#the devil music company

[letmebethecure]

Cause hauntingly seductive music is my thing.

[antlersarchives]

𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞

one-shot

bo chow x reader

summary - wandering on alone in the deep of the Mississippi Delta wasn't a favoured thing, but nor was it an uncommon one. some carefree few would end up along that track from time to time, and their consequence? the last path they'd find themselves walking down in the dead of night with enough living breath to carry them. those damn creatures of the night..

requested by: anonymous 💗

warnings; smut, 18+, vampirism, canon-typical violence, mild gore/violence, bloodplay, stalking, southern gothic erotica, biting, restraint, oral sex (r!receiving), pinv, worship kink, dirty talking, soulmates and soul tied, finding a mate, consensual, 1930s southern history, second person pov.

a/n: based on the song 'scared to live' by the weeknd because when I was thinking of this fic, this is what came up and I thought it was gorgeous,, also thank you to the many peeps who reached out and asked for this!! and yes I added the line between Stack and Mary because DAMN. i hope you enjoy, it might need some tweaks, but requests and comments are welcome and please let me know what you think!

w/c: 5.6k

It was unusual walking around this late at night. Especially alone; at least that’s what you’d been told.

Deep down in the heart and heat of the Mississippi Delta, right beside the marshes and desolate land, there was a calmness in the stillness of the earth, everything full of life and promise, only the devil creeping around the corner to take back what was his. And that’s what you clung to, no matter how much your mama would tell you otherwise, that the dangers out there are too much to cope with, or how the children back in your schoolhouse days would spread rumor; you always found yourself right back here. 

Alone.

The night was especially still tonight, the darkness closing in tighter than usual under a cloudless sky. The only light came from a couple of flickering lanterns outside a dim Juke Joint, guiding your path as you walked.

On the porch of the joint, two old-timey musicians sat pouring their hearts into the music they created, without a care in the world, frozen in time, they could forget the industrialisation of the world around them. One man played a harmonica, his weathered hands cradling it with care. The soulful, fuzzy notes wrapped around you, a comforting urge to keep moving forward despite the shadows surrounding you.

Your feet seemed to carry you effortlessly through the opening of the wood, drawing deeper in as you looked behind you one last time, swaying with each step as the music faded into the distance. Heading to the only home you knew without a destination - your own company.

A few twigs crunched beneath your feet as you walked, and the odd branch creeping up on you, the left of you the bayou laid still, untouched - and to your right, the final twinkle of streetlights, was the edge of town, just before they turned off completely. Now, you’d never seen anyone else cross this path; by this point you’d think you owned it simply because you seemed the only one daring or reckless enough to walk it on your own- and you had heard both from just about anyone.

But this time was different.

All kinds of things were catching your eyes, something not ordinary. Snakes, alligators, even the nearest flock of herons that waded over the water, standing as tall as a small child. But that wasn’t it, it wasn’t innocence that followed you, and there was enough life and nature around you to tell you that, whatever it was, it wasn’t living.

Your mind stopped wandering at rustling that came from a bush behind you and you turned on your heel, the soil beneath you shifting with a sigh, and the rustling stopped. You halted, squinting your eyes at all around you, from the floor to the tops of the trees - nothing. 

A pair of wings fluttered out before you could blink, hurtling toward you in one swift motion and you backed up into a tree beside you, gasping. You winced at the roughness, rubbing at the start of what would soon be a bruise. Taking a deep breath, you straightened yourself and kept on moving, cursing yourself for even being startled in the first place. It was nothing but a little house finch - your grandfathers old illustration books could have told you that, and you took your life studying this place, your home, this wasn’t anything to be worried about. 

However your gut told a different story. You slowed, taking note of a blossom tree, the shadows of purple flowers,  you traced the lines of the stems, putting your focus on that instead of-

“Shit-“ A voice rang out from the darkness ahead of you, out of sight, and you brushed the leaves out of your hand, swatting the branch away, crouching a little beside them. A figure stumbled out from the bushes, a man, dusting off his shoulders and catching his fall he stood up straight on the side of the path. He looked around for a moment mumbling something to himself, wiping something from around his mouth - you couldn’t quite make it out but whatever is was was dark, thick.

The breeze picked up and rustled the whole wood, and your eyes trailed him, not moving for a second. He was somewhat tall, with a dark head of hair - well kept and presentably dressed for this time of night. A pair of lined trousers and a white shirt, suspenders keeping his back straight is about what you could make out. A stranger, no doubt, but the voice.. the voice you recognised. His head snapped up and your stomach turned, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on where you’d heard it before.

The heat was unbearable. 

And that was saying something for someone who grew up around here. Your arms felt like they were about to give out from the weight of the grocery bags, and you could swear the soles of your feet were nearly burned away in those flimsy old shoes. The street buzzed with life, cars and people rushing in every direction, while music spilled out from corners on nearly every block, making your head spin. You could feel your body start to sag a bit under the strain, so you set one of the bags down on the ground. With all this running around and the pressure to get home quickly, you leaned against the wall to steady yourself.

The only thing that pulled you from your daze was an arm wrapping around you, gripping your waist like a cool washcloth— supporting you. You looked up to meet the gaze of one of the local shop owners. You scrunched your face, trying to see him more clearly, only to focus on his warm and friendly smile. 

“Hey, I had to catch you  before you fell there, darlin'. Is everything okay?”  He let out a nervous chuckle as he propped you up against the wall, gently taking the bag from your other hand and setting it down next to the first. Your ears were ringing, and dizziness washed over you,. You hadn’t realised how hard you’d been pushing yourself until it became almost impossible to move. His hand cupped your cheek, and he looked deeply into your eyes, as if he’d have been searching for signs of life. 

He nodded  to himself and looked up and down the street before standing upright.” How ’bout we go a little ways away down this street? I’ve got a store down there; I own it.”  Pointing in the direction you were already headed, he clicked his fingers at a worker loading up a truck and waved them over to pick up your bags. Gently grabbing your hands, he placed them around his neck. 

Bo paused for a moment, a smile spreading across his face as he watched you ready yourself. You twirled onto your side, and he slipped his arm back around your waist, guiding you a few steps and into the shop. He encouraged you the way there, playfully teasing you about being out in the heat and pushing yourself too hard. As you made your way into the store, he leaned you against the counter for support. Before you could voice any objections, his hands found the backs of your thighs, lifting you onto the counter with effortless ease and drawing his hands away.

 You settled back with a huff, grateful for the brief respite. And as you took in the store, he had disappeared, returning just as fast with a glass of water in hand.

“Something to take the edge off, huh?” He offered, his voice a soothing balm, as he extended his hand toward you. You weakly accepted it, your fingers enveloping the glass. “Thank you,” you croaked out, your voice hoarse like gravel. He looked astounded, his eyes widening as he shuffled away from where he stood, placing his hands at his sides.  

“Agh, she speaks; how are you feeling, Sweetpea?” The playful smirk on his face lingered as he watched your lips gently graze the rim of the glass. Your eyes fluttered closed in a moment of solace, and you raised your thumb in a silent saying of “okay,” feeling the chill of the cold water hit your mouth.

He slanted  his side against the counter, his hips swaying slightly as he observed you, watching how your brows knitted together in concentration as you drank, and you could feel his eyes on you.

At that moment, a sense of longing washed over him, his eye lingering on you in a way he hadn’t meant to. He found himself thinking all those things he shouldn’t—how your lips curved into that bright smile, the static shock as your fingers brushed against his, and how your skirt senselessly bunched around your knees. His breath caught in his throat, placing his empty hand on the counter beside you, enclosing you at a distance.

You lazily pulled your hand back and shifted in your seat, meeting his longing look. You noticed the sweat beading on his hairline, trickling down his cheek just etching at his lip and how his mouth parted as he licked his lips, almost panting from the outside , before setting the glass down. Tilting your head slightly, you tried to read the familiar face, hoping by some miracle you'd remember an answer, a name, anything - but you'd only seen him a couple of times, watching lowly from the street. And before you could ask,

 “It’s Bo, Bo Chow.” He paused for a moment, breathless. “But most folks around here just stick with Bo.” The smile he offered was like a daydream, a shared one, as he nodded his head, clasping his hands together.

It was him. 

You drew a breath sharply. The brush from the leaves threatening to whip you in the face with the wind as you remained at eye-level with it but your crouched feet failed you. What felt like a distant memory was only just a few weeks ago, and it flooded back fast, the soles of your feet still burned and they gave way, but the ground beneath you shifted, you pulled at the earth and when the roots from broke, you fell backward, leaving a snap at your wake. You gasped as the hard mud hit your back, bunching your hand to make a fist to push at it.

Footsteps approached hurriedly and a presence peered from over you, familiar hands reached out for you, leaving no distance in sight, the moonlight lit up part of his face giving all your questions the truth you needed.

“Bo..” You wheezed out loud, grabbing at his arm as he towed you forward, letting you sit up. You felt this before, his touch, but now there was a grip that felt unnatural, it burned with his touch, your limb could have practically gone limp, and yet he barely moved a muscle.

“Woah there, careful baby.” You stood up and he stepped back a bit giving you some space, laughing as you both realised one another, you sighed of relief of seeing his face, something so unlikely here, in the dead of night.

Now it threw you off no doubt, but it was Bo, the shopkeeper down the street who took his own time to help you, the one you looked out for every day, a couple run ins without an acquaintance could tell you he was a gentleman, and many knew that, even you.The store had been shut down for while and he practically had wiped off the face of the Earth. After the incident you heard about in the papers about the Juke Joint everyone kept their heads down, keeping to themselves, apart from those whispers. Like the ones you’d heard since you were young, but now they were prime, the riddle on everyones tongue like a sermon, like some part the new gospel.

However, after that one day, you couldn’t help but think of him, the way he stopped to help you, to pull you close, the way he eyed the structure of your body like it was the holy grail itself. Leaving you to question, what would have happened if you’d have stayed?  Maybe you hit your head that day, or perhaps it was the heat messing with you, but that didn’t change the heat you felt inside of you every time you thought about it, an aching, an uncontrolled urge with the way he rested against you, his hand near creeping up toward your thigh. And the way he looked at you now, breaking the silence, didn’t help your distress, 

“I dropped my lantern around here some place, give me a second sweetheart.”

He snickered, kicking the dirt around his feet to find the lamp,  and you stop there rocking on your heel unit he found it, picking it up and bringing it to the both of you. His eyes lulled at you, checking in as he pulled a matchbox from his pocket, reaching inside for one of them. He slid the box open and flicked one of the matches into his mouth, pausing to close the compartment. You could still make out the shading of his face, watching the way he moved, and the match in his mouth as he swiped it with his tongue, wrapping it tightly around so it wouldn’t fall. His gaze remained on you in the stillness, and as the tip guided along the top of his tongue, his eyes flashed starved with want. 

It created a glow, lighting the woods and your faces up orange, he crouched to pick up the lantern beside his feet, sealing the glow inside its glass case. 

“You could’a frightened me there.” You laughed off, trying to give some kind of lightness to what had just happened, spurring on conversation.

He held it close in his hands, enough to keep track of you and take a look around for any others, if there even was. “I didn’t mean to scare you darlin, probably shouldn’t have been wandering out here this late as it is myself, but thought I’d take a walk, it’s been one hell of a day.” You quirked an eyebrow now being able to focus on his face, eyes drawing to the corner of his dimples. His smile didn’t falter once, staying at the flat of his mouth, only gracing his face lightly, and beyond his surprise he seemed please. Pleased to see you. 

“Yeah I could have guessed.” You wiped your fingers at the corner of your mouth, gesturing to his own. He looked pretty beat up, just without the bruises, or without injury of any kind, but the thick strands of blood that pooled from his mouth proved otherwise.

His face contorted into some sort of shock at your look and he pinched at the drying substance, wiping it into his pants without as much as a look. The look he gave went blank for a moment, like he wanted to say something but refrained, like he was fighting something on the inside. 

“So why’re you out here this late?” He took a little step forward, stepping downward from the small, raised embankment he was on before, now at almost level with you, he hung the lantern in-between you both. You didn’t move, rather stilled in your step as he wandered over to you, his eyes squinting a little. “I usually come out here, on my own, it’s rare you see anyone down here past sundown.” You wondered why, why out here, and now. Everything seemed to go silent, enough to hear a pin drop, only that light breeze shaking up your skirts, and tousled his hair just enough to shag in his face, it was calm, gentle even, just like before - but Bo, he seemed out of place, shifting back and forth where he stood, yet confident still. More eager than before.

Like he was trying to make some sort of move. 

You continued to ramble and he smirked, “I haven’t seen you or the shop open around here in a while, are you sure you’re alright? There’s been a lot happening in town while you’ve been gone.”

“You noticed I been gone?” He shot back suddenly, the only thing registering, his lip curling a bit.

“Well, you guys own a much needed store in this town, it would be missed if it were to go untouched.” He took another step forward, watching you stumble over your words seemed rewarding. All this time he’d been around, seen you, wanting to do something, it’s not like he was scared to do it, and to tell the truth he didn’t really understand his infatuation at first. He’d seen you walk the streets, crossing by his shop window whenever you’d head into town, the times you’d visit and leave just as fast, cheeks blushing pink when you’d see him. And that’s what stayed with him. Things weren’t all that it seemed behind those four walls, his life felt withdrawn of colour, everything was weight.  But you, oh you were light, some beautiful sign, something he chased for, something he was determined to make his. And with his life now, he knew what that meant.

“You know what I mean. “ You feigned confidence in your words, now in reality that a truth, but in honesty, you knew it was more than that; much more.

He took another step forward, this time as you took one back, your heel clicked with the root of a tree, giving a thud as you braced both of your arms behind you, pushing you up as much as you could, feeling the rough bark at your finger tips. “You miss me?” His nature shifted, and his head tilted with it, swaying the lantern as he walked, a few steps distance between you both. The light flickered, so much so the shape of his face seemed to contort. 

And his eyes, they glossed over an iridescent white, glinting specks of red and orange, something that you hadn’t seen before. Something that wasn’t human. 

But you blinked and they were gone.

They were normal, a darker brown suited them, staring at you knowingly. “You could say that.” Your breath shook, but not out of fear, no, but instead the way he drew near, closer and closer. He flashed you a smile as you tried to think of the right words, but now his teeth.

Another blink.

And the once rounded molars were sharp and jagged, more like an animal, something made for tearing into flesh. And you felt your stomach drop and an ache that pooled downward, one you couldn’t control.

He staggered, dropping his head forward to look at the ground before looking up to you again. He rested his arm on the piece of tree behind your head, getting quieter, though his voice rang in your ears, ”Saw the way you looked at me back at the store, and I should have said somethin’.” 

“Bo, that was just-“ He took the final step between you, leaving the lantern at your feet, his finger came up to your mouth shushing you, knowing where you were going with what you said next, seemingly before you did. His eyes still had a distinct gentile in them, the same as the one you knew before, even beyond his new form. And no words had to be uttered to tell you what that was.

The truth you both knew. The limited glint from the light reflected from his eye to yours, and you could see your face in the shine. 

“You're telling me that was nothin’, that you didn’t think of about it,” A serious expression on his face, his brows furrowed, he brushed his fingers down against your side, drawing a line against the curve of your waist, “Not even once?”  His face flashed with a sense of pride, and the way his pupils dilated was proof of what knew to be true. Your hips jolted forward at the feather light touch and he brought his hand down to cup your thigh, giving it a soft squeeze. 

“Bo..” Your face grew red, so red someone would think you’d be laying in that beating sun all day long.

“Y/N.. Tell me.” 

Inches away from your face he pressed against you, slanting closer, his voice a staggered whisper, and his lips damp.

 “Ever since you saw me last..”  You looked down at them, seeing drool at the edges of them and you chuckled a little. He sucked in a keen breath as you scraped yourself against the tree, gaining balance, bringing your finger up to wipe at it.

“Hey, you’re droolin’”

“You want some?” Your head shot up at his quip, bangs of his hair falling into your face, your noses touching. You smiled through your flushed expression, the wetness gathered on your finger and he leaned to kiss as it lightly, drawing his tongue at the remnants. Bo moved his face closer so that your hand laid on his cheek, nuzzling his nose up against your own, he pressed himself against you rocking his hips.

Without an answer, you tugged his face towards yours, closing the gap between you, gasping into his mouth at the friction he was causing. His tongue pushed into your mouth with passion, lips locking with yours as he slotted his knee between you, cupping your sex against his pants, leaving no resistance with the sensation, and you pushed down with a whine.

“God baby..” He licked at your mouth, biting at your top lip fiercely, and he dragged down kissing at your jaw, leaving soft chaste, open mouthed marks toward your neck. His lips felt familiar, so much so they tugged at you, on your heart, so much it almost hurt.

“Please..” You whimpered as Bo’s teeth bared at your neck, along your jugular long enough to feel your heart rumble beneath the canines, feel it even. He sucked in a breath, planting a hard, marking kiss before continuing down. His hands manoeuvred down your shirt, pushing through the soft fabric, bracing his fingers over your breasts and pulling away at the buttons, undoing them one by one by one. And he placed himself on the ground kneeling in front of you. 

The tangerine tones scattered across your body like a reckoning, and he grasped with the sight of it, not knowing whether to sit and study or ruin you completely. His head rested against your lower stomach, almost begging you, his hands teasing up the backs of your legs, gripping you where you stood. Your mouth hung open, shivering at his motions. You watched, entranced, as he effortlessly lifted the hem of your skirts, pushing the fabric higher until it rested above your hips. With deliberate slowness, he tugged at the corners of your panties, peeling them down around your ankles. The cool air exposed your cunt, sending another wave of shivers through you as he began tracing the length of your thigh up and down with his tongue.

Your hips jolted forward, and he wasted no time in aimlessly yanking at your hips, his hands scooping up at the flesh of your ass holding you up just enough to reach your centre. Bo grunted as his mouth reached you, pulling you back and forth onto his tongue as he sucked on your clit, the tips of his fingers digging in as you brought your hand to his hair.

The black strands now turning into a disheveled mess in your grasp, there being no reservations at all about his drool slicking down the sides of his mouth as he was moaning into your cunt, fucking  his tongue into you, fingers continuing to dig into your hips. He gets lost in the way your breath hitches, the way you say his name - over and over again without abandon, and oh how he’s been waiting, wanting to hear that.

“That’s it pretty girl, I’ve got you.” He groans as your taste coats his tongue, thick with your sweet slick, the height of his newfound senses alerting with each and every movement, and he swears that its the best thing he’s tasted, beyond the blood. He plunged deeper and you could do nothing but follow with a string of moans. You fell apart against him, arching your back into his face as you guided him impossibly close, your head falling back against the wood behind you. All of this time, imagining, yearning and here you were now without a care in the world hissing at every touch he gave, every ounce of pleasure he was willing to give. 

His motions didn’t relent, mouth warming against you as his he flicked his tongue in figures of eight, only pausing to suck harshly, and it was too much.

Over and.

Over.

You came undone, a white hot strike vibrating through you and your legs trembled, clenching around him with a cry, “Baby..”.

That was enough for him and he nudged upward, cupping your one leg up to his hip and you circled it around his middle shamelessly. 

The thick humidity enveloped you as you panted, heart racing, when he finally came face to face with you once more. A wicked grin spread across his lips, his fangs catching the dim light. You shuddered, but it wasn’t fear that coursed through you; it was the anticipation of what was about to happen. 

He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, delicate kiss, and you instinctively squeezed your eyes shut. You were standing before a darkness, a malevolence you had been warned about for years—an evil you were all too familiar with, yet never imagined you could draw so close to but your whole being knew.

“I don’t know if I can stop myself.” He breathed out, all restraint he took against himself, resting his head falling against your shoulder, still kissing at the curve of your neck. But you already felt it, with your body pressed against his, you hissed at the motion of his dick pressing through his pants. You reached down to the hem of his shirt, fingers trembling as you pulled it up, revealing the taut muscles of his abdomen. The heat radiated from his skin, mingling with the dew around you, the atmosphere made your heart race.

 You could feel the tension building, the unspoken desires hanging in the air, thick and intoxicating you into a compulsion.

“I shouldn’t do this,” you whispered, though the conviction behind your words was faltering. Part of you wanted to push him away, to run from the danger he represented, yet another part—a part you couldn’t ignore—yearned to lean into the darkness he offered.

His lips ghosted over your collarbone, sending shivers down your spine. “But you want to,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, those dark eyes glinting with mischief and hunger. “You’ve felt it too, haven’t you darlin’? The pull between us?”

You inhaled sharply, the air thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth and his intoxicating presence. 

“Yes,” you admitted, a soft breath escaping your lips. “But it’s reckless. You could hurt me.”

His grin widened, a blend of danger and allure. “And I could do much more than that.” With a swift, fluid motion, he captured your wrist and pulled you closer, bodies flush against each other, the space between you ablaze with possibility. "But what if I promised to keep you safe?"

You hesitated, heart racing as your mind raced with the implications. Could you trust him? Your instincts screamed caution, yet your body betrayed you, yearning for his touch, for the thrill of the unknown.

As he leaned in again, brushing his lips just above yours, the world around you faded into insignificance. In this moment, it was just the two of you, teetering on the edge of danger and desire “Then show me,” you dared. “Show me what you can do.”

He hesitated for just a moment, as if weighing the gravity of your words, before his eyes darkened with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your neck, sending a rush of excitement coursing through you.

The moment his fangs pierced your skin, a sharp gasp escaped your lips and he bucked his hips forward. It was a mixture of pain and a wave of pleasure that stole your breath away. You felt a jolt of energy surge through you as he fed, the warmth of his body pressing against yours, igniting a fire deep in your core - your leg tightened around him.

He caressed your thigh, keeping you pinned between him and the tree and the other grabbing at what he could of your waist as he drank from you, his mouth moving with a sensuous rhythm that sent a heat radiating through your body. Mindlessly your fingers wrapped around his buckle, undoing the chipped metal with a clink that hardly met either one of your ears but he felt it. Your head slacked against the top of his, grabbing at his hips he groaned, and your wetness covered a patch against his clothed cock. 

You could feel your heartbeat thrumming in your ears, each pulse syncing with the deep, primal need that blossomed between you, feeling the same dizziness you felt weeks before, this time only stronger. His hands, his mouth, while mostly solid, feel tingly, cold in a way that's akin to walking through fog. His breath is warm as it huffs against your neck, a delicious push and pull of sensation. 

With a low growl, he pulled back from your neck slightly, his eyes glinting crimson, a reflection of the warmth of your blood glistened on his lips, a stark reminder of the line you had crossed. “You’re somethin’ honey, let me take care of that for you,” he breathed, his voice low and husk.

The pulse in your neck rippling with every beat of your heart as he rested his forehead against your own, darting his tongue out to kiss you again, giving you the taste of your own blood, now yours, now his.

Bo leered at you and you all you could muster was a dumb smile back. He undid the rest of what you started, eyes watching you and you only as he pulled his dick from his pants. Long, and thick, and leaking, he cursed to himself at the aching and moaned, kissing your cheek. The stretch ignited an intense burn and your hands travelled down his back, tugging at the tight muscle, feeling the weight of everything he put against you. 

He leaned you all the way against him to where you were nearly laying as though on a bed yet still angled as though lounging on upright against the tree. The new angle pushed his cock to the sweetest pull, pushing against your plush walls and letting a gasp escape you in turn. Bo smoothed the sides of your body while your feet turned under you and you let your body rest on him. He ran over your breasts slowly through the opening of your lace shirt. Nipples long and pebbled, he squeezed the flesh and brought them up before releasing them again. Bo brought his head to rest beside yours as he thrusted into you once more, blood curdling at your cheek from his mouth.

The wound at your neck stung, with every delicious snap of his hips it jerked your bodies, a solidified reminder now every time he pounded into you. Each snap hitting perfectly deep as his hands cradled you and his words filled your mind with him. 

“You’re my girl.” He declared before you could even conjure up the thought. “Say it darlin’.” He continued guiding his hand at your leg, hoisting you as he brought is finger to your clit, rubbing the sensitive bud, as his end neared.

“I’m yours.” You whined, bringing your finger to ghost atop his own as it circled your clit. The familiar heat in your core began to bubble like the markings of a burning fuse.  You turned your head to his and kissed him deeply at the thought, rubbing your clit furiously with the help of his hand and relishing the way his cock completed your body. 

“You’ll be mine.” Bo reaffirmed as his words caught every second his hips threatened to stutter at his release. “You’ll be mine forever ain’t that right.” 

You could have sworn you saw the waves of Heaven wash over you as the eruption of your orgasm shakes you to the core. The blinding shades of his orbs stuck on you leaving you heaving  for breath. Left thoughtless and wordless of promises that carry on with the shaking of your thighs and soft whispers of  an ‘always’ from his lips. Bo stilled as he released, head slacking and mouth hanging open he moaned, his hips stuttered into you and the threads of his cum began to leak beyond where he filled you. 

He released his hand from your own and rubbed your arms soothingly as you laid heavy against him, bracing you against the tree, his hand smoothing over your shoulders as to be careful. Sweat stuck to you as your hair frizzed out of place, the last droplets of blood dribbled out down your neck and he caught it with his finger. 

You let out a hiss at the sensation but pouted, he readjusted your skirts, letting his forehead rest against yours once more, closing his eyes as your head knocked into his own and he grinned lightly. And you regained what was left of your breath as your vision faltered, only able to see his face in the dim glow.

“Now you will be.” 

And a promise or a guarantee, who could know? But he intended to keep both.

[sooniebby]

The idea of a singer being a stalker instead of them being stalked is something that needs to explored more. Bonus, if the person being stalked isn’t particularly scared about it.

More specifically, the stalker being the reader. Bottom male reader.

A reader who’s always been watching his classmate since junior high school (middle school). The classmate wasn’t anyone special to others, average grades with average looks.

But you didn’t mind, him being average meant you didn’t have to fight for his attention. It was small things, just paying attention to his favorite foods and leaving them in his shoe locker.

Then slowly it blossomed. You made sure he got home safe. You found out what cram school he visited and made sure to leave snacks for him, can’t study on an empty stomach!

Increasingly, you noticed he began to get a bit paranoid, always looking behind himself. But he never made any effort to report you to the police or anything. Even when his friend suggested it at first, he practically shot it down fast.

However, after graduating to senior high school, you soon realized he wasn’t paranoid over you. He was getting bullied.

It didn’t take you long to handle it. Despite being a loner and a bit on the shorter side compared to the bully. There’s nothing a bully can do against castration. It’s quite easy to incapacitate someone who drinks a lot.

After, you expected him to act the same. And while he did—you noticed that he would look over at you in class. The first time it happened you practically had a panic attack and ran out of the classroom. He’s never looked at you at all despite the two of your being in the same class for four years straight.

You briefly wondered if he knew. Certainly acting like that would’ve confirmed his suspicions.

Luckily for you—he seemed to never look your way again. You’d know, you spend most of the day staring at him. When you finally graduated, you couldn’t be happy at all.

You’d failed to get into the university he applied to. Maybe you should’ve paid more attention to school. You were about to just come up with a back up plan when your sister said she wanted to go somewhere with you.

Just your luck, she tricked you in attending an audition at a music competition. You and her used to sing a lot as kids but you had stopped to focus on him. Of course, the devil was out to get you when you both managed to last until the final round.

Privacy wasn’t a thing for you after that. Your sister persuaded you to get signed at a company. Your parents as well since you technically had nothing else going for you—you did fail the exam for each college you tried at. (That was a lie, you had only applied to one)

Before you didn’t need to dress up to stalk him. You were pretty average as well—but now people recognized you. Especially because the company loved to advertise you as a “emo boy.” You took offense to that—just wearing black didn’t make you an emo.

But in any case, you had to start wearing clothes you wouldn’t be caught dead in. Watching him was harder this time… because he was surprising popular at his university. Everyone talked to him more often and invited him to hang out.

You didn’t understand, he didn’t change how he looked. In any case, you thought he was handsome first. You had dibs. It was getting increasingly difficult to just standby as men and women flirted with him.

Then your worst nightmare happened—he had a date. You stalked it, of course. Dressed in a bright pink shirt with white pants. Hair styled nicely compared to the mess you usually kept it. People really didn’t recognize you when you actually put effort into your looks.

You played with your knife as you watched them chat at the table across from you. The blade was too dull for your liking. Though you had only really used it to castrate that guy. And maybe… to scare off a few people in high school… but you’d never kill—seemed pointless.

As the date finally ended, you were pleased to see him turn down the girl’s offer to come to her place. You watched in satisfaction as she walked away dejectedly. She’s a pretty girl, she’ll find someone else.

You were too busy watching that you hadn’t even noticed someone behind you.

“I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Your body froze. You couldn’t move at all. A laugh left him as he tapped your shoulder.

“Are you going to run away again? I didn’t think you’d still stalk me after becoming a singer. You’re…”

You expected him to cuss you out but to your shock he said.

“Dedicated. Really dedicated. It’s cute.”

“A…what?” You whispered, slowly turning around to face him.

He was smiling at you. Smiling as if he was talking to a friend and not his stalker for over seven years. Was he insane?

Well you weren’t one to talk.

“Cute. I’m glad you didn’t run away this time. Here, gimme your LINE ID.” He said, pulling out his phone. You could only stare at him as he waved his phone. “C’mon, I’m speaking Japanese, yeah?”

“I… wait… are you—? Don’t you know I’ve been stalking you for almost eight years?”

“Mhm.”

“And that I almost followed you to your university? It wasn’t even a university I wanted to go, i don’t even know what I wanted, only if it had you.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you listening to me? I castrated a guy for you.”

“So that’s what you did… he wouldn’t tell me what happened at all,” he muttered, effectively ignoring everything else you did.

“….I followed you on a date, why aren’t you…” you couldn’t help yourself and grabbed his shirt, shaking him a bit. “This can’t be real. Why aren’t you scared?”

“You’re telling me things I already know.” He gazed down at you, his hand reached up and grasped the back of your head. “Why would I be scared if I liked it all?”

You blinked just as he kissed your cheek, a wide grin on his lips.

“You’ve watched me for this long,” he whispered, his hand slowly reaching down to grab your chin as he forced you to look up at him.

“But didn’t seem to notice that I was watching you too, (Name)-Chan.”

I’m bored so I made this longer than necessary. I always thought the idea of someone always having known they’re being stalked—making it easier for their stalker to learn stuff about them. That’s what he’s implying, btw. He didn’t stalk you, he just always noticed when you were watching him.

Reader isn’t a reliable narrator.

Tag list: @the-ultimate-librarian @tehyunnie @iwishtobeacrow @chill-guy-but-cooler @star-3214 @remdayz @mello-life25 @kiiyoooo @ofclyde @cherry-blossoms-187 @smellwell @euthymiko @rhetorical-conscience @tomoeroi @love-kha1 @secretivemessenger @mooncarvers-world @bensontrechic @yuzuukix @anchoredphoenix @roi-henri-xxii @m00n-b4b3 @ning1e

[burningembers91]

Sleeping With the Enemy - Hwang Jun-Ho x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Synopsis: tasked with taking down the most ruthless gangster in Seoul, Hwang Jun-Ho didn’t know he’d fall for his target’s wife in the process.

Please note that this storyline will deal with situations depicting domestic violence.

A/N: Did I come up with this idea at 1am when I couldn’t sleep? Yes. Did I also get up at 5am to write it as it was etched into my brain? Yes. Am I very tired? Also, yes. But this storyline is gonna be juicy as heck.

It was you who called the police. You, who in your wedding vows had sworn to love and protect you husband, just has he had sworn the same. He hadn’t bothered to keep his promise though, so why should you? The man you married was a ruthless tyrant, taking whatever he wanted with little regard for the devastation his actions caused. The police had been after him for years, desperate to catch the ruthless gangster who tormented the good people of Seoul. You’d be so young when you married him, swept up in the glitz and glamour of the high life he showed you. He’d promised you the world; you just hadn’t realised it would come at a cost.

You weren’t sure you’d ever loved your husband, and you knew he’d never loved you. You were an accessory on his arm, something necessary to bring along to meetings and parties, adorning you in the highest quality clothes and shoes for his colleagues and competitors to admire. He’d started hitting you shortly after your wedding, started showing his real colours when he was confident you couldn’t escape. You’d spent years cowering in his shadow, meekly accepting the designer gifts he bestowed upon you as an apology for treating you like dirt. You weren’t living anymore; you were simply existing.

Hwang Jun-Ho was assigned to your case, tasked with keeping the beautiful wife of the city’s most dangerous gangster safe. He’d been warned that you couldn’t be trusted; that this whole thing could be nothing more than a ploy to send the police off chasing their tails. But Jun-Ho knew from the moment he met you that you weren’t doing your husband���s bidding. You were stunning, dressed in Dior, Prada and dripping in Cartier diamonds. But those high end brands couldn’t mask the fear in your eyes. Just like the makeup couldn’t mask the bruises on your face. At first, he’d been sure this case would be the one he needed to skyrocket him to greater things. But one meeting with you and the boost this would give to his career was no longer his priority; you were. He’d been in this job for long enough that not much fazed him, but your stories had kept him up at night. Tales of your husband’s beatings, his drug deals, his human trafficking, Jun-Ho wondered how you’d endured it all. How you’d kept your wits and sanity while married to the devil himself.

He tried to keep things professional, tried to keep a distance, but you pulled him in like a moth to a flame. You were so fragile and yet so strong, so beautiful, so meek yet so brimming with confidence that it floored him every time. You’d meet in secret, when your husband was out of town on business, slowly giving Jun-Ho the evidence he needed to bring down the man you’d pledged your life to.

It was after your fourth meeting that he fucked you in the back of his car, your moans like the sweetest music to his ears as his took you on the leather seats. From that moment on, Jun-Ho knew there was no going back; he was hooked on you. From that moment on, you would meet each week, exchange information and then make love in his apartment. You smelled like Chanel No.5, and it permeated his bedsheets, keeping him company on the long nights without you. Your lipstick left stains on his skin, marking its way down his chest and thighs. The sound of your breathy moans were permanently etched on his brain, going round and round his head like the most beautiful broken record.

He wasn’t sure when infatuation turned into love. All he knew is that he would do anything for you. He would die for you if it would keep you safe. You were both under no illusion that you were playing a risky game, one that you were almost certain wouldn’t end well.

But for the first time in your life, you could confidently say you knew what love was. Jun-Ho showed you affection and care you’d only ever dreamt of. He made you laugh, made you feel safe, and when his lips explored your body, he made your toes curls in the most exquisite way imaginable.

Yes, you knew this wouldn’t end well. Your husband was not a man who forgave and forgot. But Jun-Ho was determined to keep you safe. He would find a way to break you free of the chains the devil had ensnared you in. He’d find a way to protect you from the man who kept you in constant fear. He didn’t know how this would end, but he knew that he would risk it all for you.

[flux1563]

Scandal Payment

Winter x big cock

Words : 6k

Tags : squirting, multiple orgasms, big cock, spanking, creampie, deep throat, cum in face

Winter sat cross-legged on her bed, her eyes glazed over as she stared at the glowing screen of her phone. The room was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the thunderous applause and screams that usually filled her ears during performances. Her heart raced, a wild stallion galloping through her chest, as she scrolled through the articles that had turned her world upside down. The headlines were a blur of accusations and betrayal. How had it come to this?

Her manager, Mr. Kim, knocked tentatively on the door, his voice a trembling whisper. "Winter, the CEO is here to see you. Are you ready?"

Winter took a deep, shaky breath and nodded, even though she felt anything but prepared. She knew the gravity of the situation, the weight of the scandal threatening to crush her career and her life. She had to face the music.

Mr. Park, the CEO of the agency, walked in with a solemn expression. He was a man who had seen the darkest side of the industry, his eyes reflecting a reservoir of unspoken secrets. He glanced at her, his gaze a mixture of pity and resignation. "Winter," he began, his voice a heavy sigh, "we've got a problem."

Her stomach twisted into a knot. She had been dreading this moment, the moment when her entire world could come crashing down around her. She had always worked so hard, striving for perfection in every move, every note, every smile for the cameras. And now, it could all be taken away because of one mistake.

"It's... it's not what it looks like," she stuttered, her voice barely above a whisper. But she knew the truth was written all over her face.

Mr. Park sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world rested upon them. "I know it's not easy for you," he said, his voice softer now. "But the damage is done. The company's reputation is at stake."

Winter's eyes widened in horror as she realized what he was implying. The scandal wasn't just about her anymore; it had become a battle for the agency's survival. Her heart pounded in her chest like a drum, echoing the fear that had taken root in her soul.

"What... what do you want me to do?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Mr. Park leaned forward, his eyes boring into hers with a fierce intensity. "I have one solution," he said, his voice a low growl. "One way to save both of us. It won't be easy, but it's the only way out."

Winter felt a chill run down her spine. She knew she was about to make a deal with the devil. But she was desperate, clinging to the last thread of hope.

"I'll do anything," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Mr. Park's eyes narrowed, a glint of something akin to victory sparkling in them. "One of our investors," he said slowly, "has made an offer. He's willing to help us cover up this... incident."

Winter felt the blood drain from her face. "What kind of help?" she asked, though she already knew what was coming.

"He wants you to be his... companion," Mr. Park said, his voice thick with the unspoken words. "If you agree to this arrangement, we can keep this scandal under wraps and your career can continue. You'll be under his protection, but you'll still be part of the company. You can still be an idol."

The room spun around her, the walls closing in as if the very air had turned to lead. A sex slave. That's what she was being offered as a lifeline. Winter felt the bile rise in her throat, the thought of giving up her body, her very being, to some faceless monster too much to bear. Yet, the alternative was unthinkable. Ruin, disgrace, and the end of everything she had worked for.

"You're asking me to sell myself," she managed to croak out, her voice a hoarse whisper.

Mr. Park nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "It's the only way," he said firmly. "It's either this or face the consequences. The choice is yours."

Winter felt like she was drowning, her thoughts racing faster than she could comprehend. Her mind was a tumultuous storm of fear, anger, and despair. But amidst the chaos, a flicker of defiance began to burn. She had worked too hard, come too far, to let it all slip away without a fight.

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth, her voice shaking with the weight of her words. "I'll do it."

The CEO's expression didn't change, but she could see the tension in his shoulders ease slightly. "Good," he said, his voice cold. "I'll arrange everything. You'll be informed of the details when it's all set."

Winter nodded numbly, her mind racing. How had it come to this? She had always been the good girl, the one who followed the rules, the one who had it all figured out. And now she was being sentenced to a life of servitude.

Days passed in a blur, each one more surreal than the last. Her world had shrunk to the confines of her room, where she waited for the message that would dictate her fate. It came in the form of a sleek black envelope slipped under her door. Inside, a simple note with an address and the words "Come to this private mansion. Wear only a jacket without anything fabric inside. Mr. Y/N is waiting."

Her heart pounded in her chest as she read the message over and over, trying to convince herself that this was just a nightmare, that she would wake up any moment. But the cold reality remained, seeping into her bones like a relentless frost.

The day arrived, and with it, the heavy weight of her decision. She showered, trying to scrub away the feeling of filth that clung to her skin. She slipped on the jacket, the chilly air of the early spring evening brushing against her bare skin beneath it. The fabric was all that stood between her and the unknown.

With trembling hands, she took a cab to the address provided. The mansion was a fortress of opulence, nestled in the heart of a quiet neighborhood. Its grandeur was a stark reminder of the power she was about to face.

Winter stepped out of the taxi, her legs threatening to buckle under the gravity of her situation. The massive gates swung open, revealing a long, winding driveway lined with meticulously trimmed hedges. The house loomed before her, its windows dark and mysterious, like the eyes of a predator watching its prey.

The door to the mansion opened, and a man in a tailored suit emerged, his face a stoic mask. He gestured for her to follow, and she took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. The door closed behind her with a finality that echoed through her soul.

The interior was like something out of a magazine, with gleaming marble floors and grand chandeliers casting dramatic shadows on the walls. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and a hint of something else, something darker and more sinister.

Mr. Y/N was waiting for her in a dimly lit drawing room, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He was older, with silver hair and a sharp jawline, his eyes as cold as the metal around his fingers.

"Welcome," he said, his voice like velvet over gravel. "I trust you've come to your senses."

Winter's stomach churned, but she forced a smile, her heart hammering in her chest. "Thank you for... helping me," she managed, her voice a shaky whisper.

He took a sip of his drink, his gaze never leaving hers. "Consider it an investment," he said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "An investment in your future."

The words sent a shiver down her spine. She knew what he meant. This wasn't just a one-time deal; she was being bought and paid for, a commodity to be used at his whim.

"Now," Mr. Y/N said, setting his glass down on a side table with a clink. "Let's get started, shall we?"

Winter's mind rebelled, but her body obeyed. She knew she had made her choice, and there was no going back now. As she followed him up the grand staircase, she couldn't help but feel like she was climbing the steps to her own personal hell.

When they reached the top, Mr. Y/N turned to face her, his eyes darkening as they swept over her bare skin. "Open the jacket," he instructed, his voice a low growl.

Her hands trembled as she slowly unbuttoned the jacket, revealing herself to him. She felt exposed, vulnerable, a piece of meat on display for his perusal. The cold air in the mansion nipped at her skin, making her shiver.

Mr. Y/N took a step closer, his eyes lingering on her body like a connoisseur examining a fine piece of art. "Very good," he murmured, his voice a caress that made her skin crawl. "Now, let's go to your new quarters."

He led her down a long hallway lined with closed doors, each one a potential nightmare waiting to be unlocked. Finally, he stopped at one and opened it, revealing a plush, velvet-covered room that looked more like a prison cell than a bedroom.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of flowers, almost cloying in its sweetness. The walls were lined with mirrors, reflecting her image back at her from every angle, a constant reminder of the deal she had made.

Mr. Y/N's eyes raked over her, a hunger in his gaze that made her stomach churn. He took another step closer, his breath warm against her cheek as he reached out to trace the line of her neck with one finger. "You're more beautiful than I imagined," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

Winter felt his hands slide down her body, the fabric of her jacket whispering against her skin as he pushed it off her shoulders. It fell to the floor, leaving her naked and trembling before him. His gaze dipped to her breasts, his pupils dilating as he took in the sight of her hardened nipples.

Without a word, he leaned in, his mouth closing over one sensitive peak. He sucked hard, his teeth grazing the tender flesh, and she couldn't help the gasp that tore from her lips. The sensation was almost unbearable, a mix of pleasure and pain that had her body responding despite her mind's protest.

He moved to the other side, giving her no reprieve, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub before he bit down, eliciting a whimper. Her body was a traitor, arching towards him, craving more of the exquisite agony he was inflicting.

The room spun around her, the world narrowing to the feel of his mouth on her body. She felt his hands on her hips, guiding her back towards the bed, and she knew what was to come next. But she couldn't stop it, couldn't even bring herself to protest as he pushed her down onto the soft, velvet surface.

Mr. Y/N's eyes gleamed with victory as he climbed over her, his body pressing her into the mattress. He trailed kisses down her torso, each one leaving a fiery path in its wake. When he reached her navel, he paused, his tongue flicking out to taste her.

Winter's breath hitched as his mouth moved lower, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. His hands gripped her hips, holding her in place as his mouth found her most intimate spot. She wanted to scream, to push him away, but she was paralyzed with fear and a perverse excitement that she despised herself for feeling.

He took his time, savoring her like a fine wine, his tongue dancing around her clit with a skill that belied his age. She felt herself responding, her body betraying her once more as she grew wetter, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

And then, just when she thought she couldn't take it anymore, he stopped, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror above the bed. "You're mine now," he said, his voice a dark promise. "And I intend to enjoy every inch of you."

Winter's body was a live wire, her nerves singing with the anticipation of what was to come. She felt his hand slide down her stomach, his fingers delving into her wetness, and she couldn't help but arch her back in response. He chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down her spine, and then his mouth was back on her, his tongue lapping at her clit with an intensity that stole her breath away.

Her body tensed, her muscles coiling tight as a spring. And then, with a suddenness that took her by surprise, she felt it. The warm rush of liquid that spurted from her, soaking his face as she lost control. Mr. Y/N's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he licked at her, savoring the taste of her submission.

The sensation was overwhelming, the most intense thing she had ever felt. It was as if her entire being was concentrated in that one point of pleasure, exploding outwards in a shower of sensation. Her legs trembled, her body shaking with the force of her release.

Mr. Y/N pulled away, his face glistening with her arousal. He licked her lips, his eyes never leaving hers in the mirror. "Magnificent," he murmured, his voice a low rumble of approval.

Winter felt a twist of shame, but it was quickly overshadowed by the realization of what she had just done. She had squirted for this man, this stranger who now owned her. It was a humiliating reminder of her new reality, one that sent a jolt of arousal through her body despite herself.

He climbed off the bed, his erection straining against his pants as he moved to a closet and pulled out a set of restraints. "Time to get comfortable," he said, his smile cold and predatory.

Her heart racing, she watched as he approached the bed, the restraints jangling in his hand. She knew she had no choice but to submit, to become the plaything he desired. She allowed him to bind her wrists to the bedposts, the leather biting into her skin as he secured them tightly.

Mr. Y/N's eyes gleamed as he surveyed his handiwork. "Now," he said, his voice a low growl, "we can truly begin."

He unbuttoned his shirt with deliberate slowness, revealing a chest that was as hard and unyielding as the rest of him. His pants followed, pooling at his ankles to reveal the monstrous erection that strained against his boxers. Winter couldn't tear her eyes away, a mix of fear and fascination warring within her.

With a smirk, he pushed his underwear down, freeing his cock. It was massive, a thick, veiny beast that stood proud and erect before her. At least twelve inches of pure, unadulterated power, a symbol of his dominance over her. She had never seen anything so big, so intimidating. Her eyes widened as he stroked it, watching as it grew even larger.

Mr. Y/N stepped closer to the bed, his cock mere inches from her face. "This," he said, his voice a velvet caress, "is what you're going to serve from now on. You're going to take it any way I want it, whenever I want it."

Winter's breathing grew shallow as she stared at the imposing member before her. She had never felt so small, so powerless. Yet, a strange thrill coursed through her, a dark excitement that she didn't want to admit to herself.

He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between her legs. Her heart hammered in her chest like a wild beast trying to break free. The weight of his body was like a mountain pressing her into the mattress.

"Open your mouth," he ordered, his hand guiding her chin up.

Winter stared at the massive cock in front of her, the tip glistening with precum. "It's so big," she said, her voice trembling. "I don't think it can fit."

Mr. Y/N chuckled darkly. "You'll manage," he assured her, his voice filled with the promise of painful pleasure.

With a deep breath, she parted her lips, feeling the head of his cock brush against them. It was hot and heavy, the pressure making her mouth water with a mix of fear and anticipation. He pushed forward, and she felt the tip enter her mouth, stretching her lips wide. His hands were in her hair now, guiding her, urging her to take more.

"Relax," he murmured, his voice a dark whisper in the quiet room. "Take it slow."

Winter did as she was told, her eyes never leaving the mirror. She watched as his cock slid deeper, inch by inch, her mouth stretching to accommodate his girth. Her teeth grazed the sensitive skin, and she tasted the saltiness of his desire.

The feel of his cock filling her mouth was almost too much, the sensation overwhelming her senses. She could feel the veins pulsing beneath her tongue, the power in his grip as he held her head in place. He began to thrust gently, pushing her boundaries with every stroke.

Panic began to bubble in her chest as she struggled to breathe, her throat tightening around him. "I... I can't," she gasped, her eyes pleading in the reflection.

But Mr. Y/N was relentless, his eyes dark with hunger. "You'll learn," he said, his voice a low growl. "You'll learn to take it all."

He pushed deeper, the head of his cock touching the back of her throat. She gagged, her eyes watering, but he didn't stop. Instead, he began to fuck her mouth, his hips rocking in a slow, steady rhythm.

Winter's eyes widened as she felt her throat opening for him, the muscles relaxing despite her fear. She took a deep, shaky breath through her nose, focusing on the feeling of his cock sliding in and out, the way it filled her up.

To her surprise, she found herself growing wetter, the sensation of being used, of being his to do with as he pleased, turning her on in a way she had never experienced before.

Her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions – fear, anger, humiliation, and a dark, pulsing need. She hated herself for it, but she couldn't deny the way her body was responding to his dominance.

And as he continued to use her mouth, pushing her further than she ever thought possible, she realized that she had made a deal with the devil. And she was about to pay the price in full.

Winter's saliva began to dribble from the corners of her mouth, trickling down her chin and onto her chest. She felt the warmth spread across her skin, a stark contrast to the coldness of the room. It was a humiliating reminder of her new role, a symbol of her degradation that seemed to only fuel Mr. Y/N's desire. He watched the droplets with a hunger that made her stomach turn and her pussy throb in equal measure.

"You're doing very well," he murmured, his voice thick with lust as he praised her efforts. "Your mouth is so tight, so eager to please me."

As his praise continued, she felt something shift within her, a strange pride swelling in her chest. Despite the fear and disgust, she found herself eager to make him happy, to satisfy his hunger. His grip on her hair tightened, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he approached climax.

Suddenly, just as she felt the pressure of his cock about to burst within her, he pulled out, his hand coming to rest on her cheek. The head of his cock hovered before her, the veins bulging and pulsing with the force of his impending release.

With a guttural groan, Mr. Y/N pulled back and sprayed her face with his hot, sticky cum. It hit her like a warm, wet slap, coating her cheeks, her nose, and her mouth. Winter's eyes widened with shock, but she couldn't help the way her tongue darted out to catch a rogue drop that had landed on her bottom lip.

He watched her, his eyes never leaving hers in the mirror, as he painted her face with his seed. She felt a mix of revulsion and arousal, a confusing cocktail that left her trembling and breathless. When he was done, he leaned in, his cock still semi-hard and glistening with the remnants of his release.

"Look at yourself," he said, his voice a harsh whisper. "Look at what you've become."

Winter stared at her reflection, her eyes red-rimmed and her face a mess of cum. She had never felt so exposed, so utterly owned. And yet, there was something undeniably erotic about it, something that had her body begging for more.

"Now, get on all fours," Mr. Y/N ordered, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down her spine.

With trembling legs, she complied, her knees hitting the plush carpet with a soft thud. The coldness of the room was a stark contrast to the heat between her legs, her pussy aching for his touch. As she positioned herself, she couldn't help but feel like a creature at his mercy, a pet awaiting its master's command.

He climbed off the bed, his eyes never leaving her. She watched in the mirror as he walked over to a nearby dresser, his erection still at half-mast. He opened a drawer, the sound of leather and metal clinking together reaching her ears. Her heart raced, her breathing shallow and fast as she waited for what was to come.

When he turned back to her, he was holding a riding crop. The sight of it sent a fresh wave of fear and excitement through her. "You're going to learn to be a good girl," he said, his voice a dark promise. "And this will help."

He approached the bed, the crop swishing through the air as he walked. "Spread your legs," he instructed, his eyes cold and calculating.

Winter did as she was told, her thighs parting to expose her wet pussy. She felt vulnerable, like prey caught in the sights of a predator. He stepped closer, the scent of leather and his cologne wrapping around her like a noose.

He trailed the tip of the crop along her spine, the sensation sending goosebumps racing across her skin. She couldn't help but arch her back, presenting herself to him like the whore she had become.

Without warning, the crop came down hard on her ass, the sting making her yelp. The pain was a shock, a bolt of lightning that sent her senses reeling. But it was quickly followed by a pulse of pleasure that had her pussy clenching around nothing.

Mr. Y/N chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched her squirm. "Again," he said, the crop rising and falling with a sickening thwack.

Winter bit her lip, the pain turning to fire as he struck her again and again. But with every blow, the heat grew, the flames of desire licking at her core until she was a writhing mess of need and desperation.

"Fuck," she panted, her voice high and tight. "It's too big. It won't fit."

Mr. Y/N chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. "Don't worry," he said, his voice a dark whisper. "We'll make it fit."

He set the crop aside, his eyes never leaving hers in the mirror. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he reached down and stroked her swollen clit. The pleasure was instant, a spark that ignited the bonfire of her lust. He circled the sensitive nub with his thumb, watching her reactions with a clinical interest.

Her eyes rolled back in her head, her body trembling as she moaned, her pussy clenching and unclenching in anticipation. He took his time, building the fire until she was begging for release, her hips bucking back towards his hand.

And then, without warning, he stopped, his cock nudging at her entrance. It was a blunt, thick presence that made her gasp.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine.

Winter nodded, her body trembling with anticipation. She knew this was the moment she had been dreading, the moment she would be truly claimed.

Mr. Y/N gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as he pushed forward. She felt the tip of his cock breach her, the pressure almost unbearable.

"Relax," he murmured, his voice a dark caress. "Take a deep breath and push back."

With a whimper, she did as she was told, feeling the head of his cock pop inside her. The pain was like a knife, stealing her breath and making her eyes water. But she didn't stop, didn't pull away, driven by a need she didn't fully understand.

He pushed further, inch by torturous inch, until she was stretched to the limit. Her muscles protested, her pussy screaming for relief. But the pain was mixed with a pleasure so intense it was almost indistinguishable.

"Please," she gasped, her voice a desperate plea. "I can't..."

But he was relentless, his eyes never leaving hers in the mirror. "You can," he said, his voice a harsh command. "You will."

And with one final, brutal thrust, he seated himself fully inside her, his balls slapping against her ass. She felt like she was being split in two, the agony and ecstasy blending into one overwhelming wave that crashed over her.

Mr. Y/N didn't give her time to adjust, his hips moving in a punishing rhythm that sent shockwaves through her body. The pain grew with every thrust, but so did the pleasure, a twisted dance that had her moaning his name.

"You're so tight," he groaned, his grip on her hips tightening. "So perfect."

Winter's eyes widened in the mirror, the pain of his entry like a brand seared into her very soul. She had never felt so full, so stretched, so... violated. But even as the agony tore through her, she felt her pussy clench around him, her body's natural response to the intrusion.

"Fuck, Mr. Y/N," she whimpered, her voice a desperate plea.

He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back as he whispered in her ear. "Call me 'Master'. It's what you're here for."

The word was like a slap across the face, the reality of her situation hitting her with the force of a freight train. She was no longer Winter, the beloved idol. She was a sex toy, a plaything for this monster.

"M-Master," she corrected, her voice shaking.

His thrusts grew more forceful, his cock pounding into her like a hammer against an anvil. Each stroke sent a fresh wave of pain through her, making her scream.

"FUCKKK, MY PUSSY WAS TORN," she screamed, the pain so intense it stole her breath away.

Mr. Y/N's only response was a growl of satisfaction, his pace never faltering. She felt her insides tear, her body protesting the brutal invasion, but she knew it was too late to turn back now. She had made her deal with the devil, and she would see it through.

The room was a blur of pain and pleasure, the two intertwining until she couldn't tell one from the other. Her mind was a whirlwind of fear, anger, and a dark, twisted desire that had her panting for more.

With every thrust, she felt herself slipping further and further away from the girl she once was, her identity fading like a distant memory. But even as the pain grew, so did the thrill, the excitement of being used so completely.

Her orgasm built, a crescendo of sensation that threatened to shatter her into a million pieces. "Master, please," she begged, her voice a ragged whisper. "I'm going to come."

Mr. Y/N chuckled, his grip on her hips tightening. "Cum for me," he ordered, his voice a dark rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. "Squirt for me."

Winter's eyes widened as he pulled his cock out of her, the sudden emptiness making her gasp. But she knew what he wanted, what he was waiting for. With a cry of pure abandon, she pushed back against his hand, her pussy clenching around his fingers as she came.

The release was explosive, a geyser of liquid that spurted from her, soaking the bed beneath her. Her body convulsed, her muscles tightening and releasing in waves of pure pleasure. It was like nothing she had ever felt before, a powerful, primal force that seemed to consume her.

Mr. Y/N watched with a hungry gaze, his eyes never leaving hers in the mirror. "Beautiful," he murmured, his voice filled with awe. "You're a natural."

Winter's cheeks flushed with a mix of pride and embarrassment. She had never felt so exposed, so utterly vulnerable. But she couldn't deny the thrill of his praise, the way it made her pulse race.

He slammed back into her, the sudden intrusion making her gasp. The angle was different now, the head of his cock hitting a spot deep inside her that had her toes curling with every thrust. It was like he had found a secret button, one that sent her hurtling towards the edge of oblivion.

With his free hand, Mr. Y/N reached around and slapped her ass, the sound echoing through the silent room. "Tell me," he growled, his breath hot against her ear. "Tell me what you want. Tell me how it feels."

Winter's eyes rolled back in her head, her mind a haze of pain and pleasure. "I want... I want it all," she moaned, the words spilling from her lips like a confession. "I want you to use me, to fill me up."

He slapped her again, the sting making her pussy clench around him. "And how does it feel?" he demanded.

"It feels..." she gasped, her voice trailing off as she searched for the right words. "It feels like... I'm on fire. Like I'm being torn apart and put back together."

Mr. Y/N's hand came down again, the pain turning her words into a scream. "Again," he said, his voice a harsh whisper. "Tell me again."

"It feels amazing," she managed, her voice hoarse. "It feels like... like nothing I've ever felt before."

The slap of his hand on her ass grew more rhythmic, matching the tempo of his hips. "And do you want more?" he asked, his voice a low, dark rumble.

Winter could feel the orgasm building, a pressure that threatened to consume her. "Yes," she panted. "More, Master. Please."

With a smirk, he reached between her legs, his thumb finding her clit. He began to rub in tight circles, the added sensation pushing her closer to the brink. "Beg for it," he said, his voice a command.

"Please," she whispered, the word a desperate plea. "Please, I need it."

He increased his pace, the friction of his thumb driving her wild. "Say it," he demanded. "Tell me what you need."

"I need your cock," she gasped, her voice a needy whine. "I need you to fuck me, to make me squirt again."

The words were like a trigger, and she felt it building, the pressure growing until she couldn't hold it back any longer. With a scream, she came again, her pussy pulsing around him as he continued to pound into her.

Mr. Y/N's breath grew ragged, his own release close. He pulled out, the wet sound making her whimper. "Look at me," he ordered, his voice strained.

Winter managed to lift her head, her eyes meeting his in the mirror. "Master," she whispered, her voice shaking.

He stroked himself, his hand a blur as he worked his cock. "Tell me," he said, his voice tight with need. "Tell me how much you want it."

"I want it," she moaned, her pussy still clenching in the aftermath of her climax. "I want it all."

Mr. Y/N chuckled darkly, the sound a stark contrast to the desperation in her voice. He positioned the tip of his cock at her entrance once more, watching her with a hunger that seemed to consume him. "You're going to take it," he said, his eyes never leaving hers in the mirror. "You're going to take it all."

With one powerful thrust, he was back inside her, filling her completely. Winter's eyes rolled back in her head, the pleasure so intense it was almost painful. She could feel herself stretching around him, her body trying to accommodate his massive size.

"Fuck," she whimpered, her voice a desperate plea. "It's too much."

Mr. Y/N leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back as he began to fuck her with a ferocity that stole her breath. "Is it?" he asked, his voice a low growl. "Is it really too much?"

Winter's eyes met his in the mirror, the need in his gaze reflecting the tumult of emotions churning within her. "No," she gasped, the word torn from her lips. "It's... it's not enough."

The room was filled with the slap of skin against skin, the sound of their ragged breathing. Her moans grew louder, the pleasure building like a storm within her. She had never felt so alive, so consumed by another person.

With every stroke, she felt herself slipping further and further into darkness, into a world where pleasure and pain were one and the same. She had never been so lost, so utterly at the mercy of another.

Mr. Y/N's hand came down on her ass again, the pain making her jolt. "You're mine," he said, his voice a dark promise. "You're mine to use, to break, to build back up again."

Winter's body responded to his words, her pussy clenching around him like a vise. "Yes," she whispered, her voice a ragged confession. "I'm yours."

He slammed into her, the force of his thrusts making the bed shake beneath them. "Good girl," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "Such a good, obedient little slut."

Winter's eyes squeezed shut, the sting of his words only adding to the whirlwind of sensation. She didn't want to be a slut, didn't want to be used like this, but she couldn't deny the way her body responded to his commands. Her pussy clenched around him, her orgasm building with every brutal penetration.

"Yeah," she panted, her voice a desperate plea. "Keep fucking me, Master. Make me forget."

The pressure grew, a tight coil of need that threatened to shatter her into a million pieces. She could feel herself slipping away, her mind a blank canvas of sensation. The pain in her ass, the fullness in her pussy, the burning in her throat from screaming his name – it was all she knew, all she was.

And then it hit her, the orgasm ripping through her like a tornado. She felt her pussy spasm around his cock, her muscles contracting in a symphony of pleasure. "Master," she screamed, her voice hoarse. "I'm cumming!"

Mr. Y/N chuckled darkly, his thrusts never slowing. "I know," he said, his voice a low growl. "And I'm going to keep fucking you until you can't think anymore."

Her vision swam, the world around her fading into a haze of ecstasy. The only thing that remained was the feeling of his cock pounding into her, the sound of his slaps echoing in her ears. She was lost, adrift in a sea of pleasure that seemed to have no end.

"Cum for me," he ordered, his voice a harsh command that sent shivers down her spine. "Cum until you can't move."

Winter felt her body respond, her pussy spasming around him as she climaxed again. The pleasure was so intense it was almost painful, a never-ending wave that crashed over her again and again. She didn't know how much more she could take, didn't know if she would survive this.

But even as she thought it, she felt the need building once more, the hunger growing insatiable. She was a creature of pure instinct, a living embodiment of lust.

With a final, brutal thrust, Mr. Y/N released his hold on her, his cum flooding her insides. She felt herself contract around him, her orgasm milking him for every last drop. It was a powerful, primal feeling that left her trembling and exhausted.

As he pulled out of her, she collapsed onto the bed, her body limp and spent. The only sound in the room was their harsh breathing, a testament to the intensity of what had just transpired.

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Britney Spears - Gimme More 2007

"Gimme More" is a song by American singer Britney Spears, released on August 31, 2007, as the lead single from her fifth studio album, Blackout. It was co-written by Jim Beanz, Marcella "Ms. Lago" Araica, Nate "Danja" Hills and Keri Hilson, and was also produced by Danja. It received critical acclaim and peaked at number three on the US Billboard Hot 100, becoming Spears' second highest-peaking single at the time. It also peaked at the top of the charts in Canada, also charting with top-five positions in 14 countries.

Spears first performed "Gimme More" at the 2007 MTV Video Music Awards on September 9, 2007, wearing a black, jewel-encrusted bikini. The performance was panned by many critics, who commented extensively on her singing, dancing and wardrobe, with one deeming it as "one of the worst to grace the MTV Awards". The day after, Cara Cunningham (then known as Chris Crocker) uploaded a video on Youtube in response to the criticism titled "Leave Britney Alone!", which made her an Internet celebrity and attracted attention from the media. An editor for Youtube said "the melodramatic two-minute clip made Crocker an instant Youtube star" and named it one of the top videos of 2007. Wired named it the top video of 2007.

"Gimme More" has been sampled in many songs, including Girl Talk's "Give Me a Beat" (2008) and Charles Hamilton's "Devil in a Light Pink Dress" (2009). In the episode "Michael Scott Paper Company" of the television series The Office, the character of Michael Scott is driving his convertible listening to Lady Gaga's "Just Dance" (2008). When he stops the car, he looks into the camera and says "It's Britney, bitch", mistaking Gaga for Spears. Spears and will.i.am's single "Scream & Shout" samples the phrase "Britney, bitch!". Rapper Jay-Z sampled the line "It's Britney, bitch!" in "BBC", a song on his 2013 album Magna Carta Holy Grail. The song appears in the 2019 American crime drama film Hustlers and appears as part of the track list for Just Dance 2024 Edition. The song also appeared as a soundtrack on Grand Theft Auto V on the radio station Non Stop Pop FM.

"Gimme More" received a total of 82,5% yes votes! Previous Britney Spears polls: #4 "Toxic", #300 "Break the Ice".

[kingkat12]

fuck-me eyes and first times (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, piv sex, loss of virginity, inexperienced sex?, oral sex (female receiving), mutual masturbation, awkward real moments lol, dry-humping, use of contraceptives, drunk driving, Roman using his powers for good?, blood, FLUFF, a dash of angst

summary: you've been unlucky with your first times all your life-- but tonight, you're sleeping with the equivalent of your shooting star.

word count: 12,140 (i love you guys, do u see)

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°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･seven minutes in heaven masterlist

a/n: FINALLY THEY’RE FUCKING ISTG?? tihiii this is a bit of a different chapter!! i'm dead tired of reading smut where everything goes perfectly the first time and they barely communicate, so hopefully this will be a bit more realistic (hopefully!!) sorry for the wait, and hope you enjoy!!!!!!;)

The first time I broke a bone, I kicked my foot into the wall in a fit of rage.

The first time I got an A on a test, I cheated by writing the answers under my skirt. 

And the first time I lost a friend? That was the story of how I got here in the first place.

To say my track record for first times was bad, was an understatement. I didn't see myself as an angel of the world. However, as I glanced to the side for a brief moment at an intersection, I looked directly at the man who'd often joke he was the devil. Roman had spread out in the passenger seat, still a little drunk as his long legs rested against the dashboard. It didn't matter how many times I told him to take them down, that if I were to crash his car he'd fold in two and die-- he didn't care. 

We were still a little intoxicated from the party, but I was in a better condition than him, which was why I was driving; something he'd never let me do if he wasn't in this state. Roman's head lolled back against his seat, his eyes closing as he hummed along to the music. Space Song by Beach House was always my favorite song to drive to at night, and I was glad he seemed to like it as well.

The first time I heard this song, I had been driving home after getting introduced to Letha at a party. I was over the moon, happy to have finally found a person in this wretched town that I could enjoy the company of. I had been so dreadfully bored of all the others. 

Letha was a good hugger. A good listener-- never scared to tell the truth, especially as we grew closer.

"Roman is my baby cousin, I love him to death, but damn he can be annoying," she had said, smiling at me as she leaned against the kitchen counter. "The amount of friends I have lost to him is just crazy. Every single one seems to fall over like dominoes whenever he's around, and honestly? I don't get it. Maybe it's because we're related and all, but there has to be a fucking limit to how many times something like this can happen? How many times can he sleep with my friends and get away with it? Him doing that is the same as me sleeping with Peter, it's just not okay! I would never fucking do that! This situation is becoming hysterical, to be honest."

I remember frowning-- "Hysterical?"

"Yeah... If I wasn't so pissed at him, I'd just laugh at the absurdity," Letha's green eyes remained kind despite the heaviness of the topic. "But at the end of the day, I'm glad I get to keep you to myself. My previous friends were nothing compared to you."

Letha's words were sweet, but something felt off. I smiled as I spoke, hoping to keep my query a light one; "What do you mean, keep me to yourself? Gonna chain me up, Letha?" I gave her shoulder a nudge as she laughed. 

"Not like that, you freak! I mean that Roman doesn't seem interested in you at all, so I feel safe that you'll stay. And if he were to be, you'd never do anything like that to me," She put away her empty can of beer, and something in her eyes shifted just a smidge-- I wouldn't have caught it if my senses hadn't been sharpened by the mention of his lack of interest in me. 

"... Right?" Letha asked, urging a response. It seemed to dawn on her that she sounded on the brink of bitterness, and she broke out into an even wider smile to compensate; "You don't seem like the type to sleep with my cousin, but maybe I'm wrong?"

"Never," was what I had answered that night.

Never... Gosh, I was delusional to think I could behave. 

Once again, I glanced at Roman at the next red light, watching the way one strand of hair strayed from his stylings and laid in a soft wave over his forehead. He opened his big, green eyes, smirking as he realized he was being watched-- "Eyes on the road,"

It was embarrassing how fast I blushed. I quickly nodded, gripping the steering wheel harder as I fixated on the red light above us. "Was it the next intersection I needed to get off on?" I asked, hoping not to linger on the subject of my peeking. "Could you maybe turn on the GPS on my phone just in case you fall asleep?"

"I'm not sleeping," Roman prompted, holding out his hand to take my phone.

As I reached for it in my back pocket, I felt it vibrate as the lights turned green. I gave Roman my phone, in a rush to not miss the light even though we were the only ones on the highway. "Who's calling?" 

Roman didn't answer me-- I pieced together who it was when he started greeting my mom.

Oh no. 

I freed one hand from the steering wheel, trying to get a hold of my phone as Roman quietly laughed at my attempt. I didn't succeed; "Yeah, she's here," he said, grinning as he motioned for me to keep driving. "I hoped to have her stay over at my place tonight, as my mother is desperate to meet your lovely daughter."

I rolled my eyes, mouthing a simple fuck you. Roman had to bite down on his lip to suppress a laugh-- we both knew his mom was out of town and that his intentions were far from anything as pure as to introduce me to her. 

My mom seemed flustered by his pleasantries on the other side of the phone, but I couldn't make out the specifics of what she was saying. It didn't sound like she was objecting, though. 

Roman nodded along as he turned down the music on the stereo and (finally) removed his legs off the dashboard. "No, of course, I wouldn't dream of giving your daughter any alcohol! Yes-- Yes, we were at a party just now, but we're both sober as rocks!" He glanced at me, mischief dancing in the green of his eyes.

The look on his face now was priceless. Although he was lying to my mom right up her face (her ear?), he still looked damn charming as always.

"Uh-huh..." Roman mumbled, now reciting his phone number at her request. "We'll probably be up having dinner, so you can call me anytime if you have any questions!-- Yes, I know it's late to have dinner, but my mother is European like that. Your daughter is in good hands, don't worry!"

I rolled my eyes once more, knowing how fond my mom was of him and how easily she'd eat all of this up. When Roman finally got off the call, he broke out into a string of laughter-- "Your mom is so damn sweet, but I can tell she's terrified we'll have sex. It seems you've taken after her,"

"I'm not terrified!" I whined, turning left to get off the highway.

He snorted; "I was two seconds away from telling her I have a stash of condoms, and that she shouldn't worry about having to take care of a mini-me when you leave for college,"

I did my best not to blush-- this conversation was getting more and more suggestive. "Shut up," I mumbled. "I'm not terrified."

Roman's eyes softened as he sat back in his seat and watched me drive his car. I knew I was giving away my true feelings regarding the matter with the way I was anxiously tapping my fingers against the steering wheel. I continued; "I just had you locked in a closet trying to convince you I'm not. It's not that big of a deal,"

"Relax, I'm just teasing you," Roman ran his fingers through his hair, gazing into the rearview mirror to check how messed up it had gotten. His red car had an open roof, after all. He sighed, trying to choose his next words wisely. "Not a big deal, you say?"

"Well..." I was unsure whether to be honest or not.

Roman nodded, looking out at all the trees passing us by. His silence was unnerving, and I turned up the music to tune it out. I couldn't stand this. Something in him switched; Maybe he was upset that I said it wasn't a big deal? Or maybe he was realizing it was a big deal to him? I needed to change the subject; "This is the right direction, no? I feel like I'm just driving deeper into the forest--"

"I've never told you this, but after the first time we kissed, I kept having the same dream where never left the seven minutes in heaven closet," Roman placed his head in the palm of his hand as he leaned his elbow against the car door, sighing. "Over and over, every night. Nearly drove me mad. And in the dream, there were no seven minutes, no time limit. So it was just you and I, and we were going at it like fucking crazy."

I held my breath, my eyes widening further with every sentence. What? Was he drunk-rambling or was this something else?

Roman sighed again, attempting to relax as he closed his eyes and stilled in his seat. Like this, I could nearly mistake him for being asleep. "It all started with me wanting to fuck you," he mumbled. "But every night, at the end of the dream, I got greedy... Because suddenly, I also wanted you to love me." 

Had I not been good at keeping calm, I would've probably crashed the car into the nearest tree. I didn't get much time to process, to feel the weight of his confession, until Roman snapped out of it like a character taken straight out of an animation, now sitting up; "Turn here,"

I drove up to a huge gate, stopping the car as I tried to steady my breathing. "Roman--"

"Two seconds," he said, getting out of the car to walk up to the intercom. He was as good as normal now.

I was left still gripping the steering wheel for dear life, my mouth opening and closing as I tried to find the right words. I watched as Roman typed in a code, and the massive gate slowly opened as he jumped back into the car. 

My breath was still held in my chest as I turned to him, eyes wider than plates of expensive china. 

Roman glanced back at me with an innocent smile; the mood had completely switched. "Breathe," he cooed, reaching forward to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "It's just a mansion." With a sharp intake of air, he glanced at the backseat and the crumbled-up hot pink crop top we had brought with us (stolen, actually) from the party-- "A mansion with a possibility to put that anomaly in the fucking laundry."

I turned towards it as well, returning to my mind at the sight of the obnoxious colour of the top-- Knowing I had made him cum into the fabric of it merely an hour ago still felt like a triumph.

... Was it maybe my turn, now?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

And he was right-- this was an absolute castle of a house. I had suppressed the truth about Roman's wealth for as long as I could, not wanting to think about it in case my mind went haywire about it, but now it was smacking me in the face.

Still, Roman's hand on the small of my back was a comfort as he led me through the mansion on the most impromptu show-around I've ever witnessed. "This is the room where I learned how to shoot darts," he mumbled, pointing at the small dents in the wall. "I didn't know the darts were actually stuck to the wall and not the printed dartboard I hung up..." He bent down, picking up the painting his mother had hung up to cover the indents.

I couldn't help but laugh, clinging to his arm as we moved from room to room. The mansion was gothic, vampy, but that might've just been my imagination playing with me. The tall ceilings were intimidating, yet beautiful-- judging by my surroundings, there was no denying that everything around me cost a fortune.

I was yanked out of my trail of thoughts when Roman led me behind a red curtain by one of the big windows in the next room, and I giggled as he wrapped it around us. My back was pressed against the wall, engulfed by both the curtain and Roman's embrace; "This is where I learned how to French," he whispered, smiling as he pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth. "And it was horrible. She fucking bit me and I squealed like a girl."

If Roman was trying to distract me from what he had said in the car, he was certainly doing a good job. The mental image of his first French kiss kept me beyond entertained, and we both continued laughing as he got us out of the wrap of the curtain.

However, it was the walk up the circular stairs that truly made it dawn on me who I was dating-- Roman Godfrey, the future heir to a billion-dollar company. Fuck. I stared up at the painting above us, the one of him and his mother posing with a rather regal-looking background. He couldn't have been more than fourteen in that picture, and I could see his classic intimidating stare through the painting and the way he clutched the chair his mother was posed on. It was clear that the boy in the painting didn't want to be there at all.

Roman turned, realizing what I was looking at; "I fucking hate that one," he grumbled, giving my hand a squeeze. "I refused to smile at that age. I look like I'm on the brink of killing myself."

"Not true," I squeezed his hand back. "Give yourself some grace. How old were you?"

"Fourteen,"

There you go. "Judging by the painting, I think we could've been friends at fourteen,"

Roman stopped in the middle of the curved stairway, his brows drawing together. "How so?"

I shrugged, trying not to focus on how much taller he was than me. If I thought about it for too long, I'd jump him. "Because I wore all black for about a year. If you refused to smile, and I refused to show any joy, I think we would've been a killer duo,"

Roman blinked twice before cracking into a chuckle. "That's unexpected,"

"Bet,"

"You're all... cute and bubbly now,"

"You think?" I wasn't sure how much I agreed. "The girl that's fucking around with her ex-best friend's cousin?"

Roman had to bite down another laugh. "What do you mean, fucking around? I haven't as much as touched you compared to how I could've,"

Oh.

Oh God.

I held back a shiver, staring up at him as he resumed leading me up the stairs. "But... you have touched me,"

"Sure," Roman proceeded to get a proper look at me in the darkness of the night when we reached the second floor. The green around his widened pupils practically shone-- it was impressively cat-like. "Impossible not to, with those fuck-me eyes of yours."

"Hey!" I wasn't sure why I was protesting, but I knew his snicker egged me on. "I don't have... that!"

I could see that Roman was on the brink of cooing at me, and he sucked in a sharp breath as he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. I hadn't seen him this amused in a while. "Right," he purred. "You don't. Not a trace at all." With a short kiss on my forehead, he moved away from me and started walking down the dark corridor. "Keep those fuck-me eyes in the hallway, and I might let you sleep tonight."

I sighed before gearing up into a walking sprint to catch up with his long strides-- If only he knew that sleep was the last thing on my mind. 

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

When we finally reached Roman's bedroom, I couldn't believe the size of it. My room was nothing in comparison. I had certainly not expected the posters-- there were many rare classic horror films and some bands I was sure his mom probably loathed. However, I was surprised by the lack of half-naked models on his walls which I had always imagined; I let out a short, relieved breath. "Your room is nice,"

Roman hummed, throwing his jacket on a chair nearby. "Not too boyish for you?" 

"Nah," I mumbled, walking up to the posters on the opposite wall. There were a lot of movies I hadn't seen yet-- still, I couldn't help but laugh a little when I saw The Godfather. "It's very you."

"How great that you like me, then," 

"Lucky for you, yeah," There was something about this room that I couldn't help but love-- this was where Roman woke up and fell asleep. This was where he probably spent most of his time. I wondered whether the pillows smelled of his going-out cologne or the lighter one he usually wore to school. I wondered whether he'd been caught smoking in here, whether he'd done coke with Peter on his desk, and how many girls he'd had up here. By the likes of it, I somehow doubted anything like that ever happened at his place. If he had waited this long to have me over, I decided it was highly unlikely he'd invite someone he didn't know very well. 

I clasped my hands behind my back, taking long strides as I scanned the many posters on his walls.

Roman sat down on the chair by his desk, spreading out as he watched me with a smirk. "Not what you expected?"

I turned to him, my brows drawing together; "Why? Are you nervous or something?"

"I'm not nervous," Roman huffed, folding his arms over his chest. Now that I was looking straight at him, it was clear that he was. "I'm simply asking."

A knowing smile crept up my cheeks-- it felt like I had the upper hand, for once. "You're nervous,"

"Am not!"

"And now you're fidgeting,"

I was correct; Roman's right leg had given into a slight bounce. He rolled his eyes, muttering curse words under his breath. "It's not every day that I have girls up here, okay? I'm never here, stuff always happens at someone else's-- well, now your room. Because this is, like... my lair,"

I had to bite back an amused smirk; "Your evil lair?"

"Bingo. This is where I dissect people and stuff," He pointed to the table next to him. "So... yeah. Your opinion matters to me, I guess."

"Oh, does it now?"

"On some things, sure,"

I nodded, focusing on how the moonlight was dipping into the dark brown of Roman's hair. He didn't have to be so pretty all the time, did he? How rude. "Such as...?"

With a shrug, Roman now gazed at the tall ceiling. Like this, he almost looked bored. "Your opinion of me is the one that comes to mind, I guess,"

"My opinion of... you?" That was new. 

Roman met my eyes again, this time with a new emotion-- his head was slightly tilted to the side, and he was looking at me through his brows. I had a feeling he didn't intend the look to be as intimidating as it was. "It fluctuates,"

"My opinion?"

"Yep," he said. "Some days, you look at me like I'm everything. And then, the next day, I'm the biggest asshole in the world."

My lips drew together in a tight line-- this was unexpected. "And here I thought I was the only consistent thing in your life," I mumbled. "I don't know, Rome, every couple has its ups and downs, no? But I don't want them to make you doubt what I feel for you. Because... you know, right?" I started taking wary steps across the room. "You know I adore you, there is no way you've managed to miss that?"

With a sigh, Roman sat back in his chair with a smile. "Sure, I know that," he murmured, watching my every step with anticipation. "And I bet that tree you carved our initials into can attest."

Goddamn it. "You're never going to let go of that, are you?" 

As I finally approached him, Roman led me between his legs with a gentle hold around my waist. "Nope," He pressed his lips against my clothed chest, his fingers slowly digging into my top. My arms draped around his neck, and my next words were muffled against his hair; he reeked of his usual cinnamon-flavored cigarettes-- "But sure, if the tree ever starts talking, it will agree. You know I'm crazy about you,"

"Crazy is the keyword here,"

"Oh, shut up," I muttered, pulling away to get a proper look at him. Roman was so damn beautiful-- I had missed the sight of him in the past twenty-four hours I had been unsure of the state of our relationship. "I still can't believe you thought I was going to break up with you... Do you know how shitty you would have to be to drive me to that point?"

Roman pulled me back in again, enjoying the scent of my perfume with his next deep inhale; he pressed a short kiss to my neck. "Let me be paranoid," The next kiss lingered for longer, the warm exhale through his nose grazing my skin.

"But I don't want you to be," I tried. "I don't ever want you to doubt us like that. Never, ever again."

Roman stilled. With a sigh, he spoke; "Okay... but that's where you step into what people in my family call a deathtrap," He motioned for me to sit down in his lap, and with wary movements, I draped my arms around his neck and sat down, allowing him to place a sweet kiss to my cheek. "Deathtrap?" I echoed.

"Deathtrap," Roman shifted, placing one arm around my waist as his free hand traced small circles into my thighs. "Otherwise known as... hope." And just like that, it was as though his mind went elsewhere, as though something in his eyes shifted. 

However, I'd had enough of that-- I wasn't having any of it tonight. Knowing Roman saw hope as a deathtrap made my heart burn. Wary of not being too abrupt, I slowly placed a finger underneath his chin, catching his attention. "If you don't want to harbor any hope of your own, I'll lend you mine," I whispered, gently nudging his nose with mine. 

Roman's pupils dilated as his hot breath fanned against my upper lip. I could smell the beer on him, the cigarettes, yet the most prevalent was the anxiety-- it brushed upon my skin, and caressed my heart. "All of it, Roman," My hand went back into his hair, stroking through the softness of his locks. "All my hope, all my love... it's all yours to borrow. To keep, to mold, to steal, to hold, for as long as you like. It's not a trap of any kind. You're safe with me."

That was all it took, and so he gave in; with the smallest of sighs, Roman closed his eyes, relishing in the moment. "You make me feel... you make me feel," he echoed, almost in disbelief. "It's a painful thing, is it not?"

I dared to let my hand brush down the side of his face, my thumb gently ghosting over his closed lid to feel the softness of his lashes against the pad of my finger. "It doesn't have to be. It could feel really, really good,"

Roman let out a shaky breath against me; "I want that for you," he said, opening his eyes. The green in his eyes shone in the white shimmer of the moonlight, illuminating the intent in his words. "Want to make you feel good... in every way possible." 

Something about the drop in his voice nearly made me shiver-- I couldn't allow myself to, not in his lap. It took a few seconds for me to notice that I was holding my breath, staring back at him with a look on my face which I hoped didn't give away too much. Maybe I had misinterpreted his words? Maybe Roman meant that in a romantic way?

However, with the following upward curve of the corners of his mouth, so small I could barely notice it, I knew my intuition had been right. Roman definitely meant that in a different way. 

... I needed to listen to my intuition more, didn't I?

Roman's hand on my thigh lifted, now removing the vial of blood around my neck to place it on the table nearby; he proceeded to put his palm against my cheek with the gentlest touch, softly caressing my skin with his thumb. This was when it dawned on me that we were alone. Completely alone. Possibly for the first time ever. No interruptions, with no one to hear anything. Had this been a month ago, that fact alone would've been enough to make me jump off his lap, and I would've probably paced up and down along his room with nervous steps to soothe my anxiety. Being alone with him meant that I wouldn't be able to contain my need for him, I was sure of it.

But now? I believed Roman could do that for me. Soothe me. He could calm me down like no other. Now, I knew he wouldn't run off after getting what he wanted-- because now, I knew that what he truly wanted was me. 

"Could you let me do that?" Roman breathed, the green of his eyes finding my lips. I was confused as to how I hadn't melted into his lap already. "Make you feel good?" He leaned forward, just a few inches, now brushing the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip, transfixed. "Or... are you sure you want to do this? Have your first time with someone like me?"

There was something about the fact that he was even asking-- the old Roman would never. "Who else would I have my first time with? It's always been you," My lips parted in a soundless intake of breath, my gaze darting to his plush, pink lips. Like this, I could almost feel them against me; we had kissed so many times that my body remembered the sweet push of his lips simply by gazing at them. Still, I was afraid it would never be enough, and every kiss was as thrilling as the first one. "Just being with you like this feels good already."

Roman hummed, absentminded. "Not what I'm getting at,"

"I know," I breathed. "But I can't help but worry that--" I had to clear my throat, swallowing. Why was I getting so damn nervous? It was getting harder to breathe, and I was sure my cheeks were flushing. "Well... That I won't know what to do."

With a sigh, Roman bit down on his lip to hold back a laugh. "It's your first time, you won't have to do much," Despite his lids hanging heavy over his darkening eyes, I could see the want building in him. "I'll take the lead, okay? You just relax." He steadied me with his palm over my cheek before leaning forward-- my body hitched with caution as he brushed his lips across mine, slanted, until I allowed myself to give in. 

The soft pillow of Roman's lips was the sweetest pressure I had ever known. I could feel my blood heat with the intent of the kiss, and I suddenly got the urge to cross my legs to calm myself down-- I knew I couldn't. Roman's breath fell softly against my cheek as my hands went up into his hair, tugging gently at the tips of his dark locks as I kissed him back with my lips slightly parted, moving against his as though he was whispering me a question.

Maybe I didn't hear it-- maybe it was a warning? Had he actually whispered something, or was I imagining things? Because with the next second, Roman hooked his arm under my knees, lifting me off the chair as I yelped into the kiss. It didn't take long before I eased, telling myself he had lifted me many times before, and that he would never drop me. Never, ever. Roman smiled against my lips, humming just slightly as he carried me bridal-style across the room. It felt silly, cliché, until it dawned on me-- was he playing the cliché out for me? Was this what he perhaps imagined I wanted, something pure, something classically virginal?

In the few seconds our kiss was broken, Roman placed me down on the bed and watched as I giggled; it was impossible not to laugh as the recoil of the springs threatened to bounce me up in the air again. He tsked, now grinning as he made space between my legs, drawing me closer before he kissed me once more. It was bolder this time, pressing the soft fullness of his mouth against mine-- there was nowhere else for me to go but to him. 

My hands wove into Roman's hair again, pulling him closer as my heart thumped hard in my chest. Was this really happening? Or was this maybe something I was imagining, maybe the alcohol hadn't left my system yet? "Rome--"

Before I could continue, his lips were on mine again like a magnet, drawing us together, unable to separate the magnetic forces long enough to let me speak. It was confirmed; he was definitely here. This was real. There was an urgency to Roman's stubborn kisses-- you're mine, just accept it. Being kissed into submission was something I had never imagined was possible, yet here I was, my lips parting with a soft whimper, feeling his tongue against mine; it filled me with a complete and utter satisfaction, a final statement. 

I wanted him to devour me. As I coiled my fingers around Roman's dark hair, tugging him closer, I so desperately wanted only that. To melt into him, to become one-- was that maybe the core concept of sex which I had misunderstood all up until this exact moment? Just the thought of being connected with Roman like that, knowing he could possibly be inside me-- that thought had never evoked the physical reaction in me before as it did now. 

Well, fuck. I realized I was screwed before it had even happened.

Sucking in a sharp breath, the silk of Roman's expensive duvets kept me grounded as he softly groaned into my mouth. His tongue circled mine before gently sucking the tip of it into his mouth, and he listened to my whimpers as he withdrew shortly after, a lone string of saliva still linking us. I was unsure why I was left so speechless, why every little thing he did made me feel like my body was on fire, but I knew there was no rationality in need. The innate need ravaging through your veins. There was no way to make sense of it, and I was certain Roman was aware of that too. Yet suddenly, he was near-motionless, blinking twice as if he was a little lost on what to do, which I immediately thought was odd--

Oh. There it was. I was wondering when that would happen. 

So... Roman wasn't lost. Far from it. Flustered might be a better word-- I felt his erection poke into my stomach, and it made me realize how big his pupils had gotten. That was quick. "Uh... Surprise?" He awkwardly cleared his throat as his green eyes nearly devoured me whole. "Fuck it, there's one thing I want to do before we go on. It'll take a second."

I held my breath-- with Roman, that could mean anything. "... Okay?"

"Don't look so scared," he teased, getting off the bed and walking to his nightstand. In my head, I wondered whether he was grabbing condoms, or whether he was about to impose something kinky on me. I was ready to start my rehearsed lecture on going slow with me, that it was my first time and everything, until my mind blanked at the sight of a... candle?

Roman got a lighter nearby, looking back at me with a trying smile. "You once said that me and sweet don't go together," he explained, lighting the candle. "On our first date, I believe, if we can call it that. The blackmail part of it was probably not ideal, but it counts in my head. Anyway, I thought you might be right about the sweet part... but it doesn't mean I shouldn't try to be."

I was afraid I'd melt much, much faster than that candle. "Don't tell me you went out and bought that candle just for this?"

Roman shrugged, hoping to brush it off. "Well... I was determined to prove you wrong. And I had a candle for my first time, and I guess it eased me a little. But, uh... I think this is actually a funeral candle," 

"I see," I had to contain a laugh. Sitting up, I reached for his fingers as I longed to touch him again; "Well, no one's dead yet, but the night is still young."

Unable to hold it, Roman snorted, placing the lighter back on the nightstand before he interlocked our fingers. "I'm never doing anything like this again, so I suggest you cherish it,"

"What? But now I'm growing fond of the funeral candle, you're breaking my heart!"

Roman rolled his eyes, sinking down on the bed again, and he brought our intertwined fingers above my head. "If that's what I need to do to get you in my bed, I'll buy the whole fucking candle company," 

There was something exciting about the fact that Roman genuinely could. It wasn't just an empty threat. If he got high enough one night, I was sure he'd know who to call. I was surprised to feel he was still hard now that his erection was pressed up against me once more, but I didn't get much time to think about it-- Roman freed one of his hands, and he managed to make his way under my top as he kissed me once more.

My breath hitched against the soft push of his lips as it hit me that I might have to get fully naked for this. Fuck. Okay. Yet my anxiety eased at the thought of him being fully naked too-- I found my hips keening up against him, my need for friction growing with my arousal. 

Roman smiled into the kiss; it was a ravenous feeling. "Impatient?" he asked, barely leaving my lips.

"Yeah," It was merely a breath-- I felt his hand ghost over my bra, slowly tracing the hem. I could barely think, too excited to function anymore.

"No need," Roman pulled away, letting go of the remaining hand above my head as his fingers now toyed with the edge of my top. "We have all the time in the world."

His tone was enough to bring scarlet to my cheeks, but I nodded, swallowing when he bunched the fabric up in his hands and lifted it up and off of me. I raised my arms, pouting just slightly at the loss of contact-- who would've thought I'd get more drunk from kissing Roman than the beer Peter gave me earlier? 

With a sigh, Roman's eyes consumed me; the smirk with which he looked down at me only made me more flustered. "Rome," I whined, reaching my hands out for him. "Stop that, get back here. This isn't anything new." That was true-- me in my bra wasn't a sight he hadn't seen before. 

Roman tsked, sending me a stern look. "You're disturbing my thought process,"

"Your thought process?--"

"Yep," he said, shrugging. "I'm just thinking about how I want to cum right..." Roman trailed a line across my lower abdomen with his finger, using a touch so light it immediately made me squirm. "... here."

The squirming quickly turned into a small shiver, and my hands went straight to my face as my blush deepened. 

There was a change in Roman which was noticeable by the way he lost his smile, lost in whatever images he had in his head as he now leaned back down, pressing eager kisses to the apex of my collarbones. His lips trailed down my body, his fingers digging into the sides of my waist-- his mind was gone. I tugged at his hair as he inched further away, and I whimpered at the sensation of his tongue tracing a circle around my belly button. I never expected myself to like anything like that, but damn-- heaven. This was heaven. 

I was reminded of how much bigger Roman was than me when I was suddenly yanked to the edge of the bed, and I could only yelp as I did nothing to fight it. His hands trailed down the sides of my hips, now hooking his fingers around my panties, not yet taking them off-- instead, he was kissing me through my soaked underwear, humming. 

Christ, this was something I could get used to. I managed to register the fact that he wasn't on the bed anymore, and I propped myself up on my elbows with the last remaining power I had to confirm my suspicions. Roman stopped for a moment, pulling away to glance right back at me; "What?"

"You're... kneeling,"

"... Yeah?"

It didn't register in my head. "You don't kneel for anyone," The Roman Godfrey didn't get on his knees for anyone in the world. In my mind, he thought the world should be kneeling to him, and that he would never stoop so low.

However, the look he gave me in return told me everything I needed to know. Come on, now. Roman pulled my underwear off as he spoke, peeling it down my thighs; "I kneel for you," To him, that was as simple as a fact. The most logical thing in the history of the universe. He didn't even seem to deem the subject worthy of a further conversation, now grabbing my hips to bring me even closer to the edge of the bed as I let out a small squeak. Roman led my legs to hang over his broad shoulders as he leaned forward, rings of desire around his eyes as he licked a broad, flat stripe up my sex.

Fuck-- I did my best not to mewl as my fingers reached for his hair once more, twirling into the soft curls of his hair. "Rome--"

At this point, I was sure he wouldn't hear me no matter how loudly I spoke. Roman sensed I was about to start keening against him, and he pulled my legs back and held my thighs in place as he slicked his tongue in between my slit, mouth moving as though he was pressing deep, heavy kisses against me. I whimpered, my grip on his hair loosening as I felt my conscience slip into its usual drugged-on-Roman state. A very, very dangerous state of mind, if you ask me.

Giving me some time to breathe, Roman moved to leave soft kisses up along the crease of my thighs. "Keep your legs like this, okay?" he said, slowly trailing one hand up my thigh. Roman's finger teasingly tapped my clit, and he turned to watch the thin line of slick connecting the pad of his finger to me. It was hard not to squirm, and I brought one hand up to my mouth to hopefully suppress any noise. "Rome, what are you?--"

Oh. My breath hitched as he eased his slicked middle finger into me, careful to go in with slow strokes. I whined against my hand when Roman's mouth returned to me, sealing his perfect lips around my swollen nub, adding pressure. It was almost too much-- I felt myself clench around his finger when he curled it upwards, just as his lips covered my mound, sucking me in. 

"Christ," I breathed, reaching down to grab a hold of Roman's hair, the slick sounds of his mouth making goosebumps appear along my skin as I contained a shiver. "Shit, Rome, it feels-- so, so good--"

My mindless ramble came to an end with the next hitch of my breath; Roman added another finger, humming against me as an answer. With how nervous I was, it was a tight fit, and the sting that followed made me instinctively tighten my fist in his hair, my skin straining over my knuckles. It was hard to keep still, a string of whimpers escaping my lips. 

My hands shook as Roman continued slowly stroking his fingers into me. I wondered whether he could feel my anxiety seeping into my lust-- it was becoming so real. Roman's green eyes darted up at me, stilling his fingers, giving me time to adjust. He pulled away from me, leaving his digits in me as he spoke; "I'm not gonna last long if you tighten up like that later," 

His words conjured a deep blush to my cheeks, and I brought my hands up to my face to hide. "Sorry," I breathed. "I don't-- don't know what's happening."

Roman shrugged, placing a wet, gentle kiss against the inside of my thigh. "You're nervous. It's normal," His hot breath ghosted over my soaked sex as he moved to the other thigh-- "I think it'll help if I make you cum like this. You'll relax more. And I'll keep my fingers in, get you used to the feeling... Unless you want them out?"

For a man who said he didn't deal with virgins, he certainly knew how to talk one down from the cliff. I let out a shaky breath, peeking down at him past my fingers; "N-No, it's okay,"

Roman seemed to be holding back a laugh; "You look a little spooked,"

"I... do?" Knowing my boyfriend, I knew he probably found that incredibly hot.

"A bit. Wanna stop?--"

"No!" That was a little too quick. Fuck. 

Roman chuckled as he proceeded to bite down on the inside of my thigh with a teasing smirk-- I squeaked, clenching around his fingers. "Good," he purred, leaning forward to press a short kiss to my clit, drawing out another squeak from me. Something told me he liked the sound of my pleasured panic. "It's been some time since the last time you let me do this. I've missed the taste of you."

"... It's been, like, four days,"

Roman let out a groan, and I could see in his eyes that it was building in him-- the innate lust. "A fucking eternity," he breathed, a new rasp appearing in his voice. With that, Roman didn't lose a single second leaning back down, slicking his tongue between my folds, returning to suck down on my clit with a moan. 

Oh, well-- I knew I was done for. Still, knowing his goal was to make me cum, knowing I didn't have to hold back, I let my hands wander back into his hair with a whimper of pleasure. It didn't take long before I clenched around his fingers again, the burn of the stretch subsiding with every flick of Roman's tongue. 

"Fuck," I breathed. "Fuck, fuck--"

Any attempt to speak dissolved into incoherent cries, teetering on the edge while pleasure surged through me like a relentless wave. Still, it didn't take more than two more sucks to ease me over, and I felt my climax drawing out long and slow against Roman's mouth, tightening around his fingers with a whimper. 

My head lolled along the duvets as I tried to catch my breath. With every time Roman did this, it only got better-- it was hard to believe that was even possible. I came to my senses when I felt his fingers slide out of me, the twinge of pain having long passed. 

"Fuck," Roman said, a laugh to his voice as he pressed kisses up along my stomach, getting up from the ground. "Best fucking pussy in the world."

God-- I hid my face again, my blush deepening. That dirty mouth of his. "That was so good," I purred, reaching out for him; "Come here, Rome. I miss you up here."

Chuckling, Roman shook his head, motioning for me to scoot further up the bed. "Just a sec," he said, walking back over to his nightstand, opening his drawer again and shuffling around. I did as told, watching him with a sigh; he was right, that orgasm had relaxed me. However, my zen didn't last long-- I suddenly felt all my muscles tightening when I watched Roman bring the fingers he just had in me to his lips, absentmindedly sucking on them as he now held up a silver wrapper with his free hand as though that was the most normal thing in the world. I also spotted a clear bottle which I could only assume was lube. 

What the fuck? The sight of him doing that made me want to disappear into the bed-- why was the sight so... thrilling? It must've been the look of enjoyment on his face. "Oh, that's hot," I mumbled, my eyes immediately widening with the realization of what I had just blurted out.

Roman cocked a brow as he unclasped the vial of my blood around his neck, placing it next to the candle before he got back on the bed, now trailing the residue of spit and slick on his fingers across my thighs. "Well, you taste nice,"

"Not that nice?"

A hum; "Wanna try some, make up your mind?" he asked, a teasing smirk spreading across his plush lips as he brought his hand up to his mouth, wiping off the remnants of my slick to coat his fingers. 

I shivered, grimacing— "No, thanks," Hoping to distract Roman from trying to convince me, I sat up, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. Frankly, I had enough of being the only one that was undressed.

Roman hummed, following my hands with his eyes, grinning from ear to ear as he threw down the condom and the lube somewhere on the bed. "More for me, then," he mumbled, licking my slick off his fingers as he kept his gaze on me-- it didn't take long before he pushed me back down on the bed, unbuttoning the last of his buttons with ease I could never match. 

My heart had probably never worked this hard before in my life. "Rome," I tried, watching him discard his shirt. Fuck-- he was gorgeous. I could feel myself blushing in an instant, shamelessly looking him up and down; I knew he didn't mind. Why was I reacting like this? Roman being breathtakingly handsome wasn't news? "I think... I think--"

"You're still thinking?" Roman's hands gripped my waist as he leaned down, kissing up my torso as I whimpered beneath him, reaching for his hair again. "Stop thinking. No thinking."

"No thinking?" I echoed, giggling as his eager kisses reached my neck, getting ticklish. "You're asking for too much." Now that he was finally close again, I draped my arms around him, trailing my fingers across his broad shoulders with a sigh. Being skin-to-skin like this was my favorite thing in the world-- being connected.

Roman hummed, his erection once again pressing into my lower abdomen. "Either you stop thinking of your own volition..." he said, pulling my chest up against his. "... Or I'll have to fuck your brains out. Your choice."

I shivered, feeling my mind start buzzing. That was a damn easy choice. "That sounds rough," I mumbled, my breath hitching as Roman pressed a kiss to my ear. "You said you'd be gentle..." To be completely honest, this was the part I was nervous about-- would he maybe not be able to be? I was a little scared he'd be like one of those horror-story guys Letha had told me she'd been with, one of those guys that just slap you all of a sudden or start choking you cause they've seen it in porn and think that's normal behavior. 

Roman pulled away, hovering barely an inch above my lips; his breath grazed my cheek, and the green of his eyes were glazed over with a look of confusion. "Am I not being just that?" he asked, nodding to the candle.

Oh-- I turned to the supposed funeral candle. 

It allowed a sweet kiss to my cheek, the tip of his upturned nose pressing into my cheekbone; "Trust me. I wouldn't want to hurt you, you know me,"

He was right-- from the very first moment we got together, he had told me just that.

Still, it was only when I felt Roman's lips against mine with the softest of pressures, that I pushed my concerns away. It was the sort of kiss that made my heart burn, the sort of kiss that made my hands trail up into his hair to keen him closer. I pushed all my thoughts of horror into a heap, churned it in my mental grinder, processed it, and allowed the product of it to slip past my lips; "I want you," I breathed, feeling myself grow needy against him.

Roman hummed, a small roll of his hips onto mine following-- I didn't expect it to make my breath catch in my chest. "I want you too," 

Something in me ignited; I wanted him to do that again. Disoriented, I reached down for the zipper of his jeans, moaning into the kiss that followed. "Want you more," 

Roman smiled; "Not possible," 

At this moment, I was thankful to be made up of solid matter-- if not, I was sure I'd have melted straight into the bed, a puddle of pure horny. I wasn't sure when Roman lost his pants, too consumed in the kiss to function. My state of arousal only heightened when my hips bucked up, feeling the hard outline of his cock between my legs; I was suddenly reminded of the time we did something similar in an alleyway on our first day. But this was different-- this was a direct contact of his clothed length brushing up against my clit with repeating strokes, a motion which had my breath hitching as my nails dug into his shoulders.

Roman let out a soft groan, nipping at my neck as he ground down against me. "This," he breathed. "This is what you do to me. I wanna be in you so fucking bad."

With the next roll of his hips, I whimpered; the buzzing of my mind refused to still. "Have me, then," was all I managed to say, tugging at Roman's hair as the tips of my fingers burned.

What followed happened so fast, I barely registered it. I heard the ripping of the silver wrapping in the midst of our heated kiss, adrenaline and dopamine coursing through my veins as every little sweet word rolling off Roman's tongue filled me with that familiar warm feeling I always got around him.

For this, it was all worth it. All the drama with Letha, all the tears, all the pain-- it was all worth it. 

"You're everything," Roman whispered, rubbing the head of his cock along my soaked sex as my hands skimmed the muscular range of his back. "You're my everything, do you know that?"

God, how I wanted to be one with him. Wanted him in my head, wanted him in me, wanted to melt into him and become one single entity, never to part. From the first moment I met him, from the first moment I laid eyes on him in class, from the first moment he smiled at me, I knew it was Roman. It would always be Roman, it would always, always be Roman for me, and knowing he thought the same of me as well, that I was his everything-- all my longing, everything, had been worth it. Because I was his everything too, finally, just like he had always been mine. 

However, as Roman angled his cock and gently pushed the head in, kissing my cheek with the sweetest touch, I didn't expect the painful, sharp sting-- I wasn't sure how loudly I gasped, how far my nails dug into his back, but I was really damn certain that this hurt. 

Roman was out of me within the blink of a second; "Shit," he breathed, a panicked look in his eyes. "Should've-- Should've warned you."

The sting remained as I did my best to breathe through it. "That's a stretch," was all I managed to say, stroking over where I had scraped his back. 

"I'll take that as a compliment," Roman mumbled, scanning me. He didn't seem bothered by the crescent moons my nails were leaving behind. "You okay?"

"Yeah..."

He cursed under his breath, leaning down to press a kiss to my forehead. "I forgot about this part... My brain doesn't work when you're naked," Roman sighed, reaching for one of the hands I had on his back. "If you want to go on, I might know a way to make it a little easier."

I met his eyes as he brought the back of my hand to his lips; "I guess it's supposed to hurt a little, Roman, just... just do what you usually do, I trust you," Maybe I needed to push through it? I could take a little pain, couldn't I? That was until I remembered the pain again-- it made me clench. Ouch.

With a certain look I knew too well, he shook his head as he now wrapped his fingers around my wrist. "No. It's not supposed to hurt," he said. "And I said I wouldn't hurt you, so..." Roman trailed my hand down along my body, watching as my eyes widened. "In my experience, it helps if you... help."

"Help?"

"Help yourself, so to speak," Roman purred, his signature cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Cause I doubt this will be your first time doing this."

"Doing what?-- Oh," As he placed my hand over my sex, he slid two fingers above mine, guiding me to rub my clit. Roman was right; it wasn't my first time doing that to myself. Still, this was a different feeling-- My hips immediately bucked up into our hands, and when Roman leaned down to kiss me, I knew I was done for. 

Everything felt warm, everything felt right. "Just keep doing that," he whispered, sinking his teeth into my lower lip. "Wanna?-- Again?"

Roman didn't need to use more words than that; I knew what he meant. I nodded, feeling my cheeks redden at the fact that I was touching myself in front of him like this-- however, I didn't have time to think much about it.

Soon, I wasn't the only one touching myself, anyway.

"Should've used this from the start," Roman mumbled, cursing under his breath as he poured a dash of lube on his cock from the clear bottle nearby. "Got too excited... fuck." With a lazy grip, he wrapped his hand around his length, spreading the lube with slow strokes. 

My mind was buzzing. I watched as Roman's lips parted, a shaky breath escaping him. "It's okay," I tried, rubbing mindless circles around my clit. "It's just me."

"Yeah, and I care about you," Roman's eyes were halfway closed as they met mine, darkened with growing lust. "Ready?"

I nodded-- yeah.

This time, when Roman's cock pushed into me again with the slowest of strokes, the pleasure from my clit dulled the sting. The only thing left to adjust to was the stretch; my breath hitched as my free hand went back up into his hair, wincing against his lips as his thick length stroked me open. 

Roman cursed as his parted lips hovered above mine. He held me tightly against his body, watching out for any signs of discomfort before he spoke; "Shit... This feels better than I--thought," 

My head rolled back against the duvet, breathing against Roman with small heaves. "Rome," I whimpered. "Fuck, this is--" I didn't expect the feeling, didn't expect the tips of my fingers to burn more as I grasped at his hair, didn't expect the way my whole body reacted-- it was different from anything else I had ever felt or thought I could feel. Being filled up by Roman was...

It was everything.

Everything I had ever dreamed of. 

It felt good, it felt right-- I moaned, clenching at the feeling of his cock slowly sinking into me at a steady pace, my body aching with love. This was as gentle as I bet anything like this could possibly be, and I squirmed a bit beneath him, adjusting to the feeling of having his cock inside of me. 

Roman let out a shaky breath, containing the urge to pound into my warmth like I supposed he usually would. "Hurts?"

"No, no-- Ah," 

With his next thrust, Roman kissed up my jaw, keeping every stroke careful. "Want me to put it in all the way?"

"The-- There is more?"

"Baby..." he breathed, containing a choked laugh. "I'm only halfway in."

I was sure I was about to faint. How the fuck?-- No, I couldn't think clearly in this state. No more thinking. I decided to trust him; I knew Roman would pull back if it hurt, anyway. "Okay... Let's try,"

As Roman pushed in more of his length, the quiet moan escaping him blended in with my string of panicked whimpers. I didn't even know I had space inside me for more-- my eyes sprung open, my legs giving into a tremble. "Rome, I-- a-ah, this is--"

"Shh, look at me, breathe," Roman brought his hand to my face, guiding me to look into his eyes. His voice was soft, caring; "You okay? Is this too much?"

The shock was the thing that had gotten to me, I was sure of it. Because after a few more deep strokes, a few tighter circles around my clit, my fear eased as I realized this was a sensation I would be chasing for the rest of my life.

"Feels good?" Roman asked, his voice nearly breaking-- I imagined it was hard to not give in to the pleasure of the tight embrace around his cock.

Still, I could only nod, twisting my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him towards me to smother him with a heated rush of my lips against his, moaning into the kiss as I pulled my hand from between my legs-- it was starting to brink the line of overstimulation. 

"Good," Roman muttered against my mouth. 

The kiss didn't last too long; my shock was still coming and going in waves. "I'm-- we're having sex," I blurted out, my cheeks flaring red. The truth was hitting me like a blow to the head. The thing I had dreamed about since the first day I laid eyes on him was actually happening.

Roman contained a laugh, looking rather endeared by my realization; "Yeah, you're doing it, you're having sex... I'd give you a high five, but-- hah, that wouldn't work,"

Why were we laughing? Why was this... fun?

Caught between the fire in my chest, the twinge of humor, and the ache pulsing low between my legs, I whimpered as I realized I wanted-- no, needed more. Still, a small, meek call of his name was all I managed to stutter out.

Roman shifted, pushing my body so that my knees were bent at his sides; "Speak your mind," 

How was I supposed to conjure a cohesive sentence in this state? "I want-- you, more--"

"We're going-- hah, back to that?" 

"Not that! More, Rome-- just, more, I need--"

He let out a breathy moan, smiling back down at me; he knew exactly what I meant. "Thank God," Roman's cock filled me over and over, his thrusts growing harder, faster as he found a steady pace to rock into me. "You're taking me so good, aren't you?"

My head felt like it was spinning. This couldn't be real. I couldn't possibly be as lucky as to finally sleep with Roman Godfrey. 

His voice brought me back; "You're doing so well," he murmured, burying his face into the crook of my neck, muffling a quiet moan against my skin. It was the most magical of sounds-- my heart was threatening to beat out of my chest, and I was sure the warmth of skin against mine probably helped with the overheating of my brain. "Doing so, so well for me... I've wanted you like this for so long."

"Me too," I breathed, my hips keening to take his thrusts. "Wanted you-- since forever."

My words only seemed to reel him on; Roman hips snapped harder into me as I whimpered. "Forever?" 

"Forever-- a-ah,"

Something in Roman's breathing changed. It was almost as though I could read his thoughts, feel his new reality form. Was it maybe the last push he needed to believe I was his till death? That there was a person out there walking this earth, breathing the same air, that could possibly want to be with him for an eternity? "Forever," he breathed, latching onto my neck with repeated needy kisses in an attempt to drown out the noises threatening to spill past his lips. "You and-- and I, forever."

As Roman's cock repeatedly pushed into me, I could only whimper; the stretch was still something to get used to, and my nails bit into his back as I tried to steady myself. "Forever," I managed to breathe out, hearing him moan into my neck at the sharpness of my nails against his back-- I knew he'd like that. I knew Roman too damn well. 

"Forever," he echoed, breath washing warm against my ear as he raised himself, his cheek nuzzling mine in an intimate embrace. 

I clenched around the girth of his cock, shivering. This was so unbelievably sweet, nothing I had ever expected from him. Roman was so much taller, and his broad build served as a comforting weight through the wave of new pleasure my body tried to comprehend. With the next surge of love washing over my chest, the next pump of Roman's cock, I felt my chin give in to an involuntary quiver as I gripped him tighter. 

It was at this moment that it truly dawned on me;

I loved him. 

I loved Roman Godfrey.

Tears swarmed my eyes as one of my hands went up into his soft hair, hoping he'd take it as an urging for him to kiss me again. I didn't want to have a chance to talk, to blurt it out and scare him away-- which is why, when Roman shifted and crashed his lips against mine, I only felt relief. 

I was safe. I was cared for. And damn, I felt good. 

However, what I hadn't expected, was for the shift of angle to brush past a spot inside of me I had only ever felt when Roman's fingers curled into me. But this was far greater, far more stimulating-- I let out a choked moan against Roman's lips, my eyes springing open as my head tilted back into the duvet, heaving for air as my legs gave in to a tremble. 

I didn't have to look up at him to know the exact look on his face, yet I dared to take a peek; he was too hot to resist. And there it was, those parted, perfect lips paired with that dark look in his green eyes of victory. This is exactly what he had wanted to reduce me to all along, wasn't it? Roman's hair had never been this messed up (courtesy of my hands), and the sheer look of it nearly made my heart swell. "Good tears?" he asked with a whisper, scanning the look in my eyes.

Fuck, yeah. I could only nod. 

Knowing Roman, I was wondering when he'd-- oh, hello, you. I was waiting for the eventual switch. A man like Roman Godfrey couldn't stay sweet forever. 

At the sight of my tears, I knew something new in him ignited. He placed a hand over my mouth, placing more of his weight on me as his other hand pulled me tighter against him, the wet snaps of his cock pushing into me growing louder as I moaned out against his palm. "Listen to this," he purred, a sinister smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he made me listen to the sound of our union. "This is sex, you're damn right. This is what you'll be craving from me." 

God-- I squeezed my eyes shut, the continuous push of the tip of Roman's cock against my sweet spot inside sending my brain into a frenzy. 

"I get why you've been reserved... You'll never be who you were before this again," With a grunt, the next snap of his hips only grew harder, knowing I could take it and adjust. It certainly didn't help the tremble of my body. "Gonna get you fucking addicted to this feeling. To me. Cause you've given yourself to me now, do you-- do you realize that?"

My wet lashes fluttered as I slowly dared to open my eyes, my heart thumping harder than ever before. If only he knew how addicted I already was. 

"This is it," Roman breathed, the green hues of his gaze engulfing me; "This is us. This is you. This is who you are from now on. My girl... Only mine. Forever. Gonna help you cum on this cock, okay? Gonna give you the first time you deserve, h-hah--"

Something about the look in his eyes unnerved me, despite the hot nature of his words-- What? There were many ways for him to make me cum, surely, but the second my fingers started numbing up, my mind started flaring red with a passage from my most hated book;

The upir's ability to mesmerize is an ancient and powerful form of psychic influence, capable of bending a victim's will. This control often manifests subtly, with suggestions that feel like one's own thoughts. If one is being mesmerized by a upir, it is often accompanied by a stilling of one's inner monologue, or a numbing sensation. Prolonged exposure can lead to disorientation, memory lapses, and a gradual erosion of autonomy. The key to resisting lies in anchoring oneself to reality—through pain, strong emotions, or focusing on a meaningful object. Beware: once under an upir's thrall, distinguishing truth from illusion becomes a perilous challenge.

Beware. 

Beware.

The last time my fingers had numbed up like this, was the time Roman forced me to tell him what had happened between Jasmine and I. It felt like the autonomy of my thoughts evaporated, seeped out of my ears, and disappeared into Roman's grasp. 

However, at this moment right now, this moment of blinding pleasure and complete rapture of my soul and love, I wanted nothing more but this. I knew I wasn't being mesmerized of course, because upirs weren't real-- but as Roman kept my face still and my eyes on him, it felt like it. It was almost like I heard him telling me to cum. A few more thrusts were all it took, the complete transfixion of Roman's unnaturally dilated pupils swallowing me as I only saw green, green, green-- his hand quickly left my mouth to hear me cry out, a choked moan escaping me as the fear toppled me. This was an orgasm unlike anything else I had experienced, and I felt myself pulse around Roman's length, practically milking his cock as I struggled to grapple with the most intense climax of my life. "Fuck-- Fuck!" I whimpered, my nails digging further into his back as tears welled in my eyes. 

The mere sight of it was enough for Roman to nearly buckle over, and I was ripped out of the trance, heaving for air as he spilled into the condom, teeth grazing my shoulder as he tried to bite back his moans of pleasure, hips keening into my tight warmth. 

I slowly slid my hands off Roman's broad back, realizing we had both dripped sweat onto each other's skin as I hoped my breath would soon go back to normal. My body ached in a way it had never ached before, and I winced as Roman eventually pulled out of me with a sigh. 

There was a long moment after he rolled off of me where we simply gazed at each other. I watched the heave of his chest, the way his brown hair laid over his dangerous green eyes, and wondered how on earth I had been so lucky as to have him fall for me too.

However, suddenly, amid my awe, a small droplet of blood gathered at Roman's nose. To my surprise, he was completely unbothered. The look in his eyes told me he had an inkling this would happen, and it further confused me.

I leaned forward to wipe away the blood pooling at his upper lip with my thumb. "You're bleeding," I echoed, aware that I was stating the obvious.

Roman's eyes softened; "Are you, though?"

"... What do you mean?"

Shifting, he wrapped an arm around me, pulling me closer as his other hand slid between my legs, sliding a finger against the wetness of my sex as I squirmed, a short giggle escaping me as I nuzzled up against him. Roman then scanned his finger as I continued to wipe away the stream of blood coming from his nose, watching as it smeared against his cheek. He hummed; "You didn't bleed. At least that's good?"

"I guess?"

Roman kissed my bloodied thumb, a shaky breath escaping him at the taste of the iron; "How was that for you? You okay?"

If only he knew. "You were great," I purred, nipping at his jaw. "It was lovely, Rome."

He let out a breath; "Thank fuck," Roman murmured, visibly relieved. "And you were really damn sweet. I knew those fuck-me eyes would be the death of me... Sorry if it got a little intense at the end, there."

"No, no, that was-- fuck, that was so hot,"

Roman smiled. My sweet boy. Another kiss; "But now, there's one thing I wanted to do." He propped himself up on his elbow, and I closed my eyes as he made sure I laid with my back against the bed-- I was too tired to focus. The ache between my legs refused to subside, making me worried about the state of my thighs tomorrow. They better not fucking cramp up with every step, similar to the day after a hard session at the gym.

And just as I was about to ask him to return to me, to stop doing whatever the fuck he was doing, I suddenly felt a warm, slick substance drip onto my lower abdomen. With a gasp, I snapped out of my drowsiness, only to be met with the sight of Roman holding the condom above my stomach with a devilish grin, letting the content pour down on me.

He chuckled at the sight of my widened eyes, my speechless state-- "Didn't manage to cum here, as I said... so this will do,"

"Roman, for fuck's sake!" 

"What? You look good with my cum all over!--"

"Roman!"

"Fine!" he huffed. "Gonna go grab some wipes, I'll be right back. Anything else you need? Water?"

I wondered whether Roman realized how sweet he was being-- I glanced over at the candle flickering in the moonlight, the vial of my blood lying neatly next to it. The sight made my heart swell; God, how I loved him. It killed me that he couldn't know. I knew he'd run in the other direction if he did. "Water would be nice," I breathed, watching as Roman got dressed again. 

It all hit me like a wave, now;

The first time I got my heart broken, I had been at fault. 

The first time I got a black eye, I had swung the first punch.

But the first time I had sex? It had thankfully been with the man I loved. Still, I was sure the cosmic imbalance would catch up to me again and drag me back down into the dirt soon enough. 

But not right now.

Not right now.

Here, I was safe with Roman. The universe couldn't get me now, no-- not with the equivalent of the moon lying next to me. He had returned to me in no time, holding me close in his nearly immediate slumber after having lent me a shirt of his to sleep in. The cosmos wouldn't dare to touch me now. 

I adjusted the cover on top of us, kissing Roman's forehead; "Are you sleeping?" I whispered, poking his cheek with the gentlest of touches. 

No response. Phew. 

And just as I started to fade into sleep as well, I ran my thumb across the softness of his cheek. I connected our foreheads with a content sigh before I pressed my lips against his in a loving kiss. Roman looked so peaceful-- the universe wouldn't dare to take me now, wouldn't dare to wake him up. 

"I love you," I whispered like I would be put to death if I awoke him. With one last glance at the candle, my heavy lids fluttered as my heart cried;

"I love you,"

(a/n: thank you SO MUCH for reading this monster of a chapter!!<33 if you've made it all the way down here, all the other chapters are listed on my main page if you're interested!!<33 MWAH)

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tagging those that seemed interested!!<333

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[farfromharry]

Rejection

Summary: Your head over heels for your friend Lando but he doesn’t feel the same way about you, will that ruin your friendship?

lando norris x reader

w/c 1147

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Y/N had been in love with Lando Norris for years. He didn’t know it, she kept it pretty hidden, but she was truly head over heels. She was waiting for the day she might be able to confess her feelings, but she had no idea if she’d ever have the guts.

Lando was everything she wasn’t. He was confident, cool, and outgoing. Admittedly he intimidated her, but was equally intoxicating. She couldn’t get enough of him. However, every moment spent with him was another moment she wished he was hers.

She was in her own dreamworld. Y/N never could have anticipated that he wouldn’t feel the same way about her.

They were at a party when it happened, she didn’t even know what for this time around. It felt like there was always some sort of party happening when you were friends with Lando Norris.

Y/N couldn’t tell you who’s apartment it was, but it was nice, big. Whoever it was had money and no problem with strangers in their home. She found herself sticking to her friend’s side most of the night. It was mainly Lando, following him around while he chatted to people she’d never seen before, people he apparently knew. She just stood there and smiled, laughed when she was supposed to. He didn’t mind, he even tried to actively include her in conversation where he could. She appreciated it.

There was only so much forced smiling she could take before she decided she’d had enough. She needed some fresh air and a break from the booming music.

She placed her hand on Lando’s arm, smiling softly at him. This one was a genuine smile. Her joy was always real when she was with him. “I’m gonna go get some air,” she whispered. She didn’t want anyone to think she had disappeared without saying goodbye.

His eyes fell on her and she could have sworn she saw them sparkle. “Want me to come with?”

He looked happy. She didn’t want to pull him away from having fun. She would be fine on her own.

“No, it’s okay. I won’t be long.”

Y/N made a beeline for the balcony she’d spotted earlier in the night, feeling grateful when the cool night air met her flushed skin. Even being around Lando made her flustered. She needed to calm down before she saw him again.

Speak of the devil. He must have known she was thinking about him.

The door to the balcony opened and he laughed loudly as he made his way over to her. He wasn’t tipsy exactly, but he had a little buzz from the alcohol, much like herself. A few more drinks and he’d probably be gone though.

“It’s crazy in there.”

She hummed. “Nice out here. Quiet.”

He stood beside her, mirroring her position of arms on the railing as they looked at the stars. They were so close their arms were touching. She wouldn’t admit how much it made her heart race; even such a simple touch.

He smiled. “It is.” Then his head turned to look her way and he nudged her slightly. “The company’s not bad either.”

She hadn’t meant to kiss him, it had just kind of happened. He had looked so handsome in the light and she had thought they were having a really sweet moment. She could never have anticipated how a simple mistake would ruin so much. If she had she wouldn’t have done it. Y/N thought it would be like in the movies. The two friends who had been secretly in love with one another the whole time, kissed and finally admitted their feelings. Movies like those always had a fairytale ending and she thought she was going to get one of her own.

Lando didn’t kiss her back. In fact, he gently pushed her away, grimacing for her to see. Her heart sank, deep into a pit in her stomach. She knew she’d fucked up. “Oh god.”

He felt like a monster. “No.” Y/N was an angel, one of the greatest people in his life. There was nothing wrong with her. She was kind, beautiful and he could only imagine that she would devote herself to him. But he just didn’t feel that way about her. Maybe he was broken. This was going to make her spiral. “Y/N, I’m sorry.”

Her eyes were already watering and her heart was aching. She couldn’t even look at him. Never in her life had she felt like such an idiot. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. Her bottom lip trembled and she quickly got to her feet. She couldn’t stay here, not when she knew he would be pitying her all night.

Carefully, he grabbed her wrist, hoping to stop her from leaving. “Y/N, please. Let me explain.” He would get on his knees and beg if he had to.

This was exactly why she had kept her feelings bottled up for so long. She had a gut feeling that he didn’t feel the same and it had been a lapse in judgement that led to her making a move. She regretted everything. She had lost it all. She looked like a kicked puppy standing there in front of him, her heart slowly breaking. How could he have been so cruel?

She looked… desperate, for something he couldn’t give her. Desperate for his approval, desperate for him to say this was a misunderstanding, desperate for him to love her.

“It has nothing to do with you. You’re amazing— perfect even.” The compliments were just to soften the blow, she could hear the but coming from a mile away. “But, I don’t feel that way about you. I do love you, but as my friend. I’m sorry.”

Whatever was left of her heart shattered. It was the pity that killed her in the end. She could see him drowning in it and she didn’t know that she could take it. Before he could even speak a word, she was tugging her arm out of his grasp and running out of the room. The humiliation was eating her alive.

This time he watched her go, knowing he had just contributed to fucking up one of the best friendships he had ever had.

It took a few minutes for his brain to catch up to what had just happened. He followed the path she’d taken, heading back into the party and trying to spot her face in the crowd. He wasn’t having much luck with it.

Max found him first, grabbing his arm and stopping him from going anywhere. “I just saw Y/N leave in tears. What the hell happened?”

He sighed. He was stone cold sober now. This was quickly turning into the worst night of his life. “Oh mate, I fucked up.” What the hell was he supposed to do?

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[bronzealchemy]

The Masquerade

Simon „Ghost“ Riley and hacker!fem reader are on an undercover mission at a masquerade ball and things get a little heated.

content: grumpy x sunshine, fluff, banter, undercover mission, explicit content, light smut, dirty talk, fingering, knee riding

wc: 2k

a/n: I feel my Ghost hyperfixation coming back guys, so something different for today!

This mission was supposed to be simple. One evening, one hell of a lot of money and while I’m at it – do something good that’ll save a lot of people’s lives. Simple, right? Wrong. Because the man on whose arm I am just now is nothing but simple. And he hates babysitting me.

„Would it hurt you to maybe – I don’t know – smile a little?“, I ask, while Ghost gets even more tense.

„It would“, he grunts, clearly not amused. I wonder if there was ever a time he smiled. Not that I can see his frown under the skull mask he’s wearing … but still. He has a look in his dark eyes that tells me he has seen shit a normal person would never get over. But this – getting intel, finding out if this party’s host really is selling experimental weapons – is his job, while mine lies in a completely different field. Namely in the decryption key that is hidden inside my dress. A place where not even security found it when Ghost and I stepped foot into the ballroom.

„Did you see him yet?“, I whisper while stepping on my tiptoes. God, this man is huge. A mountain, really. The suit seems almost too snug for his wide shoulders and his enormous biceps. I wonder what those look like under the black fabric.

„Stop whispering so bloody loud.“ He sneers. At least I think he does, its hard to say under that skull mask of his.

„I‘m not sure if you remember, but I am a hacker, not a … what was your job description again? Secret black Ops making stuff explode expert?“

„Fuckin‘ hell“, he mutters under his breath, his eyes darkening, which ironically makes me smile. I caress his arm.

„Don’t you worry, big boy. I’ll keep you safe.“

We keep on walking through the crowd, the ballroom full of whispers and orchestra music. The melody fills the air, while I overlook all the guests. Some of their masks have ornate symbols on them, others show animals or mythical creatures. Mine is black with soft glitter particles that shimmer lilac when light falls on it. It’s adorned with thorns and delicate flower petals and I smiled when I put it on. One pretty thing for an evening that could turn really ugly with one wrong move. Yes, I make jokes with the Lieutenant next to me, but that is mostly because of nerves.

„You’re shaking“, Ghost mutters next to me, lowering his head to my ear. His breath tickles my skin, and a shiver runs down my spine.

„I’m nervous“, I admit.

„There’s no reason to be, love.“

I scrunch my nose at the petname, but this is our cover. We’re supposed to be a couple tonight. I should smile, so I do, but it feels forced.

He lets out a breath. „You’re a horrendous actress.“

„Thank you, baby“, I say as if he’s not just insulted me, while he directs me to the dance floor. We’re just two people enjoying each others company. It’s completely normal for a couple to dance, right? But the way my heart almost leaps out of my chest when his hand rests on my back doesn’t feel that way. I tip my chin up and look into those dark eyes of his. His eyes scan the room. Fully focused, while swirling me around between all those other couples. How does he do that? I can’t paint my nails while watching a tv show, and here he is, scanning hundreds of people at the same time while dancing without stepping on my feet.

I start to look around. And that‘s when I see him. Vasiliev. Our target for tonight. A man in his mid fifties, face hidden behind a black mask with devils horns and leaning on a cane. That cane … that’s where he hides the intel. Out briefing said he never leaves that thing outside his reach, no one is allowed to touch it, not even his right hand man. While Ghost keeps twirling me around in his arms, Vasiliev starts to move.

„He’s leaving“, I whisper.

Ghosts grip hardens around my body, his gaze follows Vasiliev. „Come on.“

He grabs my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine, and my cheeks warm. His hand is so big that it seems to swallow mine whole. My mouth feels dry, while Ghost guides me through the crowd. I need to focus. Find Vasiliev, use the decryption key on his cane, leave. That is the mission. Not thinking about how big his hands are or how sad his pretty eyes look.

Vasiliev steps inside the floor that leads to the washrooms. I have to be quick. I let go of Ghosts hand, but he instantly grabs it again.

„You wanna tell me what the hell you're doing?“ His voice is deep and gravelly and it sounds as if he’s used to people following his orders.

„Just trust me with this, okay? We’ll be out of here in no time.“ Without saying another word, I free my hand from his and follow Vasiliev into the corridor.

There he is, the man in the devil mask, leaning on his cane, his right hand man at his side. I walk fast on my heels, get closer to him, take the decryption key out of my dress and trip, forcefully pushing against Vasiliev. His cane rattles to the ground, as do I.

„Oh my god!“, I stammer, while grabbing the cane and pushing the handle ever so slightly to the side, inserting the key with the other hand. „I’m so incredibly sorry.“

I get on my feet again, handing Vasiliev the cane back. „Please forgive me. I’m not used to wearing heels this high.“

Vasiliev looks me up and down and I hold my breath while his gaze stops at my black high heels. „Those could pass as a weapon, indeed.“ He takes the cane in his hand and looks me up again, so slowly, that heat rushes to my cheeks. „Would you mind telling me your name?“

I freeze.

„She would mind“, a gravelly voice sounds from behind me. Then, a strong arm wraps around my waist and pulls me closer to a hard toned body.

Vasiliev passes a look between Ghost and I. Then he nods slowly. „I see. It has been nice to make your acquaintance.“

„Sorry again“, I say.

Without another word, Ghost pulls me with him, while Vasiliev disappears into the washroom. Next thing I know, he pushes me against the wall.

„What the hell were you thinking?“, he growls.

My breath is stuck in my throat. Theres something I didn‘t see before in his eyes. Not sadness anymore, neither his focus while looking for Vasiliev. Instead, he looks almost … worried?

„Don’t tell me you were scared for me.“

His brows furrow as if I just said the most stupid thing he’s ever heard. „Bullshit.“

„Oh my god. You totally were!“, I exclaim and hit his chest playfully with my hand. „You were scared for me.“

„Stop this shit“, he snarls.

„Never. You were worried for me. That is so sweet.“ I get on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek. The mask feels cold under my lips. Next thing I know, he pushes me back against the wall. His chest rises and falls in a faster pace.

„Stop talking so fucking much.“

I don’t know what happens next. One second he stands in front of me, chest heaving abruptly, in the next he lifts the bottom of his mask and his mouth is on mine. For the traction of a second I’m too stunned to do anything. But then … he moves his mouth on mine. And then I’m gone.

I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back with full force. He groans and the sound vibrates through me, wakes fire inside me. I can’t believe this is happening, but at the same time I devour every second of him claiming my mouth. He slides a knee between the slit in my dress, and when he hits me there, I sigh with delight. Ghost knows what he's doing. I realize that in every move of his, every swipe of his tongue against mine, every hit of his knee against my weak spot, every firm touch of his hands on my body. I melt. I melt and will be left as a puddle on this floor if he keeps going like that.

„I've never met anyone as annoying as you”, he grunts out.

„Doesn’t feel that way, Lieutenant“, I retort while reaching for his hard on. He feels rockhard and hot under my touch, and the way he sharply inhales lets me feel more powerful than while writing code that could shut a whole city down.

Again he kisses me. Again i can't get enough of his taste. He makes me completely dizzy with his mouth. His knee continues to move against me, and I groan.

„Feel good, love?“, he murmurs and I nod.

I want to scream: Yes. He almost lets me forget that there are hundreds of people here and that we’re on a mission.

The mission.

We’re both wired. Which means …

„Ghost.“ His name leaves my mouth breathless.

„I’m kind of busy right now, love.“ Again he pushes against me and I gasp. I press my mouth against his shoulder to stifle the sound.

„Ghost, they’re listening“, I whisper right against his ear.

„Then maybe you should be a little more quiet.“

That’s the only thing he says before his mouth is on mine again. Then I feel his hand there and I see stars. I bite into his lip, which makes him groan again. I love this sound. It sends a wave of pleasure through me. His large fingers are on me, circling skillfully, caressing me until I see stars and my knees feel weak. I want him inside me, but this is neither the right place nor the right time, and we both know it. Even though my brain is melting down right now, including any logical thought. I lean against him and at some point am not able to kiss him back properly, so I stifle my moans against his neck, biting down hard, while rubbing him through his trousers.

„Oh my god“, I exclaim, when the wave crushes over me and stars explode before my eyes. He keeps circling me, then pushing his knee between my legs again.

„That’s right, love“, he whispers into my ear. „Take it. Just like this.“ I push myself against him, until the waves of pleasure slowly start to fade. Then I lean against him, my legs shaking slightly. When I catch my breath, I lift my head to look into his face, just as he pulls down his mask again. But he can‘t fool me. I didn’t really see his face, but I felt it. I felt the soft curve of his lips, the scar on the left side, and the stubble that he’s hiding. I felt it so good that if I’d close my eyes, I probably would see his face in front of me.

„Great, if you two are finished, could you get the fuck out of there?“, a familiar, deep voice sounds in the earbud in my left ear.

„Sure thing, Captain“, Ghost answers while I hide my red cheeks in the crook of his neck. Ghost grabs me by the hand and leads me out of the ballroom. While we walk through the crowd, he lowers his mouth to my ear.

„That was a lie“, he murmurs. „I’m nowhere near done with you yet.“

It almost sounds like a promise.

[missmadella]

Cigarettes and Bullets (Hanma x Reader)

Summary: A game at a gang party spins out of control when someone dares you and Hanma to play Russian Roulette with truth-or-dare questions between rounds. It becomes a twisted challenge of confessions and boundaries—both physical and emotional.

Words: 5848

The music in the warehouse was too loud, the drinks too cheap, and the company far too reckless. You weren't supposed to be here—not really. This was Bonten’s territory, and you? You still wore your old crew’s colors underneath your jacket like a second skin, even if you hadn’t answered to them in a while.

The invitation had come with no name. Just a burner message: “Big names. Big stakes. Don't flake.” It reeked of a trap.

You came anyway.

Now you leaned against a cracked concrete pillar near the back of the building, a half-empty glass of something probably illegal sweating in your hand. Neon lights flickered above, half-hearted strobe effects spinning like dizzy ghosts. You scanned the room. A parade of idiots—laughing too loud, pretending this was a party and not a pressure cooker.

And then, of course, he made an entrance.

Hanma Shuji strolled into the room like he owned it—or better, like he’d already burned it down and was here to enjoy the ashes. Loose black button-down, cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes already scanning for trouble. He had that damn grin on, the one you knew too well. The one that meant: I’m bored. I want to make someone bleed.

Unfortunately, tonight, he spotted you.

You took a sip of your drink and turned your eyes away, pretending not to notice. Too late. You could feel him approaching before he even said a word.

“Didn’t expect you here,” he drawled behind you. His voice was smoke and teeth. “I thought your crew had better things to do than slum it with us degenerates.”

“We do,” you said coolly, not turning around. “I just came to see how low Bonten’s standards have gotten.”

He laughed, sharp and amused. It curled in your gut like a match hitting gasoline.

“Still got that mouth on you, huh?” He stepped closer, just enough for you to smell the cigarette smoke on his breath. “Wonder what else it’s good for.”

You finally turned to face him, slow and deliberate. Your eyes locked, and there it was—that static buzz between you. Hatred and heat, hate dressed up as banter, attraction hiding under bloodstains.

“You know, Hanma,” you said, voice low, “every time you speak, I wonder how many brain cells are still rattling around in that skull of yours.”

“Enough to know when someone’s dying to play with me,” he said, grinning wider. “You look like you’re bored, sweetheart. You want to be entertained?”

“By you?” You scoffed. “I’d rather shoot myself.”

“Perfect,” he said, eyes gleaming. “We’ve got just the game for that.”

Before you could respond, someone from the center of the room shouted over the bass-thick music:

“Russian Roulette! Who’s in?!”

The crowd shifted like sharks smelling blood. A chair scraped. A revolver glinted under the cheap lighting as it was placed reverently on a table.

“Well,” Hanma said, leaning closer to murmur against your ear, “speak of the devil.”

You didn’t move.

“You serious?” you said. “That’s not a game.”

“Exactly,” he said. “That’s why it’s fun.” Then, softer: “Unless you’re scared.”

Your gaze snapped to his. There it was. That look. The one that always set your teeth on edge—and set your pulse racing, whether you wanted it to or not.

You shouldn’t have said yes. You shouldn’t have followed him to the table. You shouldn’t have sat across from him, felt that weight in your chest as he lazily spun the chamber.

But you did.

And now it was just the two of you, a steel barrel, and one bullet between what you were, and what you might become.

“Let’s raise the stakes,” Hanma said, eyes gleaming like a knife's edge. “Click or kiss. Dare or die. Your move, baby.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The revolver sat heavy in the middle of the cracked table like a sleeping animal—cold metal, full of teeth. The cylinder gleamed under the flickering club lights, one bullet tucked into its chamber like a secret waiting to be whispered.

There were still a few people crowded around, watching. Laughing nervously. You didn’t know their names. Didn’t care.

Your eyes were on him.

Hanma lounged across from you, long legs spread, elbows slung over the back of his chair like he was on vacation. That damn grin hadn't slipped even once.

“Six chambers,” he said lightly, spinning the gun in a lazy circle. “One bullet. Click, you live. Bang, well—” He gestured loosely upward. “Hope your insurance’s paid up.”

“What’s the point?” you asked, voice flat.

“Winner calls the dare,” he said. “Or truth, if you’re feeling soft. Either way, you pass the round, you get to pull someone’s strings.”

“And if you lose?”

He tilted his head.

“Depends where you’re aiming.”

He stopped the spin and pushed the gun toward you.

“Ladies first.”

You stared down at it. The metal glinted. It didn’t feel like a game. It felt like him. Chaotic. Reckless. Always one twitch away from blowing everything wide open.

“Afraid I’ll show you up on the first go?” you said coolly, reaching for the weapon.

“Afraid you won’t,” he replied, and you hated how soft he said it. Like he knew something you didn’t.

You picked it up. The grip was cold and familiar—you’d held worse in worse situations. The click of the hammer sliding back was louder than the bass shaking the floor.

You lifted the barrel. Pressed it under your chin. Hanma’s grin twitched. Just slightly.

“Y/N,” someone muttered nearby, not laughing anymore.

“Shut up,” you said.

You closed your eyes.

Pulled the trigger.

Click.

Silence.

When you opened your eyes, Hanma was still watching you—but something behind the grin had changed. Something in the stillness of his body, the tilt of his head, the narrowed focus in his eyes.

“Well,” you said, placing the gun back down between you, “guess I win.”

You leaned forward on your elbows, your voice turning sharper.

“Truth. Why do you smile every time someone tries to kill you?”

Hanma didn’t answer at first. He reached forward, slow and calm, and slid the gun back toward himself like it was a piece of fine china.

Then he smiled wider.

“Because in that moment,” he said, tone velvet-smooth, “I know exactly who I am.”

He locked eyes with you.

“And who they’re not.”

A beat passed. One of the onlookers muttered something and slunk away, but neither of you noticed.

You raised a brow.

“You think that’s deep?”

“Nah.” He chuckled. “I think it turns you on.”

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t smile. But he saw the flicker in your eyes. That heat you tried to smother under the ice.

“Your turn next,” you said, voice like a blade.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Hanma purred, spinning the revolver again, “I’ve been waiting all night.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Hanma held the revolver like it was a lover—fingers brushing over the chamber, thumb resting idle on the hammer. He didn’t look at it though. His eyes were on you.

Still grinning.

Still reading you like a book he planned to tear the last page from.

“You nervous yet?” he asked, tipping his head.

“That you’ll chicken out?” you smirked. “Yeah. Terrified.”

He gave a low laugh and lifted the gun.

Didn’t hesitate.

He spun the cylinder fast, the click-click-click echoing louder than it should’ve. You could see his finger twitch on the trigger. You watched him raise it—no drama, no pause—just brought it up to his own temple like it was a glass of water.

He pulled it.

Click.

He exhaled through his grin.

“Guess luck likes me better.”

You didn’t respond. You were too focused on the subtle shift in the air. That something he was about to say. You could feel it before he even spoke.

“Dare,” he said, eyes burning. “Sit in my lap for the next round.”

The words hit like a slap—but not from surprise.

From expectation.

He’d been circling toward this since the first line. Since the first smirk. He was always going to try and close the distance between you. The only question was whether you’d let him.

You blinked slowly. Gave a cool tilt of your head.

“Is that your best shot?”

“Baby,” he said, leaning forward like a shark cutting through dark water, “if I wanted to see you on your knees, I’d wait ‘til round three.”

Your blood throbbed in your ears.

The heat crawling up your spine wasn’t anger anymore. Or if it was, it had tangled itself in something else—something that made your hands ache and your skin tighten.

You didn’t speak. You just stood.

Moved around the table.

The moment stretched.

Hanma spread his legs slightly, lazy and inviting, and tilted his head back to look up at you.

“Clock’s ticking.”

You sat down.

Slowly. Controlled. Like it didn’t matter. Like you couldn’t feel the way his thigh muscles shifted beneath you, or the faint exhale he gave the second you settled your weight.

One of his hands drifted to your hip.

He didn’t grab. He just rested it there, warm and firm.

“See?” he murmured. “Doesn’t it feel better when you stop pretending you hate me?”

You leaned back slightly against his chest, spine rigid, heart hammering despite yourself.

“I don’t pretend,” you said. “I do hate you.”

“Sure.” His voice was low, brushing your ear. “But your hands aren’t shaking because of hate.”

You wanted to hit him.

You wanted to kiss him.

You did neither.

Instead, you stared at the table. At the gun. At the empty glass beside it and the heat bleeding into your skin where his fingers pressed—just enough to remind you he was there. That you were choosing to stay in his lap, even if your pride screamed at you to run.

“Next round,” you said, voice tight.

“Yeah,” he said, already curling his fingers just a little tighter around your waist, “let’s.”

__________________________________________________________________________

His breath was warm against your neck. Too close. Too calm.

Your spine stayed straight, tense, but you couldn’t ignore the weight of his hand at your hip — fingers flexing just enough to remind you: he could hold you there if he wanted to.

But he wasn’t.

He was letting you stay.

Letting you choose.

You reached for the revolver again.

Hanma didn't flinch as you leaned forward, shifting slightly in his lap to get a better grip. His hand dragged along your waist as you moved, slow and unapologetic, like he wanted to remind you exactly where you were.

You held the gun up.

Spin. Click. Click. Click.

The metal whispered across your palm, smooth and indifferent.

You pulled the hammer back. The click of it locking in place was louder than your heartbeat — barely.

You didn’t aim it at yourself this time.

You aimed it at him.

Right under his jaw. One-handed. Casual.

Hanma’s grin sharpened. He didn’t move. Not a single goddamn muscle.

You raised a brow.

“Still smiling?”

“Always.” His voice was low. “Especially when you’re straddling me with a loaded gun.”

You leaned in, mouth near his ear, letting your words melt into his skin.

“You’re too calm.”

“I like living dangerously,” he said. “Especially when it’s pressed up against me.”

“Then tell me something real,” you said, cocking your head slightly. “Truth. Right now. Or I pull the trigger.”

His tongue slid over his lower lip, slow and deliberate. He looked at you from the corner of his eye.

“What do you wanna know, pretty girl?”

You leaned closer. The gun was still resting under his jaw, but now your faces were inches apart. His legs beneath you tensed. You could feel it — the shift from playful to alert.

“What would you do,” you asked softly, “if I pulled the trigger and it wasn’t empty?”

There was a pause.

Not fear. Not hesitation. Something else.

Then he smiled again — but it was different now. Slower. More dangerous. There was a flicker of sincerity in it, buried deep under the madness.

“Depends,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “If you shot me in the heart—I'd thank you for the mercy.”

“And if I aimed for the mouth?”

Hanma chuckled, low and gravel-rough.

“Then I’d haunt you every time someone else tried to kiss you.”

Your pulse kicked hard.

You didn’t know if it was the gun between you or the words or the weight of his hand now inching up the curve of your waist. You didn’t know why your grip tightened on the revolver — from threat, or from the need to ground yourself.

You met his gaze.

“You think that line’s gonna win you the round?”

“I don’t care about winning,” Hanma said, voice curling like smoke. “I just wanna see how far you’ll go.”

The silence between you buzzed.

And then you pulled the trigger.

Click.

Empty.

Again.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

“Told you,” he said, licking his teeth, “you like it too much to shoot.”

“Or maybe,” you whispered, shifting your weight just enough to make his breath catch, “I’m just saving the bullet.”

The tension now wasn’t just in the air — it was under your skin, under his. A slow burn, tightening, winding, just waiting for the next spark.

And that spark?

Was coming.

___________________________________________________________________________

The air felt heavy now.

Not with fear. Not with adrenaline.

With something far more dangerous.

Expectation.

Your finger slid off the trigger, but you didn’t move away. Neither did he.

His thigh shifted beneath you — a subtle adjustment, but deliberate. He was letting you feel him there, fully. Heat through denim. Solid. Unrelenting.

Hanma’s hand drifted higher, slow and careful. It landed just below your ribs, spreading his palm flat against your side like he was trying to memorize the shape of you without shattering the moment.

“That’s two for two,” he murmured. “Feeling lucky?”

You glanced down at the revolver still warm in your palm. Then back at him.

“Feeling bored,” you said, lips twitching. “Your move, Hanma. Or are you all bark?”

He grinned, but his eyes were dark now. Focused.

“Dare,” he said, without blinking. “Kiss me.”

You didn’t answer.

The dare hung between you like smoke — thick, impossible to ignore. The onlookers were gone now, long since wandered off to find easier games. It was just you and him, sitting in a storm of tension neither of you wanted to name out loud.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice quiet, coaxing. “Scared to find out it’s not hate after all?”

“Maybe I just don’t like losing,” you said.

“Then don’t do it like it’s a loss,” he murmured.

His hand slid around to the small of your back. Not possessive. Not forceful. Just there — anchoring. Steadying.

You swallowed hard.

There was a choice now. And you hated that he was giving it to you.

But you hated more how much you wanted it.

So you moved.

Slowly.

You leaned in — not all at once. Just enough to let the tension build. Just enough to feel his breath catch, his grin flicker.

“No hands,” you whispered. “If you touch me, it doesn’t count.”

His eyes flashed, but he didn’t protest.

You kissed him.

Not soft.

Not sweet.

You kissed him like a dare. Like you were proving a point and punishing him for it all at once. Your fingers curled in the collar of his shirt, your mouth claiming his like you were trying to silence that grin for good.

And Hanma?

He let you.

He didn’t chase. Didn’t deepen it. He stayed exactly where he was — letting you lead. Letting you press forward, demanding, angry, heated.

When you pulled back, breath shallow, he looked at you like he’d just watched a building collapse in slow motion.

Then he smiled.

A little softer this time.

“That the best you got?”

“Don’t test me,” you muttered.

“Why not?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. “You look so good when you’re trying to win.”

The revolver sat between you again.

But the real game?

Had already changed.

___________________________________________________________________________

The revolver felt heavy in your hand as you picked it up again. The metal cool against your palm, but your heart was anything but.

Hanma’s grin was cocky as ever, his dark eyes locked on yours like he was daring you to make a move.

“Back for more, huh?” he teased, voice low and rough. “You sure you want to keep playing with fire?”

You cocked an eyebrow, raising the gun slowly—aiming it straight at his temple.

“Only if you’re ready to get burned.”

Hanma’s grin widened, and instead of flinching, his hand shot out—gripping your wrist with a firm but teasing strength.

Before you could react, he pulled you forward with surprising force, spinning you around to settle directly on his lap, facing him.

His other hand slipped the revolver from your sleeve, sliding it away like a prized possession he was claiming.

“I think I’m the one who’s got the fire now,” he said, voice low, eyes dark with challenge.

Your breath hitched as his fingers curled around your waist, pulling you impossibly close.

“So,” he whispered, “why don’t you show me what you’re really made of?”

You swallowed, heart pounding in your ears, and then he leaned in—his lips brushing yours with the faintest touch.

You responded instantly, lips crashing against his in a kiss that was fierce and hungry, like a wildfire racing out of control.

His hands tangled in your hair, holding you tight as the heat between you exploded.

The revolver lay forgotten somewhere behind you, the game long over.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless and flushed, Hanma’s grin softened—less cocky, more satisfied.

“Guess neither of us’s winning or losing,” he said with a slow smile. “Just burning.”

You laughed softly, heart still racing.

“Then let’s not put out the flames.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The revolver lay on its side on the couch, just a few inches away, the cold metal catching a sliver of light — forgotten but not gone.

You were in his lap still, twisted to face him, knees bracketing his thighs. Hanma shifted beneath you, and you went with it — riding the movement as he turned, reclining halfway back against the right side of the couch, dragging you down with him.

Your legs followed instinct, straddling him. His hands? Everywhere. Greedy and sure. One on your back, the other slipping beneath the hem of your shirt like he already owned the skin underneath.

You kissed him again, slower this time, deeper — not to win, but because it felt like losing would taste like this.

“You’re lucky I didn’t pull that trigger,” you breathed against his mouth.

Hanma’s hand slid to your jaw, fingers rough under your chin as he tilted your head, lazy and smug.

“Please,” he muttered, lips brushing your throat now. “You wouldn’t risk damaging the merchandise.”

You scoffed and bit back a moan as his mouth found that spot just under your jaw.

“You talk so much for someone who begged for a kiss two rounds ago.”

He laughed, hot against your neck, and then sank his teeth in just enough to make you gasp.

“I didn’t beg,” he said, voice gravel low. “I dared you. Big difference.”

“Right,” you muttered, breath hitching as his hand trailed down your side, gripping your thigh hard enough to anchor you to him. “Because all your dares just happen to end with your mouth on mine.”

He smirked up at you, tongue flicking against his lip like he was thinking about what to do next.

“If I’d known kissing you shut you up this well, I would’ve lost the first round on purpose.”

You leaned down, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, mouth ghosting over his like a threat.

“You say that now,” you whispered, “but you couldn’t shut up if your life depended on it.”

Hanma’s hands gripped your hips, rolling you against him with maddening slowness. His voice dropped.

“Try me.”

You kissed him again, harder this time — open-mouthed, hungry, full of the frustration and thrill you’d both been dragging behind you for too long.

His fingers dug in, pulling you closer, deeper. One hand tangled in your hair, the other still exploring, shameless and urgent. The couch creaked under your weight, but neither of you noticed.

Somewhere nearby, the revolver gleamed from its place on the cushion — but it wasn’t the threat anymore.

You were.

And so was he.

___________________________________________________________________________

The party blurred behind them, forgotten the second Hanma took your hand and pulled you outside.

No words. No goodbyes. Just the heat between your bodies trailing behind like smoke.

His car was sleek and black, purring like something alive as he unlocked it with a lazy flick of his wrist.

“Get in,” he said, like it was a dare and a promise.

You slid in, still high from the kiss, still burning from the weight of his hands on your skin.

But the second he sat behind the wheel, you shifted. Deliberate. Confident.

You straddled his lap sideways, legs stretched across the console, your thigh brushing against the gearshift, lips ghosting just near his ear.

“You gonna drive,” you murmured, fingers trailing down his chest, “or are we gonna sit here pretending not to want the same thing?”

He didn’t answer. Just started the engine with one hand and curled the other around your waist.

“Keep distracting me like that,” he said, voice low and thick, “and we’re gonna crash straight into something.”

“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing since the first round?” you quipped.

Hanma grinned — but it was laced with hunger now.

As he pulled onto the road, you kissed him. Not gently. Not safely. You leaned in and claimed his mouth like the night wasn’t done with you yet.

He swore under his breath, hand tightening on your thigh, his other steady on the wheel.

“You’re gonna get us killed,” he muttered into your mouth.

“Then drive faster.”

He did.

The city streaked past in a blur of lights and shadow. Inside the car, time didn’t exist. Your hands were in his hair, your mouth at his jaw, your teeth grazing his skin like a brand.

He kissed you at red lights. Bit your bottom lip when you teased him too hard. And every time you pulled away, he pulled you back in like he couldn’t stand the space between.

And when he finally pulled into the underground garage of his penthouse building, he didn’t wait.

The second the engine shut off, Hanma’s hands found your hips again.

“Come here,” he growled — voice low, rough, desperate — and you did, climbing fully into his lap now, straddling him with no seatbelt, no barriers.

He kissed you like he wanted to leave marks. And you kissed back like you already had.

When he finally opened the car door, you slid off him with a cocky smirk, breathless, hair a mess.

“Hope your neighbors are quiet,” you murmured, “’cause I’m not.”

He chuckled darkly, slamming the door and scooping you up into his arms like it cost him nothing.

“We’re on the top floor,” he said, walking toward the elevator. “No one above us to hear.”

“But below?”

“Let them.”

The elevator ride was a blur — more kisses, more hands, your legs around his waist, your laugh caught between sighs and curses.

And then the doors opened.

The penthouse was dark, sleek, towering over the city in glass and marble — but neither of you looked at it.

Hanma didn’t even pause.

He carried you through the threshold like you were something he’d won.

Still kissing you.

Still lost in you.

And you let him — not because you were his, but because in that moment, nothing had ever felt more like mutual destruction.

And you both wanted the explosion.

___________________________________________________________________________

The door shut behind you with a quiet click, sealing the night outside. The air inside was still, dim, and warm — but it couldn’t compete with the heat already pulsing between you.

You barely made it five steps inside before Hanma was kissing you again. No hesitation. No games. Just mouths crashing together like magnets pulled too tight, too long.

You pressed into him, fingers curled in his shirt like anchors. His coat hit the floor. Your back met the nearest wall. His hands didn’t stop moving.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your skin, voice raw. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Then show me,” you whispered.

He growled low in his throat, and something snapped — the way tension breaks only after it’s been wound for too many rounds.

He kissed you like he’d been starving. Like every smirk, every dare, every bullet that didn’t fire was just foreplay to this.

“You’re mine tonight, doll,” he murmured at your neck, voice dark silk and flame. “Not running. Not fighting.”

You should’ve hated that word. Doll. But when it came from his mouth — low, hot, possessive — it curled in your stomach like lightning.

“You always talk this much?” you gasped, nails scraping his shoulders.

“Only when I’m about to ruin something good,” he said, grinning against your collarbone.

His touch was everywhere.

Hot. Fierce. Sure.

Not rushed — just hungry, like his hands had been waiting to map your skin forever and finally had permission to claim every inch.

And you let him.

Because this wasn’t surrender.

This was what happened when two people too proud to admit they wanted each other finally stopped pretending.

His lips, his hands, the way your bodies locked together like they knew the rhythm already — it wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle.

It was inevitable.

You pulled him down with you onto the bed, breathless, aching, your mouth still on his even as you gasped for air.

You didn’t speak. Not because there wasn’t anything to say — but because it would’ve shattered the moment. The illusion. The thrill of pretending it was just heat and not something else catching fire beneath it.

When he finally slowed — when his mouth hovered just above yours, breathing ragged, chest rising fast — he looked at you like he was seeing something he hadn’t let himself before.

“Should’ve done this the first time you pulled that gun on me,” he muttered.

You smirked, tracing your fingers along his jaw.

“I still might.”

“God, I like you dangerous.”

And then he kissed you again.

And this time, it didn’t feel like losing. It felt like coming home through fire.

__________________________________________________________________________

The first light of morning spilled through the tall glass windows — soft and golden, stretching across the polished floors like the night hadn’t just set the world on fire.

You stirred in the bed, skin warm against silk sheets, the scent of him still clinging to every inch of you. Your limbs ached — not from discomfort, but from the kind of night that rewrote things. That crossed lines without asking permission.

You blinked, turning your head slowly — and there he was.

Hanma.

Still here.

Propped on one elbow, bare chest rising and falling, dark hair a mess against the pillow. His eyes found you the second you moved.

But he didn’t speak. Not right away.

He just looked at you. Like he was trying to memorize the way you looked tangled in his bed. Like he hadn’t planned for this but couldn’t stop coming back to it.

“You’re staring,” you muttered, voice husky from sleep and something deeper.

He didn’t smirk. Didn’t tease.

Instead, his hand moved — slow and sure — brushing hair from your face, then down, tracing your bare shoulder like he had every right.

“Can you blame me, doll?” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Look at you.”

You rolled your eyes, a smirk twitching at the edge of your lips.

“You already had me. More than once, if I remember right.”

That earned a faint, crooked smile — but it didn’t have his usual bite. It was quieter. And that silence hung in the air — thick with everything he wasn’t saying.

He leaned in slowly, lips brushing your neck, your jaw, your collarbone — all over again like the night hadn’t ended. Like he couldn’t help it.

His hand slid over your waist, pulling you in close until you were against him again, skin to skin, heart to heart.

“Still not done with you,” he breathed.

And it wasn’t just lust. It was need.

He kissed you like you were a question he didn’t want answered. Like keeping his mouth on yours would stop the truth from slipping out — the truth that whatever this was, it wasn’t just about the game anymore.

You kissed him back just as hard. Just as wordless.

Because maybe neither of you could say it yet.

But it was there.

In the way he touched you like he owned the morning. In the way your name left his mouth like a secret he wanted to keep. In the way he pulled you back under the sheets with him, kissing you like you’d disappear if he let go.

The revolver was still on the dresser. But no one reached for it.

There were no more dares.

Just the slow, burning realization that whatever this was between you — it was no longer something either of you could walk away from.

___________________________________________________________________________

The sheets were tangled around your legs, skin flushed, his breath warm where it brushed your collarbone.

Hanma lay beside you, half on his side, hand resting on your stomach — possessive in a way he hadn’t put words to, but you felt it all the same.

He hadn’t gotten up. Hadn’t cracked a joke. Hadn’t reached for a cigarette or thrown on his shirt to pretend nothing happened.

He was still here.

And it was starting to feel like that mattered.

You stared at the ceiling, letting the silence stretch between you, full of everything neither of you knew how to say. His fingers drew lazy circles against your skin, like he was calming himself — or you. You didn’t ask.

He finally spoke, voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“You always this quiet in the morning, doll?”

You turned to look at him. His expression was unreadable — too calm, too careful. But his hand never stopped moving. Still tracing you like you were something delicate, like he couldn’t stop touching you even if he tried.

“You always this clingy after throwing someone around?” you shot back, your tone playful but your voice not as steady as you wanted it to be.

He smirked — barely — but didn’t answer.

Instead, his hand slid to your jaw, tilting your face toward him, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“You didn’t run,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Neither did you,” you replied.

That hung there.

Loaded.

You held his gaze. The air between you changed — thicker, more fragile. Like if one of you spoke too loud it would break.

You could’ve said it.

You could’ve whispered, “Why does this feel like more?” You could’ve asked, “Would you still kiss me like that if there wasn’t a game between us?”

But your lips parted and nothing came out. Just breath. Just heat.

Hanma leaned in again, kissing you slow this time — not claiming, not rough — just... real. One of those rare, terrifying moments where even he couldn’t hide in the tease.

And when he pulled back, his eyes searched yours like he felt it too. Like he knew you were both standing on the edge of something neither of you had the language for.

“You’re trouble,” he said finally, voice low and full of something heavier than lust.

“You like trouble,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he breathed, fingers still on your skin. “But I didn’t think I’d want to keep it.”

And there it was.

Too close. Too real.

You looked at him, heart thudding. One beat. Two.

But instead of answering — instead of letting it fall apart — you kissed him again.

Because neither of you were ready to say it. Not yet. But you were both feeling it.

And that was more dangerous than any bullet ever could be.

___________________________________________________________________________

The room was high-rise glass and shadow — the kind of expensive that whispered rather than screamed. Hanma stood near the window, backlit by the dying light of the city. His jacket was off, sleeves rolled to the forearms, tie loose like it had been tugged at one too many times.

Which was fitting.

His client — some uptight exec with more money than manners — was still rambling, pouring another drink like the meeting wasn’t long past its expiration.

Hanma’s patience thinned by the minute, but he hadn’t moved. Just leaned into the window, hands in his pockets, eyes sharp, wearing that smirk that made men nervous.

The door clicked open behind them.

You stepped in — slow, deliberate. Dressed to kill, smile lazy and just this side of dangerous.

The click of your heels on the marble made the man glance up. But Hanma didn’t turn.

Not until you were right behind him.

You slid a hand around his tie, tugged — hard enough to snap his attention to you. He looked down at you, mouth quirking up like he already knew he was in trouble.

“You done playing nice?” you murmured, voice sweet with an edge. “Or do I need to put a bullet in you so we’re not late again, baby?”

The client froze. Eyes wide. Stammering something about giving space. Something about rescheduling. He didn’t even wait for a reply — just gathered his files and practically sprinted out of the room.

The door shut.

Silence.

Hanma’s grin spread wide.

“Not the first time you’ve threatened me with a gun, doll,” he said, voice low and full of amusement.

You pulled him closer by his tie until your lips brushed his.

“Didn’t think you’d still like it after all this time,” you said.

“Are you kidding?” he murmured, tilting his head so his nose grazed yours. “That night was the best game I ever lost.”

Your hand flattened against his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart under his shirt — the shirt you bought him, the tie you’d pulled off him a hundred times.

And then, soft enough for only him:

“You keep making me wait like that, and I’ll start carrying again.”

He chuckled, leaning in to kiss you slow — not rushed, not rough — the kind of kiss that said this is mine, and I know you know it.

His hand slid to your hip. The light caught on the simple band around your finger. A matching one on his hand.

Still not mentioned. Still unspoken. But there it was.

“Dinner, huh?” he said against your mouth.

“Reservation’s in fifteen,” you whispered.

“We’ve got ten to spare.”

You rolled your eyes — but you didn’t pull away.

Because he was yours. And you were his. Still wild. Still dangerous.

Just with rings now.

[izzabela]

white noise - audio 1

a/n: I just wanted to drop in and say....THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR SUPPORTING THE ORIGINAL IDEA SO HARD GUYS!!! special thanks to @junovae , @red5tars , @devil-in-hiding , and @beloveds-embrace for boosting and hyping my idea up. i've been letting this marinate in my head for a long time, and I'm so glad that it's well-received :)

please please PLEASE enjoy guys, i worked really hard to make sure this was a perfect first chapter :>

"What on God's green Earth do you think you're doing with this schedule!?" your boss's words flying to you as fast as the papers he threw off the side his desk.

As the assortment of schedules, checks, files, and folders rain down like snow, you simply look at your boss with a cool smile and dead eyes. You've dealt with things like this before, the same tantrums over and over again with a man who's still growing up at forty-five.

The sun was setting over the New York City skyline, and you've just about had it for the day. It's been thirty minutes since your allotted time to clock out, and this man-child is still holding you up like a baby with his pacifier.

"Sir, you have a meeting with XYZ's CEO stand-in Friday morning," you calmly explain to the toddler as you pick up his mess. "That same day, you have a lunch on Wall Street with Mr. Allen in regard to the upcoming acquisition to one of your sub-companies."

Without breaking a sweat (but most definitely popping a blood vessel), you continue to give reasonable excuses for your choice in scheduling.

"And on that same day, sir, your presence is requested at your brother's residence, to celebrate his third engagement," you finish, giving him a good once-over to see how he's doing. "Speaking of, did you purchase that Rolex I linked you? I had sent you a message via work-phone with the exact link."

He's matting his poorly-worn toupee wig down and coughing profusely.

100-0, you tally your mental game you've been keeping track of.

As you grab the last piece of paper, ironically the one with his Friday schedule, you place the stack back on the center of his desk. There's enough force pressed down that his name plaque jumps (maybe in fear for your wrath too).

"Do you have any other questions sir? Or am I free to go home?" you smile tightly, hands neatly over themselves on your belly.

"Y-you're free to leave," he pulls his necktie nervously, beads of sweat on his forehead and palms as his butter-fingers attempt to fix his tie.

You nod, keeping the tight smile all the way past the threshold of his office, past the snarky bitch of a front-desk woman, and all the way to the elevator.

"Good afternoon, Pumps," the elevator-doorman greets you. "Long day in the office?"

"An understatement, George..." you sigh, rubbing your temples in circles to soothe an incoming headache.

George was probably your only peace in this hellscape of an office: kind demeanor, soft voice, manners, it seems the bar is below the ground with how poorly people behave here in your office.

It's silent on the way down, the light jazz of the elevator music filling the conversation-less space.

Ding

George's gloved hand presses the open door button, and you mosey on out with a little falter in your step.

"Take a rest, Pumps. Lord knows what will happen if you leave that man to his devices," he humors, earning your chuckle as you give him one more wave before walking past the front desk of the main entrance and into the revolving doors.

You spin in the revolving doors for a mere moment before getting spat out back on the street. You'd think that the sunset would help soothe your growing pain, but the streets come to life with blaring neon lights and flickering street lamps.

This is New York City after all.

Slapping your shades on and plugging your earphones in, you begin the trek home. Your houlders slumped and legs dragging like an army man coming home from deployment, you mindlessly listen to your de-stress playlist to try and relax before heading home. You don't think the pain of your head will leave until Siri reads a notification.

A NEW POST FROM GHOST PLUS A LONG MESSAGE, WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO READ IT?

Suddenly all your pain felt nonexistent, and you've regained bounce in your step once again. Your favorite voice actor posted, and a long notification means scripted content.

You discovered him, a VA named "Ghost" after scrolling through Reddit for a bit. The nation of subgroups and communities, you found your forever home with him after a ramble fap of his after a stressful day of work a couple of years ago.

Enamored by his husky voice, low timbre of his throat, and his British accent, you learned he had more than just Reddit. You didn't think you'd be addicted, but after exhausting his master-list on Reddit, you decide to follow his links to other places.

Other than his fifty-thousand on Reddit, he has one-hundred thousand on Youtube for his SFWs and one million on TFCo (the audio company he belongs to)- and when you saw his exclusive content? Well, you just had to get your hands on it all. Not to mention he's a successful voice acting career in audio books (you've bought those solely because he voices some of the characters).

And if one thinks this is degenerate, try working for a man who can't think for himself- you'd do anything to decompress and relax.

Which is where you are in the present, picking up your pace to head back to your house so you can relax with the voice that makes you delusional.

The walk felt like a marathon, but you finally made it to the lobby of your apartment. You don't even need to push the door open when they swing inwards for you, accompanied by another familiar voice.

"'Notha long day, Pumps?" a thick Yankee accent rings in your ears. You offer a bright smile, trying to hide the fact your leg muscles have been screaming at you all day.

You take your earphones out. "Nothin' I can't handle, Tony," you describe your day in a mere two words. He only sighs and shakes his head, offering to walk you all the way to the elevator.

Tony looks at you funny, "Can't fool me, lil' miss," he scolds. "Your calves are twitchin', 'ich means you need a good 'n long bath."

You chuckle, "You got it Thomas. Warm bath and sleep."

You hear a faint "atta girl" as you step into the elevator, and his figure disappears behind the silver walls as you go up to another battle.

Ding

The doors part, and you hear the echo of your shoes bounce off the walls as you near your flat door. Lost in the sea of your stuff, your keys probably lost in the void called "your purse," you hear a shuffle and a click of another door opening.

Out walks the guy that moved in right next door. You watch with a glare, eyeing him like someone eyes a stain on their clothes. He wears the same black trousers, black t-shirt topped with a black jacket with his head hooded, and that stupid black face mask with the lower part of a skull.

"Evenin' Simon," you begrudgingly greet. He turns towards you, also eyes you head to toe, and nods.

You do everything in your power to hold yourself back from strangling him.

Simon always struck you as odd: didn't talk to anyone, wore black (and black only), and dressed poorly. Everyone who lived in this side of NYC came from daddy's money, mommy's trust fund, or a mix of both. You took his apprehension in talking as introversion, so you tried to make your presence (and support) known from afar.

In the first month he moved in, you tried to strike up conversation whenever you'd see him leave or enter his room. Just like he did now, he'd offer nothing but a simple glance-over and a sizing, eyeing up and down like a child.

Over the next couple of months, you tried peace offerings of food and snacks. From homemade meals, to little snacks and munchies, you left them at his doorstep for him to grab by himself. You're pretty sure he hated them, usually finding nothing left on your door.

(Unbeknownst to you, Simon ate everything of yours to the bone- no crumbs left).

Since his initial move-in, you've counted that it'll be almost a year since he moved next door to you. God found you his strongest soldier with the way you remained so patient with him and his disdain for others.

One thing you haven't let go, though, was the noise he made late in the night. Whatever he missed in the day (which is usually 100% of noise he never made in the day), he'd make it up tenfold deep into the night. Sometimes you hear him curse loudly, or the annoying creak of his bed slamming into his wall. There were even moments where you've heard him laugh like a villain, before he'd goes back to letting curses wring out like water from a wash rag.

You've really tried to be patient with him, but juggling between a fool of a boss and an ignorant man, you felt it chip away at you like weathered stone.

You make your frustration clear, shuffling the stuff in your bag a bit louder, hoping that he'd get the memo, but he walks past you like a speck of dirt- unnoticed and left behind. Finding your flat key, you groan as you twist, unlock, and make it inside your apartment. You drop everything in the hallway, kick your heels off, and crash on your couch.

Usually you'd take this time to scroll through Instagram, catch up with messages you missed, or simply flip through Netflix to find the perfect show, but all you craved right now is sleep, a shower, and food (maybe a bit of wine too).

"Get to it, Pumps," you scold yourself, pushing yourself off the plush cushions. "For George and Tony..."

Seems your doorman and elevator-man were right, a hot shower does wonders. Though you came out of the shower a bit dazed, at least you were relaxed now. Your stomach wasn't, though, as it grumbled angrily.

"Yeah yeah, I heard ya," you mumbled, opening up your fridge to find it empty and sad (was that a fly leaving?). You curse and make a mental note for groceries tomorrow after work.

"Ramen will do just fine," you answer yourself, walking to the pantry to grab an instant pack to cook.

It's nice and quiet as you cook your noodles, the faint sounds of the city traffic sounding more like a lullaby than record scratch. You look over to your side as you stir your pot, the floor-to-ceiling windows allowing full view of the Empire State building, park, and the other buildings in the area.

Taking the pot off the stove, you carefully place it over a pot holder and grab a bowl. Pouring the soup and noodles in, you multitask and check anymore notifications you missed through the day, and the one from a couple of hours ago is first in line. The TFCo notification banner is calling your name, and you press it immediately to see what's new with your man, "Ghost."

The notification read an announcement for a new exclusive drop, a werewolf!shifter! in rut taking his pretty bunny!shifter in heat, and the tags filled your belly with butterflies: primal play, chase, CNC, shifters, and a mean!ghost tag- the list is filled with dirty tropes that make your core tighten and panties damp.

You're tempted to drop everything and fall victim to your desires, but ignoring your stomach felt like a bad omen in the making (and another earful from Tony would not be good). Besides, it was on your phone- you can wait.

Enjoying the loaded sodium soup of your ramen, you do some more doom scrolling on some other accounts and socials of VAs you follow. You occasionally listen to Soap Dish, a Scot with a fiery temper and even hotter audios, you listen to him when you want something goofy or silly. Occasionally though, he'll drop a great CNC, mean audio that really gets you heated.

Then there's Gazzandgoo (Gaz for short), another British VA with great all-around content. Ranging from mean BDSM audios to him whimpering and subbing, you enjoy Gaz's flexibility and range with his voice. A guilty pleasure of yours is his whimpering and sub audios (high powered job needs equal amounts of destress right?).

Slurping the last of your soup down, you didn't realize the time left you as your phone's clock read "eleven thirty" (was the doom-scroll that bad this time around?). Doesn't matter since it's officially "you time"- where only you, your search history, and the government knows what you're doing tonight.

After a quick rinse and toss of your bowl and utensils in your dishwasher, you dig for your headphones from your bag so you can indulge. Scooping it out, along with some papers, hair pins, and business cards, you leave the mess for tomorrow as you enter your room. Pictures of your friends, the few family you had in contact, diploma, and posters judge you as you get into bed and in a comfortable position.

Leaning back, headphones in, you press the notification of the TFCo app and watch your phone light up with the direct audio link of Ghost and his latest content.

There's lots of sound effects as the audio plays, the script being very in depth. You hear the rustling of leaves and grass, the billowing breeze, and the faintest noise of pebbles rolling over each other. The image of a forest is painted in your mind, and the painting gains a new addition with the sound of ragged breathing.

"Ah.... fuck..." the recording of Ghost's voice is in the background as you hear his groans and moans grow closer.

You close your eyes and let yourself go in the audio, imagining Ghost's werewolf character pouncing on top of you.

"'N what's this pretty bunny doin' here?" he muses in your ears. "Wandered on the wrong side of the forest, huh? Stupid fucking bun..."

Your legs twist and close, the friction of your panty fabric and your legs pressing together getting you worked up. Imagining what Ghost looks like, what he feels like, is sending you into overdrive as he continues to speak in your headphones.

"You look fucking delicious," he groans, and you shiver as you hear the sound effects of his hands running across a toy he uses for a body. "So soft, so fucking perfect. Gonna be a meal for me?"

You dumbly reply to the emptiness of your room, and your cheeks blush as Ghost groans again.

"You sound so cute begging for your life. How 'bout a deal?" he eggs you on, and you nod once again.

"If you can outrun me and make it out the forest, you get your life," he offers the first half of his wager.

He chuckles, "The other part? That's easy, isn't it bun?" you hear him brush over his mic to get real close. "If you can't, you'll be my meal."

"On the count of three. One, two," your chest is rising and falling quickly, the anticipation of what he'll do pushing you to the edge. "Go."

The sound effects of your character running through the grass, hopping and sprinting in order to stay alive. You cave and shove your hands down under the waistband of your panties, fingers flicking over your sensitive bud as you can hear Ghost grow closer and closer.

You hear the sounds of Ghost wrestling, noises of foliage and nature bending and breaking under you. The audio paints the picture of you pinned under Ghost, and his maniacal laughter rolls through your ears thanks to binaural headphone settings.

"Pathetic," he spits out at your futile escape. "Were you even trying?"

It sounds like Ghost was sniffing you, his inhalations close to the mic as he comments on your scent. You can also hear the sfx of him reaching down and to your aching pussy.

"Oh... maybe you weren't trying bunny," he teases, the audio effects of pussy squelching invading your ears. "Maybe you wanted this- wanted to get lost, caught, and eaten alive by the big bad wolf..."

You whimper, circles over your little clit growing faster and needier as his voice rings through your mind. "Beg me for your life- 'please don't eat me, Mr. Wolf'- beg me nice 'n proper..."

The squelching grows more obscene, and you can't tell if that's your own cunt or the toy he's using in the audio. It doesn't matter though, as the sounds of wet pussy stop, and you hear a shift in weight and position.

"I take it back- no need to beg when your cunt is drenched, bun," he teases, and you're so sure his cock in tapping the entrance of the toy that represents you.

"What? Scared? 'Fraid my cock's gonna hurt?" he asks, and you respond with a sad keen (ironic, since your fingers are working overtime for you to reach your peak).

Suddenly, a deep grumble and "oh fuck" is heard, and you realize Ghost is stuffing you full in the audio. You moan a little louder, slipping a single finger in, curling it to make sure it hits your spot just right.

Perverted sounds of Ghost's cock bullying the toy he uses to represent his listeners fill your ears, and the sounds of said toy smashing into his hips add sprinkles of erotica as you imagine yourself getting stuffed full of him. Lost in your own pleasure, you squeeze your eyes tight as you focus on reaching your finish.

You must've wandered a little too far in your imagination as you didn't feel your earbuds fall of your ears. The audio is no longer heard for you, but you can't tell when you're riding off of your imagination (and maybe the faint audio that's coming from the earbuds, since they're on full blast).

You're drawn out of your lust as the earbuds fall like marbles on your hardwood floors. Immediately, your hand flies away from your aching sex, and you see the buds lay pitifully on the floor. You groan, borderline sulking over the fact something so simple drew you away from your peak.

As you reach for your tech, your ears catch on to another noise. It's coming past your bedroom walls, and it sounds a lot like the audio you're listening to right now.

"Such a good girl f'r me..." the voice groans, a strangled moan escaping the lips of your neighbor and entering your ears.

"He sounds so familiar...." you whisper to yourself, and the next line he grunts out pieces all of the issues you've had with him together.

"You wanted this, didn'tcha? Takin' all 'f me like a dumb slag, but'cha wanted this didn'tcha?"

"You like this, don't ya?" he annunciates, semi-muffled noises of a pocket-pussy getting stretched out like actual cunt floating into your ears.

Every ounce of arousal has left your body as your braincells fire and connect the dots, and you swear you can hear the sounds of bells echoing in your brain.

"Ghost" is Simon, and Simon is "Ghost."

And "Ghost" is your neighbor.

ding ding ding

[lexirosewrites]

Some Marijuana thoughts on this fine 4/20

I think it's rlly hard to get away with having weed on u in omegaverse bc I mean tht stuff smells strong to ur average real world human nose, imagine trying to get weed passed ur parents or a cop when everyone has such a strong sense of smell they can all pick out individual notes of a person's natural musk

Because of this I theorize A!Eddie would sell out of the back his van upon occasion & since he already has a scent just left of marijuana he has managed to get away w carrying a joint or 2 on his person from time to time

The busiest time for his drug dealing is obviously the days leading up to tht most sacred of pothead holidays April 20th especially because he refuses to sell anything or meet up w anyone for a deal the day of. Because here's the thing barely anyone knows: Eddie's birthday is April 20th

Usually he'll wake up day of as late as he wants & if Wayne isn't working they have a late pancake breakfast but if Wayne is working the old man always leaves a covered plate of pancakes just for Eddie. Then from there Eddie will either spend the day w Wayne or take himself out somewhere w his hard earned drug money. If Wayne isn't working the old man will even share half a joint w Eddie at 4:20pm, otherwise Eddie will usually find one or all of the Corroded Coffin guys.

...

April 20th 1987 however finds Eddie in a farmhouse not far from the Byers old place (which is just a short drive from the Hopper-Byers newly renovated cabin) paid for courtesy of Uncle Sam. Eddie had missed his 21st because he'd been in a medically induced coma till the end of May 1986.

Vecna was dead, Max hadn't died temporarily but still lost much of her vision & mobility, the Byers family moved back, & Jim Hopper was chief of police again thanks to government goons fabricating a story abt him going undercover for them. Eddie got all charges dropped, was exonerated, & even got a formal apology from both the police department & the mayor. The feds had to do little to spin a good cover story, what w Nancy Wheeler kicking off his alibi managing to implicate the now dead Jason Carver & a fictitious Pennhurst escapee as a team of killers. She'd played into the weird devil worshipping hysteria currently gripping the country & a small(ish) towns need for the occasional tragedy.

Wayne had used up all of his sick & vacation time sitting by Eddie's bedside then helping Eddie relearn how to move his body, the alpha could tell the old beta felt guilty abt missing his 22nd birthday but Eddie reassured him he'd b fine. Sure the band was bust what w all of the guys families practically flying them all out of Hawkins after the earthquake but Eddie mentioned the classmates tht had kept him safe while he was on the run.

Wayne seemed mollified & it didn't matter Eddie had no plans to call up any sort of last minute birthday celebration.

He rlly should have known better. Especially when it came to Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Jonathan Byers, Argyle Garcia, & Nancy Wheeler. The other older members of the group had all wormed their way into helping Eddie in one way or another; Nancy all but threatened the principal w one of her guns to get him his diploma, Robin rambled at him when music only made his hands shake worse, Argyle shared his stash of stellar California weed, Jon was good at sitting quietly when Eddie needed company without noise, and Steve... the omega was almost always there helping & Eddie's alpha instincts were starting to get the wrong idea. Steve helped Eddie w his physical therapy when Wayne had to start going back to work, he cooked the pair of Munson bachelor's dinner more than three times a week, and he even did chores a guest in their new home shouldn't have to. Eddie wanted to croon & chirp & purr all over Steve.

Eddie Munson was falling in love with Steve Harrington & it was the easiest thing he'd ever done, easier than blinking.

Morning of April 20th 1987 dawned upon an Eddie Munson who was bolting awake from a nightmare he immediately couldn't recall beyond the feeling of unease pounding through his body. His bedside clock read 6am on the dot.

He wallowed for a moment before the need to use the bathroom was unavoidable, he grabbed his cane (he thought he'd need the wheelchair or the walker everyday, but nope only needed for bad days) & made his way to the bathroom at the end of the short hallway only to hear the sounds of someone in the kitchen. Then talking voices so multiple someone were in his kitchen. A few laughs ring out & just like tht Eddie knew who was in his house.

He made his way into archway to the kitchen to find Steve cooking pancakes so perfect they belonged in a diner, B!Robin was apparently designated the chocolate chip sprinkling squire, B!Jonathan was using a new polaroid camera Steve had gotten him for Christmas to document the breakfast brigade, & A!Nancy was at the kitchen table with A!Argyle rolling what looked like number 8 in a small but quickly growing line up of joints. There seemed to be some sort of system tht organized the weed.

The excited chirp Nancy let out when she was the first to notice Eddie got everyone's attention & Jonathan snapped a polaroid of him leaning against the archway gobsmacked.

Then the air was full of explanations of how exactly the entire young adults crew had gotten to Hawkins; Argyle & Jon had driven from San Francisco with bags of California weed hidden within the van, Nancy had driven from Boston since before the sun came up, Robin & Steve lived down the road in a little yellow & blue house they jointly bought w hard earned hush money. Throughout all of the tales was a common thread: Steve had known Eddie was going to likely b alone all day on his 22nd birthday & had contacted the remaining 3 young adults.

Eddie was no longer falling, he was fully in love with Steve Harrington.

(Part 1 of 2?)

Eddie’s bday being on 4/20 is both hilarious and so sad??😭

[sirfrogsworth]

I just learned Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur got cancelled.

It had a 100% rating on Rotten Tomatoes (95% audience score) and they did almost nothing to promote the show.

I don't care if it is geared towards Black tween girls, it is one of the most creative and fun cartoons ever made. I think anyone who enjoys cartoons would enjoy this show. The music is amazing. The stories are fun and wholesome. And the animation style is gorgeous.

The original songs are bangers...

And the licensed music is great too...

And the show might have my favorite Laurence Fishburne performance.

He plays the Beyonder as just… cosmic gay chaos.

It felt like a spiritual successor to Phineas & Ferb and Powerpuff Girls but deeply rooted in Black culture. They have a positive representation of a Black family. They promote STEM for young Black girls. They have shows about loving Black hair and even one about getting a period for the first time.

And there is a big red dinosaur.

I'm scared the only reason it got cancelled is because every company is afraid of anything woke or "DEI."

I think this is a huge loss for young girls. And for people who enjoy fun, creative cartoons.

This show just felt like pure unbridled creativity and I will miss it.

[vamptember]

WELCOME BACK TO THE VAMPIRE PARTY! 🦇

Welcome to our third annual Vamptember event celebrating Anne Rice's The Vampire Chronicles and all its adaptations! 🖤

For the month of September please join us in making vampire stuff! Fic, art, headcanons, playlists, meta, anything you can think of! Base it on the books, the 1994 movie, the AMC show, the musical, whatever you want! Canon or AU, get creative!

RULES

1. There are no rules. Please have fun!

2. Each day has THREE PROMPTS in case one doesn’t speak to you! Pick one or combine them or rearrange them, it’s up to you!

3. Tag your posts #vamptember so that we can reblog! If your post isn’t showing in the tag please don’t hesitate to DM it to us!

4. We finally have an AO3 collection this year, find it here!

Tell your friends and share to spread the word! Daily prompts (3/day) under the cut!

1. 1920s / Experiment / Eros & Psyche

2. Pomegranates / Sick / Dating App

3. Eucharist / Slice of Life / Gentleman Death

4. Private Jet / Tape Recorder / Missing Scene 

5. Romeo & Juliet / Meet Cute / “The easy cleft of my mortality”  

6. Library / Genderswap / Shrine

7. FREE DAY

8. Medieval AU / Honey / “Evil is always possible” 

9. Colosseum / Flights of Devils / Slow Burn 

10. Phantom of The Opera / Rat / Ceremony

11. Nomad / “He ate my heart” / Aphrodisiac 

12. Beautiful Boy / Grocery Store / Magic

13. Night Club / Tiara / Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

14. FREE DAY 

15. Ghosts / Breakfast In Bed / Three Is Company

16. Roleplay / Office / Forest

17. Kittens / Reverse AU / “You made a mess”

18. Lost In Translation / Eras / Marriage

19. High School AU / Metamorphosis / Dream Daddy

20. The Romance of Certain Old Clothes / 1497 / Blind Date

21. FREE DAY

22. Music Video / Pupil / Egg

23. 5 + 1 / Cigarette / Guardian Angel

24. “Half in love with easeful death” / Divorce / Mercury

25. Hospital / Celestial Bodies / Garden

26. Funeral Pyre / Tea Time / Dress Up

27. Drag / Reptile / Hair Washing

28. FREE DAY

29. Hunger / A Mother’s Love / Insects

30. Your Age / Tattoo / Epilogue

[issacballsac]

Dante Thoughts!

Dante Sparda

I can’t do one with Vergil and not my bbg Dante

Amazing with children

His eyes tend to spook adults/adolescents more than small children *they find them cool

Never had a pet before unless you wanna include the King Cerberus Devil arm

Obviously loves rock but I could see him being into other genres of music as well

Certain subsets of metal, general alternative, certain pop songs

Due to the nature of his job he has an extensive shower routine to get demonic plasma off of him and his clothing

Never notices when he gets small scratches like paper cuts because he stabs himself on numerous occasions his pain tolerance is through the roof

A fan of those mall massage chairs

Indulges in alcoholic beverages however he is not a smoker, never interested in it

Much like his brother he’s really bad at getting emotional and just dealing with his problems

Rather than simply putting them past him or blaming himself he tends to play them off in front of company to not sour the mood

Has only actually gone to like four parties in his life💀

This party IS NOT gettin’ crazy

An actual fan of motorcycles and would love to go to a car show to only look at the motorbike section

I can’t decide if he loves the show Jersey Shore or hates it with his entire being

There’s no in between on this

Stares directly into the window of the microwave

Adding onto the music topic from earlier he has a massive collection of physical musical media

Think of tapes, CDs, vinyl

Has a very old USD two dollar bill in his back pocket

I’m not sure exactly where in the world DMC takes place, perhaps Europe? In that case give him an old Euro banknote for his mysterious pocket contents

Not only is good at playing the devil arm Nevan but is also good at playing the actual guitar

Likes lounging spots

Think of bars, cafes, perhaps park tables?

Would actually pay you back if you gave him any sort of loan/money

Thankful for any donations of any kind like to fix the areas he destroyed, Devil may cry itself, or just for himself

Pretty hesitate to accept though, he’d rather receive a job and earn the money himself

Vergil Ver.