#wait these are all tags oh wait this one isn’t glowing

[lemonouiiid]

i forgot tumblr exists

[simpjaes]

So Sweet. ― P.JS

The one where Jay, in all of his cherry-flavored thoughts, makes you cherry flavored too. requested here, here, and here 

minors dni 

PAIRING ― park jongseong x afab reader  

WORDCOUNT― 3.8k

CONTENT―   reader is jealous over nothing, NO THIS IS NOT ANGST, mostly just smutty stuff, food play, costume party (jay is wearing cat ears hueheuehue), alcohol is involved but it’s consenting, ya’ll fuck in [redacted]’s room and leave the mess for him to clean up. 

WARNING―  idk, reader is possessive and jealous, kinda crazy. very me tbh. jay kinda just shoves it in even tho it’s painful for her……and keeps going………

NOTE ― happy almost halloween :D this is very short, written with haste, and probably not that good but…….jay, yknow? jay makes it good. 

nsfw tags under cut

nsfw tags― big fat huge cock jay, candy-play, costumes & cat ears, reader sucks his candy like it’s his cock and he nearly combusts over it,  pussy eating, cock stuffing, cream pie

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It’s gotta be the cat ears, you think, as you stare at your boyfriend from across the room. Everyone is a blur, but goddamn something is off tonight. Because, like, why is every fucking woman in this room staring at him like they wanna rip his clothes off?! 

Or, maybe it’s that faux-freshly-fucked blushy glow across his cheeks, or the blinking out of sync that comes paired with his drunken jokes and words. The atmosphere truly is making the usual, stoic, lame-ass Jay appear as nothing but an endearing cat-man who deserves a mouth on him. 

And you know, the fact that you came here with him, with matching ears and a fucking tail, should scare off all these little bitches, yet there they are? Suddenly just so interested in your man?! 

Jake is the first to notice the way you stare, raising a brow in confusion.

“You guys get in a fight or something?” He asks as his own animal-themed ears flop around when he turns his head to you.

“No–” You narrow your eyes at a woman who keeps glancing at your boyfriend as you say it, paying Jake little to no mind. “Just wondering why everyone has a hard-on for my boyfriend right now.”

Jake nods, pouting his lip out and raising a brow as if to silently say “Ah, makes sense.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better–” Jake starts, glancing around the room. “I literally don’t see anyone trying to get it on with him. I think you’re making problems.”

Pause.

“Please. Look at her!” You slightly raise your voice, pointing to a woman who is absolutely not trying to get on Jay’s dick, in fact, she’s literally eyeing Heeseung like she’s about to pounce. 

It’s really just the fact that she’s standing right next to Jay, and you caught her looking at him a few times, and also they had a “conversation” a few days ago. Nevermind that it was a “See ya after break!” type of conversation, or that she said it to everyone, and not specifically to Jay. It’s just that he responded alongside everyone else.

“You’re being annoying.” Jake finally starts to walk away from you, not actually annoyed but more-so amused at how jealous you’ve become solely because you’ve had a few shots. 

It’s not often you drink, after all. 

“Wait, where are you going?”

“Gonna go kiss on your man–” Jake laughs, now rushing his way through a crowd of drinkers and glancing at you when he whispers in your boyfriend’s ear.

You watch the way Jay falls into a face of concentration trying to hear his friend, and then see his eyes flick to you. 

Oh, well that’s just great. Surely Jake isn’t actually trying to hit on Jay, he’s probably over there snitching like a little asshole. Which sucks because this relationship with Jay is….it’s kinda new, you know? You don’t want to come across as the possessive type, or like– controlling.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You find yourself panicking when Jay stumbles his way over to you, a newly unwrapped lollipop hanging half from his lips as he sips his drink around the candy, and only spilling it once solely because he keeps his eyes on you rather than his footing. Jake is left behind, now beside that girl that clearly wants Heeseung to bone her into the next dimension, looking uncomfortable and left out. 

Good. She deserves it. 

“So…” Jay says as he stands next to you, leaning back against the wall and snaking one arm behind you to grab at your waist. “Someone’s jealous?”

You fold in on yourself a little bit, feeling that grip he gives to you that forces you against his side. 

“Of course not.” You mumble, sipping from your cup and still staring out into the room of people. “Why would you ever think that?”

“Jake said so.” Jay laughs now, leaning his head over to whisper under your ear. “You saying he’s lying?”

His breath sends a shiver down your spine just as the song changes to that of muffled bass, loud enough to have you wanting to cover your ears.

“Yes–” You start. 

“Huh?” Jay pulls back to look at you. 

“Yes, he’s lying.” You try again.

“What?”

Before you try to answer again, you feel him pull you. Around a corner, up, up, and away from the booming music one floor up. He lands you in someone’s room, fuck if you know who’s.

“Hm?”

Your breath catches in your throat when you look at him now. No one else in the room to muffle that croak in his drunken voice, those blushed cheeks, the fucking ears.

“I said, he’s lying.” You say meekly, unable to tear your eyes from the little split in his lip, reddened by the candy hanging from his mouth. 

His breath smells of cherry and tequila when he leans closer, tilting his head playfully to look into your eyes, as if to check if you’re the one lying. 

“Is that so?” He says, pulling the lollipop from his lips and sucking the taste down his throat, allowing that scent to waft through your nose yet again. “So you don’t mind knowing Jake’s ex tried to get my number?” 

Your eyes widen before they narrow. You cross your arms and look away from him.

“Of course not.” You lie. 

“And you wouldn’t care that I gave it to her?” He says now, hovering his lips near yours, eyes hooded as he plays with his words. 

That makes your blood boil though, and no longer can you sit here and pretend like you wouldn’t bring out the claws and start pulling hair if it comes to it. After all, that bitch was a homewrecker! Totally broke Jake’s heart and has the audacity to come to parties when she knows he will be here? And she asked for Jay’s number?!

And he gave it to her?! Jay chuckles when he pulls back, popping the candy back into his mouth as he studies the shift in your nonchalant vibe. He stays silent though, amused, waiting for you to argue until he notices the way your eyes fall. 

No longer annoyed, but hurt.

In all fairness, that silence he gave you after that had you thinking…he really gave her his number?

“Baby–” Jay soothes now, pushing the lollipop to his cheek with his tongue so he can speak as clearly as he can despite the slur in his speech from the drinks. “I’m joking.”

The relief washes over your drunken mind, feeling better but now back to being irritated. What’s with him right now? You don’t exactly want to be jealous, but the fact that he’s making damn sure that you were is kinda…like, is he into that? Does he want you to be possessive?

You’d be lying though, if you said he didn’t look hot as hell the other day pulling you closer to his side because a store clerk looked at you for a second too long. You might’ve even swooned a bit. 

“You’re a dick.” You finally respond, shoving him back playfully, unable to hide the relieved smile on your lips. “Looking hot-and-bothered all night, leaving me in a random room only for me to see you talking with some girl after finding you again.” 

He lends you his own laugh now, wiggling his eyebrows before popping the candy out of his mouth again. “Oh, her? The girl who Heeseung basically just finger fucked on the kitchen counter?”

You pause for a second, unsure as to why that sounds hot. Maybe just because she’s not after your man? Or maybe you like, wish you’d have seen.

“And you didn’t even take me to see?!” You go to playfully shove him again, but he stops you with his own gentle shove. Straight against the door, getting up real close to your face before whispering.

“So, you were jealous?” That slur in his speech is nowhere to be found before you taste the explosion of cherry. You’re kind of just staring at him, nodding out an admittance as his eyes fall lower, to where he’s tracing the bulbous head of that lollipop against your bottom lip. “Hot.”

“You’re going to drive me insane, you know that?” You finally say after the fourth or fifth time he’s swiped that lollipop against you, adding a translucent sheen to your already alcohol-sweet lips. 

“Mhm.” He nods triumphantly, now pushing the candy past your lips and into your mouth. “Should’ve came over and let me finger fuck you on the counter next, would that have made you feel better?” 

You roll your eyes playfully, ignoring the throb between your legs at his bold words. Jay isn’t typically this feisty, though you’d have totally let him do such a thing regardless of the eyes that could see. You just, like, didn’t really think he’d be willing to do something like that.

“I learn something new about you every day.” You chuckle out, noting the way he stares at your mouth and the way you suck on his lollipop. 

“Got loads of secrets for you, babe–” He smirks, taking initiative now and pressing his palms down on your shoulders, as if to make you lower yourself to the floor. Which, of course you do. You sink down, feeling the wooden door behind you sturdy and strong. As you do, he reaches over, locking the door.

What you think is about to be the best head of his life turns out to be him sinking down with you, slotting himself between your legs on the floor and pinning you there with his hands against the door. His head tilts cutely, the cat ears now looking more realistic than ever.

He doesn’t look like a curious little black cat anymore, he looks like he’s hunting for prey as he looks at you. 

“Look at you,” He says, more serious and without that smirk before he takes the candy back. “So, so cute.”

You’re melting against him after those words, feeling his tongue lick against your lips before you can even return to compliment. It’s sweet, red coated tongues creating a sugary mess, hums and pleasant sounds leave both of you at the flavor, only to deepen the kiss because neither of you can really get enough of it either. 

You reach up in the kiss, petting the ears on his head despite knowing he can’t feel it the way a real feline would, but he reacts all the same. Totally into it, even, nearly roleplaying as he groans. Maybe he’s just amused that you did that, or maybe he’s wondering if you’ll pull at his next or something. 

And in this kiss that seems to never end, he gets touchy. Pushing and pulling you to both give and take control, one hand moving from cupping your face, to gently holding your neck, up until it finds its way down down down, then up your scanty shirt. 

Totally lost in it, both of you are. With you skewing his ears to scratching at the nape of his neck, to him groping, and suddenly– prodding that same lollipop that you’d forgotten about between both of your lips. He’s amused when you lick it, the dulling cherry flavor coming back into the kiss with full force between you as he pulls back, red salvia stains all around his mouth before the smirk is back.

He watches as you take it back into your mouth, his own hand pushing it in and out, watching you chase it when he tries to pull it out entirely, only to shove it back in, deeper. That’s when he groans, pinching your nipple through your shirt particularly hard due to the sheer arousal that rushes to his cock. It lends him a little throb, a dribble of pre-cum messing his pants.

That about does it for him, pulling the candy out of your mouth now despite the way you chase it pitifully. He pops it into his own temporarily so he can go straight for what he not only wants, but needs right now. You watch him, a little dazed with the way his hair matches perfectly with the color of the cat ears, now a little crooked due to your meddling. 

He goes straight for it too, reaching under your skirt and practically tearing your panties off of you before he’s spreading your thighs wide and re-adjusting himself back between your legs. 

You squeak a little in response, proud of the unintentional sound because it’s very in character for the whole, you know, matching cat costume thing. And he only responds with another kiss, the sucker now removed from his mouth as he offers the flavor through his own saliva. 

Drinking it up is easy as you lick into his mouth, feeling the way his fingers toy with your folds, sliding up and down the slippery heat before–

“Jay–” You pull back, confused at the new feeling between your legs as you look at him.

His pupils are wide when he looks at you, mouth still slack from the kiss you were in the middle of, shoulder moving in tune with each push inside of you. He doesn’t respond, lost entirely in the moment and so fucking horny over what he’s doing to you right now. 

He kisses against you again, moving his hand faster, deeper, when his lips reach your neck. 

“Cherry girl.” He mumbles mindlessly, kissing down your neck and to the exposed skin on your chest that your shirt offers. “Tastes good on you.” He continues to mumble, working his way down as he kisses over your clothes up until he dips under your skirt. “In you.”

So, yeah, you’re being fucked with a well-abused lollipop and you’re not ashamed to moan about it because, holy shit.

His mouth is on you harder than it was when he was making out with you previously. Chasing the flavor, moaning for it, gripping your ass and pulling you closer against his tongue. You grip at the hard floor under you, unable to grasp anything at all through the sudden and intense jolts of pleasure.

And he doesn’t stop moaning, that sucker still being pushed in and out of you, only pulled out briefly for him to, presumably, shove it in his mouth before circling his lips around your clit with a hard suck. And he does that over and over again, like a loop of intended pleasure where he’s just fucking drowning in all of his favorite flavors. 

To not be into this is insane, to not grip onto something is even crazier. You reach down, pulling your skirt up just to see the way his eyes are rolled back, totally unable to make eye contact with you as he relishes in the red-sugar flavor of your cunt. The image alone makes you roll your hips up, which leads to him moaning louder for you to do it again, and again, essentially fucking yourself both on your boyfriend’s tongue, and his candy. 

In the heat of the moment, you finally find your grip in his hair, pulling it so tightly between your fingers that you know it’s hurting him, but he seems to like it. Another secret of his, you guess, as you keep doing that, pulling his hair, riding up against the pleasure he’s offering, and then– god the fucking ears. 

So cute on a man doing something so filthy and messy. You can’t hold it, you just–

“Fuck, keep going–” You stutter out in time with your hips, jerking back and forth both towards and away from him. “Right there,”

Jay is beyond pleased knowing he can make you cum this way. It wasn’t exactly in the plan to fuck his girlfriend like this tonight, but he’s glad he did. Especially seeing you chase the pleasure like this. He’s quick to maintain his rhythm, pushing the lollipop in right at the perfect angle, lips and tongue vibrating against your clit in a way that forces your hips forward, unmoving, stiff and you release. 

He can feel it, that sticky sweet slick dripping out of you, pulsing with each rush of pleasure. It takes everything in him not to abandon your clit and drink it all up, but he’s stronger than (barely). He’s good to you, waiting until that grip in his hair finally loosens before–

You’re pulling twice as hard at it now. Feeling the way he gives you no seconds to recover. He’s immediately pushing his face back down, licking everything that’s dripped out of you and letting it slide down his throat before finally pulling the lollipop out of you.

And he continues to lick, and lick, and lick, sucking and still fucking you with his tongue, lollipop gripped in his hand, pressing it against your thigh as if it’s forgotten about.

You try to wiggle away from him, the sensitivity too much from the image of him going feral, to the way he’s licking inside of you, to the forceful push of his nose right against your sensitive clit. And it’s so fucking crazy too, the way you’re still throbbing, the way you feel a second orgasm coming far too soon to the point you know it’ll hurt. 

You grip at his hair again, accidentally unclipping one of his ears as you have to force him to come up for air. More for your sake, in all honesty, but fuuuuck, it’s hard to hold him here with the way he’s looking at you now.

Lost, confused, even a bit…insane.

“I can’t–”

He tries to push back down, tongue falling out of his mouth when you keep that grip in his hair. 

“Jay, It hurts.”

“Fuck, baby,” He starts in an out of breath groan, totally forgetting about the nearly-disintegrated lollipop as it drops to the floor. “Just really, really need it right now.” 

In that action, you see Jay act more desperate than he ever has, grabbing you by the ankles and pulling you further down, forcing your legs open despite the sensitivity. You swear you hear him purr when he looks between your legs, witnessing a wet mess of sweetness, only to see even more the truth of his words now. 

You see the truth of how badly he needs it in the way he takes that sticky hand of his and pushes it down his pants, not even unbuttoning them before aggressively palming against himself, panting out for you to give him more. 

God. You think you might be in love with this guy. Too soon.

Too fucking soon.

What does it matter if you’re sensitive? Fucking look at him. He’s dying for it.

And so, you spread your legs wider, embarrassingly wiggling down to lock your legs around your sweet, black-cat of a boyfriend who can’t stop furiously jerking off. 

“Take it then.” You coo out, wiggling your open cunt right in front of his lap.

He doesn’t take his time either, shoving his too-tight pants down his thighs, shifting onto his knees, and immediately stuffing his cock into that same sugary slick. He holds his breath at first before releasing an insanely broken moan at the grip of your cunt around him.

The moan nearly sounds like he’s in pain, muttering half-words that can’t articulate a damn meaning even if he tried. Totally lost in the tightness, he barely notices you wrapping your legs around his waist, suffering through the way he knows he’s big, and ignoring how usually he always takes it slow so you can adjust. 

Not this time. No, you feel each pulse try to rip your hole just to accommodate the thickness he offers. And he just moans more at the way you wince, practically drooling on yourself as you clench, and squeeze, and hold onto him as if you’ll fall off the face of the earth if you were to let go. 

His mind is clear enough to hold you in return though, only because he knows it’s about to hurt more before it starts feeling better for you. Unfortunately, his mind is also just foggy enough to give you the short relief of his thick cock leaving you, only to slam in again, harder. 

You cry out at it, nails nearly digging straight through his shirt as you instinctively try to hold onto him through the pain. He soothes you through each pleasurable sound. Out-of-breath hums and moans right in your face when he presses his forehead to yours, each painful thrust followed with a compliment and a grunt. 

“So good, baby, so–” 

“You’ve taken it so many times before, fuck, just a bit more–” 

“Just relax. Please, baby, I know it hurts.”

Eventually, your body does relax, accommodating his size and painful plunges into you. Up until the rhythm is natural and the slapping of where your bodies meet sounds like nothing but a pornographic mess of pleasure. 

Both of you now losing it, you let Jay be the one to take it. You let him fuck freely, as hard as he wants, as loud as he wants up until you’ve had at least two more orgasms and you’re barely able to open your eyes, better yet function.

You don’t know where he got this stamina, considering most nights when you’re together it’s a one and done thing. Then again, most nights he doesn’t fuck you with halloween candy, eat it out of you, then fuck it back into you. 

When he finally reaches his climax though. Oh, oh god. You think you might’ve let the word “love” slip from your slack lips upon feeling his cum inside of you, pumping out and filling you up beyond what’s normal for him. 

You wonder if that little slip of words made him last longer, because goddamn did he hold you closer, and fuck did he kiss you like he never has before through the orgasm.

And when it’s all said and done, the two of you are left out of breath, a sticky mess of pink-tinted cum, salty sweat, and nearly bruised lips. You’d say it should be embarrassing to walk out of whoever’s room this is, but you actually find yourself giggling into your boyfriend’s side during the walk of shame. 

Mostly because you left the room together to find an entire circle of people outside of the door, presumably listening in. Which is…yeah, they’re weirdos. Then again, the two of you didn’t really make it into the room before all of this started. You guess you’d probably listen too if someone was getting fucked against a door.

The giggling though, that comes from learning who owns the bedroom you just got candy-fucked in. His wide eyes narrowing upon witnessing who was in there is probably the funniest thing you’d seen all night. 

Poor Sunghoon. You’d have cleaned up the mess if your legs were working properly.

But they’re not, so, good luck to him, you guess.

[multimilfs]

Agnes O'Connor x Fem!Reader: Poking The Bear

Summary: Agnes has the misfortune of being called in to work a murder case on Christmas Eve. When she leaves you frustrated, you decide to do what you do best; poke the bear.

AO3

A/N: I said "is anyone going to humiliate this woman in this ultra-specific way?" and didn't wait for an answer. Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals <3

Words: 8k

Included: Established relationship, Christmas, Porn with plot; g!p, teasing, somnophilia (implied), dacryphilia, phone sex, accidental orgasm, semi-public sex, humiliation, jealousy, blowjobs, dom/sub, sub space, throatfucking, unprotected sex, masturbation, light breeding kink, light degradation, praise, orgasm denial.

Tag List: @vii-v @absolute-memegarbage @crazycatladycaceta @hannah-0730 @shinysuitcloud @bubbly-moonwarrior @emilynissangtr @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @thelesbianapollokid4 @dmtrxie @notice-shy @vintagegoddess12 @rosie6reyes @softfruity @tragicsapphic34 @msharkness @setsuna1415 @kermidd5 @snickerdoodles-stuff @women-are-so-ethereal @imlike-so-gaydude @lotus-ignis @n0body-is-perfect @goblinscum420 @d-z20 @borntodieedition28 @autbot @ee-bah-sims @kathrynscontroversiallyyounggf @renravens @theothersideofthescreen @sp3c-tr0 @sapphicharknesss @coffeelover245 @madamslaytan @heady-pomegranate @ragnarockz @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @imtrashinflames @goforgreat @welmelsblog @igoturmoney @mol2311 @obnoxiouslycontemplating @bellatrix-black8 @deathly777 @emmasaviorqueen-blog @greatygreatgreat @chlizets @latedawnearlysunsets92

Through the peaceful, warm silence of the morning, an alarm clock blares.

Agnes growls under her breath as she does every morning, lumbering from the comfort of the bed and over to the windowsill where the alarm clock sits. A particularly rough blow shuts it up.

God, why did she let Vidal insist on this shift?

Her routine is simple enough she could do it with her eyes closed; and does, for most of it. It isn’t until she turns the shower to a cooler temperature that she feels anywhere close to awake. She needs coffee—bad.

Halfway through said cup of coffee and one of the donuts you picked up, she realizes she hasn’t kissed you good morning yet.

You grumble a bit when she turns you over, untucking your head from the blankets, but you don’t wake. You look heavenly, painted in the warm glow of the Christmas tree you insist on keeping plugged in all night. Agnes smiles.

Pressing her lips to your forehead, she murmurs, barely a whisper, “Be good, baby.”

A hand wraps around her wrist and she startles. Pulling back, your eyes haven’t opened.

“Agnes, come back to bed.” You say, voice gravely from sleep.

“Vidal will be on my case if I don’t show.”

“I can make your morning better than Vidal can.”

You stretch, curling back into the blankets, but hold her wrist just tight enough to indicate you’re still half awake. It’s good your eyes are closed; she doesn’t need you seeing all the kinds of fond you’re making her.

Agnes really shouldn’t get you started, but curiosity kills cats, not bears, “Oh yeah? How would you do that, baby?”

“You’d come back to bed and sleep until I say.”

“And then what?” She prods, trying not to laugh.

“Then we’ll have a really nice breakfast. Donuts for you.”

“What would you have?”

“You.” You answer, casual and so matter-of-fact, “I’ll even swallow, out of Christmas spirit or something.”

Agnes jolts at the change. Though true to form, she can feel the familiar coil of arousal between her legs. She really shouldn’t have gotten you started.

She’s half awake, she won’t remember this, Agnes tells herself as she tries to move from her kneeling position on the bed. Your grip on her wrist remains.

“Sleep. We’ll have fun when I get home.”

“It’s Christmas Eve.” You whine.

“I’ll be home before you know it, I swear.”

“Fine. ‘Love you.” You murmur.

You rescind your hand and turn over, pacified as you burrow back under the covers. Agnes shakes her head.

“Love you too.” She whispers.

With one last parting kiss to your forehead, she’s gone, with you none-the-wiser.

—

You wake up a mess.

There’s a half-remembered conversation with Agnes lingering in your mind, but it’s hazy enough to feel like a dream; an unsatisfying one, the persistent throbbing between your legs says. You offered to blow her, you remember that much—it’s all pretty blank after that.

No, there was something about having fun when she got home, too.

You can’t wait that long.

It isn’t until two of your fingers are knuckle-deep and you’re missing the fullness Agnes offers that the idea strikes you. You scramble blindly for the phone on your night-stand. The movements change the angle of your fingers and you whine, rolling your hips, even as the blind grabs for your phone grow more frustrated.

Once found, it is ripped viciously off the charger, and you open it, going through your messages for the quickest access to her number. You grin at the contrast between your long-winded messages and Agnes’ one word responses.

An infinitesimal movement of your hips reminds you of your intention.

The phone is brought to your ear and it rings… and rings… and rings…

…and rings…

“O’Connor.” Her gruff voice comes down the line.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You squeeze around your own fingers at the sound.

“Yes, Detective, I’d like to report a crime.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end.

“Go on.”

“Well, my wife woke me up this morning and got me turned on, and she didn’t even have the decency to fuck me before she left. What kind of woman does that, Detective?”

You can hear the curve of her grin, “A lousy one. That’s a pretty serious crime.”

Maybe it’s the low, lilting drawl of her voice down the line. Maybe it’s the way you can see how she’s sitting in your mind; shoulders back against the seat but hips forward, legs splayed with careless confidence, one hand toying with her belt. Maybe it’s the easy humor she slips into with you that she’s never had with anyone else.

Whatever it is, two sentences from her brings you closer to finishing than thirty minutes with your hand has.

You whimper, “Keep talking.”

Another pause. Then the faint rustle of fabric.

“What are you doing?”

Her tone is utterly serious. Unforgiving. And god if it isn’t the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

Finally showing your clit some attention, you moan shamelessly. It’s nice to feel full, but your fingers never quite reach the right spots, and you can’t get off on penetration alone—with Agnes or otherwise. It’s fun to work yourself up though; pushing to the heights you can reach there before really giving yourself the stimulation you want.

If she keeps talking, that—combined with the circling motions on your clit—will send you straight over the edge.

The anticipation builds over the line. For a moment, you pull the phone away to make sure she hasn’t hung up. She’s likely weighing the best thing to say to both turn you on and strike the fear of punishment into you.

Instead, her tone is almost pleading, “Don’t do this now.”

An image strikes you of making Agnes beg, of driving her to a point where the easy dominance falls away, and she’s reduced to chasing whatever kindness you give. It brings you so much pleasure it hurts. You need it. But how to get it?

“Is Agent Vidal in the room with you?” You ask.

The idea of Vidal witnessing what you’re doing to Agnes makes your toes curl.

“No.”

“I thought you were stuck with her today.”

“Leave Vidal out of this.” She demands, but it’s strangled.

She’s clawing for control over the situation, scrambling for a foothold. Normally, you’d give it to her. Normally.

“I don’t think I ask for much…” A lie. You make many requests in the sanctity of your bedroom, “all I wanted was for you to fix what you started.”

“Baby.”

You have to pull your fingers away from your clit, desperate to come but not ready yet.

“There are so many ways you could have done it, too. You could have woken me up with your head between my legs… or with you inside me. It could have been nice, right?”

Only the sound of her breathing comes down the line. Heavy, uneven, like when she’s holding herself over you, hips driving her deeper—

God, you’re so close.

You whisper, needing to know that she’s as affected as you, needing to hear her say it, “Are you hard, Agnes?”

“Yes.”

Even though you haven’t moved any part of your hand, the mental image nearly sends you tumbling over the edge.

“Will you come with me?”

“I…I can’t.”

You know. With the shades open, her office is basically an observation room; meaning if she were to do what you ask, there’s almost a guarantee she’d be caught. A sick part of you wants it. Wants to know that you have enough power over her to make her take the risk.

Gently, you begin to toy with your clit again. You can make her do what you ask. All you need is for her to say it—the confirmation that you’ve undone her so thoroughly that she can’t help but fist her cock under the desk where anyone could see.

“Please.” You beg.

You hear her inhale, the sound sharp in your ear. The words are on the tip of her tongue. Her eyes are no doubt shifting around the office, searching for the perfect way to hide what she’s about to do.

You’re standing on the precipice.

The harsh beeping of a disconnected call blares in your ear. Yanking it away, orgasm thoroughly ruined, you yell in frustration.

—

An officer pulls open the door before you can reach for it, nodding, “Ma’am.”

The precinct is busy for it being a holiday. Uniformed officers sit around desks, either on the phone or talking with others. You spy the Chief talking animatedly to a few toward the back.

They’ve really done up the place this year. Last year it’d been sad, grey. Now there are a few little trees spread around, some personal decorations here and there, a menorah on the front desk with candles waiting to be lit. It livens up the place.

In the back sits the partial vision of Agnes’ office. The blinds are somewhat closed, but she’s left the door open, allowing you enough of a glimpse to know she’s in there. You can imagine her without having to see; her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, hunched over the desk, hand toying with strands of her hair as she frowns over evidence.

Gazes follow as you cut through the center of it all. You do your best to ignore the heat working its way up your neck. Once upon a time, a few of the other officers had tried to catch your attention. You’d entertained a few of them. But they were minnows, and you wanted the shark.

You wanted the unapproachable, stone-faced Detective O’Connor.

And you had been the one to catch Agnes, but her fellow officers couldn’t imagine their illustrious Detective not being the one to do the catching. If only they knew how you could have her eating from the palm of your hand.

A swift knock on the open door and you lean against it. She’s exactly as you imagined. Though there’s a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead and her fingers tap on the desk like she can’t sit still.

She doesn’t look up, barking, “I’m busy.”

“I’ll pass this off to one of the other officers then.”

Her head snaps up and you grin. Hanging from one of your fingers is a white takeout bag. The scent of orange chicken and rice permeates the air, but it isn’t what you’re hungry for.

Work forgotten, she looks you up and down, licking her lips. Her fingers twitch on the desk. You clear your throat and she snaps out of whatever daze she’s in. Clearing her own throat, she sits up, tugging on the bottom of her flannel shirt. Your smile widens.

“Close the door behind you.”

Stepping in, you kick it closed with a low, “Yes, Detective.”

“What are you doing here?”

“My job.” You cross to her desk, dropping the takeout bag on top. You’re perched on the edge closest to her. She looks up at you from her chair, lips pursed, tugging on her shirt again, “What kind of wife would I be if I let you go hungry?”

“None of the other guys get lunch delivered personally.”

“None of the other guys are married to me. Do I get a kiss for my troubles?”

Briefly, she looks out into the precinct—not that she can see much with the shades drawn—then back to your lips. Agnes shifts, licking her own, before nodding.

You lean forward and hold onto the chair by one arm, capturing her lips in a rough kiss. Your other hand palms the length you know pulsates between her legs. Upon contact she grunts into your mouth, hips bucking.

Her hand fumbles blindly for your wrist. Catching it in a firm grip, you can feel the tension in her frame as she decides whether to press you closer or shove you away.

Pulling back just enough to smile, “Poor baby. Have you been like this all day?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Detective?” You murmur.

Her breath hitches. Blue eyes so blown out they’re nearly black regard you, her chest rising and falling as she struggles for an even rhythm of breath. You test her grip and find its slackened. The palm of your hand caresses the entire outline of her through her jeans.

Agnes doesn’t push you away, but she doesn’t pull you closer, either. The hand on your wrist allows you enough movement to stroke slowly from base to tip. Every inch of her seems to jump at the whisper of your touch.

Looking into her eyes, you can see how she’s fighting for control. She just can’t find the path to it. Good. You want her like this—panting and desperate. It makes you clench around nothing.

“What have you been imagining all this time?”

She swallows. Clears her throat, “Vidal will be back soon.”

“I can be quick.”

“Anyone… could see.”

“We have a few options. Your favorite is off the table, though.”

The favorite in question being Agnes bending you over the desk and fucking you hard and fast. It’s efficient, allowing her drive in deep while having the benefit of spanking you as she chases her reward. Her cock twitches at the reminder.

She’s tense, taut with energy like she’s only a few strokes from finishing right here. The thought is hot and you want it, bad—but not all dreams can be reality.

“What do we have?” Agnes asks, finally.

“If I crawl under the desk no one would see what I’m doing.” You offer.

Your hand keeps moving. It’s more for yourself than anything; you like feeling her, hard and wanting, yet so restricted, jumping at the slightest bit of attention. A thumb swipes over where you know the head is and she chokes, hips stuttering from what had been a slow roll into your hand.

“Do it.” She demands.

The subtle authority returning to her voice sends a shiver down your spine. One more swipe of your thumb and she keens, before clamping her mouth shut.

You laugh. Waking up this morning, this is the last thing you expected for yourself from the day; but you can’t deny you’re enjoying every second.

“That’s my girl.” You praise.

Bracing to slide off the desk, there’s a knock on Agnes’ closed office door, and disaster strikes.

The knock startles you. You try to turn and look toward the door, but forget just how precarious your seating situation is on the edge of the desk. You lose your balance. You’re able to get your foot under you just enough to fall into Agnes’ lap, rather than onto the cold tile of the office.

Agnes lets out a cross between a harsh breath and a moan as you fall into her. Your back presses firmly to her front.

“Don’t—god, I’m gonna—”

Strong hands settle on your hips to shove you off, but it’s too late. Agnes grunts. Nails dig into your sides as she ruts helplessly against your backside, unloading spurts of cum with every press of her hips.

You freeze in shock.

Then out of habit your hands find hers. With one, you lace your fingers together. With the other you caress her wrist, brushing gently as you turn your head to meet her eyes, careful to keep every inch of your body where she needs you. Her hips tense, stuttering, whimpering as she fights the orgasm that’s ravaging her.

“It’s okay. Let it happen.” You encourage, brushing a finger against her inner wrist. A war is waging over her face as she’s caught between desire and shame. Desire must win out. Agnes movements pick up speed as she furiously grinds up against you, and you can’t help the praise that falls from your lips, “That’s it.”

Now that she’s given in, she can’t stop, the hands on your hips clenching as she presses closer, harder with every thrust, powerless to the desire she can’t stop shooting. A wounded noise leaves her throat. You empathize; you know well how getting what you want can quickly move into pained-pleasure, when your body just keeps giving and giving.

Agnes’ expression is pained, laced with helplessness to her pleasure. Her eyes don’t leave your own as she rides out the waves. You try to sit still, letting her take what she needs. She allows you to watch every twitch of her expression, hear every noise she lets slip—it’s an act of trust that overwhelms. Lifting a hand to her cheek, you wipe at the perspiration there.

Eventually, she relaxes into the seat, her hips stopping in their frantic search for friction. Her eyes slip closed and you watch her breathe.

You’re eternally grateful that whoever knocked didn’t barge in right after; there is no way you’d have been able to talk your way around what was happening. It’s a mercy that Agnes rarely shuts her office door—now that she has, everyone understands something important is going on.

Running a finger along her cheekbone, you whisper, “Are you okay?”

“What do you think?” She growls.

“Given the mess you just made, I’d say you’re on cloud nine.” You tease.

With a sudden show of strength, you’re shoved into a standing position. You turn to take in the weight of Agnes’ glare.

Agnes snarls, “Fuck you.”

“You could have… if you had a little self control.”

Your eyes fall to her lap for emphasis, the evidence of her desire stark against the front of her jeans. Her hands clench on the arm-rests. Blood has rushed to her face, painting her features in red hues that betray her forced calm.

The sight of her so humiliated is doing it for you; and you can see that she sees, regarding you with a loaded, wary look. It will take no shortage of negotiation, but you will be revisiting this again.

You open the take out bag and pluck out the napkins near the bottom. Carefully, you wipe them over the planes of her face, soaking up the sweat that had been clinging to her skin. Agnes doesn’t meet your eye.

“Agnes.” Waiting until she locks eyes with you, “It’s okay.”

She scoffs, “I came in my pants like a fucking teenager.”

“And it was hot.”

“You’re really something else, you know that?”

“Oh, I’m well aware. I also know that you love me for it.”

Agnes rolls her eyes.

“Unfortunately.”

“Careful, O’Connor, I can still give this lunch away to one of your coworkers.”

The bag is promptly snatched from your reach. You laugh.

Now that she’s standing, you breathe a sigh of relief; her flannel is long, perfectly hiding the evidence of your activities from the world. You just hope no one outside was looking in too closely.

Desire rears its head at the thought. You need to get out of here before you do something that’ll get you both caught.

You lean up and steal a kiss, “Enjoy your lunch, baby.”

When you open the door to leave, you come face-to-face with Agent Rio Vidal holding two cups of coffee in her hands. You startle and she raises her brows at seeing you.

“Agent Vidal.”

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here, sweetheart, or I would’ve bought an extra coffee.”

“That’s okay, I was just bringing Agnes something to eat.”

“Take mine.” The coffee cup is held between the two of you. You can see the faint mark of her lipstick on the lid as she leans in, “I don’t need the extra caffeine anyway.”

“Keep it, Vidal. She can have mine.”

You turn so you can take in both of them. Vidal is relaxed, posture brimming with a quiet confidence while Agnes is tense, staring at the two of you like she could throw something—and she would, if she didn’t think it’d encourage the former somehow.

Agnes has always been… odd around Vidal; moreso than the normal awkwardness between two exes. And Vidal has never been subtle with her interest in poking Agnes’ nerves.

Whatever it is, you’re going to use it and see where it takes you.

You accept the offered cup of coffee, making deliberate eye contact with Agnes as you take a long sip. A latte—thank god, Agnes’ black drip would’ve made you gag.

“Thanks for the coffee.” You murmur low. Then you throw your wife a smile, ignoring the promise of pain in her eyes, “See you at home, Agnes.”

—

Coming home you’re delighted to find a few last-minute packages on the porch. Carrying them in, one shifts heavily in your arms, and you know immediately what it is; one of the speakers in Agnes’ car crapped out on her a few months back, so the passenger-side only spits out static where there should be music—or the sports broadcasts, in your wife’s case; you bought her a new stereo system so she wouldn’t have to ‘make do’ anymore.

There’s also a few new shirts, a nice leather belt, and a watch she’d been eyeing but wasn’t willing to buy for herself. You wrap all of them with a smile on your face and slide them under the tree.

The busy work of it all eases the tension in your shoulders and some of the arousal between your legs. There’s a lingering peace in every corner of your home. It’s quiet, barring the music playing from the kitchen, casting a nostalgic glow over you where the lights seem just a little warmer.

You sit down on the couch and take it all in. Ornaments wobble on branches, glittering and winking at you as they twist. There’s a garland draped over the fireplace with dancing lights; you feel warmer inside when you remember how Agnes helped you set it up, shaking her head at your excitement.

With the bustle of the season, you’ve forgotten to take time like this to stop and let it sink in. So many spend Christmas alone, hungry, without a place to go. You don’t have to. You have a wife who will spend every second with you in the warmth of your home. Tears prick your eyes.

You fall asleep on the couch with that warm feeling in your chest.

—

The scent of garlic and butter tickles your nose. You snap awake.

Did you leave the stove on?

You shoot up from the couch and throw off the blanket you don’t remember grabbing. It falls to your feet, twisting in your ankles, and you do all you can not to fall face-first onto the floor. How long have you been asleep?

Wait. Did you even put anything on to cook?

Agnes’ flannel-clad back greets you when you round the corner. A sigh leaves you. One hand settles over your chest, willing your heartbeat to slow to a normal pattern. It all comes back to you; wrapping gifts, sitting down to enjoy the quiet, intending to get up and start dinner afterward.

You step into the kitchen and wrap your arms around her waist from behind, forehead resting between her shoulder blades. A hand lifts your own so she can press a kiss on the back.

“How was work?” You ask, voice muffled by her shirt.

“A waste of time.” She answers. Her form shifts, one shoulder tensing as she stirs what sits on the stove, “It could’ve waited until after Christmas.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Vidal’s a workaholic and fails to realize the rest of us aren’t.”

“You are most of the year.”

Agnes grunts noncommittally, “What trouble did you get into?”

“Wrapped a few gifts, took a nap. I’m surprised some of your guys weren’t beating down my door with how rowdy I was being.”

“Chief would’ve just sent me to handle you.”

“I’d like that… you, handling me…” You murmur, hand moving down her front with intent.

A strong, veined hand grabs your own. She forces it back to its former resting place. You keep your hand where it is directed. The haven you’ve found nuzzled against her back—surrounded by the scent of her cologne and the heat of her—is just as inviting as anything more salacious could be.

Something bubbles and pops on the stove. Agnes jolts, before relaxing. You drag yourself from your haven to look over her shoulder; a pan of sauce is stirred on one burner, boiling pasta churning away on another. Simple, but hearty.

You press a kiss to the skin you can reach, just behind her ear, “You’re getting better.”

Before, her dinner of choice would’ve been a canister of peanuts, maybe a microwave dinner.

“Don’t say anything until you’ve tasted it.”

“I’ll do what I want.” You answer.

“Don’t I know it.”

Jabbing her side with a finger until she cracks a grin, “Let me taste, so I can tell you how amazing it is.”

The wooden spoon is lifted from the sauce and over her shoulder to your mouth. You wrap your lips around it, immediately lulled further into bliss by the combination of onion, garlic, and tomato.

“Agnes, that is delicious.”

Her brows raise. With a flourish, she allows herself a taste.

“You love to stroke my ego.” She says in that self-deprecating tone you know well.

Your hand and mouth move before you think, “That’s not the only part of you I like to stroke.”

Whether by a lapse in understanding or simply because she lets you, your hand finds its mark before Agnes can stop it. The full width of your hand presses at the apex of her thighs. Your mouth drops open.

Agnes is painfully erect for the second time today with little work on your part.

She drops the spoon against the pan and removes your hand again, blunt nails biting into your skin in the way you like. You don’t react, still reeling from the information you’ve gleaned. Agnes libido isn’t what it once was—a reality of age—even if she’s like a well kept oldsmobile; capable of going the distance and then some once you get her properly started. But you’ve done very little in the way of actually getting her started since visiting the office.

“What on earth have you been up to today?” You ask, breathless.

“Don’t start.”

“I’d say you’re well past the starting point, given what I just felt.” A laugh escapes, then you pause, “You didn’t…”

Agnes curious gaze meets yours over her shoulder. Understanding dawns, along with indignation, “Of course not.”

“Needing a little extra help is normal.”

“This is all your doing.” She snaps, “Go sit down.”

“If it’s all my doing, you should let me fix it.” You coo.

In a sudden burst of movement, Agnes is out of your arms, sauce and pasta left behind on the stove. You blink. Did something happen at work? Have you hit a nerve?

She crosses the space to the kitchen table. The chair at the head of the table, facing the stove, is yanked from its resting place. You wince as it shrieks against the floor. But she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, turning the chair and meeting your eyes with a hard look, pointing.

“Sit.”

You move without thinking. There’s a subtle note of steel beneath the command that sends you into submission on instinct, like a pet might jump to obey their owner. The thought doesn’t chafe today; you want to be good, you want to obey.

Plopping down into the seat, hands settle on your shoulders. Agnes growls in your ear, “Stay.”

And you do.

As she finishes dinner, moving the pasta into the sauce with an unsure—but successful—flourish. As she nearly burns herself cutting the garlic bread fresh out of the oven. As she casts quick, dark glances your way every few minutes, as if having to make sure you’re where she left you.

You are the picture of poise and obedience, fighting every desperate urge for nearness to follow her command. But the longer she takes the harder it becomes. Hands settled on your thighs, your fingers scratch anxiously at the fabric of your pants, helpless and without any other way to expel this building energy.

“Agnes.” You whine.

“Quiet.”

It takes ages before she approaches you. She takes her sweet time putting dinner on plates, making it pretty in a way you know is just to drive you crazy; she doesn’t give two fucks about whether or not something looks nice as long as it tastes good.

Dinner is brought over to the table, but you tilt your head. Agnes only brought one plate.

“Up.” She commands, “You’re in my seat.”

You stand. Reaching for the chair next to hers, a hand on the back stops you from pulling it out. There’s the deep sound of porcelain meeting the wood of the table. As she leans around you, the scent of her cologne makes you dizzy.

Agnes snaps her fingers. You jolt, snapping back into your own mind. She points to the floor and your brows furrow. Then, it clicks, and your face grows warm.

You sink to your knees in front of Agnes’ chair as she sits in it.

“I can guess what a perp is going to do just by the way they sit in interrogation.” Agnes drawls, idly tapping her knee as her mind works, “But you… I can never guess how you’re going to act. Look at you now, all good and obedient for me, when you were acting like a whore in my office today.”

So caught up in the dizzying feeling of submission, you’ve been oblivious to the weight of your own desire. Agnes’ words change that in an instant. There’s a needy, pulsing beat between your legs, and you clench your thighs together in an attempt to help yourself. It doesn’t work.

“You started it.” You say, breathless.

You can’t breathe around your desire for her. Oxygen is a secondary need to the feel of her, whether she’s buried deep inside or grazing her fingers over your flesh; you want her and it hurts. But you keep your hands on the tops of your thighs.

Agnes chuckles. It’s a low, rolling thing. Agnes’ usual response to amusement is to grin, maybe even shake her head and scoff—laughter is a rare thing, aged and cultivated until it’s amber laced with smoke over your senses. You feel the heat of it. The intoxication it brings is warm, a weight settling comfortingly over the shoulders.

“I’m collecting on your offer from earlier.”

And with that, her thighs part, and you surge forward without being told. Her belt is unbuckled in one fell swoop. You moan, unable to help yourself, needy for the feel of her skin, to taste.

A testament to the overwhelm of your desire that the concept of toying with her again does not cross your mind. Your hand finds the desperate length of her cock, exposing it to the cool air.

It stands proud, tip flushed and leaking, veins stark against the fair skin. You pant. With single-focus, you lean forward.

An equally fair hand grips your jaw, forcing your eyes to Agnes’, “How many taps?”

You blink. You’re buried beneath desire, mind clawing its way to the surface.

“T-Three.”

Agnes nods and you’re free.

The first thing you do with your newfound freedom is flatten your tongue and lick a broad stripe up the length of her. The hand on your jaw goes slack in surprise, Agnes’ hips jumping. A groan echoes through the room.

You circle your tongue over the tip, drinking in her taste and the sounds falling from her lips. It’s heady, making the room fuzzy around the edges.

Submission brings with it a strange feeling of power. You’re doing as she bids, being good, but every sound and reaction coming from her is real; the truest manifestation of how well you’re doing to please her.

The world falls away. Your head feels floaty, strangely empty despite the manuevers you’re employing with your mouth. You don’t need words, you don’t need thoughts, you just need to offer Agnes whatever she wants.

Which you do by taking her cock in your mouth until she hits the back of your throat.

A thud sounds from her hand slamming on the tabletop, scrambling for something to grip as she chokes out, “Fuck!”

You do all you can to repress your gag reflex, forcing yourself to just relax everytime she hits the back of your throat. Agnes has her head thrown back, eyes closed, chest rising and falling as she pants, whimpering with every movement of your tongue and mouth.

Through it all, her hand remains on the side of your face, a careful guide. You can’t help the hand that sneaks under your skirt; Agnes is shaking with tension, begging to let go and chase her pleasure at your expense, but she’s holding herself back and guiding you through taking her in the way that would do the least harm.

You moan. Agnes’ cock twitches in your mouth and she matches your moan, a semblance of that control slipping with a particularly rough thrust. You gag, tears forming in your eyes.

The hand between your thighs shakes, fumbling for your clit while focusing on what really matters. You’re so wet there’s barely any friction.

You want Agnes to make you gag again. You want her to push into you and take what she wants until you’re crying.

Looking up, you try to will all of that thought and intent into your eyes, but Agnes’ are closed.

You whine.

Blue eyes regard you from beneath drooping lids. You will one thought into your mind and one thought only; use me.

Agnes swallows. The pad of a thumb runs under your eye, collecting some of the wetness there as if to say are you sure? In answer, you take as much of her as you can physically manage, eyes meeting her own the whole time.

Her restraint snaps.

Agnes’ hand travels to the back of your head, her hips moving faster and firmer than you can comprehend. She takes over completely; driving into you for what she needs, making you gag obscenely, without a thought in the world for if it is too much.

Not having to make choices allows you to focus on obtaining your own pleasure. With every tear she forces from your eyes, you swipe over the pulsating bud of your clit. You can feel your own orgasm building low in your gut.

“I’m going to cum.” Agnes groans.

Delight shoots through you. She’s going to cum and it’s because of you; because you were good and gave her everything she needs. It feels amazing.

Why, then, do you pull off and out of reach?

Agnes growls. You blink.

Words. There are words to go with the desire you feel. You close your eyes, searching for them, mentally scrambling at the edges until you can wrap your hands around them and their meaning.

“Can I…” You start, voice rough from the beating your throat has taken, “Can I ride you?”

Agnes makes quite the scene; splayed open on the dining room chair, hair a mess and eyes blown out, cock twitching and needy through the fly of the jeans she ruined only a few hours ago. You clench.

Agnes licks her lips, “Yeah, alright.”

You stand on shaking legs and Agnes holds up a hand, stopping you as she lifts her hips and fumbles in her back pocket. She obtains her wallet and rifles through until she locates a small foil wrapper.

It’s safer, you know. You’ve used one almost every other time for the duration of your marriage.

“Agnes.”

The woman in question pauses before opening the condom. Her brow pops up in an unspoken question.

The words are instinct, comprehensive thought still far away, “I want you to cum inside me.”

Outside, the world rages on. Westview residents race down the street, returning home from last minute errands, gifts in tow that they’ll have to sneak inside. The wind is kicking up and through the trees as snow grows closer with every second.

And then there is you and Agnes, tucked in the warmth of your home, caught in the weight of your words. Stopped in the face of the potential consequences.

Agnes throws the unopened condom on the kitchen table.

“Then come here.”

You stand with your legs on either side of her own, steadying yourself on her shoulders. One steady hand settles on your hip. The other pushes your panties aside and aligns her to your entrance as you lower into her lap.

You could take her in one motion with how wet you are. Yet, Agnes keeps your descent slow, careful. She watches your face with every inch you take—same as you watch hers.

Agnes’ chest is heaving, eyes dark and stormy, face pinched in concentration. She’s the most handsome person you’ve ever seen. You clench around her and her hands tighten on your waist.

“Sorry.” You murmur, out of habit.

Agnes raises a brow, but doesn’t respond, helping you down the last few inches. When you settle fully in her lap you let out the breath you’d been holding.

One hand sneaks under your skirt to trace shapes on the bare flesh of your hip.

“You pulled an interesting stunt with Vidal today.” Agnes says. The hand on your hip tightens, “I’m not so sure I should reward your behavior.”

“Then why let me…”

“Why deny myself just because you’re acting like a brat?”

There’s a small testing thrust of her hips. You clench. She groans, head falling back against the chair. You whimper. Trying to move your own hips, eager for what you’ve been denied, you find yourself held in place.

That’s not fair. All day she’s been teasing you, driving you to the edge of what you want—what you need, just to deny you.

“You started it.” You whine, trying to move your hips again, still finding yourself held stationary as she leisurely thrusts up, “You woke me up and got me all bothered, it’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, baby.”

“Please.” You whine, “It’s not my fault, please.”

Muscles in her arms tremble as she lifts you slightly before sinking you back down onto her. The fullness makes your toes curl but it isn’t enough.

“Calling me at work and getting me worked up wasn’t your fault?”

“…No.”

Agnes laughs, “If you’re going to lie, you could at least be convincing.”

You won’t win this fight by playing fair, not when Agnes is clearly uninterested in fairness.

“You… You feel so good. Can’t think properly.” You breathe, moaning a bit more than comes naturally, “I’m so full of you.”

The thrust of her is uneven. She stops moving you completely and you fight down a grin.

You press a hand between your bodies, applying pressure to your lower stomach as she continues to thrust, subtly picking up speed. Her pants are growing louder, a wheeze leaving her mouth when you press.

“That’s you.” You murmur, leaning forward and ghosting over her lips, tracing the bridge of her nose with the tip of your own. You press harder and enjoy the way she groans, “Nobody has ever been as deep inside me as you.”

“Fuck.” She snarls.

You’re pushed up again, suddenly empty, and whine, blinking at the change. But then her strong hands are on your hips and spinning you around.

Your front is pressed against the table, bent so your cheek rests on the top of it. The texture of her jeans is rough against the back of your thighs as she lines herself and fills you in one thrust.

“Oh, fuck!” You cry.

Agnes sets a brutal pace, chasing that which only you can offer. Every thrust has her cock brushing that perfect spot inside you and you lose control of whatever sounds you’re making.

“Is this what you wanted?” Agnes snarls in your ear, “For me to leave work and fuck you like some bitch in heat?”

“Yes!”

“You haven’t earned it.”

“No, Agnes, please!”

“Hold it.” She orders.

With every move she makes, you do all you can to ignore the pleasure, to pretend it doesn’t exist. It’s somewhat possible when it’s only her cock. But then she leans down and starts toying with your clit and you cry out, fighting not to roll your hips against them.

You want what you’ve been chasing all day, but you still want to be good. You’re her good girl, aren’t you? You have to keep being good even if it hurts.

So, you hold your orgasm at bay, while Agnes chases her own. Judging by the uneven rhythm of her hips it won’t take long.

“Please let me come, Agnes. Please.” You beg.

“Why should I?”

“I’ll give you anything—anything! Please, my love!”

“Anything, huh?”

The tone of her voice is low, dangerous. Layered with a rasp that nearly undoes you.

If she doesn’t let up, it doesn’t matter how good you are; you’re going to cum.

“Anything!”

Agnes phone is slammed down on the table right beside your head. It isn’t on, but you have the sinking feeling that you’ve just landed yourself into something far worse than expected.

Her thrusts stop, but she keeps a light, teasing pressure that grazes your clit just enough to keep you engaged without getting you off.

It is torture. And the silence building as you stare down the upturned cell phone is only making it worse.

“I’m going to make a call and turn on the speaker. Then, I’m going to fuck you. And you’re going to let whoever is on the phone hear you as I make you cum.”

The weight of it is like a lead weight of nerves in your stomach, “But—“

“If you want to act like a whore you’re going to be treated like one.” She snarls, then her tone grows softer, “Yes or no, angel?”

Whoever she calls and puts on the line, you’ll never be able to look in the eye again. But you’re so full and eager that you don’t truly care at this point.

Besides, it’s Christmas Eve, maybe everyone will be too busy to pick up.

“Yes.”

A harsh thrust that forces the air from your lungs, then her lips are next to your ear, breath hot, “That’s my girl.”

The echo of your own words from earlier make your toes curl. Her phone is snatched from the table and she continues to toy with your clit as she makes the call.

It rings… and rings… and rings…

Faintly, you hear the line connect, and you gasp.

You can’t make out who the voice belongs to, but you hear a faint, “Yeah?”

Agnes barks down the line, “Don’t say a word.”

The bang! as her phone hits the table again makes you jump, a small shriek leaving your lips. It wobbles. Faintly, you’re impressed she hasn’t broken the thing with how she abuses it.

A long finger slams down on the speaker button and as the phone tilts slightly, you read the name on the screen, and your eyes widen.

Vidal.

Before you can say a word, though, Agnes is back to work. Something in the action of being heard has made her more aggressive. You swear you can feel the bruises forming on your hips where she grabs, leveraging you for every single thrust.

You try to choke down your moans and whimpers, not wanting Agent Vidal to hear you like this, but Agnes won’t stand for it; one hand grabs your jaw and pries your mouth open.

She pushes in to the hilt and you let out a shrieking moan.

“You were so talkative before. Have you lost your nerve?”

“I—please—“

“Calling me this morning and getting me worked up, teasing me in the office, in the kitchen… and incapable of handling your punishment.”

“I’m sorry, Agnes. Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Use me. I want—I need you to fuck me until I can’t remember being without you—I need you to fuck me until you cum inside and make me yours forever—please!”

The knowledge that every word from your mouth is being heard by someone else is not forgotten, but you’ve been pushed beyond caring. Agnes is intent on making you beg for what you want and you want it bad.

Agnes’ fingers and cock alternate stimulating you. If her fingers are working, her hips aren’t—and vice versa. You’re frankly astonished she’s been able to last so long because you’re teetering on the edge of pleasure at the barest contact.

But her will has always been steel. And she wants to see you humiliated.

The hand on your clit slides to your lower stomach and presses, mimicking your own actions only minutes before, “When I knock you up, you’re going to feel it right here.”

Something inside you snaps. You wail.

Agnes’ hips are moving at a clip, every inch of her rubbing where you need, setting you alight from within. Her hand doesn’t move. The faster she goes, the deeper she drives, her hips begin to lose their rhythm.

Any words devolve into animalistic grunts as she ruts into you, mouth alternating between kissing and biting at your neck from behind.

You’re so fucking close. If she denies you now, you think you might die.

“Let me cum, Agnes, please—pretty please—I’ll be your good girl, please, I’ll be so good. Let me cum and fill me up, it’s all I want—“

Through gritted teeth, “Go on then.”

Something inside you snaps.

The command is exactly what you need. Your entire body clenches so tight you fear you may never relax again. You lose track of what noises leave your mouth, you think you may even lose consciousness for a few moments.

All you know when you come to is that your throat is raw and Agnes is driving into you, choking out in your ear, “Gonna cum—“

Her hips meet your own at full force and don’t pull back, remaining, pulsing forward as if she can’t get close enough. Every spasm of her cock paints your insides with her desire, marking you as hers. Agnes holds your hips as she presses in with every twitch, struggling to breathe.

Weakly, you reach a hand back to tangle in her hair. Your throat aches, “That’s it, baby. Fill me.”

A groan. Another rough twitch.

It reaches a point where the pressure ebbs. She remains, but she’s not twitching anymore, nor is she fighting to become one with you. There’s only the sound of your breathing in the room.

Agnes moves to straighten and pull out, but you whine, reaching back to grab whatever part of her you can reach.

“Stay.” You whisper.

She pauses.

A hand gently caresses along your spine, “You can’t stay like this, angel.”

“Just let me feel you a little longer.”

There’s a comfort in the fullness; in the knowledge that Agnes is the only woman who can provide this for you. That she even wants to.

It’s all a blur beyond that.

Eventually, you can’t stand being bent over on the table anymore, even if you never want to be without the feeling of Agnes inside you. The call with Vidal is disconnected at some point. You and your wife move slowly, hand in hand, up to your bedroom.

You gently shove her onto the bed while grabbing damp washcloths. Neither of you can stand a shower at this point.

The two of you take your time, being careful to mind the sore spots. You lean slightly into Agnes as you wipe some of the sweat from her flesh.

“You’re so good to me.” You murmur, kissing the underside of her jaw, “Thank you, my love.”

“Consider it an early Christmas gift, angel.”

You tamp down on the urge to say something sappy for her to scoff at. Instead, you guide her down and kiss her, soft and slow.

[annebd]

winter warmers, day 16: secret santa. ~1800 words <-holy shit.

There’s a little box on the corner of Daniel’s desk, wrapped neatly in green paper and topped with a gold bow. The tag is a small square card, no more than a couple inches across, with a short message on one side:

To: Daniel

From: Your Secret Santa

Daniel opens the box and unfolds the carefully wrapped tissue paper bundle inside to remove the expected Scrabble tile. Today is the letter H. He tucks it into the top drawer of his desk, along with the rest of the tiles. The bow is also gently removed and stuck up on the pinboard next to the other twenty-two bows that he’s gotten so far this month. Some are gold, some silver, a few red and green.

There’s one particularly sparkly bow that’s been shedding glitter on him and all of his possessions for the past week. Halfway through the marketing team meeting last Thursday, Max reached over and brushed his thumb across Daniel’s cheekbone.

“You are all shiny, Daniel,” he said and showed him the sparkles of golden glitter that he’d rubbed off. “Always you’re so handsome, but today you’re like a shining star, too.”

Daniel was pretty sure he’d turned bright red, not even the deep tan in the middle of an Australian summer able to hide the color rising in his cheeks.

“Oh, uh, thanks, mate,” he replied and then turned back to the meeting on the last marketing push for Christmas sales, while trying not to think about the feeling of Max’s hand against his skin.

Today’s bow isn’t quite as glittery, but it does glint prettily in the glow of Daniel’s desk lamp. It’s 8:52am on December 23rd. Early enough that he has time to sip his coffee without interruption for a few minutes as he waits for his computer to boot up and he has to hop into the workday.

He eyes the drawer that holds the Scrabble tiles and decides he’s got time. As he’s done so many times so far this month, he pulls them all out and scatters them across his desk. Twenty three tiles so far. One of them is a blank, but a little question mark has been drawn on in black sharpie.

The ? tile showed up on the 17th, and he assumed that that was the end of it, so he’d spent the entire day trying to unscramble the letters, but couldn’t get anywhere. When another N arrived the next day, he realized that it wasn’t quite over yet.

The first box had arrived on the first of December. He wasn’t expecting it. George, over in operations, had floated the idea of doing a Secret Santa exchange a few weeks prior, but there had been so much hemming and hawing, with no one really wanting to commit, that he’d given up and moved on. Daniel hadn’t given it any further thought until the first box showed up.

Like every day since, the little box was wrapped inexpertly, though neatly, with green paper, and had a red bow stuck right on top. The same note, from “your secret Santa,” was attached. The Scrabble tile that day had been a D. Daniel assumed it stood for Daniel and that someone was either playing a silly joke, or truly had the worst taste in gift giving.

That assumption was only further confirmed on the second, when another box arrived, containing an R, which he could only assume stood for Ricciardo.

Thoroughly confused, he stopped by George’s office to poke his head in the door and ask when the Secret Santa drawing had been and why he hadn’t been involved.

“There was no drawing, mate,” George told him. “You lot were all too cool for the idea, so I didn’t bother. Why d’you ask?”

“Huh,” Daniel said, flummoxed. “Never mind. Don’t worry about it.”

He brought it up to Max when they had lunch that Friday. It was Daniel’s favorite part of the week- getting Max all to himself for an hour, to make ridiculous jokes and watch Max turn pink from laughter.

“Strange, isn’t it? Just a random couple of Scrabble tiles. What, am I supposed to use them to make a name tag for myself?”

“Maybe you have a secret admirer,” Max replied. “And they are, of course, just using the Secret Santa as an excuse to send you gifts.”

“They’re some weird gifts, then,” Daniel said, and took a bite of his pastrami on rye. It was good. Mustardy.

“They might get better. It could be fun.” Max looked over at Daniel, who was in the middle of another big bite of his sandwich. “You’ve got a little-” and pointed to the corner of Daniel’s mouth. He reached out, as though he intended to swipe away the crumb with his own finger, but he pulled back and let Daniel dab at his mouth with a napkin.

“Thanks, Max. And I guess you’re right. But I reserve the right to be annoyed if it’s just a bunch of letters spelling my name.

Day three put a wrench in the name theory when he popped open the box and found a V. So definitely not his name then.

Over the next couple of days, he received a W and a Y. On the following Monday, he showed up to two Ls and another E, each tucked into one of three boxes lined up carefully along the edge of his desk. He’d wondered what would happen over the weekend, and he was quietly pleased that his secret Santa had taken into account the extra days.

And today, as Daniel sits sipping his coffee with twenty two letters and a question mark, he decides that he’s got to be able to figure this out. Christmas is in just two days, which means that he’s only expecting two more gifts. And really, he’s only expecting one gift, since the office is closed on the 25th, and he’s not coming in for anything- even a secret Santa surprise.

Daniel mixes the tiles around, trying different combinations of words. The twenty three tiles at hand read NOIVUHHTLEMIWARELDYNIE?, which he’s pretty sure isn’t a thing. He can spell various words. He’s got the letters for DANIEL, but not RICCIARDO, so he’s mostly ruled out his initial name tag theory.

He’s been able to make a few phrases, some more promising than others. He had “HAVE YOU LET ME DIE?” laid out when Max stopped by his desk last week.

Max had raised an eyebrow at the phrase and given Daniel a disapproving look. “You don’t think that’s what your secret admirer is saying, do you?”

Daniel shrugged. “No clue, mate. Your guess is as good as mine right now.”

Max didn’t offer any actual help, but he scrambled the tiles again so that the question was no longer visible. “I don’t know either, but probably it isn’t about death.”

Daniel tries a few more letter combos, but nothing is jumping out at him. As the clock on his desktop ticks over to 9:00, he gathers up the tiles and places them back into his drawer.

When he heads out of the office that afternoon, he bumps into Max in the elevator. “You’re wrapping up early today!” he exclaims.

Max is always staying late at the office, and Daniel is forever trying to get him to leave on time, have a life outside of work. But Max insists that software engineering waits for no man, and he’d rather just get as much work done in the office as possible, instead of having to take it home with him and continue with it there.

“Hello, Daniel,” Max says. “Yes, today is an early night. I have some things to do today. Before Christmas, you know.”

“I’m glad,” Daniel replies. “See you tomorrow?”

Max gives him a big smile. “Yes. Tomorrow. See you then.”

The next day is Christmas Eve, and, Daniel assumes, the last day of his Secret Santa gifts. He still has no clue what the tiles are supposed to be telling him, but he feels a nervous energy thrumming in his stomach. Something big is coming, he thinks.

He gets to his desk by 8:45, eager to unwrap his final gift and finally figure out what’s going on. To his surprise, instead of just the one little green box he’s expecting, there are three wrapped presents on his desk. The first is the usual green box, but the tag that he’s expecting to proclaim the usual salutations instead proclaims “open me first.” He checks the other two. The box to its right reads “open me second.” And, just to be sure, he confirms that the final box on the end says to open it last.

With a slight shake in his hand, he picks up the first box and plucks off the bow to secure it to the pinboard. He opens it up and pulls out the last tile, another W. He adds it to the stash in his drawer and then reaches for the second box.

It’s the same size as the first, wrapped in the same way- no bow on this one. Perhaps it’s a one bow per day kind of deal.

Inside, there’s a small slip of paper folded in half. Daniel unfolds it to find a clue:

W_ _ _ Y_ _ H_ _ _ D _ _ _ _ _ W _ _ _ M_?

He waffles for a moment. Does he open the third gift, or does he unscramble the letters? The opening instructions didn’t say, so he supposes he could do either. Tiles, he decides.

He pulls open the drawer and tips the tiles onto his desk, then carefully arranges each one face up and pointing in the right direction.

Slowly, he starts moving tiles around. The Y is probably You, he guesses. So perhaps the M is Me? And then H could be Have. W is What? No, he realizes; that wouldn’t make sense. W for Will?

A sentence begins to take shape.

WILL YOU HAVE D_ _ _ _ _ W _ _ _ ME?

Daniel is fairly certain where this is going. He arranges the last few letters into place and then reaches for the third box. He tears open the paper, carefully as usual, and opens the box.

Inside is a card, on which is printed the name of the fanciest restaurant in Perth, which Daniel has been wanting to try for months, but which he has lamented to Max several times is impossible to get reservations for.

Beneath the name of the restaurant is today’s date, the 24th, and a time, 7pm.

Beneath that, there’s a final line, which simply says “TURN AROUND.”

Daniel takes a deep breath, steadies himself, and then swivels in his chair.

Behind him, Max is leaned against the doorframe to his office.

“So?” he asks. “I asked a question, I think.”

Daniel looks back over the tiles, laid out neatly on his desk. He looks back at Max and grins helplessly. “Yeah, Maxy. I would love to.”

[aventurineswife]

Stealing Moments from Time

Summary: When Ekko decides to use his Zero Drive to craft the "perfect" day for you, things don’t go entirely as planned. Between chaotic time travel mishaps, watery disasters, and a rooftop confession, you realize that imperfection might be what makes everything perfect after all.

Tags: Ekko x Reader, Fluff, Crack fic, Time Travel Shenanigans, Banter, Rooftop Confessions, Found Family Vibes, Light Angst (Happy Ending), Humor.

Warnings: Mild language, Brief mention of getting wet/messy (falling into water), Ekko being a lovable dork, Reader teasing Ekko.

You squinted at the contraption on Ekko’s workbench, tilting your head as if a different angle might make it less intimidating. “Okay, so you’re telling me this thing can reverse time?”

Ekko grinned, leaning casually on the edge of the bench, his goggles perched on his forehead. “Not just reverse time, perfectly recalibrate it. It’s a work of genius, really. I mean, look who made it.” He gestured to himself, smug as ever.

You folded your arms, raising a skeptical brow. “Right. Because last time you tested it, you didn’t accidentally erase three hours and get stuck reliving Vi slapping you on repeat.”

His grin faltered for a second, but he quickly masked it with a laugh. “That was… a minor calibration issue.”

You snorted. “Minor. Sure. So, what’s the big plan now, Dr. Clockwork? More experiments?”

“Not exactly,” Ekko replied, his tone turning softer. He straightened and stepped closer, rubbing the back of his neck. “Actually, I was thinking I could, uh, use it for something else today.”

Your teasing expression melted. “Oh? Like what?”

Ekko hesitated, his hands fidgeting with his work gloves. “I thought maybe we could… hang out? Somewhere that isn’t the workshop or a battle zone. Y’know, like normal people.”

“Normal people don’t time travel for fun, Ekko,” you quipped, but your heart fluttered at his sudden nervousness. He wasn’t usually like this—so unsure of himself.

“Yeah, but normal’s boring, isn’t it?” He finally met your gaze, his usual cocky smirk making a triumphant return. “So what do you say? I can use the Zero Drive to make sure our day’s absolutely perfect. No awkward moments, no bad jokes—”

“Wait, you think your jokes are bad?” you interrupted, feigning shock.

“Focus!” He grabbed your shoulders gently, shaking you with mock urgency. “I’m trying to be romantic here!”

You burst into laughter, swatting his hands away. “Alright, fine, time boy. Where are we going?”

Ekko beamed, grabbing his goggles and securing them over his eyes. “You’ll see. Just trust me.”

Ten minutes later, you were both soaked, standing ankle-deep in the murky water of Zaun’s lower levels.

“Trust me, he says,” you muttered, glaring at Ekko as water dripped from your hair. “It’ll be fun, he says.”

“Okay, in my defense,” Ekko started, holding his hands up in surrender, “this wasn’t supposed to happen. The platform was stable a second ago!”

“Sure it was,” you deadpanned, wringing out the hem of your jacket.

“Alright, alright,” Ekko said, fiddling with the Zero Drive on his wrist. “I’ll fix it. Just give me one sec.”

He pressed a button, and a blue glow surrounded him. With a flash, he disappeared—and a second later, the platform reappeared, solid and dry.

“See?” Ekko said, grinning as he popped back into existence. “Problem solved!”

You blinked. “Uh, not quite.”

He frowned. “What do you—”

A loud splash interrupted him as you shoved him off the platform and into the water.

Ekko resurfaced with a gasp, his goggles askew. “Oh, you’re dead,” he growled, but the laugh bubbling in his throat betrayed him.

“Catch me if you can, time wizard!” you shouted, already running up the rickety staircase.

Ekko grinned, shaking his head. “Oh, it’s on.”

The rest of the day was a chaotic blur of laughter, near-misses, and Ekko occasionally rewinding time to avoid disaster. By the end of it, you were both sprawled out on a rooftop, watching the lights of Piltover twinkle above.

“That,” you said between breaths, “was the most fun I’ve had in… forever.”

Ekko turned to you, his eyes soft. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, smiling. “But next time, no time travel, okay? Just us.”

Ekko chuckled, resting his head on his arms. “Deal. But only if you promise to stop shoving me into gross water.”

“No promises,” you teased, leaning closer.

He smirked, reaching up to flick your forehead lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.”

“Yeah,” Ekko said quietly, his voice losing its usual bravado. “Yeah, I do.”

Your cheeks flushed, but before you could reply, he spoke again.

“Now, uh, don’t make this awkward, but I may have rewound this moment a couple of times to get it right,” he admitted sheepishly.

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “Ekko!”

“What?!”

“That’s so cheating!”

“Hey, I told you, I wanted it to be perfect!”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, but you couldn’t hide your smile. “You’re lucky you’re cute, time boy.”

Ekko grinned. “Yeah, I know.”

And for once, you let him have the last word.

[innorogers]

Dusk

Steve Rogers x Reader (You / OFC)

Summary: Wait, WHAT? After everything you’ve been through, you thought he wasn’t serious about you? Oh no, Steve had to make sure you understood how committed he was.

Warning: Angst but then Fluff? / Sad Steve / Angry Steve / Protective Steve / Past Revelations / Hurt & Comfort / Past Trauma / Happy Ending / Comfort Steve / This one is actually funny

Characters: OC, Tony Stark, Maria Hill, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Clint Barton

Also: Thanks in advance for repost or any feedback ❤️ Let me know if you want to be included in the taglist (DM, comment, repost and tag, whatever works)❤️ You don't need to read the previous chapters but it will definitely enhance the experience if you do.

1: Insomnia | 2: Lucid | 3: Reverie | 4: Nightmare | 5: Awakening

The compound is silent, bathed in the faint silver glow of moonlight filtering through the windows. Soft lights illuminate the hallways, leading the way. Steve’s steps echo through the room as he opens the training room door.

His insomnia hits again, harder and stronger than ever before. The adrenaline runs through his veins. His mind is restless. Burning. And this time, there was no bedtime story that could soothe the pain or anger he was going through. He doesn’t bother with gloves or wraps. He’s too pissed for that, too lost in his thoughts. All he wants to do is hit something.

His fists make contact with the heavy bag, sending it swinging in response. The sound of the impact echoes in the empty room, but it’s not enough. Not even close.

The image of you, standing alone against Frazer, fists clenched, blood dripping between your fingers, glass embedded in your palms. You were fighting back so hard against the control Hydra still held over you with those damn keywords. You were panting, agonizing, trying to survive. And the only thing he could do was watch.

He hits the bag harder, faster. The chains holding it creak from the force.

You were kneeling before a laughing Agent Frazer, desperately looking for the tranquilizer and pressing it into your neck before he could stop you. Before he could do anything. 

Your body going limp in his arms, your eyes closed, and your breath going soft for what felt like an eternity as you slipped away from him.

He growls through gritted teeth, his punches landing with brutal strength.

This… horrendous lab. Children—your siblings—taken. Sacrificed. Experimented on. Killed. Their golden threads snuffed out as you hoped you were helping them. Steve’s heart clenches painfully, his vision narrowing. The memory of your voice, the anguish in it when you told him how you’d watched each of them fade, haunts him. You were forced to be part of it. They lied to you—how could they.

His punches grow more erratic, fueled by the rising storm inside him. Sweat drips from his brow, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down. His knuckles split open, blood streaking the bag, but the pain barely registers. He isn’t stopping. Not until he can soothe these invisible scars in you.

Your soft voice, telling him how you watched helplessly as your siblings died around you. Your power shut down in self-defense, a last-ditch effort to survive the nightmare Hydra forced on you.

Steve clenches his jaw, his breaths coming in ragged gasps now. His fists slam against the bag like hammer strikes.

Each punch is harder, faster, more desperate. He can’t stop. He can’t fight the guilt, the rage, the sorrow. You had been through hell, and he hadn’t been there. He couldn’t protect you. He couldn’t save your siblings. He failed.

Your words, soft and kind despite everything. You caress his cheek, smiling in his arms, trying to comfort him.

"What happened to me isn’t a burden for you to carry, you know that, right?”

His rage peaks, spiraling out of control. He roars in frustration and punches the bag with all the strength he can muster. His fist collides with it, sending shockwaves through the air.

The bag explodes.

The canvas tears apart, sand spilling out in all directions like dust from a broken hourglass. The chains snap, and the bag slams into the floor, rolling limply as Steve stumbles back, chest heaving, fists bleeding.

He stares down at the mess he’s made, panting, his mind racing. But the anger doesn’t fade. It lingers, burning beneath his skin. Cause he knows…no matter how hard he hits, how much he punishes himself, it won’t change what happened to you.

It won’t change a fucking thing. 

Not the fact that he wasn’t there when you needed him most, nor the fact that he failed in the first attempt at eliminating Hydra, or the second. You only escaped because the fucking popsicle machine ran out of power. Tony and Natasha rescued you. He wasn’t there. He doesn’t even remember where the fuck he was.

He drops to his knees, fists still clenched, blood dripping onto the floor. His breathing slows, and the silence creeps back into the room.

Grateful. The word echoes in his mind, like a bitter reminder. You were so grateful, so kind. To be alive. To be here, seeing everything. You loved every breath you took, and you loved him, with every glitter of your own golden thread.

But Steve couldn’t be grateful. Not yet. Not a bit. Not with all the pain, all the suffering, you had endured. 

It’s so fucked up. It’s so wrong. It’s so terribly, terribly wrong. He couldn’t be grateful for something so broken. And he wasn’t going to be. He wasn’t stopping until he crushed the last being on this fucking earth that would hurt you like Agent Frazer. He wasn’t stopping until he’d made sure of that.

"Your girlfriend told me once that we should invent some kind of power-resistant punching bag, especially for you. At least to help with your sleeping issues when it's late, and you'd hang around the campus looking for bags to hit." A voice behind him. Tony leaned against the doorframe, watching him.

"Then one day, she told me that you slept well every night, so maybe you didn’t need them anymore." He chuckled. "I didn’t even know where to start to ask—like, why, when, how’d she know how Steve sleeps? But I didn’t, of course, because she blushed, and I just… didn’t want to tease her."

Steve didn’t turn back. He stayed quiet for a while. "She’s not my girlfriend. I haven’t asked."

"Oh, so… she’s your ‘I’ll make all the best gear for my baby so he won’t get hurt’ genius engineer, and you’re her ‘you touch my girl, and I’ll mash you with the new shield she just made for me' kind of relationship?”

Tony nodded. "And also, you both have this ‘I’d sacrifice myself for you’ vibe that makes you a great couple. I think it’s cute, actually."

Steve sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the couch. "Why are you here, Tony?"

"Maybe you won’t believe it, but I’m here for a friend." Tony sighed and sat next to him, keeping a safe distance, so as not to invade his space. "Just checked on her. Vital signs are fine. Injuries are starting to heal. She’s tough, and you don’t hear it, but… this is nothing compared to how we found her."

"You’re right." Steve frowned, looking down at his knuckles, the bleeding already stopped. "I don’t want to hear it."

They sat in silence for a while until Steve shook his head with a mixture of resignation and frustration.

"Why didn’t I know?"

Tony glanced over at Steve, sympathy softening his usual sharp edges.

“How would you? She never let anyone see the cracks. And that’s something we’ve been working on for the past few years. Hiding her. Blending her in. So no one would noticed, so she could be safe.”

Tony took a breath, weighing his words carefully.

“You’ve only met her due to an unexpected, and beautiful surprise. A sleepless night, I believe?” 

Tony smiled. He pauses for a moment.“She thinks that was a gift, you know? Some kind of universe retribution for all the years of suffering and torture...and…” He patted Steve’s shoulder. “I think that too.”

“If you weren’t with her... what would have happened today?” Tony softened his voice. “If you hadn’t ended Hydra… maybe we’d never have found her, and she would have died... alone, in the dark, frozen, and without knowing that she was meant to be cherished, cared for, or loved. And…”

He glared at Steve as his expression shifted. “And no one would ever know that she even existed. Her siblings gone, all the memories about her would be…nothing, she would have been a file number. Lost within thousands of archives.”

Steve felt his whole body tense as Tony’s words landed. The mere thought of it was like a blast of icy water rushing down his spine, numbing him. A world where you were nothing but a forgotten experiment, a nameless file in some dusty Hydra archives, erased from existence. It twisted something in his chest. 

The image of you dying cold and alone in some abandoned Hydra lab. No one to mourn you, no one to even know that you were gone. No trace left behind. It clawed at him, settling like a vice around his heart, tightening with every beat.

“Stop with this self-pity and self-destruction mode, Steve.” Reading his expression, Tony knew his words had an effect. “It’s in the past. She made it, she survived, and she’s happy. Put yourself together and stop bringing it up in the present.” 

He grunted as he stood up and looked at Captain America with seriousness. “We’ve got a lot of work to do. Someone out there is trying to get and hurt your girl, Cap. Are you going to let them?”

Steve looked at the silent floor and the exploded bags for a while, then nodded. “You’re damn right.” He held Tony’s hand to stand up.

“Yup, I always am.” Tony smirked at him. “Go and get some sleep because tomorrow…” He clicked his tongue. “We have a briefing meeting since Nat is going to spend the night interrogating this guys and probably... you know, just a little bit of tango. Then analysis with Hill—shit, I shouldn’t have accepted that—and we have only 1,278 security protocols to discuss if you and your ‘not-my-girlfriend’ are going public or whatever.”

“And…” Tony raised an eyebrow at him. “Clean up this fucking mess, Steve, this is a 12 million training room for gods’ sake.”

Steve chuckled reluctantly. “Fine.” As he started tidying up the debris, he muttered: “This thing today, this agent, was straight after her.”

Tony was already at the door when he turned back. “Clearly. But I’m not gonna discuss this with you now at…” He looked at his watch. “3:22. My brain’s checked out. Unless it’s another half-the-universe-disappearing disaster, we’ve got this under control.”

Steve nodded, the weight of Tony's words settling into him. But it was more than that—your words still echoed louder. The reminder of how you wanted to move forward, how much you needed new memories. He knew Tony was right, but you... you were the one who truly brought him back from the edge. He inhaled deep, and started to pick up the mess he made.

“This is the weirdest shit I’ve ever seen…” says a cross-armed Sam, standing in front of a glass wall, observing a room filled with white lab coat experts. Led by the only two people wearing regular shirts: Tony and Bruce.

“That’s because you’re not a regular on this side of the compound.” Natasha tilts her head towards the unified silence and the steady room full of geniuses. “This is just… a normal Tuesday.”

“They haven’t moved for 15 minutes!” Sam says with an incredulous look. “You can’t tell me this is normal. Look at Bruce, he’s not even blinking.”

Both Maria and Natasha chuckled before Commander Hill explained, “Their brains are working. They’re deciphering that code.” She gestured toward the screen displaying the tangled mess of numbers and symbols. “Until they crack it, they won’t move.”

“If you turn on the neuro-transmission scan right now...” Natasha grinned, “it’s like the Fourth of July in there.”

“So, what exactly are they doing?” Sam considered turning on the scan just to see what was happening inside their heads.

“The guy that attacked us yesterday had this retinal lens used as spyware; it was transmitting everything he saw. We cracked the code and followed it to the hub where it was connected and transmitting data,” Hill finished her coffee and said, “And of course, it’s encrypted. There’s the source code…” She gestures towards the huge screen filled with numbers and letters that reads as Asgardian to Sam.

“That’s… one code?” Sam is shocked. “How’d they look if there were ten?”

“Technically… that’s one piece of the code. Not the complete…” Natasha begins to explain, then gives up. “Never mind.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier if we just… asked the dude?”

“I did. And… it got messy…” Black Widow answers as she pours some coffee and hands another mug to the Commander, which she accepts gratefully.

“You killed him?! Are we allowed to do that?” Sam’s eyes widen, not entirely in disaproval.

“No! Of course not!” Natasha thinks about it for a second, then replies, “No. We can’t do that.” Although Steve would’ve loved to. She pauses. “He got, um… it looks like his brain was programmed. After he woke up, he was entirely a different person. He didn’t remember anything. He was… is, actually, Charles Frazer. A normal MI6 agent who lives in London with a beautiful family and was sent here to respect the New Era Project. He doesn’t remember anything from yesterday.”

“What?” The Falcon is stunned. “Can they do that now? Program someone’s brain?!”

“We talk to a tree that calls a raccoon his father, so…” Hill comments without taking her eyes off the screens.

“And the raccoon shoots big guns.” Natasha adds, as if that’s a valid point. “Well… the thing is, we don’t know when this programming thing happened. Has he always been like this? A spy with sleeper cells that suddenly woke up? Is he really a normal agent who underwent modification just before coming here? We’re doing a lot of background checks, but this guy is… immaculate. Clean. Like this glass.”

“That’s… even more suspicious.” Sam frowns. “But Dr. Lancaster said he looked just like her brother, and… I’ve seen the files. He does look like Four. It can’t be a coincidence.”

“Probably his face was altered too. We just have to figure out when.”

“In any case, I don’t think the guy is normal.” Shaking his head, the Falcon isn’t buying it for a second. “No regular person takes a punch like that from Cap and wakes up. I thought the dude’s skull was broken.”

“Where are they, anyway?” Natasha starts typing on the screen. “I think Steve should be part of this conversation. Where is he? Making the windows foggy?”

“Unfortunately, no,” says Steve as he walks into the room, resignation in his voice, though his steps are steady and recovered. “She’s in R&D3 already. Back to work.”

He shakes his head. There was no way you’d go home and rest after being discharged, and honestly, he wasn’t comfortable leaving you alone. So, the best place for you (after promising for the 26th time you wouldn’t do any heavy work) was a lab full of people where you could put your mind elsewhere.

“As we all should.” Natasha raises an eyebrow at Steve. “No one here can afford to be a porcelain doll, y’know?” She’s not easy to break and far from being easily corrupted. She doesn’t say it, but her expression makes it clear.

“I know.” Steve nods with a serious expression. Yesterday, you had shown remarkable strength, remaining composed even when restlessness set in.

“Since we’re on the same page…” Commander Hill approaches the table and leans with a professional smile. She really doesn’t have time to waste. “We need to talk about the 1,278 security protocols that Stark wanted me to discuss with you.”

“Ugh,” Steve says with irritation. But then, this is your security they’re talking about, so he surrenders. “Fine.”

You didn’t know about the struggles Steve was going through as he listened to the extensive, detailed, laser-focused report Maria was giving him regarding ‘how many scans people had to pass just to approach you or your lab’ or ‘the perfect plan for your girlfriend to walk through the campus with you holding hands without being posted on social media’.

No, you were in another state of pink haze because the man you loved had said, “I love you.”

Ahh, the sky was blue, the clouds were like cotton candy (not that you’d know because you’d never tasted it before), your plants were growing strong, and yes, you had a terrible past. There was this guy who had leaked information to God knows who super dark organization, letting them know you were an ex-Hydra agent blended within the Avengers.

And by the way, that guy looked just like your dead brother and he tried to manipulate you through brainwashing. You had stitches in your knees and arms, and you shot yourself enough tranquilizer to kill a cow…but ha… who gives a shit, the most perfect, gorgeous man has said that he loves you. Like, priorities, right?

“Someone is in a good mood…” Your colleague slash friend Dr. Lin observed you and swirled around in the chair. “Alright, alright, so the mysterious date has become…a boyfriend?”

“Oh no, he is not…” You were caught off guard, and that made you think for a moment.

Wait…

What are the social protocols for calling Steve your boyfriend? Is that something people would assume after some steps of development in their relationship? Or was it a conclusion people would reach after certain premises: like intimacy, living in the same house, or having to face some dude who tried to brainwash you together?

Is it something that you or he would be entitled to call each other after those steps were fulfilled? And also, there’s this thing about… are you the only one? Yes, you live in a society that has historically been monogamous in most cultures. But things are different now. Polygamy is becoming more accepted. You wouldn’t like that, but of course, you couldn’t force him into that. Like, there are gorgeous women around him, that’s true…

“Honey…” Dr. Lin could see the ‘loading…’ sign on your forehead now that you were frozen in thought. “Is there something you wanna talk about?”

“I have some questions, Dr. Lin… no, Robert.” You put the computer in sleep mode and turned around. “Would the fact that he said ‘I love you’ make him my boyfriend?”

“Well… did he introduce you to his friends as his ‘girlfriend’?”

“Um… no.”

“Did you talk about it? Like, in which place are you standing? Or where are you heading?”

“Um…” You looked up as you remembered. “No. But we did talk about ‘making more beautiful memories’ together”.

“Oh shit.” Robert’s face shifted to ‘Gurrlllll…’ He carefully chose his words but wanted to be really clear: “And, uh… did he mention or hint that he wanted to be your boyfriend?”

“Mmm… no.” You shook your head. Not literally, at least.

“And you’re sure there’s no one else in his life?”

“Well. Yeah.” You made an obvious face. It’s not like he has the time; he is with you (or inside you) every night.

“I’m just saying…” Robert raised his hands. “There are a lot of dudes who’ll say anything to keep their bed warm.”

“Well… he is special.” You felt compelled to defend Steve. “He never lies.”

Robert almost choked. “Alright, darling… look, just make sure he’s not just banging you and planning to break your heart, okay? There are a lot of assholes out there, and trust me… you’re like a blank canvas for them, which makes you incredibly hot and attractive, but still… there are a lot of douchebags…”

“Mmm.” You were immersed in your thoughts again, analyzing what Dr. Lin had said, and as your “Loading…” sign appeared on your forehead, Robert just left you to it.

You had this way of getting so lost in your thoughts that the outside world faded away. You operated on autopilot, so you didn’t even realize how you’d gotten up at lunchtime and wandered into the common area where Steve was waiting. You didn’t notice the worried look on his face, nor the glance he exchanged with his teammates when you all sat down at the table, ready for lunch.

‘Ask her if she’s okay.’ Natasha’s eyes silently urged Steve.

‘Of course she’s not okay. After everything she’s been through.’ Steve replied with his glare.

‘Maybe she is just tired?’ Said Maria from the other corner. 

‘She does look sad…or confused.’ Observed Tony too.

‘Can you pass me the salt, please?’ Sam added to the silent conversation.

While the Avengers exchanged silent signals, you made up your mind to ask the questions that had been gnawing at you directly.

“What does it mean when people say that ‘you’re just banging me’?” You turned to Steve and asked.

Natasha spat her water out in Clint’s face, and Sam choked on a peanut.

"And I’m not against polygamy, but I think I’d be better in a monogamous relationship. If… we’re not just ‘banging.’" You nodded, speaking with honesty.

“I…” Steve tried to respond, but was interrupted by the hysterical laughter from Tony and Natasha as they rushed to save Sam from choking. (“Why would you have peanuts at lunchtime?!” Black Widow asked in a mix of laughter and disbelief.) Steve didn't know what to say, but a smile finally spread across his face as he looked at you in awe.

After the nightmare you’d all gone through yesterday, it felt like a lifetime since he’d actually smiled or felt any joy. Yet here you were, as you always are when he’s with you, with your clever, unexpected comebacks that washed away all his anger, anxiety, and rage. And your strange yet brilliant mind made him feel… so happy.

“Babe…” he chuckled, squeezing your hand and using a word he never imagined he’d use: “We’re not just banging…”

“We’re not?” You looked at him, a little confused, noticing his ears turning red. Lowering your voice, you added, “But that’s what we do every night… isn’t it?”

“OMG!” Clint stood up, covering his ears, trying not to burst out laughing. “Dr. Lancaster, may I kindly remind you this is a room full of people with extraordinary powers, including super-sensitive hearing… something we can’t exactly control?”

“Oh.” You blushed slightly, realizing how blunt you’d been, and leaned closer to Steve. “So ‘making love’ would be the right word?”

Steve chuckled as the rest of the team erupted in laughter. He squeezed your hand and smiled. “Yes, honey, that would be correct.” he said, amidst laughs and coughing.

Of course, you weren’t just banging. Steve had made up his mind to ensure you had no doubts about that. After the hilarious, "we'll talk about this for years" lunch, he gathered everything he needed to prove it to you and headed to the lab.

It was well past dinner when he arrived, and the place was empty, the only light coming from your desk. You knew he'd be late, so you waited for him to pick you up.

Leaning against the doorway, Steve watched you quietly for a moment, a soft smile forming on his face. You were completely absorbed in your work, brow furrowed in concentration. He didn’t want to interrupt, captivated by the focus you showed, his heart swelled as he took a few steps toward you.

"Hey… just… one minute…" You noticed his footsteps and quickened your typing. "I’ll wrap this up."

"There’s no rush at all." Steve sat in the chair beside you, smirking, though you didn’t notice, still immersed in your work.

"Just… borrow your hand, please?" he asked softly, knowing you were on autopilot. Without looking away from the screen, you automatically lifted your hand.

You felt something delicate wrap around your ring finger. Glancing up, you saw a slender golden thread circling it, secured by a tiny knot. Your eyes followed the thread as a delicate silver ring slid down, fitting perfectly. Startled, you looked up to see Steve raise his hand, revealing the other end of the thread tied around his own ring finger.

"What… what is this?" you asked softly, surprised.

"Well… I didn’t get the exact ‘sparkling glitter golden thread’ like you described, but… you get the idea." Steve smiled, standing up to kiss the back of your hand. "This is proof that I’m not just banging you, or…" He chuckled, "something that asks if I could bang you for the rest of our lives."

He paused, trying to remember Tony’s exact words.

"And it’s also a 'high-frequency, multi-sensorial ring capable of real-time biometric and geospatial transmission. Embedded with micro-electromechanical systems that continuously monitor and broadcast vital stats—heart rate variability, galvanic skin response, and core temperature—with GPS coordinates. Plus, a predictive analytics algorithm to interpret physiological fluctuations, allowing for real-time detection of anomalies in health and emotional state.'"

"Oh wow…" you breathed, genuinely shocked. "Did you memorize all that?"

Steve laughed and nodded. "Tony insisted you should know exactly what you were wearing."

"Awww, babe…" You couldn’t stop laughing. "This is the most romantic stalker device I've ever had."

He let out a hearty laugh and showed you his ring. "It’s connected to mine," he said, pulling you closer, his hands settling at your waist as he pressed his forehead against yours. "And I used a golden thread—the one that represents life—because you’re my life now."

"Steve…" You gently caressed his face, looking down at your hands, the rings connected by the golden thread. Really in shocked.

"And… you’re sure? Won’t people notice?"

"Trust me, I went through 1,278 protocols before deciding on this. Honestly, I made up my mind long before that. Hill said I could've spared her the torture of explaining all those, and she wanted to punch me right in the face afterward, but…" His voice softened. 

"I don’t want you living in shadows or secrets anymore. I’ll be with you, always, by your side. And…"

"And since whoever our enemy is already knows about me, they’ll think twice before coming after us, seeing that I’m with the Captain of the Avengers." You nodded.

"Yeah, that. But more importantly…" He kissed you softly after laughing. 

"Because I don’t know how to live without you. This ring… it’s just a way of showing how serious I am. How much I love you." 

He smiled suddenly, a memory flashing in his eyes. "Do you remember what you asked me the first day we met?"

"I think so…?" You hesitated, unsure which moment he was referring to. "We talked for like 10 hours that night."

"You asked me, when you added your number to my phone, 'What do you want me to be, for you?' And I answered…"

"‘My Everything,’" you whispered.

"That’s right." He sealed it with a kiss. 

"You are my everything."

You were quiet, and in awe. Just like the night you met him. For so long, you’d been searching, drifting in and out of the shadows, living in the remnants of broken fairy tales. But now, standing here with him, you realized those tales had never really been broken. They’d just been waiting — for this. 

You were no longer lost, no longer broken and sifting through the ashes of old stories. You’ve found this. Your own spectacular fairy tale, and the best part? It’s real. You had been given the right to love, to be loved, to finally be someone’s everything.

And for the first time, you truly believed it.

End

Continue to:

7: Hypnagogia |

8: Lull |

9: Vigil |

10: Eclipse |

Divider Credits: to the wonderful @cafekitsune

Andddd I'm sorry I'm posting so late today, but having two full time jobs is hitting really hard, will try to maintain regularity as I can. But its getting hard! Thanks for reading thus far and I hope you enjoyed the chapter, mayb posting a different story next friday ;) See you then!

Tag list: @vioplay19 / @jamneuromain / @steviebbboi / @heletsmelovehim

Love.,

Moon.

[actuallysaiyan]

Crawling King Snake(All Smite/Toshinori Yagi x Fem!Reader)

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, Love quirk/aphrodisiac, dub con, All Smite is a mushy gushy lover behind closed doors, mentions of loss of consciousness, kissing, swearing, violence mentions, angst, mentions of death, just all around a dark themed fic, lots of daddy kink(Smite calls himself daddy A LOT) usage of pet names(baby, kitten...), squirting/bodily fluids/cum words: 1.9k pairings: Villain!All Might/All Smite x Fem!Reader summary: you're the pride and joy of Toshinori Yagi and he's always trying his best to be soft with you, but it is hard when he's hit with a mysterious quirk. a/n: dividers by @adornedwithlight. tagging: @cogentsummoner @pixelcafe-network. Very inspired by a lovely drawing by @stormcallart(which for good reason I definitely cannot show here, but IT'S A GOOD DRAWING)

He loves sweet girls like you. Despite him being the number one villain in all of Japan, All Smite loves sweet girls. He craves warmth and love and affection. He’ll never show anybody else. He would outright deny it in front of others. Oh but when he’s alone with you, his heart finally feels a little more full, a little more fixed. You heal him like nothing else. You remind him of his mother; sweet, kind and so full of love.

His whole life was spent in such desolation and anger and pain. Toshinori knows nothing but sadness and anger. And with that, he used it to make the world around him crumble at his word and at his strength. Nothing and nobody goes against him. With time, patience, fear and brute strength, he has made Japan into his criminal empire. After he lost his mentor, Toshinori finally got to see just how dark and depressing reality was.

The only change? Oh it was you. You simply walked into his life one day. He’ll never forget the day you reached into his chest and took his heart. And he never regrets it either.

You’re the one thing he’s thinking about, even now as he is fighting against a large group of criminals who decided to fuck around. He’s thinking about you even now as one of them uses a quirk he’s never heard of on him. The rush of love and lust surrounds him and envelops his mind, causing him to feel so fuzzy inside. With swiftness and brutality, he dispatches all the enemies. There’s only one thing on his mind and that’s you. 

Now there’s urgency as he makes his way home to you in his hideout. You will be waiting there for him like a good girl. This both excites and frightens him. You could get hurt based on the way he’s feeling right now. He tries to calm himself, but it’s much too difficult. The way this quirk has hit him so hard, he’s already erect as he hurries home to you.

Once inside, he’s rushing to you. You’re in the bedroom and the way he opens the door and grips the doorframe, you both hear a crack. Toshinori growls when he realizes you’re in bed. You can see how dark his eyes are right now, and they are no longer blue. No, they almost seem to glow red.

“Kitten,” he pants. “Daddy’s home.”

You shudder at the way he says this. This isn’t right and you can sense it already. He’s looking crazed and manic. His eyes aren’t supposed to be red. He doesn’t show you violence unless he needs to protect you. Toshinori isn’t himself and you are frightened.

He stalks closer to the bed, a wide and evil grin plastered on his face. You crawl backwards on the bed, pulling the covers on top of you. You know it won’t save you, but it gives you comfort. Smite’s smirk falters when he realizes you’re afraid of him.

“No…wait…” he can’t think straight. His cock is throbbing in his pants, the precum staining his underwear. “Baby, I got…I got hit with a weird quirk. I’m so fuckin’ hard.”

You tentatively reach out to press your hand on his forehead, and he’s grunting at just that. You watch as the big man nearly melts into your touch. He’s like a big puppy dog sometimes, but especially right now. The bed creaks under his weight as he gets on it with you.

“Need your help, kitten. You know daddy would never get rough with you unless you wanted it,” he starts with. “But daddy is really horny right now and I can’t fuckin’ think straight and I might hurt you.”

Your heart stops in your chest and you gasp. This was quite the dilemma. You didn’t want to leave him while he’s in need, but you also don’t know if you can take him while he’s like this. It’s like he was under the effects of an aphrodisiac. There were only two choices and one of them involved completely abandoning your lover while he was vulnerable.

“I’ll help,” you offer in a sweet voice. He’s practically shaking when you say this. “I can take it, Toshi.”

Whenever you call him by his real name, it makes him feel so good. It makes him feel like he’s actually deserving of your love. This was no exception. He was practically purring as you said you’d be able to help. He looks at you, his eyes still very much glowing red. 

“You are so good to me, I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Without warning, he pushes you back and he pulls the blankets from you. Then he works on getting himself undressed. Seeing just how hard he is already, you know that he won’t want to spend too much time teasing you. What surprises you is when he focuses on just kissing you and his hand pulls your shorts down.

“I need…I’ll try to prep you as best as I can.” He grunts. He’s losing his mind right now, but you matter to him.

Two of his fingers slide into you, making you squeak. He looks at you, loving the cute way you react to just being penetrated by his fingers. All of him was so big. Everything about him was so large. And just his fingers alone would be more than enough for you.

“Feelin’ good?” he asks, kissing your neck and sucking on it. He’s desperately trying not to just bite down and draw blood.

“Y-yeah…” you moan as he begins curling his fingers inside of you.

Smite has always had the expertise of being able to just blow your mind with pleasure. Not that you were a virgin when you first met him, but you hadn’t had too many partners before him. And you certainly had none as big and as experienced as he was. It had made you jealous at first, thinking about all the women he’s fucked in the past, but soon you realized it was all to your benefit.

Toshinori is trying his best to keep his mind from getting too clouded and just pushing you into a mating position, but the sound of your pussy squelching around his fingers is driving him almost insane. He takes deep breaths between sloppy kisses and he continues to curl his fingers deep inside your cunt. When he lets out a whimper, you know he needs more than this.

“Please,” he purrs. “Please, you know I don’t beg…fuck this stupid quirk got me all fucked up.”

You take a deep breath and you push him back on the bed. His eyes are wide as you straddle him. You’ll need to take this at your own pace first, otherwise he’s going to actually break you this time. Toshi grunts loudly when he feels you sliding his cock between your wet folds. He’s going crazy and he knows there’s a very good possibility he could hurt you.

He throws his head back in pleasure as you slowly sink down onto his girth. You can feel yourself shuddering and shaking from the stretch. It feels like it’s too much if you’re being honest. But you want to do this. You want to take care of him. You want him to feel better. Love pushes you to do things you wouldn’t normally do.

His large hands grip your hips and he pulls you all the way down. When your pelvises meet, you let out a soft cry. The tip of his cock is bruising against your cervix. He’s still got that crazed look on his face. And then he’s pushing and pulling you up and down on his cock, rocking your hips for you with his hands guiding the pace.

“Fuck yes! Oh fuck yeah, daddy needed this so fucking badly.”

It’s your turn to be the one who can’t think straight. The way his cock keeps bullying itself inside you, bruising your sweet spot, you know you won’t be able to last long. You try to warn him of your impending orgasm, but the way he keeps fucking up into you, you can barely do anything but moan.

When he flips you both over and pushes you into a mating press, you know you’re done for. Both of you gasp when your juices begin to gush out of you. Sure, you’ve squirted before, but it’s always a nice surprise for him. He smirks as he looks down at your fucked out face. He then buries his face in the crook of your neck and begins to pound you into the mattress.

“That’s my sweet girl,” he growls. “Always so willing to help me. Love me unconditionally.”

His words only seem to push you further into the subspace you’re in. It was almost like the quirk he was hit with was now affecting you even more than it had affected him. You try to hold on and pace yourself, but his cock keeps smashing against your sweet spot. A soft squeak escapes from your lips as you begin squirting again.

“That’s daddy’s good little kitten!” He growls and picks up his pace.

The bed frame is creaking underneath you both from the sheer force he’s using to fuck you. Your brain is scrambled from the intense pleasure. Your legs are jelly from cumming so hard two times already. The bed is soaked from your juices. And Smite looks like he could keep going for a long time. But the pleasure is building quickly, lighting a fire in his tummy.

“Gonna fucking cum inside your little pussy,” he growls before leaning in to kiss you deeply. “Gonna fill that cute little pussy.”

His hands pull your legs up and your ankles are resting as close to his shoulders as they can. Your eyes cross from the deep penetration. A loud laugh rumbles from his chest that soon turns into a deep grunt. A few more thrusts in this position renders your lover into a moaning mess. He grunts something like ‘cumming’ before you feel the thick ropes of semen filling you.

His roar is loud and makes the windows shake. You try to stay conscious from the intensity of it all, but it’s hard. You feel like you’ve been fucked to the point of exhaustion. One of your little hands reaches out to touch his chest, trying to ground yourself. When he’s done riding his high, he slumps down on top of you for a few minutes.

“I’m so lucky…” he pants out. “Fuck I’m so lucky to have my sweet girl.”

This is when he notices you’re barely holding onto consciousness. He’s cursing himself for pushing you well past your usual boundaries and limits. He pulls out of you, watching as your mixed juices flow out of your poor abused hole. He then cradles you in his arms, pressing soft little kisses on your face.

“I’m here…I’ll take care of you.” He says softly.

True to his word, Toshinori bathes you and gets you hydrated before changing the sheets on the bed. He tucks you in, holding you so close to his chest. He is weak for you, and he would do anything for you. So the one time you chose to help him for something beyond your strength, he will always remember this night.

A little kiss from you rouses him from his thoughts and you smile. “I love you, Toshinori.”

He smiles, “And I love you.”

reblogs and comments always appreciated!

©actuallysaiyan 2024– do not repost on other platforms, copy, translate or edit my works!

[thedreamlessnights]

Fixation

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Synopsis: When a mistranslated ancient spell goes wrong, you're forced to suffer the consequences. Astarion takes a keen interest in your... predicament.

Warnings and tags: 18+ (and I cannot stress this enough), aphrodisiac spell, Spawn!Tav, established relationship, possessiveness. Brief referrals to the Rite of Profane Ascension and Cazador. Fingering, oral sex (receiving), blood drinking, multiple orgasms, slightly rough sex. Brief overstimulation, praise, mild degradation, uses of the terms 'pet' and 'consort.'

Word Count: 4.7k

A/N: And here's the second of my parallel aphrodisiac fics for Non-Ascended vs. Ascended Astarion! It was honestly very interesting to write the differences between them. The Non-Ascended one is much softer than this - please mind the tags!

The book must be hundreds of years old, but it feels warm in your hands. You’ve perused it inside and out, practically memorizing the faded runes. Fixation. It’s a weakness of yours. 

Still, how often is it that you find an ancient book of spells? Who knows if you might discover some long-lost secret buried within the pages. And, yes: you’re bored. 

Your messy translations are not ideal for this sort of thing, which is exactly why you’ve chosen a basic spell to start with. It’s mid-afternoon, quiet and still, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating the room. 

The long-forgotten words flow from your mouth like honey - as if they’ve been waiting for centuries just to be said. Light and sweet, they settle into the room and linger for just a moment. Some spells can be felt in the very air, manifesting as an electric haze that tickles the lungs, but not this one. When the sound of your voice fades away, the only sign that the spell has worked is a gentle heat that settles in your skin.

For a long moment, you kneel, studying the small scrape on your finger and waiting for something to happen. If you’d translated correctly, this should have been a basic healing spell with enough capacity to mend small cuts and burns. An increasingly pleasant heat builds in your veins, but the scrape remains untouched.

It should have worked by now. But if it wasn’t a healing spell, then…

Your eyes turn back to the pages, flickering between the references you’d found and the runes. Something connects. A line you hadn’t seen. A word you hadn’t added. The runes on the page - they’re not for healing, like you’d thought. But if they don’t mean health, then…

You stare at it a moment longer.

Lust. 

“Oh. Oh, gods.”

You rise to your feet like you’ve been slapped. The heat is bearable for now but growing incessantly, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. No counterspell. No healing potion. Anything you try could just as well make it worse. Which poses the question: what the hells are you going to do?

You suck in a deep breath.

First things first: you need to get out of this room. The air is feeling like it might strangle you. 

The chill of the hall greets you sweetly as you pace up and down the walkway, weighing your options. A spell this simple shouldn’t last long. It’ll most likely linger for only a few hours, then dissipate. It doesn’t seem dangerous. It’s not painful. Not yet, at least.

You could lock yourself in the cellar for the night, but that isn’t exactly appealing. The bedroom wouldn’t work, either. It’s Astarion’s room too, after all.

Astarion. Just the thought of him sends sparks flaring through you. It ladles heat into a very pleasant spot in your abdomen, and something flutters deep in your gut. Gods, what you wouldn’t give for him to be touching you.

But he cannot find out about this. By the hells, he can’t ever find out, because if he does, you will never live this down. Which leaves two options: you can either go to dinner and attempt to act like you’re fine, or you can try to hide away in one of the rooms and wait it out. 

Neither one is ideal. Being physically near him, he’ll be able to read you like a book - which makes dinner a very dangerous concept. But if you neglect to show up at all? He’ll be even more suspect. He’ll certainly seek you out and find out the truth in the end.

So. Dinner it is. 

You’ll just have to keep yourself composed, somehow. If only doing was as easy as thinking. But do you really have a choice?

No, you think. 

You don’t.

As soon as he’s through the door, Astarion’s eyes are on you. They always seem to be, these days. Ever since the Ascension. His dark consort, his right hand. His, for whatever he wants. He never seems to see you like he used to, but the sting of that faded long ago. Another thing lost to the ritual.

“Hello, my treasure,” he greets.

You offer him a smile as he takes your hand, pressing a kiss to the skin. You can only hope he doesn’t notice the fear in your eyes or the way you’re trembling. 

The gods must be on your side, because he’s distracted. The moment he releases you, he’s talking with a servant about something or other. You can barely keep up with the politics of the city on a normal day, much less on one with flaming lust in your stomach.

So you follow him to the table like a puppet, moving to your usual seat opposite his. It seems much closer together than usual. Everything does. He could be across the room, and you’d still feel like he was at your side, his breath at your neck. You’re almost grateful that the near-only things you can consume are blood and wine, because your trembling fingers are not fit to handle a knife.

After you’ve taken your seat, you have to put all of your attention into holding your glass. You’d try to act natural, but you can’t even remember what that feels like anymore. Does your skin look cold enough? Is your smile convincing? Is the picture you’re painting compelling, or will your imperfections give you away?

For a moment, Astarion’s attentions are focused on his papers. Then, with a sigh, he sets them aside and looks at you. He seems bored, more than anything. Not suspicious yet. “And how was your day, pet?” he asks.

Your grip tightens around your glass. “Good,” you manage to say. “I found a new book in the library.”

He raises a brow. “Did you?”

You nod, attempting to bury yourself in a sip of wine, but it doesn’t work. The more he looks at you, the more the feeling grows. Your hands are slick. Your mind feels clouded over. 

“A - ah, book of poetry.” Your voice shakes as you speak, and the betrayal of it is like a dagger in your chest.

He sets down his knife and fork. 

Already? you think, lightheaded and humiliated. Gods - you’d known he’d likely catch on sooner or later, but, really? Not even two minutes in? It’s pathetic.

But you aren’t going to give in yet. Astarion may have the winning card in his hand, but you’re determined to play this game for all it’s worth. So you set down the wine, fold your hands in your lap as if you aren’t struggling with keeping still, and give him your prettiest smile.

The glint in his eye grows. “Really?” he purrs, tilting his head. “I didn’t know you liked poetry.”

And as soon as he’s spoken, his voice is in your mind - words you’d thought you’d forgotten, pressing to the front of your thoughts. 

It’s a poem. A gift from Cazador.

The first time you’d seen his scars. 

“I…” Your voice chokes, and you swallow hard. “I don’t read it often. But I enjoy it, sometimes.”

He hums in response. His eyes are fixed on yours like a predator - watching your every move. Every blink. Every swallow. Every tremble. He’s waiting for you to break. 

You don’t. Not yet.

“And you?” you ask. “How was your day?”

“Oh, you know how it is,” he muses, his hand gesturing indifferently. “The usual.”

But you don’t know how it is. He hasn’t told you a word about his work, and you’ve never invited yourself into it. He leans back in his seat, and his expression molds into something complacent as you struggle to find the right thing to say.

You decide that wine on your tongue will be much better than words. It’s rich and dark, mildly bitter, and heady. It lingers for a long moment after you’ve drunk, sloshing around your glass as you swirl it.

The end is coming. Your body is fighting you tooth and nail. Your hands are shaking, your mouth is dry, and your head is foggy. Setting the wine down shouldn’t be a difficult thing, but it feels like trying to thread a rose stem through the eye of a needle - painful and futile. 

Your wrist twitches. A tiny, incomprehensible mistake. The goblet nicks the edge of the table, your grip loosens, and the next thing you know, there’s wine everywhere. Bleeding over the top of the table. Dripping into your lap. Splashed over your chest. The taste of it is still in your mouth, bitter on your tongue.

“You’ve gotten clumsy, pet,” Astarion says. He places his hands on the table, pushes to his feet, and approaches with a languid stride, amused and possessive in his gaze. You meet his eyes, determined not to break.

He grabs a clean napkin and half-heartedly dabs the wine off of you, stopping to swipe a droplet off your chest with his finger. Then he lifts it into his mouth, never looking away. “You’re trembling,” he says.

“Am I?” Your voice is breathless. “That’s strange.”

His eyes narrow. “Are you feeling alright, dearest?” 

“Me?” you ask, your hands clenching into fists. “Of course I am.”

He stares at you. You stare at him. He raises a brow. You paste on your sweetest smile, just for him. 

“You know,” he sighs, circling behind you, “I do hate it when you lie to me.”

The feeling in your gut is ravenous now. You’re nothing short of feverish, buried in a haze of sheer need. You need him more than you have ever needed before. You will not let yourself have him.

You play this game with him because, no matter what he says, you know he wants you to. You slot yourself in as his pawn, settling into your place, competing with him even though the game is rigged from the start; all because he wants it. He wants you to lose, and to beg for him to touch you. And, gods help you, despite this cruel, vicious thing he’s become, you still want him. 

He reaches out to a loose strand of your hair, tucking it away behind your ear. “I want the truth,” he says, leaning in close. You’re shivering with desire. Every part of you wants him near. You fight the impulse to make a sound, and he steps away.

“I really am feeling fine,” you insist. 

His eyes pass over you. You can feel the way they trail along your features, both analytical and skeptical. His head tilts and he smirks, and you know you’ve lost. Just like he wanted you to. 

His hand comes up to cup your cheek. “Little love,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb along your jaw. His touch is warm, skimming against your skin. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite the predicament, haven't you?” The corner of his lips flick into a smile, but his eyes stay cold as ice. “I know lust when I see it.”

Then, he lets you go.

You want to beg him to come back.

“What a shame,” he muses. “I have so much work to do tonight. You’ll wait for me, won’t you, my sweet?”

You will. You don’t have any choice.

A small sound involuntarily chokes from your throat, and his eyes narrow. “Now, now,” he chides. “Be patient.”

He returns to the doorway, studying your appearance with a smug sort of satisfaction. “Oh, and darling?” he says. “Don’t you dare touch yourself.” 

He pulls the door shut after him, and you stare blankly ahead.

Gods. He’s going to drag this out. You know he will - he loves to see you squirm. But to tell you that you can’t touch yourself? It’s particularly cruel.

But this is where he wants you. You’d lost the game, and this is how you’re paying for it.

The time ticks by. The feeling in your gut grows. You have to squeeze the armrests of your chair to keep them from straying. Heat flushes through every part of your body.

It’s a strange thing, being warm. It’s been months since you’ve had warm blood in your veins. You’d almost forgotten how it felt. It only makes this sensation so much more overwhelming. 

It’s like the sun kissing your skin. It’s like fire, searing through your chest. It’s both pain and pleasure, mingling in your senses. More pleasure, perhaps, if you were allowed to touch yourself. You don’t dare to, not even once. Not even a little. No matter how much you want to.

When the door finally opens again, you let out a rush of air. Relief. Sheer relief. But Astarion doesn’t move toward you. He goes to the papers he’d left on the table, rummaging through them. He finds the one he wants, pauses, then glances at you.

“My, my. Look at you,” he remarks. “Gods below. You’re a mess, darling.”

It’s only then that you realize he’s not coming back yet. He’s not here to touch you.

“Astarion-”

The look he gives you silences your words. Your mouth snaps closed, and you try to resist the urge to sob.

“Patience,” he says. His tone is a warning, low and dark. “Or you’ll get nothing at all.”

The door shuts once more, and this time, a noise breaks free from your throat.

You should have just told him. You’d have lost the game all the same, but he might have taken pity on you. But you’d lied to him. You’d kept it hidden. You hadn’t begged.

His message is as clear as day. This is what you get. This is your punishment.

You’d just had to try out that spell book, hadn’t you? You couldn’t have left it alone? Now look at you. Shaking, clinging onto the chair so tightly that your fingers are beginning to go numb. You feel rabid. Whatever self-control is leashing you is beginning to slip.

Just hold on, you tell yourself. Just until he comes back.

So you wait. Your body feels like it’s on fire, but you wait. 

You’ve just begun to consider touching yourself, consequences be damned, when you finally hear the blissfully familiar sound of Astarion’s voice. 

“I’m here now, my dear,” he announces. “You can stop terrorizing the poor chair.”

He’s standing in front of you, looking down at you with a mix of desire and possessiveness. You have to stare at him for a good ten seconds before you realize that he’s actually there, not just a vision. That your torment will soon be over. 

His words finally connect with your mind and register somewhere within the mess of need. Your hands loosen from their grip, and a soft noise escapes from your lips. From pain or want, you don’t know.

“Kneel,” he says.

Your legs tremble when they stand, as if they might finally give out. You sink to your knees, barely feeling the hard stone beneath you.

Astarion takes two fingers and places them under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “My pet, do you want me?”

“Yes.” Your voice is hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

“Tell me.”

You swallow hard. “I - I want you.”

“Louder.”

“I want you.”

His head tilts. “Good.”

He drops his fingers. You want to scream at the loss of his touch.

“Get up,” he instructs.

You can barely move, but you do it. Your knees shake. You want to grab onto him for support, but you know you shouldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, his hand wraps around your waist. “Just look at you,” he murmurs, echoing his statement from earlier. His other hand comes up to your mouth, his thumb brushing against your lips. 

Then his hand on your waist trails up your back, up your neck, fisting into your hair. “And all for me.”

He pulls you close and kisses you hard. Bruising. His hand cups your cheek, his grip tightens in your hair. His lips are warm and soft and demanding, coaxing your mouth open as he walks you into the table. The back of your legs meet the edge and you pull away to sit, panting as he sets himself over you, straddling your hips.

His eyes are dark and hazy, trailing over you in a way that makes you shiver.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, trailing a finger along your cheek. His lips move to your jaw, trailing feather light kisses along the bone, and you tilt your head to give him full access to your neck. He hums an approval into your skin.

You barely feel it when his teeth sink in and draw blood. There’s only a faint flash of pain, a muddled sensation beneath your want. You feel his hand rest on your hip. His gentle, wet tongue, darting out to clean the wound.

If he doesn’t touch you soon, you’re sure you’ll combust.

“Astarion,” you breathe, gripping onto the back of his shirt. You know he heard you, but he keeps kissing down your throat, stopping at your collar bones to brush his lips over them. A sharp nip. An apologetic kiss to soothe the sting.

“Astarion, please,” you repeat.

“Hm?” He doesn’t bother to pull away. He simply undoes the lacing of your clothing without looking and tosses the outfit across the room.

“Touch me,” you beg.

At that, he finally stops kissing you and looks up at you, something dark and hungry simmering in his gaze. “Dearest, I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he drawls, “but I am touching you.”

You’re in no mood to deal with this - not with the scorching flame inside that will not let up even for an instant. “You know what I mean,” you snap. “Please, gods. Touch me.”

But the more desperate you are, the more he pulls back from you. He gives you a look - half amused, half bored. “But I don’t know what you mean,” he says. “I can’t read your mind anymore, my sweet. Don’t you remember?”

Anger and frustration cloud your vision in a veil of red. A sharp noise chokes through your chest, and you tighten your grip on his shoulders, digging your nails into the skin. “Fuck me, Astarion. Please.”

The corners of his mouth flick into a self-satisfied smile. “You’re lucky I like you, little love,” he murmurs, easing your legs apart with his thigh, and you sigh in relief, relaxing into his touch as he returns to kissing your neck. “But you wouldn’t deny me a taste, surely?” he asks. “I want everyone in the city to hear you screaming my name.”

And then he drops to his knees.

You’re left shivering with need, so desperate that your vision seems to be clouding over. The top layer of your clothing has been removed, but you’re still in your smallclothes, and he of course takes his sweet time with you. The feel of his tongue through the fabric of your smalls, so desperately close to where you need him to be - but not there, not yet there - is all but maddening. You fix your hand into his hair and try to relax, but you’re so tightly-wound that you feel like a rope about to snap.

How the hells are you supposed to relax when the sweet friction of his mouth is pressing against your clit - when he’s on his knees for you, his grip on your thighs bruising and almost, almost perfect? You could come like this, riled up to the point of climax, but that would be too easy. He’d never let it be that easy.

Instead, he brings you to the verge of orgasm, bites at the tender flesh of your thigh, then pulls away.

“Gods,” you mutter, caught between feeling like the tiniest action will send you into waves of pleasure and simultaneously feeling like you’re going to black out. “Astarion-”

“Shh,” he says, still on his knees. “Relax, pet.”

Out of the two of you, he’s in the more vulnerable position, but you’d never know it from the way he’s practically holding you down on the top of the table - from the way his eyes are devouring you, practically daring you to protest. 

You know him. The more you rebel, the less he’ll give you. So you don’t. You force yourself silent and suck in a breath or two, trying to remember the way oxygen tastes, trying to keep the dam inside you from bursting open.

A small sob breaks free, but aside from that, you’re a statue. A lustful, slightly relaxed statue. It’s all you can give, and it must be enough, because he finally pulls your smalls off of you. 

They’re so wet from his tongue and from your arousal that they stick to you, and you can see the way his gaze darkens. The way he swallows, taking in a deep breath and setting them aside. He could keep you here all night, but he’d be torturing himself, too.

He starts slowly again, and with every graze of his warm fingers, with every brush of his skin against yours, your body bucks into his touch. It doesn’t matter where or how brief; it’s just the silky trailing of his fingertips over your abdomen, your body is still chasing the minimal pleasure his presence gives you. If it’s his thumb against your clit, your body still shudders the way you know he wants you to.

When his tongue finally, finally meets your clit, you let out a sharp gasp and have to physically stop yourself from following that feeling, from grinding against his mouth the way you so desperately want to. Your nails dig into the tablecloth, but you let him keep his own pace. His own agonizing, teasing pace. 

One finger, slipping inside of you, finding the electrifying spot inside of you that has you moaning his name, your hand tightening in his hair and your hips bucking of their own accord. Then one becomes two. A slow, even rhythm of thrusting that slowly grows harder, faster, deeper. 

He brings you right back to the edge, and this time, he lets you come. 

Your body tenses. Your grip tightens even more. He groans against you, and the vibrations of it course out through your skin. The rope of tension pulls and pulls and pulls until it finally snaps, leaving you shuddering and mindlessly crying out, his name leaving your mouth like a mantra. 

Just like he’d said it would. 

Your consciousness seems to float away from your body - a blinding, sharp pleasure that comes to you in a pulsing, ambrosial wave. When you come down, you’re still burning. The fire wanes a little, but won’t be sated. Not that easily. In many ways, it’s just like Astarion. Running you through, filling you with need, and not letting you go until it’s done with you.

When you come down, you find yourself with wet thighs and covered in sweat, your breath pulling unnaturally from your lungs until you’ve recovered. You’re still shaking, and Astarion is still between your legs - licking at sensitive skin. 

You whimper, and he finally pulls away, his pupils blown wide and an impatience to his expression. Possessiveness. Need. He rises to his feet and winds a hand in your hair, pulling your head back with a grip that borders on painful.

He doesn’t say a thing, but his gaze speaks volumes - the glittering, dark ruby of his eyes, the almost removed way he observes you, eyes trailing over your face. Studying how he’s ruined you, no doubt.

He releases his hold on you, and though you can see his erection through his trousers, his movements are slow - methodical, almost. When he speaks, his voice is low and dark.

“Come here, my sweet, little consort.”

And you do. With your still-shaking legs, you slide off the table and take a step closer, unsure how near he wants you. 

“Turn around,” he instructs. 

And you do.

You only register his hand on the nape of your neck when your cheek connects with something hard. The table. He’s bent you over it and is standing behind you, and the impact barely smarts in comparison to the heat that floods between your legs.

“You like it like this, don’t you?” Astarion muses, dragging a finger along your spine. “You want everyone to know who you belong to. You want me to fuck you into this table and let everyone hear how much you need me.”

And you can’t even argue with him. You can’t argue, because you know he’s right - and he knows it, too. 

You swallow hard, back arching toward his hand. “Yes.”

He’s silent for a moment, tracing his hand along your back. Then he presses his thumb to your clit and you mindlessly grind into him, barely resisting the urge to beg him to just fuck you already.

Then you hear fabric shifting, and your whole body tenses in anticipation of him. 

He’s not gentle, and he’s not tender. He sheathes himself into you in a single, harsh thrust that has you crying out, your hands scrabbling for something to grasp for support but finding nothing. 

“Gods,” he growls, his grip settling on your hips and pressing into the skin as he sets a rough, punishing pace. His voice is breathless when he speaks. “You look so pretty for me, pet. Bent over like this. Say my name for me, won’t you?”

You can barely choke out the sound between his thrusts, but it comes out of you nonetheless. “A… A-star-ion-” 

“Good,” he says, and then his pace turns brutal, every thrust sending your cheek scraping against the table. There’s pain, but you barely feel it - not against the burning pleasure of him inside you, filling you up, and not against the fire in your skin that’s building to a boiling point again.

Over and over.

His breathing is getting faster. His grip on you is ever tightening, sure to leave a number of tender bruises for the morning. He’ll kiss them, then, draw his fingers over them in admiration, but for now: he groans and grips at your hair again, and you sit there and take every inch he’s giving to you until you can barely stand it - the sweet, delectable friction of him inside you, the vulgar, wet noises that echo around the room. Evidence of how much you want him. How close you are.

“Tell - tell me you’re mine,” he says through gritted teeth.

“I’m yours.”

He thrusts even harder, and it vaguely occurs to you that you might not be able to walk tomorrow. You can feel the tell-tale signs of him getting closer - the tensing of his thighs, the panting as he approaches climax, the moans he’s letting out. He pauses mid-thrust and trembles for a moment before he slams back into you once, twice - three times.

That’s all it takes to send you over the edge with him, clenching around him, barely conscious of the table under you, barely conscious of the fact that both of you are in the dining room and almost certainly the servants are able to hear what he’s doing to you.

You can feel him seeping out of you, trickling down your thighs, and you go slack against the table, gasping and trying to remember how to breathe.

He finally releases your hair and pulls out of you, paying no mind to the way you wince.

You definitely won’t be able to walk tomorrow.

“What a good little pet you are,” he remarks, smoothing your hair away from your neck and placing a kiss to the nape. When he speaks again, his voice has gone to that pouty, condescending tone that he sometimes uses. “You wouldn’t dream of doing that to me again, would you, my treasure? Lying to me? Hiding your own pleasure from me? And at my table, nonetheless.”

You attempt an answer, but it comes out as nothing but a helpless whimper.

“What was that?” he asks. 

“No,” you breathe. 

“Good.”

He straightens, running a finger between your legs - no doubt studying the mess he’s made of you.

“Get up,” he says. “We need to get you cleaned up.”

You unstick yourself from the table, legs trembling, and as his gaze travels over you once more, you have a deep, sudden feeling in your gut. It’s too easy. Too easy for you. Even after all the torment you’d faced earlier, stranded and desperate in your chair, it’s not enough. He’s not done with you yet. 

And if you know him at all…

It’ll be surprising if he’s finished with you before morning.

[eleu22]

Sweaty Palms - Chapter One “The Skeptic”

Simon “Ghost” Riley x f!reader

tags: brief description of injury

masterlist

——————

“What? I think we could do with’a bit of a feminine touch, ay LT?” Soap smirks, turning to nudge the lieutenant with his elbow.

Ghost doesn’t reply, but the unimpressed look he fixes Soap with says enough. The briefing room is quiet, besides the scot’s incessant chatter, a few quips from Gaz and the rhythmic hum of the projector. The cool winter air slips through the poorly insulated window, but to Ghost the room couldn’t feel warmer.

There is undeniably an air of… excitement? Maybe that’s not the right word, it’s anticipatory, like the bit before a roller coaster drops, or the moment before a bomb detonates. Either way, Ghost isn’t thrilled.

The masked man tunes out the sargeants as he stares at the door, as if he could telepathically explode the next person who dared to enter with his glare alone.

When Price broke the news to them, they could all practically feel the blood clot forming in the lieutenant’s forehead.

The first thought to the man’s mind was simply, why? We are doing just fine without anyone else’s help, I’ve stitched myself more times than I can bloody count.

Secondly, how? Ghost would trust Price’s judgement with his life, he has, literally, but this? How could he allow this? Price knows better than anyone: one wrong element could throw everything off. A stranger in their ranks is a liability waiting to happen. What if she’s an enemy undercover? What if worse she’s incompetent? What would they-

Ghost’s thoughts are abruptly interrupted by the click of the door handle. Any lingering conversation is brought to an abrupt stop as the team’s eyes snap to the front of the room.

In walks Price, followed closely behind by Honey. The sound of their boots echoed sharply in the quiet briefing room. Honey walked in with a steady confident stride- not cocky, but assured. Her millitary-issued white compression shirt clung to her frame, the camo pants snug around her hips, emphasising her- okay enough. Ghost’s jaw tightens as he forces his gaze upward. She was shorter than the rest of them, shorter than him by a good head, Ghost feels his boots shift in irritation, how is she going to keep up?

They both stand at the front of the room, their figures cast in the faint blue glow of the projector. Price didn’t waste time, his voice cuts through the silence like the crack of a whip, listing off information Ghost already knew.

The lieutenant had all but demanded to read her file, Price (albiet hesitantly seeing the man’s less than cheerful disposition) handed over her file. Ghost had read it more times than he’d care to admit, trying to pick apart every line and word for some sign of… well he’s not sure what, but something. He could recite the information like a parishioner knew the words of the liturgy.

Sargeant Honey, Jesus what kind of name is that?

Green Beret, American.

Combat Medic, Useless.

grew up in Lynchburg, Virginia, oh, really, American.

SERE training, Tactical Emergency Medical Support, cross training in close quarters combat and weapons proficiency…

Even Ghost had to admit, at some level she was impressive, especially for a woman. Regardless, none of this brought the man any comfort, if anything, this was going to make her harder to shake.

As Price continued to speak, a light tap on his thigh yet again interrupted his inner hate-monologuing. Ghost doesn’t move, but he can already imagine the expression on the scot’s face. Soap was really the only one who didn’t have any reservations about Honey coming along, in fact he seemed a little too pleased at the idea of her addition.

Fuckin’ hell, Ghost internally sighs, the man acts like women are some rare commodity. Ghost looks at Soap out of the corner of his eye, who, as expected, has a toothy grin sat on his face. Well no wonder, Ghost muses the mohawk must definitely not be doing him any favours in the dating scene. The man is a fucking dog, one look at him and you’d be able to see it. This makes him a good soldier and (though you couldn’t waterboard this information out of Ghost) a good friend. But this makes Honey’s inclusion all the more a liability.

Ghost turns his attention back onto Honey. Price has finally finished and turned to her. In contrast to her entrance she gives the team a sheepish smile, her arm rubs up and down the length of the other behind her back.

Honey’s soft lips part, as she turns her eyes to the rest of the room.

“It’s a pleasure to able to work with you all… I’ve heard great things.”

Her voice drips down the back of his throat, warm freshly stirred honey. There’s something slightly awkward about the way she speaks too, like that sharp little aftertaste left behind, but warm, it's undeniably warm.

Huh, I guess her callsign makes sense.

There is something so sickly sweet about the woman, something you don’t come across in the army.

Trying to imagine her in active duty, bullets cutting through her saccharine voice, blood dripping down her soft fingertips, as she shoves the innards of some poor fuck recruit back inside of them. It’s unnerving.

Ghost suddenly feels his balaclava all too tight around his neck, his sleeves rub up against his wrists as he shifts them uncomfortably. The man simply stares ahead, ignoring the flirty wave Soap returns to her. Under the table he begins to pick at his fingernails through his gloves, as if he needed something to stop him from shoving her up against the wall and demanding her to spill, to hear her voice break, to look directly into her eyes and to disembowel every tightlipped secret she’s ever held.

Ghost bristles at the thought, weirdly, he hopes he gets the opportunity.

——————

okokok this is the first chapter!!!!!! lmk what yall thinkkkkk

the next one is gonna be another expositiony one shes gonna be really ethel cain core so be excited xxxxxxx

taglist: @creepingeva @identity2212 @brokenghostgirl1 @honestlymassivetrash @ang3lc

[niallerspayno]

Three’s Company - Part 1

Masterlist

As Louis Tomlinson’s sister and the Assistant Tour Manager for One Direction, you never expected to get caught up in a secret fling with two of his best friends—Zayn and Liam. What starts as playful flirtation quickly turns into stolen moments and heated kisses. But as Louis starts to notice, the tension between you, Zayn, and Liam only grows, and navigating family, secrets, and your heart becomes a lot more complicated.

Tags: Zayn x Liam x reader, Louis x sister!reader, smut, kinda poly but not, secret relationship

Part 2 | Part 3

…

Being Louis Tomlinson’s younger sister comes with its perks—free concerts, traveling the world, and getting to work as the Assistant Tour Manager for one of the biggest boy bands on the planet. But it also comes with its challenges, namely your overprotective brother, who seems to think you’re still the same kid he used to chase around Doncaster.

You step into the suite’s shared lounge, the soft morning light streaming through the curtains. Tugging your scarf higher over your neck, you pray no one notices.

Louis glances up from where he’s sprawled on the couch, scrolling through his phone. His eyes narrow immediately. “What’s with the scarf? We’re in LA. It’s like 25 degrees outside.”

“Just felt like wearing it,” you reply, trying to sound nonchalant as you move toward the kitchenette.

Louis sits up, his suspicion practically radiating off him. “Hang on. Are you hiding something? What’s under there? A dodgy tan line? A new tattoo?” He grins wickedly. “Or maybe… hickeys?”

Your stomach drops. “No!” you snap, too quickly.

Across the room, Niall and Harry perk up, their attention now fully on you. Zayn and Liam, seated nearby, exchange a subtle glance, but both keep their expressions carefully neutral.

Louis smirks, standing and crossing the room with dramatic flair. “Oh, now I have to know. Let’s see it.”

“Louis, don’t—”

But it’s too late. He tugs the edge of the scarf down just enough to reveal the faint purple marks trailing along your neck.

The room erupts.

“Bloody hell!” Niall exclaims, laughing so hard he nearly spills his coffee.

Harry claps his hands together, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Hickeys! She’s got hickeys!”

Louis steps back, his eyes wide with mock horror before breaking into a triumphant laugh. “I knew it! You’ve been sneaking around, haven’t you? Who’s the lad? Someone on the crew? A local? Please tell me it’s not a roadie.”

“Shut up, Louis!” you snap, pulling the scarf back into place, but the damage is done.

Louis folds his arms, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Unbelievable. My own sister, sneaking around like this. Does Mum know?”

“Leave Mum out of this,” you grumble, your face burning.

“She won’t care, so long as it’s not some tosser,” Louis says with a shrug. His teasing grin softens just slightly. “Wait—he isn’t a tosser, right? Because if he is—”

“He’s not,” you interrupt, exasperated. “Can we drop it now?”

Louis studies you for a moment before smirking again. “Fine. But I’m watching you. You’ve got that post-snog glow. Whoever he is, he better be bloody perfect, or he’s answering to me.”

You roll your eyes and head for the door. “You’re the worst.”

As you make your exit, you catch Zayn biting back a smirk and Liam suddenly finding the floor very interesting. Their silence feels deafening, but thankfully, Louis is too caught up in his teasing to notice.

The last thing you hear before the door closes behind you is Louis muttering, “Honestly, I don’t even want to know. She looks way too happy for me to handle.”

…

Last Night

The hotel suite is alive with energy, a post-show celebration in full swing. The laughter of the band fills the air as the alcohol flows freely, and the music pulses from the speakers. Everyone’s gathered around in a circle, including you, as the chaos of the tour seems to dissipate into the late-night haze.

Louis, in the middle of it all, keeps everyone laughing with his antics, while Niall and Harry joke around, throwing playful jabs at one another. You’re content to sit back, watching the familiar banter, but tonight something feels different. The game begins when someone suggests Truth or Dare, and you’re pulled in, much to your reluctant amusement.

It starts innocently enough—simple dares, harmless truths. But you notice the way Zayn and Liam keep glancing at you, their eyes lingering just a bit too long whenever it’s your turn. It makes you feel… seen. Not in the way your brother sees you or the way the bandmates see you as just Louis’ sister, but something else. Something you can’t quite put your finger on.

As the game progresses, the energy shifts. Zayn leans in when it’s your turn, his voice low and teasing. “Truth or dare?”

You meet his gaze, trying to play it cool. “Dare.”

He smirks, his gaze drifting over the group. “I dare you to kiss someone here… but not just anyone. Someone who’s been eyeing you all night.”

You try to keep your nerves at bay, but you know exactly who he’s talking about. Both Liam and Zayn have been looking at you like they know something you’re not ready to admit. You give a brief glance to Liam—his eyes meeting yours for just a second before he looks away—and you feel the heat rise in your cheeks. You can’t ignore the tension in the air anymore.

You stand up, feeling a thrill course through you, and kiss Zayn on the lips—quickly, a brief brush, but enough to send a jolt through you. You sit back down, pretending the room is still as carefree as before, but you can feel the weight of the moment settling in, especially with the way Liam is watching you now, his expression unreadable.

The other guys laugh and cheer, not catching the spark in the air. They think it’s just part of the game, no big deal. But you can feel Zayn’s eyes on you now, a silent acknowledgment of the tension that’s thickening between you, Liam, and him.

The game moves on, but now it’s Liam’s turn. He looks straight at you, his gaze almost daring. “Truth or dare?”

You try to keep your composure, but something in the way he asks makes your stomach flip. “Dare,” you reply, unable to do anything but go along with it.

He leans forward, his voice dropping to a whisper just for you. “I dare you to kiss me.”

You blink, your heart skipping a beat. His dare isn’t just part of the game. It’s a challenge, and you can’t back down. You don’t want to. Without thinking, you lean in, your lips meeting his in a kiss that feels anything but innocent. It’s slow, heated, the kind of kiss that’s not meant for a game but for something more, something real.

You pull away, breathless, and look around to see Louis, Harry, and Niall laughing, completely oblivious. They’ve all seen the kiss, but they think it’s just part of the game. They don’t see what you and Liam both feel—the undeniable chemistry between you that’s been building for months.

Before you can fully gather your thoughts, Zayn leans over and presses his lips to yours once more, his kiss deep and urgent. You can’t help but give in to it, the excitement and the pull between the three of you too strong to resist.

You pull away again, your mind spinning. Zayn gives you a smirk that only makes your heart race faster. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and Liam’s eyes on you confirm that he does too.

The game continues, but you’re barely paying attention anymore. You can feel the tension between you, Zayn, and Liam, and it’s clear they both want something more. But the others are laughing, oblivious, not picking up on the way the air between you three is charged.

As the laughter starts to die down and the group begins to break off, you feel a pull toward the balcony. The air inside the suite is growing warm with the lingering heat of the party, and you crave the cool night breeze. You slip outside, hoping for a moment of quiet, but you’re not alone for long.

Zayn steps out behind you, his presence unmistakable. He leans against the railing, his eyes fixed on the city lights in the distance, but you can feel the unspoken words between you. There’s a heaviness to the silence that wasn’t there before.

He lights a cigarette, offering one to you, which you take gratefully. The smoke feels almost comforting between the two of you, like it’s giving you both space to breathe, to process what just happened inside.

“I didn’t expect you to actually kiss me,” Zayn says, his voice low but teasing, as he exhales a cloud of smoke into the night air.

You glance at him, a little embarrassed but intrigued. “I didn’t expect you to kiss me back.”

His lips curve into a smirk, and he takes another drag from the cigarette. “Guess we’re both full of surprises, then.”

You nod, your mind still racing from the dares, the tension. But the cool air outside, combined with the quiet between you, feels like a release. The kind of release you didn’t know you needed until now.

You lean against the railing next to him, letting the cigarette burn between your fingers, but your mind keeps drifting back to the heat in the room—the heat from the kiss with Liam, the touch of Zayn’s lips. It’s a dangerous feeling, this electric connection. But the pull is undeniable, and Zayn’s presence is magnetic.

Zayn turns his head to look at you, his eyes dark, but there’s a playful spark there too. “You should’ve kissed me longer in there,” he says, his tone barely above a whisper.

You raise an eyebrow, feeling the playful challenge in his words. “Maybe I didn’t want to.”

“Or maybe you were just waiting for the right moment,” he suggests, stepping closer, the space between you shrinking. The cigarette between your fingers burns down, forgotten.

You don’t say anything, the weight of his words settling between you, and before you can process, Zayn is right there. His lips meet yours in a kiss that’s deeper than the one from the game. His hand reaches up, cupping the back of your neck as his other hand slides down your waist, pulling you closer to him.

The world fades away—there’s only Zayn, his lips, his hands, and the overwhelming desire that takes over. You kiss him back, letting go of any hesitation. The chemistry that’s been simmering all night bursts into something more, something intense. You feel the heat between you both, the urgency.

When the kiss breaks, you’re both breathless. Zayn presses his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admits, his voice rough.

You smile softly, trying to steady your own racing heart. “Yeah, me too.”

Before you can say anything else, Zayn pulls you back into another kiss. This time, it’s slower, more deliberate, and you feel everything—the way his lips move against yours, the way his body fits against yours as if you were made to be this close.

Your hands find their way to his chest, and just as you’re getting lost in the moment, the sound of the door opening behind you breaks the spell. You pull away quickly, your heart hammering in your chest.

Liam steps outside, looking at the two of you with a knowing smile. “I thought I’d find you two out here.”

You look at Zayn, who smirks back at Liam, his hand still resting on your waist. There’s no turning back now. What started as a game is quickly becoming something much more complicated.

“You mind if I join?” Liam asks, stepping closer to the balcony. There’s a teasing edge to his voice, but there’s something else too. Something deeper.

You glance at Zayn, who gives a subtle nod, and then look back at Liam. The tension between the three of you is undeniable.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Zayn says with a grin, handing Liam a cigarette.

Liam steps closer, his eyes glinting in the dim light as he takes a long drag from the cigarette Zayn handed him. The air between the three of you is thick with unspoken words, a tension that's both thrilling and dangerous. You're caught between them now, and there's no denying the chemistry that's pulsing in every glance, every breath.

"You know," Liam says, his voice low and smooth, "you really shouldn't leave a guy hanging like that." He flicks the cigarette to the ground, stepping closer to you, his body heat radiating against yours.

You glance at Zayn, who watches the exchange with a knowing smile, then back to Liam. "I didn't leave you hanging," you reply, though your voice is shaky, betraying the anticipation bubbling up inside you.

Liam's lips twitch into a half-smile as he moves closer, brushing a lock of hair from your face. His fingers linger, tracing the curve of your jaw as he closes the space between you. Without warning, he leans in, kissing you deeply. It's different from the game, more intense. You melt into it, your hands sliding up his chest, pulling him closer.

Zayn watches, a slight smirk playing on his lips. He's not the least bit jealous. Instead, he seems content, his eyes flickering between the two of you with amusement. When Liam pulls back, his thumb caresses your bottom lip, eyes dark with desire.

Zayn takes a step forward, leaning in to kiss you on the neck, just below your ear. "We're not fighting over you," he murmurs, his voice like velvet. "This... this is just how it's going to be."

Liam chuckles softly, brushing his lips against your temple. "Yeah. No need to fight." His fingers slide down to your waist, pulling you gently toward him. "You're ours, aren't you?"

You can barely think straight, your heart pounding in your chest as both men crowd around you, their hands finding their way to your body in the most tantalizing way. Zayn's lips press softly against your neck, his breath warm against your skin. You feel the heat building between the three of you, an irresistible pull that only grows stronger with every touch.

Liam leans in again, kissing you hungrily, his hand threading into your hair, tilting your head back to give him better access. The kiss deepens, the world around you shrinking to just the heat of their lips on yours, the taste of smoke and desire lingering in your mouth.

Zayn's hands roam, finding the curve of your hips as he pulls you flush against him, his body warm and solid. The tension between the three of you is palpable-there's no escaping it now.

Without warning, Liam breaks the kiss, his voice hushed but filled with raw intent. "We're both going to have you, yeah?"

You can barely get the words out, but you nod, breathless. "Yes."

Zayn grins, his lips brushing against your skin,"Good girl." And then, with a devilish glint in his eye, he presses you backward, guiding you toward the wall of the balcony. Your back hits the cool surface, the sudden impact making your pulse race even faster.

Liam steps forward, his eyes dark and hungry as he watches Zayn. "You ready?" he asks, his voice rough. You can't find the words to respond, but your body says everything. You nod again, breathless, anticipation making you tremble.

Zayn leans in, kissing you again, his lips hot and urgent. Liam watches, his gaze never leaving you. Then, as Zayn pulls away, Liam is there, immediately taking his place, kissing you fiercely. His lips are demanding as his hands slide up your back, pulling you even closer.

The heat between you escalates, their hands roaming, caressing. Zayn moves beside you, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck, trailing down to the spot just beneath your ear. You gasp as his lips press firmly against your skin, leaving a mark-a dark, unmistakable bruise. Liam's eyes flicker to Zayn's handiwork, and he grins.

"You're going to look so beautiful covered in both of us," Liam murmurs, his voice husky with desire. He kisses you again, harder this time, his hands gripping your sides, pressing you even more firmly against the wall.

Zayn moves to the other side of your neck, kissing and biting lightly, his teeth grazing your skin as he leaves another mark. You moan, your head tilting back, completely lost in the sensations they're creating. Your body is on fire, every inch of you craving more.

Liam pulls away just enough to look at you, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and hunger. "I want to see you marked by both of us. I want everyone to know who you belong to."

You can't form a response. All you can do is nod, your body trembling in their arms. They know exactly what they're doing, pushing you to the edge of madness, and you're powerless to stop it. Zayn's lips move lower, marking the line of your jaw, while Liam trails kisses down your throat.

Liam's lips trail lower, finding a sensitive spot on your collarbone, while Zayn shifts his attention to your ear, his teeth grazing the shell before he presses a kiss just below it. Their combined focus on you is overwhelming—every touch, every kiss stoking the fire they've lit inside you.

Zayn pulls back slightly, his dark eyes scanning the marks already blooming on your skin. "You're a masterpiece," he murmurs, a proud smirk curling his lips.

Liam hums in agreement, brushing his thumb gently over a fresh bruise he's just left near your shoulder. "Couldn't resist," he says, his voice low and rough. "You wear us so well."

They exchange a look-silent but loaded with meaning-and without warning, both of them lean in at the same time. Liam's mouth finds the curve of your neck on one side, while Zayn presses his lips to the other. You gasp, your body arching against the wall as they kiss, suck, and bite in tandem, their movements perfectly in sync.

It's too much, their attention sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. You clutch at their shoulders, barely able to stand under the intensity of it all. When they finally pull away, you're left breathless, your skin tingling where their lips had been.

Zayn steps back first, his smirk softening into something more intimate as he brushes a thumb over your cheek. "Satisfied, love?" he teases, though his voice holds a tenderness that makes your heart flutter.

You nod, still struggling to catch your breath, "Completely," you manage to whisper.

Liam chuckles, his hand finding its way to the small of your back, steadying you. "Good," he says, his voice warm but laced with a mischievous undertone. "Because we're not done with you yet. Just... not tonight."

Zayn grins at that, sliding an arm around your waist briefly before stepping back entirely, "We'll keep this between us," he says, his tone suddenly serious. "No one needs to know-especially not Louis."

"Agreed," Liam adds, his gaze locking with yours. "This stays our secret. But... if you want this again, we're not going anywhere."

The weight of their words settles between you, but there's no fear, no hesitation. Just the thrill of knowing that this connection, however unconventional, is yours to explore. You nod, giving them a small, playful smile.

"I think l'd like that," you say, your voice soft but sure.

Zayn chuckles, reaching out to brush his fingers lightly against the newest mark on your neck. "Good. Because we're not done leaving our mark on you."

Liam steps back, offering you his hand. "We should head inside before someone comes looking for us."

You take his hand, Zayn's fingers grazing your lower back as the three of you slip back into the hotel suite. The sound of laughter and conversation greets you, the others still caught up in their own world, oblivious to what just happened on the balcony.

Zayn leans close one last time before disappearing into the room. "Sleep well, love. We'll see you soon."

Liam flashes you a wink before following Zayn, leaving you standing there, your heart racing and your skin still tingling from their touch. As you glance at the reflection of your neck in the glass door, the faint bruises visible even in the dim light, you can't help but smile.

This is only the beginning.

…

Present day

Armed with two steaming cups of coffee, you make your way to the venue, slipping through the backstage door with practiced ease. The morning buzz of roadies and crew fills the air, and you duck past a stack of cables, balancing the drinks like a pro.

Paul is already on stage, clipboard in hand, barking orders to a tech about the mic setup. You’ve always admired his efficiency—managing the chaos of a world tour is no small feat, and he does it with the ease of someone who’s been at it for decades.

“Morning, Paul!” you call, holding up one of the cups as you approach.

He turns at the sound of your voice, his expression softening when he sees you. “There’s my favorite assistant tour manager,” he says with a warm grin, taking the coffee you hand him. “You’re a lifesaver, you know that?”

“I try,” you reply, smiling as you take a sip of your own drink. “What’s on the agenda for sound check?”

Paul doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his sharp eyes narrow slightly as he takes a longer look at you. His gaze lingers on your neck, and you feel the telltale heat of a blush creeping up your cheeks.

“Did you forget your scarf this morning, or…?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You choke on your coffee, hastily setting the cup down on a nearby crate. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” Paul says, crossing his arms. “Those.” He gestures vaguely toward your neck. “You’ve got… quite the collection of love bites, kid.”

Your hand flies to your throat, trying to act casual as you brush your fingers over the marks. Damn it. You’d hoped the makeup would last longer. “Oh, uh… it’s not—”

“Don’t even try,” Paul interrupts, his tone walking the line between teasing and stern. “I’ve been around these boys long enough to know what that looks like. And I know Louis would blow a gasket if he saw.”

You laugh nervously, avoiding his gaze. “It’s nothing to worry about, Paul.”

“Nothing to worry about?” he echoes, his voice incredulous. “You’re Louis’ sister. And you’re on my team. That makes it very much my business.”

“Paul,” you groan, but he’s already in full dad-mode, his brow furrowed as he looks you over.

“Look, I don’t need to know who it is,” he says, holding up a hand. “Frankly, I’d rather not. But I swear, if it’s one of those boys—”

“It’s not,” you blurt out quickly, cutting him off before he can finish.

Paul’s expression doesn’t soften. “Good. Because I’d hate to have to kill someone before the tour’s over.”

You can’t help but laugh, though there’s a nervous edge to it. “I promise, Paul. It’s all fine. Nothing to worry about.”

He studies you for a long moment, then sighs, taking another sip of his coffee. “You’re an adult. I get it. Just… be careful, yeah? And for the love of God, get better at hiding those.”

“Noted,” you say, your cheeks burning.

Paul shakes his head, muttering something under his breath about “kids these days” before turning his attention back to his clipboard. “Right,” he says, shifting back into business mode. “Let’s get this sound check sorted. We’ve got a tight schedule today.”

Relieved to have the conversation behind you, you pick up your coffee and follow him toward the stage. But even as you focus on the task at hand, you can’t shake the small smile tugging at your lips.

If only Paul knew just how complicated—and thrilling—your life had become.

…

The venue buzzes with activity as the band prepares for soundcheck. You’re stationed near the edge of the stage, clipboard in hand, scanning the setup while sipping what’s left of your coffee. Paul is somewhere behind the soundboard, barking orders about the drum levels, leaving you to keep an eye on the boys as they warm up.

Louis and Niall are bickering about who gets to stand where during the first song, Harry’s lounging on a speaker scrolling through his phone, and Liam and Zayn are testing their mics. Or at least, they’re supposed to be.

Instead, Liam glances in your direction, his hand resting casually on the mic stand. “Sounding good over there?” he asks, his voice loud enough to carry but soft enough to sound almost… intimate.

You glance up, pretending not to notice the faint smirk playing on his lips. “The sound? Great. You? Questionable.”

His grin widens, and he steps closer to the edge of the stage, his eyes locked on yours. “Harsh, love. You sure you’re not just cranky from missing sleep?”

Your cheeks heat, and you quickly look back at your clipboard. “I’m sure.”

Before you can come up with something sharper, Zayn joins in, his deep chuckle cutting through the hum of the speakers. “Don’t mind her, Liam,” he says, leaning casually on the mic stand. “She’s just overworked. Carrying all of us on her back can’t be easy.”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to hide your smile. “If that’s your way of apologizing for being late to call time yesterday, it’s not working.”

Zayn presses a hand to his chest, mock-offended. “Late? Me? Never.” His eyes flash with mischief as he lowers his voice, just enough for only you to hear. “Besides, I made up for it last night. Didn’t I?”

Your breath hitches, and your clipboard nearly slips from your grasp. You glare at him, but the smirk on his face tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Liam notices and steps in, his voice smooth as he taps his mic. “You know, Zayn, maybe we should cut her some slack. It’s hard work being this close to perfection all day.”

“Close to something,” you mutter under your breath, earning a soft laugh from Zayn.

“Focus, lads!” Paul’s booming voice echoes through the venue, breaking the moment.

Zayn gives you a wink as he straightens up, his mic in hand. “You heard the boss.”

Liam smirks, his attention lingering on you for a beat longer before he steps back into position. But even as the band starts their warm-up, the heat of their glances doesn’t let up.

During a quick break between songs, Zayn saunters to the side of the stage, crouching just low enough to catch your eye. His voice drops to a murmur, barely audible over the hum of the equipment. “Save me a cigarette for later?”

You arch an eyebrow, pretending to think about it. “If you’re good.”

His grin is wicked, full of unspoken promises. “Oh, I’m always good.”

As he steps back, Liam passes close enough to brush his hand lightly against your arm—a touch so brief you wonder if you imagined it. His voice is low, only for you. “Careful, love. Don’t get caught staring.”

Your heart skips as he moves on, singing the opening lines of the next song like he didn’t just leave you breathless.

You exhale slowly, turning back to your clipboard. Professional. You have to stay professional. But when Zayn glances at you again, and Liam sends you another quick, knowing smile, you realize something very dangerous: they aren’t going to make it easy.

…

The hotel elevator doors slide open, and you step inside, relieved to finally be heading to your room after a long, exhausting day. The relief lasts all of three seconds-because standing there, looking far too casual and far too enticing, are Liam and Zayn.

"Long day?" Zayn asks, leaning lazily against the mirrored wall. His eyes skim over you, slow and deliberate.

"Isn't it always?" you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

Liam chuckles, his hands tucked into his pockets. "You look like you could use some company."

Your gaze flicks between them, your pulse quickening. There's no mistaking the heat in their eyes. "And let me guess-you're volunteering?"

"Maybe," Zayn murmurs, his lips curving into a smirk. "Depends on if you'd let us."

The elevator hums quietly as it starts to ascend, but the tension in the small space is anything but quiet. Zayn's gaze holds yours, while Liam steps just close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from him.

"You've been teasing us all day," Liam says, his voice low, his head tilting just slightly.

You're about to protest-when Zayn's hand moves, quick and deliberate, pressing the emergency stop button.

The elevator jolts to a halt, and your heart skips a beat. "What are you-"

"We've got a few minutes before anyone notices," Zayn interrupts, his voice calm but tinged with hunger. He steps closer, his body crowding yours against the cool metal wall. "Thought we'd take advantage of it."

Your breath catches as Zayn's lips find yours, the kiss intense and demanding, his hand cupping the back of your neck to hold you in place. Liam is right there too, his hand brushing your arm as he leans in to murmur in your ear.

"Tell us to stop if you want," Liam says softly, though there's a teasing edge to his tone. "Otherwise, we're not holding back."

You don't even hesitate. "Don't stop."

That's all the permission they need. Zayn's hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer, while Liam's lips graze the side of your neck. His kisses are slow and deliberate, sending shivers down your spine.

"You drive us mad, you know that?" Liam murmurs, his teeth grazing your skin as he leaves a small, deliberate mark. "Walking around like you don't notice what you do to us."

Zayn chuckles against your lips, his voice low and rough. "She notices. She's just good at pretending she doesn't."

Your laugh turns into a soft moan as Zayn kisses down the line of your jaw, his teeth grazing your collarbone. Liam's hands are steady on your hips, holding you in place as he works his way up the other side of your neck, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.

It's overwhelming-the way they touch you, the way they move like they've done this a hundred times before. They're perfectly in sync, taking their time, their lips and hands exploring every inch of you they can reach.

"Gotta be quick," Zayn mutters, though his actions are anything but hurried. His lips find the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you bite your lip to keep from crying out.

Liam presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, his breath hot against your skin. "You're gonna think about this all night, aren't you?"

You nod, barely able to form words.

Your nod is all the encouragement Liam needs. His lips curl into a smirk against your skin as his hands tighten on your hips, pulling you closer against him. "Thought so," he murmurs, his voice low and full of intent.

Zayn shifts, his lips brushing yours again briefly before he pulls back, his eyes dark and assessing. "Don't hold back, love," he says, his hand sliding down to your waist. His presence is steady and grounding, but it's Liam's touch that sends a fresh wave of heat through you.

One of Liam's hands trails downward, his movements slow and deliberate as he tests your reaction. His fingertips skate over the waistband of your jeans, teasing, before slipping just underneath.

You gasp softly, your head falling back against the elevator wall as Zayn leans in to kiss along your jaw. "Shh," Zayn whispers, his lips grazing your ear. "Don't want anyone to hear, do you?"

Your body feels like it's on fire, torn between the heat of Zayn's mouth and the growing pressure of Liam's hand. His fingers slide lower, past the fabric of your underwear, and you can't stop the soft sound that escapes your lips.

"Quiet," Liam murmurs, his voice a husky whisper against your neck. "Be good for us, yeah?"

Your knees threaten to buckle, but Zayn steadies you, his hands firm on your waist as Liam's fingers begin to move. His touch is confident, knowing exactly where to apply pressure, and you're completely at his mercy.

"God, you're already so wet," Liam says, his tone laced with satisfaction. His lips brush against your temple as his fingers circle just the right spot, drawing another muffled moan from you. "You've been thinking about this all day, haven't you?"

You nod again, barely able to think, let alone speak. Your hands grip Zayn's shirt as you struggle to stay upright, your body trembling under their combined attention.

"Look at you," Zayn murmurs, his voice soft but teasing as his lips trail lower, just above the neckline of your shirt. "So desperate for us."

Liam chuckles quietly, his fingers working you closer and closer to the edge. "You're gorgeous like this," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your jaw. "Let go for us, love."

It doesn't take long before the tension inside you snaps, and you're falling apart in their arms. Liam's fingers don't stop until you're trembling, your breath coming in short, shaky gasps.

When he finally pulls his hand away, he smirks, his thumb brushing your cheek as he steadies you. "That's my girl," he says, his voice filled with quiet pride.

Zayn steps back just enough to meet your gaze, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Told you we'd take care of you," he says, his grin wicked and full of unspoken promises.

The sound of a distant alarm jolts all of you back to reality, and Zayn quickly presses the emergency button again, restarting the elevator. It hums to life, and you scramble to fix your clothes, your cheeks still flushed.

When the doors slide open, Zayn and Liam step out first, their movements casual as if nothing had happened. But before Liam turns the corner, he glances back at you, his eyes dark and knowing.

"Sleep well," he says softly, his voice still carrying that teasing edge.

The doors slide shut, leaving you alone, your heart still racing and your body still humming from their touch.

You take a deep breath as the elevator hums to the next floor, willing yourself to calm down. The heat in your cheeks still lingers, and your body feels heavy from everything that just happened. You can’t stop thinking about Liam’s touch and Zayn’s smirk, the way they completely unraveled you in just a few stolen minutes.

As the elevator doors slide open, you step out into the hallway, smoothing down your clothes and running a hand through your hair. You just need to get to your room and compose yourself. Maybe splash some cold water on your face.

But your plans crumble the second you round the corner and nearly walk straight into Louis.

“Whoa there!” Louis says, grabbing your shoulders to steady you. His expression quickly shifts from surprised to curious, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Where have you been?”

You force a laugh, brushing him off as casually as you can. “Just grabbing some air.”

Louis crosses his arms, his gaze sharp as he studies you. “Grabbing air, huh? So that’s why your neck looks like a bloody connect-the-dots puzzle?”

Your stomach drops. You bring a hand up to your neck instinctively, your fingertips brushing over the fresh marks Liam and Zayn had left. Damn it.

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, trying to step past him.

But Louis isn’t having it. He moves to block your path, his expression softening slightly but still full of big-brother concern. “Hey. I’m not mad, alright? But I’ve gotta know—who’s the guy?”

“There’s no guy,” you lie, your voice a little too defensive.

Louis raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh. “Right. So you just tripped and fell into someone’s mouth, yeah?”

“Louis!”

“What?” he says, grinning now. “You’re my sister, and it’s my job to give you grief. But seriously…” His tone shifts, becoming quieter, more serious. “You know I’m just looking out for you, right? I don’t want you getting hurt.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten. You know he means well, but there’s no way you can tell him the truth—not without it blowing up in everyone’s faces.

“I’m fine,” you assure him, meeting his gaze. “You don’t have to worry.”

Louis studies you for a moment longer, clearly not satisfied with your answer but deciding not to push. “Alright,” he says finally. “But if this mystery guy steps out of line, you tell me. I’ll sort him out.”

You force a smile, nodding quickly. “Got it. Thanks, Louis.”

He steps aside, letting you pass, but his voice follows you down the hall. “And maybe invest in some scarves or something. You’re terrible at hiding evidence.”

You roll your eyes, grateful that he can’t see your face as you unlock your door and slip inside.

Once you’re alone, you let out a shaky breath, leaning against the door. Your mind races, replaying the events of the night and Louis’s reaction. You’ve always been good at keeping secrets, but this one? It’s getting harder and harder to hide.

…

Part 2

[kaylopolis]

Alastor's Shadow (18+) - Chapter Twelve

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plan brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power… 

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

(Let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List!)

____________________________________________

Author note: Dear Hoteliers,

SUPRISE, YOU GET TWO CHAPTERS TODAY! Chapter Thirteen is also up! Posted a bit early because I was too excited!

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Twelve- The Kidnapping

Content Warning: MINORS DNI!!!! (let me know if I missed any!)

“It’s been twenty fuckin' minutes!” Velvette kicked at the air. “How much longer do I have to fuckin' wait!?” 

The brat demon’s words echoed throughout the night. Pentagram City waited sixty floors below, V Tower being the tallest building around. The roof and top few floors were newly rebuilt, complete with a penthouse beneath Velvette’s feet and a rooftop designed for entertaining. 

Alastor sat tied to a chair, surrounded by a platform that overlooked three sides of the tower. Velvette had wanted a pool, so she got one, along with a hot tub and a poolside bar. It was designed with Sinstagram in mind. Of course, the layout is aesthetically pleasing for one with a proclivity for photos and videos. It also created a great place to stage a kidnapping with numerous installed cameras - courtesy of Voxtek Technologies - that captured every angle. 

The brat demon was rearing to go the moment she hit send on the video, including a live link to watch the battle about to go down, but what she didn’t expect was for you to take so damn long! 

The demon groaned in his chair.

“Oh, shut it,” Velvette rolled her eyes. Cell phone in hand, the brat had stationed herself in a lounge chair, attempting to appear nonchalant while she waited. At about three minutes passed she double-checked that she actually posted the video.  At about five, she was growing impatient. At ten, she could no longer sit still and took to pacing in her new boots - her outfit was meticulously designed for this fight because, of course, it was. At fifteen, she became angry. At about twenty, she was royally pissed off. 

“How dare I be made to wait!!” She turned to Alastor, beaten and bruised - the demon hung his head, slipping back and forth from consciousness. “You were supposed to be fuckin' valuable! You…!”

“Angel Detected! Angel Detected! Angel Detected! Angel Detected!” Velvette’s notification screen lit up with alerts. 

Voxtek’s Angelic security was now online, and its perimeter expanded out five blocks from V Tower - it was two, but after you attacked, they decided they needed a bit more warning time from incoming threats. 

Quickly, Velvette typed out a text before finding her place before Alastor. The Overlord was ready.

In a cloud of black smoke, you came flying down from above, landing in an explosion of shadow. The smoke curled away from your feet, invading the freshly placed tile of the rooftop. It lopped over the edges, across the pool, even going as far as Velvette’s feet before dissipating. 

The female Vee took a step back, out of reach of your dark magic. Clutching the knife, she pointed it in your direction, “About fuckin’ time! Do you know how long I have been waiting here!?” 

You didn’t respond. 

“Well!?”

You didn’t move, continuing to stare down the Overlord with your glowing yellow eyes. 

Velvette stomped her foot, “You have nothing to say!?” 

More silence. 

The demon stomped forward, her arms balled into fists at her sides. With tears in her eyes, she screamed, “You murdered my best friend and destroyed my home for no fuckin' reason, and you have nothing to say to me!?” 

Silence as the tension was building. Vox’s cameras zoomed in on you as if waiting for an answer. After a long moment, you held your hand up and…

… started violently coughing? 

You bent over at the waist, your hands on your knees as you coughed as hard as you could. 

“Holy shit. I’m… I’m… So sorry.” A voice choked out,, little puffs of black smoke escaped the hood as they talked. “I was holding my breath for as long as I could, but the smoke was… too much!” 

Velvette took a step back, thoroughly confused- that was not the voice she remembered you having. She grabbed her phone and scanned you using the Soul Scanner app Vox downloaded onto it. 

“Lucifer Morningstar,” the lady’s voice read out.

“What!?” She shrieked, taking a step back. The demon flipped to another app and pushed a button. 

There was a shriek from behind her.

Velvette spun to find you collapsed on the ground, nearly out of reach of Alastor’s chair. In your leather gear, your silver hair braided back into a twist that reached halfway down your back, the watch Vox had given you morphed. The metal bit into the flesh of your wrist, hooks preventing it from being removed. The metal contraption had delivered an electric shock so powerful, it dropped you where you stood. 

Velvette’s gaze shot between you and Lucifer, who had since thrown his hood back so he could breathe. 

“Oh, sorry…” Lucifer cringed, eyes red from the smoke.

____________________________________________ 

(20 minutes earlier)

You resisted the urge to smack your face. “Okay, let’s try this one more time. Fire.” You summoned your flame.

“Fire.” Lucifer did the same. 

“Smother.” You clapped your hands together, the flames extinguishing, allowing smoke to pool from between your fingers. 

“Smother.” Lucifer did the same, but instead of a wave of smoke, the King produced merely a trickle. “Hey, I got it!” The Angel beamed, jumping up and down like a proud child.

It had only taken like fifty fucking tries but sure… He did it. 

“Okay,” you huffed. “Now, do that while you're flying and while you’re standing there. I usually always have a little bit milling about for aesthetic purposes, so if you don’t do it, it'll be weird.” 

“Right, and no talking?” He frowned a little.

“No talking.” 

“But I have such good comebacks prepared,” the King pouted. 

“No.” You handed him your cloak. “Keep the hood up; she doesn’t know it’s you, so she won’t be able to see under the cloak at any point in time.”

Lucifer threw the black fabric around his neck, tying the strings together. “You don’t ever suffocate in this?” 

You looked at him dumb. “Smoke is heavy. It naturally wants to flow down and away. Let it do its thing, and you’ll be fine.”

The King pulled the hood up, “And no talking?” He prodded again. 

“The second you open your mouth, Velvette will know it’s not me. Just stay quiet till I can get to Alastor, okay?”

“Fine!” The King whined. 

God, you did not miss his childlike attitude. Okay, moving on, “Angel, what ya’ got for me?”

____________________________________________

(Now)

Move!

You forced yourself to your feet, scrambling for Alastor. While Lucifer distracted Velvette, you were to sneak in from the other direction and attempt to untie Alastor before she noticed. You tried, before you left the safety of your hiding place, to use the connection you fostered with Alastor to somehow send him some of your energy - if that's even how this connection worked. The demon tried something similar with you the day you couldn't eat anything. He came scrambling home and used his magic to calm the bubbles in your chest and infuse your blood with life. It worked then, but it wasn't working now.

Alastor remained slumped forward in the chair, his face unreadable as you tried to reach out. You released a tentacle of magic from your core, but when it slithered over to the Radio Demon, it couldn't feel him. He was still breathing, still moving, but his magic felt absent.

Which terrified you.

If you could just get to him, maybe you could forcefully push some of your magic into him. Actually, you didn’t even need to get that far, you just needed to reach Rolf, you just needed to reach his shadow. 

Mere steps from Alastor, Velvette hit the button on her phone, sending a wave of electricity rocking through your body. You dropped like a stone, hitting the tile with a smack, your cheek cracking open on impact. 

The female Vee spun, preparing to take on Lucifer, but the Angel had fled, leaving your black cloak in a pile on the ground where he once stood. You were on your own. 

“There you are!” She cackled. The female Vee kneeled beside you, your body refusing to move as the electricity slowly ran its course.

Goddammit, the wound on your torso burned.

“Awww,” She pouted. “Little Thestral finally came out to play.”

Fuck. 

“What? Didn’t think we’d figure it out? Ha!” She cackled. “Remember this?” The demon scanned your face with her camera.

The woman’s voice rang out, “Unknown.”

A memory surfaced of you and the remaining Vees battling it out at the base of V Tower. Vox scanned you during the fight, just as he had during your date. Both times, the woman called you “Unknown.”

Vox and Velvette have known it was you for weeks. Vox knew it was you today when he came to visit the Hotel and even when he was getting updates from Charlie. That’s why he wasn’t mad about you disappearing. That’s why he approached you again. He wasn’t apologizing. He was tricking you to get the watch on your wrist. 

The Vees knew and were probably stalking you for weeks. Hence why they’ve been so quiet. They’ve been lying in wait, watching, waiting to see where your weaknesses lie. 

And they found it: Alastor. 

You knew the Radio Demon wasn’t sloppy. He didn’t make mistakes, and he didn’t miss any of the bystanders who saw the fight go down that day. What he wasn’t expecting - what neither of you was expecting - was Velvette and Vox being smart. 

“Fuck you,” you gritted, your jaw stiff and tongue heavy. You spat, temporarily blinding Velvette with spit, and then punched her right in the nose. The demon fell back, blood spraying from her face, as you clumsily attempted to go for Alastor once more.

If you could just touch him… 

“AH!” You jumped as another wave of electricity ran up your arm. Your body went stiff as you collapsed and landed THROUGH Alastor. 

And then the demon DISAPPEARED. 

“Ha, ha!” Velvette cackled, her finger still on the button as you convulsed at her feet. Fuck, your jaw clenched so tightly that a molar cracked. Your eyes threatened to roll back into your head before Velvette finally let you go.

What the fuck was going on?

“Did you like that? My idea, actually.” She clicked a button, and the image of Alastor reappeared next to you.

The demon was in the same position - his head slumped forward, his hair covering his face. He barely moved save for a moan here and there and the occasional rise of his chest to show he was breathing.

“You can’t capture Alastor’s image. He’s made that bloody impossible. So why not re-create him?” 

You noticed the twitch in Alastor’s form then - it was a hologram. No wonder your magic didn't connect with anything. Nothing was there but light manipulated to look like Alastor.

If he wasn't here, then...

“Where is he?” You demanded, your words slurring with the effort it took to move your mouth. The last hit was harder than the one before, compounding on top of the other to create greater damage than one shock could do alone. 

Velvette checked her phone screen, “Dead.” 

You didn’t even humor her with a fake laugh or a dumb look. “Don’t give me the bullshit, Velvette. Where is he?” Life came back to your fingers, their movement stiff and constrained. You forced them to move, hoping it would speed up the process somehow. 

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” Velvette stood.

“Aww, do you really think I’m pretty?” You gritted. 

Velvette considered the thought. “Well, the black dress didn't make me want to barf..."

You rolled your eyes. "Thanks..."

Spinning, Velvette called out, “Crim!" 

Wait, Crim?

No one answered.

Velvette looked confused. “Crim!” She called out again, but nothing happened.  

“Where the fuck did he…”

“Change of plans. Sweetheart,” Angel appeared at the edge of the landing above you, a giant piece of metal in hand. It kind of looked like a futuristic looking… bazooka? The spider demon kicked a tied and gagged Crim to the edge of the railing.

Hell, yes.

Velvette jumped back, putting ample space between you. You took the opportunity to force life into your body, attempting to push yourself into a seated position. 

“The bad boys are tied up,” Nifty poked her head out from behind the bar, dragging a shark demon out into the open by his fin. 

“Sorry!” Charlie and Vaggie appeared from behind the hot tub. Characteristically, the Princess apologized as a shark demon fell over, smacking his face against the tile. 

DING! Husk and Pentious appeared in the elevator, kicking three sharks to their knees, guns aimed at the back of their heads - Carmilla Carmine weapons. 

____________________________________________

(15 minutes ago)

“Angel, what ya’ got for me?” You trudged over to the spider demon, who had a hodgepodge of handwritten notes before him. 

“Confirmed with Odette, Velvette ain’t just using Crim as a third party to buy the weapons, she hired ‘em, like you suspected.” Angel ran his hands over his notes as he talked. “But get this, she ain’t just buying guns, she’s goin’ afta big stuff.” 

Angel handed you a paper. “An electric bazooka?” You scrunched your nose in confusion. 

Carmilla never told you about anything like this. 

“Vox apparently hired some of their engineers, been workin' on it for a while.” Angel crossed his arms and leaned back against the bar. "We’re walkin' into a trap." 

“So, we just bluff,” Husk appeared behind the bar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. 

“What?” You ask, grabbing the whiskey in his hand and trading it for water.

Husk stares you down but ultimately accepts the change without a fight. “Bluff, like in Poker,” He takes a swig. “Play like you got a good hand, even when you got a shit one. Make the other person fold before you lose and take the pot. It’s basic card skills.”

“Huh,” you thought, “that actually might work.”

“Hmm,” Angel pondered. “Ambush the ambush. Sounds kinda hot!”

Husk rolled his eyes. 

“Lucifer!” You yelled. The King jumped, clearly in deep conversation with Vaggie. “I have another idea.”

____________________________________________

(Now)

“Fuck yeah!” Lucifer flew over the edge of the building and dropped a pile of gang members onto the tile roof. “You just got fucked!”

“Dad!” Charlie groaned. “It’s ‘fucked up.” 

“Oh…” He cringed. 

Velvette’s team was surrounded. 

You knew it was only a matter of time before Velvette figured out it wasn’t you beneath the cloak. So, if you somehow got caught while Lucifer was distracting Velvette, he was to sneak away and help Husk fly the rest of the team to the top few floors. Quietly and quickly, they’d take out the Crimson Mafia gang - thus ambushing the ambushers. All while you made it seem like Velvette had you right where she wanted you.

Ignoring the pain in your torso, you pushed yourself to your feet. Your newly healed muscles screamed.

“It was over before it even started, Velvette. Now, where’s Alastor?” You demanded. 

“No!” She screamed. “It isn’t over.” She swiped something on her phone. “I had wanted to take my time killing you, but this will have to do.” 

Fuck, she was going to electrocute you to death. 

“No!” Charlie screamed. 

BOOM! 

In a panic, Angel did what anyone in his position would have done: he aimed the cannon and fired. A ball of electricity, larger than yourself, erupted from the barrel and was headed straight for Velvette. 

BEEP! BUZZ! BEEP! BUZZ! 

The watch around your wrist vibrated. And, because Vox had accounted for this, the projectile changed direction and headed straight for you. You had moments to dodge before it exploded beneath your feet, flinging you backward into the bar. Bottles of alcohol exploded, glass dug into your skin, and wood splintered around you as you smashed through the structure and went rolling toward the edge of the building.

The rooftop plunged into chaos as the Crimson mafia gang took the opportunity to fight back. The world was a blur as you came to a stop, your mind spinning, your body stiff and immovable as your muscles convulsed. You must have bit your tongue because your mouth tasted of iron.  

“Ah!” Velvette screamed. The demon jumped atop you as the sound of bullets filled the air. “Fuckin’ bitch!” She pulled out the knife, preparing to slash your throat. 

But Nifty was faster. The small demon jumped atop Velvette’s hair and pulled. “Bad girl!” She screamed. 

The demon fell off you as the two of them tossled. 

Move! You need to move! You flooded your veins with magic but the fire did not burn life back into your body. 

Fuck. 

Think. Think. Think! If not fire, then… Wait! 

"…shut down the whole grid!" Angel's words echoed in your mind. "All of Pentagram City was plunged into fuckin' darkness!"

If this technology was partially developed by Vox, maybe it had some similarities to his magic system?

An idea popped into your head. One that smelled of rain after a storm. One that felt humid like the deep bayou under a sky of stars. One that tasted of jambalaya and sounded of dirty jazz in a busy dance club…

Digging down deep, you grabbed that connection and pulled. Green static erupted over your skin, loosening your muscles and lessening the convulsions overtaking your body.

It was working! 

You pulled harder, allowing the magic to explode from within you. The static breathed new life into your body, even going as far as stitching your healing muscles into strong fiber throughout your torso. You soon found yourself able to move, your body in even better health than before Velvette gutted you weeks ago. Moving onto your hands and knees, you sucked down a mouthful of air, your body finally your own again. 

Jesus H. Christ, do not get hit by another one of those!

Nifty managed to get ahold of Velvette’s phone and tossed it over the side. 

“No!” The demon crawled to the edge, screaming in vain as the cell phone plunged to the streets below. 

You grabbed the Overlord by the collar of her shirt and lugged her to her feet. Your yellow eyes shined as the green magic enveloped your form. You could see the confusion in Velvette’s eyes, confusion at the control you now had over the magic which didn’t belong to you.

“Tell me or the next thing that drops sixty stories is you,” you could feel the power boiling, Alastor’s magic festering. 

His magic was angry and so were you. 

“You wouldn’t dare, bitch,” Velvette dug her nails into your forearm, her nails piercing your skin where the leather was thinnest.

“Try me,” the magic surged, pulsed as if fueled by the anger. 

At the other end of the line you felt something push back, like a surge of magic calling out to you. While Velvette considered her options, you pushed back and felt something similar to a door open. 

A heart beat. A breath. It was Alastor calling out to you in the same way you had tried to do before you left the Hotel for V Tower. 

He was alive and he was angry. You might not know where he was, but he felt okay physically. Just extremely pissed off. 

Good.

The static boiled, growing in power as a green aura emanated from you. You felt the shadows beneath your feet move, swirling about your ankles in anticipation of the murder you were about to commit. 

“Velvette,” you garnered her attention, your voice almost sounding static-y, “last chance,” you swung her body over the edge, her feet dangling off the roof. 

The fight behind her eyes shifted, “No.” she smiled.

CLICK! 

You didn’t have to turn around to know the barrel end of a gun was pressed to the back of your head. You didn’t have to look to know it was Crim who wielded it.

“Put the boss lady down, gently,” the Mafia Boss commanded. 

The static sizzled across your skin as you felt your demon form break through. Horns grew from your head, a sharp tail uncurled from your backside, and the sclera of your eyes turned red. 

The fangs in your mouth sharpened as you smiled. You had a better idea. 

You tackled Velvette around the middle and jumped. 

You summoned your wings as you fell, but unlike the last time you found yourself falling from this building, you didn’t aim for the cement. Instead, you pulled up at the last second - much to Velvette’s terror - and threw the Overlord onto the ground. Not enough to break anything, but enough to rough her up a bit. 

You needed Velvette alive and put together long enough to give you the information you needed - for now. 

Spinning, you prepared to ascend the Tower to solve your little Crim problem when two large booms echoed throughout the streets. 

Someone had fired two shots, honed in for your bracelet. If you were a gambling Angel you’d put your money on Crim.

Velvette cackled as you took flight, aiming for Heaven’s Clocktower. You watched the two balls of electricity bank as you turned, following you in circles about the plaza. 

Shit, these things could maneuver… but how well? 

You got an idea. 

The Entertainment District had the largest buildings in town and as such you often found yourself flying through what felt like a maze night after night. It was the perfect place to lose the two missiles on your tail. 

The first one was easy to lose. Heading from the Clocktower, you aimed for the first large building you came across. Banking hard right, you cut the turn so sharp your wing brushed the glass of the building. Taking a complete 180• turn, you headed right back for the Clocktower as the first ball exploded into the side of the glass building. 

Shards rained down like acid behind you, showering the streets below. 

The second one wasn’t so easily deterred, almost as if it had learned from the first. It didn’t sit as closely on your tail, and thus had more time to maneuver as you took the turns. 

Soon it became obvious, the thing wasn’t going to quit. Fuck. You were hyperventilating, your face drenched in sweat, your wings cramping with the effort. You hadn’t flown in battle in what…? Since before the Age of Man? Your skit with the Leviathans maybe… at least your torso was holding up. Whatever Alastor’s static had done, it healed you, leaving behind nothing but a scar.

Fuck, what to do what to do!? 

You craned your neck over your wing to catch a glimpse of the ball of blue electricity and that’s when you noticed the trail of green static following you across the sky. The sparks danced over your feathers and dissipated as they fell, like the trail on a shooting star. It was beautiful. 

Alastor’s magic: the one person Vox’s electricity couldn’t take down. 

Shit. Okay. Flight wasn’t working, so maybe it was time for fight. 

You dug across the connection, throwing open the door to find an entire well of magic you didn’t know was there. Yet this magic was warm - familiar. It tasted of rye in your mouth, wrapped you in a cocoon of protection like a small babe… You took hold of this magic and used it to fuel the static drifting off your wings. 

You had one shot at this, better make it count.

You soared skyward, till you were higher than V Tower. Then you fell. You spun so the ball of electricity was in front of you, your back to Pentagram City below. Grabbing hold of Alastor’s magic, you created a ball of magic of your own, composed entirely of Alastor’s static. 

Then you threw it forward. It collided with the ball of blue energy and exploded in the sky, raining down blue and green sparks across Pentagram City below.

“Yes!” You cheered, safely making your way to the ground. You landed on the edge of Cannibal Town and the Entertainment District. 

“Holy shit, that actually worked!” You laughed in disbelief. “Now for this piece of shit.” You concentrated the magic in your wrist and fried the watch. “Fuck you, Vox!” You ripped the watch off, gritting in pain as the hooks sliced through your skin.

The metal fell to the ground with a thud. Alastor’s static concentrated on your wrist, the green dancing across your wound. You watched the skin restitch itself and settle into a set of fresh scars.

Was this Alastor’s doing or some sort of acceleration of your blood’s natural healing abilities? Did Alastor’s magic amplify it somehow?

So many questions… Hopefully Alastor had answers because you didn’t even know where to begin. Sharing his magic…? What did that mean?

“Oh - !” There was a tug behind your navel so strong it knocked you back a step.

What the fuck was that? 

Another tug, this one even stronger. You braced yourself as orange and mint flooded your nostrils. 

The third tug knocked you onto your ass, but it was the feeling the card gave you that finally helped you to understand - Alastor was using his obsidian calling card to summon you and he had used his own blood. 

Which meant two things: 1. Alastor was desperate and 2. You knew where to find him. 

Without so much a second thought you took off heading for the Entertainment District. 

You landed at the base of V Tower the same moment a blur of black and blue went whizzing past you. Briefly, you registered the flying blurb as Vox - no, wait, he wasn’t flying. Vox had been thrown. 

The media demon slammed into a bloodied Velvette, the two of them flying across the cement before coming to a stop in a pile of blood, broken bones, and wire. 

Before you had a chance to register what was happening, a portal opened up about twenty feet away from you. The Hotel team came flooding out, weapons raised, prepared for a fight, but paused at the sight behind you. 

Your heart skipped a beat. 

“Alastor?” You breathed, your entire body going rigid as you turned and…

A body slammed into you, warm and familiar. Alastor threaded his fingers through your hair, the other coming to rest at your back as he pulled you into him. His lips came crashing down on yours before you got a proper look at the demon. 

It took your mind a moment to register that Alastor was kissing you, a moment before you were up on your toes, your arms around his neck, your body melting into him. 

God, he tasted like blood and rye. His scent woeing you in a sea of iron and rain. Alastor was a wall of steel, holding you so fiercely - as if you might disappear in his arms. 

The shadows about his feet danced - Rolf was okay too. 

The demon came up for air, but he didn’t back away. Alastor kept his forehead on yours, his grip tightening around you, as he spoke, “Mon couer.”

My heart.

He didn’t have to say anything more. You understood. You were a perfect mirror image to the things he had been feeling and to the relief you both now expressed.

He was okay. Alastor was okay. 

“What happened?” Was all you could manage to say before your voice broke and the ugly tears fell. “I thought they had you. I thought…”

“Shhhh,” Alastor shushed, using his thumb to wipe away the water from your cheek. “I know.” 

“Velvette was going to…”

“I understand,” he kissed your forehead. 

“I didn’t know what else to do...” You choked. You grabbed onto the lapels of his now destroyed jacket. “Please, Alastor… Don’t leave me.”

The demon smiled softly, your face in his hands, “Never again.”

He embraced you, his chin resting on the top of your head as he held you. 

Charlie approached you slowly, hesitant to ruin the moment but also so, so worried. “Are you okay?” she asked softly.

“Perfectly fine, Princess. Seems Vox found it pertinent to occupy my time in the Doomsday District.”

A memory flashed in your mind…

“Well hello there little pet, where’s your master?”

“Like Hell I would tell you anything!”

“So he’s still making chaos in the Doomsday District then? That answers that question…”

Fucking Vox.

“Is she okay?” Charlie asked. You could hear the emotion in her voice.

The demon smiled into your hair.

Then, Alastor did something that would shock you for years to come, he opened an arm and invited her in. The Princess wrapped her arms around the two of you and soon, so did the rest of the Hotel Natives - minus Lucifer. The King had been standing there dumbfounded the moment Alastor kissed you. 

Wow, he really did not like him. 

“This isn’t over!” Vox yelled. He was bloodied and bruised, as was Velvette who was helping him limp over to your little cuddle fest. 

Alastor had some fun while you were fighting the electricity across Pentagram City.

“Hmmm,” Alastor hummed. The group disbanded, taking a step behind you and the Overlord. “That is where you are wrong, old pal.” 

The Radio Demon persona slammed back into place. He summoned his cane and twirled, before resting his hands atop it. Although he was in complete disarray, there was still an elegance which he held that Vox did not.

You made a mental note of the lack of shark demons coming to the Overlords’ rescue. Crim probably realized they were losing and hightailed it out of there. No worries, you’d pay the imp a visit later…

“Kill them?” You asked Alastor.

Alastor’s eyes lit up in amusement. “Oh, no! No, death is too good for them. The punishment is far more fun if they have to live with their humiliation.” The demon smiled, his lips curling at the edge. 

“So then,” You looked to Alastor for permission. You wanted to show off for him, if he’d let you. “Unplug him?” 

The demon tipped his head back and laughed, “After you, mon couer.”

You took a step forward and summoned Alastor’s magic. Green waves of static licked your form as you dug deep into that well. 

“Hey, Vox,” you smiled. 

The demon stopped, his eyes bouncing from yours to Alastor’s. The demon’s screen glitched. “You're dating him now!?” 

You rolled your eyes, “Vox, we never dated. We went on one date and it was horrible.” 

Another glitch. “What!?” 

“Are you two seriously going to talk about this now?” Velvette groaned. 

“I was miserable. You’re a lousy date.” He was buffering, his screen going staticy as you felt Alastor’s magic reacting to Vox’s weaknesses. 

“And, you’re a terrible kisser,” you smiled. 

Vox shoved off Velvette and took a few wobbly steps forward. You were pretty sure his ankle was broken. “Now listen here, you little…”

“Uh-ah-ah!” You tutted. “I wasn’t done.” You closed the gap, and leaned in to whisper something in Vox’s ear. 

The media demon exploded, his screen shifting from lost signal to his face to static to random colors. He fell backward into Velvette, who barely managed to catch him. 

The cameras around you exploded, light bulbs popped, and storefront windows cracked. 

And soon, the entirety of Pentagram City was plunged into darkness. 

“Rolf,” you summoned the shadow. “Will you please take out the trash?” 

The shadow smiled at you, his horns curling, before he whisked Velvette and a short-circuiting Vox off into the night. 

And it was finally over. 

Alastor came up behind you and ran his hand through the static - it tickled, actually. The demon was absolutely mesmerized. “You are beautiful in red, mon couer,” He cupped your chin, his thumb running across your lower lip. “But green suits you far better than I could have ever imagined.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. 

“I told him…”

Alastor used his thumb to stop your lips, his eyes darkening. “I know what you said.”

Rolf swirled at your feet. The little snoop was eavesdropping.

Your face turned red. “Vox got a little close on our date. Not my fault that I could feel everything.”

Vox was all over you when he kissed you… It wasn’t for very long, but it was enough to know…

“Is it true?” Alastor’s eyes couldn’t leave your lips, his mind transfixed on their shape, their feel, the way they moved when you talked.

Ha! There’s the narcissist in him.

“Yes, Alastor,” you smirked. “You are much bigger.”

The static pulsed, reacting to the delight spreading across Alastor’s face, but you forced it down, forced the magic back behind its door. Now was not the time nor the place to get carried away. Especially considering you practically leveled a building the last time you and Alastor... got into it.

Actually, now was time for something else - a conversation you were dreading.

“Alastor,” you collected his hand in yours, “I need… I want to tell you everything.” 

“Let’s get you cleaned up first, shall we?” Alastor smiled, holding out his elbow for you to take. 

The demon wasn’t done with your previous conversation. “I want to hear more about what you think of me.” He smirked, his grin lopsided. That look always meant trouble. “And perhaps discover how you look dressed only in my static.”

Jesus… Did you - via standing up to Vox using Alastor’s magic and utterly humiliating the media demon - inadvertently turn Alastor on? You sniffed. Vanilla, Alastor smelled of warm vanilla… Your face was pink before, but now it was bright red.

This was an opportunity you were not going to let slip away. You wrapped your arm in his…

“Mikaela?” Lucifer took a step forward interrupting the moment.  

Your entire body went still. 

“Is that you…?” He asked. Lucifer looked as if someone had murdered a puppy in front of him.

Shit.

Vaggie did a double take, “Wait. Mikaela as in Mikaela Morningstar, the Archangel?”

You looked down. Your arm. Velvette scratched your arm - she cut the rune Stolas drew onto your arm! 

Slowly, you turned to face Lucifer - your brother. The Angel took a few steps forward, his confusion turning to hurt. 

“Mikaela.” He frowned. There was so much sadness reflected in those eyes it made your throat swell with emotion. 

“Lulu, I’m so sorry,” your voice broke. 

“Wait, hold up.” Angel raised an arm. “When yous told me ya were a head honcho in Heaven, I just figured you were an Angel manager or some shit, but the General of God’s armies? That doesn’t make any sense. I thought Michael was a dude?” 

“No,” Charlie stepped in, her face one of disbelief. She’s never technically met any of her father’s family and yet here you were all along. “Humans changed it.”

“Changed it?” Angel shook his head. “How do you fuckin’ change the fact that he is a she!?”

“Humans are patriarchal assholes,” Vaggie butted in, one arm wrapped around Charlie - whether to hold her back or comfort her, you didn’t know. Either way, the Ex-Exorcist was thoroughly irritated. “Can’t handle a woman being in a position of power, not to mention a warrior - the fucking warrior.” 

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” Angel agreed. 

“What are you doing here?” Lucifer asked. The King didn’t dare step closer. If anything, he moved in front of Charlie. 

Did he think you were going to hurt her? You would never!

“Dad…” Your voice broke just by saying his name. “... sent me to Earth to take care of something. It went… wrong.” 

Fuck how do you explain!?

“I couldn’t - can’t - go back.” You corrected yourself. Your eyes flit between him and Charlie. “I am not here to hurt her.” Your vision blurred with silent tears. “I would never hurt her, Lulu.” 

Your brother’s face changed, his eyes hardening. He stood at his full height, an arm held out to prevent Charlie from stepping forward or say anything. 

“You can smell deceit.” You both could - family trait. “You know I’m not lying.” 

Lucifer swallowed dryly, but he didn’t say anything. His gaze fell to his feet, the gears behind his eyes turning. He was deciding what to do about you. 

“I had nowhere else to go.” You continued. 

“Dad?” Charlie tested the waters. 

“Don’t, Charlie,” He snapped. “Just don’t.” The Angel, unsure of how exactly to react, how to think, or how to feel about you, turned and started walking away. 

Your heart broke at the sight of him walking down the street alone, abandoning you, just as you abandoned him. You took a step forward to go after him, but Charlie beat you to it. 

“Dad!” She called out as she ran after him. The two of them disappeared around the corner, heading for the Hotel. 

You looked to the group, but their eyes were on Alastor as he placed a hand on your shoulder. “If you’ll excuse us. I believe Mikaela and I have some catching up to do.”

Fuck. 

Husk shot you a look, his eyes asking if he should say something, if he should step in - ever the protective father figure that he was. You shook your head and let Rolf shadow you away. 

____________________________________________

“Are you okay?” The demon asked as you appeared in the Nothing. Pentagram City was a dot in the distance, a glowing presence on the edge of a sea of black dirt. 

You wrapped your arms around your middle, attempting to metaphorically and physically keep yourself together. 

Fuck, you didn’t care about how you were doing. You cared about how Lucifer was doing. The way he just walked away like that… He turned his back on you just as you did him. God, how could you live with yourself? 

“Sit,” Alastor commanded, his voice oddly absent of static. He summoned a chair from the Void and forced you into it, pushing down on your shoulders. 

You were numb - that was the best way to explain it. Your body and feelings were numb. 

Alastor knelt before you, one hand on your knee as he attempted to catch your eye. You couldn’t help but draw a parallel to the memory you shared on the balcony after you were injured. He attempted to comfort you then just as he was now, but the difference was he held so many questions in his gaze. 

No more running. 

“It’s a long story,” you scoffed, still in disbelief. 

Alastor’s face remained neutral, his emotions unreadable. “I have all the time in the world.”

Surprise! You get two chapters today! Go! Go! Go!

-> Link to Chapter Thirteen

Tagged Hoteliers (Let me know if you want to be added!):

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @mommymilkers0526 @goyablogsstuff

@eris-norwega @missgirlsstuff @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog @sillywormtrixareforkids @its-a-dam-blue-brick

@cloverresin20 @blue-bird251 @speedycoffeedelight @littlebluefishtail @saw1987

@mopeyghost @beelz3bub @fraugwinska @minamilinaqueen @demoarah

@diffidentphantom @divineknightmare @animecrazy76 @sleepykittycx @graunta

@reath-solia @satansdaughter123 @mysticatto

[quitesins]

𝐃𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭’𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥

Masterlist | Ao3

Bakugou x fem!reader

Tags: 18+, NSFW, Smut, Oneshot, pwp lol, aged up bakugou, pro hero bakugou, established-but-early-relationship, soft dom katsuki, soft fic in general, reader wears Dynamight themed lingerie

“Actually, he feels like a fucking virgin again. He doesn’t know where to touch first. So used to having you all for his taking, now wanting to savour each inch of you wrapped in his colours.”

Your relationship is by no means a secret, but it’s in it’s earlier stages, so the sudden pda surprises him. He welcomes it, a little flustered, and brings himself close to let you whisper.

“I have something to show you.” 

His eyes lift in amusement and curiosity. Then he nods and turns to you. 

Bakugou pays no mind to the eye rolls of his friends, the childish ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ from Kaminari, all he can focus is on you. The dim lights look good on your skin, illuminating you, pretty like a picture. 

His eyes flick to your hair, there’s two mimic explosions clipped in, like his own uniform’s. Cute , he thinks, before finally taking your hand and letting you lead the way. 

He ruffles your hair as the two of you walk, smirking to himself. “What’s this?” 

You simply shrug with your own subtle smirk. “You’ll see.”

You don’t give away a thing as he drives to your flat. Even when his free hand dances over your thighs, you keep them closed with a mischievous smile. 

Tugging him along, with his hand in yours, you push him gently into your room. You tell him to sit. He raises an eyebrow at your command but listens. 

You don’t sit with him, which he finds a little odd. Oftentime he’s in your bed- it’s beside you, despite the space seeming too tiny for a man like him. But he waits patiently anyways. While you skip around, looking for something. 

When you do find the object of your searches, it’s a little remote. One for your lights, he notes. With a few clicks, the room suddenly becomes dark, fluorescent in its glow. He huffs a small laugh, seeing where this is going.

“Ok now watch me.” He thinks the way you speak is almost innocently eager. Although he understands the intent, he can’t help but find it sweet. “Don’t laugh!”

“M’not!” Katsuki raises his hands in jest, letting you continue.

As you begin to strip, he watches with a knowing grin. 

“You wanted to fuck?” He muses playfully. “Is that it?”

Your eyes roll. “Just wait for it.”

Soon he sees the expanse of your skin, covered in something- oh.

It isn’t often Katsuki is rendered speechless, even through fear and defeat, it tends to come with a million curses. But there he sits, mouth agape, in utter silence.

It’s like you’re draped in him. Black lace coats your breasts, with orange criss-crossed atop. As your trousers slip, he nearly groans when he sees the garters on your thighs, fashioned like his own. Have you been wearing this the entire time? 

“F-fuck.” He finally lets out, breathy, probably not even realising he has. His eyes glow in genuine awe.

“Like it?” Your words are playful as you give a quick twirl. Posing even, making your skin crease against itself, looking so soft and pliable. His eyes don’t leave you for a second. He doesn’t say anything either, too mesmerised by the sight.

Your expression falters for a moment in hesitation but he doesn’t let it simmer, raising his arms and beckoning you to the bed. 

“Come here, pretty girl.” 

And you do, sultry as you walk to take seat, in his lap.  

The weight of you on top of him is familiar, yet it feels so new. Actually, he feels like a fucking virgin again. He doesn’t know where to touch first. So used to having you all for his taking, now wanting to savour each inch of you wrapped in his colours. 

His eyes latch onto your breasts, how they fill out your bra so perfectly, stretching the orange X across your chest. By now, he’d already have a tit in his mouth, sucking harsh to satiate his growing oral fixation. However this time, he lets his fingers run across the lace. He feels you shiver when he goes over the slight bump where your nipple hardens, and groans. 

“I guess you do like it?” You ask impishly, knowing you don’t need an answer. 

“Of course I fuckin’ like it,” he huffs, bringing himself to kiss you.

The kiss is strangely gentle, a little calculated even. He can taste the cold of the gum you had been chewing, while his hands work carefully to tug your bra down. He could easily unclip it, having done so many times before, but he wants to see it on you. So he pulls it down, stifling another groan when he watches your breasts spill out. He creates a trail with his kisses, past your neck, to your collar, and then to where he wishes to be most.

It’s with a tentative lick, does he let himself taste you. He rolls your nipple around in his mouth, lightly, but tugging here and there. You react so prettily for him, taking sharp breaths that edge close to whines. You even start to subtly push yourself down onto him, whether you realise it or not, aching for any friction. He wants to stop you, to savour you, but it’s difficult when you look so needy.

“Relax for me sweetheart,” he whispers against your skin. “Let’s take it slow.”

Katsuki doesn’t have to look up to know you’re a flustered mess. 

You listen, as you always do. Even when your brain starts to melt, you always listen. And that shoots another wave of heat through him. How can he be in control of himself with a girl as gorgeous as you so ready, so pliant, so obedient. 

“Shit,” he hisses. “Get on the bed for me?”

With you splayed out against your sheets, his eyes aren’t even sure where to look. The cute face that stares back at him. The tits that look too perfect to be real. Or the dampening spot between your thighs, that he can practically taste from where he sits.

“You’re too…” Unsure of how to even word himself, his voice trails off. Instead he opts in showing you. 

Using his hands to caress you, his lips settle on yours again. This time, when he paints his kisses down your neck, he doesn’t stop to where your breasts still call for him. Rather, he keeps going, passing where his hands hold your waist. The sensation is strange, you jostle- feeling ticklish, and he continues to mouth against the bare skin. 

When he reaches the green strap that digs into your hip, he’s tempted to lift it, just to watch it snap. And he does. He’s slave to his desires after all. When he looks up, you pout indignantly, but he can see how your pout holds back a smile. 

“Had to.” He shrugs smugly and continues.

Soon his tongue is slipping over the fabric itself, soothing where it snapped. His breath is so warm and it’s hard for you to stay still. So he holds you a little firmer.

It’s especially hard when he gets to your thighs. His fingers sink into them so tenderly, circling the skin where your garters lay. For a moment he wonders where you even found such a thing, of course not complaining.

“Can’t believe you’d do all this for me.” Humming, he slinks up and down your legs, making sure no part of you is left untouched.

“Wanted-” You breathe. “Wanted to look pretty for you.”

He stills as he reaches your hip, frowning. “Always look pretty to me.”

Through kisses he speaks, so earnest. “Always-” Kiss. “So-” Kiss. “Perfect-” Kiss. “For me.”

You can’t even reply with your own fluster, Katsuki catching you off guard as he parts your thighs.

He looks at where the fabric of your underwear clings to you, stickied by your own lust. He gulps. It’s pure sin. Pure fucking sin. And he hasn’t even seen you yet. 

A wiggle of your hips breaks him from his stupor. When you look at him, you expect eyes of ravenous hunger and dangerous desire, but instead you are gifted with the view of a man so innocent in his awe.

“Something else.” He shakes his head, like he can’t fathom the sight. “You’re something else.”

When he does go to rid you of your underwear, he’s a little stuttered with his undressing. He pulls them down slowly, getting caught onto the garter. Then, frustrated, tears through them. Finally, you’re free, all for him to see.

His touch is timid. Again, like it’s his first time. He feels he should just give you what your body begs for, but he can’t. His own shyness too much to push through. 

“Want me to open you up?” 

The shake of your head widens his eyes.

“No, I want you, even if it hurts.” 

The words should be filthy, should give him perfect avenue to taunt and tease. Yet all it does is make him swallow his moan, cock aching terribly at the thought of sinking into you, so raw and untouched. 

Although he knows it’s best to give you the warm up, he can’t deny your request.

“If that’s what my girl wants.”

He’s quick to take his shirt off, and then his trousers. Probably looking like an eager fool but he didn’t care. He just needed to be inside of you. 

His cock springs up as soon as it is freed from his boxers. Choosing to ignore the wet patch where his tip leaked, he palms himself slightly. There’s no reason to, he’s already harder than he’s ever been.

Katsuki gulps when he brings himself to you, taking in the sight one last time. He looks at how your breasts, covered in his marks, are cupped by the bra of his colours. He watches as your chest rises and falls, comfortingly. He even takes a second glance at the clips, messy, but still stuck into your hair cutely. 

“Katsuki please.” 

He nods. And finally pushes in.

The feeling is devastating .

You’re soft, and tight, and the further he sinks in, the more his head starts to spin. So devilishly wet, so angelically warm. He feels a little debauched in how much pleasure he takes from the simple act of being sheathed by you. He hasn’t even had the thought to move. 

He feels as you hold your breath. It makes a part of him twinge in sympathy, but he knows if he stops- you’d hate it even more.

“Breathe for me sweetheart.”

With a few heavy but needed breaths, he lets himself pull out, hissing as he does. That slight friction is enough to have him almost keeling, but he continues. You’re no better, looking up at him with eyes so full of desire. 

He pushes back in, hearing the noises of your bodies intertwined. Your heat is engulfing. So much so, the thought of pulling out pains him. 

When he does pull out once more, it’s slow but he’s quick to find a rhythm that works. 

It’s a sweet and slow back and fourth, an ebb and flow of the two of you tangled as one. Synchronised in the same pleasure. There are words unsaid. Thoughts unspoken. Yet nothing is hidden. Nothing is not shared. 

When you whine, he already knows what you want. He’s heard the same sound a million times before but it never fails to leave him dizzy.

“I know baby, I know.” He comforts, still not giving into your pleads. You were too good to rush. He wanted to relish every second.

Responding by wrapping your arms around him, he smiles. Still so compliant. He lets your nails dig into his skin, then hisses because he likes it. In turn his thrusts become deeper, and you seem to like that.

You clench around him too many times to count, his own growing tightness following to bring him close. The room fills with the sounds of touching skin and lusty moans. It’d be a miracle if no one could hear, if no one could tell what was happening behind the thin walls of your apartment. 

Katsuki grits his teeth when you nuzzle into his neck, you always get so clingy when you’re about to come. He isn’t any better, pushing himself closer and closer. 

The tightness in his abdomen starts to get too much. He even struggles to keep up with his own thrusts, growing erratic with each push. Your body doesn’t help either, moulding so perfectly around him, squeezing each time he presses against that spot he knows all too well. 

“Come with me baby- fuck-“ The words tumble out of Katsuki. “Come with me Angel.”

You reply only with the frantic nods of your head, arms wrapping tighter around him, legs doing the same. Not only does your heat embrace him, but your entire form does too. It’s too much. 

The two of you break.  

With skin pressed so close, unable to tell where he ends and you start, you both come with shattering pleasure. It ripples between you, like a pebble dropped in water, stretching out your orgasms till you shake and cry.  

His arms wrap around you, comforting, protective. You shiver in his hold, body jellied from everything, and he strokes your hair out your face, soothing with each touch. 

“You okay-” he croaks, throat groggy. “Baby, talk to me?”

You only nod, but he wants to hear you so he pulls himself off and switches your positions. Rested on his chest, he cups your chin and forces you to look at him. Your eyes are watery and your smile is shaky, but he knows as much as you, you’re in nothing but bliss. 

“I’m okay,” you mumble into his chest. “Liked it… a lot.”

“So, the gentle stuff huh?” He speaks, a little guiltily. If he knew how good it would be to take his time with you, he’d have done it a million times before.

You breathe out a little laugh. “I like anything.” He can feel your smile against his skin. “As long as it’s you.”

“Fuckin’ sap,” huffing, he turns, unable to keep the sickly smile off his face. “So fucking sappy.”

“I love you.” You’re unrestrained with your words, too sleepy to care. 

Katsuki softens, then presses a kiss to your forehead. He whispers his own confessions and closes his eyes. 

He knows soon you’ll feel too sticky to stay comfortable, to hot to be in bed- but for now, with you on his chest, he lets himself rest.

This is my third time posting, if it don’t work I’m exploding myself into a billion pieces.

[ladykailitha]

Batshit Soulmates Part 1

Yay! We have finally got to the meat of the story. And oh boy do Steve and Eddie go through it.

In Medias Res| Prologue|

***

Steve wanted nothing to do with Eddie Munson. Never had, never would. But Dustin was like a brother to him, and he would move heaven and earth to make sure the kid was safe. And he knew all too well that if he didn’t tag along, Dustin would get himself and anyone who went with him in trouble. Possibly hurt or worse. So he offered to drive.

They arrived at Reefer Rick’s place and Steve led the way. They tried the house first, but the lights were off and no one seemed to be home.

Steve was close to strangling Dustin as he kept yelling the worst possible things. But they tried the boathouse next.

He looked around but couldn’t see any drug dealing, D&D playing nerds, so he grabbed an oar that was leaning against the wall. The last thing he needed was to touch something and have it rip his arm off. He poked at the tarp.

What happened next, Steve wasn’t sure was a good or a bad thing. But it was certainly the most interesting thing that had happened to him in all of his life. And that was including finding Robin or the monster coming out of the wall at the Byers house.

The tarp ripped open and suddenly he was being slammed into the wall, a broken bottle placed to his throat. He knew that there was no way to get the leverage he needed to swing the oar to defend himself. And that’s when he felt it. He could feel the jagged edge of the bottle piercing his throat, threatening to draw blood. But he could also feel a burning on his forearm.

“Eddie!” Dustin cried out, suddenly afraid. “This is Steve. He isn’t going to hurt you.”

Steve gulped. That was certainly true. At least until they talked, anyway. He looked into Eddie’s frightened eyes and knew that Eddie wouldn’t hurt him either. But he was scared.

“Steve drop the oar!” Dustin instructed.

Steve threw the oar away. “See? I’m not armed anymore. Can you let me go?”

Eddie pushed the bottle further into Steve’s throat.

And Dustin, Robin, and Max all gasped in alarm.

“Hey, Eddie,” Dustin continued to try and soothe the scared boy. “This is Robin, you remember her from band? And this is Max. She the one that doesn’t like D&D, but she still cool.”

But nothing seemed to be working and everyone leaned forward expect the worst, when Steve spoke up.

“Eds, man,” Steve said softly. “Is–is your right arm burning all of sudden?”

“What the hell kind of strategy is that?” Robin squeaked.

But Eddie’s eyes flicked down to the arm that was holding the bottle and then back up to Steve.

He didn’t answer, but that was enough for Steve.

“Just let me pull up my sleeve,” he continued, his eyes still wild with fear. “I’ll show you, I’m safe.”

Max frowned but when she looked over at Robin and Dustin, they didn’t look confused. They looked shocked.

Robin was whispering “Oh my god, oh my god,” over and over. And Dustin was covering his broad smile with both of his hands.

She looked back over at Steve and Eddie and still didn’t understand what was going on.

Steve slowly pulled up the right sleeve of his jacket and tore off his soul patch, throwing it to the ground.

Max gasped. She knew what was happening now and she couldn’t believe it.

Eddie looked down at Steve’s arm. There it was: four stylized bats that were glowing bright red. His eyes flashed up to Steve’s again and said through a clenched jaw, “Why the fuck is mine a nail bat?”

“Oh my god!” Robin squeaked. “Max go get it from the trunk. He needs to see this.”

Steve pulled his keys out of his pocket and tossed her direction, praying it wouldn’t land in the water.

But Max caught them and dashed out of the boathouse. They all waited on baited breath. Because Eddie wasn’t going to let Steve go without knowing the meaning behind his soulmark.

Max came running back inside. “Steve! Catch!”

Eddie turned around to face her, letting the other boy go. Steve caught the bat before it even got close to either of their faces. Eddie’s eyes were wide for a different reason now.

He dropped the bottle and stepped back, everyone else breathing a sigh of relief. “Why the fuck do you have a nail bat, Harrington?��

Steve slumped against the wall and slid down it, holding the nail bat tightly in both hands, it was straight up. Like a knight holding a sword.

Dustin got between them and moved Eddie to sit down on a nearby crate, while Robin was at Steve’s side checking to see if the bottle had cut him.

It hadn’t. But he let her fuss over him, because they both needed the reassurance that he was, in fact, okay.

Eddie pulled off his leather jacket and ripped off his own soul patch. He had a couple of tattoos on his arm. One he had done himself, but the other? The other was a soulmark that throbbed bright red. It was Steve’s nail bat, no doubt.

“Bats,” Steve giggled manically. “Our soulmarks are bats.”

Eddie cocked his head and rolled his eyes. “Just answer the question, Harrington.”

Dustin grimaced. “You wouldn’t believe us if we told you.”

Robin and Max nodded emphatically.

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t know, not after what I saw. It was horrible.”

Suddenly Steve was on his feet and at Eddie’s side in a heartbeat. “I have a feeling we would be the only ones that would understand, Eds.”

Eddie let out a shuddering breath, but started talking. He told them about Chrissy and the drug deal. He talked about her nightmares and how lost she seemed when he was nice to her. He talked about how scared she had been in her final moments. And how he ran when she started to twist in a horrible, unnatural way. How she died screaming.

“I can’t get her screams out of my head, man,” Eddie whimpered. “Why her? Why me?”

“We don’t know,” Robin said. “But we’ve done this before.”

Eddie stared at her in shock.

Steve nodded. “Three years for Dustin and I, although he has about a week up on me. Two years for Max. And one year for Robin.”

“Three–three years?” Eddie stammered. “What the fuck?”

“Since Will Byers vanished,” Dustin said sadly.

Eddie closed his eyes. Both Wayne and he had volunteered to help look for the boy and Wayne had been among those that found the fake body. He nodded before opening his eyes.

“What am I going to do?” he asked.

Steve knelt in front of him and touched his cheek. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

*

Steve was having a panic attack. That was the only thing he could think of when he started to hyperventilate outside of his house after dropping everyone off at home. They needed to get Eddie some food and explain things properly to him, but all that consumes Steve is the refrain of: He’s my soulmate. He’s my soulmate. He’s my soulmate. Over and over.

Tears threatened to fall from his cheeks. A boy was his soulmate. He didn’t care, but his dad would. Dustin and Max seemed fine with it. Hell, Dustin was practically bouncing in his seat all the way home. Berating Steve for not meeting Eddie sooner. If only Steve had listened to him he wouldn’t have struck out with so many girls.

Steve dropped him off first just to stop the constant stream of his monologue and then Max. As he was pulling away from Forest Hills Robin touched his shoulder.

“Are you going to be okay?” she asked gently.

He didn’t know if he was ever going be. Because his forearm still burned, still glowed dark red. In fact it was getting darker and more painful the further he got from Eddie.

“I think we’re perfect mates,” Steve ground out through the thick pain lancing through his arm. “A true pair.”

Robin’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit. Like only a hundred of those are born every generation.”

He pulled up his sleeve to show her. She took his arm gingerly and ran her fingers over the dark soul mark.

“I don’t think you could have found a worst time to meet him,” she said softly.

Steve nodded.

Robin kissed his cheek and inside her house, leaving Steve to drive home alone with his thoughts.

So that brought him to where he was now. Having a mental breakdown in front of his empty house. He knew that he was going to have to compartmentalize. Which was something he was pretty damn good at. It just was shit timing. But before he could do that, he knew he had to work through the shock of his soulmate being a boy.

Usually he would talk to Robin about this, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. After all, Vickie was her soulmate, the girl just wasn’t interested in being with Robin. She would rather chase after some boy who had already go off to college and was likely cheating on her with who knows how many girls. So how could Steve gush about his soulmate when hers didn’t want her? He wasn’t an ass. Or at least not anymore.

Steve finally got out of the car and opened the door to his house, half expecting his parents to come storming out of one of the rooms demanding where he’d been. But the house was silent. As it always was these days. He toed off his shoes in front of the door, suddenly not caring if it blocked anyone from coming in. Maybe that was a good thing.

He didn’t want to be disturbed while he wallowed in his misery.

A boy. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever assume his soulmate wasn’t a girl. Not even once did even consider it wouldn’t be someone with soft curves and pouty lips. Steve scoffed. He supposed he got the pouty lips. Just no curves. Only curls. He closed his eyes and threw himself bodily onto the sofa to wallow.

Steve threw his arm over his head and sighed. Was he attracted to boys? He knew that being soulmates didn’t necessarily include sex or whatever, but he always assumed that his soulmate would fill every aspect of his life and not just being someone he could rely on.

And there lied the other crux of the problem. Could he rely on Eddie?

Eddie Munson: metalhead, two-time super senior, drug dealer, goofball. Nothing like the person Steve imagined growing up. Someone who was an equal, who would help him with their kids.

Kids! Shit. There went that, too. They would have to adopt if they even got that far. Steve could taste the bile that rose from his throat. But he forced it down and let out a deep breath. He just had to readjust his thinking is all. Instead of focusing on the negative.

He sat up and really thought about Eddie as his soulmate. He already knew that Eddie got along good with Steve’s little nuggets. Three of them were in his club, for fuck’s sake. And from what Dustin had said was really impressed with Erica. So that was four of his kids that liked Eddie. Or at least tolerated him in Erica’s case. That was something.

That was something else. He had taken in Lucas, Mike, and Dustin when they were lost little freshmen with no clue how to navigate high school. Of course things between Lucas and Eddie may have soured a bit over last night’s game. And while Steve wasn’t in any clubs, he had grown up watching his mother plan party after party.

Rule number one was at least three days notice of canceling unless something had literally come up that day. Which Steve knew wasn’t the case with the championship game. Lucas knew a week in advance what was coming and chickened out telling Eddie. So that situation made for bad blood all around.

But as Steve sat there he could tally up more good things about Eddie then bad. And as for the attraction, well...he had just described the other boy as having pouty lips and soft curls, so maybe he wasn’t as straight as he thought he was.

He thought back to the big brown eyes and quivering hands. And yeah, maybe Steve was more attracted than he thought.

All right crisis...well not averted. Because he was still in the middle of some shit. But managed he supposed. Now all he needed to was make sure his stupid soulmate made it out of this alive. And you know, clear him of a murder charge.

But that was a problem for future Steve, current Steve needed food and god damned nap.

****

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Epilogue

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @vecnuthy @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @littlewildflowerkitten @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @irregular-child @oxidantdreamboat @mogami13 @samsoble @xandriumbat

[diorsluv]

feather , part 19

“ you act like a bitch ”

series m. list previous chapter next chapter

( socialmedia!au )

missseraphina

liked by lhughes_06 and 674 others

missseraphina not quite golden hour but you make it feel like it anyway 🌅

view all comments

username16 i’m gagging.

username47 fuck no lmaooo

username3 so cringe

username92 luke isn’t even commenting he’s only liking her posts 😭😭

→ username96 i knowww like this has got to be the most embarrassing thing i’ve ever seen

username77 miss girl is trying way too hard

username30 ignore the haters babe!

liked by missseraphina

username25 i honestly would off myself

username81 god please tell me this is all just a bad dream

username20 this is my 13th fucking reason. i need my dryshughes crumbs rn

yourusername super cute! golden hour is any hour when you’re with the one you love 🥰

→ missseraphina thanks i guess? lmao and yeah maybe that’s why he always tells me i’m glowing

username1 don’t fucking tell me she just implied that luke loves her in lil drizzy’s replies

username6 there’s no way luke didn’t comment but his ex girl did

→ username49 lmfaooo i don’t think she’s his ex

→ username37 at this point she might as well be

username42 stopp this is so adorable

username21 so happy for u!!

username69 someone gouge my eyes out i’m begging

lhughes_06

liked by jackhughes, markestapa, yourusername, and 77,298 others

lhughes_06 throwback time? 🫣

tagged: yourusername

view all comments

trevorzegras kid u make me laugh LMAOOO

→ lhughes_06 glad i could be of service

→ _alexturcotte fr this is too funny

→ colecaufield who needs netflix when you have luke

username56 I CANTTT they all see it as a joke

→ username84 it is a joke bro 💀 like luke’s just fucking around w mississippi

yourusername were u just keeping these photos locked up for months 🙄🙄

→ lhughes_06 i mean they’re not even that old tbh

→ yourusername aw just wanted an excuse to post me huh?

→ lhughes_06 dont even need an excuse

username61 DRYSHUGHES IS MAKING A COMEBACK

→ username4 I AM GOBBLING THE DRYSHUGHES CRUMBS UPP

username73 i just bet my friend $30 they get together by the end of the hockey season

→ username50 ur investing a lot into a relationship that doesn’t even exist yet

→ username73 key word: yet

missseraphina oh but the retro days have been over, no need for a throwback 😁

dylanduke25 i vividly remember you got us kicked out of the restaurant as soon as you threw her over your shoulder

→ lhughes_06 no you got us kicked out bc u squirted ketchup all over mackie

→ mackie.samo you stained my favorite white shirt and i’m still waiting for you to replace it 😒

→ yourusername that was your doing dyl don’t even

→ markestapa i thought it was because eddy kept screaming

→ edwards.73 BECAUSE DUKER WAS HARASSING ME

→ dylanduke25 🙁🙁

_alexturcotte i left you on the curb for a minute so i could heat up the car and i came back to you snuggling

→ lhughes_06 we were tired

→ yourusername WE WERE NOT SNUGGLING

→ jackhughes i mean you did look pretty cozy

→ lhughes_06 i was pretty cozy

username75 luke’s just stirring it up and i’m here for it

→ username21 fr cuz that other girl was bein a bitch to MY girl 🙄

username98 lmfaooo mississauga doesn’t even realize he dont gaf abt her

next chapter notes ) mississippi be doin too much frfr, but its okay bc luke dont even want her 🥱

tags: @aliaology @hockeyboysarehot @absolutelyhugh3s @jackquinnswife @freds-slut @love4ldr @blueeyedbesson @43hughes @v1olentdelights @dancerbailey3 @random-human02

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

The king's gift

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 24

Prompt: Birthday

Rated: T

CW: veeery light dubcon if you squint really hard; mild blood and violence

Tags: Time Travel; Magic AU; Fantasy AU; Royal Eddie; Time traveller Steve

Notes: Continued from day 15

A bird is singing outside the window, a cheerful melody of trills and chirps celebrating the sunshine. 

Steve is gonna murder it. 

The sun, too, while he's at it. 

Even with his lids shut, the light feels like someone is trying to wedge a dagger into the space behind his eyes. Each new note from the stupid bird pounds in his skull like the blow of a hammer. 

Or the chime of a giant clock. 

He groans and scrubs a hand over his face as fuzzy memories trickle into his mind. Snarling monsters with giant fangs and claws, chasing him through the ruins of an ancient castle. A crumbling throne covered in vines, silver sigils glowing all around it. The sound of the clock in his bones, in his blood, and then … silence.

“Fucking hell … weirdest dream I've ever had.”

“Don't blame you,” someone says, and wait, he knows that voice. It was in the dream, too. “Making the acquaintance of those charming critters will do that to a guy.” 

Steve freezes.

Then, very slowly, he peers out from behind his hand. 

There's a guy in the bed with him, a vaguely familiar guy with long dark curls and eyes to match. He's lounging against the headboard, a book in his lap, but when he catches Steve gawking at him, he marks the page and puts it down on the nightstand. 

The very unfamiliar nightstand. Right next to the very unfamiliar bed they're in. 

“Hey, pretty thing,” the guy smiles, and one hand, heavily adorned in silver rings, tenderly smoothes Steve’s hair from his forehead. “Feeling better?” 

“The fuck?” Steve shoots upright. “Where the hell am I?” 

Because the room, as it turns out, is as unfamiliar as the bed. It looks like something out of the period pieces his mom watches - ornate furniture and plush carpets, walls covered in velvet tapestries. Like some medieval king's castle, and … 

… oh, no. 

No fucking way. 

“Careful now,” the guy chuckles good-naturedly and grabs him by the scruff of his shirt. “They did quite the number on you. My head mage patched you up, but you don't wanna overdo it.”

He makes to pull him back into the pillows, but Steve twists from his grip and jumps out of the bed, ignoring the wave of vertigo that comes with the movement. 

“Woah woah, wait!” he stammers. “What the fuck do you mean? That was real? What the hell is even- What am I wearing?” 

Because his jeans and tee are gone. Instead, he's in some sort of wide, billowy shirt. It flows around his form and ends somewhere around his very naked thighs. It has frills. 

He isn’t wearing anything else. 

“You were somewhat covered in blood, darling,” the man laughs. He languidly unfolds himself from the bed, one long limb at a time, and steps into Steve’s space. “Didn't wanna risk an infection. Also doesn’t befit my gift to run around like that, all dirtied and-” 

“Excuse the fuck outta me?” Steve squawks. “Your what?”

Anger flares low in his gut and he takes a step backwards. The man just smiles easily and follows, and then, suddenly, warm calloused hands are cradling his cheeks. 

“My gift, sweetheart,” he repeats, like that isn't something only a complete fucking lunatic would say. His thumbs idly stroke Steve’s cheekbones. “It's my birthday and the magic gave you to me, just like the oracle said it would. I've been waiting so long for you. Didn't expect you to be this gorgeous, but that's an added bonus, isn't it?” 

They're close, very close, so close that some errant strands of curly hair are tickling Steve’s flushed cheeks. And somehow the guy is still getting closer, head tilted ever so slightly, plush pink lips parted just enough to- 

Steve isn't a violent guy, usually, but … he's going through a lot right now and he's panicking, okay?

He doesn’t even consciously process what happens. Just knows that a stranger whose bed he woke up in and who just called him his fucking birthday gift is pulling him in for a kiss. One second later, his knuckles are hurting and said stranger is in a heap on the floor, wiping blood from his split lip. 

“Pretty and feisty,” he mutters. When he lifts his gaze, his eyes are full of awe. “You really are perfect, aren't you?” 

“What the fuck?” Steve blurts. Again. He's starting to lose count of how often it's been. “Who do you even think you are, you fucking weirdo?” 

The guy cocks his head in confusion, but only for a second. Then, that infuriating dimpled grin slips back on. He's handsome, in a dangerous and rugged way, with his wild hair and bruised lip. 

“Apologies, he rumbles. "Where are my manners?” 

And then, without getting up off the ground, he reaches out and takes Steve’s hand in his. Steve watches, heart in his throat and eyes wide with confusion, how the guy bends into a dramatic bow and reverently kisses his own blood off his raw knuckles. 

“The name is Edward. King Edward Munson of the Woodland Mountains. Also oh-so-aptly known as Edward the Banished, though my friends just call me Eddie. And you, my dear …” 

He looks up at him, all glinting eyes under dark lashes and Steve needs to swallow against the lump clogging his throat. 

“You're going to be the one who saves me.”

All my holiday drabbles

[curi0us-gh0st]

Birthday (Bada Lee)

pairings: Bada Lee x Fem!Reader

word count: 1,365.

genre: smut.

summary: Surprise gift for Bada's non-birthday made her sigh.

warnings: Bada!Bottom, lingerie, breast play, tagging, fingering, strap on, overstimulation, squirting, filming.

a/n: 100 followers special!! Thank you to everyone who likes my work, I love you. 💙

Bada opened the door to her shared apartment, being greeted only by the warm breeze from the heater, finding it strange that her girlfriend didn't welcome her, perhaps she left and didn't warn her? She thought until she heard the soft sound of the television, a familiar melody.

Entering the room, watching the television that glowed from the performance, her gaze finding her static body, unconsciously biting her lower lip, her hands lightly scratching the unfamiliar gift box, she smiled and cleared her throat to get the hypnotized girl's attention. Her body waking up from the trance, startled before relaxing after seeing Bada's figure at the entrance of the room, a cute smile appearing on her lips as she looked at her.

“Hello darling, welcome home!” She stood up to leave a kiss on his cheek. “Have you been there long?” She asked with her puppy eyes waiting for her answer.

"Hey." She left a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “No, I just arrived. I’m curious what you were doing…” Bada glanced at the display behind you.

“This is Ten’s Birthday performance for Vogue, I was researching you and well…” she replied, lowering her voice little by little. “I bought a gift!” She held up the small box with the red bow.

“Oh, a gift for me? But it’s not my birthday and today isn’t a special date… Or is it?” She thought back to some important date that she had perhaps forgotten.

"No love. It’s a gift, I just bought it for you.” Her eyes sparkled as she looked at Bada who raised an eyebrow hesitantly. “Go change, quickly.” She pushed towards your shared room.

It's been a few minutes since Bada was in the bathroom, a silence settled in the room, possibly the only thing that made noise was the beating of your heart, nervousness and tension making a mush in your stomach, you took a deep breath waiting for her. On the other hand, in the bathroom, Bada was a blushing mess, when she opened the small box and saw the black lingerie, she missed fainting.

His hands carefully picking up the piece, the piece that caught his attention the most, the hang glider panties. Bada's cheeks were as red as a pepper, she took a while to process the information until she came out of the bathroom with just her lingerie on, her long arms not knowing where to stay, opting to hold one arm while she was nervous.

Her eyes shining at the sight, Bada in all her glory in the black lingerie, sports bra and panties, those panties. Swallowing hard, observing every detail of his girlfriend's body as if it were the first time, she looked stunning.

“This is so much better than I imagined…” You rambled as you looked at her.

“Stop nonsense.” She flinched, you shook your head and walked towards her, your hands floating in the air not knowing what to do exactly.

“Let me give you my attention…” You whispered to her, pushing hair back, moving closer to her as you kissed her deeply.

Their lips dancing to a familiar melody, their tongues exploring my steps, their arms finding their places on each other's bodies, biting her lip to gain that angelic sound, their mouth moving down to kiss her neck, walking softly to lie on the bed, without separating.

“Let me make you feel like it's your birthday, princess…” her hands came up to grab her breasts and massage them, making Bada sigh.

Your lips worked on marking Bada's bust, without being able to spend a second away from her body, seeing her in that way awakening inside you that makes you want to never stop, as if her body were a heavy drug that you can't live with without, Bada is her biggest vice, everything about her is perfect, every detail, every trait, fuck everything.

You moved away to position yourself, her back on your chest, smelling her hair, her head on your shoulder as you made her legs open, your hands playing with her breasts, pulling and pinching them making her moan slyly, your hips lifting up for some friction, you smiled running one of your hands down her flat abdomen, playing with the edge of her panties.

“Y/N, please…” She asked, her lips in a pout, you trying not to smile at this, so cute.

"Anxious?" Bada shook her head, biting her lip as she felt his fingers dance teasingly. "Speechless? How can I know where you want me to touch you, kitten?”

Bada gathered all the strength she had left in her body, slipping one of her hands as she grabbed her wrist, lifting it where she wanted, her hand touching the stain that was forming the longer you took. "Here."

You nodded, the tip of her finger touching your bud through the thin fabric, pressing as you felt the pulse, delicately making circular movements, proud as you heard her sigh in pleasure and relax against you. Staying like that until she assured herself that she was wet enough, grabbing her panties and setting them aside, sliding her fingers through her wet folds.

"Strip." You talked about the fabric on her body, you just shook your head, she groaned in frustration.

“My gift stays, princess.” She closed her eyes feeling two of his fingers enter her wet hole.

The fingers moving in and out at such a slow speed, making her think that she had done the wrong thing to receive such treatment, but no, she stopped thinking about that when his fingers penetrated her insides deeply, the moans could no longer be contained as Bada writhed. in your arms, asking for more and grinding against you, her insides squeezing your fingers, showing how close she was to the edge, the fingers hitting your sensitive spot again making your back arch, moaning for you as she cums on your fingers.

“Thank you… You are the best.” Bada whispered as she recovered from her newly orgasm, you removed your fingers from her as you placed them in her mouth.

You let out a giggle before speaking again, “So loosen up, do whatever you want tonight, yeah?”

After other sweet, slow orgasms you were giving her, like it was the sweetest gift in the world as you touched her, she found herself riding your strap on, chasing her next desperate, quick orgasm, her hands pushing your shoulders against the pillows. , moaning loudly, his cheeks stained with tears as he dug his nails into you, his hands helping her on her journey to reach climax, the smirk as his eyes watched her slender body contrasting with the lingerie, pulling and smiling when she hit again in the shoes of Bada who mumbled, playing with her breasts that bounced along with her, you let her play for a long time, when you saw her throw her head back, it was the moment.

The quick movement, holding her hips and making her lie down on the bed, before protesting the quick change, her brain melting as you began to pound deep inside her, hitting all the sensitive spots that even Bada herself didn't know she had. Pinning her hands on top of her head, kissing her hungrily, leaving hickeys and bites down her neck, sucking her breasts before lifting her legs and continuing his work of making Bada cum nervously.

She moaned loudly, grabbing the sheets and asking you to slow down — which you didn't. Her back arching as she screamed and squirted into your pelvis heavily, tears flowing as she pushed you away from the overstimulation. Slightly lowering her legs, remaining inside her, approaching to kiss her face sweetly and praise her, saying how good a girl she was to you.

“You are perfect..” she whispered kissing her swollen lips.

“Look who says it…” She rolled her eyes as she returned the kiss.

“Remind me to send your mother flowers, I need to thank her for making you.” You continued laughing after receiving a slap from Bada.

“Jagiya, why is your camera flashing red?” Bada asked innocently as she breathed, her eyes focusing on the headboard where the object was.

“Performance…?”