouver while he watches Jack take care of you and, in his words, Luke practically beg for something bad to happen to you.

POOR QUINNIFER, FAR AWAY.

Warnings: On my bullying Luke mission again. Brothers are thinking he's cheating, but it's them. No actual cheating. Paranoia. Captain Q. Tracking mention. Camera mention. Taking videos of you when you're vulnerable plans. Hints towards Jack touching you in your sleep.

Luke is forever bullied in my head. He just makes for a perfect naive little brother. Young enough compared to them to not realise what's going on, out often with his friends, living up his early career.

It makes you such an adorable little target. Too sweet, too trusting.

It's not Jack's fault that you come over often, Luke not having told you that he's going out. It's not like he would make you leave. How horrible of a brother would he be if he didn't care for you? Let you inside? Convincing you that Luke will be back in a few hours, even though he knows it's not happening.

Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if Luke is flirting with someone wherever he is. Why else would he leave you alone so much? Why the fuck wouldnt he be watching you? It makes no sense to him.

It's infuriating. You tell him countless stories of being on your own in new places, getting hurt, being overwhelmed, feeling bored, trying new food on your own and shopping on your own.

Why isn't Luke doing all these things with you? Is he not concerned about you being taken advantage of? Having a bad fall? Being harassed? He should be glued to your side. Guiding you, protecting you, entertaining you, comforting you, giving you compliments on new outfits.

You deserve to be praised. You need to be protected. Everything is a threat in his eyes. You could get hurt driving. You could trip outside. You could be stuck outside their apartment if he's not there and Luke ditches.

Thinking about you not being safe feels like his heart is being stabbed. His hands twitching with the desire to strangle his brother. You're so soft. So weak. So fragile.

He was good for a while, only watching you when you were over. Until he told Quinn about his brother's behaviour. If he thought he was angry, Q was on another level of rage.

He'd never truly been on the receiving end of his captain behaviour. Not used to demands being borderline shouted down the phone at him, an action plan being formed faster than he could blink.

Quinn's angry at him too, for not bringing it up sooner. Frustrated that he'd let this go on for this long already without doing anything about it. He's not expecting him to control Luke, but he should be controlling you. Keeping you with him.

Why hasn't he already started tracking your location if you're on your own? Doesn't he understand that he could at least know when you were coming over if he didn't want to follow you around yet? He could be ready and waiting for you.

If you're at the apartment often, does he check if you've eaten? Clearly Luke isn't doing that, so Jack should be on it. If you aren't eating when he's around, when are you eating?

He should be buying you clothes to stop you from having to go shopping on your own. It'd be easy to claim that he was just walking past them one day before a game.

Quinn's already bundling things together for you the minute he puts down the phone after learning about what's going on.

He can get things delivered to Jack's apartment, he doesn't need Luke learning about anything until they have a solid plan to make you split from him.

He demands that he set up cameras in the house to watch you while Jack's at a game. He needs him to make sure you stay inside while they're playing. They need to swap off, keeping an eye on you whenever they can.

He wants videos of you every single week: videos of you sleeping, videos of Jack investigating your clothes to make sure you're wearing what they're giving you, videos of him touching your skin, close-ups of your bare skin as he starts warming you up for both of them.

[sunseed-fandump]

Heyya! Wanted to ask, since there is the Bad Batch's reaction's to the Ancients, but what do you think the Beast (so far) reaction to them, and vice versa?

Mystic Flour Cookie ==> The kids find it kind of pathetic that the minute her Cocoon of Enlightenment Plan went awry that she just... Gave up. Was it not fair that a false rumor ruined her plan? Yeah. But the fact she threw in the towel the minute things didn't go her way makes her come off more like a spoiled brat than anything.

As for Mystic Flour's opinion on the kids, she would find them pathetic in her own way. After all, what could three small children hope to achieve when they're literally going up against the entire world? At least in the case of the Beasts, they were created with the power of gods. They were made to shift the world and change it however they saw fit, as it was their creators who gave them that birthright. But these small cookies? They're nothing but ignorant selfish children who rebel for the sake of rebelling. Their hopes to do anything meaningful or impactful are for naught.

Burning Spice Cookie ==> While the kids do enjoy causing more than a bit of property damage here and there, they can't really get behind the idea of reducing the world to nothing but a lifeless wasteland of ashes. They're not interested in engaging in a war without reason. They view Burning Spice as a warmonger and disagree with his sentiment that the lives of others merely exist for his entertainment. If you're THAT bored, then get a damn hobby!

On Burning Spice's end, he would like the kids' spunk! But he would find it pathetic that they're holding back and getting so attached to each other and others. Friendships are a weakness, a vulnerability to exploit. They're limiting their true lethal potential by harboring these useless things. The children have already caused plenty of destruction, so why not just allow their lust for chaos to consume them completely? They should just let go and become the monsters they were clearly meant to be.

Shadow Milk Cookie ==> They fucking HATE this guy!!! Gingerbrave can't stand the fact he's a manipulator and puppets others like they're his toys. Wizard hates him on principle because malicious lies and rumors are something that made his life incredibly difficult. Wild Strawberry hates him because he's a clown. She doesn't like clowns. Overall, the general consensus is: This guy fucking sucks!!!! Throw tomatoes at him!!!!

As for Shadow Milk's opinion on the kids, well he'd just find them and their pointless little crusade a-DORABLE! (in a condescending way) The way they're fruitlessly struggling against the tides of fate is HILARIOUS! They're blindly following this vague idea of a "free world" that's dangling in front of them like a carrot on a stick, when really it's all just a comforting lie the kids told themselves in a pathetic attempt to give themselves purpose! The chaos and mischief they cause is definitely entertaining, and it's even juicer with that little twinge of tragedy. Simple cookies like them exist purely to be at the mercy of perfect cookies like himself. They can't change fate, even if they DID obtain all the Soul Jam! It's just not in the cards for them. They'll just keep running 'round and around until they break, and he'll be right there to make it all the more entertaining! Ah, but, he supposes they could be useful. After all, Pure Vanilla Cookie went and got himself attached. How sweet....

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

I think of mc being very protective of her friends being a orphan and all. someone says the gaunts are all dark wizards? they are in the hospital wing for two weeks under strange circumstances. someone starts a nasty rumor about why Anne really left hogwarts? The worst tripping hex gets everyone who repeats the rumor. someone insults sebastian, you better pray that mc didn't hear about it she's coming for you

The Things We Do for Family | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

oh I loooooved this concept!!!! THANK YOU FOR THE ASK, ANON. I really hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it!! :')

Words: ~5,200

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Humor, Protective MC

There are things that Hogwarts students simply know—unchallenged truths, whispered warnings passed down from year to year.

The Forbidden Forest is dangerous. Peeves is a menace. The best snacks at Honeydukes sell out by Saturday afternoon. Don’t trust the staircases to take you where you actually want to go. Never accept Garreth Weasley’s offer to ‘test something out’.

And, under no circumstances, should anyone fuck with your friends.

It isn’t official, of course. There’s no school decree, no printed rule in the Hogwarts handbook, it's not carved into the walls. It’s just… understood.

It’s not like you’re some fearsome monster or anything.

You’re a model student, by all accounts. Brilliant. Sharp. Precise. A skilled duelist, a quick thinker, someone who turns in their assignments on time, answers when called on, and doesn’t cause disruptions in class.

You don’t start fights. You don’t pick pointless arguments. You don’t openly break the rules—not in ways that can be proven.

You play the part well.

Because that’s what you had to do.

You grew up alone. No parents. No siblings. No one to step in when things got hard, no one to defend you when the world was cruel. When you were small, scared, and helpless.

So you learned.

You learned that no one was coming to save you. You learned that fairness was a lie, that justice only existed when you carved it out with your own hands. You learned that people could be awful for no reason other than that they could get away with it.

But now? Now, you have a family. Not by blood, but by choice.

And when someone speaks against them? Bad things happen.

The Ominis Incident

It started, as most things did, with a careless remark.

A fifth-year Ravenclaw—smart but not particularly bright—thought it would be amusing to make a joke at Ominis Gaunt’s expense. A cruel one. Something about how the Gaunts were all inbred lunatics, how it was only a matter of time before Ominis ended up just like the rest of his family.

The words reached your ears in the library, drifting from a table not far from where you sat.

"You know I hear they torture Muggles for fun—it’s practically a family tradition. Gaunts don’t have hobbies, just a long history of inbreeding and Crucio."

Laughter followed, a few snickers from their table, hushed but not nearly enough. Not nearly enough to keep you from hearing.

Your quill stilled mid-word, ink pooling in place. Across from you, Ominis sat straight-backed, his expression unreadable, but you saw the way his fingers tightened around the book he was holding, knuckles whitening from the force of it.

He wouldn’t say anything.

Ominis had spent years perfecting the art of indifference. Of carefully controlled expressions, of blank politeness that masked far too much. He never reacted to comments like these.

But just because he wouldn’t didn’t mean you wouldn’t.

You exhaled slowly, carefully. Then, without a sound, you closed your book and stood.

Not a word. Not a glare in their direction. Just a smooth, effortless departure, as if you had suddenly decided the library was boring and somewhere else required your attention.

The Ravenclaws barely noticed.

But they would. They absolutely would. Because Potions class was a very dangerous place. Especially for people who talked too much.

The next day, you walked to Potions without a care in the world.

Sebastian and Ominis flanked you, deep in conversation about some essay Sharp had assigned, with Sebastian whining dramatically about how unfairly long it was, while Ominis countered that perhaps he should have started it earlier than the night before it was due.

You weren’t really listening, because you already knew what was coming.

And sure enough—just as you reached the dungeon corridor—

BOOM.

The floor trembled slightly beneath your feet. A deep, echoing explosion, the unmistakable sound of a cauldron detonating mid-brew, followed almost immediately by the frantic shouting of students.

Gasps. Choking coughs. Someone let out a screech of absolute horror.

Sebastian and Ominis startled.

Sebastian’s head snapped up, eyes wide as he looked toward the dungeon doors. “What the hell—”

Ominis twitched beside you, tilting his head, as if straining to listen.

You? Didn’t even blink. You just kept walking, calmly, like nothing was amiss, like you hadn’t been expecting it for the last twenty-four hours.

Sebastian noticed. His gaze sharpened, flicking to you with a knowing squint. “That was—”

He hesitated. Then narrowed his eyes further.

“Okay,” he said slowly, “I know that face.”

You raised a brow. “What face?”

“That’s your I-did-something-but-you’ll-never-prove-it face.”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sebastian scoffed and Ominis rolled his eyes, deadpan. “Uh-huh.”

Then the dungeon doors burst open.

A thick cloud of green smoke billowed out, sending students stumbling and coughing into the corridor. And in the center of it all, a group of very, very green Ravenclaws.

They clawed at their own skin, staring down at their hands in absolute horror. Their faces were the exact shade of an overripe toadstool, splotchy and uneven, and every time they opened their mouths, their tongues flopped out two inches too long.

Hysteria ensued.

Students gasped, some shrieked, others tried not to laugh. Professor Sharp stormed out after them, looking beyond exhausted, already massaging his temples.

“I told you,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “not to add the peppermint extract.”

“WE DIDN’T!” One Ravenclaw wailed, voice garbled from their too-long tongue. “I—I don’t know what happened! We did everything right!”

Sharp did not look convinced.

Sebastian looked at you, long and slow, a glint of admiration dawning in his eyes.

“Did you—”

“I did nothing.” You walked past him, as if the entire debacle were none of your concern. “I was with you all day, wasn’t I?”

Sebastian’s lips twitched. “Yeah, but—”

“No proof, no crime.” You gave him a cheerful smile before stepping into the classroom.

Sebastian grinned. “Oh, I love you.”

It was offhanded, thoughtless, a casual jest, but it sent a sharp, pleasant warmth down your spine.

You didn’t react, though. Just smirked, settling into your seat. Because the message had been sent.

And Ominis Gaunt would never hear a word against his name again.

The Anne Incident

Rumors at Hogwarts were a force of nature.

They swirled through the halls, slipping between whispered conversations and behind cupped hands, growing more twisted with each retelling.

Some were harmless—who was dating who, which professor had it out for which student, the occasional Did you hear Peeves stole all the ink from the Ravenclaws again? But some? Some were cruel.

And this one... this one was about Anne Sallow.

It started at breakfast, when you overheard a group of Slytherin sixth-years in the Great Hall. You weren’t eavesdropping—not intentionally—but you had a habit of noticing things, of hearing too much when you weren’t meant to.

"Did you hear about Sallow’s sister?"

"Yeah, I heard she went mad."

"Lost it completely. The curse must’ve rotted her brain."

"That’s why she left, isn’t it?"

"Yeah, I heard she tried to hex someone in her sleep—"

Your fork warped in your grasp. A slow, controlled bend beneath your fingers, the metal bending in your grip.

Across from you, Sebastian had gone still.

He didn’t turn. Didn’t react. Didn’t give them the satisfaction.

But you saw the way his jaw clenched. The way his hand curled into a fist against the table. The way his entire body had gone taut, locked in place by sheer force of will.

He wouldn’t do anything.

Not because he didn’t want to. Not because he wasn’t capable of it—because he was.

Sebastian Sallow could be ruthless. You knew that better than anyone. You’d seen it firsthand, the sharp edges of his temper, the way his rage burned hot and all-consuming, leaving nothing but wreckage in its wake. You’d seen what happened when he felt cornered, when he thought he was out of options.

But he wasn’t that boy anymore. Because you and Ominis had dragged him back from the brink. Because you had looked him in the eye, years ago, when the dust had settled and the worst of it was over, and told him:

"You still have a future. Don’t throw it away."

Against all odds, he had listened. And now, this was his last year at Hogwarts and he was going to be an Auror. He was going to start over. Prove that he wasn’t just some reckless, violent delinquent one step away from Azkaban.

So no—he wouldn’t react. He wouldn’t take the bait. Wouldn't defend Anne, no matter how badly he wanted to. Wouldn’t let himself be dragged down into the same pit he’d barely crawled out of.

Sebastian was playing the long game.

But you? You weren’t.

Your revenge on Anne's behalf started small. Almost imperceptible.

The first Slytherin—the one who had started the conversation in the first place—was walking to class when it happened.

A single misstep.

His foot caught on something—thin air, perhaps—and he staggered forward, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to right himself. It didn’t work. His books went flying, parchment scattered across the stone corridor, and a bottle of ink tumbled from his bag, shattering upon impact and staining his robes in an ugly, irreversible mess of black.

A small accident. An unfortunate case of bad luck.

No one thought anything of it—until the second one fell.

In the exact same spot.

And then the third. And the fourth.

By the time lunch rolled around, all four of them had tripped at least half a dozen times each.

It wasn’t just limited to the corridor, either. They stumbled on staircases, barely catching themselves before they could go tumbling down. They walked straight into walls as if the castle itself had turned against them. One even managed to trip over absolutely nothing in the middle of the Great Hall and landed face-first into his own soup.

The snickers started soon after. The sideways glances. The poorly hidden laughter from classmates who found their sudden clumsiness far too entertaining.

It wasn’t enough to be suspicious.

Not yet.

Not until the moving staircase.

The ringleader of the group had spent too much time lingering in the courtyard after lunch, chatting up a group of girls who barely tolerated his presence. He realized too late that he was running behind and bolted toward Charms, racing up the moving staircases with zero grace and even less caution.

And then his foot caught.

There was nothing there. No loose stone or shift in the staircase, nothing at all to explain why he suddenly lost his footing.

But he did.

He stumbled backward, arms flailing wildly, fingers grasping at empty air as the momentum carried him too far—

And he plummeted.

Three flights.

A blur of robes and limbs, a crash of bone against stone, and then a sickening thud as he landed in a groaning, crumpled heap at the bottom.

A hush fell over the corridor.

Then—

Shrieking.

His friends rushed down to him, voices panicked, eyes wide with horrified realization as they took in his bruised, trembling form.

A girl ran to fetch Madam Blainey.

By the time she arrived, he was whimpering, clutching his arm like it might’ve snapped.

Hospital Wing. Immediate bed rest.

No one could explain what happened. No professor could find a cause. Some students claimed the stairs had shifted unexpectedly. Others swore that they saw nothing—no trick step, no loose stones, just an unseen force pulling him down.

It didn’t matter.

The moment he was carried off, you finally allowed yourself to smile.

Not a smirk. Not a grin. Just the smallest, most satisfied twitch of your lips.

Sebastian caught it. Because of course he did. He had been standing beside you the whole time. Silent. Still. Watching from the moment that asshole Slytherin stumbled earlier that morning to the moment he was carted off for medical attention.

And now? Now, he just exhaled, long and slow, shaking his head as his mouth curved into something unreadable.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured, voice low.

You hummed, tilting your head in faux curiosity. “Am I?”

Sebastian turned fully then, facing you. His gaze searched your face, for guilt perhaps. For remorse. For something that might suggest you hadn’t meant for it to happen.

But there was nothing.

No trace of hesitation. No flicker of shame.

You were calm, collected, an completely unapologetic. Because nobody talked about Anne Sallow like that without consequence.

Sebastian blinked. Then, to your absolute delight, he grinned. Wide. Slow. A sharp, wicked thing.

“Yeah. You're very dangerous” he said, almost in awe.

Your stomach twisted. You ignored it. Instead, you just shrugged, voice as casual as ever.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sebastian’s grin deepened.

The Poppy Incident

Poppy Sweeting was one of the best people you knew.

Kind-hearted, patient, and too good for the world, really. She spent more time in the company of magical creatures than she did with most people, and honestly? You couldn't blame her.

Because people could be cruel.

You first heard it one afternoon in the courtyard. A group of girls whispering amongst themselves, giggling behind their hands. You hadn’t been paying much attention—until you heard her name.

"Honestly, she’s weird."

"I know, right? It’s like she’d rather date a bloody Hippogriff than an actual person."

"Wouldn’t be surprised if she actually has."

Laughter, sharp and mocking. Like Poppy Sweeting was a joke. Like she was less than because she chose kindness over cruelty, creatures over people who didn’t deserve her time in the first place.

You turned your head and watched as one girl—a Hufflepuff, ironically—rolled her eyes, shaking her head in exaggerated exasperation.

"Beast-lover," she muttered, nose wrinkled like the word itself was distasteful. "It's unnatural, really. No wonder she doesn't have any friends outside of her precious Mooncalves."

Something cold and sharp settled in your chest.

You had no doubt Poppy had heard it. She was standing just a few paces away near the fountain, hands clenched tight at her sides.

She didn’t react. Didn’t turn. Didn’t say anything. She just exhaled, slow and quiet, like she was forcing herself to let it go.

You wouldn’t.

The next morning, that very same Hufflepuff woke up covered in fur.

Not all over, just her face.

A thick, fluffy coat of golden-brown fuzz, soft as a Puffskein, sprouting in wild patches across her forehead, cheeks, and chin.

According to Poppy, the screams started immediately, and the entire girls dormitory had woken up to it.

The girl, who turned out to be a fifth-year, had flown into a hysterical panic, shrieking as she bolted for a mirror, hands frantically scrubbing at her face like she could rub the fur away.

She couldn’t.

It was a very specific hex. One that lasted exactly one week.

Professor Ronen was baffled.

Madam Blainey was thoroughly fascinated.

And Professor Howin, bless her, had cooed over her like she was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen. You had a front row seat to the entire thing during Beasts class.

“This is truly fascinating,” she’d said, holding the girl’s chin and turning her face slightly toward the light. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen transfiguration manifest quite like this! And so soft—feels just like a Kneazle’s coat, doesn’t it?”

The best part? It wasn’t harmful. It wasn’t painful. Just… humiliating.

You considered it a job well done.

When Howin had dismissed you for lunch, Poppy pulled you aside. She didn't say anything at first. Just stared.

You blinked at her, tilting your head. “Everything alright?”

Poppy squinted. Narrowed her eyes slightly. Huffed.

"You did that, didn’t you?"

You blinked again.

Because Poppy—sweet, gentle, pacifist Poppy—did not accuse people of things. Which meant she was completely certain.

You just smiled, giving her your most innocent expression. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Poppy just sighed, shaking her head. But then—just for a moment—she smiled.

Small. Subtle. Grateful.

Like she knew exactly what you’d done. Like she knew there was no use arguing, no point in telling you not to go to such lengths for her.

And then, without a word, she reached out and squeezed your hand.

The Natsai Incident

You had never liked Callum Thorne.

Seventh-year. Gryffindor. Arrogant. Loud-mouthed. The kind of person who had never been told no in his life and walked through Hogwarts like the world owed him something.

You’d tolerated him for years, mostly because you hadn’t needed to interact with him much. But this? This was different.

You were starting the day with Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Hecat had yet to arrive, leaving the class unsupervised and giving Thorne the perfect opportunity to make a scene.

Natty was speaking with Poppy near the front of the room, voice calm as she explained something about the Ministry’s policies on magical creatures in Africa compared to Britain. She wasn’t being loud, wasn’t even arguing, just explaining.

That’s when Thorne scoffed.

“Merlin’s sake, Onai, give it a rest,” he sneered from the back of the room, tossing his quill onto his desk with an exaggerated huff. “Do you ever get tired of standing on that bloody soapbox of yours?”

The room went still.

Natty turned, slow and deliberate, her expression unreadable, regarding him with that same poised, unshaken calm that made her such a force to be reckoned with.

“I was simply having a discussion,” she said smoothly. “No one is forcing you to listen, Thorne.”

“Right,” he drawled. “Except you never shut up about it. Always talking about ‘justice’ and ‘change’ like you think you’re going to fix the whole bloody world.” He smirked. “News flash, Onai—no one cares.”

A few of his friends chuckled.

Your fingernails dug into your palm.

Natty didn’t react—not outwardly, anyway. She just exhaled, slow and measured, and turned back to Poppy like his words had been nothing more than an inconvenience.

You? You were already plotting his downfall, and luckily, Callum Thorne was a creature of habit.

He always stayed out after curfew to flirt with whatever unfortunate girl he had chosen that week, and he always went up to the Astronomy Tower afterwards with his friends to play cards and drink whatever contraband alcohol they’d smuggled into the castle.

Which made him the perfect target.

That night, as the seventh-year tidied up the cards, stretching and yawning, likely already thinking about his warm bed waiting for him—

His legs froze in place. Not a Full Body-Bind. No, this was different.

A soft, subtle hex. A slow, creeping sensation, his feet adhering to the stone beneath him, then his calves, then his thighs.

By the time he realized something was wrong, it was too late.

He tried to step forward—failed. Tried to yank himself free—failed.

And then—with agonizing slowness—his entire body began to lift off the ground. No warning. No control.

He drifted upward, weightless, helpless, arms flailing as the stone ceiling came closer and closer—

And then, with a soft thump, he was stuck. Face-down, body pressed flat against the Astronomy Tower ceiling.

His screaming started immediately.

Loud. Panicked. A complete meltdown.

His friends, who had started their walk down the tower came bolting back up the stairs at the sound of his shouting.

“What the—?” one of them started, eyes wide as they gawked at the ceiling.

“Thorne?” another asked, dumbfounded.

You bit the inside of your cheek, holding back laughter as you hid beneath your disillusionment charm.

“GET ME DOWN!” Thorne bellowed, arms and legs flailing uselessly against the stone. “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THIS?”

His friends stared, uselessly waving their wands, muttering counterspells that only resulted in Thorne spinning in slow circles, howling in distress.

When they realized they were utterly helpless, panic completely set in.

“What do we do?” one of them asked, looking between the others with wild eyes. “Should we get a professor?”

Thorne snarled. “NO! DO NOT—”

But it was too late. Because at that very moment, the Astronomy Tower door swung open once again, and a very tired, very unimpressed Professor Shah stepped inside.

There was a long, painful beat of silence.

Shah took in the scene.

The stack of contraband firewhiskey bottles on the table. The panicked seventh-years, wands still drawn, looking entirely too guilty. And Callum Thorne, still face-down, circling against the ceiling, hissing every curse word known to wizardkind.

She sighed, long and slow, as if she had simply had enough of this entire generation of students. Then, with an effortless flick of her wand, she cast a single spell.

And gravity returned. All at once. Thorne plummeted like a sack of bricks.

The landing was spectacular. A glorious, sprawling heap, limbs tangled, robes askew, one shoe missing entirely. His friends didn’t even try to catch him.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then—

“Hospital Wing,” Shah said simply, rubbing her temples. “Now.”

Thorne was half-carried, half-dragged down the tower steps, groaning the entire way.

And you?

You slept soundly that night.

By morning, half the school had heard the story.

"Did you hear about Thorne? Got stuck to the Astronomy Tower ceiling last night."

"He was crying by the time they got him down."

"Serves him right—bloke’s a complete asshole."

And you? You sat perfectly composed at breakfast, casually stirring your tea, listening as his friends panicked about who could have done it.

Sebastian, of course, knew.

He sat beside you, arms folded, lips pressed together, shaking with the effort not to laugh.

Finally, he exhaled, tilting his head toward you.

“You are actually unhinged,” he murmured, utterly delighted.

You simply sipped your tea. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Across the hall, Natty smiled.

Soft. Knowing.

The Sebastian Incident

You had been careful.

For years, you had woven your revenge into the shadows, never once leaving a trace of your involvement in the strange misfortunes that befell those who dared to insult your friends. You were precise, patient, undetectable.

But everyone has a breaking point. And yours? Yours was Sebastian Sallow.

It happened in the Great Hall when Scorpius Malfoy decided to idiotically open his big fucking mouth.

You hadn’t been paying attention to him at first. Why would you? People like Malfoy had never mattered to you. He was just another spoiled pureblood, another self-important waste of a surname who thought his words carried weight simply because he could afford to say them.

But then his voice cut through the din, and he said Sebastian’s name.

"No family name worth a damn, no money, no influence. Honestly, I don’t even know why the professors still put up with Sallow. And he’s an orphan, isn’t he?"

One of his friends nodded, grinning like this was some kind of joke. Like Sebastian Sallow’s entire life was nothing more than a punchline.

Malfoy snorted. "So he's got dead parents, a dead uncle, and a crippled sister who’ll probably never set foot in the wizarding world again. Wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up rotting in the same gutter he came from."

The words landed like a curse.

Sebastian had been mid-conversation with you, fork in hand, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he teased you about something inconsequential—some throwaway joke that would have normally earned him an eye roll and a shove.

But now? Now, he wasn’t moving. Not speaking. Not breathing. Just silent.

Rigid.

Like the weight of those words had turned him into stone.

And something inside you snapped.

It was almost funny, in retrospect, how much effort you had spent perfecting the art of subtlety.

Every step you had taken over the years had been measured, every spell carefully woven into the fabric of coincidence, every act of vengeance so meticulously placed that no one had ever been able to definitively trace it back to you. You had built a flawless reputation, balancing on the razor’s edge between brilliance and menace, justice and mystery.

But now? Now, as you rose from your seat, you weren’t careful at all.

You didn’t move like a shadow, didn’t cloak yourself in misdirection or the comfort of silence. No. This time, you wanted them to see you.

And the moment you stood, the Great Hall stilled.

Students stopped eating, stopped talking, stopped moving altogether. The clatter of plates and goblets faded into a thick, suffocating silence, as if even the walls of Hogwarts itself were holding their breath.

Your voice came out low. Cold.

"Say that one more time, Malfoy."

Scorpius turned lazily, like he hadn’t a care in the world. Like he hadn’t just spat on Sebastian’s entire existence for no other reason than because he could.

And he smirked. Merlin, he smirked. Like you were some insignificant thing, an insect buzzing too close to his ear.

“Oh?” he drawled, tilting his head. “Touched a nerve, have I? Which part got to you, I wonder? The fact that Sallow’s got no family? Or the part where I pointed out that he’s got no future either?”

You took a step forward. You could hear Ominis hissing at you to stop, to think about what you were doing before you got yourself deep into shit, gut you couldn't. Not when it came to your friends.

Not when it came to Sebastian.

Especially when he still hadn't moved. Hadn’t reacted. Hadn’t so much as breathed.

Your hand tightened around your wand, the weight of it comforting, grounding, an extension of the fury curling in your chest.

"You should tread carefully, Scorpius," you murmured, your voice smooth, edged with something lethal. "I know you think you're clever—that you can say whatever you like without consequence, just because you were born into the right family."

Your head tilted slightly, gaze sharp, cutting straight through him.

"But you should know something about me by now."

Malfoy’s smirk faltered just slightly. And then, before he could open his mouth again—

You flicked your wand.

Hard. Fast.

Malfoy's goblet exploded.

A concussive blast of magic sent shards flying, the remnants of his beverage splattering across his pristine uniform like spilled blood. A jagged edge of glass sliced across his hand, thin but deep, and he flinched, eyes snapping down to it with genuine shock.

"If you're going to run your mouth about my friends," you said coolly, watching him clutch his bleeding hand, "then you should be prepared to suffer for it."

Your next spell came before he could react. Before anyone could stop you.

A sharp twist of your wrist, and his mouth was gone.

Not silenced. Not muffled. Just… gone. Smooth, unbroken skin where lips should be, like his voice had simply been erased from existence.

The realization hit him immediately.

His hands shot to his face, clawing at his skin, a muffled scream—horrified, panicked—rising in his throat. He lurched backward, knocking into one of his friends, fingers digging at face like he could carve his lips back into place.

But you weren’t done. Not yet.

You needed something that would etch itself into the bones of this castle, into the minds of every single person watching in stunned silence. Something that told the whole goddamn school that if they so much as breathed wrong about Sebastian again, you would ruin them.

A simple hex would be too merciful. A standard jinx—something temporary, something easily countered—wouldn’t send the right message.

No, you needed something else. Something only you could undo.

Your wand rose, fingers tightening around the handle.

A familiar thrumming sensation curled through your bones, crackling at your fingertips, humming beneath your skin like a storm about to break. Ancient magic—the power that had followed you since the day you first stepped foot in Hogwarts, the magic that had made you different. You had never used it publicly. Never allowed yourself to tap into it in a room full of hundreds of witnesses.

Until now.

Malfoy’s body lurched.

Not by his own will, but by yours, by the ancient, crackling force curling through your veins.

The entire room gasped as he was wrenched upward, his robes twisting violently around him as though an invisible hand had grabbed him by the throat and hauled him into the sky.

He thrashed, or tried to, but the moment he moved, the spell struck.

A jolt of electricity tore through his body.

Not enough to kill. Not enough to cause permanent harm, but enough to make him scream. Or at least, he would have screamed—if he still had a mouth.

Instead, a choked, garbled sound tore from his throat, half agony, half suffocated panic, his limbs seizing as the current snapped down his spine, through his arms and legs.

And you let them watch, let the entire Great Hall bear witness as he hung there, suspended like some grotesque marionette.

And the moment he tried to move again, tried to scratch at where his mouth should be or flail his limbs, another arc of lightning danced across his body, snapping against his skin like a promise that any attempt to fight this would only make it worse.

And he knew. They all knew. He wasn’t getting down until you allowed it. But your arm didn’t waver, you held your wand high, like an executioner delivering final judgment.

Because this? This was a declaration. A statement. A message carved into the very bones of Hogwarts itself.

You do not speak against Sebastian Sallow.

You wondered if he realized that you would have done this a thousand times over. That you would have burned the entire goddamn world for him if he asked.

But before you could do anything more—before you could decide how far you were willing to take this—

A thunderous voice shattered the moment.

"THAT IS ENOUGH!"

The spell snapped. Malfoy dropped. His body crashed onto the table below, sending plates and goblets scattering, silverware clattering to the stone floor. He lay there, twitching, gasping, pathetically small as the last of the magic flickered out of his limbs.

And then—

"You."

Phineas Nigellus Black’s voice was pure ice.

You turned to face him—not a shred of regret, not a flicker of guilt in your expression.

But the Headmaster was raging. His hands were clenched at his sides, his teeth bared in fury.

The entire room was still. Waiting. Holding its breath.

"My office." His voice was low, lethal, like the words themselves were a curse. "Now."

A sharp inhale from someone at the Ravenclaw table. A hushed whisper from a terrified first-year.

No detention. No points docked. Just a direct order from the highest authority in the school.

But it was worth it, because now they knew. Every single person in this room knew.

And as you turned on your heel, heart still pounding with the remnants of power buzzing in your veins—

You caught Sebastian’s eyes one last time.

Still watching, still frozen in place, yet looking at you like you were the most devastating, impossible, extraordinary thing he had ever seen.

And then? The slightest smirk. The most faint, devastatingly admiring grin.

Like he had never, ever wanted anyone more.

[dykeadvocate]

— hate sex with mobboss!ellie

CW; dark themes, mobboss!ellie, mobboss!reader, hate sex, dubcon, mutual hate, arguments, dom!ellie, sub!reader, gun threats, cutting clothes with switchblade, arguments, nipple sucking/pinching, dirty talk, pain kink, fingering (r receiving).

a/n; i put dubcon bcuz it's hate sex and there are times when it seems it may not be consensual but i pinky swear it is!! (creds to @caspervi for the banner art :3)

"I'm not coming to that conclusion," You spoke through gritted teeth, "Pick an alternative."

"I don't want an alternative. I told you what I want, and that's all I'm offering." She slumped down in her chair. She looked almost bored, but you knew that wasn't the case. She was furious. You both wanted different outcomes, but that wasn't possible.

You took in a deep breath. God, this woman was going to be the death of you.

As badly as you wanted to point your gun at Ellie and threaten her with her life, you knew that would go sideways. Ellie was a fighter, she wouldn't stand down from a single threat. There would be a violent bloodshed.

"I understand-"

"I'm not fucking changing my mind, Y/n."

You don’t know what overcame you in that moment. Maybe it was her language, maybe you were just so fed up with her bullshit, or maybe you just wanted to put her in her place. No matter what the reason was, you found yourself with a fistful of Ellie’s hair and forcing her to look at you.

You weren’t even able to get out a word before Ellie’s hand was wrapped around your neck and she shoved you into the table. You cried out in pain as your front slammed into it.

“Is that how you wanna play, huh?” Her lips were close enough to your ear that you could feel her breath fanning against it, “You wanna get all fuckin’ handsy and hurt each other, is that it? Because we both know who’s gonna win at that.”

“Get the hell off me, Ellie.” You tried wiggling away from Ellie but she grabbed onto your arms and pinned them behind your back.

With Ellie’s hand still around your neck and now your arms pinned to your back, you found yourself in a very vulnerable position.

“Answer my question.”

You bit your lip, staying quiet. Ellie didn’t like that. She flipped you onto your back and pinned your hands above your head, standing between your thighs.

As much as you wanted to, there was no denying the warmth in your stomach wasn't because of this position.

"You've always been such a pain in my ass, you know that?" Ellie suddenly held her switchblade in her hand, twirling it.

"Not my fault that you're so easy to annoy and piss off." You snapped.

You tried wiggling out of Ellie's grasp again but quickly stopped when Ellie placed the switchblade on your chest. In one swift motion, Ellie cut through your shirt and bra, revealing your chest to her.

"What the fuck, Ellie!" You screeched, desperately attempting to wiggle out of her grasp again.

Ellie didn't respond; her eyes were glued to your chest. Her fingers brushed against your nipple, causing them to harden immediately. She smirked, her fingers pinching your nipple and you yelped in surprise.

"So reactive," She muttered, almost like she was talking to herself but you knew she was talking to you.

"Get your filthy hands off me," You growled.

She lowered her mouth to be hovering over your breasts and looked up at you. She was asking for permission.

You swallowed roughly. You wanted to deny her and make her look like a fool. But you couldn't, not when there was a wet patch forming.

Ellie took your silence and grumpy face as permission and wrapped her perfect lips around your nipple, sucking lightly.

You groaned and tried to pull your hands down to bury them in Ellie's hair but forgot she still had them pinned.

"Let me go of me."

"Beg." She mumbled around your nipple.

"I'm not begging-"

"Fucking beg or I'll put a bullet through your skull."

It disgusted you how reactive your body was to her awful words. Nobody should be getting off to such a sickening threat, yet, you moaned at them.

"Please, Ellie. Please let go of me. I wanna be able to touch you."

You felt pathetic begging for Ellie. She was a sworn enemy; you only worked with her because it benefited you. If she stopped benefiting you, you would gladly have her killed.

But here you are, begging to touch her while she sucks on your nipples.

Ellie removed her hands from your wrists and you immediately buried your hands in her hair, tugging her closer to you. She moaned loudly at the pain that spread across her scalp.

You heard the sound of the switchblade clattering to the table.

Ellie's fingers tug and pinch at your other nipple and you whimper at the pain. Your whimpers only encouraged her to hurt you more.

With a final bite to your nipple, Ellie pulled away from your chest with a grin plastered on her face. Before you had time to create a snarky remark, she crashed her lips into yours.

The kiss was messy, almost like a high schooler's first time kissing. There was no flow. But you fucking loved it. You loved the way Ellie's lips and tongue captured yours, and you loved how she moaned each time you took the slightest control.

Whilst still kissing you, Ellie removed your pants and panties. You shivered at the cold air against your cunt. Ellie and you both moan as she swipes two fingers through your slick.

"You're fucking drenched, baby." Ellie kissed down your neck, leaving marks in her tracks, "Did I turn you on that much?"

You didn't want to boost her ego but couldn't help the pathetic "Yes." from leaving your throat.

Two of Ellie's fingers circled your entrance, teasing you. You bucked your hips into her, desperate for even the tips of her fingers. Finally, after what felt like decades of teasing, Ellie pushed two fingers inside of you.

You moaned at the intrusion and stretch.

You expected Ellie to go slow and let you adjust to her fingers, but she was merciless. She was hard and fast, curling her fingers with each thrust.

The sudden pleasure was overwhelming.

You try to tell her to slow down, but you can't get a word out. All you can do is whimper and moan.

Ellie continues to leave dark marks on your neck; marks that you know you'll need to cover with makeup. If people found out the two bosses of a mob were fucking, there would be problems.

"We gotta wrap this up, baby. I got another meeting to attend in half an hour." Ellie sighed against your neck, "You gonna cum for me?"

You nodded. You were close and Ellie knew it. She could tell by how you fluttered around her fingers and how your moans got increasingly louder.

It didn't take much longer to fall over the blissful edge. Your back arched off the table and your vision spotted white. Ellie covered your mouth with her hand, not wanting you to be heard by others in the building.

Once you came down from your high, Ellie pulled her face from your neck and grinned at you.

"So, are you going to agree with me now?"

You rolled your eyes and kicked Ellie in the leg.

"Go get me another shirt, idiot."

—

@mystellenia @n0t-elliewilliams

[theonottsbxtch]

LOW LIFE | LN4

an: LMAO DID I JUST ACCIDENTLY WRITE MY OWN FIRST SMUT LMAO @iimplicitt IS STILL IN SHOCK BUT IT JUST HAPPENED.

wc: 3.4k

warnings: SMUT MDNI (18+), drug use, cheating, graphic? sex

LANDO NORRIS WAS THE KING OF THE ICE—MVP, team captain, the kind of player scouts drooled over. Fast, ruthless, unstoppable. On the rink, he was untouchable. Off it? He was a ticking time bomb.

The parties, the girls, the drugs—it all blurred together in a haze of neon lights and bad decisions. He lived for the rush, for the next high, for the next night he wouldn’t remember. And then came her.

She was off-limits. Oscar’s girl.

Oscar, his teammate, his so-called best mate, the one guy who still believed Lando had a shot at going pro if he could just get his act together. And she was his. The perfect hockey girlfriend—pretty, polished, and loyal, at least in theory.

But Lando saw the cracks. The way her gaze lingered when Oscar wasn’t looking. The way she bit her lip when he got too close. She wasn’t as untouchable as she wanted to be. And Lando? He never turned down a challenge.

One night, a club. Oscar was out of town. She was bored. One too many drinks, a little bit of molly, and suddenly, she wasn’t resisting anymore.

Lando didn’t love her. He didn’t even know if he liked her. But he knew she’d come back. They always did.

Their affair was a game, a sick addiction—sneaking around, pretending there were rules when there weren’t. She hated him. She wanted him. She swore it would stop, but it never did.

Then the cracks shattered.

A video. A night they couldn’t take back. It spread through the team like wildfire, through the uni, through Oscar.

Lando never claimed to be a good guy. He never pretended to play fair. And now? Now, he was about to lose everything—his captaincy, his shot at the league, his best mate.

But the worst part?

He still wanted her.

And he was willing to burn the whole fucking world down to keep her.

7 months ago:

The first time Lando really noticed her, she was wearing Oscar’s jersey.

She was standing just outside the rink after a game, her hair still damp from the cold, laughing at something Oscar had said. Lando should’ve kept walking, but something about the way she smiled made him pause. It wasn’t just pretty—it was effortless, like she wasn’t even trying.

And then she looked at him.

Just a flicker, a half-second too long, before she turned back to Oscar. But Lando felt it. That awareness.

He ignored it. At least at first.

It wasn’t like he needed another complication. His whole life was a balancing act—keeping his grades just high enough to stay eligible, keeping his nose clean enough for the scouts to stay interested, keeping his habits in check enough that the coaches didn’t start asking too many questions.

Besides, he had options. Plenty of them. Girls who didn’t come with consequences.

But she was different.

Not just because she was Oscar’s, but because she wasn’t like the others. She didn’t throw herself at him. She barely looked at him when Oscar was around. She should have been safe.

She wasn’t.

The first mistake was at a party. 

The whole team was celebrating a win, the kind of night that blurred into neon lights and sticky floors. Lando had already taken something by the time she showed up, a slow burn in his veins, turning everything soft around the edges.

He saw her first.

She was wearing something tight, something short. Not for him, but it didn’t matter. Because he saw the way her eyes flicked to him when she thought Oscar wasn’t watching. The way her breath hitched when he brushed past her.

She stayed close that night. Close enough that he could smell her perfume, close enough that when she reached for a drink, her fingers skimmed his.

Oscar left early. She didn’t.

Neither did Lando.

It wasn’t planned. He wouldn’t even call it intentional. But the second they were alone, the tension cracked like a shot to the glass.

“You’re drunk,” she murmured when he backed her against the wall.

“So are you.”

She should’ve pushed him away. She didn’t.

And when he kissed her, she kissed him back.

It was a mistake. One they should’ve never repeated.

But they did.

It became a pattern.

It became an addiction. 

Oscar would go to bed early after a game, and she’d stay up just a little longer. Oscar would go grab drinks, and she’d glance at Lando across the room. It was never enough to prove anything—but it was enough.

Enough to make it impossible to stop.

The first time he fucked her, it was after another party, both of them high, half-drunk, caught between a hotel room door and a terrible decision. She was gasping his name, fingers digging into his back, and he didn’t even feel guilty.

Because it didn’t feel wrong.

It felt like something that had been waiting to happen all along.

He told himself it wouldn’t happen again.

But it did.

Again. And again. And again.

She never left Oscar. She never tried. Maybe she told herself it wasn’t real, that Lando was just another bad habit, another high she couldn’t quit.

But Lando knew better.

Because she wasn’t the only one addicted.

He should’ve stopped before it got messy. Before the video. Before Oscar found out.

But Lando never stopped anything.

Not until it was too late.

And by then, it wasn’t just his career on the line.

It was everything.

The morning before the end of her world, she woke up to a pounding headache and a sinking feeling in her stomach.

The room was too bright, the hotel curtains half-open, letting in the early morning light that made everything look too real. A slow, creeping nausea settled in as she forced herself to blink.

The sheets weren’t hers.

The bed wasn’t hers.

The shirt she was wearing sure as hell wasn’t hers.

Fuck.

She sat up too fast, the room tilting as last night hit her in flashes - booze, a long drive, Lando’s hand on her thigh in the car, his breath against her neck in the elevator. The taste of him still on her tongue.

Panic clawed up her throat.

And more importantly- where was Oscar?

Her heart was hammering as she shoved the sheets away, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, but before she could move, a lazy voice cut through the silence.

“Relax.”

She turned, pulse spiking, to find Lando sprawled on the other side of the bed. Shirtless, half covered in the sheets, arm thrown over his forehead like he didn’t have a single fucking care in the world.

Like this wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened.

“You look like you’re about to be sick,” he muttered, blinking at her through heavy lidded eyes. His voice was hoarse from sleep, slow and thick, and so fucking casual it made her skin craw.

She was about to be sick.

“Where the fuck are we?” she snapped, voice sharper than she meant it to be.

Lando groaned, running a hand through his already messy hair before reaching for something on the nightstand. “Couple hours out. Middle of nowhere. You insisted we get away before Oscar got home, remember?”

She didn’t. But she believed it.

Her fingers clenched around the hem of the shirt, his shirt, realising she wasn’t wearing anything else beneath it. Her stomach twisted.

“This is bad,” she whispered. “This is really fucking bad.”

Lando just hummed, reaching for the little plastic bag sitting next to his phone. She watched in muted horror as he dipped his pinky finger into the powder and brought it to his nose, inhaling it like it was nothing. Like this wasn’t a complete fucking disaster.

“Chill,” he muttered, voice nasally as he sniffed again. “You'll give yourself wrinkles stressing like that. Shit, you’re stressing me out.”

She stared at him, breath coming too fast, too shallow. “Lando, Oscar is going to kill me.”

At that, he actually laughed.

“Kill you?” He scoffed, shaking his head before leaning back against the pillows, watching her through hooded eyes. “No, sweetheart. If anything, he’s gonna kill me.” He tapped a finger against his chest, smirking. “And I don’t plan on dying today, so…”

He reached for her wrist before she could move, tugging her back onto the bed like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Stay.”

She resisted, barely, fingers digging into the sheets, trying to hold onto whatever little self-control she had left.

“I need to go,” she muttered.

Lando tugged her closer. Not hard, not rough. Just enough to make it impossible to leave.

“Not yet.”

Her breath caught.

“Land-”

His lips brushed her bare shoulder. Just a ghost of a touch. Just enough to make her shiver.

“You made your choice last night,” he murmured. “Might as well enjoy it.”

She wanted to push him away.

She didn’t.

Because Lando was right.

She had already made her choice.

And deep down, they both knew-

She wasn’t going anywhere.

Lando’s breath was warm against her skin, his lips ghosting over her shoulder, lazy but deliberate. Like he had all the time in the world. Like he knew she wasn’t going to pull away.

And she should.

She should push him off, grab her things, and get the fuck out of this hotel room before it got even worse.

But his fingers were already sliding up her thigh beneath the sheets, slow and teasing, his grip just firm enough to make her breath hitch.

“Lando…” Her voice came out weaker than she wanted, barley a whisper.

“Mm?” He hummed against her skin, his mouth brushing the side of her neck now, his stubble scratching just enough to make her shiver.

She swallowed hard. “I need to go.”

He exhaled a quiet laugh, his fingers tightening on her thigh as he pulled her fully into his lap, pressing her back against his bare chest.

“You keep saying that,” he murmured, nosing along the curve of her jaw. His other hand came up to push her hair aside, exposing more of her neck. “But you’re still here.” 

She clenched her thighs together, but Lando’s hand was already between them, fingers tracing just under the hem of his oversized shirt.

She hated how easily he could do this - how he could make her body betray her even when her brain was screaming at her to stop.

Hated how much she wanted him.

His hand slid higher, his fingers grazing just over the lace of her panties, a teasing brush that sent heat curling through her stomach.

“You’re fucking dangerous,” she breathed.

Lando grinned against her neck, his teeth catching just enough skin to make her gasp.

“And yet…” His fingers hooked into the waistband of her underwear, dragging them down, his voice dropping to a rough whisper.

“You’re still in my bed.”

And just like that- she stopped fighting it.

She let him pull her back down, let herself sink into the sheets, into him, into the inevitable.

Because she knew the truth. 

She was never leaving.

Not really.

Lando’s hands were everywhere.

Sliding up the curve of her thighs, gripping her hips as he pulled her back against him, his breath hot and slow against her neck. She could feel him - hard and insistent, pressing against her.

She should stop this.

She should.

But then his fingers were slipping up higher beneath her borrowed shirt, skimming over her stomach, higher-

Her breath hitched.

He smirked against her skin.

“See?” His voice was low, rough with sleep and something darker. “I knew you weren’t in a rush to leave.”

She wasn’t.

Not when his lips were trailing down her neck, his hands gripping her like he owned her. Like there was no point in pretending she was anyone else’s.

Because wasn’t that the truth?

Oscar might have had her first. 

Might still think he had her now.

But this?

This was Lando’s.

And she fucking hated herself for it.

He nudged her thighs further apart, his fingers dragging back down her stomach, slow, teasing-

Then the phone rang.

A shrill vibration from the nightstand, cutting through the thick haze of heat and need.

She froze.

Lando didn’t.

His fingers kept moving, sliding lower, dipping into her, his mouth brushing her ear.

“Don’t answer it.”

She swallowed, pulse hammering in her throat.

The phone kept ringing.

Lando let out a slow, exasperated sigh before reaching past her, grabbing it off the table without properly looking at the screen.

And then he smirked.

“You should probably get this,” he murmured, turning the screen towards her.

Her stomach dropped.

Oscar.

Her hands were shaking as she took the phone from him, but before she could sit up properly, Lando grabbed her wrist, dragging her back down against him.

“Don’t move,” he muttered.

She shot him a glare, but he just grinned, fingers now idly tracing circles against her bare thigh and she hesitated- then answered.

“H-hey,” she said, voice strained.

Oscar’s voice came through the line, casual. Trusting.

“Hey, darling. Can we talk when you’re back from your mum’s?”

Lando grinned.

She felt sick.

Oscar exhaled a slow breath. “The boys showed me this video, and I want to talk about it.”

Her heart stopped.

“I don’t think it’s you, but it’s best we clear the air with what the guys are saying, it’s silly I know.” Oscar continued while she struggled to catch her breath.

Lando must’ve felt her tense, because he laughed - low and lazy, dragging his fingers back up her thigh and in between them, completely unbothered as her entire fucking world crumbles aroundher.

She couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t speak.

Because she knew.

She knew exactly what video he was talking about.

And it sure as fuck wasn’t a highlight reel.

It was the video that made her call Lando last night.

It was the video that led her to this hotel room.

Her hand tightened around the phone.

Her mouth had gone dry, her stomach twisting into a brutal knot, but she forced a weak, “Yeah, sure.”

Oscar exhaled, oblivious. “Cool. I love you.”

She hung up.

Didn’t say it back.

The second the call disconnected, Lando plucked the phone from her fingers and tossed it onto the nightstand.

Then he laughed again.

A low, smug, wicked sound as his hand made itself comfortable in between her thighs, his mouth ghosting over her neck.

“Well,” he murmured, dragging his teeth over her skin. “That’s unfortunate.”

She clenched her jaw. “You’re a fucking dick.”

He hummed. “Yup.” His fingers teasing over her already aching core.

She wasn’t meant to be feeling this way.

“But as I said before, you’re still here.”

She should leave.

She should be horrified.

Instead, her body betrayed her.

She gasped as his fingers stroked slow, deliberate circles against her, her back arching as heat curled through her stomach.

Guilt tangled with need, twisting into something dangerous, something irresistible.

Her boyfriend had just told her he loved her.

And here she was- spreading her legs for his fucking teammate.

She hated herself.

But she didn’t stop.

Didn’t fight it when Lando rolled her onto her back, his dark eyes burning with amusement, with something possessive.

“You feel guilty,” he murmured, pulling her shirt off.

She didn’t answer.

He smirked. “Good.”

Then he was inside her, stretching her open in one slow, merciless thrust.

She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

“Fuck-”

Lando groaned, his hands gripping her thighs as he pulled her closer, deeper, his mouth brushing over hers in something that wasn’t quite a kiss.

“You think about him?” he whispered, rolling his hips, making her whimper. “You think about your boyfriend while you let his teammate fuck you?”

Her nails dug into his back. “Shut up.”

He chuckled, slow and sinful before grabbing her jaw, forcing her to look at him.

“Say my name.”

She shook her head, panting, her body trembling beneath him.

“Say it,” he demanded, thrusting deeper.

She broke.

“Lando.”

His smirk was pure sin.

“Good girl.”

And then she stopped thinking.

Stopped caring.

Let herself drown in the feeling of him, in the way he ruined her, in the way she let him.

And the guilt?

It only made it better.

Her body was betraying her.

Pleasure coiled tight in her stomach, hotter, sharper, with every brutal thrust. She could feel it building, could feel herself unraveling under Lando’s hands, under his weight, under the way he was destroying her.

And he knew it.

He could feel it.

His smirk was pure sin as he drove into her, as he dragged his teeth over her neck, sucking a hickey just where Oscar would see it later.

“You gonna come for me?” His voice was dark, teasing, bruising on her hips. “Gonna let me fuck you out of every last bit of guilt?”

She shook her head, a whimper escaping her lips, but he just chuckled.

“Liar.”

He dropped his hand between them, fingers finding her clit, rubbing slow, devastating circles that made her back arch, her body tightening around him.

“Come on,” he whispered, voice dripping with wicked amusement. “Be a good girl and let go. Let him hear it when he calls back.”

Her breath hitched.

God, she hated him.

Hated the way he knew exactly how to push her, how to twist the knife in her guilt, how to make her body betray her completely.

Because she was close.

So fucking close.

And the Lando pressed his forehead against hers, chain dangling between the two of them, his breath hot, his voice a low growl-

“Come for me, cheater.”

She broke.

Her entire body tense, pleasure ripping through her in waves so intense she thought she might black out. She gasped, nails sinking into his shoulders, a wrecked moan spilling from her lips-

And Lando fucking laughed.

Low, sinister, utterly satisfied.

“That’s my girl.”

He didn’t slow. Didn’t give her a second to recover before he took her again, chasing his own release, using her for it, dragging her deeper into his twisted, fucked-up world.

And she let him

Because at this point, there was no coming back.

Her body was wrecked.

Still trembling, still pulsing around him, her mind fogged with the aftershocks of her orgasm- but Lando wasn’t stopping.

He wasn’t done with her.

He gripped her thighs and pushed them wider, dragging her even deeper onto his cock, making her whimper from the sensitivity.

“Too much?” His voice was teasing, smug, but there was something cruel under it, something that enjoyed watching her squirm.

She nodded, breathless, her whole body shivering-

But he just smirked.

“Too bad.”

His thrusts slowed, but they were deep, drawn out, dragging against every sensitive nerve inside her. She gasped, her legs twitching, hands gripping at his biceps, trying to ground herself, but Lando was relentless. 

“You can take it,” he muttered, dragging a hand up her stomach, hand pressing down on her lower belly. “You’re already so fucked out, but I bet you’ll come for me again.”

She shook her head, biting her lip hard enough to hurt, trying to fight the pleasure that was already creeping back in-

He chuckled darkly.

“Cute that you think you have a choice.”

Then his hand slid between them, fingers finding her overstimulated clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles.

Her whole body jerked, a strangled sound leaving her throat.

“L-Lando.”

“I love hearing you say my name like that,” he murmured, brushing his lips over her ear. “All soft. All fucked out.”

She whimpered, a tear slipping down her cheek from the intensity, but he just licked it off her skin, laughing under his breath.

“Poor thing,” he murmured, his voice mocking, his fingers never stopping. “Feeling guilty?”

Yes.

So fuckign much.

But her body didn’t care.

Because she was close again, pleasure building fast, even more devastating than before.

Lando felt it. He felt the way she clenched around him, the way her thighs trembled, the way she was completely at his mercy.

And he loved it.

“Come for me again, cheater,” he whispered, his thrusts getting sharper and faster. “Come while your boyfriend is waiting to talk to you.”

That broke her.

Her second orgasm hit like a gunshot, pleasure searing through her like white-hot lightning. She cried out, body locking up, vision blurring, and Lando groaned as she clenched around him, taking everything he gave her.

Her mind went blank.

She couldn’t think.

Could barely breathe.

And Lando?

He just grinned.

Because she knew why she came back to him every time.

Because she was completely his now.

And there was no going back.

Poor Oscar.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore @driverlando

[yourgothiccqueen]

LN4 - “Formula One Sucks”

Summary: A grumpy reader meets her match.

Parings : Lando Norris x Female Reader

Warnings: none except swearing - fluff and silliness!

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3

Masterlist

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

“I think just don’t give a shit about it!”

“That’s because you’re a boring cow!”

Y/N sat crossed legged on the grass outside her tent, sun beating down on her face as she half heartedly sipped on a capri sun. Spending the night lying on the floor had left her aching and exhausted, and she feared spending the day watching ‘cars go round in circles’ would truly tip her over the edge.

“I just don’t get why I had to come.” Y/N groaned. “You know loads of other people.”

“None of whom were free at short notice on a Sunday!” Y/N’s friend Annie exclaimed.

Y/N groaned dramatically. She was already hating the fact that she was going to be spending the day trying to shelter from the heat whilst pushing her way through crowds of obsessive fans.

“It’s the three things I hate the most - cars, people and outside.”

“Oh shush, you had to come because you’re such a joyous, positive influence in my life who I knew would jump at the opportunity!��� Annie said, sarcastically. “Now stop being so bloody miserable.”

Y/N scowled and playfully swatted Annie on the leg.

“You’re a bitch, you know that?”

“I know. Now drink your capri sun and cheer the fuck up.”

—————————————————————-

By 12pm Y/N had not, in fact, cheered the fuck up. She was truly finished with the world of formula one. So far she had queued for the loo, listened to some very loud music and spent an extortionate amount of money on a relatively small (and cold) hot dog.

Annie had long disappeared, claiming to have spotted some guy called ‘Fernando’ before rushing off into the crowd with a squeal, promising to meet Y/N at their seats later on.

It was beginning to get all too much for little Y/N L/N (😉) as she made her way throughout the bustle of people, eager to finally find someplace quiet to eat.

Eventually she found herself going through a set of doors (which definitely did not say staff only) as she found herself a quiet corner.

“Perfect.”

Before she could even take a bite, she heard a cough from behind her.

“Ermmm, what are you doing?”

Turning around, Y/N found herself faced with a relatively young man, wearing an orange cap with curls of brown peeking out the bottom. He looked strangely familiar, but Y/N couldn’t put her finger on it, and quite frankly she was too hangry to care.

“I’m eating my hot dog.”

The man smirked and let out a small laugh.

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Y/N shrugged and said “ask stupid questions, get stupid answers” before taking a bite.

The man raised an eyebrow slightly, intrigued by the passive aggressive woman in front of him, who seemingly didn’t know who he was.

“Are you here for the race? Or do you work here?” He questioned.

“I’m here for the race. Are you?”

The curly haired man smirked slightly, letting out a little laugh.

“Yeah, I suppose you could say that.”

Y/N crammed another bite of hot dog into her mouth “Well, enjoy. It’s all a load of crap if you ask me though.”

A look of intrigue on his face, he asked “what makes you say that?”

“It’s just boring!” Y/N exclaimed. “Car goes zoom, someone wins, hurrah - so bloody what?! What’s the point?”

The man looked back at her, a look of mild bewilderment and irration written across his face.

“Well yeah, the car is one aspect of it, sure. But it’s the drivers that bring that passion, that excitement every week. They’re the ones who shake things up and keep things fresh. They’re the ones who make it worth watching.” The man let out a small cough. “I mean, that’s my opinion anyway.”

“Hmm. So which driver should I look out for today then?” Y/N queried.

The curly haired man shot her a questionable look.

“Don’t you know the names of any of the drivers?”

Y/N shrugged “I know Lewis Hamilton.”

He let out a laugh and another smirk again “well, that’s a start I suppose.”

Y/N was getting sick of this man smirking at her. But then again, it was a very nice smirk. And he did seem like a very nice man.

“So, what are you doing here if you hate formula one?” The man queried, arms folded against his chest.

“My friend’s a big fan, and her boyfriend who was was meant to be coming has got the flu.” Y/N sighed. “As much as I hate being here, I’d feel even shitter if she came on her own.”

The man let out a small smile “Well, that’s nice of you to do that for your friend.”

He suddenly glanced down at Y/N’s lips, and appeared to take a step closer.

Was this mysterious, attractive stranger about to kiss her?

His thumb reached up to her chin and she couldn’t help but look up into his eyes.

God he had beautiful eyes.

She felt his thumb touch her skin with the gentlest of touches, and her eyes fluttered shut.

He smelt *heavenly*. What aftershave was he wearing?

“Sorry, you had some ketchup on your chin.” He let out a soft giggle.

Y/N’s eyes snapped open, and she felt herself return to reality.

“Oh!”

The mystery man let out a giggle as his thumb brushed against her chin - “all gone.”

She laughed. “Thank you. It’s not everyday a stranger wipes ketchup off your face. Did we just get to second base?”

The man let out a laugh (it’s a very nice laugh).

“Sure. I’ll count it if you do.”

An urgent shout sounded from a door behind them.

“I’ve got to go. It was nice chatting to you though.” The man stated. “And to answer your question, look out for Lando Norris today. I’ve heard he’s one to watch!”

“Will do.” Y/N called, still slightly stunned from the interaction.

A few moments passed before a security clad gentlemen rounded the corner.

“Oi, you shouldn’t be back here! Get back out the front!”

“Relax - I’ve finished my hot dog, I’m going!”

———————————————————

The rest of the afternoon was a blur, as Y/N sat close to Annie, eyes fixated on a certain McLaren as he reached his final lap of the race.

“And Lando Norris has finished in P2!”

Cheers erupted from around Y/N and she found herself joining it. Turned out that ‘cars, and people and outside’ could be pretty exciting - who knew?!

“Fuck yeah!” Annie shouted, jumping up and down.

The McLaren driver removed his helmet before waving up to the crowds, a grin plastered on his face.

Y/N’s own grin left her face.

“Oh shit. That’s the guy I met earlier!”

“What?” Annie exclaimed. “You met Lando Norris?”

“Yes! Is he a big deal?” Y/N stated, panic rising.

Annie glanced around them, signalling to the cheering crowds - “Duh! What did you say to him?”

Y/N gulped - “I shoved a hot dog in my mouth and told him formula one is crap.”

Annie stared. No words left her mouth.

Y/N could feel her face turning red. “I then proceeded to ask him if he was going to the race.”

A quick, sharp laugh left Annie’s mouth, before she fell into floods of hysterics.

“Holy shit! What is wrong with you?!”

Y/N could feel herself cringing.

“Oh god, I don’t know! Lots apparently!”

She glanced down to Lando again, to find him smirking up at her. He winked, before turning back towards his team.

“Oh my god, I’m never going outside again.” Y/N cringed. “This is all your fault!”

“My fault?” Annie laughed. “I didn’t tell an F1 driver that his sport is crap!”

Before Y/N could respond, she felt a tap on her shoulder. A uniformed worker pressed a piece of paper into her hand.

“I’ve been asked to give this to you.” The woman smiled, before walking away.

“What is it?” Annie questioned, eyeing the paper.

Y/N unwrapped it, finding quickly scrawled words,

Hello Grumpy,

I hope the race was enough to change your mind about formula one. Here’s my number if you ever fancy a hot dog or a debate over ‘cars going zoom’.

LN xx

“What. The. Fuck.” Annie’s eyes widened.

Y/N grinned.

“Maybe I do like F1 after all!”

[absolutedestinyapocalypsse]

When Harrow is very obviously grieving, (and also when he wants to gaslight her) John tells her to make soup about it, to focus on the little things, to take it day by day. When asked to help with the lobotomy, Ianthe tells Harrow that the worst is over- she's a lyctor now, and she should try and move forward instead of sticking herself permanently in limbo. These are not terrible pieces of advice to give a grieving person; if actually practiced, they might even be helpful. Except for Harrow, they are the absolute worst things you could possibly say.

None of what happened to her should have happened, of course she doesn't want to accept it and progress further into lyctorhood. Everything is terrifying and new to her, of course she won't find peace in "the little things". John is actively trying to fucking KILL HER, of course SOUP isn't going to help! Like obviously the general grief advice isn't gonna work for Harrow because she's in a psychological horror book and is being haunted and is grieving jesus christ herself, but also, does it really work that well ever? Does being told to move on actually ever in any circumstance help the person move on? Or does it just make them feel more broken, more inadequate, more lonely?

Sure, focusing on little things that give you joy and trying not to ruminate on the past are on paper productive ways to cope, but its also the LAST thing a grieving person actually wants to do. Telling someone to simply forget about what they went through and who they lost, to just focus on the boring and isolating minutae of everyday life instead of the world-ending tragedy they've experienced feels impossible. To do it would be like betraying yourself, and the people you lost.

Most of the book is Harrow knowing that certain things would probably make her feel better if she would just try, being told constantly that if she would just do x y or z, things would fall into place and she would be less broken. She doesn't even remember WHY she feels like this, but she does, and it's all-consuming. Lyctorhood is the scale by which her "normality" is measured, and she is failing SPECTACULARLY. She refuses to set aside Gideon's humanity and significance in her life to use her as a battery, and that makes her weak and a failure in the eyes of the other saints.

But by failing to move on, she ends up actually preserving (??? who actually knows man) Gideon's life. For the classic grief advice to not only be unhelpful to her personally also ACTIVELY MALICIOUS/ HARMFUL PLOT WISE is such a great 180 to me. Instead of a "grieving character comes to terms with loved one's death for the Greater Good and moves on because its the Right Thing To Do" narrative, we get a kind of bereavement revenge fantasy. Harrow's complete refusal to move on stops Gideon from actually fully dying. And she does makes soup, not to cope with the constant terror she's living under, but to EXPLODE her tormentor from the inside out. These things probably aren't "good" for Harrow, or for anyone dealing with grief. They do not make life easier for her, and they do not make her a lyctor, but they are honest and they are SO satisfying. Having the power to bring back the person you lost, even at great personal detriment and to explode everyone who hurt you with your mind is i think the perfect power for someone in mourning and i love that htn let Harrow have it. There is no greater good to be served, no larger moral about loss to be told. The objective is not to see Harrow heal from loss, it's to see her by sheer determination and force of will, refuse to fucking lose.

[vampiresbloodx]

Arcane Imagine;

pairings; Vi/reader

Imagine you and Vi moving in together for the first time.

warnings; fluff, established relationship, love sick!vi, more fluff & comfort, arcane au, implied smut reference, teasing, s*xual jokes

a/n; I recently moved <33 so I wanted to write a lil something for vi I can now get back to writing and making silly lil posts because moving is exhausting as fuck lmao

You and Vi have been thinking about moving in together for the longest time, Vi first thought about it when she laid eyes on you when she saw you at the bar

You were with your friends, hanging out, drinks in hand, laughing along with them, she couldn't stop staring at you, how gorgeous you looked that night, how effortlessly beautiful you are to her

She really was a moth that was drawn to the flame

Because randomly, after meeting you, talking to you for a few hours in some bathroom, she was already attached to you, she didn't say it out loud then, it took her ages to actually tell you she has feelings for you

When she did though, it was the best decision she's made, and the one that didn't go to shit

Vi is always by your side, clinging to you, like a lost puppy, it's adorable, you think, as you do the same to her

But when it's just you two, she really let's down her walls and is just completely herself

When there's others around, she puts on that tough act, your very own scary dog privilege

No one can touch you or talk to you in a wrong way, and if someone upsets you, makes you uncomfortable, well they're in for a beating

Vi does not mind getting her knuckles bloody for you

When you brought up the idea of living together in an apartment, even if it wasn't that big and the rent was high, Vi immediately jumped on board

You found it really fucking cute, watching her ramble excitedly about how you two should decorate your room, apartment, she says how you can have your plants in different places, a nice coffee table, a tv, games, you just really liked listening to her talk

Now when you two did the apartment hunting, that was long and slightly boring, having to meet up with strangers to potentially set a deal on your new home, yes, you were both still very excited, and finally, after trying to find the right one, you both found your home

You got what you could afford, and after signing the lease and getting the keys, you were able to officially move in

The moving was stressful, getting everything together, making sure nothing was lost or broken, Vi kept on worrying about her CDs and DVD collection, same with her other collections she has that she didn't want to lose, stuff that she's kept from her childhood, rare items she's found that people have thrown away for some reason and it's actually worth a lot, Vi likes those stuff, she likes finding good things

You like to add to the collections to, when you find things that remind you of Vi

Vi wouldn't show much of her "nerdy" side to anyone else but you had that special spot

There definitely would be Vi making sex jokes, how the new couch would be perfect to try new positions on, or how the bed might not last that long, for that you slapped her playfully on the shoulder, and she laughed hard

She loved teasing you

And will not stop

Vi never really knew she was ever gonna experience this, just that domestic life filled with good moments that will play a huge part in your life for years, and here she was with you, she did not want to let go

Vi was excited about turning this place into a home that shows the both of you, so when they invited people over they would know immediately

She was crazy for you, in the best way possible and you wouldn't have it anyway else

[muniimyg]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ bbydaddy!jk (7) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ *nsfw*

series m.list // taglist request closed

note: i literally can't take myself seriously with this concept LOL where have my morals gone? lmk if anyone remembers classic kimi fics where smut was nonexistent HAUWHAUA 😭

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @pamzn @defzcl @maryy1300 @whoa-jo @taetaecatboy @jksusawife @un06 @firesighgirl @rrosiitas @butterymin @parkinglot-nights @musicjournalsjdb @kissyfacekoo @jkslvsnella @vampcharxter @bloopkook @somehowukook @bbystarcandykoo

//

jungkook has been looking over revisions for the past three hours. the promotion was more exciting when he worked for it... now, he feels way too overworked and honestly? for what?

the truth is, he only chased after the promotion because he knew it would be something you'd be proud of him for doing. you've always been the type to chase after things greater than yourself and wished for jungkook to do the same. well, this is it. this is jungkook doing just that for you. he hopes you can see it. he hopes you know it.

currently, he feels like his eyeballs might roll out of his head. he's bored and might lose his mind if he goes through one more slide (he has at least 200 slides left). irritated, he pushes away from his desk and stands up.

he stretches, trying to wake himself up a little more. then, he stares at the view from his office window.

the city is beautiful but he would much rather be looking at you.

suddenly, as if the angels heard him, his phone rings.

it's you.

he picks up immediately.

"hello?"

he doesn't know why, but he feels nervous. you never call. you always text or facetime... a call? what the fuck could be going on?

"hi... are you busy?" you ask, a little quiet. you sound tired.

he raises an eyebrow. "uhh... what's up? everything okay?"

a small laugh escapes your lips. "yeah. why? do i sound—"

"a little sad," he cuts you off, concerned. "___, what's wrong?"

you stay silent for a moment.

"nothing.”

he doesn’t believe you until he hears you sigh in relief.

continuing, you vent; "i just... i think i'm just stressed. i don't know. i wanted a break and suddenly i picked up my phone and called you. s-sorry. i... you're probably busy with the new promotion and—"

"i'm not that busy—"

like perfect timing, jungkook's office line interrupts. "mr. jeon, your 2pm meeting is being pushed back so you have time for lunch today."

jungkook clears his throat and thanks his assistant.

"new assistant?" you ask, letting curiosity get the best of you. "she pretty?"

"she's fired if you want."

"shut up!" you laugh. "i could care less—"

"oh, you care..." jungkook smirks. "hey, i'm glad you called. you can always call. i'm here for you when you need.. i don't want you to think anything else."

"okay.." is all you say.

jungkook takes a deep breath in. "did you eat today?"

"i ate. did you?"

"been busy—"

"you said you weren't busy!"

"hey, i'm not the lawyer!"

"still... i... listen, i'll let you go. i should probably get back to work or something—"

jungkook panics. "i'm cancelling my 2pm."

"what?"

"y-yeah... i'm looking at their revisions and i haven't even gotten through half of it. it's also shit so i'm just gonna tell them to redo everything. will i be the most hated boss? we'll find out."

on the other end of the line, you snicker.

"you can't blow off work."

"i can."

".... c-can i confess something?"

jungkook gulps, feeling sick to his stomach.

"what?"

you fidget with your fingers, unsure if you should continue.

"honey, what is it?" jungkook asks softly. "whatever it is... i'm here for you. you know that."

"i... uhm... i called because i was stressed..."

"... yeah?"

"jungkook," you pause, biting your bottom lip. is it too much to say this? at the same time... it's not like he has ever denied you anything. you might as well... "i need to relieve some stress. like, i need to focus on something that isn't work or our son. you know what i mean? everything is fine, honest! i just... i want to be focused on something and be present. i feel like i've been mindless for a hot minute... i just... look, if you're going home... is it okay if i come over? can i suck your dick or something?"

jungkook rushes home.

he changes his bedsheets and runs a quick shower. it's not like he needed to put in this much effort (it's literally the bare minimum) but it's the first time in a long time where you needed him. having sex and initiating was more so 50/50; but this was different. you need him.

he's your relief.

and also... it's a little funny, is it not? it's only 2pm on a random wednesday and you need him.

when you arrive, jungkook takes a few deep breaths before opening the door. his studio apartment is definitely smaller than your place (aka the place you two shared for 4 years), but it's okay. it's only temporary. he knows in his heart that he'll be back home with you in no time. this afternoon proves exactly that...

if today you need him for his body and tomorrow you need his heart; he'd give it.

"wow... i hate this already." you take a minute to laugh at yourself. you feel so beyond stupid and embarrassed... it's practically indescribable. though you and jungkook fool around and have always had an active sex life... right now felt different. right now felt... weird? but if it was ever going to feel weird; at least it's with him.

before you even step foot inside his place, you're turning your heel. "you know what? i should... uhm, this was stupid. sorry—"

jungkook grabs your arm and pulls you inside.

you stay still as he leans towards you face. he pokes your cheek and chuckles. "come on, honey. i said i'd be here for you. let me be here for you."

squinting at him, you move his finger off your face. "you just want your dick sucked."

"you offered," he snorts. "so pull through."

in hindsight, jungkook should've been more prepared than this.

but he isn't.

he fights to urge to spill himself all over your pretty hands every time you pump his cock. it's toe-curling the way you drag your wrist up and down. he throws his head back so much, it's beginning to get sore. leaving him with no option but to fucking watch you give him the most life changing blowjob of his life.

"are you okay?" you ask, batting your eyelashes at him. "you look stressed."

"i am stressed."

"what? why—"

"no! f-fuck, don't stop." he growls, not liking the way you suddenly stop. you purse your lips, catching on that he just feels edged out.

already?

... okay.

you continue to pump him, gripping on the base of his cock and moving your way up. his skin is so soft yet he's so hard. like... so fucking hard you know for a fact you don't want to fuck him right now. it'd hurt too much.

"you're so hard already," you utter under your breath. "and i swear to god, it's like your dick gets bigger every time i see it."

"i love you more every time i see you that's why."

"damn," you hiss. "can you... just let me do this? i wanna focus on... wanna focus on—"

"shut up."

you laugh, reaching up to place a kiss on his lips. he leans forward, gladly meeting your lips. when you pull away, you plop yourself in a more exact position in front of him. jungkook feels his balls get heavy as you kneel, part his legs, and begin to tie your hair up.

he helps you.

gathering your hair, you give him your hair tie. he quickly ties your hair before leaning back and trying to catch one last good breath.

he fails.

his breath hitches as you kiss his tip.

"w-wait—"

you don't.

you lick his length, dragging your tongue down to his base. there, you suck his balls and use your hands to pump. jungkook gulps, watching you do this. he doesn't know what to do. usually, he's really into it but there's something different about right now.

right now, he's in a trance.

he's mesmorized at how much your touch changes all the chemistry in his body. saying you send electricity throughout his body is an understatement. butterflies don't mean a damn thing either. it's captivating and everything but sweet.

it feels twisted in his stomach. it feels like he's on the edge on a cliff and the only way he can ease his fear is by jumping off.

he has to give in and let his body react to you.

he has to let you have this and from the looks of it (and feel of it); you've giving him everything you've got.

just then, you snap jungkook out of his thoughts as you attempt to take him inside your mouth. you make an effort to look up, eyes teary from holding in your gag. he's so big. there's no other way to explain it and there's no way you're going to stop thinking it.

he's so fucking big.

like what other choice do you have but to slobber all over it? you just have to. not to mention, he always tastes good. his cum, yes, but just his dick in general... is that weird? who cares.

jungkook's dick barely fits in your mouth. but you try to make it work. you want him—all of him. as you bob your head, easing your way to his full length, jungkook lets out a loud moan.

you look up and see his chest rising and falling. his abdomen twitches and so does his dick. you like the way he looks right now. as you suck, his breathing intensifies. soon, he's panting and you're near gagging.

you take a moment to catch your breath.

pulling away, your hands continue the show. jungkook brings his attention back to your hands and watches as the tip of his cock turns angry. god, it's getting bigger?

you practically drool.

jungkook leans over and wipes the access saliva around your lips. then, he shoves his thumb into your mouth. happily, you suck on it. bobbing your head, shutting your eyes, and letting out little moans; jungkook feels like he's losing his mind.

you look so fucking pretty.

when he takes his thumb out, you dive back to his dick. this time, he holds you by the back of your neck and guides you through it. jungkook pushes your head slowly but surely. then, he stops moving it. he keeps it in place as he lifts his hips and rolls them.

before you know it, he's fucking your mouth.

rolling your eyes back, jungkook moans at the sight. of course you're taking it like a slut. of course you're enjoying it too.

"you like this, huh? you like having your face fucked?" jungkook hisses in between breathy pants.

you gag in response.

jungkook pulls his dick out and slaps your mouth with it. his veiny member feels so good against your lips. you want it back in your mouth.

"answer me."

"mhmm," you whimper. "i like it so much. put it back in—mmhph—"

"fuck yes," he shoves his cock back into your mouth. "so pretty, honey. the absolute prettiest."

suddenly, he lets you go. it's then that you take the liberty to give it everything you've got.

you twirl your tongue around his tip, suck his length in every way possible. your hands pump to compliment your oral skills and jungkook can't help but think he's the luckiest man on earth.

then, it happens.

you feel his dick twitch. he instantly thrusts himself more aggressively to chase the climax. you behave and take it. then, squirts of his cum escape his tip. he cries, pulls out of your mouth, and aims at your face.

you shut your eyes, feeling his cum hit your cheeks and lips.

he lets out a moan of relief.

after a moment passes, you get up from your position and sit on his lap. wrapping your legs around him, he offers you a tired smile. then, he lifts his hands to wipe his cum off your face. opening your mouth, he gives it to you like icing.

you swallow and he feels like he might need a fucking minute.

then, you let out a little giggle when you notice how sweaty he is. you push his hair back and begin to laugh.

"w-what?" he worries. "why are you laughing at me?"

"you're sweating? as if you did any work—"

"i was literally fucking your face!"

"yeah but you're not the one that's gonna have sore cheeks for like three days or bruised knees!"

he shuts up.

you roll your eyes at him and continue to play with his hair. you feel his dick calm down under you. thank god. that fucking beast is scary when you're not in the mood...

"what time is it?" you ask, breaking the silence and breathing in the smell of sin.

jungkook shrugs. "dunno. also don't wanna move. stay like this with me."

you huff. "should i take my panties off or something?"

"why?"

"wanna cockwarm me?"

seriously...

he just might be the luckiest man on earth.

jungkook clears his throat as you straighten up your posture. "wait, i'll just put my panties to the side like this—ahh, mmhmm... y-yeah. like this.... feels good."

by now, jungkook's soft cock is inside you.

you like the feeling and so does he.

suddenly, you rest your head of his shoulder. he wraps his arms around you and holds you. kissing the side of your head, he asks; "you feeling better? relieved?"

"mhmm."

"good." jungkook tightens his lips, as he brings his hands to your hair. he runs them through and you take a deep breath in. you like the way he feels right now... so intimate.

"hey... did we talk a lot during sex?" he asks.

"don't remember."

"oh, okay..." jungkook looks around his studio apartment and suddenly feels embarrassed at how messy it is. "can i come with you to pick zion up today?"

"sure."

jungkook tightens his hold on you. you laugh and tell him it's too tight. he stops squeezing you and asks for a kiss. you give it to him. against your lips, he mummbles; "am i talking too much? i think i'm nervous or something—"

"then shut up."

"hey—"

you pull away and cup his cheeks.

"i feel your dick rising inside me. i don't have the energy for round two. either make the boner go away or i'll get off."

jungkook gulps. then, he shuts his eyes and thinks of every possible un-sexy thing ever... and it works. his dick softens again and you thank him with a kiss. jungkook takes his chance and intertwines your fingers together. you let him do so and his heart soars. something about him being inside you makes you feel so whole. there’s no denying that… and you love it, really. you love him, truly.

for a few more moments, you two stay like this.

you two are together.

[olderthannetfic]

Ancient argument, but I still just do not get how the explanation for why mainstream source material is all about men is OBVIOUSLY because Hollywood is a misogynist culture dominated by men, so OBVIOUSLY the solution to get more stories about women is to support way more women creators, but also, OBVIOUSLY the reason why fanfiction is all about men is because fandom is primarily women creators, so OBVIOUSLY the solution is ?????

--

Well, you could start by not conflating all the arguments into a silly strawman, anon.

Do I need to put in the fucking FFN vs. Wattpad vs. AO3 shipping chart?

Don't come to the gay bookstore and act surprised about what you find.

Fandom is not all about male characters. Slash fandom is, for obvious reasons. It's just that most dumbass analysis ignores how and when female characters are popular.

For example, Darcy Lewis circa 2012 got a lot of that same little black dress OOC drivel treatment that other fannish faves do, and it was great. Did I read a bunch of badfic where she had Loki's baby or whatever? I sure did! But that wasn't good enough because whiny little babies thought boring Jane was the character everyone ought to care about. It was ~offensive~ that there was more meme-y nonsense fic for Darcy/Jensen from The Losers than for [virtuous but boring ship]. How dare, how dare, etc. (Darcy/Jensen made perfect sense! The only possible objection is that it should be a threesome with Cougar!)

Tony/Pepper was an actual ship people cared about in 2012. No, it wasn't just an over-tagged side ship in m/m fic... It's just that those het writers had no reason to switch to AO3 at the time and may never have uploaded their old work.

Despite what the haters think, plenty of those het juggernauts like Dramione or Reylo are full of fics by women who really like the female lead, not just the male one. There are whole communities of people writing OFC/blorbo and supporting the other writers who do this. I used to read all the Ardeth Bay/OFC stuff back in the day. I've never been into readerfic, but there again, plenty of people are quite into a f!reader character. Haters will mischaracterize all this stuff as a nonentity plus a hot guy, but that's not necessarily the case.

Video game fandoms are awash with f!player-centric fic.

Anything where you're making up the woman has women writing women.

Mainstream Hollywood trash with poorly-written women and/or women only in the feelings babysitter role and not the hot mess/woobie/deadpan snarker/pop culture-obsessed wisecracking geek/etc. roles doesn't always generate fanfiction because fanfiction builds on what is already there. If there is no appealing lady there, that is not what the fandom will build on.

But in general, women absolutely do write fic about female characters.

The only reason I don't have a billion more examples is that I personally tend to ship m/m for a host of reasons that you can find in all of the tedious "Why slash?" meta going back to the 1970s. I don't personally particularly like self-inserting, and I especially don't like doing it as a woman.

Don't come up to my face or the faces of other AO3y types and go "You know, the world would be better if you just gendered harder!"

Go find some women who experience more gender euphoria around their assigned gender. They're often not found in slash spaces. Maybe try the Romantasy girlies.

The fact that you can't find women writing aspirational or wish fulfillment female protagonists is because you are too stupid to live, not because it doesn't happen.

[pedroscurls]

playing with fire (one-shot)

summary: wyatt (aka, jamie) always had one thing on his mind: money. so after he and jonathan part ways, he meets you - a woman that suddenly makes him realize that there's more to life than treachery, manipulation, and violence. but when he has another chance at getting more money than he's ever had before, he goes back to his old ways... and you're more than willing to help him in any way possible. pairing: wyatt bose (jamie getz) x fem!reader content warnings: EXPLICIT CONTENT 18+ MDNI, light dom/sub dynamic, possessiveness, violence - mentions of murder, blood, wyatt is very rough, light power imbalance in the beginning, manhandling, light choking, brief orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, multiple creampies (oops), one scene of a breeding kink, multiple scenes of oral (m and f receiving), fingering, spanking, marking, no use of y/n. word count: 13.9k (oops - i got distracted) a/n: ok y'all, this is just complete filth. hugh plays such a good bad guy (i really want him to play more roles like this bc damn) and that one fucking line where he says "oh, what i'm gonna do to you" DID things to me jfc. anyway, please heed the warnings and if you do decide to read this, hope you enjoy! had to end it with a happy ending obviously 🙂‍↕️

WELCOME TO THE CLUB — You didn’t know how you ended up here. You had just broken up with your boyfriend of two years after realizing that you were just settling for a relationship that you were no longer happy in. At this age, you should have already been married, should have already become a mother – it was something that your own family liked to remind you of what you’ve been missing. 

But that never did appeal to you. You didn’t want to become a mother, didn’t want to be married. Your family had originally hoped you would find someone to settle down with, someone to change your mind and they had thought your ex-boyfriend was that person, but… Things had become redundant. Boring. You spent most days daydreaming what it would be like to live a life you wanted. 

And the sex – well, you were always left disappointed because he just couldn’t get you to come. No matter how hard he tried. So, you resorted to your own vibrator in hopes to relieve the pressure and tension that you knew you couldn’t get with him. 

He wasn’t a bad man – in fact, he was perfect. He just wasn’t perfect for you. 

And now, you’re sitting at the edge of the bed in a hotel room that you paid for, waiting for this stranger to arrive. You had met a woman one night at the bar who had let you know of an exclusive club that she was in, a club that piqued your interest. You had all of the information written down and every day for the next month, you reviewed it every night. Never taking the initiative to finally be part of this club. 

Until tonight. 

You were tired of using your vibrator. Tired of trying to meet other men at bars, only to be disgusted by their behavior before they could even get to your front door. 

So, you reviewed the sticky note with all of the information the woman had told you about – the initiator pays for the hotel room, no names are exchanged, and no rough play. You weren’t sure what to expect when you finally called a number that she had given you, hearing his voice from the other end of the phone – it was deep, gruff. You spent the next ride to the hotel imagining what he would look like, pairing his voice with the image you conjured up of this man. 

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when you hear a knock on the door. You suddenly feel self-conscious, nervous – this is your first time in this club and you didn’t want to disappoint. With a deep breath, you finally stand up and walk to the door. Gripping the handle, you slowly open it to see a man dressed in an all black suit (no tie) and one of the most charming smiles you’ve ever seen. He wastes no time in eyeing you up and down, taking note of the short black satin robe that is loosely wrapped around your otherwise naked frame. 

“Hi,” he smiles. “Mind if I come in?” 

You nod and open the door even further for him to cross the threshold. He steps in and winks in your direction, catching his gaze on your cleavage. Once he’s fully inside, you place the “do not disturb” placard on the outside handle and then shut the door. 

“This is my first time,” you blurt out, walking back to the bed and finding your spot on the corner of the mattress. “I know the rules. No names. No rough play. Other rules can be established between us and–”

He turns around and gazes down at you, hands in his pockets and that same charming smile lining his lips. “First time, huh?” 

“In this club, at least. Not the first time ever.” 

“Shame,” he eyes your legs when you cross one over the other, the robe lifting to reveal more of your skin. “Would’ve been nice to be your first ever.” 

You feel more confident with the way he’s staring at you. Slowly, you bring your hands to the knot at your robe and begin to undo it. “We could…” you bite your lower lip, the knot loosening completely as you lean back against your forearms to reveal your exposed front for him. “Pretend?” You finish. 

He lets out the most animalistic growl that you’ve ever heard come out of a man. In two strides, he’s standing between your legs, hands still in his pockets as he gazes at your breasts down your abdomen and to the apex of your thighs. 

“No fun in that,” he finally answers. 

“No?” You ask, pulling your lower lip between your teeth as you let your eyes take in his frame. You can see the bulge beneath his black slacks, only fueling more of your confidence. “You don’t like to roleplay?” 

“I’d much rather have the real thing.” 

“You didn’t answer my question though,” you reply. “Do you not like to roleplay?” 

His gaze darkens as he finally pulls one of his hands out of his pockets and you see just how large it is when he lightly splays it across your abdomen, sliding it further upwards between your breasts. His touch is soft, but you can feel the calluses, can feel the roughness. 

“I’ll tell you what I do like,” he whispers huskily. 

“Yeah? What’s that?” You whimper, feeling his thumb brush against your nipple before he brings his hand further up to splay against the side of your neck. Slowly, he moves his hand to the back of your head and grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging it with just the right amount of pressure for you to tilt your head back, exposing your neck and throat for him. 

“I like to be in control,” he says quietly, leaning down until his lips are near your ear. 

“Thought one of the rules was no rough play…” you point out, eyes fluttering shut as you feel his soft lips begin to nip at your earlobe. 

“We can make our own rules, baby.” 

“My first time in this club and you’re already getting me to break the rules,” you smile, moving one hand to grab onto the lapel of his blazer. 

Instead, he grabs both of your hands and pins them above your head. His grip around your wrists tighten as he pushes them into the mattress, staring into your eyes. His nose brushes against yours as the hand in your hair instead moves to cover your breast. He kneads the flesh into the pit of his palm, feeling you arch your back into his touch. 

“Something tells me you like breaking the rules,” he whispers, his hot breath fanning against your lips. “Am I right?” 

“Never had someone to break the rules with,” you whimper, feeling him pinch your nipple between his thumb and index finger. 

He smirks at that, feeling suddenly territorial over you. He pulls back enough to gaze down at you, eyes scanning every inch of your face as he commits it to memory. The way your eyes stare at him with a kind expression, giving him your undivided attention. He isn’t used to this, isn’t used to being with someone like you. You’re staring at him like he’s the only person that matters in this world and he doesn’t realize how much he craves that, how much he’s going to crave you. 

“You want someone to break the rules with?” he asks, moving his hand from your breast down your abdomen and between your legs. 

“As long as it’s with you,” you answer almost immediately. 

Wyatt (Jamie) growls at that and breaks his own rule by pressing his lips firmly against your own. Since he joined this club, he never kissed the person he was with. It seemed almost too personal, too intimate to be shared amongst strangers. In the last fifteen minutes of meeting you, he’s already yearning for more, already planning for ways to have you his. Only his. 

Your hands move to his hair, tangling your fingers into his locks as your lips move slowly against his. He groans against you, your lips so soft and inviting. 

He has to pull away, has to gather his thoughts because he’s losing control and he never loses control. Once he stands upright, he pushes off his jacket and reaches down for his belt, undoing it as he watches you scramble up further onto the bed, sliding the robe off your entire frame. He can feel his cock straining in his pants and when he finally undoes the belt, zipper, and button of his pants, he pushes it down his legs with his boxers and kicks it off to the side. 

He smirks to himself, seeing your eyes gaze down at his cock that springs at attention. He holds onto his base, veins throbbing and tip leaking with precome. 

“You’d do anything I’d ask, wouldn’t you?” Wyatt (Jamie) asks, grabbing your ankle and tugging you back to the edge of the mattress. “You’d be a good girl, listen to what I tell you to do–”

“Yes,” you say almost breathlessly. You don’t know if this is how it’s like with every person you’ll meet in this club, but he’s going to leave a really good impression on you. He’s awakening something inside of you that you’ve suppressed for so long, unsure if you’ll ever get the chance to live out the sex life you’ve always yearned for, but now he’s here – whoever he is – giving you the chance to have a much more exciting sex life. 

“Don’t interrupt me,” he growls, hand moving to your jaw. His gaze darkens, tries to search for any hesitation in your eyes, but instead, he sees a sense of willingness, a glimmer of obedience. 

“I’m sorry, sir.” 

Sir. He grins at that. 

“Such a fast learner,” he whispers, using his hand to guide his tip to your slickened heat. “Now, be a good girl and ask me nicely.” 

You bite your lower lip, staring into his eyes as you feel his warm tip press against your opening. You clench around nothing, whimpering in protest as you lift your hips impatiently off the bed. His grip around your jaw tightens. 

“Be a good girl and ask nicely,” he repeats, voice deeper, more demanding. 

“Please,” you whine out. 

“Please what?” he growls. 

“Goddammit, please fuck me!” you answer impatiently, hands reaching down to take matters into your own hands. 

He lets out a dark laugh and shakes his head, releasing his hold on your jaw to grab your hands once more, pinning them roughly to the mattress. His grip around your wrists tighten as he stares into your eyes, that same charming smile on his lips. “Am I going to have to spend the entire fucking night teaching you manners?” 

“N–No,” you whimper. “Please, I’m sorry. I just– Fuck, I need you.”

“Then… Ask. Fucking. Nicely.” he repeats. 

“Please, sir,” you moan. “Please, can you–” you gasp quietly, feeling the head of his cock push into your tight heat. When you can’t seem to find your words, he pulls out of you and smirks. 

“Continue, baby.” 

“Please,” you mumble. “C–Can you fuck me, please?” 

“Please what?”

“Sir.” 

Wyatt (Jamie) grins in accomplishment and slams into you without warning, feeling your warm heat encompass his throbbing cock. You’re so tight, so wet that sliding into you is so effortless. Your back arches as you feel every inch of his length press against your walls, a painful stretch to accommodate his size. 

And for the rest of the night, you both remain entangled in each other’s limbs, only leaving the bed to have him bend you over the dresser or to ride him in the small loveseat in the corner. 

When morning rolls around, you’re already dressed in your normal clothes and so is he. It was a night to remember – this club had initially made you anxious, but now, you’re looking forward to the next time you’ll get to meet another stranger. 

Wyatt (Jamie), on the other hand, makes sure to add your number to his phone. His mind drifts to the possibility of you being with other men – even women – in this exclusive club and he feels a sudden sense of jealousy wash over him. He reaches down and grips your hip, pulling you to him and leaning down to capture your lips with his own. He hopes that he’s made a lasting impression that no other man would ever compare to him.

Slowly, you’re the one that pulls away – a small smile lining your beautiful face and eyes gazing at him once more with such kindness. 

“I hope I see you around,” you finally say, biting your lower lip. 

“I’m sure you will,” he says with confidence. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“We don’t know each other’s names,” you let out a quiet laugh. “And I’m sure you have other women that call you–”

“You jealous?” he teases with a grin.

“And if I said I was?” 

He clears his throat quietly. “Then I’d say tough shit,” he answers. “Deal with it.” 

Your face falls momentarily, but you recover quickly and lean in to peck his lips lightly. “Well, good thing I’m not jealous then. I’m eager to meet other men after last night.”

He tightens his jaw and brings a hand up to grab another fistful of your hair. You whimper quietly, hands moving to grip his shoulders. “When you fuck those other men,” he whispers, moving his lips to your ear. “You better be thinking about me.”

Your eyes flutter shut. “Not unless there’s another man who does it better than you.” 

He growls at that, turning you around and bending you over the dresser. He wastes no time in lifting the ends of your dress over your hips as he kicks your legs apart. Wyatt (Jamie) undoes his zipper and reaches into his slacks to pull out his hardening cock – giving it one, two, three strokes before he pushes into you from behind. 

Your hands reach out to grab onto the edges of the dresser, the grip around it so tight that your knuckles turn white. You hadn’t expected that kind of reaction of him and certainly didn’t expect him to fuck you yet again – especially since you both should already have left the hotel, last night’s events the only thing to remember each other by. 

Instead, he’s fucking relentlessly into you from behind, his balls slapping against you. This time, he doesn’t care about making you come first. He wants you – no, needs you to understand that there will never be anyone like him. That you are meant for him, made for him. Only him. 

He reaches down and grabs your hands, pinning them against your lower back as he slams into you. You squirm back against him, the edge of the dresser digging into your hips that you’re sure will leave another mark on your body. 

“You’re mine,” he groans aloud, tossing his head back as he uses your tight walls to bring him closer to his own release. “You’ll only ever be mine.”

“Y–Yes!” you moan loudly, your arousal dripping out of you. The sounds of his skin slapping against yours mix in with the wet squelching noises coming from between your legs – it echoes throughout the hotel room. 

“Fucking say it,” he demands, using his free hand to grab your hair and pull you upright. “Say it. Say I’m the only one. Say you’ll only ever think of me. Say you’re mine.”

“I–I’m yours!” you moan, his hand moving from your hair to pull down the front of your dress. He covers your breast with his large hand, squeezing it tightly as he thrusts into you repeatedly. “I–I’ll only ever think of you, fuck, please!” 

“Please what?” he groans into your ear. “Tell me what you need, baby.”

“Need to come!” 

Wyatt (Jamie) groans and empties his seed into you, your walls milking every last drop he has to give you. He pulls out and growls at the sight of his release trickling down the inside of your legs. You’re trembling, hands reaching out to rest on the dresser for stability once he releases his hold on you. He tucks himself back into his slacks and gives your ass a rough slap, smirking to himself. 

“Wait, but–” you whimper in protest, turning around slowly to face him with furrowed brows. “I didn’t–I didn’t come.”

“That’s too bad, isn’t it?” he smirks, grabbing his phone and keys from his pocket. 

“Are you really going to leave me like this?” 

He steps towards you and cups your cheek lightly, staring into your eyes. “You know my number, baby. Give it a call when you need me.” 

“Maybe I’ll call someone else,” you pout, walking away from him to go into the bathroom, cleaning yourself up from the mess he’s made between your legs. 

He narrows his eyes and tilts his head. He’s trying not to let this get to him, to let you get to him, but he can’t help it. He clears his throat and walks towards the door of the bathroom, watching you toss the toilet paper into the trash as you make yourself more presentable. 

“Maybe next time,” you begin to say, walking past him and towards your bag that’s resting on the mattress. “Maybe next time you’ll be the one that should be good for me.” 

He chuckles at that. He feels his feet glued to the floor as he watches you walk towards the door of the hotel room. “Don’t think that’s how this works, baby.” 

“Guess we’ll see next time then, hm?” you throw him a smile over your shoulder and open the door. Before walking out into the hallway, you turn to him and nod in his direction. “Thank you, by the way. For last night. For what happened just a few minutes ago.”

He nods, feeling an unfamiliar warmth blossom in his chest. “You made it easy, baby. Welcome to the club.” 

MEETING “WYATT BOSE” — The next time you see him, it’s unexpected. You’re working at the local library, reading a book at the front desk when he walks in. The same charming smile, a confidence and swagger that he walks with. His eyes scan the building, unsure of exactly what he’s looking for, but he walks further into the library and disappears into one of the aisles. It makes your heart race even faster as your mind drifts to the night you shared with him almost six months ago. You had been more regularly part of this club now – men now giving you a call instead of the other way around. 

He was right, though. Every other man you had been with him after him wasn’t the same. Sure, it was by far better sex than what you would have had with your ex-boyfriend, but it never was quite as amazing as your first time with him. Even as you came, you imagined him. 

You stand from the front desk, telling your coworker that you were going to put some books away. Truthfully, it was just an excuse to find him – the stranger that had left a lasting impression on you. 

You’re pushing a cart of books, going through each aisle. You’re distracted, putting two books away in its appropriate place and then glancing around to see if you can even get a glimpse of him. It feels like maybe you might have just imagined him, maybe your mind is playing tricks on you. 

With a heavy sigh, you round the corner and see him standing with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s wearing yet another suit and that same fucking charming smile lining his beautiful lips. He’s gazing at you with an already darkened gaze. 

“Well, hello you.” 

“It’s really you,” you whisper, gripping the handle of the cart. 

“You never called again.” 

“Hm,” you answer. “I never received a call from you either and I saw you save my number that night, so I know you had–”

He steps towards you, removing one hand from his pocket to gently brush his thumb across your cheekbone. “You’ve been very popular, from what I’ve been hearing.” 

You clear your throat, feeling a quiet gasp escape your lips at his touch. “Maybe not that popular if you never called.” 

He chuckles, thumb moving lower to brush against your lower lip. “You miss me, baby?” 

“No,” you lie. 

He just smirks. “You’re such a fucking liar.” He grips your chin and pulls you to him. He removes his other hand from his pocket and lifts it up to gently brush against your nametag. Now he knows your name – another rule broken. 

“Pretty name,” he whispers. 

“You gonna tell me yours?” 

He grins, hand moving from your chin to splay against the side of your neck instead. His thumb brushes against your throat down towards your collarbone. “No names, remember?” 

“Well, that isn’t fair though, is it? You know mine.” 

“Didn’t ask you though. You’re wearing a nametag.” 

“What if I say please?”  

“Would you get on your knees and then say please?” He asks. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t think about you, didn’t think about that night you shared. 

“You’ll have to give me a call if you want me on my knees in front of you, baby.” 

He smiles to himself, tilts his head as he gazes into your eyes. Since Jonathan had let him go freely almost a year ago, Wyatt (Jamie) had tried to change his ways, tried to live a better life, but old habits die hard. It wasn’t until he met you that he started thinking about things other than money. 

How could one person leave such a lasting impression on him? 

“Just because we’re in public doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t take you in the bathroom–”

“If you want me that badly, then give me a call.”

His eyes narrow as he moves his grip around your throat. He pushes you against the dark corner and moves his free hand against the wall near your head, staring deeply into your eyes. “Thought we established that you don’t interrupt me.” 

“Maybe I need another reminder on how to be a good girl,” you whisper, feeling his grip around your throat tightening, leaving you almost gasping for air. 

He grins, loosening his grip around your throat. He likes that you can match him, can leave him speechless like this. “Wyatt.” 

“What?”

“Name’s Wyatt.” He lies, dropping his hand to your cheek and slowly he leans in, lips lightly brushing against yours. “I’m gonna kiss you now, unless you want me to give you a call for that,” he teases. 

You don’t answer. Instead, you reach up to grab him by the end of his tie and pull him into you. You press your lips firmly against his own as his hand slides to cup the back of your neck. He growls lowly against you, sliding his leg between your own. 

He’s missed the feeling of your lips, has missed the sounds you make. He feels you roll your hips against his strong thigh and he smirks, pulling away from the kiss to look down at you. Your pupils are blown out, lips slightly parted, and gaze filled with want, with desire, with need. 

“Wyatt,” you whisper. 

His smirk falters momentarily at the sound of his “name” leaving your lips and it’s in that moment he contemplates what it would sound like if you had said his real name. 

“I’ll give you a call,” he says. “Tonight. I’ll give you a call tonight.” 

“And if you don’t?” 

“Then you know my number,” he winks. 

You bite your lower lip and pull him back to you, the front of his body now pressing firmly against yours. He keeps his hand pressed against the wall above your head as he stares into your eyes. 

“What?” He asks quietly. 

You smile, shaking your head and leaning up to press your lips gently on his cheek. “Hope I get to see you tonight, Wyatt,” you whisper into his ear. “Until then, I suppose.” 

—

Wyatt had given you a call just a couple of hours after seeing you. When the phone rang and you heard his voice on the other end of the line, an excitement bubbled within you. 

Excitement. Anticipation. Yearning. 

And now, you’re entering the lobby of the hotel that Wyatt had told you he would be at tonight. You look around and bite your lower lip when you see him standing there with a small smile. He’s wearing a simple black t-shirt over a coat and black slacks. He nods in your direction and you walk over to him, biting your lower lip nervously. It feels like it’s your first time all over again. 

“Meeting me in the lobby?” You tease. “That’s new.”

“Well, consider me excited to see you.” He grabs your jacket and pulls you to him, feeling your hands reach out to rest on his chest. “Been thinking about you.” 

“Oh yeah?” You ask, moving your hands from his chest to wrap around his shoulders. 

“Yeah,” he moves his lips to your ear, gently nipping at your earlobe. “Don’t think I forgot about you interrupting me earlier,” he growls lowly. “And how maybe I need to fucking remind you that I’m in control here.” 

You bite your lower lip and shut your eyes, tilting your head back to expose more of your neck for him. He takes the hint, moves his lips down the side of your neck with gentle kisses. “I don’t think you have control after not calling me for six months.” 

Wyatt (Jamie) growls. He tightens his jaw and bites down on the side of your neck, sucking on it roughly to leave a mark. He hears you let out a quiet whimper and he pulls away, looking down at you. “Keeping track of how long we haven’t seen each other, huh?” 

You narrow your eyes. “Just a guess. I have been pretty busy with other men and–”

Wyatt (Jamie) glances at the growing mark that’s darkening on the side of your neck. He feels suddenly territorial again. “Hm, we’re not gonna be talking about other men, are we?” 

“That depends. Will you be as good as the first time?” 

He chuckles, his gaze darkening even further. He’s finding that he enjoys this little game that you play with him. He leans in and whispers huskily into your ear. “We both know that you’ve been thinking of me while you were with those other men. Now, let’s get upstairs before I take you where you fucking stand and show these people who exactly you fucking belong to.” 

You nod, too obediently, and pull away from him slowly. You take his hand in his and lace your fingers with his own. The action takes him off guard, because for a split second, you see a surprised look flash across his features. He squeezes your hand and takes you to the elevators. 

Wyatt. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t tried to look him up earlier that day. You didn’t know his last name, but how common was the name Wyatt anyway? Apparently very fucking common because every Wyatt that exists showed up in your search except him. You knew you were playing a dangerous game – trying to get to know more about him, to find ways to spend more time with him outside of this. 

He pulls you out of your thoughts by releasing your hand and instead resting his own on your lower back. He steps into the elevator with you and presses the top floor, leaning back against the railing as he looks at you. Really looks at you. 

You’re biting your lower lip, eyes staring up at the numbers at the top of the elevator as it highlights for each floor you’re passing. Wyatt (Jamie) is starting to feel an unfamiliar warmth settle in the pit of his stomach. He has to wonder if this was how Jonathan and S felt for each other – the possibility of something more real. 

For once, he imagines sharing his life with someone else, with you. He imagines that it’d be filled with a lot of laughter, intense intimacy… but he also believes that he’d feel a sense of belonging with you – something that he’s been lacking for most of his life. 

But then he thinks about having to tell you the truth, having to be honest with you and with himself. His name isn’t Wyatt. Not only has he lied to you, but he’s also hiding the fact that he’s a dangerous man. Manipulative. Conniving. Murderous. Why would anyone like you ever be okay with someone like him? 

When the elevator doors finally open to the top floor, he watches you step out and waits for him patiently, eyes lighting up with a cute fucking smile on your face. There’s a part of him that wants to spend the entire night just getting to know you. He yearns to know more about you… aside from the information he’s already found when searching you up online. 

He was able to find you pretty quickly – an outdated Facebook account, but a more active Instagram account instead. Facebook tells him that you’re newly single, having gotten out of a relationship almost six months ago, which makes him wonder if you were still in a relationship or not when you two first met. He also knows you’re a librarian, but instagram tells him so much more about you. 

You like going to coffee shops, taking pictures of the different cups of coffee you order. He also finds that you like working out, being outdoors, and being active. You’re family oriented – he’s noticed from the handful of pictures you’ve posted with your family on birthdays and holidays. 

As Wyatt (Jamie) had searched you online earlier that day, he continued to imagine how he would fit into your life. And every time he tries to imagine it, he’s always left with a tug in the pit of his stomach that reminds him that as long as you don’t know the truth about him, he can never fit into your life. 

“You gonna show me where to go?” You ask, finally pulling him out of his thoughts. 

He lets out a quiet breath and flashes you a broad grin, slipping back into the same persona that you’re used to. “That eager, huh?” 

“I mean, you called me so we’re on my time.” 

“Oh, we are? You got somewhere else to be?” He walks over to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind as he leads you to the door at the end of the hall. 

“And what if I do?” You ask, leaning back into him. “What if there’s another person I’m supposed to meet, hm?” 

He reaches over to swipe his hotel key card over the door and opens it for you. He pushes you inside roughly, shutting the door behind him as he turns you around and pushes you against the door. He hears you let out a gasp, eyes staring into his own and filled with desire. 

“You just like to push me, don’t you?” He asks, moving his hand to wrap around your throat. He sees the corner of your lips lift upwards. “You think this is a game, baby?” 

You nod slowly, feeling his grip tighten. “Mmm,” you mumble out. 

Wyatt (Jamie) darkens his gaze, stepping up to you as he moves his lips to your ear. “You fucking belong to me,” he whispers. “Do you understand?” 

You nod again, feeling the wetness begin to pool between your legs. “D–Does that mean you belong to me too?” You manage to whisper, his grip around your tight lessening to let you speak, to let you take a breath. 

He stares down at you, feels his resolve faltering for a moment at your question. Instead of answering, he drops his hand from your through and leans in to press his lips firmly against your own. It’s urgent, rushed, messy. 

Your arms wrap around him, bringing your hands to his hair and running your fingers through his locks. You part your lips and feel his tongue move past your lips  – your tongue now dancing with his, matching the intensity of this kiss. His hands move to reach around and grip your ass in his large hands. He feels his pants become increasingly tighter as he pushes against you. 

Pulling back, he stares down at you and narrows his eyes. You’re staring up at him with a dazed look on your face as he takes your hand and brings you further into the hotel room. He removes his jacket and sets it on the chair off to the side. 

“On your knees,” he says, turning back around to look at you. He reaches down and undoes his belt, a smirk lining his lips. 

You arch your brow and tilt your head, removing your own jacket as you stand before him in a pair of jeans and a white low v-neck. 

“Don’t make me tell you again,” he growls, eyes taking in your frame. How can you be so beautiful when dressed so casually? 

“Can I take my pants off first?” You ask quietly, hands reaching down to begin undoing the zipper and button of your jeans. 

“Since you asked so nicely,” he nods in your direction and watches you begin to push your jeans down your legs, clad in a white v-neck and a pair of white panties. Then, you stand in front of him and slowly kneel down until you’re on your knees in front of him. 

“Look beautiful like this,” he points out, bringing a hand down to cup your cheek, brushing his thumb gently across your skin. He pushes down his pants and boxers, his cock now springing to attention in front of you. He kicks off his pants and boxers to the side, using his free hand to take hold of his base. He steps forward and glides the head of his length across your lips, his precome smearing across your lips. “Fuck,” he growls. 

Slowly, you part your lips for him, darting your tongue out to slide across his tip. He loses his resolve for a moment, sliding his tip past your lips and feeling you lap at his precome. He moves his hand from his base to grip around your hair, pushing his hips forward so that more of his cock disappears in your mouth. 

Your eyes gazes up at him, hands moving to rest on his thighs to prevent him from moving any further. His tip touches the back of your throat and you pull back to take a deep breath. He stares down at you and releases his hold on your hair to reach down and grab the ends of his shirt. Once he tosses it aside, he pushes back into your mouth and places both hands on your head. He hears you gagging and holds you firmly against him, feeling your saliva begin to coat his entire length. When he pulls back, he stares down at you and sees your lips swollen and parted for him, chest heaving as you try to take a deep breath. 

“Tell me,” he groans, pushing his hips forward for his cock to slide into your mouth. “Tell me that you’ve thought about me when you’ve been with all those other men. Tell me that you always think about me,” he groans, thrusting his hips forward. “Tell me that you’ll only ever be with me.”

He pulls back and watches you catch your breath, nodding up at him in response. 

“Say it,” he says. 

“It will only ever be you, Wyatt,” you answer honestly. “Even when I’m alone, all I think about is you. Who you are, what you do, how you can fit into my life,” you admit, slowly standing up and grabbing his shoulder to push him into the bed. He falls back as he looks up at you, his gaze softening momentarily. 

You pull your shirt over your head and undo your bra, completely exposed and bare for him as you straddle his waist and reach down to grab a hold of his cock. Slowly, you slide down his length and let out a quiet moan, his girth and size stretching you only in a way that he can. “I think I could fall in love with you,” you whisper almost inaudibly as you push yourself further onto him until you’re firmly sitting on his lap, his manhood sheathed within your tight, warm, and wet heat. 

Wyatt (Jamie) could have come right there. He stares up at you, taking note of your head tilted back with your arms pressing against his chest. You’re moving your hips slowly in a forward and backward motion, but all his eyes can focus on is you. 

I think I could fall in love with you. It lingers in his mind, mixes in with the sounds of your moans. He sits up, arms wrapping around your waist as he guides you to move forward in his lap. He leans in and presses his lips against the side of your neck, nipping and teeth grazing across your skin. He’s obsessed with you.

“Wyatt,” you moan, arms wrapping around his shoulders as the hair at his base brushes against your bundle of nerves. 

Something takes over him and moves a hand to your throat, applying just the right amount of pressure. He doesn’t want to hear you say that name because it isn’t actually his. He thrusts his hips upwards, your moan coming out almost inaudibly to the tight grip he has around your throat. 

“You’re only ever going to be mine,” he growls. The sounds of skin slapping against skin echoes throughout the hotel room and you reach up to wrap your hand around his wrist. “Ain’t no one gonna be with you but me.” He presses his feet against the floor and slams upwards into you. He releases his hold on your throat and hears you take a deep breath. 

“A–As long as I’m the only one you’ll be with too,” you answer through a loud moan. 

He slowly rolls you onto your back and slams into you. His thrusts pick up in speed, the tightness in his lower abdomen beginning to build and build as he uses you at his disposal. He’s afraid of what this could be, afraid of what you could mean to him, because he can imagine a life with you. He doesn’t answer you though, determined to fuck the idea out of you. He’s sure that once he tells you the truth that you’re going to want nothing to do with him and he isn’t sure that he’s ready to let go of you just yet. 

“I’m gonna come,” you moan, feeling his hands grip your wrists to pin them above your head. 

“Yeah, you are,” he groans. “Fucking come for me, baby.” 

That’s all it takes. You shut your eyes and arch your back, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix repeatedly as your body begins to tremble. Your walls tighten even further around him and his hips stutter, unable to hold back himself as he releases into you abruptly. He pulls out of you and watches his come trickle out of you, the sight causing him to grab ahold of his length and pushing into you once more. 

“Wyatt!” you exclaim, reaching down to push against his lower abdomen. “Wait- Baby, wait–”

“No,” he groans, grabbing your hands once more and holding them firmly against the mattress. He continues to thrust into you, looking down at where you’re connected and seeing his come mix in with your arousal. “Fuck, you look good like this.” 

Your eyes flutter, squirming against him as the sensations become too overwhelming. “Wyatt, please… I can’t–”

“You were made for me,” he interrupts, using his free hand to draw circles against the bundle of your nerves. “And only for me. D’ya understand me?”

“Y–Yes!” you can feel your body giving way to him as yet another orgasm approaches. “Wyatt–”

“It’s Jamie,” he corrects. “Call me Jamie.”

Your brows furrow in confusion and stare into his eyes, but he looks determined. Your mind is all over the place and it doesn’t help that he’s still thrusting into you with his thumb circling your clit. “J– Jamie!” you moan loudly and he groans to himself, pulling out of you to watch your body shake through another orgasm. 

He moves to lie on his back and bites his lower lip, glancing over in your direction. “That’s my real name.” 

You’re breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath as you slowly move to lie on your side. “Why’d you give me a fake name?” 

He clears his throat and looks down at you. Quickly, he comes up with an excuse and feels your fingertips run along his chest. “Guess I was still a bit hesitant giving you my real name at the time.”

You nod slowly and then lean up to kiss his cheek. “That’s fair. I’d probably give you a fake name too if you hadn’t seen my nametag.”

Jamie lets out a relieved sigh and then wraps his arm around your shoulders, bringing you close to his side. 

“I meant it,” you say quietly. “I’d only ever wanna be with you… as long as I’m the only one that you’d be with too.”

He tilts his head and glances down at you. “You don’t know what you’re getting into, baby.”

“I’m thinking…” you whisper, slowly moving to straddle his waist again. “I’m thinking I’d do anything for you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Then give me a chance to.”

THE TRUTH AND AGREEMENT — It’s been a week since the last time you’ve seen him. You aren’t sure whether you’re ignoring him or he’s ignoring you. Neither of you have tried to give the other person a call, but despite the things he’s told you, it surprisingly doesn’t deter you from wanting him. 

You’re at work again, reading a book at the front desk when you hear someone clear their throat. Slowly shutting your book and looking up, your eyes slightly widen at the sight of him standing in front of you. He’s dressed more casually today, a black t-shirt underneath a dark colored jacket paired with jeans. His eyes soften at the sight of you as he glances at the clock over your shoulder. 

“What time are you off?” he asks.

“Well, hello to you too.”

“Hi.” he sighs. “What time are you off?” he repeats.

“Not for another few hours. You haven’t reached out,” you answer. 

“Neither did you.”

“I wasn’t sure–” you bite your lower lip. “I’m sorry.”

“Shouldn’t be.” 

“I still want to–”

“Meet me after you get off work?” he interrupts. 

Excitement flickers in your eyes and he lets a small smile line his lips at the sight. “Where?” 

Jamie takes his phone out and hands it to you. It’s his personal phone, not the flip phone that he uses for the club. “I’ll text you.”

You nod and enter your personal phone number as a contact in his phone before you hand it over to him. “I’ll see you soon, Jamie.” 

His eyes gazes up at you at the sound of his name leaving your lips. He isn’t sure why it has so much of an effect on him, why the way you’re smiling at him makes him want to just reach over and kiss you. This isn’t what he usually does – he doesn’t see the same person more than once, at least not if there’s anything that could benefit him. 

He says your name quietly and then looks over his shoulder to see someone standing in line, waiting for him to be done. “I’ll see you soon,” he repeats. 

Stepping off to the side, Jamie watches you interact with the person behind him. He notices the way your eyes light up, your smile so broad and infectious. Even when your eyes meet his momentarily, he feels the faintest feeling of warmth in the pit of his stomach, blossoming further into his chest. 

He doesn’t know what this means, but he really needs to figure it out soon. He needs to gain back control because he fucking hates feeling like this. 

He’s scared. Scared because he finally told you the truth and he isn’t sure if he’s going to lose you because of it. If you do decide that you no longer want this, then Jamie will have to make sure that you don’t talk about it to anyone else… which means having to clean up loose ends. 

Which means having to get rid of you. 

—

A few hours later, you’re driving to the hotel that Jamie sent you the address for. There’s an excitement bubbling within you, but not because of the possibility of having sex with him again, but because you’ll finally get to know more about him. To anyone else, they’d have run and cut ties with him the moment they found out the truth.

When you park your car in the parking garage, you’re surprised to see Jamie standing near the elevator with his arms in his pockets. You take a deep breath, trying to hide your excitement and the smile that’s itching to spread across your lips when you climb out. He walks over to you and gently takes your hand – a complete difference than what you’re used to with him. 

“Hey,” he says first. 

“Hi,” you answer. 

“Figured we could talk,” Jamie says quietly. “That okay?” 

“Yeah, more than okay.” You can tell he’s nervous, anxious because he won’t meet your eyes and the gentleness and softness he’s displaying isn’t what you’re used to. He’s always been so in control, so rough with you that this makes you a little uneasy. 

Once inside the hotel and elevators, Jamie releases your hand and presses the button to the top floor. Turning around to face you, his eyes take in your frame before he walks closer to you. Slowly, he cages you in between his body and the railing of the elevator, his own hands resting against the railing as he stares into your eyes. 

“You know you shouldn’t even be around me after everything I’ve told you,” he whispers hesitantly. 

Jamie lets out a quiet and shaky breath when he feels your hands come up to rest against his cheeks, thumbs brushing against his jawline. 

“I said I’d do anything for you, Jamie,” you answer. “I know I should leave, shouldn’t even be here with you, but I just–” you bite your lower lip. “I can’t imagine never seeing you again.” 

Before he can say anything, the doors to the elevator open and he pulls away from you. Gently once more, he takes your hand and leads you to the room at the end of the hall where he opens the door for you. He steps inside with you and takes your bag, setting it down on the counter as his hands move to your hips, guiding you further into the room and onto the bed. 

“I’ve killed people before,” he admits out loud. “I’m a greedy man. I’m not– I’m not a good person, but I can promise you that I’d do anything to give you the life that you deserve.” 

Slowly, you turn around and run your hands through his hair. “I should run from you,” you say honestly. “You’re the type of man that people warn women about… toxic, dangerous…” your eyes gaze into his, watching as he stares at you deeply. “But I want you… what does that say about me?” 

Jamie shrugs. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “But if you decide that you want this… You’re going to have to commit yourself to me. There’s no leaving this, there’s no leaving me.”

“And if I choose not to want this?”

His jaw tightens. “I think you know what I’ll have to do.”

“Well then, do you need a partner?” you ask with a small smile, biting your lower lip. 

Jamie narrows his eyes, moving his hand to rest on your neck lightly. “I do it alone,” he whispers. “I’d be the one in control. You do what I tell you to do.”

You nod, hand coming up to rest over his wrist. “Y–Yes, sir.”

Sir. 

“So, what do you want?” he asks hesitantly, thumb brushing against your throat.

“You.” you answer immediately. “Whatever that means, I’m in it. I’m in this.”

Jamie lets out a relieved breath and gently tightens his hand around your throat. “I’m the one with the power… I’m the one that tells you where to go, what to do…” 

You nod. “I’ll do anything… as long as I just have you, Jamie.”

His gaze darkens and he releases his hold from you to push you back against the bed. Jamie places a hand on the mattress as he leans down over you, lips brushing against yours. “You don’t call me by my name,” he says. “You never call me by my name from now on.”

“But your name is so–”

He clicks his tongue and roughly rolls you over onto your abdomen. Quickly, he tugs down your skirt with your panties as you lean over the edge of the bed, ass in the air for him. Without hesitation, he brings his hand back only to connect with your ass cheek, the sound of the slap echoing the large hotel room. 

“You don’t talk back either,” he points out. “When you go against what I say, what I tell you, this is punishment.” 

You nod, letting out a quiet whimper as you feel the sting of his slap rush through your entire body. You grip the sheets tightly, looking over your shoulder at him. “Okay…”

He shakes his head and slaps your ass roughly once more, seeing your cheek redden instantly with the imprint of his large hand. “Hmm… Not good enough of an answer.”

“Yes, sir. I don’t talk back. I do what you say. I go where you tell me. I’ll do anything for you.” 

“Good,” he smirks, sliding in two of his thick fingers past your folds. His brows lift upwards at the feel of your slickness and he leans over to whisper into your ear. “You like being punished, hm?” 

“I just like when you touch me,” you moan, the roughness of his fingers thrusting in and out of you causing your toes to curl. It’s painful, the way he’s moving his fingers in and out of your depths so roughly, but you can’t help the way your body reacts to him. 

“Well, it isn’t quite a punishment if you like it then, is it?” he asks, pulling his fingers out of you abruptly. He looks down at his hand, the way your slickness drips down and he brings it to his lips, letting out a low growl at the taste of you. 

“Wait, but–”

He shakes his head and moves to sit on the edge of the bed with you, resting his hands on the mattress as he looks over at you. His eyes move to your backside, can see your slickness along the length of your sex slowly begin to trickle out of you. It glistens under the light and he wants nothing more than to bury his face between your legs, but he can’t. He needs to show some restraint, needs to stay in control. 

“You only see me from now on, are we clear?” he asks, reaching for you to kneel down in front of him. 

You scramble to your feet and drop to your knees between his legs, hands resting on your thighs as you stare up at him. You nod obediently, batting your eyelashes up at him. “Yes, sir.”

“We’re gonna the rule the world, baby,” he grins. “You and me.” He reaches down and cups your cheek, using his free hand to undo the button and zipper of his pants as he lowers it to his ankles. 

Your eyes widen at the sight of his throbbing cock, now fully erect and leaking at the tip. You lick your lips, eager to wrap your lips around him as your hands itch to reach out for him. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do,” you reply. 

“Won’t be easy,” he admits, stroking himself at the sight of you on your knees in front of him. 

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” you answer. “The only thing I need is you.” 

His eyes soften at that. He’s not used to feeling like this – usually, he’d have to negotiate or offer some cut of the money he’d receive, but with you… it’s easy because you don’t want any of those things. You just want him and he can’t help but feel that same warmth in his chest again. He won’t ever admit it out loud, but he’d do anything for you too. 

He doesn’t answer, but instead brings his tip past your lips. You’re eagerly lapping at his precome, sucking his tip as he continues to stroke the base of his length. He groans quietly to himself, pulling back to run his tip across your wet lips. “Such a good girl for me,” he says lowly. “And I think good girls get a reward.” 

“Please…” 

“And begging too? Yeah, baby, you get a reward.” He gently lifts you back on the bed as he lies back. “Over my face.”

Your eyes widen, clearing your throat anxiously as you do what he says. He moves further up the bed as you settle yourself over him, hands resting on the headframe as his lips hover inches away from your throbbing heat. With one arm, he reaches up and rests it over your waist, bringing you down until your sex is firmly pressed over his mouth. 

“Oh god,” you whimper, hands gripping the headboard of the bed frame. No one’s ever done this before and you’re unsure of how long you’d actually last because his mouth sucks your clit aggressively, tongue flicking against you repeatedly. You feel so vulnerable like this, completely at his mercy. You want to scream his name, but you force yourself not to. 

His eyes flutter closed as his mouth laps at your juices. You’re so wet, dripping down his chin as he moves his lips towards your hole. He flicks his tongue against you as his other hand continues to stroke himself, squeezing the base of his cock at the taste of you. He hums against you, causing a vibration to reverberate through your entire body. 

Your legs are placed at either side of his head and you begin to roll your hips against his face, feeling his tongue flatten along the length of your sex. You look down at him, the look on his face only urging you closer to your orgasm. You lift your hips slightly and he growls, shaking his head as he removes his arm from your waist to thrust two fingers inside of you. He wastes no time in thrusting his fingers as he moves to suck your clit with his mouth, tongue flicking against your bundle of nerves. 

“Baby,” you whimper. “Baby, please… I’m close–” 

His hand around his cock quickens, gripping his base tightly as he feels his own release approach. He feels a tightness in the pit of his stomach begin to build as his free hand continues to pump his fingers in and out of you as his lips pay close attention to your clit. 

Your grip around the headboard tightens until his knuckles turn white from the grip, your body trembling and shaking against him. You lift your hips away from his mouth as his fingers fill you to the knuckle. He smirks up at you, curling his fingers within your walls to help you ride out your orgasm. At the sight of you gripping the headboard, head tilted back and mouth agape, Jamie thrusts his hips slightly off the bed as he finds his own release. His come lands on his shirt, letting out a loud groan. 

Slowly, you lift yourself until his fingers slide out of you and you look over at him, seeing his hand continue to stroke himself. Quickly, you kneel down between his legs and wrap your lips around his tip, sucking the remnants of his come into your mouth and swallowing eagerly. 

He shudders against you, eyes gazing down at you as he slows his strokes, the feeling of your lips and tongue at his tip causing a shiver to run through him.

When his cock finally softens, he sits up and removes his shirt and pulls on his boxers. You bite your lower lip and move to lie down on the bed instead, feeling him lie down with you as his arms wrap around your frame. 

“If I can’t call you by your name,” you whisper quietly. “Can I call you baby instead?” you ask. 

He smiles and leans down to peck your lips lightly. “I like that, baby.” 

You grin and bury your face against his chest. “I think I’m gonna like this life with you.”

He looks down at you, watches your eyes flutter closed as the same warmth blossoms in his chest again. 

THE CON — It’s been about six months since your agreement with Jamie and you both managed to slip into a routine with each other. It’s almost domestic, how easy your life has entangled itself with his own. Right after the agreement, he tells you to move in with him, having found out that he lives permanently at the hotel, living on the top floor. You don’t disagree with him, instead, you agree and break your lease, moving most of your things to his place within a week. 

He takes you to work, picks you up, and every night, he makes sure to show you just how good of a decision you made with choosing him. You find yourself falling for him more and more every day, but there’s a part of you that’s too afraid to tell him. Afraid because if you admit how you truly felt about him, you aren’t sure how he’s going to react. You know that you’re a liability; at any moment, he can change his mind about you and you’d know that there would be nothing that you can do if that were to ever happen. 

So, you love him in silence. You stare at him lovingly when he’s cooking for you or when he’s working. You go to sleep every night with your arms wrapped around him, focusing on the sound of his breath to lull you to sleep. When he’s too busy, you make sure to cook him dinner so that he remembers to eat. You hope that he can see how much you’d do for him, how much you’d sacrifice for him. 

You haven’t seen the type of man he makes himself out to be. He’s sweet, considerate, thoughtful. You wonder if he’s hiding that part of himself from you – the man who’s killed, who’s greedy, who would do anything to make sure that he benefits from it. 

By the time he gets home, you’re seated on the love seat with a book in your hands. It’s late, but you like to stay up and wait for him until he gets home. You see the smile on his face and when he looks over at you, his eyes light up. 

“Hey,” he walks over to you and removes his coat, setting it over the back of the couch as he leans down and kisses the crown of your head.

“Hey, what’s got you smiling?” you tease, looking up at him.

“I found my next job,” he grins and gently takes your book from your hand, setting it on the coffee table as he picks you up and sits in the love seat with you on his lap. “Everything’s going to work out perfectly. In just over a month, we’ll have made more than five million dollars.”

Your eyes widen as you wrap your arm around his shoulders. “F– Five million dollars, baby? Oh my god…”

He nods with a grin. “Five million fucking dollars.” 

“What can I do?” you ask, biting your lower lip. “Can I do anything to help?” 

“Oh baby,” he says, leaning up to peck your lips. “There’s plenty of things you can do to help.” 

“Yeah?” you ask with a hopeful look on your face.

“Yeah, but first…” he bites his lower lip and brings a hand to cup your cheek, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours. “I want you. Gonna spend the entire night showing you how grateful I am of you.” 

You smile, staring deeply into his eyes as you run your hands through his hair. “Baby, I–”

“I know,” he whispers, interrupting you. 

“You know?” 

He nods. “Yeah.”

“Is that okay?” 

Jamie bites the inside of his cheek, eyes gazing into yours. He had noticed the way you would look at him when you thought he wasn’t looking, how much care and love you put into everything that you did for him… The five million dollars payout after this job was not only going to be for him, but also for you and what he can do with the money to make sure you had a life that you deserved. 

He knew that had fallen in love with you too, especially when his mind had drifted to you when he realized the amount of money that he could walk away with. It was no longer just him. You were now in the picture and he can’t imagine his life without you in it now. 

“Yeah, that’s okay, baby,” he finally answers. 

You smile, letting out a breath of relief. Slowly, you move to straddle his lap, continuing to run your fingers through his hair as you begin to roll your hips against his own. You had been dressed in one of his old t-shirts and nothing else, your wetness beginning to stain his pants. 

“You gonna make a mess on these expensive pants, baby?” he asks, hands moving up your thighs. “Because I don’t know how I’d feel about that. These are very expensive.” 

“Then take ‘em off,” you whisper, leaning in to peck his lips. 

“Oh, did we forget who’s the one in control here? The one in charge?” he asks, gripping your hips tightly. 

“I– I’m sorry…” you mumble, ceasing your movements as you lift your hips off his lap. 

He growls lowly, wrapping his arms around your waist and standing up from the love seat. Slowly, he walks you over to the couch and sets you down as he kneels between your legs. He holds your legs open for him, gaze darkening with lust at the sight of your sex glistening with your slickness. 

“The things I’m gonna do to you,” he says with a low tone.

—

“So, are we clear on the plan again?” he asks, readjusting his black jacket as he stares at you in a skin tight red dress. He lets his eyes rake over your frame, feeling slightly jealous that you’re likely going to be dancing with the man that he’s been getting close to, the man that’s going to be the reason why he’s getting five million dollars. 

“Yes, baby,” you tell him, straightening out your dress. “Buy him a drink, ask him to dance, leave him wanting more.” 

“Good,” he answers, wrapping his arms around you from behind. “Just a dance, nothing else.”

You nod in agreement. “I’m going home with you,” you repeat. “This will just give him the confidence that he lacks and you’ll be there to cheer him on, to get him to trust you even more so than he does now.”

He grins. “Yeah, baby. Good. Good.” 

“Five million dollars for you, right?” you smile.

“For us,” he corrects. “It’s going to be for us,” he admits. 

“I love you,” you whisper quietly, turning around in his arms and bringing a hand to rest on his cheek gently. “Let’s have some fun tonight.”

His heart races at your words and he nods, turning his head to gently press his lips against your palm. He pulls back and then takes your hand, leading you out of the hotel room and towards the elevators. Once at the lobby, he releases your hand and gently kisses your cheek. “I’ll see you at the club, baby.”

You nod and then run your hands down the lapels of his jacket before you turn around on your heel and walk out of the hotel. He looks around the lobby, his hands placed in his pockets as he watches the men in the lobby turn their heads to watch you walk away. He feels a mixture of emotions – jealousy and pride. Pride because you’re his, but jealous because other men are looking at what’s his. 

With a heavy sigh, he stretches his neck and then grabs his phone from his pocket to dial the man’s number. 

—

Jamie’s leaning back against the seat, drink in hand as he fakes genuine laughter at what the other man’s saying. His eyes scan the room, noticing the splash of red in the midst of neutral dark colors. Your eyes meet his and he smiles, watching as you bite the tip of your straw to sip on your drink. 

Then, he turns his attention back to the other man, listening to him go on and on about his divorce and how he hadn’t been able to meet anyone new. 

“Oh come on, Daniel,” Jamie says with that same charismatic grin on his lips. “A man like you can’t get another woman?”

“To be honest,” he whispers, fidgeting in his seat. “I haven’t been with anyone other than my ex-wife. I doubt a woman would want to be with a man who’s inexperienced like me.” 

“You’d be surprised,” he answers. “Because it looks like that one has been looking at you since we got here.” Jamie points his chin in your direction, watching Daniel turn in his seat to look over at you. 

“No– No way. She’s looking at you.”

Jamie laughs, shaking his head. “Her eyes are all on you and she’s walking over here.” He stands from the bar stool and gently slaps a strong hand over Daniel’s shoulder. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom. You go and have some fun.”

“Wait, but–” 

Jamie’s already walking away by the time you make your way to Daniel. You’re leaning against the counter of the bar, biting your lower lip innocently as you wave your hand to get the bartender’s attention. “His next round is on me,” you tell the bartender with a sweet smile. 

Daniel clears his throat. “I– I– I’m sorry. You didn’t have to do that and–” he loses his words when he feels your soft touch on his forearm, eyelashes batting up in his direction.

“Is it too unconventional for the woman to buy the man a drink?” you tease. 

“N– No,” he stutters. “I’m just not used to women buying a drink for me… or women looking at me in general,” he mumbles under his breath. 

“Well, good thing I’m not like most women.” 

Daniel nods, eyes lingering on your frame. The bartender sets down another drink for him and you lean in, lips near his ear as you whisper over the loud music. “Do you want to dance?” 

“Oh, I–” he clears his throat. “I’m actually here with a friend and if he–”

“I’m sure he’s a big boy who can take care of himself,” you interrupt. “Just one dance? Please?” You can sense his hesitation and you bite your lower lip. You know this wasn’t discussed with Jamie, but your advancements were just not working with Daniel. Slowly, you lean in and gently brush your lips against his cheek. “I promise, I don’t bite… unless you like that.”

Daniel glances at you and then over his shoulder to see Jamie with a dark gaze, but he’s smiling encouragingly at the other man. All it takes is for one nod before Daniel downs the drink and stands up. You look up at him, smiling broadly as his hand immediately darts out to rest on your hip. “It would be very rude of me to deny you one dance,” he says softly. 

“Good,” you smile. “I’d hate to dance by myself.” You lead him to the dance floor, playing with his fingers as he follows you closely from behind. Once on the dance floor, you turn to face him and rest your hands on his shoulders. He’s stiff and anxious around you, slowly moving side to side to the beat of the music. “Relax,” you coo, taking his hands and placing them back on your hips. “It’s just one dance.” Then, you turn your back to him and sway your hips expertly to the sound of the song that filters the entire club. 

He bites his lower lip and pulls you flush against his front, his hands gripping your hips as he watches your backside brush against his front repeatedly. 

You reach around him and tangle your hand in his hair, head tilting back to rest on his shoulder as you keep your eyes focused in front of you. Jamie’s staring directly at you, hidden in the shadows as he watches you move against the other man. He can see Daniel progressively gain more and more confidence as his hand moves around to splay against your lower abdomen, lips now brushing against your earlobe. You feign an inaudible gasp, eyes falling shut as you feel the other man become increasingly excited with the way your body moves against his own. 

When the song finally comes to an end, you pull away from him and turn to face him. You reach up to rest your hand on his chest, smiling sweetly in his direction. “Thank you for the dance.”

“Wait, can I get your number?” 

You bite your lower lip and lean in to give a kiss on his cheek once more. “Maybe next time,” you whisper, pulling away from him and turning on your heel to walk towards the bathrooms. 

Jamie follows you closely, taking your hand roughly into his own and pushing you into the bathroom. He locks it behind him, eyes dark with lust as he pushes you against the wall. “I don’t think kissing him on the cheek was part of our plan, baby.”

“It wasn’t… I’m sorry. He just– He wouldn’t dance with me and I figured–”

“It wasn’t part of our plan,” he repeats, hand moving up to tangle itself in your hair. He growls lowly, tugging on it roughly which causes your head to tilt back. “It was already hard enough for me seeing you dance like that with him.” 

“But that’s what you told me to do,” you whimper. 

“Are you talking back?” he whispers, moving closer until his lips brush against the side of your neck.

“N– No, I’m sorry. I just–”

“You just what?” he asks, staring up at you. 

“I’m sorry, Jamie. I’m–”

“Thought I told you to never say my fucking name.” He clicks his tongue and pulls away from you, moving his hands into his pockets as he stares at you from top to bottom. 

You clear your throat and reach out for him, hands moving to his chest. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to do good, make you proud, and–”

“Oh, baby,” he coos, taking one of your hands in his own. “You did do good. You did make me proud.” He takes your other hand and grabs your wrists to pin them above your head, looking into your eyes. “I just don’t like sharing.” 

“I– I’m all yours, I promise.” you bite your lower lip, your own eyes now darkening with lust. “All I could think about while dancing with him was you. I only ever think about you, baby.”

“It’s hard to be angry at you,” he says. “You’re just so sweet on me.”

“And I– I love you,” you add. 

He falters momentarily, clearing his throat as his grip around your wrists loosen just slightly. “Yeah?” he asks.

You nod immediately. “Y– Yes. I’m so in love with you and–”

He interrupts you by pressing his lips firmly against yours, dropping your wrists as his hands now move to your hips. The kiss is messy, urgent, and he wastes no time in sliding his tongue past your lips. He can hear you whimper against his lips and the jealousy he felt earlier is now replaced with a sudden desire to make you completely his. 

“Yeah? How much do you love me, baby?” he mumbles, pulling away from you as he grabs the ends of your dress and begins to lift it higher to bunch around your hips. 

“So much,” you whisper, arms wrapping around his shoulders as you pepper kisses along his jawline. 

“So much that you’d let me put a baby in you, hm? Would you like that?” he uses his free hand to tug down your thong, watching you step out of it once it pools around your ankles.

You bite your lower lip and nod, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Yes,” you answer breathlessly. “Yes, baby.” 

“Good,” he smiles, turning you around. He watches you rest your hands on the wall as you bend down just slightly and he groans at the sight of you, pushing his pants and boxers down his ankles as he grabs a hold of his length and slowly runs his leaking tip across the length of your sex. He leans over you, one hand coming up to tangle itself in your hair again. “Gonna fill you up, baby.”

“Please,” you plead, pushing back against him as you feel his tip slide into you. 

“Mm,” he groans, pulling away from you. “Patience, baby. Let’s not forget that I still didn’t like the way you kissed Daniel.” 

“It was just on the cheek,” you whimper. 

He growls and pulls you upright, tightening his grip around your hair. “Your lips should only be for me,” he whispers into your ear, slamming into you abruptly. He groans quietly, hand moving from the base of his cock to rest on your hip. He releases his hold on your hair to bring his hand around your front, gripping your throat lightly. “You should only be for me.”

“I– I’m yours… All yours, baby,” you moan, bringing a hand to reach around for him. His breaths come in short pants near your ear, hand lightly squeezing your throat as his manhood moves in and out of you. He’s desperate to bring you closer to the edge, his desire to fill you up with his come overwhelming his entire body. 

“Gonna make sure everyone knows that you’re mine,” he whispers into your ear, the sounds of your moans echoing off the walls of the small bathroom as his skin slaps against yours repeatedly. “You’re gonna look so beautiful all pregnant with my baby,” he nips at your earlobe, breathing heavily against you. “God, you make me so fucking happy,” he admits. “You have no idea how much you’ve changed my life, baby… how you will change my life. I’m a better man because of you,” he groans, eyes falling shut as he releases his hold on your throat to grip your hips instead. 

“I love you,” you gasp, walls tightening even further around his length. A loud moan escapes your lips as you move your hands to rest over his own, lacing your fingers over his. 

He groans and rests his forehead against the back of your shoulder as his fingertips dig into your hips, driving his own further into your own. He feels the tightness build until he slams into you, painting your walls with his come. He moans quietly, his hips stuttering as he uses your tight heat to get every last drop of his come. “Skip your birth control tomorrow,” he whispers breathlessly. 

You nod, turning your head to gently kiss his cheek. “Anything for you, baby. I really do love you,” you admit quietly. 

“I know,” he nods. “I know.” 

—

Later that week, Jamie gets home with blood splattered on his white dress shirt and knuckles bruised and cut up. You widen your eyes, ushering him into the bathroom as you grab the first aid kit. You feel a sense of dread wash over you, eyes filled with concern at the sight of him.

“Oh my god, what– Are you–” you shake your head, looking up at him. “What happened?” 

“What needed to happen,” he answers. His own eyes are distant as he stares at the wall ahead of him, feeling your hands begin to undo his dress shirt. “He transferred the money,” he grins. “And I had to get rid of a loose end.” 

“Y– You killed him?” you ask quietly, pushing the shirt away from his body. 

He nods and finally turns his gaze to you, staring deeply into your eyes. “He found out who I was,” he answers. “So, I had to do what I had to do.” 

You nod slowly, taking his hand as you begin to clean the cuts along his knuckles. Your mind drifts momentarily, knowing that you’re now forever tied to the man in front of you. You never did have to think about his capability of murdering someone, but here he is… standing in front of you with someone else’s blood on his hands, on his clothes. 

“Does that scare you?” he asks, pulling a hand away from you to hook a finger under your chin. He looks into your eyes, narrows his own as he tries to search for any hesitancy in your gaze. “Does knowing that I can kill someone for my own personal gain scare you?” 

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek nervously. “No,” you answer. 

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Then why does the expression on your face say differently?” 

You sigh and set aside the cotton ball and alcohol. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

“Why?” he asks, jaw tightening. “I told you what I am, who I am.”

“I know and I still love you,” you reply. “What you did doesn’t change a thing, but these hands… it’s hard to imagine that they can cause so much pain for someone else when you’re so gentle with me.” 

“Hm,” he answers. “Not always gentle with you.”

“But never with bad intentions,” you quip back. “Listen,” you begin. “I told you that I’m in this with you, whatever it takes and whatever that means.” 

“There’s no going back, you know that, right?” 

“I know,” you sigh quietly and move your hands to rest on his bare chest. “So, what’s the plan?” 

“We go wherever we wanna go, baby,” he answers. “Where do you want to go?” 

“Anywhere,” you smile, gently leaning up on your toes to peck his lips. “As long as I’m with you.”

“You love me that much, huh?” he smiles, hand reaching down to rest on your hip. 

“More than you know.” 

“I’m a lucky man,” he says softly, gently lifting you to sit on the edge of the bathroom sink as he stands between your legs. “We’ve got the entire world at our fingertips.” 

THE AFTERMATH — Six months after Daniel, you and Jamie had decided to go to Italy. You had fallen in love with the country, Jamie buying a small house away from all of the touristy areas. It’s quiet, serene, peaceful. 

You notice that he seems so much more relaxed here. The money he managed to obtain from Daniel and Jonathan providing a comfortable cushion for the both of you. You fall into a comfortable routine with him again – waking up in his arms, falling asleep right next to him. He no longer needs to work and neither do you, so you spend most of your days entangled with one another. 

He still hasn’t told you that he loves you, but through his actions, you know that he does. 

You’re in the kitchen, making lunch when he walks in through the front door. He gazes at you with a small smile, arms crossed over his chest. He walks further into the kitchen and leans against the counter, biting the inside of his cheek. Through everything that he’s been through, he never thought that he’d be here, with someone he was so deeply in love with. He never thought that he'd ever give his heart to anyone; he had always told himself that he was meant to be alone, that the life he wanted to live was never meant to be shared with anyone else.

But you… You had captured his attention from the moment you both met. Even after the first night you shared together, you were all he could ever think about. You were never part of his plan, but now, he can’t ever think about his future without thinking about you. 

When you look up from what you’re doing to see him, a smile instantly lines your lips. You set down the knife and move to wash your hands, feeling him come up from behind as he turns his head to pepper kisses along your neck. 

“Mmm, hello you,” you smile, leaning back against him.

“Hey,” he whispers. “What are you making?” 

“I was craving chicken parm,” you answer, turning around to face him. “You hungry?” 

He nods and cups your cheek lightly, thumb brushing against your soft skin. “Yeah, baby.” 

“Okay, I’ll make enough for the both of us.” 

“Thank you,” he says with a small smile, leaning in to press a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I love you,” you smile to yourself, eyes falling shut when you feel his lips on your forehead. 

He takes a deep breath and wraps his arms around your frame, lips moving to the top of your ear. “I love you too,” he finally admits. 

You feel your heart race even faster, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “Y– You love me too?” 

He nods slowly. “Yeah, baby. I’ve loved you for a long time now.” 

You grin broadly, your teeth pulled between your lips. “I think you just made me the happiest woman alive.” 

“Oh yeah? The five million dollars didn’t do it?” he chuckles. 

“No amount of money would ever make me as happy as hearing those words leave your lips,” you admit. 

“Such a sweet girl,” he smiles. 

“We’ve got the world at our fingertips, right?” you ask.

He grins and moves his hands to rest on the edge of the sink as he brushes the tip of his nose against your own. “This world is ours,” he nods. 

“And our little girl’s,” you add, moving one hand to rest on your baby bump.

He smiles to himself and shuts his eyes, face burying against the side of your neck as he moves his own hand to rest over your own. He had always thought money would be the reason for his happiness, for his contentment, but now that he has you in his life with his child on the way, he couldn’t imagine living his life the way he used to. 

“Everything I do from now on will be for you,” he whispers, feeling a kick against his palm. “And for her.” 

---

npt: @ovaryacted - @yxtkiwiyxt - @princessanglophile - @gelibean522 - @angeiulst

[sparklingblu]

Atonement

Giselle x Male Reader

TW: blood, choking(not the hot kind), death, self harm, a lot of dark stuff

"Truth or Dare?"

"Truth"

"If you have the choice to fuck anyone in this room, who would it be?"

The moment these sinful word leaves Giselle's lips, you realize you have fallen right into her trap. And without a doubt, Giselle is aware of it. You can see it from the way the corner of her lips twitch like she's trying desperately not to mock at your loss for words, the way her eyes bore into yours as if challenging you to give the answer that have been on your mind for far too long. She tilts her head, urging you to response.

But even if you don't, she would have already known the answer. Anyone would. Giselle, the perfect example of teenage royalty. Giselle, who can make any men bow down before her with a flick of her finger. Giselle, who always act like she owns the world. And that's not so far from the truth. The world doesn't revolve around Giselle. The entire solar system does.

And she has every right to act that way. Money? Popularity? Charisma? There isn't anything Giselle can't check off on that list. Her parents being the main contributor to the university's funds, she's practically untouchable here. A goddess, you may even say. That's not a metaphor, because metaphors are a figure of speech. And Giselle is a long way off from it.

She has the type of aura that can turn heads wherever she lays her feet on. A vixen. A siren who pulls men in to their deepest, darkest fantasies they have never even realize existed till they have seen her. The worst thing? She takes pleasure in it. The thought that these men will fantasize about her, giving in to their carnal desires that she has awakened just by being in their presence. The amount of sperm that will be wasted on thoughts of her and her only before they are even given life. All those reminds her that she's Giselle. The untouchable. The unbothered.

If you start thinking you can beat Giselle in at least some aspect, think again. Because that will be your last thought before she shows you she's on the top of the food chain. What you are good at, she does it better. If not, she will make sure you are no longer good at it. Because she's Giselle.

People might ask, if she is that ruthless, wouldn't she be hated? Wouldn't she be an outcast? It's the total opposite. Her twisted and cryptic demeanor is what lures people into her dungeon, hoping to find a way through, hoping to get to her core, to get even the slightest idea of who she really is beneath these layers of her indifference, only to end up as another victim that has fallen to her arctic charm.

No one would be stupid enough not to recognize her deadly allure. The poisoned apple. The evidences lie all around them. Men, who would trade their soul just to have a chance with her. Women, who would die to be her. And in some cases, to be both. Yet, they follow the footsteps of those before them. Because she's that irresistible. A living embodiment of lust and pride. Tempting and tempting until you give in and take a bite of that forbidden fruit.

And you are not so far off from becoming one of them. With every passing second, it gets harder not to lay your eyes on Giselle. She has your undivided attention like an insect caught in a spiderweb.

You try averting your eyes to the far far wall, anywhere you will be freed of Giselle's pull, only to be greeted by the maniacal smile of the human skull, grinning like crazy, as if saying "You can't escape from her. Not now, not then"

You shouldn't have even come to this Halloween party in the first place. This whole night have been nothing but a mistake. You should have stayed in your room and finished up your assignment like you first intended to. Halloween is nothing but an excuse for people to get wasted and imitated things they aren't without the judgement from society for one single night. It should have dawned on you back then. You don't even have a costume. What do you want to dress as? You have no idea. A mummy? A wizard? A vampire? A fucking vampire. Out of all the cheesy options of pop culture icons, you have to choose the cheesiest one. With a trench coat a friend of yours borrowed, your swept back hair and your fake fangs, you looked like a handed down Edward Cullen.

Nevertheless, your desperation to fit in: to talk to real people rather than strangers online, ultimately lead you to your despair. Saying the party is lively would be an understatement. It has surpassed liveliness, it has a life of its own. People poured into Giselle's dorm, The Coven, from every direction. The eerie tunes of Halloween carols and artificial screams filled the air, which are farther complemented by the paper bats that hang from the ceiling an the fog machines hissing in the corner. On the dance floor, students move in hypnotic synchrony, their costume ranging from classic monsters to familiar icons you see everywhere. Bodies entwining and intertwining beneath the luminous glow of the string lights that scatter the ceiling.

Being the loner you are, the first thing you do when you arrive is look for someone you know. Anyone who can help you in the quest not to be the odd one out. You sigh in relief when you see one of the familiar face near a drink table, which is exceptional just like everything in this party. A champagne tower stands on the far end, which you are surprised someone wasted has not knocked it down yet. All across the length of the table lies buckets holding different type of bottles, a different kind of magic in each one. And if you are not a drinker, worry not because an ice bucket full of every known fizzy drink known to man is just up for grabs in one corner. Everything is designed to fit anyone's need. Only a fool would not give a second glance to this playground for taste buds.

And you are no fool, so you grab a glass of champagne and head to where your friend is, if you can call someone a friend after talking to them once during a lecture. He's cosplaying Pennywise but with his crumpled jumpsuit and the white makeup which is horribly done, he looks more like a circuit clown who just got fired. You don't expect him to recognize you but much to your surprise, he does. Offering a hand to shake, he says his formal greetings.

"This party is probably the best one I have ever been to" he says in awe. "I heard Giselle organize all of this, must be nice to have your parents paying your bill"

Hinting the envy and jealousy in his voice, you don't blame him. Because it's Giselle you are talking about. There's no one else here who can turn a party into a masterpiece. You should be thankful you got to be a part of it regardless if her parents pay for this or not.

So, you just nod in agreement and change the topic. After a while, you realize listening to a heartbroken guy/clown talking about his exes is not exactly the best thing to do at a party like this. This is not a chance you get everyday and you are not going to let it go to waste by tragedies.

"Excuse me for a moment" you cut him off, chug down rest of your champagne and wander farther. If the party was lively before, now it's on full swing. The dancing has escalated to make out sessions among some of the couples, fueled by the heat of the moment. Much to your disgust, a pool of vomit litters a spot on the floor, the work of someone who have had too much to drink. As you tear through the sea of people, either horny or drunk, you start to wonder if the whole university have been confined into one large mass of bodies here tonight. You bump into Frankenstein, nearly get knocked out by a drunk Darth Vader and hear a curse (not that kind of curse) from a Harry Potter , who's probably high.

You have already failed your initial plan to socialize, there's no way you can make conversation with these people who have transcended to the peak of bliss. Dancing is an option, if it isn't for the fact that you are a horrible dancer and your moves will be worse than those drunkards wilding without a care in the world.

Part of you want to leave, this place is starting to suffocate you with the stench of bodies that cover every inch of this hall, the euphoric faces that appear and disappear with each flash of the lights overhead and the worst of all, the make out sessions happening at any spot you lay your eyes on.

It's such an absurd idea to feel disturbed by the sight of lips against lips, tongues entwined with tongues. Afterall, it's just one of the many ways humans express their desires, the need to touch, to be touched. Yet, combined with this vague atmosphere of the party, the act becomes unbearably explicit.

You feel like a fool for seeing it this way but whatever this party is composed of, it's starting to affect you. What seems like a glamorous spree looks like a maze of skin and more skins to you now. The music, once perfectly fitted with the event, sounds like a broken symphony.

What you should do is indulge yourself in this moment. Just become one of the bodies that make up this sea of bodies. But regardless, you have to turn the whole thing into an illusion of madness and badness. Just to make an excuse to leave this damn place. Just because you don't want to admit you are never mean to be at social events.

And you would have lied to yourself and leave, if it isn't for the music that suddenly dies and the lights that dissolve into shadows. Apart from a few gasps that slip out, the entire room goes dead silent, save for the white noise of a humming fan in the background.

Your impulsive thoughts take this as a sign to re enter your mind. Is that it? Has the party ended? Maybe something went wrong with the electronics? Just more excuse to make yourself believe you don't leave this party because you wanted to. It has to be something else.

Thankfully, you are too caught in the abrupt halt that you are more curious to see what will happen next rather than act on your impulses. For a few seconds, the room remain still, swallowed by darkness. It seems to go on forever until light showered on a spot at the top of the spiral staircase, descending from one corner of the hall. Another glow pierce the gloom then another, until the whole staircase has been light up.

With the radiance that contrast the staircase and the rest of the room, it looks like a stairway straight from heaven, materializing only for the divine. But the one who descends from those steps is anything but divine. Depraved is too weak of a word to describe her.

Down from the stairs comes the queen herself, Giselle, with the faintest clue of a smile on her lips and her eyes, scanning the crowd the way a queen would do to her subjects. No one complains because everyone here is in debt to her. If it's not for Giselle, they will never achieve the felicity of this night, that they have happily surrendered to, unknowingly becoming just one of Giselle's pawns. And you are not excluded.

Giselle isn't wearing a costume, she's just in a different layer of skin. Why would she try to be someone else when she's already Giselle? If the darkness has been eliminated by the light, it is soon going to be reabsorbed by Giselle, whose entire frame is coated in a layer of black sheath dress. The long sleeves of her attire leave no room for skin except the opening at her collar bones, displaying her radiant milky skin. A stygian veil loom over her long hair that falls on either side, as if she's an Oracle going to mutter a prophecy at any moment. Nothing about the outfit makes Giselle stand out more. At a glance, another pretty girl of your fantasies. However, her eyes tell a different story. These pools of cerulean blue that pull anyone who dare to stare right into them like a tide, gripping their core, leaving them breathless.

She's too pretty to be human, you think. Maybe she isn't. Maybe she's send from the higher powers to test the homo sapiens of their real nature, to expose their deepest desires. If that's the case, everyone had already failed ,evident by the way their eyes follow her with each step she takes.

Giselle stops right in the middle step, regarding the horde of flesh stunned by her appearance.

"I'm sure you are having a blast" Giselle speaks, though her voice isn't thundering, it cuts through the crowd like ripples.

Everyone cheers, a cluster of voices competing to be heard. When the silence returns, Giselle speaks again.

"Let go of your worries tonight! Drink! Dance! Get wasted! Party like there's no tomorrow!"

Anther roar erupt from the crowd. A handful of people start dancing without music, overwhelmed with bliss. This time the noise don't cease, chatters of conversation amplify until the whole room is bustling with activity again, even with the lights gone.

A shrill like nail scratching on metal shrieked from the sound boxes, causing everyone to cover their ears, shutting their mouth. When the crowd is silent again, Giselle's voice appears once more.

"I'm glad to see you all are enjoying yourself but there's one last event of the night to top this entire party. I promised you have never ever experienced anything like this"

The crowd remains hushed, eager to hear the next words Giselle will say. Excited to be even more euphoric than they already are. Giselle, who seems to notice it, smiles with satisfaction. And that's the first time you have seen her truly smile.

The corner of her lips will twitch from time to time but they never bloom into a pure smile, quickly ceased before it's given life. But when she does, you become even more sure that she's not human. When people smile, they mean it as a way to show or act like they are glad, content or happy. But Giselle's smile contains neither of these emotions. It's like a work of art, superficially it's nothing but a bent in the line of her lips. But when it is studied closely, you realize she's not smiling out of pure bliss, but rather the joy she gets from seeing how the others cower before her. How easy it is for her to bend their wills without even trying.

However, your astonishment is short lived as Giselle's face returns back to her neutral expression again to continue her speech.

"Unfortunately, only a chosen few will be given the chance to experience this event. And to give everyone a fair chance, I decide to leave things to luck. Are you ready?"

The crowd agree in unison, anxious with anticipation. A shriek comes out from a girl concerning with someone spilling drink on her dress. But everyone is too focused on what comes next to care.

Giselle reached into her cleavage and pulls out five black roses, how she manages to fit all of them in there, you have no idea. Nevertheless, she raises her hand so that everyone can see the flowers.

"I will throw these roses into the crowd and the five person who manage to acquire them will join me in the event. However, there are rules. No one is allowed to move, shove or try to steal it from the ones who caught it. If anyone breaks these rules, they will be banned from this party. Get it?"

Everyone nods in agreement, though you notice some people secretly trying to shove the person in front of them to be closer to the front. One even acts like they trip just to claim that few extra inches.

"Ready? Here they go"

Giselle launches the roses into the air, which spirals into the crowd, admiring the sight with unblinking eyes. Your position isn't the best. You are not at the far back but you are not in the front either. You are in the center , where the bodies are the most compressing. You barely have any room to move.

But much to your surprise, a rose lands right on your hair and the horde around you turn to you, the envy and spite unfiltered on their faces. That should have been me, they would be thinking. You snatch the rose from your hair, twirling it from the stem.

You are still dazed by what had happened. Getting chosen for an exclusive event of Giselle? You must have used up your whole year of luck. Cheers erupt from the other four who share your fate. The rest of the crowd groan and murmur in disappointment.

"Seems like we have our winners!" Giselle announces, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "For the rest of you, the party will carry on. Enjoy yourself. The chosen ones, follow me up the stairs"

The light flood the hall again. Music starts blasting from the speakers. The party has returned back to its full swing. People departs heading back to carry on what they were doing. Drink, dance or get wasted, like Giselle had quoted.

You look up to the staircase and see Giselle already climbing back up, the other four following her steps. You are amazed to see that the Pennywise guy you talked to earlier is one of them. The other three are females. One dressed like Harley Quinn, the other a hybrid between Ariel and Aquaman, holding a trident and the last one looks like she just cuts up holes in an old blouse and put it on, hoping to look like someone.

Not wanting to be left out, you follow them. The stairway curves into a single door, which surprises you because you expect it to open up onto the upper floor. On the door, a strange symbol is curved. A thin upside down heart, almost identical to a tear drop, but this one have two bumps. Maybe another creepy Halloween decoration.

Without giving it much thought, you follow Giselle inside, who pushes the door open. You are left breathless by the sight before you. There isn't a room beyond the door. It's a whole chamber. A circular space encircled by shelves of books, vials and items you have never seen before. A small creature that looks like a fusion between a snake and a butterfly floats in a flask of green liquid. The other holds the skull of a cat, or so you think. Nearby, a strange liquid bubbles in a cauldron. The mixed smell of wood and rotten meat doesn't help. The one single window have been closed shut so that the only light source is the lamp on a nearby desk. If Giselle set all this up for tonight, she has gone way over the top.

"Welcome to my chamber!" Giselle says, her voice dripping with glee. Her blue eyes seem to hint the oncoming of something big. "Tonight, we are gonna play a special game. And trust me, you have never ever played it before"

From a drawer, Giselle pulls out a thin bottle, identical to the ones that hold wine. But it isn't an ordinary bottle. On the surface, strange symbols are curved, shapes and words of languages you don't understand. Another Halloween prop?

"We are going to play 'Spin the Bottle'!"

Giselle announces but no one replies. This is the special game? A party game every high schooler knows. Maybe the only difference being it's a Halloween themed bottle.

"Oh, I know what you are thinking" Giselle raises an eyebrow. "It's a game everyone knows, right? What's so special about it? Well, you will see"

She reaches into the drawer again and this time, she pulls out two decks of card. One looks freshly bought and the other worn out, the card corners bent. Giselle extend her arms, displaying the decks to the others.

"This is what makes it so special. I'll show you. Sit"

Giselle points to the floor. Seriously? But no one argue and take their places. You sit down, the Pennywise guy on your right and Harley Quinn on your left. Giselle sits right in front of you, Aquaman(or woman) taking her right and Ms. Tattered Clothes on her left. A circle is formed.

"Ehmm.... can you put that away?" Giselle asks Aquawoman, who's still holding her plastic trident. The girl's face lights up with a blush.

"Oh, sorry" she apologizes, quickly shoving her weapon onto a desk.

"Now, I will show you how to play" Giselle sets the bottle earlier in the middle space, putting each of the decks on either side. Everyone's eyes follow her moves intently, dying to know what makes everything so special. "It's very similar to a normal Spin the Bottle. Someone spins the bottle, and when it points to a certain person, they have to kiss, or choose one, Truth or Dare. But there's no kissing here. It's either Truth or Dare. Unlike the original game, you can't just ask or dare someone whatever you want. You have to pick a card" Giselle points to the new batch of cards. "This is the deck of Truth, if someone chooses to be honest, the spinner have to choose a card from here and ask them the question on the card" She points to the other worn out deck. "This is the deck of Fate, the deck for Dare, you can say. Choose a card from here if someone is feeling adventurous" Giselle looks each of you carefully. "Got it?"

You still doubt this game is anything but special. It's still Spin the Bottle with a couple extra items thrown in. There isn't anything that makes it stand out. Still, Giselle seems to think otherwise.

"Why no kissing?" Mr. Pennywise asks, the grin on his face makes him look even more abominable. You are thankful you are beside him so that you won't see his face constantly.

"Because I say so" Giselle says firmly. Again, showing everyone who's in charge.

"Oh...alright" Pennywise replies, disappointed. And you somehow feel glad to see him that way.

"Ok, let's begin. I will start first" Without a warning, Giselle spins the bottle. It rotates and rotates until it finally points at Mr. Pennywise. He grins again and you feel like throwing up.

"Man....if there was only kissing" he groans in disappointment. Giselle's expression remains unwavered.

"Truth or Dare?" she asks, tilting her head.

"I'm shy so...Truth!" he strains his voice on purpose and it's not funny, not at all.

"Very well" Giselle takes the top card on the deck. She raises it to read and you notice a symbol of a scale on the back, representing justice, or in this case, the truth.

"What's your greatest insecurity?" Giselle asks, looking at the guy straight into his eyes.

"Ehm....that's.." Pennywise scratches his head, seemingly baffled by the question. The whole points of insecurities is that you keep them to yourself. No one would spill it in a party game. Or would they?

"I...don't know" he tries for an awkward smile. "I'm always happy with myself so...."

"Is that so?" Giselle's voice is smug, as if she knows he's lying. "What do you think guys?" she asks the others. No one answers except the girl in the torn blouse. "Maybe....?"

"We will see soon" Giselle puts the card back into the deck, shuffling it. "Is your answer final?"

"Yeah, why not?" Pennywise answers, though he looks uneasy. "You are really hyping up this Halloween vibe, huh?"

"Oh, you flatter me. But you should have put your words to good use elsewhere" Giselle sounds almost delighted and the rest of the people in the room shifts uneasily, including you.

For a moment everything was silent. You could have heard your heartbeat if it's not for the popping sounds the boiling cauldron is making. Then it happens. Pennywise starts making sounds like someone have stuffed his throat with a rock. He clutches his neck, trying to scream. But the only sounds that come out are muffled whines like a deer getting run on by a truck, again and again. His eyes start to bulge as if they are going to jump out at any moment. His face white as a sheet of paper.

Everyone stares in shock, yet no one tries to help, too shocked by the scene before them. No one makes a sound except Giselle, who makes a note. "See? That happens when you are not honest"

"Make it stop! He's going to die" Harley Quinn cries, her eyes wide with terror.

"Oh, I'm not doing anything to him. He's being punished for his own mistake, being dishonest" Giselle muses lightly as if someone isn't dying before her.

Pennywise falls to the ground with a loud thud and his body goes limp. Aquawoman and Ms. Tattered Clothes screams. Your breath hitches. You hate this guy but you don't want him to die. Not like this.

"What have you done?" Harley Quinn screams in horror, covering her mouth with her hands.

"Nothing. He dug his own grave" Giselle says with indifference. Her face shows no sign of remorse.

"This game has gone too far! I'm leaving" Harley Quinn screams and stands up, trying to walk away. However, she falls back as if an invisible barrier has been put up. "Let me go!" she cries, tears already flowing down her face.

"Now now" Giselle looks at the girl. "No need to be afraid. You just have to be truthful if you don't want to end up like him. It's that easy. Once the game is over, you can leave"

"Let me go, please...." Harley Quinn pleads but Giselle's eyes are no longer on her. When her begging goes unanswered, the girl sits up, sniffling. The others silent as they were.

All this time, you are staring at the lifeless face of Pennywise. His mouth hangs open in an unfinished scream. The terrors in his eyes accentuating his pale lifeless face that you have no idea how it gets even whiter over his clown makeup. His fingers crooked, trying to cling on something. Anything that will keep him alive.

He's dead, you think. He's really dead. This is no longer another Halloween prop. It's a real corpse. Is Giselle the one who did it? She didn't even lift a finger but isn't she the one who starts this game? Maybe it's the cards. Maybe they are magic.

The sense of pride and joy you had had earlier is gone. This is one deadly game. All you want to do is get out of here as soon as possible. But Harley Quinn had already proved it's not a choice. You must stay here.

"Shall we continue?" Giselle asked, handing the bottle to Harley Quinn, maybe out of pity, if she even feels pitiful.

The girl takes the bottle with shaking hands and before she spins it, Giselle raises a hand. "Oh, wait. We have an inactive member"

You instantly realizes she's talking about the lifeless body beside you. She points to it and asks. "You, Mr. Vampire. Can you shove that body somewhere?" she asks it the way someone would ask for a pencil, without a trace of loath in her voice. Like she's asking you to get rid of a dead fly.

"Yeah..sure" you complies. After seeing what happens to Pennywise and Harley Quinn, you are not feeling rebellious. Giselle isn't the one to mess with. You hold the body up by the arms and drag it to a nearby shelf, propping it.

Suddenly, a thought enters your mind. You are away from Giselle. There's no invisible barrier when you stood up. This is the chance to get away. To get out of this mess that has just begun once and for all. You cast a glance to the door and instantly, Giselle's voice flows through your ears. "Don't even think about it"

Without further words, you return to your initial space, now between Harley Quinn and Aquawoman, who had took the vacant spot.

"Let's begin" Giselle orders and Harley Quinn spins the bottle without hesitation. It whirls and whirls, finally slowing down before you.......no, it's Aquawoman.

"Truth or...Dare?" Harley Quinn asks, her voice still shaky from crying earlier. For a moment, Aquawoman is silent. Then she makes her choice. "Dare"

"Oh...this one is feeling adventurous" Giselle compliments. Her eyes fixed on the girl so intently it looks like she's going to burn a hole through her.

Harley Queen picks up the card from the old deck. The symbol on the back of this card is a scythe, a symbol for punishment? Not really a good idea. She gulps after seeing what's written on the card. "You....you have to..." she stutters.

"Say it dear" Giselle urges. "Say the words"

"You have to paint your name....with your....your...blood..." Her words thin to a whisper at the end.

Aquawoman looks like all the blood in her body have been sucked out. "What..?" she asks, although there isn't a need. The instructions are clear.

"You heard her, dear. You have to write your name in your own blood. Doesn't it sound fun?" Giselle asks. If she's trying to be funny, now is not the time.

"I can't......please ask me to do anything. Not this...please, I beg you" Aquawoman begs but Giselle simply shrugs her shoulders.

"You have to do what yo are asked. Or else, you see what happened to Mr. no insecurities. You want to follow him?" Giselle's words seem to snap the girl back to her senses, though nothing about this makes sense.

"How do I do it?" she asks. Her voice so small you have to focus on every words.

"Simple" Giselle stands, takes a dagger from a drawer and hands it to her. "Paint it on the floor right in front of you. By the way what's your name?"

The girl swallows. "Penelope" Not a good time to have an eight letter names, you think. You wonder if her blood is enough. There are nearly six liters of blood in a human body but even if less than half of it is lost....You shut your train of thoughts. Not another corpse. It can't happen.

Aquawoman takes the dagger with trembling hands and sits down, staring at it as if it's a foreign object. Slowly, she pulls up the sleeve, raising it to her forearm, setting the edge on her flesh. It sinks in and a trail of blood starts to pour from the opening. Grimacing, she collects it with her forefinger and writes the first letter on the floor, P. But it isn't enough as half of the letter only formed.

The girl sinks the blade deeper, her lips pursed, trying to seal away a scream. More blood pours. The first letter is completed. You watch the gruesome scene as the girl paints her name. E, then N, after that L. Halfway but she's already trembling. Her whole arm is soaked with blood.

Giselle watches it with a hint of amusement in her eyes. Now you know what's beneath that cold face everyone tries to decipher. It's a sick, twisted mind. Ruined beyond repair. And she likes it that way.

"I can't do this anymore..." Aquawoman mutters in a hoarse voice, setting the dagger down. "It hurt so much"

"Just use your other arm" Giselle advices. "You are nearly there"

"But...." the girl reconsiders and takes the dagger with her bloody hand, raising it to cut another opening in her other arms. She slices and more blood flows. More paint.

The girl continues painting, her temples beaded with sweat. If her eyes can speak, they are screaming for help. The name gets completed one word after another. O, P, then she stops.

"Please......it...it hurts....I'm nearly done, please...can I.." she pleads and begs. Her hands trembling, both covered in red.

"One last letter" Giselle muses. "Complete it"

"I can't....please...?" she asks for mercy. But Giselle isn't known for being merciful.

"Are you saying you can't do it?" Giselle insists.

"No...no....but I can't-" She drops her dagger and stumbles forward, propping herself on her palms. She has lost too much blood.

"Very well then" Giselle says, her expression solemn.

"I...I don't want to.." The girl can no longer speaks. Not because she is choking. But because blood starts to pour from her eyes. A waterfall of blood, enough to write her names a hundred times. You back away in disgust, a few drops staining your coat. The other two cover their eyes, unable to comprehend the horror of the scene. Gisell watches the never ending flow of blood with interest. Not even caring the droplets hitting her dress.

"What a pity, she was so promising" Giselle sighs as the body lands on the floor with a loud thud. "Another one eliminated. Mr. Vampire, would you be so kind to..?" She points it a the corpse. Damn this, why does everyone around you have to die? Without complaint, you grab her from the waist, the only part unstained with her blood and put her next to Pennywise.

Two down. Two corpses. Who's next? You should have left when you had the chance. You should have continue being the loner you are. Stay in your room and spend Halloween watching Dracula. At least it won't be real. At least you won't die. Your desperation have lead you to your demise. There's no way out of here.

Regardless, this game that's nothing but sick must go on. Because Giselle says so. All of you are nothing but pawns on her chessboard. Disposable. Weak.

You expect Giselle to take the spot next to you but instead, Harley Quinn takes it. Giselle is still right in front of you. Those pools of blue still piercing into your soul, inch by inch. Now the circle, or rather a rhombus, consists only of four.

No one complains. They have already seen two examples. No one's eager to become another. The bottle is now in the hands of Ms. Tattered clothes, who stares at it like it's an explosive. You have no idea about the order the bottle is being passed. But it just one of the many thing that doesn't make any sense.

The bottle spins, pointing directly across from the spinner, at Harley Quinn.

"Truth or Dare?" This question, these words that have reaped two souls.

"Truth" Harley Queen makes her choice, at least she won't be cutting her vessels open. That's not exactly a reassuring thought. You have no idea about the other questions in that deck.

A card is pulled. The question is read.

"If someone here is to die, who do you wish it is?"

A simple question, yet the answer a double pointed sword. You know her answer because you would have answered the same. It's 'Giselle'. If she's dead, you all can leave. You all can stop playing this deadly game. But if the truth is spoken, who knows what Giselle will do?

"It's..eh..." Harley Queen stutters, debating with herself. Tell the truth, she risks facing Giselle's wrath. Lie, she dies. Neither's a good choice.

"It's ok dear, speak your mind" Giselle encourages. She pulls her veil farther below and the shadows it cast pale the blue of her eyes. Yet, they are as intent as ever.

"You" Harley Quinn makes her decision. She lowers her head like she's scared of what comes next.

"Eh....honest..." Giselle muses, a faint smile forming on her lips, the exotic kind. "Your courage is admirable, dear. The truth is good. But sometimes, it must be twisted to fit the situation. Afterall, the Truth is bitter"

Giselle smiles and again you are baffled by its arcane amidst the chaos. You would have forgotten you are on the verge of dying had she not sheathed it.

"I'm sorry dear. Such honesty should be rewarded but this time the stakes are high" Giselle sighs, blowing air.

"This is unfair! I spoke the truth! I'm going to die either way, why are you doing this?" Harley Quinn bellows in rage. Her face so red you think it's going to explode.

"You are correct. Lie or Truth, both leads to the same end. But I'm doing this because I find it fun. Because I can" Giselle admits and you have no doubt that she is ,in fact, enjoying this. Her smile had said it all.

"You can't do this! If others know..." her words are cut short by the flames that engulf her. You back away in shock. Thankfully, you don't get to move another corpse as the flames consumes everything in one swift blast. Ash, the remnants of what was once human rain to the floor.

"She talked too much. It's a good thing she went quick" Giselle says lazily. This dead seems to be the least interesting to her.

The nature of the game has become obvious. Truth or Dare, you die either way. It's inevitable. Everyone here must meet their end to satisfy Giselle's hunger. But of course, the game must go on.

"Your turn, pretty boy" Giselle says, handing you the bottle. You take it. Even before spinning, you already know who it's gonna land on. And of course, it does. The deadly little container point rights towards Ms. Tattered Clothes. Another vicitm. The second last.

"Truth or Dare?" You say the three deadly words.

The girl is silent, seemingly struggling to say the right words. Except that there isn't one. Her whole face is frozen in fear, staring into space.

"Hurry up, dear" Giselle says. "We don't have all night"

The girl raises her head to look at Giselle, pleading with her eyes.

"I don't want to die. Please....I will do anything..." she cowers before Giselle, begging for her life. Giselle seeems amused at the fragile creature bowing before her. The idea of having someone's life to do as she wishes filling her with delight.

"Now, don't be scared. Nothing lasts forever afterall. The least you can do is make a choice. Truth or Dare?" Giselle repeats your question.

"I...I'm..." The girl sits back up, realizing there's no way to escape. "Truth"

Giselle looks at you and you pull a card from the deck of Truth. You flip the card to the other side, only to be greeted by a strange sight. The other side of the card is blank. No letters or questions, just a white space.

"What's the meaning of this?" you asks, showing the card to Giselle.

"Oh dear, I'm really sorry" Giselle says with false compassion. "Seems like you have landed on the empty card, which means there's no questions for you to answer"

"What do you...mean?" the girl insists. "This must be a mistake, maybe he can pull another card"

"That would be against the rules" Giselle set the card down in front of the girl. "And I like to follow them"

"So what? If I didn't answer, I wouldn't be lying right? That means I won't be punished" The girl insists once more. And in a sense, what she says make sense. How could she lie if there isn't even a question?

"You are not wrong" Giselle replies. "But it also means you wouldn't be telling the truth either. And that would be lying"

"That makes no fucking sense!" The girl screams, letting her anger gets the best of her. "You are just finding an excuse to kill people!"

"I thought you already know" Giselle sighs. "You are a slow one"

The girl turns to you. "Please, help me. You are going to die too, you know that right? Maybe if both of us can-"

And then she is no more. Her whole body dissolves into a whirlwind of colors which gets sucked in to the blank page of the card like a vortex.

"A shame" Giselle puts the card back into the deck. "Seems like it's just us now"

You have never thought much thought to what happens after death. But now, you start wondering if you have done enough good to get into Heaven. You surely haven't done anything catastrophic but you haven't accomplished anything remarkable either. You just have to hope the good outweights the bad. Because soon, you will be nothing more than another soul reaped for Giselle's amusement.

What was left of Giselle's facade as the perfect human being has gone. She's anything but that. A demon that indulges herself in the suffering of others. Plucking a life after another like fruits.

Giselle takes the bottle. "My turn" she muses, her voice eager to conclude the act. You being the one to close it out.

The bottle doesn't need to be spinned. The result is clear as day. Giselle does it anyway. The compass of death spins and spins, inevitably pointing towards you.

"Truth or Dare?" The last question for this night, the last question you will hear.

"Truth" you reply, surprised at yourself for how quick your respone is. Have you accepted your end?

"If you have the choice to fuck anyone in this room, who would it be?"

Giselle asks, not pulling a card from the deck. Doesn't it break the rules? No, Giselle makes the rules.

The question seems so odd compared to the others you have heard tonight. The other ones are designed either to force you to lie or mix you up so thoroughly you can't answer. But this question? The answer is simple but not without risk. Giselle, the only other human being here, the sole female, that's the answer, the truth. But you don't want to go up in flames like Harley Quinn did nor you want to choke to death like Pennywise. There isn't a way out. You accept your fate.

"You" you answer. "I would do it with you"

Giselle's face shows no emotion. Her eyes staring into yours, unblinking. You start repenting the sins you might have done. Sooner or later, you would end in a horrible way.

"I think so" Giselle finally speaks. She pulls down her veil to let her hair fall freely around her shoulder. Without it, she looks even more sinister. A wolf in sheep skin.

"End me already" you requests. "Let's finish this"

Giselle chuckles. The voice that comes out is frozen, like she hasn't laughed in a millennia and she's just trying again right now.

"What a brave man" Giselle praises. "But you won't escape me that easily. What you will face is worse than death"

You curse under your breath. Death is not the ideal option but at least it will release you. Now, that chance has went up in smoke.

"Lie down" Giselle orders.

"Why?" You questions. If you are not going to die, at least you want to know what you will be facing.

"Lie down" she repeats. Knowing there's no point in defying her, you obliges. Giselle walks up to you, setting a foot on your chest, looming over you. She smirks and that's when you get a crazy thought. The others were lucky. At least they escape this in a way. You wouldn't.

"Good boy" she compliments. You feel a sense of joy despite the state you are in. It feels so wrong. "Lose your fangs, I don't want you to bite"

You pull of the fake fangs from your mouth. Though you still looks like a sleep deprived vampire with the rest of your attire.

Giselle pulls back her leg, regarding you with her blue eyes like a predator ready to pounce. If she starts skinning you alive, you wouldn't be surprised. However, what she proceeds to do is the exact opposite.

She kneels beside you, her fingers trailing along your chest. The touch left you craving for more. With each movement, she sends a shiver down your spine. At this moment, the only god you will worship is Giselle. You will devote your soul to her if it means she will keep doing this.

Her fingers trail across your chest, down to your waist and then land right on your crotch. She squeezes your clothed mamba, which is already rock hard from her gratifying touch. A smile forms on her lips once more. This time from the joy of seeing how badly you need her.

"Oh, you are already so hard" Giselle mocks and squeezes your dick over the fabric once more. The agony from her harsh grip merges with pleasure and you can no longer distinguish which is which. All you know is you want her to keep doing this. Keep hurting you because with pain, there's pleasure.

"Are you enjoying this?" Giselle gives one final squeeze and let go, leaving you throbbing. You could have cummed from her hands alone if she repeats the motion one more time. Nonetheless, you want her to keep going. To find comfort in the hands of your reaper. The very thought shames you but it gets clouded by a stronger emotion, lust.

Giselle presses her upper body against your chest and you would have put your hands on her waist if it isn't for the fact that she could kill you in a heartbeat. Her black hair streaked with blonde sprawled out on your torso, a curtain of silk. If it isn't enough to drive you wild, the rosy smell of her perfume mixed with the faintest scent of her sweat does the job. Diamond is no longer the hardest material on earth because your cock is already pushing through your pants, trying to escape its boundaries.

Giselle moves further up, lining her face with yours. Under the glow of the lamp, you get the full view of her boobs, which are pushed upward with how hard she's pressing into you. The trench of her cleavage is a dark pit without a bottom, which you will eagerly jump into. Just to get more of her. To indulge in her.

Her fingers move along your ribs, your neck, ending on your face, cupping it, holding it like something tender. "Vampire doesn't suit you, you know?" she asks. Just a simple remark but it deprives you of your common sense. All you feel now is regret. Regret for cosplaying as this stupid creature. Regret for not being good enough for Giselle. "But outfits can be removed, hmm?" Giselle starts unbuttoning your shirt and in this case, literally unbutton. She pulls off the first button. Then the other. Then the other.

A fire has been lit inside you and with each button you lose, the flames rose higher. Giselle's touch is electric and even if it's deadly, you will happily surrender. Because you crave for it too much to care.

Giselle spread open your shirt, the sides parting to reveal your bare chest. She lays a finger and trace it down to your stomach. Her eyes lit up with thrill when they land on your bulge. "Oh, nearly forgot him" Giselle grabs you waistband and pulls it down. Your cock springs up, finally escaping its confinement, throbbing with anticipation.

Giselle holds it from the base and gives it one single pump. And you realize that is all you have needed in life. Your mind is screaming 'Keep going. Don't stop' but you don't utter a single word. Either you are paralyzed from her touch or you don't need to. Because Giselle already knows.

"Look at you, all pumped up. Do I turn you on that much?" She doesn't need to ask. The evident is before her eyes. Another pump. A groan escapes your lips. She smiles. "But it would be unfair if you get your release so quick after everything you went through, hmm?" You want to scream. Tell her to let you cum. In any way. Even her hands are enough. Just let you out of this beautiful prison.

She stands and your dick aches, yearning for her touch again. Giselle stands right above your face, her feet set on either sides of you. You get a glimpse of her pussy. And you swear it's the most perfect thing you have seen.

"How's the view down there?" Giselle asks. "Do you like my pussy?" Yes, you would have answered. Absolutely. But as usual, your vocal cords lose their ability.

"You wanna taste it?" Giselle lifts up the hem of her dress, just enough to expose her full round ass. Skin snowy white just like the rest of her body. "I don't hear an answer"

"Yes..." You manage to utter one single word through the invisible chokehold.

"Very well.." Giselle lowers her ass, taking her rightful throne right on your face. No sooner you feel the pressure than you start licking her pink cavern like there's no tomorrow. Your nose is squashed between her buttocks, cutting off your supply of oxygen. But you don't care. Because this is all you have ever wanted.

"Mhmm yes....just like that" Giselle words encourage you to continue your service to her, treating her like the goddess she is. There is only one goal in you mind at the moment. Make her cum. So that she will praises you. Just one single word would be enough.

So you channel everything you have into your tongue. Slurping her pussy, eating her out. Each time your tongue runs across her velvety flesh, you extract a moan from her. You twirl your tongue on her clit and Giselle tense up, another impure sound betraying her lips.

"God, yes....don't stop..." You don't plan to. Your face is drenched in the juice already spilling out of her and your own spit. This is just a small price to pay to taste the delicacy between her legs. The taste can only be described as otherworldly. Because you are sure there isn't anything that taste like this on earth.

Giselle starts rocking her hips, making your tongue catches up with her pace. She's fucking herself on your tongue, just another object to appease her. Your flesh and blood, all hers. And she will use it as she sees fit.

You hold onto her thighs for support. You are drowning in her elixir, the juice that's suffocating you yet empowers you to keep going. Giselle had said this is worse than death. But maybe it isn't so bad afterall.

However, being deprived of oxygen for so long have its consequences as you start feeling your consciousness slowly drift away, although your tongues move as vigorously as ever. Giselle is still rocking on your face, feeding you the nectar you crave so bad. You are starting to think this is how you will die when a waterfall of the clear liquid pour out of Giselle's cavern, soaking your face whole.

You gasp, your lungs filled with air again after Giselle stop using you as a meat chair. One last drop of her juice falls onto your lips. Instinctively, you lick it up.

" You did well, pretty boy" Giselle praises, her voice hoarse. "You deserve a reward" Those were the sweetest word you have ever heard. She walks slowly back to where your legs lay sprawled on the floor. Sitting down, a hand of hers wrap around the base of your stiff cock. "Miss me?" she asked, giving it a pump. Your body tense from her lethal touch. Giselle takes this as a sign to keep going.

She starts moving her hand up and down, stroking every inch of you. The fire in you burn brighter than ever. Waves after waves of pleasure course through your veins and you drown in them happily. With the other hand, Giselle fondle your balls, giving each one a gentle squeeze. "Look how full they are. Is it because of me, hmm?" Not wanting her to stop, you answer briskly. "Yes, yes...." "I think so" Giselle move her remaining hand from your balls to your shaft, now pumping it with both her hands. There isn't a single inch she misses and from time to time, she would rub your tip with her thumb, delivering extra fatal blows.

All you can do is take in the feeling. But you don't close your eyes because it would be stupid to miss the sight of a goddess giving you a handjob. All it exists in the world for now are Giselle's hands, your cock and the flames inside you that dance wild.

"Are you feeling good? You like my hands, huh?" Giselle asks, picking up the pace even more. This time you are too lost in bliss to answer. Not daring to miss the feeling of one single pump because it could be the last. Giselle is giving you a handjob not because she wants you to feel good. Just like everything else in her world, your dick exists to entertain you. She's rejoicing in the sense of superiority, the ability to deliver or deny you pleasure.

She's being generous at least. Her hands don't seem to be stopping time soon. However, your end is near. The flame inside you have turned into a volcano, ready to erupt at any moment. The tingling sensation starts to grow into an amalgam of throbs and pulses. Giselle, who undoubtedly feel it, smiles. "Are you going to cum?" Another unnecessary question. "Cum, cum all over my hands"

And that's all you need to hear before you erupts, spewing globs after globs of cum. Some land on Giselle's dress, the others spill down her fingers. She keeps pumping you until your climax finally subside.

"That's a lot. It would be a shame to let it go to waste" Giselle licks your cum off her fingers and the sight alone is enough to get you hard again. She sucks the last drop off her middle finger and her eyes rest on yours. "We are just getting started. I hope you have a lot more"

You nod and that's not a lie because your dick is already up again like a spear. But this spear will impale something else.

"I want that cock stuffing me full, now" Giselle orders. "Come on, you have been on the ground for so long" You stands up and follow Giselle's lead, who bends over on a desk and spreads open her lips to reveal her pink insides. An invitation. "Just fuck me already"

Instantly, you shove your pole into her wet folds. Giselle lets out a gutteral moan, her back arching. "Oh, yes.....stuff me with that huge cock" If her hands had felt phenomenal to you, her wet cunt feels a thousand times more. You thrusts into her wet hole again and again, already lubed up by her juices earlier.

"Oh god, yes....just like that" Giselle moans and you gives her ass a slap, unable to resist the sight of it rippling each time your cervix meets her buttocks. More juice flows and Giselle moans louder. You knead the soft flesh of her ass, the touch of her skin like cotton in your grasp.

"Harder! Fuck me harder!" You are already putting every ounce of your strength but if Giselle orders, who are you not to oblige? You slam your hips harder. Your cock is already soaking from her juice and the friction no longer matters. It moves with the speed you desire.

Right at that moment, your eyes fall on the two corpses you have lined up against the shlef. Pennywise, with his bulging eyes and midway scream seems to be telling you "Is this what we die for? So that she can fuck you?" The other one, Aquawoman, with her blood soaked body seems to ask the same thing.

But the sickest thing is you wanna answer 'Yes, this is what you die for, so that I can fuck her' How corrupted have you become to put your animalistic desire above the life of others? But it no longer matters because the feeling of Giselle's cunt on your cock is the only thing you need.

Your attention reverts back from the lifeless bodies as Giselle's walls clench you hard. She was tight before. Now she's even tighter. You give your all to penetrate her tight folds but after going for so long, your strength is starting to waver. Giselle, however, is as energetic as ever. She pushes her ass back to meet your thrusts halfway, impatient to wait even for a split second.

You can only take so much as the second spiral of tingles start working their way down to your pelvis. "Fuck, Giselle, I'm gonna cum.." you warn. "Give it all to me, babe. Fill up my cunt. Yesssss..." Giselle hisses as her tight hole get pumped with the next torrent of baby batter exiting your shaft. Despite cumming earlier, the second orgasm hits you with the same euphoric wave, you start seeing the stars.

A steady drip of cum pours out of Giselle's pussy as you pull out. You are panting and all your limbs feel like jelly. Giselle has sucked out every bit of strength left in you. Pushing a finger into her pulsing hole, Giselle scoops out some of your cum, tasting it. "Mhmm...creamy.." She mutters as though she's testing out a new dessert. Maybe to her, it is.

"Are you already tired? Awwww....poor boy. But you know you can't stop until I'm satisfied right?" Giselle's words wash over you like a tide. Suddenly, you start believing you can go again. Afterall, your sole purpose is to entertain her.

You nod and you no longer knows if it's you or whatever is possessing you in this moment. All you can think is how you want to serve Giselle. Even if someone try to give you the escape you have been seeking desperately earlier, you would have refused it. Because now, you are Giselle's.

"Good boy" These words. How you crave them. You would do anything just to hear these words. "Sit" Giselle points to a wingback chair nearby, red just like the blood flowing from the corpse. You obeys. Giselle stands right in front of you, her arms folded. "Here's a little treat for you" Giselle pulls off her dress from the hem, making herself bare. Her body is a work of art, sculpted by the creator himself. Your masculine urges lead your eye right to her tits, which is as perfect as the rest of her body. The round globes that you can suck on for the rest of your life. "You like my tits?" Just one of the many redundant questions of the night. "Yes..." You mutter dreamily. "Taste them" Giselle grips the arms of the chair and leans in, her milkbags only an inch from your face. Instantly, you rises to put your lips on her tits, the other hand kneading the supple flesh of the other. You suck on her nipples ad even an infant can't rival your hunger. You need this.

"Do you like them that much?" With your mouth stuffed with her nipple, you can't answer. You don't need to. You move the attention of your lips to her other tit, switching positions with the first one. As you slurp and lick her tits, blood start to flow to your dick again. Not as hard as earlier but enough to do the job.

Suddenly, Giselle moves back and you are greeted by the emptiness. Sensing your disappointment, she chuckles. "Oh, babe. Don't be so upset, we have better things to do" She kneels, the shadow of your fully erected cock darkening her features. "I wonder how you taste" Giselle licks the underside of your shaft. One single movement but nonetheless, you bask in the sensation. "Not bad.." Another lick. This time on your tip. She twirls her tongue, collecting the remnants of cum from the earlier session. "Delicious...." And just like that, she swallows your shaft all the way down to the base. Her nose presses against your plevis but her eyes remain focused on yours.

You throw your head back. The walls of her throat are no less talented than her pussy walls. Gag reflex seems to be a joke to her as she impale herself on your cock over and over, barely making a sound except the occasional gurgle of spits flowing from the corner of her lips. Her plump lips seal around you perfectly, tracing every vein with each bob. Giselle ways to use you doesn't seem to be running out anytime soon and you like it that way. You want her to keep using you until you are no longer human but a vessel for her pleasure.

And her eyes. If her mouth is sucking the physical strength out of you, they are draining your willpower. There is no present or future. There's only Giselle.

Giselle releases your cock from her mouth with a pop, her hands now stroking your cock, drenched in her spit. "I must say...I'm impressed. No one have last that long" Is she talking about 'lasting' as in not dying yet? You couldn't care less. Her fingers glide over your pole smoothly with the lube her spit provides. She twists her fingers, cockscrewing you. The hunger in her eyes never dim and it never will. She will never be satisfied. Not by you, not by anyone else. You are just another toy, thrown away when it gets boring.

Another spiral of twists and turns, her hands work like magic. Not a single second goes to waste because there's nothing else that can cut off your attention. You moan and you hate yourself for it. But if Giselle likes it, your emotions can be thrown away.

"How cute. You are whining" Her movements turn swift, determined to milk you of every last drop. "Are you gonna cum again? Hmm? It's ok, cum on my tits. You have been a good boy. You deserve this" Words have powers and you believe it. As soon as her lips stop moving, your body jerks, spraying spurt after spurt of cum on her tits. Most of it find their way to the canvas of her boobs but a few land on her face. "Yes, babe...let it all out" Giselle hands leave your shaft.

Once again gripping the chair arms, she leans in, this time to your face. "Goodbye" She presses her lips to yours. A sense of calm flows through your core. Her lips that just sucks you off press harder and harder. Her tongue enters your mouth and you return the action, a ballad of muscles with the symphony of breaths. You can't stop. She won't stop.

Suddenly, you realize. You can't breathe. Air wouldn't enter your lungs. Does it matter? Breathing, is it as important as Giselle? No, it isn't. You are well aware you have gone insane. Ever seen a mad man and wonder what's going on in his mind? Don't. He knows himself more than you ever will. So you don't need to be questioned. You have accepted your fate. If it's a curse, you will gladly embrace it because all you can think of is Giselle, Giselle and Giselle until your last breath.

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(I have never written something this crazy before. But who isn't for Giselle?)