#what makes or breaks a party is the guest list

[chameleonsallinvermillion]

I hate parties but when I have no choice, I do my best. I was doing my best tonight. I was smiling and being introduced to people and chatting and putting out plates and finding plasters for children with cut fingers and for some GODFORSAKEN REASON people kept wandering into the kitchen to hang out. Shoo! Out! We set up gazebos for you people! I don't want to chat to you! Do you think I'm in here doing the washing up by chance? I'm avoiding you! Go away!

[ozzgin]

More of the yandere monster???? Like their married life, him being such a cutie cutie and the reader is a willing person to his yandere tendencies. Like him physically fighting someone for flirting with her for .01 second and her just being 😍🥰

Alright anon, seeing as this has once again resurfaced, I'll cover a little bit of marital life as per your suggestion. (I'm hoping you're referring to the older sibling monster)

Yandere! Monster Husband x Reader

A little change of plans and the wedding you've been kidnapped for continued without a hitch, except you married the monstrous sibling instead. Made for an awkward celebratory dinner, but no one dared to oppose the Beast.

Content: female reader, monster romance, mildly NSFW, saga of the monster hoe reader continues

[First part]

The next family dinner was quiet. You couldn't help but wonder if your horniness had gone too far, slowly chewing your food and occasionally peeking at the ex-groom with remorseful eyes. Poor guy, you thought. "Well, it's quite convenient, isn't it?" he finally said, breaking the silence. The cutlery sounds paused, and you lifted your gaze again. The man flashed you a radiant smile, which emphasized his handsome features even more. "I mean, we weren't sure we'd ever find a wife for my brother. He has a bit of an attitude, and even monsters are afraid of him. The only marriage attempt-" his speech was interrupted by a grunt, and you turned towards your monstrous boyfriend. The older sibling was frowning, visibly embarrassed. "Oh, I remember!" the mother of the siblings, a halfling herself, suddenly chuckled into her glass, taking a generous sip before continuing: "We'd arranged for a fellow monster to meet him, and the poor soul got so frightened she blended in with the background! Took us two days to find her! She came from a chameleon family, I recall."

Everyone at the table began to laugh and you joined, although with a mild annoyance tinged into your voice. So what, there was no reason for you to be plagued by guilt? You even refused a night escapade with your boyfriend until things "settled", as a way to be respectful towards the cucked party. All for naught. At least now you could be ravaged without further consequences. When the mother in law had pulled you aside hours earlier to make sure you weren't coerced into this arrangement, you had to hold back from crassly confessing you'd slurp her son empty of fluids at any hour of the day. Some things are better left untold.

Unfortunately, one detail couldn't be changed in time: the guest list. As this had been an event meant to strengthen the ties between humans, no one outside of the immediate family graced the venue with their monstrous presence. Many guests were intrigued by the outcome of the affair, terribly curious to see the famed wife-to-be of the gruesome, feared Head of the royal army. Even more so once they discovered it was a regular human by all means. "Fascinating!", the old ladies would occasionally cry out, clutching the plump, expensive pearls adorning their necks. You had to frequently excuse yourself in order to dodge the rather indecent questions regarding your relationship. Except when you did manage to sneak away, one of the younger men of names and titles you never registered would approach you for a dance. "Truly a pitiful matter", they'd whisper much too close to your ear. "You would've made a lovely bride for a fellow human."

"You're unexpectedly calm about this", the prince mentioned to his older brother at some point during the wedding night. "Are you not bothered by all the acquaintances flocking to your bride?" The monster shook his head with a sigh. He hadn't known you for that long yet, but one thing he was certain of: it's not humans he needed to fear.

Indeed, having a wife with a monster kink is particularly challenging when most of the husband's work involves similar creatures. The first months after the marriage were stalked by the insidious doubt that his luck was just that: mere coincidence. Would you have displayed the same interest had he not been the only beast at the table? Would you still pick him in a room full of monsters? Such questions followed him each day, feeding into an ever-growing jealousy.

"What are you doing here!", he exclaimed in despair once he noticed your arrival at his training camp. "You forgot your lunch", you explained, eyebrows raised in confusion. Oh, for fuck's sake. He quickly pulled you away, glaring at the subordinates startled by the commotion. They must've been eyeing (Y/N) like rabid dogs, he thought. Next thing you know, you'll be scooped away by some horned scoundrel. He can't have that.

Initially, the rage-filled, obsession-driven fuck you'd receive almost daily was welcomed with shameless begging. The way your monster husband would pin you down under his claws and thrust into you so hard, you could see its movement in waves across your stomach. The way he'd forcefully spread your legs, hungrily sinking his nails into the soft flesh of your thighs and gnawing your shoulders in delirious need. The tears that sheepishly formed in the corners of your hooded eyes would only incite him more. "Bite onto my hand if you can't take it anymore", he'd coo without stopping. As much as you liked to be left a limp, drooling mess, the soreness grew unbearable. Enough was enough when you found yourself carrying a cushion to sit down on any surface.

"Listen, we need to have a talk." You greeted him solemnly once he returned from his military duties. Oh, no. Absolutely not. The monstrous husband bit his lips in panic, immediately going through a mental list of all his subordinates. Or was it someone in the family that slithered their way into your heart? Is that what it was about, that you'd found a different creature? No matter, you weren't going anywhere. "I don't want to hear about it", he declared dramatically. "I have a bruised cervix!" you shouted in disbelief. "Huh?" He stared at you. "It hurts even when I lay down, man. You have to tone it down. At least for a little while."

Ah. Awkward. You noticed his flinch, and patted the empty seat next to you. "What did you think I was going to say?" The bench groaned under the weight of his gargantuan body. Hands folded in his lap like a punished schoolboy, your husband began to narrate the tale of his seething envy and frenzied passion for you. You must understand, he's never cared for anyone as much. To hell with duty and honor, he would kill his own father if his touch on you lingered one second longer than permitted. "Alright, but you must control yourself a little", you reminded him gently. "Never, my urge to obliterate any threat in my path is insatiable", he concluded with vehemence. "Yes, yes, that I understand. The sex, I mean", you gesticulated. "Of course. My apologies, I got sidetracked."

Somehow, he didn't expect to leave this conversation with a cathartic approval of his possessiveness. "Surely you must be upset by my fanatical behavior", he suggested meekly. "Oh no, it's part of your charm", you reassured him with a smile. "It's just not that sustainable in bed without the occasional break." You pat your stomach to express your misfortune.

Sadly, your monster fucking dreams must adhere to the laws of biology.

[rainyyynightssss]

Twisted Wonderland

Reacting to you trying to go back home

Characters: Overblotters

Notes: Yandere/Toxic themes involved

"Crowley thinks he might've found a way for me to get back home!"

Riddle Rosehearts

He looks at your smiling face and something in him breaks. He should be happy for you, he really should. This is what you had wanted from the beginning. To see your family and friends. To be free of magic and almost getting killed by overblots.

But you should've been happy here. He'd order his card soldiers to keep the rose garden in prim condition for you to gaze upon whenever you visited. The birthday parties always included a dish you liked. You got along well with Trey and Cater. Sure, Riddle was strict with his rules, but he grew more lenient with you. Surely, you could see that.

"That's wonderful news. And you're...happy to leave?" He tries not to let his voice crack as he grips one of the legs of the table they had just used to share dinner together. Apparently for the last time.

"Of course, I'll be happy to see everyone back home. It is a bittersweet feeling though. I'll miss you all." He chooses to ignore the 'all' part of your phrasing for a moment. You'd miss him and isn't that enough reason not to go?

"We'd all miss you as well....I, especially,-"

"But I think it'll be good for me to go and be back with my family, you know?" You add and he tenses again. He knows well how important family could be, and he also knows how burdensome they are. His mother forced him to adhere to strict guidelines, and while it shaped him into the respected house warden he is today, it also made him afraid. Terrified, even, that everything would go wrong if the rules were not followed.

Perhaps that's what you needed. A healthy dosage of fear and some rules to keep you in line. You were his perfect rose, blooming and unblemished. You had always managed to drag him away when he got too deep in his studies and talked him down when his face became as red as the flowers in his garden. But now your edges have grown frayed. You're trying to go back to your roots but he'd rip you out of the ground, thorns and all, to keep that from happening.

"Right. Well, it's gotten quite late and it wouldn't be proper for you to walk back to Ramshackle this late at night." He sensed your confusion even before you could voice it. You've taken plenty of late-night walks before and this would hardly be on the top list of most dangerous things you've done at the school.

"I can walk back-"

"I insist. I couldn't let you go...to your dorm! This late." Riddle shakes his head and covers his blushing face with a hand as he stands up from the table. "I have a room for you. If you'll take it?" He offers his hand to you, hoping you will miss the small trembles.

You smile at him again and take his hand, sending warmth even through his gloves.

"Just for tonight." You nod. Riddle gives you a small, though tight at the ends. His rose didn't need to know about the details of their stay, only that it was going to last longer than they thought.

"Of course. Although I must make sure you have an adequate stay. Rules indicate that guests should have the most hospitable experience, no matter how long that takes to fulfill." Riddle answers with ease and you see nothing wrong with it. His rose would blossom even more under his careful watch.

Leona Kingscholar

"And?"

The notion of you leaving was laughable to him. You had already managed to barge your way into his life, ruining his plans at the Spelldrive competition, ruining his nap routines, and ruining his pride as a prince. And he wouldn't have it any other way. Though the latter is still mostly kept intact.

You look at him, seemingly flabbergasted by his dismissal.

"And...that means I'll likely be leaving soon." You tell him. He sees your small frown. You must think he doesn't care that you're leaving. But it was quite the opposite. As much as he would never admit it to himself, he cares so much that he denies any possibility of it happening. He knows you don't actually want to leave.

Leona watches you sit up from his bed that both of you had been lying in for the past few hours. He grasps your wrist before it can leave the sheets. His grip is tighter than usual. Leona had always been like that. He demanded respect and expected you to follow. You, of course, were not so willingly submissive to him but that made it all the more fun for him to make you.

"Ruggie isn't going to be back 'till later tonight. I've got more sleep to catch up on. Especially after you bothered me last night." Leona tugs your wrist to bring you back closer to him while he rests his other arm under his head.  Last night you had came to him, clearly anxious about something and didn't want to be alone. Anyone else he would have turned away with a scoff, but he's found over time that he has a hard time refusing you. As long as it didn't involve you trying to run away from him.

"Are you even listening to me?" You narrow your eyes at him and he smirks.

"I have and it sounds like a buncha nonsense. Go back to sleep and maybe you'll forget your dumb ideas in the morning." Leona grumbles and pulls you to his chest. He hears you huff but you don't resist, lying back down beside him. He doesn't know exactly why you're having these kinds of thoughts but it doesn't really matter to him. If you want to run, he is glad to give his precious prey a chase.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul's hands freeze in the air, his fork and knife about to cut into the juicy salmon that had been plated beautifully in front of him. He glances up at you, his smile also frozen on his face, as you were just talking about how much you enjoyed Night Raven College and the Mostro Lounge. All until you abruptly switched to this topic he thought he was doing a good job at evading.

"Ah, isn't that...delightful?" His words would have come off as calm to anyone else, but you notice the slight strain in his voice. You always seem to see right through him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you-"

"Upset me? No, quite the contrary. I think it's wonderful the headmaster has finally secured your passage back home." Azul muses and goes back to cutting his salmon, though it's obvious that his cuts are a bit more jagged.

"Yes... he said it could be any day now." You respond carefully. You try to offer him a smile as you take another sip of the drink he gave you on the house. He could see the small ounce of hope in your eyes of going back to your world. That wouldn't do.

"Is that so?" Azul takes a bite of his food, swallowing before adding, "It's really too bad you won't be able to go then." He continues eating, ignoring your confused eyes as if he didn't just say the strangest thing.

"Why wouldn't I be able to go?" You ask slowly. "I mean, the transportation might be difficult but-"

"It has been a while so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you forgot." Azul sighs and dabs his face free of any smudges with his napkin. "You may not step out of the bounds of Night Raven College by any means, including the Dark Mirror."

"According to who?" You let out a disbelieving laugh.

"According to Article 3 Section 5 of the contract you signed." Azul takes another bite of the salmon, not letting himself react when you slam a hand on the table.

"What contract?! I never signed anything!" You snapped. He remains as calm as ever. This time, you couldn't read him, couldn't even see his eyes through the glint in his glasses.

"You must remember when you agreed to work in the Mostro Lounge for a couple months. I had you sign an employment contract. I warned you about reading it through to the end. A suggestion I don't give to most poor, unfortunate souls in this school." Azul answers.

He did indeed give you the small packet to look through and recommended reading it all. It wasn't his fault that Floyd made a commotion in the kitchen just as you started reading the end portion. Azul urged you to sign it while he dealt with the mess that Floyd undoubtedly caused and you did, just missing the statement that required you to be on-call even after your employment ended, and being on-call meant you always had to be within a certain range of the lounge.

"You can't be serious." You utter quietly with wide eyes, realizing exactly what he was talking about.

"I'm afraid I am. But don't fret too much. I think you'll come to like it here." Azul smiles again. A smile that's hardly recognizable.

He watches you jump up from the table and storm out of the lounge, passing confused customers who glance back at him. He takes a drink from his glass. Azul isn't worried about you walking out. You couldn't leave here, leave him, anyway. And if you tried to hide from him, he would just send Jade and Floyd to hunt you down. You have become one of his prized possessions, and he isn't going to let you go that easily.

Jamil Viper

"Really? It's about time." Jamil comments as he starts chopping the vegetables you prepared in a bowl.

He had invited you to try some new recipes with him that he'd then distribute to the Scarabia students. For the past few months, you had been inviting yourself into their kitchen, much to Jamil's annoyance. You always offered to help him and he always declined, especially when it came to Kalim's meals. He was not going to lose his job over a pretty face. You respected his refusals but you still liked to watch him for some odd reason. Today, he finally decided to let you help him.

He appears to be half paying attention to your words while you're stirring the stew. "Haven't you been waiting a while?"

"I have. Crowley's been pushing off researching but I finally made him go through with it!" You look quite proud of yourself and if Jamil wasn't so irritated, he might have thought it was cute.

He simply hums in response and continues swiping his blade through the onion, each cut sharper than the next. He should be fine with you leaving. People come and go, after all. It would make things easier for him as well. He would stop getting distracted so easily, riddling his fingers with knicks from the blade when his thoughts drifted off to you.

"Kalim also promised to help me pack my stuff. He's eager for me to see my family." He sees you smile absentmindedly as you stir. Jamil's hand clenches tighter on the knife.

"Of course he did." He mutters to himself. Kalim got everything we wanted, didn't he? He got the wins, the praise, the Housewarden title. And now he was going to send you off. Jamil bet he was even encouraging you to go and like always, Jamil would just have to accept it. Only this time, he wouldn't. Jamil never got anything he could have to himself, always having to share with Kalim. You would be the one thing he could keep just for him.

"That reminds me, I needed to ask you something," Jamil says and you look back at him. He takes a step closer to you and leans forward, whispering the name of his unique magic. His lips widen into a smirk as he watches your irises fade to red.

"You'll be staying here, won't you?"

Vil Schoenheit

He raises a perfectly trimmed eyebrow as he works to pluck yours with tweezers.

"Hm? That's not the line, darling," Vil says. In your hands is the large packet of paper that contains Vil's script for his upcoming film. He had asked you to practice lines with him. You agreed and in exchange, you asked him to put some makeup on you. It was something he's been wanting to do anyway so he obliged. All was going well until you dropped this bombshell on him.

"I know, I was trying to figure out how to tell you and I accidentally just blurted it out," You sigh.

"Mhm. And Crowley has- Close your eyes, now - provided a way for you to get back home safely?" Vil asks as he moves on to your eyes, brushing an eye shadow across your lids that matches your skin.

"I don't know if anything about that man is safe, per say, but he did seem pretty confident about this." You respond as you keep your eyes closed for him. Vil shakes his head with a small 'tut'. The headmaster didn't exactly have a track record for reliability. He voiced exactly this to you.

"Crowley may just end up sending you on a one-way ride to nowhere. There's no telling where he could send you, why not wait for a few trial runs?" He places a hand under your chin. "And besides, why do you need to go home so badly?" Vil puts the palette back down and takes a tube of lipstick in his hand.

"Well, I want to see my fam-" You're forced to stop talking until he finishes applying the lipstick, "I want to see my family and finish everything I had going on there."

"If that's the case, I don't see what you could do back home that you're unable to here. And if you want to see your family, shouldn't you make sure your travel is safe so you can get back to them in the first place?" Vil questions as he wipes the small smudge of lipstick from the bottom of your lip with his thumb.

"That's...true." You nod reluctantly. Vil smirks a bit as he moves his hand towards the back of your neck, his thumb tilting your head up so you can look at him properly.

"Correct. And if I'm not mistaken, you've built quite the life here, haven't you?" He watches you slowly nod and he soothes the back of your neck with gentle fingers.

"You really want to throw that all away?" Vil looks down at you with questioning eyes even though he already knows the answer. You shake your head.

"No...but I also know that's something I'll have to do if I want to go home." You tell him firmly. Vil lets out a sigh and turns away from you for a moment.

"If you say so, but at least let me leave you with a parting gift." He turns back towards you and presents a small perfume bottle with a fancy font across the lid that you can hardly. It would no doubt cost hundreds in the market.

"My own creation that I've been working on. You're the first to have it." Vil says as he hands it over. You take it with a bright smile.

"Thank you! I'll try it on as soon as I get back to Ramshackle." You respond excitedly as you move to stand up from his makeup chair but he places a gentle hand on your wrist.

"I'd like to hear your critique as soon as possible. You are my perfect model, after all." He says with a glint in his eyes. You didn't seem to have any problem with that and sprayed a few spritz of the perfume on yourself, promptly passing out in the chair. You would get it through your head eventually that you belong here. You just need a little more convincing.

Idia Shroud

"Hold up, what?"

Your sudden words caused him to press the wrong button and his character gets brutally killed by one of the forest monsters in the game. You wince and put down your controller, turning towards him on his remarkably soft couch.

"Yeah...sorry to tell you so late but it looks like it could be soon." You say and Idia tosses his controller to the side, facing you as well.

"So you're gonna go? Just like that?" He asks in shock. You only recently just started playing video games with him in his room. Before, you had to practically beg him just to play a game with you when you were both in different dorms. It took a lot of convincing but he soon gave in after some persuasion from his brother. Once, you showed up to his room to see if you could play in person and he stared at you with wide eyes for about five seconds before slamming the door in your face, apologizing later over text.

He was unbearably anxious around you at first but he got used to the idea that you wouldn't judge him so easily. So he showed you another side, his more competitive and ill-mannered side to see if that would make you go away. And you still didn't. You instead embraced him for it. So why now were you just going to forget about all that?

"I-I mean I have to," You were clearly caught off guard by the intense look in his eyes, "I have a home and a family and friends-"

"Yeah, yeah, sure but what about everything you have here?" Idia insists.

"Everything I have here?" You ask.

"Y-Yeah, those first years, Grim, your dorm, me- many other things!" He stammers out. It would be way too cringe to mention himself deep down he hopes he's one of the things that could keep you here.

"Of course I'll miss everyone, but I miss everyone back home too," You say. Idia sighs deeply as he throws his head back on the couch.

"You're reallly set on this, huh?" Idia asks. You bite your lip and nod.

"But I still-" You try to add but he cuts you off.

"No, I get it. I wouldn't wanna be around me either." Idia sighs again. You look at him with wide eyes and fervently shake your head.

"No, it's not like-"

"You must have better friends back home if you're so desperate to see them again." He adds as he looks away with a frown. You don't notice him peeking back at you. You sigh and tilt your head so you can fully meet his gaze.

"Look, I'll talk to Crowley, see if he can push it back a bit." You tell him. He looks at you curiously.

"Are you sure? I don't wanna pressure you if-"

"No, it's okay. I want to spend more time with you and everyone anyway." You give him a small smile and he smiles back. He could play the pity card all day if it meant you'd stay.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus pauses in his steps, looking at you with a wide, curious gaze.

"You're leaving?" He utters. The two of you had been enjoying your nightly walks together back to Ramshackle. After one too many fights and attacks happening after hours on campus, he thought it best to escort you back home. He could easily teleport you both back to your dorm, but it gave him a good excuse to be around you more.

"Yes, hopefully it'll be soon. I'm excited to go back!" You smile enthusiastically and Malleus can only offer a grimace back.

"I suppose you could say I'm a little surprised. I thought you were happy here. Did I assume wrong?" He asks as he continues walking you to your dorm. Normally you would have never been able to keep up with his pace but he always kept a slower one for you.

"Oh no, I am happy here. My friends have been wonderful and I'm glad I'm friends with you. There's just some things I could do without." You mention offhandedly as you gaze up at the moon. He looks down to see it reflected in your eyes. The moon is wondrous but all he can see are the eyes that pinned a man who could never yield so deeply. You managed to befriend a dragon who is intimidating in every manner. That kind of connection isn't so flimsy that it could be dismissed by thoughts of departure.

"Things such as what?" Malleus perks up at the idea of solving one of your problems. As powerful as he is, there are a number of things he can't help you with. He couldn't do anything about your assignment getting deleted after your internet 'crashed' or about the friendship problems you once had with the Heartslabyul boys, but he's always eager to listen, just as you always do with him.

"It's just some rowdy guys from Savanaclaw who are still mad about the Spelldrive competition. They've been bothering me a bit but it's not a big deal." You tell him and he stops the both of you this time with a hand on your shoulder.

"Bothering you? For how long?" Malleus didn't mean to turn his hard glare on you but he couldn't help the fury building up inside of him. Many of the students already noticed your looming shadow that often followed you around like a lost puppy, which was usually enough to keep them from trying anything. Malleus isn't naive enough to believe that students at this school are always on their best behavior when he has his own business to deal with in the Diasomnia dorm. However, he swiftly and discretely took care of any nuisances that he happened to notice. He didn't think you were keeping anything from him.

"Like I said, it's not-" You try to soothe him but his glare only hardens.

"For how long?" Malleus repeats and he doesn't plan to a third time.

"For about a month now...but I can handle it myself!" You insist but he ignores the latter half of your sentence as his face morphs back into a gentler one.

"So that's what's been burdening you? I wish you'd have told me sooner but it's no matter. I'll take care of it." Malleus assures you.

"I mean that's one thing, but I have other reasons-" He cuts you off with a pat on your head as the two of you stop in front of Ramshackle's doors.

"You don't have to ruminate on it any longer. Do try to tell me about any other troublesome students in the future. I'll handle them and anyone else who tries to ruin your happiness here at Night Raven College." He vanishes in a flurry of lights before you can say a word. Any serious notion of you leaving is unthinkable to him, and if you do come up with more reasons, he'll make sure to take care of those as well.

[adragonprinceswhore]

Make You Feel My Love I Teaser

Aemond Targaryen x Ex-Girlfriend

Summary: A few months after you break things off with your boyfriend, Aemond, you start receiving strange messages and phone calls from an unknown number. Things escalate when you’re sent a video secretly filmed half a year ago, of you and Aemond having sex.

Warnings: 18+, dark themes (mind the tags!), obsession, stalking, exhibitionism, blackmail, threats of violence, emotional manipulation, smut

A/N: Based on this request by anon. Another spooky fic for the spooky season! 🖤

Aemond’s fingers tap restlessly against the rim of his coffee cup. The twitch in the corner of his mouth tells you he's annoyed, and the speed of which his eye darts around the coffee shop, refusing to look directly at you, lets you know it’s your fault.

You’re not sure if he can see the tears shining in your eyes, he’s barely looked at you since you came. He always saw crying as a sign of a weak mind, and so you do your best not to blink, scared a tear will fall and reveal just how pathetic you feel.

It’s not like you’re doing a good job hiding it anyway. The dark circles under your eyes and the paranoid pleading in your gaze betray all your recent troubles.

“I-, I’d like to thank you for coming here after how things… ended”

Your voice is steady, yet there is a thickness in your throat that makes you sound a bit strange, like you’re trying too hard to remain neutral. A performance you’re not quite pulling off, despite your best efforts.

“Mm”

He’s still not looking at you, stern face reflecting both disinterest and agitation. The relentless tapping of his finger continues, practically screaming at you to hurry up and confess why you asked your ex to meet up.

“I’ll get straight to it. Yesterday, I received a video of… us. At that party where we-”, you search his face for recognition, chase his eye so it meets yours. Your voice lowers, practically a whisper,

“-you know”

“No, I don’t”

“Aegon’s summer party… We snuck off to the guest room and-, you know”

Aemond finally lets his gaze meet yours, inspecting your features with a narrowed, suspicious eye.

Does he not believe you?

Before he can call you crazy, or dismiss your clear distress with a condescending laugh, you pull out your phone and show him the video. It’s a bit dark and gritty, but it’s clear that it’s the two of you, Aemond’s head between your legs, your own thrown back on the bed in bliss.

“Do-, do you know who could’ve done this?”

Aemond takes your phone and watches the video closely, pausing and zooming in on your half-naked body. He’s seen you bare and crazed with desire countless times when you were dating, yet your cheeks heat up and you feel unexplainably vulnerable as he carefully examines the video.

After a few moments of contemplation, he hums again and hands your phone back,

“I’ve no clue. I’ll ask Criston for the guest list, probably just one of Aegon’s insufferable friends having a laugh”

He stands to leave, and you momentarily panic at the thought of being alone again. Just as he turns towards the door, your hand desperately grabs the fabric of his coat, and those tears that had been threatening to spill from your eyes do just that,

“Aemond, please, I have more”

You sound so small. So defeated.

He looks at you with the same harsh, unimpressed look even as you silently cry.

So cold.

Maybe it’s what you deserve?

“I need you, Aemond. Please just stay for a few more minutes and let me explain”

He’s frozen for a while, contemplating whether he should indulge you or leave, surely eager to dismiss you just as you had done to him, only a few months ago.

With a sigh, his features soften somewhat, and he steps back, once again taking the seat opposite you.

Full fic coming on November 1st!

[writerunnamed]

note: This is something I've wanted to write for a while but I am well aware that not everyone will be into it. There are a few stories I want to tell that aren't the norm so I decided to start this nameless blog to tell them. I am not tagging anyone, if you find it then you find it. xo Joel(stepdad), significant age gap, female reader. 18+ legal, reader is 20 (warnings: pov sex, Joel spits on the 😸, boobie play, really inappropriate dirty talk, an unused sex toy [will make an appearance in another chapter], female masturbation, daddy kink, unfit parent) 5.6k word count masterlist • series masterlist • part 2

He takes up so much space, and it wasn’t just physically. He took up space emotionally, mentally. Mentally most of all. Your thoughts always drifted back to him. Cyclical. An elliptical pattern making him the top of every list you’d go through in your head. He seemed to know it too, in a stoic, quiet, largely unsettling way. Older, attractive men tended to do that. 

It started during that in-between time, when summer, losing your job, and having to move back home pushed you to figure out what the fuck you actually wanted to do with your life seemed to come together like the planets aligning. The precipice of a turning point, a ticking clock counting down the days until your childhood bedroom would be turned into a gym, or an office, or a guest bedroom. The lukewarm welcome from your mother would ice over and you’d really have to get your shit together. 

Your mother was what people who didn’t know her would call ‘a free spirit’, what you called her, was a fucking mess. 

Your earliest memories consist of having to remind her to buy milk or to pay the bill because the electricity had turned off while watching cartoons in front of the tiny, living room tv. You’d had to remind her, in not so many words, that she was the mother, and you were the child. 

To your friends, she was the cool mom. The party mom. Your house was the place to be because she didn’t ask questions, she left her cigarettes unattended and didn’t mind if a few went missing. She kept the bar cart stocked, even if there was nothing but flies in the cupboard and nothing but half-empty condiment bottles in the fridge. Your friends loved it. 

She flirted with the boys your age, she gave sex tips to the girls. 

You smiled when they congratulated you on having the cool mom, and when they all went home, you retreated and pretended to be happy. 

Joel settled her down. Met her in a bar and moved in quick. He came into the picture when you were fifteen and you were almost sure he’d be just like the rest of the lovers she’d taken over the years. You’d given the whole thing six months. Half a year for him to see what a fucking disaster she was. Six months to be a fucking creep, to cheat or get cheated on. 

The only differences you could clock at first were that he was self-employed, and marginally better looking than his predecessors.

He was firmer though, less malleable than the others she’d brought around, he seemed immune to her charms and that only inflamed her. It made her desperate for his approval and his attention. She would throw a tantrum, or play one of her mind games but he’d never rise to her bait. He was patient for the most part, until he hit his breaking point and his temper reared its head. A temper only she seemed to bring out in him. 

To you, it was pathetic. 

He didn’t try with you though, there was no flattery or strong hand, only a silent respect. In a sense, he treated you as the adult, and her as the child. It worked for you, if he’d expected you to call him dad he would have been laughed at mercilessly and he seemed to know this. 

The disturbing part was his respect and his healthy avoidance of you worked its own kind of magic. It made him an enigma, made you curious as to what he got out of the whole thing. A home, sure. A woman who was obsessed with him, yes. Sex–yes. You heard it enough for it to turn your stomach. By the sounds of it, he knew what he was doing.

The thought sickened the healthy part of your brain. The other part though, the part flooding your body with hormones, making it come to life with curiously intense sexual feelings, that part wanted to know what it was he was so good at. How could he pull those sounds out of anyone? It was easier to imagine him with some faceless woman. 

It was shameful to imagine yourself. 

The thought–although enough to fuel a desperate journey of self-exploration–always filled you with an insurmountable guilt. 

For those first few years you could barely look at him. Your mother took it as a healthy dose of teenage rebellion. That only aggravated you more. She never asked questions, never dug to see what the cause of your obvious distaste for her partner was about and so again, you retreated. He, however, kept to the outs of your path. He followed your lead, he let you control any and every part of all of your interactions. He didn’t ask questions. He kept the lights on. He kept the fridge full. 

He burrowed his way in, whether you liked it or not. 

When you turned eighteen, you moved out. He helped, did his ‘fatherly’ duties and moved you into the apartment, he urged your mother to take you on an extensive grocery trip, spoke to your landlord about the safety of the building. You supposed you should have been grateful, you should have said thank you, given him some sort of acknowledgement that you appreciated his help but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Instead you said your mumbling goodbyes, and promptly closed the door on them. Neither of them complained. 

The euphoria of venturing out on your own had lost its shine depressingly quick. A string of chronically unserious boyfriends came and went, the rent climbed higher than you could keep up with, and while already living paycheck to paycheck, you lost your job. Your cellphone had taken the brunt of your frustration at having to call your mother, begging her to let you come back home while you got back on your feet a little more than two years after you’d left. 

Your teeth gnawed at your lips, your fingernails dug into the skin around your cuticles in the attempt to keep your voice sweet and pleading, in the end it was his voice that you’d heard in the background, telling–no, commanding her to say yes. That he would be your champion twisted at your insides. Maybe a small, healthy part of you hoped he’d put up a fight, tell you that you were too old to be coming back home and that you had to figure it out on your own like an adult. 

A healthy part of you hoped that he’d save you again, only from yourself. Hanging up with a heavy, resigned sigh, you set about starting the trek home, ignoring the swirling mess of annoyance, confusion, and perverse glee in your stomach. 

-

The first few days were spent in a depressive episode, a seemingly inescapable loop of sleeping in late, leaving your room only when the house was empty to raid the kitchen for something to eat, scrolling mindlessly–blindly–on your phone and then staying up way too late only to do it all over again. 

They didn’t bother you, but if the annoyed sighs and narrowed eyes from your mother were anything to go by, the talk was coming soon. After the third day of the cycle, you circumvent it and wake up early-ish to shower and dress in something other than ratty old sweats long forgotten by an ex you couldn’t quite remember. 

You came down to find Joel sitting at the kitchen table. His eyes tracked the lines of you, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. 

Your heart leapt. He should have been at work by now. 

“Good morning.” It came out croaky, your voice almost reluctant to come out. 

“Mornin’.” His hair was slicked back, the gray almost sparkling in the golden light. You fiddled with the hem of your shirt. His eyes were so intense, you found yourself stuck in place, like a deer in headlights and that ever present, deep-seeded anger reared its head. It was irrational that he should frustrate you so much with his calm presence. 

“Coffee’s fresh, if you want some.” He jut his chin out to the pot, lowering his eyes to his paper once more. Once his gaze had shifted, you found you could breathe again. You mumbled a thanks and moved to pour yourself a cup, thankful, if unsure why, to focus on something concrete instead of abstract self-reflection.

“Your mama’s gon’ be late tonight. I thought I could pick up a pizza on the way home.” He says it offhand and again, your heart races. 

“Whatever.” You scrunch your face up in annoyance, it sounded like such a bullshit, teen response. He doesn’t comment on it, and that somehow makes it worse. You beat yourself about it as you root around in the fridge for the milk. The cereal you liked was in the top cupboard, and you’re not quite tall enough to reach it. 

You heard his chair scoot back and then suddenly he’s there, beside you, pressed up tight. You follow the long line of his throat as he stares up, reaching the box with ease while one big, warm hand lands on your lower back. He smells like the laundry detergent your mother insists on buying mixed with something else. Manly, smoky, with coffee laced through. Your cunt clenches nonconsensually as he stands there and stares down at you, his whole front pressed against your side, his hand still holding your lower back. Your mouth hangs open, stupidly, and he raises an eyebrow again forcing something to kickstart deep in your gut. 

“You okay there babygirl?” The endearment feels unwholesome.

It triggers something strange, strengthening the underlying conflict for him. There’s a lilt in his tone you don’t like, maybe because deep down you like it too much. Maybe you don’t want to admit that, or analyze anything about what the fuck is happening in your body. In your psyche. 

“Yeah.” You step out of his bubble, barely managing not to trip over yourself in your haste to get away and put a healthy distance between you. 

“Yes. Thank you.” You take a deep breath, pressing your lips together tight in what you hope to God is a neutral expression. 

He lets out a bemused huff through his nose, a mischief in his eyes shining out at you that you’ve never seen directed at you. You’ve seen it used on your mom. You’ve seen her go giggly and flirty whenever he looked at her like that. A half-formed escape plan starts to form but he saves you from the need, he puts his things in the dishwasher, and nods his head in goodbye. 

You practically hold your breath until you hear his truck rumble out of the driveway, and down the street. 

-

You manage to avoid him for a few days, staying out late catching up with friends, or feigning a need for rest. You’ve convinced your mother that your days are now spent job hunting, and for the most part they are. You leave in the morning, avoiding any and all contact and you get home late, creeping up the stairs much like you did in your teens even though you’d really never needed to. Your mother never enforced a curfew, and when Joel joined the picture, he didn’t pry. 

The luck didn’t last though, you got over-confident. He was sprawled out on the sofa, up uncharacteristically late one night when you padded through the house. 

“You’re up late.” You quickly check the accusatory tone, “Don’t you have to get up early?” Better, it comes out more concerned than annoyed and he nods. He wore a threadbare t-shirt, the fabric of it having been through the wash too many times to keep its shape. Light, gray sweats were stretched almost obscenely tight over his spread thighs, pooling at his crotch from being shoved up by the couch. 

“Couldn’t sleep. Come sit, we can watch some tv.” He pats the seat next to him and despite the deep desire to retreat into the Joel-free haven of your bedroom, you cannot seem to disobey him. 

You settle beside him on the couch, a little further away than was necessary. He chuckles softly. 

“I ain’t gonna bite you, girl. Not unless you ask nicely.” 

You pretend you don’t hear it, choosing instead to compartmentalize whatever game he’s playing and stare at the screen. He flips through the channels, settling on one thing for a few minutes before moving to something else until he finds a movie that’s already close to midway. There’s an electricity in the air, something about him galvanizing the space between you, charging it enough to make the hairs on your arms stand on end. You frown to yourself, barely paying attention while fighting an increasingly confusing mental battle. Why is it so hard to be around him? Why does he inspire such scorn? Is it scorn at all?

You rub at your eyes, scrubbing your hands down your face in a feeble attempt to wipe the slate clean. 

He’s just a man, a man your mother had chosen and for better or worse they seem to work. She is happy with him and he is seemingly happy with her, why then is it so hard to accept him for what he is? Something slithers around in your brain, something that laughs darkly, something pulsing through the network of thoughts and ideas that threatens to crack open your subconscious and throw it right in your face. 

“Well now, ain’t that somethin’?” You pull your hands away from your face to see a very explicit scene playing out on the screen. Heat floods every inch of your body. 

“Almost looks like she’s enjoyin’ herself.” He leaves it on, and you feel stuck, your body betraying you yet again to see the way the woman on screen moans wantonly while under a very handsome man. You let out a non-committal sound, teetering on the edge of madness. You scold yourself, you are an adult, an adult that has had sex before and this isn’t even real. 

“Looks like fake bullshit to me.” The strength in your voice lends credence to the illusion that you aren’t affected. He laughs, calm and completely at ease and that only pulls the anger to the forefront again. 

“They can’t show the real stuff on these channels. If it were real, he’d be doin’ what she needs.” 

“And what’s that?” It comes out before you can stop it. 

“Well,” He smiles to himself, winning a duel you hadn’t even known you were fighting. 

“If it were real, he’d be pressin’ on her clit, he’d be makin’ sure she felt every inch of him and make her take his cock like a good girl.” You let out a heavy breath, half shocked, half grateful it wasn’t a whimper. 

Warning bells go off in your head, just as a heartbeat starts in your cunt because you can see it. You can see him. His face twisted up in pleasure but cocky, his hips moving, his thumb dipped into your mouth and then swirling around your clit. He smiles at catching you looking at his hands and you want to yell at him. You want to smack him across the face and kick him in the balls for saying something like that to you, his partner's daughter, but you don’t. 

Your body almost catapults you out of your seat. Barely unintelligible words come out, something about needing sleep, about being tired and then you hightailed it out of there like a bat out of hell. 

The shower was cold enough to make your teeth chatter, but it did nothing to cool the heat blooming in your core and it was with a terrifying desperation that you ground against your fingers. The slick pooling at the mouth of your pussy was enough to feel even with the water washing everything away except your shame. 

You bit your tongue to keep from moaning out the taboo and entirely inappropriate name you were dying to say out loud. His firm thighs spread on that couch filled your mind, the calloused, work-roughened hands you could practically feel on your hips, on your thighs. You could feel them holding and spreading your legs open so he could make you make those same noises you’d heard over the years. Make you take it like a good girl, his good girl. 

You came with a shudder, sagging against the chilly tile. You warmed the water with a sigh, disappointed and ashamed with yourself, trying, and failing, to put the whole thing out of your mind. 

-

You doubled down on avoiding him after that. 

Your mother worked most of the time but when she was home, things were easier. He reverted to the healthy avoidance, the proverbial disinterest that she didn’t seem to have a problem with. You still heard them some nights, the bed creaking, throaty cries, deep grunts but now they haunted you in a different way. Now you heard his words on that couch and couldn’t help but picture all manner of unsavory things that both disgusted and thrilled you. 

Being unemployed didn’t help. There was nothing to keep you out of the house most of the day, and there were only so many places that would accept you looking for a job in person. 

There was only so much time you could spend with friends too, they had their own lives and jobs and relationships. Too busy to save you from unwanted free time. 

Old habits resurface, and you retreat within yourself while pushing yourself harder. A job would fix things enough to help, you could save up enough money to leave for good and take yourself out of the equation. 

-

The powers that be momentarily take pity on you, and after what seems like a lifetime's worth of job hunting you blessedly get a call back. It’s a part time job, but at this point beggars can’t exactly be choosers. It’s a steady, if insufficient source of income that hadn’t been available to you before. Determined, you buckle down, you channel every guidance counselor you’ve ever had and ace the fuck out of that interview.

It’s not taxing work, but you put your head down and focus with the hope that if you worked hard enough, if you made a good enough impression, made yourself indispensable they’d throw you enough shifts to make up a full time job. 

It helps. Time spent away from the house, from your mothers dried up welcome, from Joel altogether genuinely helps. You feel a bit lighter, less guilty, less prone to imagine the unimaginable. You find comfort in the absence of self-imposed temptation. There is peace in the mindless work, in the life outside of the house that no longer feels like a home. 

It's a double edged sword though, because at the end of every shift, the luck–the peace–runs out. If being at work and out of the house is a respite, returning home only thickens the tension. Time spent outside the house only sharpens the discomfort, clarifies the glaring wrongness of it all when you enter it at the end of the day. What it all is, you won’t name. That way madness lies. Issue is, with every interaction, with every chance encounter in the hallway, or living room, every second spent with him in the kitchen watching his lips touch the rim of his mug the thing inside grows. Parts of him fill the corners of your mind. The curve of his shoulders filling out the flannel shirts he favors. The fullness of his bottom lip when he purses them, something he does while squinting at the paper that you’re almost sure he isn’t aware of. His neck, his hands, the dimple in his cheek when he laughs at something really funny. 

These things jump out, innocent as they may be, but other not so innocent things start to creep in. The bulge in his jeans is a mental mine, it lies in wait and every so often when you think you’ve avoided it, it detonates and you catch yourself staring, both ashamed and so inappropriately curious it eats away at you like acid. 

What you needed was something to fill the emptiness, both emotionally and physically. So you did what any modern, adult woman would do; you bought a sex toy. 

Nothing too crazy, or expensive. After perusing the site for a while you finally settled on a plain, non-threatening dildo. Nothing too big, nothing noisy, just something to be able to focus on, something to use while imagining someone giving you what you need. You ignored that dark thing inside that hissed his name, shooed it away and ordered the package for express delivery. With your mom constantly working, and Joel keeping to himself you figured it wouldn’t be an issue. Neither of them would question a package addressed to you. 

You still aren’t sure whether or not you’d do it all over again had you known the Pandora’s box that little package would open. 

You all but rushed home after work. All day, you’d imagined the relief that toy would bring. You imagined yourself using it in the shower, steam swirling as you took your pleasure. You imagined yourself laying in bed in the safety of the dark, setting a towel down on your chair and riding it to your heart's content. 

Joel’s truck is in the driveway when you pull in, but it’s secondary to the excitement at the chance to sequester yourself with your new best friend and so when you walk into the house, you don’t give him much attention. Until he opens his mouth. 

“You got a package today babygirl. I put it on your bed.” He sits on his spot on the sofa, a funny little smile on his face. A bad feeling swells in your chest, and you look up the stairs before meeting his eyes again. 

“Thanks.” You drop your bag on the little bench near the front door, trying, and failing to keep the nervous feeling out of your voice. He nods, and you make your way up, stopping yourself from taking the stairs two at a time. 

Ice flows through your veins when you see the package is open. 

He’d opened your package, he knew what you’d bought. 

Blood pounds in your ears as you stand there, limbs cold and numb at the realization that he saw it. He saw it. He opened it, and he placed it here, on the very place you fantasized about using it. Sweat beaded on your brow, the bottom of your stomach fell out of your ass as you stood there, barely feeling the soft, worn carpet under your feet. 

“Little small, f’you ask me.” His voice at the mouth of your room made your head twist fast enough to hurt your neck. You hadn’t heard him follow you up the stairs, hadn’t heard him open your door and lean against the frame, arms crossed in haughty amusement. 

“Why would you open my package?” You clutched at it, as though he could forget what he’d seen if you held it tightly enough. 

“I didn’t open it on purpose, I’m expectin’ somethin’ and I didn’t read the name.” He pushes away from the door frame, making his way closer and it’s like the air thins as the space between you shrinks.

“I mean, I could tell you been frustrated, but this doesn’t seem like it’s gon’ help much.” He reaches out, and takes the package from you. You watch him do it, watch him, frozen as he plucks it from your hands and takes the toy out. 

“This all you can take?” He holds it, contemptuously–pityingly. 

You wanted to snatch it out of his hands, the dimming voice of reason urges you to push him out of your room and remind him that he needs to keep a healthy distance but you say nothing, you stand there, and watch him. He puts it all down on your dresser, before stepping a little closer, close enough for you to have to crane your neck up to look into his eyes. 

“No boyfriends around to give you what you want?” His hand comes up, the tips of his fingers sliding across the apple of your cheek, slipping down until his thumb pressed against the cushion of your bottom lip. 

“No one around to give you what you obviously need?” He steps a little closer, until your bodies meet. This is wrong, your mind screams it but your body is frozen under his eyes, under his touch. That part, the frozen part is cheering, it’s running victory laps as it floods your cunt with slick in preparation for something unholy. 

That same, writhing, traitorous thing whispers that this is your chance, the house is empty and your body obeys. You look your fill, you take in the curve of his nose and the furrow in his brow. His eyes are black as a crow's wing, lust-blown and completely focused on your parted lips and your shallow panting. 

Adrenaline spikes and you do something you cannot take back. You rise on your tip-toes and press your mouth to his. 

He hums into it, smiling and once again you get that feeling that you’d made the exact move he’d expected you to. A vague, but fleeting inkling that you were just a pawn on his chessboard. 

At any other time you would have stepped away and repented, ate yourself alive with guilt but his hands pulled you closer, his tongue swiped at the seam of your mouth and you opened up for him. That only made it all the more real, the taste of his tongue in your mouth, feeling his hands lower to hold onto your ass. 

The rational part of you shrinks down to nothing, and that other part, the wrong part–it swells and preens under his hands. He pulls away, and embarrassingly, you chase his mouth in a daze. 

“Oh honey, you’re just dyin’ for it aren’t you?” He herds you towards your tiny bed, the twin mattress that has been the stage for every taboo fantasy about this man, your stepfather. You shoo the word away with a shiver. 

“It’s wrong-” You almost whisper, but you don’t push him away, you let him lay you down in that bed and he laughs. 

“It is, isn't it?” He pulls at the hem of your shirt, you raise your arms for him and the picture of it is wrong, daddy taking off your clothes. The thought, the word,  should disgust you but it only pulls your hands to him. You join in, and pull his shirt up and off, biting your lip at the broadness of him. You take in each freckle, the sprinkling of hair on his chest, the dip of his throat calling out for your tongue like a siren. 

He presses his lips to yours again, licking into your mouth obscenely. Unseemly. 

“You been wantin’ this for a long time, haven’t you babygirl?” He pulls your bra off, and the shock of cold air hardens your nipples. He bites his lip to see it, unable to stop himself from flattening his tongue against a hardened bud. A sound you’ve never let yourself make out loud in this room fills the space between you and that slithering thing luxuriates. 

He moves, languidly, unhurried to the other breast and holds the plump of it in his big hand and sucks at the second bud, sucks as much of the peak as he can into his mouth, breathing through his nose while you slowly spiral into madness.

When he lets go, he presses a kiss to your nipple and his facial hair tickles your skin. 

He pulls your leggings off along with your underwear in one go and the reality of it all hits you when the air hits your soaked core. That’s when the urge to put a stop to it is the clearest, when he kneels between your legs and spreads them wide, stares at the place where he’s already filled a million times in your mind. The place that’s drenched at the mere thought of him. 

“Joel-” You start, but he pushes your legs up, folding you and then he lets a glob of spit fall from his mouth slowly, aiming it, a bullseye right on the lips of your cunt. It’s too much, too filthy and you let out a whimper. 

“I think you wanna call me somethin’ else right now.” He undoes his belt and his jeans, keeping his eyes on where his saliva slides down over the open mouth of your cunt, down towards your asshole. He pulls his cock out and part of you shatters. Your eyes flit to the toy sitting on your dresser, your eyes flit to the open door of your bedroom. 

“Don’t worry, your mama ain’t gonna be home for a while.” He smiles, conspiratorially. It's too real, it’s too hypnotic, seeing him there with his cock in his hand while your legs already ache from holding them up and open. He slides the blunt end of it through the mess he’s caused, through his spit and he groans at the sight of it. 

Your heart races so hard to feel him there, that you see the pulse of it in your vision. 

“Deep breath baby.” he warns before slipping inside the tight fist of your pussy, the size of him making you gasp. This is it, there’s no coming back from this and right now, with him seated deep, his groin pressed up tight and the tip of his cock kissing your womb you cannot even think of why you’d ever care.

This is where he's meant to be. This is where you need him. 

“Oh baby, that’s so good huh?” He thrusts shallowly, pulling out a little more than halfway before shoving his hips forward again. You don’t really know how to form words, you don’t know how to take in what’s happening. This is Joel, your step-dad, fucking you in the bed you grew up in. One hand sits heavy on your shin, holding it, the other slides up and holds onto your breast. 

“Look how fuckin’ wet this little pussy is for me,” he moans the words, “you like daddy fuckin’ you?” He thrusts harder and you moan despite the word hitting you in the stomach like a big drop on a rollercoaster. He shouldn’t say that, shouldn’t call himself that, not now. 

“No-” it doesn’t come out like you mean it to, it sounds wrong, like a caress. 

“No? But I think you do-” He leans forward, keeping his pace while pressing his chest to yours, his mouth all but lining up and despite your bullshit protest, you hitch your knees high on his ribs to make room because if he stopped you’d probably die. 

“I think you want me to be your daddy, don’t you baby, it’s okay, I want to be.” He speeds up and the sounds between your legs are so wet, so filthy. 

“You can say it, I want you to say it.” He holds himself up, his elbows caging in your skull and before you can complain or moan or cry he sticks his tongue down your throat again. Your hands finally join the fray and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tight to you. 

“Come on baby, say it for me, tell me how good daddy fucks you.” You moan, closing your eyes while your cunt floods him with wave after wave of slick, enough to drip down your ass and onto your bed, down his balls. Enough for it to soak the curls at the base of him. 

“Look at me when I’m fuckin’ you honey.” His hips speed up and it's hard now, his thrusts making your bounce, hitting a part of you that toy would never touch in a million years. 

You open your eyes, and look at him above you, sweat beading on his hairline. Never has he looked more fucking appealing than he does right then. The word is there, in your mouth and you know it’ll taste sweeter than anything in this world. 

The wrong thing wins.  

“Yes daddy.” You moan it, and the shameful thing sets off fireworks in your being, he smiles, and tucks his head into the damp crook of your neck, feeding his lovely filth right into your ear. 

“That’s my babygirl, that’s it, fuck baby you take it better than your mama.” Something inside recoils at that, but something else, another facet of that fucked up thing inside rejoices.

“Let me hear you say it again, say it when you come.” He licks a hot stripe up your neck. His words are a filthy groan, something to tuck away for later.

He reaches down, pressing his thumb to your clit just like he said on that couch and you keen, the slip and the pressure enough to toss you over the edge with an almost painfully intense orgasm. 

“I’m coming, daddy.” It’s a shuddering whisper as your cunt clenches around him. 

He moves quickly, kneeling between your legs to pull out and then he’s stroking himself over your cunt. It’s still pulsing when he paints it in his come. You catch your breath as he tugs at himself a few more times, milking himself against you with a disturbingly familiar groan. 

The fog clears altogether too quickly. The lights are too bright, you’re naked, and he’s still got his jeans around his thighs while the guilt creeps into your veins, replacing the euphoria. 

What have I done? What have you made me do?

[salemrph]

"A Hunter's Christmas Hustle" Sylus x MC

Summary: With Christmas around the corner, you’re on a mission to find the perfect gift for everyone, that's included Sylus, a famously tricky person to shop for. You asked for help but can the twins really help you? Sometimes the effort is the best part of the holiday magic.

Character: MC x Sylus

Genre: holiday comedy, slice-of-life, fluff | Pet names : Kitten, Sweetie, Miss Hunter.

| Word count: 3.916 | Reading Time: 16 min |

A/N: Since this is the first Christmas of Love and Deepspace, at least for me, I'm looking forward for a special Event and have a cute moment between Sylus and MC.

You lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. It still feels a bit strange staying at Sylus’ place on your days off. Well, it was mostly his doing— he’d insist or come up with some random excuse or side mission to make you stay. So, at the end you agree to come visit him without needing to drag you in dirty business. It's cozy here, even if you’re not quite used to it yet.

Like always you scroll through your phone, noticing you getting a lot of Christmas ads. You squint at the screen, feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the holiday promotions. Suddenly, you glance at the date on your phone. Fuck! Christmas is in 1 week. And you haven’t prepared anything. Weren’t there also a Party coming up with the team? No, no, no! You go trough the calendar. There is it: 24 of December. Christmas Party with Team.

You need to go shopping, ordering stuff now would only arrive too late. 

“Okay, okay,” you mutter, trying to make a mental checklist. “I need a present for Tera, flowers for Grandma’s and Clab’s graves...” You pause, feeling a bit emotional at that thought. You take a deep breath and continue, making a list out loud.

“Then there’s Zayne, Xavier, and Rafayel…” Your head starts spinning as you realize just how much you have to do. 

How could you forget? Have you really been that busy lately? It’s not like the whole city isn’t decked out in lights, giant Christmas ads, and festive music playing in every store. 

You realize with a sigh that maybe you’ve been spending way too much time in the N109 Zone, far from the holiday cheer.

“What can I get for the twins...?” you mumble to yourself. Luke and Kieran can be annoying sometimes, but you do like them. Why not bring them a small gift? Then again, you hesitate. If you get something for the twins, Sylus will definitely bother you about it until the end of your days, asking why he didn’t get anything. You're starting to sweat. Maybe he locks you up again in the basement, just for fun. Or worse, he could show up at the Hunters' Association and declare that you are his lover or something. A shiver runs down your spine. This man can be terrifying. 

You know very well how to please your friends and colleagues but Sylus… What do you bring to the man that has everything? 

“Why is he even so fucking rich?” you mutter under your breath, looking around the guest room. The guest room of course has the style of the rest of the mansion. Black. You roll your eyes, feeling a mix of annoyance and admiration. You flop back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as if it holds the answers. You need something unique, something meaningful... but what could that be? 

You scroll through your phone frantically, searching for bundles, deals, and last-minute gift ideas. In just an hour, you’ve managed to check off most of your list.

Tera: A relaxing spa voucher—she could use a break.

Zayne: A pack of his favorite macarons, winter edition—he’ll love them.

Xavier: A cozy new sweater—you’ve told him a million times not to fall asleep everywhere. You sigh, picturing him dozing off on some random spot.

Rafayel: A unique shell you found on a mission weeks ago. You haven’t had a chance to give it to him yet, but now’s the perfect time.

Flowers: Ordered, check.

You tap your phone, thinking about the twins, Luke and Kieran. What would they like? You decide on some kind of gadget or toy—they’re like two overgrown kids sometimes, and they’ll appreciate anything they can mess around with.

Another hour passes, and you’re still glued to your phone, opening and closing tabs like a mad person. Your brain is starting to fog up from the overload of gift ideas.

“No... no... lame... oh god, definitely not.” You swipe through a blog about gifts for wealthy people and somehow end up on a page titled “Top 10 Gifts for Your Rich Boyfriend.” Your cheeks go bright red as you skim the list: sexy underwear, romantic getaways, candlelit dinners...

“NO!” You throw your phone onto the bed like it’s on fire, covering your face with your hands. What am I even doing?

You take a deep breath, trying to calm down. Maybe you could ask Luke and Kieran for help. They’re close to Sylus and probably know more about his preferences than you do. Plus, he did say you could “use” them whenever you wanted. Why not use them as counselors and pack mules?

Since you don`t want Sylus sniffing around you, you think about a small lie. Or maybe just ask without giving information. The same way he always does 

...

"I need Luke & Kieran for an important mission, can you borrow me them?"

Sylus looks up from his desk, his red eyes studying you with a mix of curiosity and amusement. He leans back in his chair, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he regards you. 

"Mission? What are you planning, kitten?" Sylus raises an eyebrow at your words.

"Nothing… jus- they will come back in one piece."

He studies you for a moment, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement. He seems to be enjoying your vague and cryptic request, and he's clearly intrigued by what you might be up to. 

"…Alright. You can take them for whatever this 'important mission' is. But they better come back in one piece, or I'm holding you responsible, sweetie. And you don't want to pay the price...“ he snaps his fingers. Both appear immediately. As if they had been hiding in the office. 

"Luke, Kieran, the kitten needs you for a... mission. Do as they say. I expect impeccable work."

"Yes, boss!“ They say in unison.

"Let’s go, guys." I lead them out of the office. "See you, Sylus!"

That was easy. Maybe to easy.

He laughs after the door closes. Wondering how you're going to surprise him this time. He's learned to just go with the flow even though he might have the answer to your little secrets. He just smiled, turning back to focus on his paperwork.

“What are we going to do, miss?” Luke asks with a mischievous grin.

You roll your eyes. “I told you, just call me by my name.”

“Are we blowing something up?” Kieran blurts out, making an exaggerated explosion noise with his mouth.

“Or… cleaning up a messy murder scene?” Luke chimes in, smirking.

“Maybe torture someone!” Kieran’s eyes light up, clearly getting way too excited at the thought.

You sigh, regretting this decision already. They’re like two hyperactive hamsters—deadly, but still hamsters.

“No, no, and no!” you say firmly, waving your hands for emphasis.

“Uuuhhh...” They groan in unison, visibly disappointed.

“We have a better mission,” you declare, crossing your arms. “Change into something decent. We’re heading back to Lincoln City.”

Finally, you’ve arrived in the city. It’s strange seeing them without their usual uniforms and masks. Dressed in casual clothes, they look more like model college boys than the deadly assassins they actually are. Most of the girls passing by can’t help but glance their way, clearly debating whether they should approach the handsome twin brothers.

You snort to yourself. Probably they would’ve attracted less attention in their usual assassin gear.

You’re standing in the middle of the bustling shopping district, the holiday decorations casting a festive glow around you. Luke and Kieran are busy taking in the sights, clearly amused by the sudden change of scenery. You clear your throat to get their attention.

“Alright, listen up,” you say, trying to sound authoritative. “The mission is...” They lean in, eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Shopping” you declare.

“Shopping?” they repeat in unison, voices filled with disbelief.

Luke looks like he’s trying not to laugh, while Kieran’s expression twists into mock horror.

“Wait, wait,” Kieran says, holding up a hand. “You dragged us all the way out here... for shopping?”

“Yes, and you’re going to help me,” you reply.

Luke smirks, giving you a playful nudge. “You sure this isn’t just an excuse to spend time with us, Miss?”

You shoot him a glare. “Call me by my name, Luke.”

“Right, right,” he says, grinning.

“I actually need your help for...” you trail off, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed. You look away, rubbing the back of your neck. “Christmas is around the corner, and I wanted to buy Sylus something. I’m not sure what it should be, so...” 

Before you can finish, Luke and Kieran burst into giggle. They exchange a quick, knowing glance, clearly delighted by your admission.

“Oh, so you want to buy our boss a present, huh? That’s pretty cute” Luke teases, smirking.

Kieran nudges him with his elbow, grinning from ear to ear. “And you’re asking us for help? Luke, maybe she does have a soft spot for boss after all.”

You feel your cheeks flush, but you roll your eyes to cover it. “Are you two going to help me or not?”

Luke straightens up, placing a hand on his chest with a mock-serious expression. “If you’re serious about buying a gift for the boss, then you’ve definitely come to the right place. We don’t call ourselves his right-hand men for nothing.”

You exhale, feeling a bit relieved now that they seem genuinely eager to help. “I want something special. Something he wouldn’t expect, but that he’d actually like.”

Kieran tilts his head, pretending to think deeply. “Something unexpected, huh? Well, that’s tricky. Sylus pretty much has everything.”

“Yeah, exactly,” you say, feeling a bit helpless. “I was thinking about getting him some records, but he already has so many...”

Luke and Kieran nod in agreement, their expressions thoughtful. 

“It’s a good start. He does love his music. But you don’t want to give him something he already has, right?” Luke asked. 

“How about something more personal?” Kieran suggests, tapping his chin. “Something that shows you put a lot of thought into it. A gift only you could give him.”

You bite your lip, considering it. “Personal... but how?”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be anything fancy,” Luke says, shrugging. “The boss isn’t as complicated as he looks. He’d appreciate anything that comes from you.”

Kieran gives a playful smirk. “You could just wrap yourself up with a bow, and he’d be over the moon.”

“Kieran!” you gasp, your cheeks turning red as you lightly smack his arm. He laughs, dodging away with a wink. 

Luke chuckles but gives you a more genuine smile. “He’s joking—mostly. But seriously, boss isn’t the kind of guy who cares about expensive gifts. He’d value something that reminds him of you, or a shared memory.”

You pause, mulling it over.

Kieran nudges Luke, a sudden spark lighting up his eyes. “Hey, what about that old record shop on the Avenue? They’ve got vintage records you can’t find anywhere else. You could look for a rare one, maybe something with a story behind it.”

Luke nods, his eyes brightening as well. “Yeah, and you could pair it with a handwritten note. Tell him why you picked it. He’d love that.”

You smile, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. “That’s... actually a great idea. Thanks, you two.”

Kieran gives you a thumbs-up. “No problem, but you owe us for this.”

Luke grins. “Yeah, and don’t forget to give us the credit when he’s showering you with kisses later.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Fine, fine. Now let’s go before I change my mind.”

The twins laugh, and the three of you set off down the busy shopping street, feeling a new wave of excitement. Maybe this gift hunt wasn’t going to be so impossible after all.

In the end, you managed to buy everything for your friends—even for Captain Jenna, who isn’t exactly easy to shop for. But as you wandered through the record store, flipping through album after album, nothing stood out. Everything felt generic, impersonal. And you know Sylus well enough to realize that giving him something half-hearted would just fuel his endless teasing for weeks. 

By the end of the day, the twins delivered you at home after treating them for dinner. You're tired and leave all your bags in the living room of your apartment. You throw yourself down on the couch and take out your phone. Maybe you were overthinking this. A nice accessory or a bottle of whiskey could work—he has a taste for the finer things, after all. It wouldn’t be anything cheap, either; you can afford something like that with your Hunter salary.

The day passes, only 2 days for Christmas and you still have nothing. 

Desperate for ideas, you even tried bringing it up with Tera over lunch. That turned into a chaotic disaster, though. It was exhausting dodging her barrage of questions:

“Who’s the gift for? Why are you even so worried? Wait, do you have a new boyfriend? I demand to meet him!”

You had to laugh it off, making up half-baked excuses until she finally dropped it—though you could tell she didn’t believe you.

And then there was Sylus himself. Yesterday, he sent you an invitation to a Christmas dinner. You wanted to say yes, but you had already committed to the Hunters’ Association Christmas party that same night. You tried to decline, but after some back-and-forth, you reluctantly agreed to meet him afterward.

Now, sitting alone on the couch, you can’t help but replay that conversation in your mind. The way his voice softened when you said you couldn’t make it, the slight pause before he insisted on seeing you later anyway—it made your chest tighten. He sounded almost... disappointed. And that’s what makes you want to find something truly meaningful, something that will show him how much he means to you without you having to say it out loud.

You look at your reflection in the darkened screen of your phone, feeling a mix of frustration and anticipation. You’re running out of time. If you’re going to surprise him with something from the heart, you need to figure it out now.

With a new sense of determination, you push yourself off the couch and grab your coat. Maybe you won’t find the perfect gift sitting around here. It’s time to get back out there and keep looking, because if there’s one person you want to make smile this Christmas, it’s Sylus. But be honest, you´re not going to admit that. Not yet. 

...

It’s Christmas! The party with your unit is small but cozy. The space is filled with the warm glow of twinkling lights, the scent of spiced wine, and the sound of laughter echoing off the walls. You drink, you eat, and you feel a rare sense of contentment as you watch everyone enjoying the night. It’s moments like these that remind you why you love this chaotic, ragtag team.

The gifts you bought last minute seem to have gone over well. Captain Jenna grinned when she unwrapped the sleek new knife you picked out for her—a practical gift, just like she’d like it. Xavier looked genuinely pleased with the soft, oversized sweater you chose, already pulling it on and joking about how he wouldn’t fall asleep everywhere now. Tera hugged you tight, eyes sparkling as she held up the spa voucher. “You really do know me,” she said with a teasing smile.

Earlier in the morning, you made a quick stop by the hospital to drop off the bag of special winter-edition macarons for Zayne. And you place the flower on the graveyard. Pray for them and wishing that you could spent one more day with them.

You glance at your watch. It’s getting late, and you promised Sylus you’d meet him after this. You take a deep breath, excusing yourself quietly from the party. Tera shoots you a knowing look as you head for the door, but she doesn’t say anything—just gives you a little wave, as if to say, good luck. 

You pull your coat tighter around yourself, clutching the gift in your hand as you start walking. There’s a mixture of excitement and fear bubbling up inside you.

Suddenly your watch vibrates urgently and flashes a warning: MetaFlux Fluctuation Detected. Your heart skips a beat. A Wanderer? Now?! You glance around, scanning the quiet street for any signs of danger. The distant sound of a woman’s scream breaks the silence, and without hesitation, you sprint in the direction of the noise, already reaching for your weapon. 

The first Wanderer lunges out from the shadows, its distorted form shifting and writhing in the dim light. You don’t waste a second. One precise shot, and it disintegrates into a cloud of shimmering dust.

„My child! Where is he?“ the woman cries out, panic in her voice. You look around fast, this is not over. 

„Mom!! Help!“ You hear the voice of the kid nearby and run over. You bolt towards the sound, pushing your legs harder. You reach the boy just in time, shielding him with your body as another Wanderer lunges forward. The creature’s claws slice through the air, narrowly missing you. You fire three quick shots, each one hitting its mark. The Wanderer lets out a guttural screech before it vanishes into thin air, dissolving into the night.

"Are you okay?“ you ask, your voice softer now, concerned. The boy nodded. His mother rushes over, wrapping her arms around him and thanking you over and over, her voice thick with emotion.

The mother and child thank you from the bottom of their hearts before leaving. You tell them to please stop by the hospital, just in case. You wave goodbye to the boy. Sigh. What a night!

"Where's my bag?" you mutter, scanning the area. You spot it lying on the ground, right where you dropped it before sprinting into action. Relief floods through you—until you notice the dark, wet stain spreading across the fabric. 

"No, no, no! Please no," you whisper, crouching down and unzipping the bag with trembling hands. The bottle of whiskey you were hunting down the last two days. Is shattered in thousand pieces.

Your heart sinks. This wasn’t just any whiskey—it was a rare, vintage bottle from a small distillery he’d mentioned once, in passing, when he thought you weren’t listening.

„Fuck!" 

You stand up, clutching the soaked bag, and check the time on your watch.

22:30.

You’re supposed to meet Sylus in half an hour, and you’re still a good fifteen minutes away from his place. Panic bubbles up inside you. Maybe you can find a late-night shop that carries something similar. Maybe there’s still a chance to fix this.

"I can make it," you say aloud, more to convince yourself than anything.

…

You finally arrive at the meeting point—a lookout near the water. It’s the same place where you spent last winter with him, watching the fireworks together.

“Kitten, you told me you were at a party, not a battlefield. What happened?”

“Eh?”

You’ve been running around for the last 30 minutes trying to find that stupid bottle and make it on time to meet Sylus. A little embarrassed, you attempt to fix your clothes and smooth your hair. Your cheeks are flushed from the effort. Sylus stands there in his black coat, looking amazing as always. Your heart beats hard in your chest. He watches you, trying to piece together what happened, and then a smile tugs at his lips.

“Even on days like this, you don’t get a break, Miss Hunter?” He runs his hand gently across your face. You flinch slightly, wincing in pain. “You’ve got a small cut. So... are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Nothing, just a Wanderer. It will heal,” you say with a shrug. He sighs softly.

“Careless as usual.” He pulls a small band-aid from his pocket. “Stay still.”

“Why do you have something like that?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“It so happens that I have a kitten who never pays attention to their injuries,” he teases.

You make an exaggerated offended grimace, but inside, it feels like a small gesture of affection. He places the band-aid gently over the cut.

“I’ll consider this your Christmas gift,” you joke.

He laughs. “Oh no, sweetie, that wouldn’t be enough. But I’m impressed with your minimalist idea of happiness.” He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out an envelope.

“You didn’t have...”

“Open it up. And thank me later.”

You take the envelope cautiously, slowly peeling it open. Could it explode? You shake your head at the silly thought. When you finally look inside, your eyes widen, and you let out a soft squeal of excitement.

“Are you for real? This tickets has been sold out for months. How did you…?”

“I have my ways, sweetie,” he replies with a smug smile.

“Thank you,” you whisper, genuinely touched.

“It’s always a pleasure making you happy.”

But your excitement fades quickly as the realization sinks in. He’s managed to make you immensely happy again, while you stand here empty-handed. You have been looking for the perfect gift and you have screwed up at the last minute. On top, you haven't found a replacement for the bottle. 

"I wanted to give you something too for Christmas...“ you started. Closing the envelope and putting it in your pocket. "but... it broke while I was protecting a kid from a Wanderer.“ You look down at your feet, feeling small and pathetic, your shoulders slumping under the weight of disappointment.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Sylus gently lifts your chin with a finger, guiding your gaze back to him. He smiles, that soft, understanding smile that always makes you feel seen. Without a word, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into a warm embrace. The chill of winter seems to disappear in his hold, replaced by the comforting heat of his body.

“The best gift is having you by my side, kitten.” he whispers into your ear, his voice low and sincere.

You feel your heart beating faster.

"Actions speak louder than words"

You agree with Sylus that both would be more honest with each other. Maybe now is the time to show him just how important he is to you. You spent so much time looking for something to buy that you forgot that the simplest gifts are often the most meaningful, especially when they come straight from the heart.

"Sylus… I actually have something else."

"Oh, is that so?“ 

„Can... I borrow your face?" He loosens his grip slightly and steps back, taking your hands in his, warming them up. He looks at you, amused and curious, and leans down.

"Close your eyes..." you whisper. He doesn’t say anything but does as you ask, his smile softening as he relaxes his face. You take a deep breath, feeling your heart race, each beat echoing louder in your chest.

The world falls silent for a moment—it's just the two of you, suspended in time. The anticipation tingles through you as you lean closer, closing the distance between you.

You press your lips gently against his cheek, and the warmth of his skin against your lips is electric. It’s a simple kiss, but it carries all the unspoken words you couldn’t say out loud. A silent confession. You linger there for just a heartbeat longer, feeling him inhale sharply, as if caught off guard by the intimacy of it. As you pull back, the first snowflakes begin to fall, drifting slowly from the sky. The soft touch of snow melts against your skin, but Sylus holds you close, not letting the moment slip away.

„Now... that’s a present only you could have given me." He gives you the most tender smile. "Thank you."

He looks like he wants to say something else but remains silent. Instead, he pulls you into a deeper embrace, burying his face in your hair as the snow continues to fall softly around you. You’re more than fine with that. No, you’re happy—grateful for this sweet moment.

You realize you’re a step closer to falling for him completely, accepting that the connection between you two is stronger than you ever imagined.

“Merry Christmas, Sylus.”

He smiles, his eyes crinkling with genuine joy.

“Merry Christmas, kitten.”

[hawkinsbnbg]

While his ancestors were devoted to preying on virile men, Steve—a young succubus—chose to settle in Hawkins for a chance at a normal life.

Given his innate charm, he had become the top dog on his first day at school and reigned his subjects with an iron fist. That meant; no bullies nonsense, no ostracized students, and no making fun of less-privileged people.

Steve wasn’t a saint, mind you, but he always did what he deemed right, and reducing the high-school teenage toxicity helped assuage his headaches.

On the other hand, to cover up his tracks with some of the men (he had selected carefully) in the town, he played up the whole rich spoiled brat who had absent parents and was a womanizer part.

And for a long time, it worked.

It worked so well that Steve had become careless and slipped up.

After putting Nancy into a vivid dream of them having sex, he scented something foul and immediately knew there was a trespasser on his property.

That was how he had gotten to the pool in time to save Barb from a monster that resembled Snatcher.

Unfortunately, Jonathan Byers had caught him beating it on the camera and came begging for his help the following day.

Since Steve’s bleeding heart couldn’t take it, he ended up rescuing Will from the hellhole full of Snatcher-like creatures and flower-faced carnivores.

Naively, he had thought it was the end of it. But somehow, the Byers decided he was a part of them after he brought their youngest back from the underworld and always invited him over for dinner.

(Steve had shyly admitted to Joyce that it was kind of nice to have home-cooked meals with so many people for once. He had become the Byers’ permanent guest ever since then.)

Thanks to Will, he got to know The Party, learned about secret government labs and experimented children, and was dragged kicking and screaming into the Upside Down fiasco by the goddamm maternal instinct he had for those gremlins.

(He guessed the list also included Nancy, Barb, Jonathan, Joyce Byers, and even Jim Hopper.)

Fast forward to S4 where everything derailed and went south so rapidly that Steve didn’t have time to respite. It resulted in his power being drained after having healed most of the bat’s bites and injuries he sustained.

Since they were on the run, his options were sort of limited, and although it would risk raising more suspicion on himself, Steve didn’t think Eddie would have the energy to mull over it too long once he was done.

Meanwhile, Eddie was perplexed and aghast when Steve Harrington pulled him to the back of the camper when no one noticed and proceeded to blow his brain the fuck out.

Eddie nearly combusted and died right then when Steve looked up at him through those pretty lashes, nuzzling his thigh and thanking him softly.

The sight went straight into Eddie’s spank bank and he didn’t even feel guilty about it. If anything, it just fueled his determination to kill Vecna so he could spend more time with his boy.

Much much later when everyone made it out alive and Eddie survived his horrible not-good spring break, he finally learned about Steve’s secret and offered the succubus a lifetime deal.

Eddie would be Steve’s personal charger for as long as he lived.

In response, Steve had jumped his bone right at that moment and didn’t stop until midnight.

Eddie had half a mind to worry about his kidney's welfare, but he soon decided it was future-Eddie’s problem. Present-Eddie was blissfully balls deep in Steve’s sweet hole and couldn’t care less.

[hai7ani]

to win is to lose / rivals to lovers (who were already in love since the beginning)

thinking 'bout how attending an ex boyfriend's wedding while also having to endure the stares thrown your way from the guy you've been sworn enemies and rivals with for god knows how long halfway across the room must really suck. like, both sides really rubbing it in your face, you think 一 that you've lost this time. you're not as capable of love as you think you are, as you'd once boasted to that douchebag of a rival and how you'd thought your ex was the one for you.

except he isn't, and he isn't as well 一 the stares were just him making sure you weren't breaking down in the middle of a wedding and shutting off as you stand and watch with a semi-broken heart as your ex kisses his new bride at the altar, and a bouquet of flowers you've just caught earlier gripped tightly in your hands. a harsh slap to the face, this is.

so when he catches you at the hallway during the after party all alone, really at your most vulnerable as you quietly wipe away your tears with wobbly lips while making sure your makeup isn't ruined in the process, he waltzes over with his hands tucked into his pockets, stands in front of you a little too close for your usual liking, and you cry even harder. you don't have the energy to make another snarky remark to him 一 in fact, you haven't spoken a word to him since seeing him in his million dollar suit when he'd entered the venue without his rumoured plus one, no gifts for the newly-wed (a clear sign telling them to go to hell), and without his usual smug face too, for some reason.

when your tissue decides it isn't able to catch all your tears in time he then presses a hand to your nape forward. his touch is warm, so gentle, and your forehead rests on his right shoulder softly. you don't bother moving and he keeps you there like that, until your sobs have turned into sniffles and you've got an arm wrapped around his waist for some support.

it's when you wrap the other arm around him that he only speaks.

"i'll marry you."

you hear laughter echo in the quiet hallway as the other guests have the time of their lives in the room just behind the wall you're leaning against. is this a mockery? is he fucking mocking me? you've just about had it up to here with him. you want to scream at this man. you want to hit him. you want to punch him.

but your dress is tight so you hook an offensive thumb into the belt loop of his expensive dress pants instead, getting ready to threaten him, until he speaks again.

"so what they're doing this in the plaza hotel?" he scoffs, and your hold on his belt loop significantly loosens. his own around your nape, however, tightens and he presses your body anymore closer to him. you can feel his heartbeat pound in his chest, against your own, as he rambles on and on like the boastful boy you'd met in grade school despite being the ceo of a million dollar company.

"i'll marry you at the beach. new fucking york can kiss my ass, we're going to mykonos." you stifle a laugh at that. "he won't even be fucking invited because he's not ruining it for you, and he's gonna have to hear about our wedding from his mother-in-law."

you're full on giggling at him now as he continues to list out all the things he's gonna be making sure your ex pays for for the evil shit he'd pulled tonight.

"so? what do you say?"

he asks after a pause. when he tilts his head down to look at you he finds out you're already staring at him. wide, glossy eyes gazes into his own and he softens up when you hug him even tighter.

a hand brushes your hair out of the way. you close your eyes and smile. he swipes a thumb on the apple of your cheek.

"we can't lose to them now, can we?"

#gojo satoru he's so annoying, miya atsumu, haitani ran, haitani rindou, baji keisuke, kuroo tetsuro, hanma shuuji

it's 8am. haven't slept a wink. im so annoying

[runariya]

hi! is your prompt game still open? hehe

jungkook + 🎤🥂🥲🥰

gf!oc being invited to jk’s golden listening party and oc doubted herself if she is really meant to be on jk’s life (stuff like that) pls end it with a happy ending too 🥹

thank you! 🥹

(idolverse+party+angst+fluff) part of the prompt game pairing: idol!Jungkook x gf!reader genre: idolverse, established relationship, angst, fluff warnings: self-doubt, angst, fluff, lmk if I forgot smth word count: 1.296

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

It’s supposed to be a brilliant night. A massive one, if you’re being honest.

Jungkook’s “Golden” listening party is the talk of the industry, the kind of event people beg, steal, or sell their left kidney to get into. And you? You’re on the guest list. Not because you’re a big deal or anything, but because you’re simply his girlfriend.

That fact alone should have you over the moon. You should be buzzing to see him in his element, to be by his side, to celebrate the music he’s poured his heart into.

But you’re not.

You’re standing in front of your mirror, staring at your reflection, wondering for the hundredth time why on earth he wants you there, even if it should be obvious to you. 

You’ve gone all out tonight, found the nicest dress you could afford, done your makeup in a way that says “effortless” even though it’s taken you an hour. Your hair’s as good as it’s going to get, and yet, it’s still not enough.

You don’t look like the sort of person who belongs in his world.

You’ve seen the women who swarm around Jungkook, those effortlessly stunning types with legs for days, glossy hair, and flawless skin. The kind of women who don’t just walk into rooms; they fucking float. Who can chat with celebrities like it’s no big deal, who wouldn’t hesitate before striding into this party like they own the place.

You on the other hand? You’re not one of those. 

Standing here, fidgeting with the hem of your dress, stomach flipping at the thought of walking into that room. You feel like an imposter, like any minute someone’s going to clock that you don’t belong and politely, or not so politely, ask you to leave.

But your phone buzzes, ripping you momentarily out of your thoughts. 

Jungkook.

Can’t wait to see you, he’s texted, and there’s a little heart emoji tagged on at the end.

Your chest aches. You know he means it, he’s been so excited about this night, about sharing it with you. But there’s a voice in your head that just won’t shut up, no matter how hard you try.

Are you sure he really wants you here? Or is he just being polite, roping you in because he’s nice like that?

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You can’t do this to him. You’ll go inside. You’ll smile. You’ll fake it if you have to. For him.

And indeed, the party is insane.

People are everywhere, dressed to the nines, dripping in designer everything. The music’s loud, the lights are low, and you swear you can feel the buzz in the air even though you haven’t had a sip of alcohol yet. 

It’s exciting, in theory. In practice, it’s overwhelming as hell.

You spot Jungkook right away, standing in the middle of a crowd that’s clearly there for him. He looks incredible, gold jacket, perfect hair, the works. He’s laughing at something someone’s said, his whole face lighting up in that way that makes your heart pump to its limit, and for a second, you just stare.

This is him. Your boyfriend. The man who texts you goodnight even after a 16-hour day, who steals chips off your plate, who sings in the shower when he thinks you’re not listening.

But this version of him? This superstar surrounded by models and influencers?

You don’t know how you fit into that picture, even after all these months. 

You linger by the door for longer than you should, trying to work out where to go, what to do. You feel out of place already, and you’ve barely even moved.

It’s like he can sense you, though, because suddenly, his eyes find yours from across the room. His face breaks into a smile, a proper, bright one that’s hopefully only reserved for you, and he excuses himself, weaving through the crowd to get to you, greeting everyone else in passing. 

“Hey,” he kisses you briefly, breathless but happy, taking your hand like he’s been waiting all night to see you. “You look amazing.”

You try to smile. “Thanks.”

He frowns a little, clearly picking up on your nerves. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you lie.

He doesn’t look convinced, but before he can press, someone calls his name. He glances over his shoulder, then back at you, torn. “I’ll be quick,” he promises, squeezing your hand before disappearing again.

And just like that, you’re alone.

Time crawls. Or it just feels like it does.

You end up at the bar with a drink you don’t even want, keeping your head down like you’re hoping to blend into the wallpaper. It’s easier than pretending you’re confident, especially when everyone else here seems like they were born for this kind of thing.

Every time you look up, you spot Jungkook in the middle of another group, flashing that smile of his like he’s got the whole room wrapped around his finger. Which, to be fair, he does.

There’s a group of women around him now, all stunning in that effortlessly intimidating way. One of them touches his arm, leaning in close as she says something, and he laughs.

Your stomach drops to the floor, hard.

You know it’s stupid. You know Jungkook loves you, that he chose you, but sitting here, watching him shine in a room full of people who seem so much more fitting, it’s hard to believe it.

What are you even doing here?

You’re halfway through debating whether to leave when Jungkook reappears.

“Hey,” his forehead’s creased in concern. “What’s going on? You’ve been hiding.”

You shake your head. “Nothing. Just… needed a minute.”

“Don’t give me that,” he scolds softly, taking your hand. “You’re upset. Why?”

You hesitate, swallowing hard. “I just…” You glance around, lowering your voice. “I don’t think I should be here.”

He blinks. “What?”

“Look at this place, Jungkook,” you try to explain, gesturing vaguely at the room. “Look at you. You’re in your element, and I’m just… me. I don’t belong here. I don’t belong with you.”

Saying those words feels freeing in a way you haven’t expected, but when you finally lock eyes with him, his expression makes your heart crumble.

“You don’t believe that,” he tries, his voice low, like he’s willing you to agree.

“I do,” you admit, tired, desperate. “You could have anyone in this room. Anyone, Jungkook. Why… why me?”

He stares at you for a second, then, before you can even process what’s happening, he grabs your hand a bit tighter and pulls you right into the middle of the room.

“Jungkook, what are you—”

You don’t get to finish.

Jungkook cups your face, tilts your chin up, and kisses you.

It’s not a quick kiss, either. It’s a kiss that makes people stop and stare. A kiss that says, in no uncertain terms, that you’re his.

When he pulls back, you realise the room has gone quiet, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to care. His hands are still on your face, his thumbs brushing your dusted cheeks as he looks at you with his loving boba eyes.

“Does that answer your question?”

You can’t think, let alone speak, so you just nod.

“Good,” he nods right back, his lips twitching into a smile. “Because I don’t want anyone else. I never have, and I never will. You’re it for me, alright? So stop thinking you’re not enough, because you are. You’re more than enough.”

Silver lines your lashes, but you manage to laugh, shaky as it is. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, leaning in to kiss your lips right again, “you bring it out of me.”

And for the first time all night, you let yourself believe it.

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

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[wholoveseggs]

Hi love,, how about elijah and reader have recently broken up and ready is exploring other options but elijah is still madly in love and gets super jealous? I’m thinking super rough with a touch of angst but mostly anger and jealousy?! (also a lot of kinks) ⋆˚✿˖°

Madness

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

You bring a date to the Mikaelson party, specifically to attract the attention of your estranged husband. The plan backfires; he's not the type to let you go so easily and makes sure to remind you that no one will ever take his place.

♡♡ Thanks for the request @spideysbabe & @ashloring! I love writing about Elijah's wild side ♡♡

6.4k words - Warnings: smut, oral sex, dom!Elijah, angry sex, rough sex, biting, blood drinking, spanking, jealousy, rim job (f!receiving), anal sex, riding, Elijah being possessive, lots of praise and a little degradation.

You probably shouldn't have brought a date to a Mikaelson party, but considering how you and Elijah ended things, you saw no problem with it. Was it petty? Yes. Was it immature? Also yes. Were you feeling a bit vindicated when you walked in the door and saw the look on Elijah's face? Absolutely.

You found the hottest guy possible on tinder, the kind with zero brains and all brawn. He was the perfect rebound, the type with an inability to commit to anyone, let alone you, but that's not what you wanted from him anyway. All you wanted was to make your ex jealous, and judging by the glare he shot at your date, it was working.

To the undiscerning eye, Elijah appeared to be the picture of composure, greeting the guests in one of his favorite suits. But you knew him better than that, and you could see the twitch in his jaw, the slight tension in his shoulders. And judging by the way he was avoiding your gaze, he was pissed.

When he was pissed, specifically at you, he would usually get you alone and give you a proper dressing down, and it always turned you on, a lot. The first time you'd fucked after a fight, it had taken you both by surprise. His usual gentle nature had given way to a possessiveness that made you see stars, and ever since, you'd been chasing the feeling.

You didn't really have a plan, a part of you wanted to do the healthy thing and move on, but there was another part of you, a part that was addicted to Elijah,that just wanted him back, it had been that way for so long you could barely remember a time before him. You were still mad at him, though, so you decided the best thing to do would be to try to make him jealous.

Your date wasn't going to last past tonight, you knew that, but he was the perfect prop for your little game. You knew Elijah would find you, you just needed to set the stage, so you pulled the big dumb beefcake to the dance floor.

He was a terrible dancer, but you didn't care, it wasn't about him. You already caught him flirting with several other women in the short amount of time you'd been here, but you couldn't be bothered. As long as he showed up on your arm, and looked hot while doing it, that's all that mattered.

"That asshole in the suit has been staring at us this whole time, and he doesn't seem too happy," your date said, trying to whisper, but it came out much too loud. You'd chosen him specifically because of that, you liked the way people looked at the two of you.

"Don't worry about him," you replied, pressing yourself against his body a little closer. "He's an ex. A controlling ex."

"He looks a little old for you, what is he like? 35?" Your date asked, looking directly at Elijah. 

You stifled a laugh, "close enough, I guess." 

"How long were you together? He's still giving me death eyes," he whispered, not subtly.

"A while," you shrugged, "but that doesn't matter anymore." You leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "I'm yours for the night."

You'd hoped he'd get the hint, but apparently it took a lot of hints for him to understand that you were looking for sex, and not anything else.

"Why'd you break up? He's obviously still hung up on you." The music changed, and he was still talking. "Did he cheat on you? I know a lot of guys who do that."

"No, nothing like that," you answered, your annoyance growing, "he's just a selfish asshole who likes to masquerade about his morals." You weren't entirely lying, you were pretty sure Elijah's ego was the driving force behind his recent decisions. "Plus he has a tiny cock," you added, for good measure.

Your date laughed, and you had to laugh along, you could feel Elijah's glaze burning into you. You glanced his way and his eyes met yours, and you had to resist the urge to blush under his gaze. His eyebrows were raised, a twinkle of amusement and anger in his eyes. You could practically hear him telling you that wasn't funny, that you were acting like a child.

Elijah always hated when you acted out. It was like he wanted you to be some sort of prim and proper lady, which you were for the most part. But every now and then, you felt the urge to be bad, and you enjoyed pushing his buttons.

"Get me a drink?" You asked your date, batting your eyelashes and giving him a wide smile.

"Of course," he replied, before heading off to the bar.

You went to a nearby table and leaned against it, trying to appear casual. You felt Elijah's presence behind you, and your stomach twisted in anticipation.

"Do you think I don't know what you're doing?" He asked, not bothering with pleasantries.

"Whatever do you mean?" You asked, pretending to be coy.

"This boy isn't going to last past tonight, so why did you invite him here?" He asked, leaning forward, his lips almost touching your ear.

"I don't know, I thought he might be fun," you shrugged, playing innocent. "I didn't realize I wasn't allowed to date other people," you added, knowing it would infuriate him.

"You are allowed to do whatever you want, but there will always be consequences," he replied, his voice low. "And your boy is getting a bit too friendly with my sister, don't you think?"

You glanced over, and sure enough, your date was chatting up Rebekah. Poor guy had no idea that Rebekah could eat him alive.

"I think Rebekah can handle herself," you said, looking away.

"You're not upset? You don't seem particularly attached to him," he asked, his fingers lightly brushing against your elbow.

"Worried that someone else has claimed my heart?" You asked, turning around to face him, a teasing smile on your lips.

"No, because I know it will always belong to me," he replied, a smirk on his face, a knowing look in his eyes. He always knew how to disarm you, and piss you off.

"I'm not yours, I think I made that very fucking clear," you snapped, your smile fading. The pain of your breakup was still fresh, and his arrogant attitude only fueled the fire.

"We both know that's not true," he said, stepping closer. "Even if we're not together, you're still mine."

"You are such an arrogant prick," you huffed, trying not to show how much his words affected you. You wanted to hate him, and sometimes you could, but in moments like this, your feelings for him overwhelmed you.

"If you think insulting me will erase how you feel for me, then you are deluded," he scoffed, before grabbing the back of your head, forcing you to meet his gaze.

He paused for a moment, taking in the fire in your eyes, the defiance that turned him on. He loved the struggle, it always led to the sweetest surrender with you.

"Did he fuck you yet?" He asked, his lips dangerously close to yours.

"That's none of your business," you snapped, pulling your head out of his grip.

Your date returned with the drinks before you could say anything, placing one in your hands.

"Here, honey. I got you a dirty martini," he said, before glancing at Elijah. "Get your own girl, mate, this one's mine," he added, wrapping an arm around your waist.

The blood boiled in Elijah's veins and he resisted the urge to grab this stupid boy by his head and slam it onto the table. Instead he gave him a deadly glare, smiling when the poor fool flinched slightly.

"You are aware that you are in my home with your arm around my wife," he said, his voice deceptively calm. He could feel you watching him, waiting for his reaction, and he was determined not to give you the satisfaction. Not yet, anyway. 

"Your wife?" The boy sputtered, loosening his grip on you. "I didn't realize...I..."

You rolled your eyes, annoyed that he was letting Elijah intimidate him. You see Elijah's self-satisfied grin and it pisses you off.

"Don't mind him," you said, patting your date's chest. "He's just a control freak who's a bit threatened by younger men." You looked up at him, giving him a teasing smile. You knew you were poking the bear, but you couldn't help it, Elijah was making you feel things, and you were determined not to let him win.

Elijah leaned in close, his pupils dilating as he compelled him. "Sit and be quiet," he commanded, and the boy obeyed without question.

"What did you do that for?" You hissed, slapping him on the shoulder. "He didn't do anything to deserve that." The truth was, he wasn't doing much for you, but he didn't need to know that.

"There, now we can continue our conversation," Elijah said, ignoring your protest. "Now, answer my question. Did you fuck him yet?" He asked, his tone serious. His hand was resting on your hip, his grip firm. He knew exactly what he was doing, and it was driving you crazy.

"You didn't have to do that," you said, trying to remain unaffected by the whole exchange.

"It was either that or kill him," he shrugged.

"Well, now you're being a bit dramatic," you scoffed. You were determined to maintain the upper hand, despite the fact that he was getting under your skin. "He's an idiot, but he didn't deserve to die."

Rebekah had noticed the two of you standing there, and she headed over. She knew about your recent fight, and the reason for it. She also knew that the two of you were a disaster when it came to communicating, so she did what she did best and interfered. 

"Well, well, what is this?" She asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Just a friendly conversation, dear sister," Elijah replied, his voice tight.

Rebekah looked down at the dazed man sitting between them, and then back up to the two of you. "Doesn't seem very friendly."

"Your brother is a possessive asshole, who thinks he owns me," you said, glaring at him. 

"Your sister in law is acting like a child, trying to provoke me," Elijah replied, matching your glare.

Rebekah looked back and forth between the two of you, before shaking her head. "You two are exhausting," she sighed, "I think it's time for your date to leave, fix him, and send him home," she added, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Elijah sighed and looked down at your date, "stand up," he commanded, watching as the man did as he was told. "You will leave and forget that my wife even exists," 

"Elijah! You can't make someone forget me!" You said, outraged. Your plan was backfiring. You were supposed to piss him off and make him jealous, not the other way around. 

Before Elijah could respond Rebekah grabbed the both of you by the arm and led you upstairs, into an empty bedroom.

"The two of you are being ridiculous. Acting like children and making a scene. This party was supposed to be a nice, relaxing evening. We are not in a fucking reality show," she scolded, her face turning red with anger. "Now, you are going to work this out, so I don't have to witness this bullshit anymore."

She slammed the door before either of you could respond. You turned to look at Elijah, and for a moment, the two of you were silent, the air filled with tension.

"Y/n," Elijah started, reaching out for your hand, but you pulled it away.

"I'm not doing this with you right now," you replied, moving towards the door, but Elijah blocked your way.

"Move," you ordered, glaring at him.

"No, not until you talk to me," he said, his jaw clenching.

"Or what? You'll compel me to stay?" You scoffed.

Elijah's expression changed to anger, taking a step forward and backing you up against the wall.

"You know that I would never do that," he growled, his voice low.

"You compelled my date, Elijah, and that was pretty low, even for you," you retorted, your hands coming up to push on his chest.

"That man was an absolute bore," he responded, a slight grin on his face.

"That doesn't make what you did okay, Elijah!" You shouted, frustration bubbling inside you.

"Don't pretend like you care, this isn't about him," he laughed. He knew what you were trying to do, and you hated that. "You brought him here because you want to provoke me," he continued, "you want to punish me."

"Maybe," you sighed, looking away, the heat between the two of you simmering. "Look, we just keep having the same fight," you finally said after a moment, still refusing to make eye contact. "We're never going to agree on this."

"We've overcome much worse in our time together," he countered, reaching out to cup your cheek, turning your head back towards him. "We are meant to be together. I know it, and you know it.

"Then why do you keep doing this to me, to us?" You whispered, barely audible. "You let Klaus use you over and over again, and it always ends badly. Why can't you just be satisfied with what we have?" You were trying hard not to cry, your emotions a messy jumble of pain, love and anger.

"My brother can be very persuasive, he's had over a thousand years to work on that," he explained, his thumb wiping away a tear that had slipped out. "He needs someone to believe in him, to fight for him, and it seems no one other than me is capable of that, or wants to even try."

You had heard this all before, the endless excuses, the justifications. "Don't you think its time he figured his own shit out and stop using you for it?" You snapped, losing your patience again. "He treats you like a means to an end, Elijah, and that has to hurt. I see how it hurts you, and it pains me to see you like this."

"What you are doing, fucking some nameless wretch just to piss me off, that hurts far more than Klaus," Elijah growled, his face inches from yours.

You opened your mouth to argue, but his lips crashed down onto yours, stealing your breath from you. You tried to resist him, but it was impossible. His kiss was intoxicating and you melted against him. Your hands tangled in his hair as you tugged him closer. He groaned and you pulled away, pushing against his chest, hard. He stumbled back a bit, a look of surprise on his face. He blinked, confused and you moved toward the door once again. 

He grabbed your wrist, stopping you and pulling you to him. His lips were on yours in an instant, claiming you, dominating you. There was no point in fighting it, you were his, and you both knew it. 

 He moved to your throat and your head tipped back as he gently sucked and nipped at the delicate skin there. A small moan escaped your lips and your knees felt weak, a wet heat spreading between your thighs.

Your free hand wrapped in his tie and pulled him back to your lips. The kiss was raw and needy, and it awakened a fierce hunger inside both of you. Elijah let go of your hand and roughly grabbed your hips, lifting you up, slamming you into the wall. The force knocked the wind out of you but it wasn't enough to make you stop.

"Eli," you said with a bit more urgency, knowing that neither of you could keep it up much longer before you took things much, much further. "I - I can't, we shouldn't..." You tried to argue, but your body was betraying you, and his touches were setting your skin aflame.

Elijah released your hand and tugged at the hem of your dress, pulling it up to your hip. His hand dipped between your thighs, finding the soft, soaked lace of your underwear, a smirk spreading across his face.

"Liar," he whispered into your ear.

It wasn't like you had no control. If you wanted him to stop, all you had to do is say no and you knew Elijah would, but that's not what you really wanted. All your anger and frustration was dissolving into pure lust.

Elijah moved your panties aside, gently stroking his fingertips along your wet slit, slowly dragging the pad of his middle finger around your clit before dipping into your core. He watched the desire on your face as he pushed two fingers inside you and his eyes darkened at how wet you were for him.

"You're such a greedy little thing," he groaned into your ear, pumping his fingers deeper, "always so wet for me."

His fingers pumped faster and harder, his mouth finding yours, muffling your moans. When his thumb started massaging your clit, that was all it took. You shuddered as an orgasm rolled through you and you clutched at his shoulders to stay upright.

Elijah could feel you tremble and shake beneath him as waves of ecstasy washed over you. He chuckled softly, slowly withdrawing his fingers from your cunt. He slid the digits into your mouth, making you gag as they touched the back of your throat. You could taste the tang of your juices on them.

Elijah removed his fingers and you inhaled deeply, swallowing hard to clear the tickling in your throat.

"So beautiful when you come undone," he muttered, bringing you even closer, crushing you into his body. "I've missed hearing my name tumble from those sinful lips of yours."

You felt the blush creep into your cheeks and you buried your head into his neck.

"Elijah, this isn't us getting back together," you breathed into him. "This is sex," you clarified, even as your heart tightened in your chest. "Can you live with that?"

You could feel his smile on his lips.

"Can you?" he shot back.

His hand was resting on the curve of your bottom and he suddenly gripped it, his nails digging into your flesh. His fangs grazed the sensitive skin of your neck before sinking into your vein, and the sting was the best type of pleasure.

A small cry escaped your lips. With each pull of blood he was drinking more, sucking deeper, making it harder to breathe. You grabbed his biceps, clinging to him, the mix of intense pleasure and pain muddling your thoughts.

Your eyes fluttered closed as he finished drinking his fill and began licking the wound, a gentle groan escaping his lips.

"You've been mine for eight hundred years, do you think I would just give you up so easily?" He whispered, his breath tickling your neck. "If all we have to settle for is sex, then I will take it."

He lifted up his arm and offered you his wrist, without a second thought you sank your fangs into him, a rich taste filling your mouth. You drank deeply from his veins, and he held you close, watching your eyes darken and veins ripple around them. 

He smiled and pushed your hair behind your ears, running his thumbs over your cheekbones. You wanted him badly, and as your gaze focused on him, a thrill went through your body. His hair was disheveled, his lips slick with the remnants of your blood, his eyes dark with arousal. He looked dangerous and sexy and so incredibly delicious. You needed more of him.

He set you down, letting your feet touch the floor, his hand tangled in your hair. Your gaze dropped to the erection straining against his tailored slacks. You knew exactly what he wanted you to do, but even when he was this worked up, he would never ask, always the gentleman.

You didn't want the gentleman though, it reminded you too much of the love the two of you once shared. No, tonight you wanted the possessive, rough, jealous vampire. The one he hid behind his red door and only let you see. You liked when he was ruthless.

You sank to your knees before him and he loosened his hold on your hair. With one hand, you grabbed his hip, while your other hand deftly unbuttoned his slacks. As you lowered the zipper, your breath brushed over the straining silk boxers, and you could hear him let out a soft growl.

You paused before freeing his cock, leaning in, placing a light kiss on the hard fabric and felt his muscles go tight. You were going to tease him, never quite giving him what he wanted, until he took charge. You needed that rough touch, the kind that could shatter the windows and break bones. The kind of touch you secretly longed for.

You pulled his boxer briefs down just a little, running the pad of your thumb down the underside of his length, before blowing cool air over him and making him twitch. Keeping your eyes on him, you leaned forward again, this time letting your tongue lick across the tip, cleaning his pre-cum from it.

His hands were in your hair, more forcefully now. You continued the teasing, until his grip was painfully tight, you could see the gentleman leaving him. It excited you more than you ever wanted to admit, even to yourself. You knew it wouldn't be much longer before he was ruining you.

Taking his thick girth into your hand, you moved your tongue to swirl around the tip. This time his response was not so reserved, a low, deep sound emitting from his chest.

You sucked lightly on the head, hollowing your cheeks and slowly stroking him in time with your movements. You purposefully kept him from feeling the full effect of your mouth. He was losing the battle over his restraint.

One of his hands cupped your chin, making you look up at him. There was a wild look in his eyes, his breathing ragged. He was trying not to let you push him, he wanted to have slow, passionate sex, make you want to come home and be with him again.

But tonight was not the night for that.

You fought your gaze, fluttering your lashes at him coyly. You saw it on his face, a war being waged. Only you could do this to him, undo his defenses, strip him bare.

"You wish to be treated like a whore," he said quietly, his words sounding almost bitter, though his voice had a strange timbre to it, a hint of excitement.

You tried to nod, your mouth still full of his cock, and his grip on your hair tightened, keeping you in place. He sighed, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone, an odd tenderness.

"Whatever my love wants," he murmured, sounding as if it hurt to say those words. He shoved himself deeper, not stopping when you started to cough, drool slipping down the corners of your mouth. He was so big, his size always overwhelmed you and made tears prickle your eyes.

You worked to breathe, knowing he was not going to be gentle this time. One of his hands left you and pressed into the wall, anchoring himself as he started to fuck your face with a bruising pace.

"Is this how you want to be treated? Letting me fuck your throat raw," Elijah hissed, his cock hitting the back of your throat and you gagged, saliva spilling over and down your chin. "I guess I don't have to hear your snide remarks now, do I?"

You didn't know what you expected, but this was exactly what you had been hoping for. He pulled on your hair hard, pressed your face into his hip, the hairs there making you twitch and your nostrils burn. Your hands gripped his thighs, trying to push him back as you struggled to breathe. You could only make rasping noises, your eyes tearing up, droplets pooling before they spilled.

He pulled you off, allowing you to breathe. Your chest was heaving, a long string of saliva hanging between his cock and your mouth. You kept his eye contact, your lips swollen and slick.

"Good," he murmured. "I'm glad you can finally understand that no other man will ever own you the way I do."

"You don't own me," you rasped out and the fire in his gaze burned.

The words were barely out of your mouth when he threw you onto the bed, the force making your head spin. He tore at the top of your dress, sending bits of fabric flying everywhere. You lay there panting, his eyes hungrily devouring every inch of your half naked form.

"Spread your legs," he commanded, not moving towards the bed, watching intently, waiting for you to comply.

"No," you responded, holding his stare, defiance flashing in your eyes.

His shirt was missing several buttons now, torn open to reveal the toned planes of his stomach and chest. In an instant he was on the bed, his hands grabbing your hips and pulling you underneath him. A slight grin playing on his lips.

"Do you think I don't see what game you are playing? If you want the monster, you've got him, darling," he whispered before capturing your mouth in a rough kiss.

His hands reached up, taking the cups of your bra down. When his fingers closed over your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh roughly, you couldn't contain your gasping cry, his thumbs pinching your nipples painfully.

"Tell me, did your little date fuck you like I do?" He growled against your chest.

You whimpered, twisting in his grasp, but his strength was no match for you, you could already see it in the flexing of his muscles. He bit down hard on your nipple, the shock of pain making you choke. His mouth was soft and warm, his tongue swiping over the hardened peak soothingly, but his teeth held on tightly, biting at your sensitive skin.

"Answer me," Elijah demanded, raising his head to lock his gaze with yours.

"E-e-e-e," you stammered, struggling to speak as his hands moved to your hair, roughly twisting the strands together and pulling, tugging your head back.

"E-e-e-e?" He mocked, kissing a trail over the curve of your jaw, ending at your lips, teasing the flesh with his teeth.

"Fuck you," you breathed, anger spiking through the lust clouding your mind.

He flipped you over abruptly, slapping your ass. You struggled to get away, but his hands were pressed into your back, not allowing you to move.

"Did he," another smack landed on your bare skin and the stinging ache made you gasp.

"Fuck you?" Two more blows, this time to your opposite cheek and you clenched the bed sheets tightly.

He pushed your panties down, grabbing your hips and tilting your bottom towards him, spreading your legs, revealing your wet core. You moaned, the need growing and making your toes curl, desperate to be taken.

"Hmm," he mused, tracing his thumb down the seam of your pussy. You moaned into the covers, your head burrowed between your arms, your hands making fists in the sheet. He parted your swollen lower lips and let out a shaky breath when your arousal coated the pads of his digits. He moves his thumb to your ass, teasing your opening and you feel more heat spreading across your cheeks as you squirm in protest, whimpering.

He chucked, slapping your left butt cheek playfully. "You've no right to blush," he mused, leaning down and running the tip of his tongue along the crack, before blowing a small puff of cool air on you and the tickling sensation sent shivers down your spine.

"I bet he couldn't satisfy you the way I do. Even as he tried ...you were thinking of me."

You froze, caught off guard, and then your teeth were clenched and you tried to break from his grasp again. He was being such a damn cocky asshole, always believing himself superior. Your pride bristled under his comments, anger starting to well within. You began to protest and fight when suddenly he pressed his thumb against your puckered entrance, the digit sinking into the knuckle, making you mewl into the mattress.

"Don't..." your voice trailed off, losing your thoughts as your hips rocked trying to grind yourself against his hand.

"I will use you however I see fit," he said with a chuckle, biting into the flesh of your ass. "Don't pretend you don't like the depravity."

His words were spoken so low, so ragged. It was like his entire demeanor had changed, the door cracked open and the monster was breaking through. He roughly spread the globe of your ass with his free hand, and ran his tongue along the seam of your hole before flicking his tongue against the pucker. He continued teasing your rim, making it even more slippery with his spit and you relaxed into his touch.

He lined the tip of his cock with your ass, pressing lightly against it and your nails raked across the sheets, gasping as he moved slightly inside. You arched and wiggled your butt trying to move, make him work for this, even though your body craved everything he offered. He grabbed your wrists and forced your arms above your head, holding them there. You heard his heavy breathing as he thrust his hips forward, his cock sliding past the ring of muscles and sinking into your depths.

 Your face was pressed into the pillow, and you couldn't contain the lewd groaning escaping from your lips when he sunk his cock into your ass and stretched you.

"Too much...ahhh," you mewled, turning your head to take a large gulp of air, the feeling was too much as he slowly rocked into your body. You could barely catch your breath. He wasn't even fully inside.

"no, don't, too much; none of those sound like our safe word," Elijah taunted, his lips hovering over your ear, his words coming out in short panted breaths. He pulled out before plunging deeper, you could hear him sucking in air through his gritted teeth, struggling to hold back and enjoy the torturous pace.

The sweet ache of having him there, the burn as your body struggled to adjust, made your head swim. You felt light headed, overwhelmed. He chuckled and began rocking slowly, the soft roll of his hips letting you feel every inch. His strokes were leisurely, no rushing, drawing out the torment. His fingertips traced down your spine, his palm rubbing a slow circle on your back, soothing the tension.

"Such a good girl," he purred, "taking everything I have to give you."

The pace of his strokes increased, becoming hard and relentless, shoving you into the bed. You bit down into the mattress trying to stifle your sounds as the mix of pleasure and pain became so intense you could only scream.

Suddenly, his hands were in your hair again. He tugged you back harshly, pulling you upright, your back now flush with his front, his cock pistoning into your ass so hard your teeth nearly rattled.

"Let them hear," Elijah whispered into your ear. "Tell everyone here who fucks you best."

His name tumbled out of your lips over and over as the pressure built, tears rolling down your cheeks. You were babbling his name, half sentences, moans, a bunch of nonsense. He was forcing another orgasm to the surface.

Just before you tumbled over the edge, he bit down into your neck and everything turned bright white and sparks flared behind your eyelids. When he stopped drinking your blood, he pushed you back down and pulled out.

You lay there trying to catch your breath before he sat you up, scooting you closer to the edge of the bed, draping your legs over his shoulders. His cock was in your pussy before you could even inhale and then you were screaming his name again.

"Good girl," he groaned, as his hands gripped your hips, bruises blossoming in the dips of your flesh. He didn't slow this time, instead, he shoved the both of you backwards and fucked you into the bed. "Is this what you wanted? Hard, messy, raw." He lifted you and placed you on his lap.

Your head fell into the crook of his neck, too far gone to keep yourself up. His hands were on your ass, lifting you up and down. You clung to him, your fingers tangled in his hair, overwhelmed by the feeling of him using you, taking everything you had. He felt too good, even like this. He knew your body better than you did.

His hand hit your ass, a loud cracking noise filling the room.

"Don't go limp," he snarled, wrapping your hair around his fist and twisting, wrenching your head back and up so that your eyes were forced to meet his. His face was so close, your breath mixed with his.

Your breathing was rapid and shallow, your chest rising and falling. He took one of his hands and intertwined your fingers together, holding you closer. There were no words exchanged, but the intimacy of the gesture made you start to cry. It was too sweet. You tried to squirm out of his grasp and escape this sudden, unbidden vulnerability that seemed to be taking over, but he tightened his hold, moving your hips slowly on his lap. The man was insatiable.

"Don't run from it," he whispered, his lips capturing yours, kissing you with such gentleness, you ached. This was supposed to be rougher, you shouldn't have fallen apart like this, given in, surrendered yourself to this part of him. But now...you couldn't bring yourself to turn away.

A wave of ecstasy was washing over you, the kind of blissful peace you had never felt anywhere but here, wrapped in Elijah's arms, him buried deep in your core, the two of you close, lost in the heat of a passion and connection.

"I want you here with me," his mouth hovered near yours, his hips working harder and harder. "You are my home," his words made your heart squeeze tight and tears leaked from the corners of your eyes. It had been a very long time since he had said such tender words to you. But it was the most desperate pleas, the broken whines that followed that you couldn't ignore.

Your arms closed around him, clinging to him. As if he were your anchor in this chaos. Your mind swam, the lines blurring. This moment was just the two of you, lost in the sensations. A single moment in the midst of the madness. He held onto you tightly, whispering words of praise and affection. The tension built until it snapped, leaving the both of you spent and exhausted.

His mouth was on yours again, swallowing your gasps as you both came down. You lay there for a few moments, your eyes closed, the sound of your hearts pounding loudly in the quiet. You couldn't remember the last time sex was this good. You felt so content and boneless.

You were so lost in the haze of afterglow, it wasn't until Elijah was helping you into a bath that you realized how much time had passed. The warm water lapped against your skin as he settled you onto his lap, his hand trailing up and down your arm. You rested your head against his shoulder, enjoying the peaceful quiet, his warmth surrounding you, his scent, the feel of his bare skin under your fingertips, the brush of his chest hair.

You weren't sure what to say, didn't know how to break the silence. It was like the past few months had not existed. But the pain, the agony, the heartache were fresh. You weren't sure if you were ready to forgive him yet, but it was a step in the right direction.

"Will you stay?" Elijah asked, breaking the silence. His hand paused, fingers splayed on your thigh. He shifted you, turning you so you were facing him. His face was solemn, his brow furrowed and eyes serious. He brought his hand up, cupping your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone. He waited patiently for an answer. His expression hopeful, but guarded. The question was simple enough, but it meant so much more.

"I will stay," you whispered, leaning into his touch. You couldn't deny it, he was a part of you, you would always love him. No matter how much you hated him at times, there was no life without him. He was your home. It would take time to rebuild the trust between the two of you, but you had to believe it was possible.

A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. His head dipped forward, his forehead pressed against yours, the two of you breathing each other's air.

"Good, because I would have done a lot of things I am not proud of, to get you back," Elijah whispered, his thumb swiping along your bottom lip.

Your brow shot up, and a playful smile crossed your face, "What kind of things?" You teased.

Elijah let out a sigh and pulled you closer, "Kidnap, murder, perhaps a bit of torture." His mouth brushed over yours, a quick chaste kiss.

You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck, "Sounds healthy," you quipped.

"It was, I assure you." He replied, his lips brushing against yours. His tongue slid into your mouth, a deep, languid kiss, a slow exploration of every inch. He pulled back, his eyes boring into yours, the heat and intensity making your stomach flutter. "What is love, if not madness." He finished, his mouth crashing down on yours again.

You didn't have a response, all the air was sucked from your lungs and the ability to speak vanished. Instead, you simply kissed him, hoping he understood. That the two of you were a beautiful mess of chaos, but it worked. It was real. This was love.

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[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Oaths

My first Bruce Wayne fic! I kind of pictured this taking place in his early years as Batman. ~1k words

When Bruce Wayne watches his parents die at eight years old, he vows to never let someone die in front of him again. It's a useless vow, one he fails time and time again to keep.

Yet, he makes the same vow over and over. With every eye that loses its light in front of him, he swears to be better, stronger, faster, so he never fails anyone who needs ever again.

Bruce carries each loss on his shoulders. He repeats the list of names to himself in the quiet moments, in the darkness that lingers as he races from crime to crime.

Some names are strangers. Some are friends. But the heaviest ones to bear are always his family's.

If he had just been more, more than himself, more than just a man, maybe he'd be able to fall into a restful sleep for once. But Bruce Wayne is not more. He is a human among gods. A mortal surrounded by death and power and chaos.

So he throws himself into being better. Trains himself until his muscles and bones fail him. Throws every dime he's ever had into the newest technology.

His life would be nothing but an endless cycle of training, fighting, lavish parties, and lies, if not for you.

You. His childhood friend. The third musketeer to him and Harvey. The person who treats him like he never left Gotham.

You never ask questions. Never push him for more than he can give. Always seem to be willing to drop your plans in favor of him.

It's almost intoxicating, but he does his best to stuff his feelings down, to pretend that the sight of you dressed to the nines for one of his charity galas doesn't make his mouth go dry and his head spin.

(He doesn't think he can be blamed for not being a model playboy, philanthropist when you're occupying all his attention)

There's something about the way you smile, the way the room seems to focus on your very existence, that has him unable to cut you from his life. It's a weakness. One Batman cannot have. But it's one Bruce Wayne certainly does.

He skips meetings at Wayne Tower for you. (Not that he wanted to go anyway) He cuts back on what little sleep he gets just to see you for brunch.

He invites you as his guest to various events. (Sure, it's under the guise of publicity, driven by the fact that you're one of Gotham's shiniest stars, but you both know he prefers your company over anyone else)

What Bruce does not compromise on, though, is his nights. His days are for you, but his nights are for Gotham. He vows you will never be caught in the crossfire of his double life. This is the line, a barrier between him and The Bat. One he cannot and will not let you cross.

That barrier crumbles to dust when your name is listed among the hostages at your favorite club. His heart is his throat as he tears over Gothams rooftops, his focus entirely on getting to you.

It's not a vow on his lips, but a prayer. A prayer that you won't be a casualty in a territory war he caused by taking out Falcone just last week.

He feels stupid. Inexperienced. He knew the fallout would be difficult to manage, but never considered it would risk your life. He should have told you to stay home, should have given you a panic button, anything to keep you safe.

But he didn't. Didn't even have a plan for it. So, he has to save you. Has to make at least one vow true. Has to stop you from being a victim of his crusade.

He's efficient, when he cuts the power to the club, plunging it into darkness. He's brutal, more brutal than he's ever been when he takes out each hired hand like they're simple training dummies.

He breaks guns over heads, uses his untested, electrified batarangs. He drives himself to the limits to ensure every person's attention is entirely focused on him, and not the vulnerable hostages– on you.

He sends a message with each bone he breaks, each punch that knocks the air from their lungs, every kick that sends them flying into the wall.

It's a message they don't understand, but one that's clear as day to him, The Bat and Bruce Wayne are inexplicably linked, and at the center of it is you.

You. He nearly crashes at the sight of you, once the goons are left moaning and curled on the floor.

You're safe, a little worse for wear, hair mused, and clothes rumpled, but you're alive, and none of his scans pick up any major bleeding or life threats. He doesn't quite know what to do with the awed, mystified look in your eyes, but you're coherent, and that's what he cares about.

It's a bad idea, but Batman personally escorts the hostages (namely you) to the police and paramedics waiting outside. (And if he steps on a few fingers along the way, no one says a word about it)

He can't help himself, even as his better judgment tells him to leave, to take care of the other violence sure to be happening around the city. But it's you. His– his something.

He will not name it. He will not dare delude himself into more.

So he lingers in the shadows. Stays poised on the balls of his feet when you're finally allowed to leave the scene. He selfishly follows you every step of the way until you're safe in your own home. Only then does he let you out of his sight.

The line between Batman and Bruce Wayne only blurs more, when he shows up at your door in the morning with coffee and breakfast, claiming to have heard about the situation from the news.

He decides it hardly matters what is fact or not, because you hug him, express how grateful you are to see him.

The smile on your face makes him engrave another vow onto his soul, one he intends to keep. Bruce Wayne will cross lines to protect you. He will blur what is Batman and what is him to keep you safe. And you will never, ever know it.

[cryptidghostgirl]

Yo can you do a part 3 of Cover Up where y/n is introduced to the rest of the members of the hotel.

A/N Yes?? I love me some fluff like that. I also had another request for a part three to this series but yours came in first so I am going to make that one a part four and because you didn't super specify anything you wanted besides intros, I am gonna spin this to line up with that request. I hope that is okay.

Cover Up pt. 3 (Alastor x Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Previous Parts:

Cover Up (Human!Alastor x Human!Reader)

Cover Up pt. 2

Warnings: mentions of murder, Angel briefly flirts with you, jealous/minorly possessive Alastor. I think that is it, please correct me if I am wrong.

Word Count: 1,885

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Alastor Master List

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

Once Alastor had given Y/n the full tour, she had absolutely insisted that she be allowed to meet the rest of the guests. Alastor could never say no to her and so, he had taken her by the arm and walked her back into the lobby. It did not come as a surprise to him that in the short time they had been away from the hotel's central area, Charlie had managed to set up a welcome party for his darling wife. Y/n on the other hand, gasped in shock when everyone jumped out from behind the various couches.

"I literally... okay, I have no clue who any of you are but thank you? This is so sweet? I..."

Before Alastor could do a thing about it, Y/n was whisked away from his gentle grasp by Charlie. The demon Princess brought Y/n to the center of the room, Alastor watching from the sidelines with crossed arms. She seemed to happy, so absolutely filled to the brim with joy. As much as he wanted to take her away from the crowd, to be alone with her, he allowed the party to occur. Her joy had always been his priority, first and foremost. There would be time.

"Everyone!" Charlie excitedly announced, "This is Y/n! She is going to be our newest guest. Our cook? Our newest maybe guest who is going to work as a cook."

Y/n laughed lightly at Charlie's confused words. She took a slight step forward.

"Hi everyone." she waved with a soft smile.

"Oh she's good." Angel Dust muttered and Husk elbowed him in the stomach, catching the glare Alastor had shot the spider demon's way.

"Ow!" Angel exclaimed, rubbing the spot the cat demon had hit as he turned to him, "What was that for?"

Y/n chuckled a bit uneasily, looking over at Alastor and his wide smile. Vaggie quickly stepped in, breaking the tension she felt slowly building in the group.

"I'm Vaggie." she announced in an unfounded and unexpected display of friendship, "Charlie is my girlfriend, we run the hotel together."

Y/n lit up at her words, shaking the hand Vaggie held out to her enthusiastically.

"I didn't realize she had a partner in all this! And in afterlife too, I guess. That's so sweet!"

Vaggie smiled, letting out a light laugh as Charlie stepped up behind her, placing her hands lovingly on her girlfriend's shoulders.

"She is just the best." Charlie warmly noted as Y/n and Vaggie released their clasped hands, "I wouldn't have been able to come this far without her or any of the other sinners we have working with us."

"I thought everyone else here were just guests." Y/n mused aloud and Charlie shook her head.

"No, no! We tried doing it on our own in the beginning... but then Alastor showed up. He brought along some friends and, well, he's really been such a help. We are so grateful to have him and them on our team."

Y/n shot her husband a sidelong glance, smirking mishceviously.

"You really know how to work magic, princess." she hummed, "Getting Al to be a team player? I'm impressed."

"Oh, no!" Charlie frantically waved her hands, desperate that Y/n not get any wrong impressions, "We didn't pressure him or anything, he showed up of his own accord, actually."

"Really." Y/n laughed lightly as she fixed her gaze back on Charlie, "Well, I'd love to meet these alleged 'friends' of his he brought along."

"Of course!" Charlie exclaimed, smiling brightly once again as she stepped to the side with Vaggie, "Husk is our bartender and Nifty is our maid. She was our cook too but, I suppose you'll be taking care of that now."

Husk nodded his head in polite recognition of the introduction Charlie had given him. Nifty on the other hand, was incapable of such restraint and, her curiosity getting the better of her, rushed up to Y/n. In a split second, she had climbed the demoness' body like a ladder and was perched on her shoulder, messing with her hair.

"You smell nice." she hummed, smiling and Y/n's cheeks flushed slightly pink.

"Why, thank you. That is very sweet of you to say."

"Will you help me in the war against the bugs too?"

"Come on, Nift." Angel sighed before Y/n could respond as he walked over to the pair and grabbed the smaller demon, "Don't freak her out."

Nifty made grabby arms towards Y/n as Angel lifted her into the air and Y/n's smile only widened at the sight.

"No, please don't worry. You didn't freak me out, Nifty. I am actually looking forward to working with you, I like your enthusiasm." Y/n sent Nifty a wink and the little demon's smile grew as her feet found solid ground again.

She shot a look up at Angel, nodding her approval as Y/n fixed her gaze on the spider demon as well.

"And you are...?" she prompted and Angel immediately fell into character.

Stepping forward, he leaned down towards her, running a hand through his hair while resting one of his elbows on her shoulder.

"Angel Dust is the name, but you can call me whatever you want."

He expected her to be flustered, to at least blush a bit. He waited for her to take a step back or even to be teased or jabbed the way Husk did when he was like this, but nothing of the sort came. Instead, Y/n's eyes glinted in the light, narrowing with intended mischief.

"Oh yeah?" she asked, taking a step closer to him and batting her eyes oh so prettily.

"I... uh..." Angel stuttered, completely taken aback.

Y/n dissolved into a fit of laughter, hands clutching at her stomach as she doubled over.

"I'm sorry!" she wheezed, "I couldn't help myself. I'm actually taken."

"You are?" Angel asked, growing more confused as she straightened back up, wiping a stray tear from her eye.

In a split second, Alastor was behind Y/n, his claws wrapping around her shoulders.

"She is." he replied and though his voice was calm and even, it sent shivers down Angel's spine.

Angel took a step back, scratching the back of his head as he looked away in discomfort.

"Oh, uh, sorry. Didn't realize you and the strawberry pimp here were an item."

"Strawberry..." Y/n laughed again, craning her neck to look up at Alastor behind her back, "I am not letting you live that one down."

Angel smiled, regaining his composure and placing his hands on his hips.

"Oh yeah? You shoulda heard what that girl who was in here a few days ago called him. 'Tall dark and creepy' was it?"

"And what girl might that be?" Y/n asked after a moment, crossing her arms over her chest as she sidled her way out of Alastor's grip, turning to face him.

"Mimzy." Husk answered before Alastor could reply, "She's just some lowlife who always hangs around when she needs Alastor to take care of some trouble she's caused."

Y/n let out a gasp.

"Mimz is here?" she asked excitedly, bouncing on her toes.

"She's here, darling." Alastor replied, "But she is no longer welcome in the hotel. Caused quite a bit of trouble for us when she visited after all, can't have her ruining my newest project."

"Well, can we go visit her? I miss her so much!"

"You know her?" Charlie asked, her voice laced with confusion.

Y/n turned to face Charlie, nodding intently.

"Yeah, she introduced us actually."

"Introduced certainly is a word for it." Alastor admitted and Y/n chuckled.

"Back when we were alive, she used to throw these 'singles parties.' As it turned out, Al and I both were using them as a hunting ground so to speak. When we met, he offered to walk me home and then pulled a knife on me. Of course, I already had my gun trained on him so we found ourselves in a bit of a sticky situation. It was so romantic." Y/n wistfully replied.

"Uh, yeah." Angel laughed, "Romantic. That's the word."

"So you guys knew each other when you were alive?" Vaggie asked.

"Yeah, we did." Y/n nodded, "You guys can ask whatever but first, I think there is one more person I have yet to meet?"

She turned expectantly towards Sir Pentious who up until this point had been standing quietly near the back of the group. At the redirection of the rooms attention, he felt his cheeks grow warm.

"This, Y/n, is our other guest." Charlie announced, gesturing towards the snake demon with an outstretched hand.

"Sir Pentious." he bowed lightly, "It is an honor to meet a demon as... as stunning as yourself."

There was a heartbeat, a single tense moment of silence. Then Y/n laughed, waving him off cheerily.

"Oh you, what a charmer."

"So you guys knew each other when you were alive? And you're... you're together?" Angel cut in, drawing Y/n's attention back to him as he lead her by her arm over to the bar.

They sat down beside one another, Husk slipping behind the counter and pouring them each a drink.

"Yep." Y/n replied, downing her drink and meeting Angel's eyes.

"How?" he prompted after a moment and Y/n laughed.

By now the rest of the gang had brought themselves over to where the pair sat and were listening intently. Alastor stood near the edge of the group, all the seats near his beloved having been snatched up before he had the chance. He crossed his arms over his chest, his patience beginning to wear thin.

Nearly one hundred years. It had been a lifetime since they had seen one another and the brief tour of the hotel he had given Y/n earlier was not enough to satiate the rabid hunger in his chest. Still, for her, he tried.

"Well, it was a ruse at first. Just a partnership. I watched for cops and he provided me with the brute strength I lacked. We were actually in the middle of chasing down one of his victims when he finally asked me out."

"You were a killer?" Pentious asked, enthralled.

"I was." Y/n nodded, "Until Al died and I was under too much suspicion to do so anymore."

"So you..." Charlie trailed off, counting on her fingers in deep concentration.

"Have been married for a hundred years give or take? Yep."

"Wait, hold on!" Angel exclaimed, "Married?"

"Did Charlie not tell you anything? More importantly, did Al never talk about me?"

Y/n raised her eyebrows, meeting her husband's gaze across the crowd. Alastro looked away, nearly bashful under her persistent gaze. It was Husk's turn to step in now, taking a sip of his own drink as he leaned across the bar.

"Alastor has enjoyed keeping his secrets." he candidly stated, "But there were one or two times he drank a little too much and let your name slip."

Alastor glared at Husk and Y/n grinned at her husbands reaction to the revelation.

"Always the troublemaker, that one but, god, do I love him."

-----

Next Part -> coming soon

Tags:

@willowshadenox @i-love-jafar @elfyeet @reader3 @lazygirlfanfic0-0@kahlan170@wendyphan01203-blog @fairyv-ice @clarakainda @lunaramune @mcueveryday @luxky-aish @peterpankat @corvid007

[readwritealldayallnight]

Right With You (Part 3)

Captain John Price x Reader

wc: 6.7k words

(18+ MDNI) warnings/tags: fluff, mutual pining, tension, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, no protection (use protection kids!!), finishing inside🫣

You might have bitten off more than you could chew this time.

The sound of your heels clicking and clacking against the marble floor are completely drowned out by the din of the many hundreds of party goers mingling throughout the lavish ballroom, glasses clinking together in cheers, uproarious laughter bellowing out between songs being played by the live musicians. The outskirts of the room are difficult to maneuver without bumping into one another, as the centre of the space has been cleared for dancing.

You’ve been inside the target’s home for all of five minutes and you’re already feeling like you’re way in over your head. You know that amongst the elegantly dressed men and women, there are people here on your side, posing as guests but keeping an eye out for your safety. They’re connected to the comms, as are the approaching men of the 141, intent on finding their own way in as well.

You should really only be using your earpiece if you have no other choice, the whole point of this operation being to go as undetected as possible. If a scene can avoid being made altogether, all the better. You know better than anyone that if John the men hear you sounding anything other than confident over the line, they’ll be barging in, stealth be damned. Right now however, you’re almost wishing you could use it if only to get some help in spotting your target amongst all the moving faces.

Before either of you had even had the mansion in sight, John was directed to pull the car into the long queue of vehicles slowly making their way in the direction of the actual driveway. He’d sent you a glance in the rear view mirror, his eyes betraying the gears that were already beginning to turn in his mind. There might be more people in attendance tonight than expected.

“You’re trying to tell me all these people are also fashionably late?” You’d question, eyeing the long line of fancy cars in front of you, another one having already pulled in behind you. You were purposefully showing up several hours after the party began, the more guests there were there the easier you could blend in. And the later the party, the more intoxicated and distracted party goes would be. But this seemed like a lot of people to still be showing up considering the increasingly late hour.

“I think there might be a guest list we don’ know about.” He had gritted out, gripping the steering wheel with more force. “Or they’re lettin’ any fuckin’ muppet walk in-”

“John,” you’d cut him off. “It’s fine, this doesn’t change anything. Might just take me longer to spot him, but we’ll manage.”

“Gonna be harder for ‘em to keep sights on ya.”

“Well then when I need help I’ll be sure to wave a hand up in the air so they can see me.” You had attempted to joke, but you’d spotted the near imperceptible narrowing of his eyes in your direction. “John, they are there as a precaution. I won’t even need ‘em, you’ll see. What? Unless you don’t believe that I can seduce a man?”

Though he had only been moving at a snails pace with the cars still ahead of him, the mansion only then coming into view around the bend, John slammed on the breaks, lurching you forward ever so slightly at the sudden stop.

“Seducing is not your job tonight.” His knuckles had gone white he gripped the steering wheel so tight before he’d released his death grip, rubbing his eyes in exasperation. “You are a soldier, that’s the only job you’ll do tonight.”

“My superiors have asked me to sneak into a party, discreetly convince a man to follow me to a room alone together, and gave me this to wear as gear.” You emphasized, waving a hand down at your attire. He didn’t want to take the bait, but while you’re in that dress and close enough he can smell the sweet smell of your perfume, he’s a weaker man then he’d like to admit. He glanced down at your figure, admiring not of the first time tonight how utterly ravishing you appear.

You weren’t trying to complain, you yourself had agreed that the plan made sense, but you also wanted him to be realistic here. The expectation was that you were going to get the target alone, as subtly as possible, whatever means necessary. At the very least you were going to be flirting and flattering your ass off tonight.

Undoing your seatbelt, you’d sat on the edge of your seat, inching closer to John in the driver’s spot, leaning in until your painted lips were mere millimeters from his ear, a soft hand landing on his shoulder.

“Orders are orders, after all.” Your lips barely grazed the shell of his ear as you whispered to him, trying to disperse his worries with your teasing. “I would never want to disobey my Captain.”

He’d let out a long, deep sigh through his flared nostrils, the internal conflict within him raging on. You were right, as odd as the circumstances of this mission were, it was nothing more than exactly that, another mission. They’d each been tasked with a job to do, and he knew that as with everything you set your mind to, you’d blow them all away.

As a Captain, he had full confidence in you as a soldier. But as nothing more than simply a man, who so rarely in his life allowed himself to be selfish and do something for no reason other than his own self centred wishes, a man who could no longer deny the way he was falling madly, deeply, irrevocably in love with a woman, well that man despised tonight’s plan.

The extravagant front entry of the target’s home was now within sight, multiple footmen waiting by to open the doors to arriving vehicles, welcoming guests and taking names. John knew you didn’t have much longer now before he’d have to let you go.

One of his hands snuck up to reach for yours, still laying as a delicately as a butterfly perched on his shoulder. His fingers gave yours a squeeze, thumb gently stroking the soft skin of your inner wrist.

While the thought of anyone other than him having the privilege of seeing you dressed up to the nines, getting to chat you up, putting his hands on you all under the guise of a respectable dance, got his blood boiling, he could never, would never ask you to go against your job.

Not for him, not for anyone. You were more than capable and had earned your position on this team. He wasn’t going to allow his rose tinted glasses to cloud his judgement, not even when the animalistic, testosterone raging, possessive side of him was pleading for the opposite.

“Well then your Captain’s orders, my dear,” he says in a low voice, stretching your hand far enough to plant a kiss onto it, unable to help himself really. “Are to knock ‘em dead. Not literally though, we do have questions for ‘im.”

You offered him a genuine smile, hearing the playfulness returning to his tone. Begrudgingly releasing your hand from his hold, John steered the car directly in front of the door, the heavy tint of the windows concealing him from any prying eyes.

“Sooner I’m in, sooner I’m out.” You reassured him. “Maybe I’ll have time to save you a dance.” You added at the end, catching his eye on final time, returning his nod subtle nod in the mirror just as your door was opened for you. As the footman offered you his hand, helping you out of the car and shutting the door behind you, John kept is gaze trained on you, not driving away until he saw you disappear through the doors, already counting down the seconds until he had you with him again.

A fake name given at the door, slightly modified version of the guest list having been slipped into the security’s grip earlier that evening, and you were allowed into the party without a second glance. Getting in was never going to be the challenging part of this operation. The challenge now was in spotting your target amongst the crowd.

Having decided the ballroom would likely be the best place to start, seeing as this was where the most people seemed to be gathering, you slowly strolled through the swarms of dresses and suits, wondering to yourself just how many of these people were involved in illegal affairs, and how many were feigning ignorance to their hosts choice of career.

Plucking a drink off the tray of a passing waiter, you brought the glass to your lips, taking the opportunity to more carefully glance through the many unknown faces. You manage to hide your grimace when a scratching noise comes through your earpiece for a moment, before a familiar Manchester accent crackles instead.

“Bravo 7 to Rookie. We’re in.” Ghost informs you. “Second floor. East wing. Guest room by the library.”

“We’ll cover the west side. Aim at taking the office on that end.” You’re less subtle at covering up the small gasp that slips from your mouth at the sound of John’s voice coming through the line. Clearing your throat, you take a small sip of whatever liquid you’ve grabbed, spotting another strolling waiter, sauntering over to her.

“Good, thank you.” You say, returning your still nearly full glass to her, speaking more in response to the men chatting in your ear than to the confused looking woman, who still smiles politely and takes the drink from you.

Knowing that the 141 are inside now, you go over the blueprints again in your mind, picturing where they are, taking a deep breath to steel yourself as you continue your search. Continuously bumping elbows with everyone gathered on the edges on the ballroom, yours and many others heads turn when a large group of gathered men all burst into uproarious laughter. Scanning the faces of the well-dressed guests, you nearly do a double take, eyes landing on the face you’ve spent countless hours memorizing.

Your target is stood there, one arm holding onto his friends shoulder as he continues to laugh in the way only rich men with no problems can. He and his friends are evidently intoxicated, each with a drink in hand, if not two. The man stood directly in front of him is telling the apparently hilarious story, hands waving about as he animatedly gestures, alcohol sloshing out of his glass.

An idea comes to mind, and you see your opportunity present itself before you on a golden platter. Slipping through the crowd, you come around the other side, so that you’re walking in your target’s direction, in his line of sight. You purposefully slow down your gait, running a hand through your hair carelessly, eyes gazing about the room absentmindedly, you even slightly push your chest out, catching the man’s eye just as you come close to walking past his friend.

The drunk man continues to flail his arms and spill his drink carelessly, larger and larger spills landing on the marble floor. It looks purely accidental to anyone watching when you attempt to walk by him, his arm knocking you off balance, and your heeled foot slipping on his spilled alcohol. Luckily, someone catches you before you fall to the ground, a few small gasps ringing out front the people around you who notice your fall.

“You alright ma’am?” You look up at the man who caught you, wearing what appears to be an embarrassed smile when in actually is your attempt to conceal your satisfied smirk, glancing up at none other than your target.

“Oh! Well, suppose I am better now.” You murmur with a small giggle tacked on at the end just for show. Based off the way this man’s eyes have yet to meet your face, gazing down only at your chest, you’re thinking this whole plan is about to be a lot easier than anyone anticipated.

“Sound like she’s made contact.” You hear Soap’s accent ring out through the earpiece.

Oh, right. They get to listen in on your interaction with the target thanks to the open comm line on your end. Good, in the sense that they’ll know which direction you’re headed in and will be ready, not so good, in the sense that John is about to overhear every word of your faux flirting.

“You’ll have to excuse my friend,” he finally breaks eye contact with your cleavage and pulls you up to stand, noticeably keeping his touch on you. “We were just cutting him off for the night, in fact, but are you sure you’re alright?”

He’s got one hand on your waist, the other is holding onto you elbow to steady you. You open your mouth to politely insist again that you’re okay, when he interrupts.

“Please, allow me to get you a drink. The very least I can do.” He implores, hardly waiting for your reply before he begins to lead you by the arm, in search of said refreshment.

“I don’t believe we’ve met before.” You say to him, batting your eyelashes at him when he offers you a glance.

“Trust me darling, I would remember meeting someone like you.” He doesn’t even attempt to hide the way he scans you up and down, ogling every bit of skin that your dress reveals, leaving you feeling exposed, though you hide any trace of discomfort behind a flirtatious facade.

“Someone like me?” You question coyly.

Your new friend walks you into an adjoining room where a bartender is mixing drinks for the dozens of people milling about the space. Sliding up to the edge of the bar, he leans against the bar top and signals to the man working.

“Certainly you must know how, appetizing you look this evening.” Your face does not betray the way his words make you groan internally, fighting not to roll your eyes. The bartender approaches, and as your target is distracted for a moment, you glance at the new space, spotting a staircase leading to the second floor not far around the corner. With how easy everything has been thus far, you wonder if you’re pushing your luck by trying to expedite the process even further.

As the target turns his attention back to you, beginning to introduce himself, you bring a hand to your forehead, interrupting him.

“I’m sorry, I’m starting to feel a bit dizzy actually.” You say, shaking your head when he sets the drinks down and goes to pull out a bar stool for you. “You wouldn’t know of anywhere you could help me sit down, would you?” You slowly reach a hand out, to stroke his hand. “Somewhere you could help me lay down, maybe?”

You watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows harshly, eyes widening slightly in surprise at your suggestion, before quickly turning to excitement.

“Lucky for you ma’am, I’m good friends with our host tonight.” He snakes an arm around your waist, drinks long forgotten, and you’re relieved when you see he’s leading you towards the very staircase you were hoping he would take. “I know just the place.”

“Are we allowed to go upstairs?” You giggle obnoxiously, letting your men know that you and the target are on the move.

“Copy. Target’s headed for second level.” Ghost acknowledges over the line. As you come to the top of the staircase, blueprints sprawling through your head to picture where your teammates are currently placed, you realize that against your better odds, he doesn’t try to lead you towards either the east or west wing.

“Like I said princess, you’re in good hands.” Instead of leading you towards the 141, your prince charming is supposedly headed towards the washroom at the top of the landing, exactly in the middle ground where your team could not go, due to the handful of security guards patrolling the hallways. You’ve no doubt that in each of the rooms that the men were waiting for you in, there likely lay a few injured guards that had been tasked with watching those unfortunate quarters.

You knew your luck was going to run out eventually, but now you had to think fast and on your feet. Sliding out of the man’s grasp, you took a step away from him, tracing a finger along the bannister in a way you hoped came across as seductive.

“I don’t know. I feel like maybe I’ve been a bit too easy on you.” You wink for added emphasis that you’re trying to toy with him now. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Nor do I know yours.” He tried to challenge, raising a brow at your behaviour, though still slowly stalking towards you, not yet willing to let you go. “We do not need names to be friends, do we?”

“How do I know what kind of man you are, hm?” You question him, continuing your slow walk backwards, eyes scanning the room and you realize you’re slinking towards the west wing. Price and Gaz. They said they would be in the office in the west wing. You just have to get him there.

“I did help you just now, did I not? I believe I am a good man. Let me show you how good I can be.”

“And if I wasn’t looking for a good man? What then, hm?” He halts momentarily in his steps as he continues to follow you in what he believes is a game of playful banter, foreplay if he’s lucky. You’ve spotted a total of three guards so far, though none of them are very near this moment. Making up your mind, you steady yourself as you say, “What if I wanted someone who would chase me?”

Still keeping him in sight, you quicken your pace, hoping that he really will gave chase to you, allowing you to lead him like a fly to a trap.

“Whatever the lady wants.” He humours you, following you when you break into a sprint without hesitation, hoping your memory is doing you justice and the door you’re headed towards is indeed the one concealing one half of the 141. The sound of both your pairs of footsteps echoing down the corridor, you’re gripping the door handle the moment it’s within reach, turning to glance over your shoulder, seeing your target is only a few paces behind you.

You shove the door open with your shoulder, and just as you’d planned in all those briefings, you enter the room, grip never leaving the door, allowing the target to follow you in, and shut the door behind you, revealing the two large men who’d been hiding behind it, now with guns trained on the man before them. Before he even realizes what’s happening, Price has got him knocked out cold, hitting him with the blunt end of his weapon, letting his body crumple to the ground where he falls unconscious on the spot.

You’re thinking up a clever response to say about how easy this mission has been, before either of them can beat you to it, when your earpieces all buzz apiece.

“Alpha 5 to Bravo 6. Over.”

“Go for Bravo.” Price replies, pressing his finger to his ear, stepping over the unconscious target to come closer to you. Gaz has crouched down, examining the target, preparing to restrain him for transport back to base.

“Guards saw a woman get chased by a man on the second floor. They’ve sent someone to check it out, you’ve got one headed your way now. Less than 30 seconds.”

At those words, the three of you are glancing at each other, before Price is already acting.

“Garrick, help me get his jacket off then get him out of sight.” He orders his sergeant, who without question begins assisting the captain in removing the target’s suit jacket, before dragging the unconscious man towards the window they had apparently entered from. To your utter bewilderment, Price’s fingers then begin working speedily at his own tactical vest, pulling it over his head and off of himself, tossing it in Gaz’s direction.

“What are you doing?” You ask him, half wondering if he’s forgotten you can’t actually read his mind. He’s continuing to pull weapons off of himself until there’s nothing left, leaving them with Gaz.

“Guards saw two people walk in here, then two people will walk out.” He says, slipping the man’s jacket on over his shoulders. Price’s shoulders are without a doubt wider and bulkier, the sit being too small, but it’s not so bad that he looks outright odd. “Trust me here, love.” He asks of you, receiving a nod from your part instantly.

All in the blink of an eye, Gaz has tossed the equipment out the open window, and is carrying the unconscious target over his shoulder as he slips out that same window and vanishes out of sight. The door to the room is being tossed open, and John is grabbing you with a force you haven’t personally felt from him before. One of his large hands is in your hair, the other is grabbing the fat of your ass, and he pulls you flush against his own body, sealing his warm lips to yours in a kiss so passionate, so needy, it knocks the breath out of you.

“Oy!” The guard shouts at you two. “Fuck are you twos doing up here?”

“Sorry ‘bout that, mate.” John breaks the kiss, before he answers apologetically, holding a single hand up in peace, the other keeping its tight grip on your behind. “The missus got a little eager. We’ll get going, don’t mean to be any trouble.”

Playing the part of a couple nearly caught in the act, John takes ahold of your hand and keeps his head ducked as he quickly leads you towards the door. You squeak out your own bashful ‘Sorry!’ as you step past the man, following along with John in your feigned shame at being caught. Your mind was absolutely reeling with all the adrenaline of the last five minutes coursing through your veins, your captain holding you against his muscled body being at the top of your list.

“Now hold on just a minute-” the guard tries to shout after you both, taking notice of John’s unusual appearance compared to the other well dressed men walking about, but the pair of you are hurriedly making your way towards your escape.

“Stay with me now.” Price gave your hand a reassuring squeeze as he keeps a steady pace down the hall, headed for the staircase, intent on making a swift exit.

“Bravo 6 to Bravo 7. Slight change o’ plans. Garrick’s got our target. Help ‘em get to the rendezvous point and Rookie and I’ll meet you there.” John hurriedly mumbles under his breath, placing a steadying hand on the small of your back as you begin to descend the steps.

“Copy. Out here.” The Lieutenant replies diligently.

“Nicely done, Rookie. Think that’s record time.” You hear Soap’s playful tone come through the earpiece.

“We’re not clear yet, Sergeant. Stay alert.” Price tells him as you both land back on the bottom step. With the guards now on higher alert, one likely still hot on your heels, you need to blend back in with the crowd before sneaking your way towards the first convenient exit, still keen on avoiding drawing any further attention to yourselves. With all the confidence in the world, your captains steady hand leads you back through the bar and into the still crowded ballroom, musicians instruments playing with an much enthusiasm as they had before.

John’s keen eyes spot the handful of security patrolling the room with their gazes scanning the crowd. Turning to face you now, John brings your clasped hands up higher, placing your free hand on his shoulder before landing his own palm on the small of your waist.

“John, what are we-” Your words are cut off as you recognize he’s placed you both in the familiar position for a waltz, your eyes looking up into his own with questions unspoken.

“Follow my lead.” He whispers to you so softly that you nearly miss it with the sound of the music picking back up. You don’t even need to answer him before your body is instinctually doing just that, following his lead as he begins to softly move to the beat of the song.

Your eyes never break apart from one another, gazes locked in their own private choreographed moment as the captain smoothly dances with you from one end of the room to the other, going unnoticed amongst the swarms of other dancing couples. His hold on you is searing hot, sending sparks shooting though every nerve receptor he touches. He’s feeling just as affected by you, his heart hammering in his chest so strongly he’s certain you must be able to feel it against your own sternum.

Spinning you close enough to the edge of the ballroom that the front entry is once again in sight, John needs only cast a glance to the door for you to understand his message, gripping your clasped hands tighter together. You offer him a small smile and nod in agreement, letting him know that yes, you’ll follow him anywhere.

“You should be sleeping. Sun’ll be up soon.”

You’re holding a steaming cup of tea in hand, one hand on your hip with a look on your face that says ‘Really?’ pointed at your captain who has yet to leave his office since you’d all returned from the mission hours ago. You slowly approach his desk, your feet eternally thankful for the comfort of your boots over the heels you’d ripped off. In the time since you’ve returned to base, the target’s been secured, you were all dismissed for the night as well as the following day, considering it already was the early morning hours of the next day. You’d combed your hair out of his hair sprayed style, wiped all traces of makeup off your face, intent on following your captain’s orders and making your way to bed.

“I won’t even bother telling you the same. Both know you wouldn’t listen.” You set the mug down on his desk for him, your hand lingering along the surface of the wooden top.

“Thank you.” He smiles gratefully up at you from his seat, genuinely appreciative of your thoughtful gesture at this late hour. “Though, think I’ve heard the lads arguin’ once or twice ‘bout how you’re the only one I do listen to.” John’s smile widens as he notices the faint blush creeping along the apples of your cheeks.

“Well,” you playfully rolls your eyes at his comment, coming to step nearer to the broad man, turning slowly to present him with the back of your dress.“Help me out of this thing would you? So I can actually get some sleep.”

The black of your dress is open down to the middle of your back, where a short zipper begins. You don’t need any help with it, you’d been able to put it on without issue before the mission. However as you stood in your room, preparing to take off the garment, you couldn’t erase the image in your mind of John’s eyes landing on your figure as he hungrily took in your appearance. You couldn’t forget the feeling of his wide hands holding you against him, pressing every inch of his muscled physique to yours, lips desperate to chase the taste of your mouth.

Your heated thoughts brought you to the small kitchenette in search of a glass of water to cool yourself down, however as your eyes landed on the kettle, and your thoughts continued to swarm your head, you’d begun heating up your Captain’s tea and walking in direction of his office before you’d been able to convince yourself it wasn’t a good idea.

Now, peering over your shoulder to see John’s face as he takes in the expanse of exposed skin displayed before him, his breath catching in his throat, grip tightening on his pen in hand, you’re certain this was an excellent idea.

Taking a deep steadying breath through his flared nostrils, John’s eyes meet yours, a playful mischief hidden behind his gaze as you recognize that he’s just as well aware you can undo your dress without his help, without his hands to assist you, but still taking the bait you offer him. Part of John’s chest had swelled up with pride when you’d led the target to him and Gaz earlier tonight, even knowing that the odds had been 50/50 depending which direction the target went towards. He’d only been more than happy to oblige when you, the cunning little spider, lead her fly into the trap of her web, and broke the bastard’s nose as if you’d served him up on a platter.

He feels almost similar now, a bug being led into your sticky trap, watching you dangle the enticing bait in front of him that could lead to his ultimate demise, his unavoidable detriment. Though from the look in his eyes, it seems more likely that John is the one intent on devouring you whole tonight. His throat bobs as he swallows, spinning his chair to face you better, hands twitching for a moment before he brings them to trace the edge of the fabric where your dress meets your bare skin.

Your own breath comes out as a soft gasp as the feeling of his digits teasing along your back, the warmth emanating from his touch a thousand times hotter than the blood pooling in your face. You can feel his hot breath fan across your skin, just as his fingers bring themselves to grip your zipper firmly. Achingly slow, dragging the process out as if to torture you, John inches the zipper down at a pace only a hardened military man could maintain when face to face with more and more of your bare body appearing before his eyes.

The both of you are now holding your breaths as he finally drags the last of the zipper open, his fingers now grazing the top of your ass. You hear him let out a deep sigh, before his hands are sliding along the smooth material of your dress, the chair creaking beneath him as he comes to stand behind you. His hands tease along your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake as his digits skim higher and higher up your back until he reaches your shoulders.

You can feel every inch of him pressed up against you from behind, his body emanating heat like a furnace. But more noticeably, you can feel his rock hard member through his slacks pressing up against the swell of your ass.

“You know how proud you made me today, hm?” He asks softly, before pressing a kiss to your temple. You feel hardly in control when your eyes flutter shut, leaning back to put your full weight against him, letting him embrace you like this. He brings his mouth lower to kiss your reddened cheek, your neck, behind your ear. “Had the muppet in the palm of your hand soon as he laid eyes on ya.” His warm breath is fanning across your skin, rolling your neck to the side to allow him better access.

“And who could fuckin’ blame him?” He nearly growls, slipping one of the thin straps of your dress off your shoulder, allowing it to fall down your arm, his palm now coming to land on your exposed, bare waist, fingers spreading wide as he takes in your softness. Your eyes open as you feel a finger stroking your cheek, tilting your face to meet his, his shining blue orbs, glazed over in obvious desire, asking what he dare not speak out loud. You nod all too eagerly, telling him everything he needs to know.

John’s hand is sliding away from your cheek, fingers dancing across your shoulders as he gently tugs at the final strap holding your dress up, the tension that has been building and heating between the two of you for far too long now coming to a head. As the fabric falls from your figure and pools at your feet, leaving you bare before your captain, wearing nothing more but the necklace he’d put on you only so many hours earlier. John wastes no time in pulling your lips to his, curious hands exploring the expanse of your skin as you practically melt into his touch.

His large hands are squeezing your waist, your hips, one hand is reaching to grab ahold of your breast, fingers teasing your sensitive nipple. He hears you try to hold back a small moan, and he thinks you’re the sweetest thing in the world. Believing that you can hold back any of your delicious sounds from him. In the blink of an eye, John is turning you around, clearing everything off his desk in quick swoop of his arm, before lifting you up by your thighs and seating you atop his desk.

“Now, gorgeous,” he says almost sternly, putting on a faux captain voice, though he’s certainly never sounded quite so lustful over comms before. “That’s the first and the last time that I ever want to hear you try and keep a single one of your pretty little noises from me. Understood?”

You’re nearly panting you’re breathing so hard, watching as John pulls his chair up and takes a seat in front of you, his hands coming to pull your legs further apart until his shoulders are between them your thighs, your face going beet red as his own head is merely inches from your bare, completely soaked folds. In reality, you had been dripping down your thighs since you’d walked into his office with nothing underneath your dress.

“Seeing as you did such a good job tonight however,” he adds, fingers massaging the soft skin beneath his touch. “and considering you never even gave the bastard a chance to ask you to dance,” his gaze locks with yours at that, his eyes communicating the sentiment behind his words. “Lettin’ your old captain steal a one from ya,” his mouth comes to plant a kiss on your thigh, then another, and another, working closer to your centre. “Suppose you deserve a reward.”

Your moan would be embarrassing if the feeling of his warm lips sucking your clit wasn’t so heavenly. He spreads you open, tongue working at your sensitive bud with a fervour only a starving man could match. He is starved for you, has been since he’s met you and now that he’s tasting you, he doesn’t know how he’s survived without it. He can’t decide which is sweeter, your taste or the noises you make, so responsive to his touch, as if you were an instrument he’d memorized the most beautiful melodies to.

As his tongue continues to work feverishly at your nub, one of his fingers comes to tease your throbbing hole. His digit slowly slips in until he reaches his knuckle, slipping back out, wasting no time before slipping in a second, earning a lustful gasp from above him. Your hands are threaded in his hair, trying not to rock against him, but quickly losing grip of your self control, as he brings you closer and closer to that peak.

His two fingers begin to curl inside you, searching for that soft, sweet spot that has you seeing stars when he reaches it with his long, skilled digits. Your thighs are beginning to shake, one of his hands coming to steady you, but never dropping his pace, as his tongue and fingers work in tandem to bring you to that crest.

“Come on sweetheart,” he mumbles into you, his voice barely reaching your ears over the sounds of your own pleasure. “Give it to me. I’ve got ya, cum for your captain. Give me a good one.” Before he’s reattaching his lips to your wet folds, attacking your clit with renewed vigour.

John clamps a hand over your mouth just in time to muffle your scream as you cum all over his hand and mouth, soaking his beard with your arousal, his movements never slowing down until you’re pushing his head away from you, unable to take any more of the intense pleasure having you seeing stars. The both of you are panting now, as he slips his hand away from your mouth and around to the back of your neck, standing to his full height before you. He’s memorizing the look on your face at this moment, the glazed expression over your features, eyes gazing longingly into his as though you’re the only two people on this base, maybe the world. Fuck, how he wishes he could give you the world.

He brings his lips to yours, caught up in his undeniable feelings for you, going much, much further than simple attraction. Yet he’s having a hard time thinking very hard about that, or anything at the moment, when you’re kissing him back with the same intensity, one of your hands sneaking down his torso, reaching for the front of his trousers.

John can’t help the deep groan that comes up his throat at the feeling of your hand wrapping around him through the fabric of his pants. All too eagerly, he’s fumbling with the buckle of his belt, never letting your lips separate from his. Practically ripping the belt out of its place, he tosses it aside, feeling your deft fingers quickly pulling at his zipper, glancing up to meet his eyes when your fingers creep along the edge of his boxers underneath.

He gives you a single, confident nod, torn between rolling his head back in pleasure and keeping his eyes locked on your every expression as you tug down his trousers and underwear together, freeing his aching cock. His member springs to life, precum beading at his red, swollen tip.

“John…” you murmur as you size up his cock, excited and equally concerned about his impressive length.

“I know love,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “We’ll make it fit.”

You spread your thighs wider, arms coming to wrap around John’s shoulders as he lines his cock up with your entrance, already groaning at the feeling of his head touching your warm, wet folds. The both of you gasp as he slips his tip inside you, foreheads pressed together, as one of his hands tenderly holds the back of your head, fingers threaded through your locks while the other wraps around your back to squeeze your hip, holding you close to him.

Inch by inch, John rolls his hips forward and back, taking his sweet, sweet time in discovering the bliss that is being inside of you, wrapped around you, simply being with you, until he’s filled you up entirely to his base, hairs at the base of his groin coming to rub against your already sensitive clit, creating a delicious friction that you know will have you finishing quickly already.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” he groans out, rolling his hips back, earning a pleased moan from your lips as he rocks forward again, filling you completely. “Gonna be the death of me.”

You haven’t a single functioning brain cell left to answer him, and he knows it, your continuously flowing arousal seeping down between where the two of you are joined, echoing sinful sounds throughout the small room. As if your moans wouldn’t be evidence enough as to what was happening in Captain Price’s office, should anyone walk by. Keeping a steady pace, the captain fucks you against his desk relentlessly, earning more and more of those very noises from your lips.

“Oh my god, John! Oh fuck! John!” Hearing you, John feels like he’s about to burst. He hasn’t cum in ages, and he’s been so hard for so long now, he doesn’t think he can hold back much longer. Not when he’s hearing you whimpering his name so sweetly, not when you feel as incredible as you do wrapped around him like this, squeezing him so tight. He’s pressing hot, open mouth kisses against your neck, your collarbone, any skin his lips can reach.

“Love,” John grits out through a clenched jaw, holding himself back as best he can as he continues to move with you, bodies rocking back and forth as if in their own choreographed dance. “Where can I- where do you want me to-”

“Inside!” You plead wrapping your legs tighter around his waist. “Inside John, please! I’m- oh fuck!” You say as he delivers another deep thrust. “On the pill. I’m on the pill.”

John needs no further permission, his cock continuing to hit that sweet, sensitive spot inside of you, that has your eyes rolling back in please. Just as his fingers reach between your two bodies to press against you throbbing clit, you moan out his name, reaching your blissful peak for the second time tonight, all at your Captain’s doing. John groans out, feeling himself begin to burst, holding his hips against yours.

“Fuck!” He shoots thick, hot ropes of his spend deep into you, his member twitching inside. “I got you love.” He talks you through both your cresting orgasms, grinding impossibly further into you, never letting go of the tight hold he has around you. “I’m with you, love. Right with you.”

Later on, as he walks you back to your room, insisting he has to see you make it there safely even though it’s technically become so ‘late’ that some of the early risers are awake by now, John asks:

“You did have panties on under the dress durin’ the mission though, right?”

If you’ve made it to the end of my first ever completed series, then thank you for making it this far!

I felt very bleh about the ‘mission’ part of writing this but hopefully my first ever attempt at legitimate smut made up for it!

This is the end of this little three part series, but I’ve got some more Price fics lined up for sure

I know I said it in the initial disclaimer but seriously y’all, wrap it before you tap it, fan fiction is fiction, pregnancy and STDs are real, use protection! (But like me, read all the filthy, filthy fics your heart desires)

-M 🫶🏻

[cakesunflower]

lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 10

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

“Are you sure you’re fine on your own?” Kie asks over the phone as Isla walks down the sidewalk at Chapel Hill. “I can catch the next ferry and meet you there.”

Isla snickers. “Why? You don’t wanna be Mom’s helper?” she asks teasingly.

Her sister scoffs. “She’s practically a bridezilla right now.” Kie pauses and Isla hears her mom’s voice in the background. “Mom said she emailed you the details of the number of desserts and stuff that need to be ordered. And for the decorations, she just wants you to get the flowers. Everything else she said we’ll get from here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Isla says, weaving past other pedestrians as she walks in the direction of her mom’s favorite bakery. “Do you want anything while I’m here?”

“No, I’m chill,” Kie says. “Let me know when you’re headed back.”

“Will do,” Isla answers before ending the call.

It’s a beautiful day out, not too unbearably warm as it tends to get in the summer. The baby blue romper she wears is perfect for this kind of weather, sunglasses shielding her from the sun as she approaches the bakery. Her parents’ twentieth wedding anniversary is quickly approaching, and they decided to throw a party to celebrate. And as much as their mom loves to host a good party, she tends to stress herself out when it comes to the planning part of it, so Isla and her sister have been recruited to help pull it together.

So while Kie is back at home finalizing the guest list, the music arrangement, and caterer, Isla is in charge of dealing with the dessert, flowers, and other decorations. Fortunately, their mom is a Type A personality, so when Isla checks the email Kie was talking about, everything that Isla needs to do is written out in detail.

Entering the bakery, the air conditioner blasting her upon entry. The teal, pink and white theme is bright and surprisingly not an eyesore, and the employees behind the counter greet her with friendly grins. The next couple of minutes are spent with Isla placing the order her mom requested: a three tiered cake, three dozen cupcakes, brownies, and an assortment of cookies, all to be delivered at least two hours before the party starts. She charges it to her dad’s credit card, as instructed, and once that order is placed, she gets herself an iced latte before heading off to her next stop: the flower shop.

She doesn’t mind running these errands, her Beats covering her ears as she makes her way down the sidewalk before letting them hang around her neck when she enters the shop. Isla leisurely admires the various types of flowers, the assortment of colors, petals, and scents that surround her.

Her fingers brush along the petals of sunflowers, her favorite flowers, a smile tugging on her lips. She admires the softness of the petals, just as her phone rings in her pocket. Pulling it out, her smile widens a little when she sees Rafe’s name on the screen. “Hello?” she asks, head tilting as she admires the wall of baby’s breath.

“Hi,” Rafe says. Isla can hear the smile in his voice, one that makes her cheeks warm. God, when the hell was the last time she has been so giddy over a guy? “Out of curiosity, are sunflowers your favorites?”

Isla pauses, gaze dropping to the sunflowers before she spins around and looks out the window pointing to the street. A surprised huff of a laugh escapes her when she sees Rafe standing out on the sidewalk, one hand in his pocket and the other holding the phone to his ear, grinning at her. Isla raises her eyebrows as he raises his free hand in a wave, shaking her head as she gestures him inside.

She sees him laugh. “What’re you doing here?” she asks through the phone as he enters the store, the bell above the door jingling.

Rafe chuckles, hanging up the call as he approaches her, making his way around the pots and flower arrangements. Isla can’t help but admire him, wearing a simple outfit of blue pants and a white button down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and sunglasses hanging from the neck. He looks good, the sight of him making her pulse quicken as she slowly pockets her phone.

“I met up with some friends earlier,” he tells her, coming to a stop in front of her. Isla doesn’t think she’ll ever get over how much taller he is than her. She has to tilt her head back just to maintain eye contact. “Remembered you telling me you’d be out here running errands, figured I’d keep you company.” He raises an eyebrow, turning his body towards the front of the store as he points to the door with his thumb. “Unless you want me to go.”

“No,” Isla says with a burgeoning smile. “I could use the company.”

His answering grin is panty-dropping, which is super inconvenient given that they’re in public. He tilts his head, a silent go ahead, and Isla chuckles as she walks over to the counter to place the order, in accordance to her mom’s email. As Isla talks to the florist, Rafe stands next to her, elbow resting on the counter and body facing hers with little space between them.

While the employee puts in the order in their system, Rafe speaks up, “So you never answered my question.” When Isla raises a questioning eyebrow at him, he clarifies, “Are sunflowers your favorite?”

Isla smiles, tilting her head. “Why do you wanna know?”

His smile is boyish and utterly flirtatious, and Isla is no better with the way her chest flutters as he looks down at her. “For future reference, of course.”

His answer makes heat pool into her cheeks, the mere thought of Rafe buying her flowers both crazy and thrilling. As she pulls out her dad’s credit card to hand over to the employee, Isla looks away from Rafe and answers, almost shyly, “Yeah, they are,” before hiding her smile by wrapping her lips around the straw to sip at her iced latte.

Once the order at the florist is placed, they walk out of the shop, Rafe opening the door for her to let her exit first. “You got any other errands you need to run?” he asks, putting on his sunglasses.

“No,” she says, putting away her headphones in her tote bag and wearing her own sunglasses. She glances up at him, biting the inside of her cheek before asking, “What about you? You got any plans?”

Rafe tilts his head back, letting the sun bathe his face as the corner of his mouth curves up. Isla’s not sure if she’s ever seen him smile this much. “I was thinking of heading to the park, just chilling for a bit.” He looks down at her. “If that interests you.”

Isla’s heart stutters. “Lead the way.”

*****

“Oh! Wait, can we go in here for a minute?” Isla asks, stopping in front of her favorite bookstores out here on the mainland. 

When she glances at Rafe, he dips his chin a nod. “Let’s go,” he says, pulling open the door for her.

She’s not surprised at the gentlemanly traits he exhibits; he may have behaved like an asshole in the past, but he was born and raised on Figure Eight. The families there raise their kids to be the cream of the crop, in every sense of the word.

The bookstore smells like it always does; paper, aged leather, old books. Isla inhales deeply as she smiles politely at the girl behind the counter before heading towards the romance aisle. Glancing over her shoulder, she sees Rafe following after her, sunglasses still on yet a smile tugging on his face the moment she looks at him, and her heart does a silly flip.

They haven’t had a chance to see each other since they kissed at Midsummers two days ago, but they’ve been texting a lot. All of the time. In the midst of hanging out with her friends and helping her parents plan the party, she and Rafe get to know each other a little more and more through their texts. But spending real time with him, that’s what Isla wants, especially if there’s a chance he’ll kiss her again. Because, Goddamn, she can’t stop thinking about that kiss. It has tilted her world on its axis, her skin growing warm just by playing it on a loop in her mind.

The worst part is she can’t even talk to anyone about it; not her sister, not Sarah or Cleo. So for the last two nights, she has been laying in bed, replaying the kiss over and over again in between texting Rafe, a development in her life she didn’t see coming at all. 

Isla’s fingers brush along the spines of the books, gaze slipping over them to see if any catch her eye. She’s also well aware of Rafe’s presence, biting back a smile as she pulls out a book with an intriguing title and flips it to read the summary. As she does so, she can feel Rafe’s gaze on her, leaning his shoulder against the shelf with arms crossed over his chest, and the longer she pretends not to notice his stare, the warmer her cheeks get under his eyes.

Not taking her gaze away from the book, she tries to keep her tone casual and indifferent when she asks, “You gonna look around too, or stay here and play bodyguard?”

“The latter,” he says smoothly, unapologetically. “You’ve got a habit of running into trouble.”

The corner of her mouth tugs up, sliding her gaze from the book to his unfairly handsome face. “Must be the Pogue in me.”

Amusement lights up his blue eyes, lips curling up in that boyish smile. There’s no sign of that disdain and disgust that used to appear on his face at the mere mention of Pogues—the fact that it even existed in the first place should be enough to have Isla running away from Rafe. Maybe it’s because it’s not there anymore that has her interest in him deepening. Maybe he’s just a really good actor and pretending he doesn’t care about the Pogue versus Kook stuff anymore. Then again, how can someone flip a switch that quickly?

Oh, she hates this. She hates that just when she’s giving into him, into these feelings that threaten to take over, something pops up that makes doubt creep through. Kind of like hearing JJ’s voice in her head, one of his many speeches about how Pogue are epic and Kooks suck to all hell, despite the fact that Isla, Kie, and Sarah are from Kook families. 

“You’ve got the soul of a Pogue, though. So it doesn’t count,” is what JJ always says.

The difference between the two types of people is always there. Rafe was someone who believed in it too, just like JJ. Now he’s here, with her, having kissed her, so have the lines blurred for him?

Instead of responding to her statement directly, Rafe clicks his tongue and Isla blinks when his hands cup her cheeks, his chin dipping to look her in the eyes. “Your mind is spinning. It’s making me dizzy,” he says, making Isla’s lips part with a disbelieving scoff at the fact that he could tell so easily. Now, though, her mind spins with the sensation of his skin against hers. “We can talk when we get to the park, if that’s what you want.”

“Yeah?” she asks, unsure why she’s a little surprised.

His smile is soft. “Yeah.” He nods towards the shelf. “Get what you want. I’m gonna look around, too.”

Isla nods, trying not to focus on the disappointment she feels when his hands fall away from her and he backs away with a smile, before turning the corner to head to another aisle.

Maybe a conversation would help; they’ve talked about random, getting-to-know-you type stuff over texts, which is almost funny given that they’ve known each other their whole lives. She doesn’t want to insult Rafe again the way she had that day at the country club, but Isla’s curiosity is piqued. She hasn’t asked him yet what’s changed, when his feelings for her changed. She knows first hand that guys can be a little vague and touchy when it comes to talking about their feelings, so she’s going to try to word her questions carefully, but she needs to ask them for the sake of the doubt that annoyingly keeps cropping up.

It seems like the two of them have talked about loads of things, except the subject that really matters. Then again, it’s probably better to talk about those things in person, rather than over text. 

Isla limits herself to just one book, which is a great feat on her part, and wanders down the aisles in search of Rafe. She finds him in the middle of the science fiction aisle, standing tall with his head bent as he reads the inner jacket of the book in his hands. Isla rolls her bottom lip into her mouth, admiring the afternoon sun shining through the front glass walls of the store and bathing Rafe in a near ethereal glow and, God, this isn’t what she needs—a hot guy reading a book in her favorite store. It sounds like the start of a wet dream.

She slowly makes her way over to him, hugging her book to her chest and grip tightening on it when he turns his head to look at her. “Hey,” he greets. “Good to go?”

Isla dips her chin in a nod. “Yeah.”

Rafe closes the book. “Let’s go.”

They walk to the counter and Isla lets out a quiet exclaim of surprise when Rafe plucks the book out of her hand and puts it on the counter with his, already pulling out his credit in one fell swoop. “Uh, wait,” Isla starts through a laugh, widening her eyes at him as the cashier scans the books. “You don’t have to pay for mine.”

He merely shoots her a look, as though he’s saying come on, now, while handing over his credit card without taking his gaze off of Isla. “I know I don’t have to,” he says. “But I’d like to, if it’s all the same to you.”

Isla’s cheeks warm, biting her bottom lip though it does nothing to keep her from smiling. She finds herself unable to look away—until he glances at her with a ghost of a smirk, and she’s cutting her gaze away with the heat in her cheeks intensifying—and totally missing the way the cashier smiles at the two of them.

Rafe carries the paper bag, the cardboard straps hanging from his fingers as they exit the store and continue to talk in the direction of the park. “Thank you,” Isla says, glancing up at him through her sunglasses as they walk. 

His smile is sweet and charming. “Anytime.”

Their hands, hanging at their sides, are inches away, the space in between teasing them to brush together as they make their way down the sidewalk. Isla knows very well how Rafe’s hands feel against her body, her fingers itching to interlock with his, but she keeps the desire at bay as the park comes into view.

With it being the summer and the weather being near perfect, the park is busy with children and families, but Rafe leads her to a spot by a tree that provides a nice amount of shade. “Perfect,” Rafe breathes out as they settle down on the soft grass, the tree trunk thick and wide enough for them both to sit side by side, their backs against it.

The grass tickles against the bare skin of Isla’s legs, exposed thanks to her romper, but it’s a sensation she’s used to. The bark is steady and smooth at her back as she leans against it, her bag resting at her side and legs outstretched in front of her, taking a moment to watch the kids running around chasing each other, their laughter and chatter dancing along the breeze.

Rafe sits beside her, his arm pressing against hers, the warmth from his skin through the light cotton of his shirt seeping into her. For a moment, neither of them say anything, basking in the bluster of their surroundings, until Rafe’s casual tone breaks through their silence. “You think this counts as our second date?”

Isla’s pulse skitters, biting back a smile. She doesn’t look at him, head leaning back against the tree as she answers slowly, “I wouldn’t mind that.” Glancing at him to her right, she sees his slow grin, and Isla’s stomach tumbles with nerves because of the question dancing on her tongue. But instead of overthinking it, she looks up at the green leaves providing them shade and starts, “Can I ask you something?”

Rafe doesn’t seem surprised. He’s expecting her questions, given that he noticed her demeanor at the bookstore. “Shoot,” he says, bringing his right knee up and resting his arm on it.

A breeze blows by, and Isla pauses when the aroma of Rafe’s cologne—and whatever else just makes him, him—reaches her nose. She tries to breathe through it, to keep her mind on track, even if it proves to be a little difficult. Everything about him is distracting. “If we. . . If we do this,” she starts, choosing her words carefully and trying not to stumble over them. Her fingers nervously play with a loose thread at the hem of her romper shorts. “If we keep seeing each other, would it bother you if we kept it lowkey for a while? Just between me and you?” When Rafe turns his head to look at her, Isla doesn’t try to read his expression and instead continues anxiously, “I mean, y’know, unless I’m totally getting ahead of myself and in that case we can totally ignore—”

“Isla,” Rafe cuts her off gently. She presses her lips together, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as she forces herself to meet his gaze, heart thudding a little too harshly. Their arms press together, especially when Rafe leans towards her, and she sees the way his eyes soften as his gaze flickers between hers. “I want to keep seeing you,” he assures, making the breath silently hitch in her throat at the sincerity in his voice, his bright blue eyes. “And I already figured that we’d keep this on the down low, until you’re ready to tell your friends.”

Okay. Wow. Okay. Talking so candidly about them makes her pulse quicken excitedly, her head spin a little, but she pushes on. “And what about you?” she asks, trying not to get distracted by how close he is. “Would you tell your friends about us?” Because that’s what they’re discussing: becoming an us.

Plus, Isla’s not too sure how she feels about Topper and Kelce potentially knowing about her and Rafe, while her own friends are in the dark. Not to mention that she definitely doesn’t trust them to keep their mouths shut and not use this knowledge to taunt her friends, which would only fuck up her telling them about her and Rafe herself. One thing’s for sure, when the time comes, she needs to be the one to tell them. If they find out any other way, the sting of betrayal will be worse than it already will be in general. She’s not ready for that conversation.

Rafe tilts his head at her, the ends of his bangs brushing along his forehead. “I won’t if you don’t want me to,” he tells her.

“Really?” she asks, her eyebrows flicking up. “It wouldn’t bother you, keeping a secret from them?”

He frowns at her, like her question is silly. “I’ll do it for your peace of mind,” he says, and the answer is so simple and casually spoken, yet it knocks the air out of her lungs at the sheer consideration behind them. Almost every conversation they have had so far proves to Isla that there’s more to Rafe Cameron than she ever knew—than he ever showed them. And she wonders, not for the first time, if the asshole, getting-into-fights-with-her-friends Rafe Cameron is just a mask and the one before her is the real one. “It’s no problem, Isla, really.” He sighs, elbow on his knee as he runs his fingers through his hair. “I know you have a lot more to lose than I do, if your friends find out before you think they’re ready to hear about us.”

God, hearing him call them an us does something funny to her heart. Makes it flutter, soar, electrify all at once. She watches him for a moment, the breeze rustling the leaves above them and cooling her warm skin as she admires the sharp line of his jaw, his aristocratic nose, the sweep of his eyelashes—and those lips. Lips she has kissed. Lips whose taste she now knows. Somehow, it all fuels her into asking, “What changed?”

Rafe’s gaze meets her, giving a slight tilt of his head as confusion washes over his handsome features. “What do you mean?”

There’s a certain level of vulnerability that comes with asking the question that dances on the tip of Isla’s tongue. But the conversation has come this far, and Rafe hasn’t made her feel silly or embarrassed for bringing up this topic in general. So Isla allows herself to be a little bit more open, a little more raw as she clarifies, “Between us. What made you change your mind?”

She doesn’t need to be any more specific in that, because she sees the realization dawn on Rafe. He leans back momentarily, a smile touching his lips as his gaze flicks upwards thoughtfully. Isla knows now isn’t the time to admire the sharp line of his jaw, but it’s kind of difficult to look away from, even as her pulse quickens in anticipation of his answer. And the one he gives isn’t what she’s expecting.

“Sarah’s birthday.”

Isla blinks at him a couple of times, eyebrows furrowing together. “Sarah’s birthday?” she repeats slowly, her gaze darting away in thought. “That was, like, three months ago.”

“I know,” Rafe says, looking at her with a small smile.

“We didn’t even—” Isla shakes her head in confusion, trying to make sense of what he said. “I don’t think we even talked that night.”

“We didn’t,” he confirms with a nod as Isla thinks back to Sarah’s birthday. She had had a party at her house, a big one. No different than their regular house parties, but this one included a four tier birthday cake Ward had specially ordered for the birthday girl. Rafe leans his head back against the tree, though it’s tilted towards her, blue eyes locking with her green. “But there was one point where I saw you with Wheezie in her room. The two of you were laying on the floor and coloring, of all things,” he explains with a chuckle that’s both amused and fond. “You looked so relaxed and I don’t know. It wasn’t a bolt of lightning or anything. I just. .  . Looked at you, and something changed. A switch flipped. It was that simple.”

Isla stares at him in disbelief, lips parted slightly as her mind flashes back to that night. She remembered getting a headache at one point during the party, the alcohol and pounding music only making it worse. But she hadn’t wanted to leave her best friend’s party, especially when Sarah hadn’t even cut the cake yet. So Isla had sought refuge somewhere, and somehow ended up upstairs and came across Wheezie. 

The younger girl, as much as she wanted to be involved in her older siblings’ lives, wasn’t too curious about the party. Wheezie had been laying on her stomach on the floor of her bedroom, several of those adult cozy coloring books around her, along with markers. She had taken one look at Isla’s weary expression and invited her to join, and that’s how Isla had ended up, for about forty minutes, coloring with Wheezie while the party raged on in the rest of the house. She hadn’t, at one point, ever noticed Rafe nearby, so his revelation is more than a little shocking.

And for that to be such a significant moment for him without her even realizing it. . . She hadn’t really interacted with Rafe much—if at all—until weeks later when she had run into him that night her car broke down. He never gave any kind of indication that he had any sort of feelings for her that night. Or, well, maybe the fact that he helped her out was enough of a sign, and she just hadn’t connected the dots. Though, to be fair, Isla had no idea there were any dots to connect at the time.

“Wow,” is what she says, lamely, and it makes her cheeks flush when she sees Rafe’s eyebrows flick up in amusement. Isla clears her throat, looking away and at the park ahead, watching some kids run around. “That. . . Was unexpected.”

His smile widens, devastatingly handsome with those dimples, as sunlight peeks through the leaves and branches, bathing his face in strips of bright golden rays. Rafe’s voice is nothing but playful as he says, “Sorry it’s not as dramatic as your romance books.”

Her cheeks heat even more as she gives his arm a shove, pulling a laugh from him. “Shut up,” Isla mumbles, though a short chuckle escapes her, too. “I’m just surprised that’s all it took. After, you know, years of us not even being friends.”

“Life’s real funny that way, I’d say,” he hums. Head still lolling her way, he arches a brow and asks, “What about you? Because I know for a fact it took you longer than it did me.”

Isla hums in affirmation, not seeing any reason to lie. “Honestly?” she starts, pulling both of her legs up and wrapping her arms around them as she turns her head to look at him. “After our date.” Isla rests her cheek on the top of her knees, a smile pulling at her cheeks as their eyes meet once more. “You kind of had me hooked right then and there.” Her smile widens, some of her shyness melting away when Rafe’s gaze softens. “No one has ever gone through that much trouble on a date for me.”

His smile shifts, maybe a little awed, and his hand reaches out to the cup the back of her head. Rafe dips his own head, closer to hers, and says, “It wasn’t any trouble at all, Isla.” She almost sighs at the way he speaks her name, but stops herself. Mostly because she’s dazed by the way his eyes shine bright, looking into hers. “These dates are, uh—” He pauses to release a soft laugh, almost sounding nervous, as Isla watches him. “They’re something I hope can happen often.” 

This time, Isla does let out a breath, the corners of her mouth tipping up. “Me too,” she confesses quietly. Her throat works as she feels his fingers threading through her hair, to do nothing but stay there, and she finds herself asking, “Do you think we’ll be able to? I mean, if we’re keeping this quiet, how do we—”

“We’ll figure it out,” Rafe assures, hinting at a dimple when he smiles slightly. She feels herself relax a bit when she feels his thumb stroke her head.

“Really?” she asks, lifting her head as her forehead creases in worry. “Because between our friends and anyone else who’ll see us and spill it to our friends before we’re ready to tell them, hiding it might. . .” Isla exhales sharply through her nose, allowing herself to be vulnerable once again. “I don’t want you to regret it.”

Rafe’s eyebrows furrow together, pulling back slightly at her words. She’s half afraid that she insulted him—again—but Rafe just shakes his head. He shifts so he’s not up against the tree anymore, sitting to face her with his legs crossed. “Isla,” he starts, his voice low but serious. “I won’t regret anything, as long as we’re together. I don’t care if we have to hide our relationship, no matter how long. I know we’ll make it work.”

Isla gently tugs her bottom lip into her mouth, eyes flickering between his, even as his briefly dips to her mouth. His words do fill her with relief, some of the tension leaving her body. There’s genuine determination in his blue eyes and her throat locks as she realizes that he’s serious about the two of them. The butterflies return to her stomach, and it pushes her to smile a little as she says, “So we’re in a relationship?”

He blinks and she swears pink dusts his cheeks and in that moment, Isla realizes that Rafe Cameron blushing is a sight that will be ingrained in her mind—and a sight she will try to recreate as often as she can. “I, uh—” Rafe stumbles over his words and Isla doesn’t help him out, her smile only growing and eyebrows flicking up in teasing expectation. “That’s not—” He laughs, letting go of her and rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s not how I wanted to, like, ask you.”

Isla shifts, the butterflies in her stomach intensifying so she’s sitting to face him, too, crossing her legs. Excitement shoots through her, warming her from the inside out, as strands of hair brush across her face with the breeze. “Ask me what?” she prompts, tucking the hair behind her ear.

Rafe loosens a breath, tilting his head back and giving Isla a pretty view of the column of his neck. “I was going to take you out a couple of more times before I asked you.”

She laughs, feeling more and more relaxed by the second, despite her fluttering stomach. “Such a gentleman,” she says playfully. “Fine. If you wanna wait, then we can wait.”

Rafe straightens his head, shooting her a bemused look. “Thanks,” he drolls, making her laugh again. It brings a smile to his face, too.

“But do I have to wait for more dates for you to kiss me again?” Isla asks with a tilt of her head and a burst of confidence, even as her cheeks warm. She’s not always as confident as her sister, since her shyness often comes out, but sometimes she’ll have her moments—like right now. Like being bold enough to let him know that she wants him to kiss her again. Because, Goddamn, she’s been thinking of their kiss since Midsummers.

Rafe’s gaze snaps to hers, briefly looking surprised before his lips curl up in a boyish grin. Her stomach dips when his fingers lightly grasp her chin as he leans towards her, her pulse quickening the closer he gets. “Absolutely not,” he says, his voice dropping to a toe curling murmur until the distance between them disappears and his lips finally meet hers.

Her heart sighs the moment he kisses her, Isla’s eyes fluttering shut as she leans into the kiss, Rafe’s fingers sliding from her chin to cup her cheek. His lips are already familiar to her, the kiss languid despite Isla’s racing pulse as Rafe uses his gentle grip on her face to tilt her head the way he wants, deepening the kiss with his tongue tracing the seam of her lips. Isla parts them and Rafe slides his tongue inside her mouth to tease hers. 

Electricity shoots through her veins, her own hands gripping his thighs in hopes of stopping herself from climbing onto his lap. They were in public, after all, with kids around, even as Rafe tugs at her bottom lip with his teeth in a way that makes heat pool in her panties. And they can’t go further than this, right now, and that fucking sucks. “Rafe,” she murmurs against his lips—a plea and apology at the same time.

“I know, baby,” he says, the kiss slowly breaking as he brushes his nose alongside hers. “Just missed you.”

She can’t help but grin, slightly hooded eyes looking at him fondly. “Since Midsummers?”

“Hell yeah,” he says with a rough chuckle. His hand is still on her cheek, his head tilting and only inches between them as his softened eyes gaze at her. “You have no idea how often you’re on my mind.”

Her heart jumps, his smile growing as she honestly says, “Feeling is mutual.”

[moamidzyism]

fashion killa (k.mg)

☆。.:*·ﾟwc 879 smut ౨ৎ minors DNI ˚⁺。˚ ୨୧ model!mingyu x fem!reader, oral (f receiving), one night stand, strangers to lovers [masterlist • reblogs + feedback appreciated]

mingyu’s lips roam your body as he pulls you into his apartment. he closes the door and pushes you up against it softly.

part of you wants to take a break and glance around his luxury one bedroom apartment that had a one of a kind view of the city. but at the same time, another part of you just wants to rip his shirt off of his back. and mingyu is so desperately feeding into that part. his nimble hands are already unzipping your dress before you can realize it.

despite your silent pleas, he breaks away from the kiss, to take you in as your little black dress slides off your body. so sexy. he mumbles before you pull him back in to devour his lips again.

you aren’t supposed to be here.

your best friend pleaded with you to come out with her – it was paris fashion week after all. and she promised you she could get you into a really good party. so you foolishly followed her out in the most uncomfortable pair of heels you owned.

you really should have known how bad the party was going to be when you saw the promoter begging slightly intoxicated young women to come into the club. nevertheless, against your better judgment, you went in to find loud music blaring through the speakers and people literally standing on the dance floor. the two of you surveyed the area for all of five minutes before deciding to find something better to do.

but it turns out there really was nothing better to do.

at least nothing you could get into. it seemed like every party was invite only and two college girls with no connections, surely were not on the guest list.

you were going to give up and call it a night. but you found a club with a line that wasn’t too long. you waited until you made it to the front of the line, where your best friend batted her lashes at the doorman asking if he could just waive the cover for two pretty girls. you mentally rolled your eyes but it worked.

from the moment you walked in, you could already tell that this place had a way better vibe than the other place. you and your friend made a beeline towards the bar and bought your little overpriced drinks before heading out to the dance floor.

you remember making eye contact with the hot model from across the room. but you’re not completely sure what happened from the time you felt strong arms wrap around your waist as mingyu came over to dance with you, but that didn’t matter now. because you were here with him gently kissing down your torso. he stops when he gets to the waistband of your underwear. you feel a shiver down your spine as he kisses you through your panties. gyu, please. you whine. you feel his teeth graze against your skin when he begins to pull it down.

he kisses up your legs until you could feel his breath inches away from your core. p-please, you stutter.

what do you want me to do? his thick fingers spread your lips apart. his eyes are laser focused on you, watching you fall apart with a sly smile on his lips. he presses his finger into your soaked hole, ketting it swallow him. you clenched around him as he added another finger. you can’t even be bothered to think straight as he curled his fingers inside of you. he thrusts them in and out, fluidly.

your whines fill the room, your hips stuttering into his palm, desperate for him. i n-need you. you whimper. you need to feel all of him. mingyu pulls his fingers out and you almost cry at the newfound emptiness you feel.

but before you can say anything, his lips find their way around your clit. his hands trail up to your back and down your legs. you throw your head back against the wooden door and your hand locks on the back of his head, with your fingers threading through his hair. but his hair is too short and it’s just not enough for you. you pull him closer to you.

he chuckles against you, the vibrations causing you to arch your back. he takes this as an opportunity to lock your leg behind his back. he continues to bury his face in your pussy. his tongue enters between your folds eagerly. his nose is angled and brushes against your clit softly.

you grind yourself against his face, desperate to feel more of him. he grabs your hips more tightly,guiding you closer to your high. his hums vibrate against your core as you inch closer to your orgasm.

the room fills up with the sounds of your moans as his tongue fucks you right through your orgasm.

mingyu’s face emerges from between your thighs. he still grips onto your legs, lifting you up as he stands. he pulls you in for a long kiss. you wrap your arms around his neck for support, as you melt into the kiss. he finally pulls away from the kiss and you feel like putty in his arms. we should go to my bedroom, no?

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[cottonlemonade]

Haunted House

word count: 883 || avg. reading time: 3 mins.

pairing: Sakusa x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

warnings: none

request: watching Nightmare Before Christmas with some caramel popcorn dressed as a witch with Sakusa || fluffy, going to a Haunted House with boyfriend Sakusa

Going to the Halloween Fair was a tradition that no amount of annoyed sighs and fake pleading glances from your boyfriend could derail.

You loved October and marked the occasion in your calendar well in advance.

Under a lot of protest and promises of watching horror movies with him only to pick them apart for their inaccuracies, Sakusa - black mask securely in place - eventually piled into the car with your friends. It wasn‘t as if he didn‘t like them but he liked them a whole lot less when they were loudly singing along to Spooky Scary Skeletons on your way to the fair.

As soon as you made it through the entrance, discussing which you wanted to hit first - the snack stand or seeing if you could persuade Sakusa to rent a couple's costume with you, someone ran towards you and skidded to a halt.

“Y/n! Good that you‘re here! We‘re one person short for the haunted house!“

“Huh!?“ Your eyes widened - during your high school days, you helped out every year with the fair all the way from ticket ripper to face painting. Being a monster in the haunted house was an honor and when you were finally appointed zombie number 4 for the first time, you raced home to call Sakusa with the amazing news.

“I‘m here with someone.“, you frowned apologetically, pulling your boyfriend closer for emphasis. He raised his hand to greet as if necessary.

“Please, we’re desperate! And you don’t have to do it all night. If you could just stall for an hour until the substitute makes it here…”

You met Sakusa’s eyes who tried to read your expression for if you wanted him to play the bad guy and tell you no or if you wanted support. It seemed like the latter.

“One hour isn’t too bad.”, he said in a low tone with a slight shrug, “I’ll just look around what other things we can do and make a list for when you’re done.”

“You sure?”

He nodded.

You got on your tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek and then left with a sad theatrical wave as though taking to the high seas.

Luckily, the costume for your necessary character was very loose to begin with. Playing a classic Japanese ghost, you needed a white flowy dress and a wig of long straight black hair. Minus the wig and unappetizing makeup though, the dress was a lot more fitted on your much chubbier figure. You turned in the dirty mirror in the second corridor of the house, thinking this outfit would definitely not be out of place at a summer garden party, but it was the best you could do under the circumstances. You just had to dial up the creepiness. One by one you made people scream in terror and run panicked to the next room. Proudly, you cleared your throat and went to the break room after half an hour for a quick sip of water - wheezing, screeching, and chasing after guests really took a lot out of a person. As you gulped down the soothingly cold drink you spotted your boyfriend amongst your group of friends, clearly having been dragged to join a round at the haunted house and excitement bubbled in your chest. Sakusa was not easily spooked. The closest to scared you had ever seen him was when he spotted a bug sitting menacingly on your living room coffee table during the summer when the screen door was open.

The most terrifying thing for him about this experience would be getting close to people - you chuckled at the thought and an idea formed in your head. You grabbed a little spray bottle with water from the prop pile on the table and returned to your post.

Most of your friends didn’t recognize you while you made them run for the hills. Your best friend went “hi Y/n”, gave you a high five, and moved on. Before she left she informed you that Sakusa was not far behind.

You pressed yourself with hunched shoulders into the blind spot close to the entering door and waited.

You heard the next guest enter and when he passed you in the half-darkness you identified the black curls and broad tall frame in an instant. The giddiness almost made you dizzy. Sakusa stood still for a moment, most likely letting his eyes adjust before pushing forward. In those precious few seconds, you snuck up behind him and, just like earlier, stood on your tiptoes, bringing your lips close to his ear, spray bottle raised. Channeling all your acting skills you imitated a loud wet sneeze, spritzing a bit of water on his neck at the same time.

If you’d had to guess, you wouldn’t have said that Sakusa’s screams would be this high-pitched. Nor that he jumped so high into the air that he knocked down a plastic spider with his head.

All professionalism left your body and you doubled over, wheezing with laughter. Your boyfriend clutched his chest and breathed heavily on the opposite wall. “Oh you think this is funny?”, he pressed out, making you only snort and cackle even more. “Just you wait!” You yelped in delight as he chased you down the corridor for his revenge.

art: @oknbird on Twitter

a/n: request for @liquidcatt

Thank you so much for the request! This was so much fun to write 🌟 I hope you enjoyed it! 🫶🏻