#you can NAWT convince he even cares about sex

[cottonfeltgembira]

For everytime someone is convinced Rei is a "Horny Dominant Vampire BF" an angel dies

[cheonstapes]

miguel o’hara stars in… ‘SUGAR BABY CHRONICLES’ ヽ(´o｀；

･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡. miguel o’hara x fem!reader .｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･

SMUT

REQUEST from my lovely @miguelzslvtz; So I was thinking of an older!Sugar daddy Miguel x reader. The reader is working at small country club and Miguel noticed her. She’s serving him drinks, and taking care of him. He tells her she’s too good to be working there and introduced the idea of being her sugar daddy (basically some arm candy). He invites her over to his mansion for a party and she’s dressed up for him🫶🏻 all night she’s being looked at by other men and woman, he’s being very protective of her. He loves on her all night and makes sure she’s taken care of💗💗spoiled✨

cw; older!miguel, slight age gap (reader is in early 20s, miguel is in early 30s), cumming inside, slight breeding(not really, i just have a problem), sugardaddy!miguel, readers a little bit of a tsundere kinda, miguel’s really in love, cunnilings, shower sex, hair pulling, NAWT PROOFREAD!!

4k+ words (longest fic omg!!)

@cheonstapes; hi again…🤗 these hiatuses are killing me. i’ve been absolutely swamped and i lost so much motivation to write but im glad to say i think i’ve found my footing. i found myself again and i’ll work on balancing everything from now on! i apologise for the mammoth amount of time it took me to do this (this is what i get for working chronologically) and i have not forgotten about your requests if you sent one! pyramids and project ex will still be coming but i want to make sure requests are out of the way as they’ve been there for months and it’s not fair for the lovely people who’ve waited so long. thanks again! i love you all🩷

you loved your job, you really did.

not many people can say that genuinely, but when you’re getting the tips you’re getting, seeing the men you’re seeing, you definitely don’t wanna leave anytime soon. working at such an elite club meant you were among the rich of the rich — the big shots of the city that wouldn’t be caught anywhere else.

at the very least, the uniform was modest enough — obviously though, there would always be a few buttons left undone on your shirt, your skirt pulled up just that little bit higher. that window of flesh, no matter how small, was a guaranteed extra thousand in your pocket by the end of the night — and that wasn’t even counting him.

mr. o’hara. that’s all you knew him by. the man was overtly secretive, often arriving alone or occasionally with a very small group of associates. he was by far your biggest tipper. at times, you wondered if he owned the club due to the pure influence he has on your boss — somehow, much to your excitement, convincing him to bump your pay-check up by a lofty sum. the amount of money you make could send you into an early retirement, but of course you wouldn’t do that. it meant you wouldn’t get to learn more about him, and you needed to learn more about him.

summer was always the busiest, the great weather meaning there was more members than usual coming out to play. although, running around and serving for 9 hours a day was extremely tiring — gruelling even. there was sweat dripping down your face, your black dress feeling like a leather coat with the way it clung to you like second skin.

one last drink. you had one last drink to serve and then you could go on your break. double checking the table number, your eyes widened slightly as you saw him. mr. o’hara was not a small man by any means — the bulging muscles tucked away under his tight dress shirt, shoulders almost akin in length with the table. to put it simply, he was the epitome of sexy. you were barely at his table and you could smell him already, the masculine musk of his oud creating a musky, rose scented bubble that ensnared all your senses.

“‘s that for me, sweetheart?”

yes, yes it was. but he really wanted to hear you say it. your voice was such a sweet caress to his ear — he could guarantee an angel got its wings every time you spoke. miguel usually prides himself on being in control of his emotions, his body — but having a pretty, little thing like you just within his grasp was the ultimate challenge of restraint.

the man felt absolutely helpless, his heart pounding in his chest like a hormonal teenage boy when you placed the drink in front of him. “you know it, mr. o’hara — you order the same thing everyday.” fuck. the sip he was having was definitely becoming more than a sip the longer he held the cup to his mouth — chub twitching against the fabric of his slacks.

you were just the sweetest little thing — much more enthusiastic than the other girls that worked there. he might be just imagining it too, but he can feel deep in his heart that you dress up just for him. miguel knows you want him, and he’s more than happy to give himself to you.

“you know me better than i know myself, dulzura. almost like you’re keeping tabs on me, hm?”

“i mean, yeah, i kinda am. it’s my job, mr. o’hara. you’re one of our most frequent regulars, it’d be crazy if i couldn’t tell you your order ‘fore you give it to me.”

oh…yeah.

in miguel’s defence, it’s been a while….a long while since he last flirted — and having an 8-year-old daughter who’s judging your every move means there’s not a lot of time to work on your game. but he’d be damned if he lost an angel like you, he will be yours. plus, gabi does need a woman like you in her life too.

“do you enjoy it, though? your job, I mean — not keeping tabs on me.”

“you probably won’t believe this, but i actually do. the pay’s good, at least, and i can afford to pay my bills, uni, and still have fun. i’m kinda lucky, i guess.”

“you wouldn’t have to worry about that with me, nena.”

miguel knew he was probably breaking some sorta rule, flirting with staff or whatever — but god you were worth it. if being able to take you home meant that he would never set foot in the club again, then so be it.

“sorry, what was that, sir?”

“…quit your job — not in a ‘you’re bad at your job way’ — i’ll take care of you. i can give you everything, anything you want.”

you couldn’t say you were surprised, especially with the nature of your job — old men say stuff like this to you all the time. but, miguel wasn’t any old man. as much as you loved your job, had a stable income and good connections — the thought of quitting and running away with a man like him? fuck, it was so tempting.

“alright then. i hope you live up to those words, mr. o’hara.”

———————————————————————————

mr o’hara (sugardaddy?)

I’m throwing an event at work tonight, I want you to be there.

sent 16:42

(y.n)

hi, mr o’hara. i’d love to but i finish work at 7,i don’t know if i’ll be able to make it. and i don’t really have anything to wear :(

sent 16:50

mr. o’hara (sugardaddy?)

Don’t worry about it, gorgeous. I’ve already got you off work for the rest of the week, and I’ve got you something nice to wear.

sent 16:50

(y.n)

oh, really? well, i guess i’ll see you there then! ;)

sent 16:56

mr. sugardaddy

Mmhm, I can’t wait to see you, babe. And call me miguel.

sent 16:56

———————————————————————————

miguel had promptly sent his driver to pick you up in a sleek black sports car, much to the dismay of your co-workers. a beautifully wrapped box was placed on the seat beside you, a bouquet of orchids and a small note that read ‘for you, las flores más bonitas para la chica más guapa - m’

it was hard to not feel a tinge if heat was rising in your face, for someone whom you’re only just getting to know to be so utterly romantic — it was a new experience! relationships had never been something you were particularly interested in, but there was no denying the allure that someone like miguel held and only time could tell how it would all play out.

arriving at his mansion, which was nothing short of jaw dropping — the halls were mostly desolate aside from the quite bustle of the staff that were preparing for tonight’s ball. an elderly woman escorts you upstairs to the master bedroom, your eyes roaming the area as you take in the grandeur of the building — aged walls paired with a modern nueva york touch.

“where’s mr. o— miguel?” the woman turns to you, an indecipherable smile on her lips.

“mr. o’hara is just getting prepared for the ball. don’t fret over him, he’ll join you shortly.” well, it was a bit rude to invite someone over and not be there to greet them but ok! “ah, i forgot to mention,” she opens the door, stepping aside to let you in. “i left you a little something on the dresser. i believe you both’ll be needing it.” the woman winks, silently closing the door behind her — leaving you alone in the large room.

god, even the room smelt like him. a musky wood and cinnamon smell, with the faintest hint of vanilla from the candle burning by the window sill. it wasn’t everyday you were in the presence of such luxury, especially old money luxury. your eyes flitted over to the dresser the woman was referring to, that sneaky grandma.

a box of xl condoms, birth control, towels, all wrapped in a cute gift basket. “seriously? who does she think i am? i’m not fucking on the first date.” wait— was this a date? it definitely felt like one, but it was hard to be 100% sure. this was too much to deal with now, all that was left to worry about was the ball and getting ready.

on the bed behind you lay a beautifully wrapped box, with a red ribbon to top it off. it fell gracefully onto the bedsheets as you unwrapped it, lifting the lid to reveal the shimmering red dress underneath. a sleeveless satin dress, fabric lined with the finest crystals, a slit raising mid thigh, lined a sheer lace. it was the definition of classy, with a hint of seduction.

putting it on felt like a crime, something so beautifully should be preserved and put into a museum. it took all of your willpower to not tuck the dress away somewhere safe and just go and get one of your own — but alas, it was a gift, the least you could do is wear it. the craziest part was how perfect it fit. practically a glove, clinging onto every curve and crevice of your body — extenuating places you never even noticed before.

smoothing out the wrinkles, making sure it was as perfect as possible — fuck, you looked hot. the colour complimented your skin exquisitely, adding a soft glow to your complexion. in the time it took you to get ready, it seemed like the party was already amping up. you could see the surge of people from the window, flashing lights and an abundance of cars being handed to the concierges. you still had yet to see miguel and what better time to look for him than now?

there was a pair of red heels that matched the dress to a T, slipping them on and bouncing down the steps. the butterflies fluttered wildly in your tummy the nearer you got to the party, joining the line of people being checked in by security. though, from the corner of your eye, you catch sight of him. standing there in all his 6’ glory, curls lightly slicked back, wearing a tight button up shirt and those sexy slacks.

something about seeing miguel like this, so carefree and relaxed, set something off inside of you. even though you were supposed to be his guest, you did everything in your power to avoid his gaze — purely cause you don’t think you’d be able to maintain eye contact him for longer than a few minutes without jumping his bones. but of course, fate was destiny’s whore, and soon enough you were being escorted straight into the ballroom.

“were you avoiding me, cielo?”

a hand splayed across your waist, leading you deeper inside the hall as he whispered in your ear. it was obviously due to the fact that you probably couldn’t hear him all too well because to the loud music, but the way his hands caressed your sides, his lips brushing against the lobe of your ear — it felt all too intentional.

“no…i just didn’t want to cut in line. i figured i’d see you when i see you.”

“is that so?” he slid a champagne flute in your hands, grabbing one of his own as he tilted his head at you — a stray curl unfurling down his forehead. “you’re like an open book, cariño. you think i don’t know what’s going on in that pretty little head by now?”

“so you’ve been studying me, hm?” now it was your turn to raise a brow, tilting your head back as you took a long sip of your champagne. it wouldn’t be a huge surprise if he had been, it was kinda obvious from all the stares he’d give you and when he’d ‘enquire’ about you from your colleagues.

“mmm, studying’s a strong word. i was simply…observing you. can’t blame me for wanting to know someone as enchanting as you better.”

he had quite the mouth on him, didn’t he? you couldn’t stop the small smile that graces your lips, shaking your head in disbelief.

“you’re so stupid, miguel.”

“if falling for you is stupid, then i’m the dumbest of them all.”

it was so bad, so bad that it was actually good. and that comment shaped the rest of your night together. considering your new arrangement, he took the liberty of introducing you to his circle of friends and their wives — conveniently leaving out that he was your new sugar daddy, but that was a story for another day. miguel revelled in the looks they all gave you, seemingly forgetting they themselves had a date nestled on their arms. he really couldn’t have picked a better dress, but damn if it wasn’t killing him.

you really didn’t know how beautiful you were, and he so badly wanted to show you. the dim lighting was a blessing for the tent in his slacks, giving him a flimsy disguise for the arousal he felt at that moment. after more than a few drinks too, wandering hands and lingering words, it was becoming unbearable. however, scaring you off wasn’t on his bucket list tonight. he didn’t take this long fighting for your attention to loose you on the first date. he vowed to do everything at your pace, leaving it up to you to make the first move.

as the party wrapped up, and miguel said his goodbyes — you stood at the door, shivering from the cold air as it nipped against your bare arms. the fun you had was incomparable to any party you’ve ever been to, but you thought you may have overstayed your welcome. shakily tapping on your phone with freezing fingers, ordering an uber to pick you up —

“leaving already?”

“yeah, i had a lot of fun tonight, though.” it was a genuine smile, one that spoke a million words. “thanks for inviting me, miguel.”

for a man so big he sure did move so silently. he stood behind you, gently grasping your hand in his as she looked down on you. “when i invited you, i didn’t invite you as a mere guest — you’re more than welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

it didn’t even sound like he was simply offering, miguel was begging. you could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice — urging you to stay the night, stay with him.

“miguel, are you sure? i don’t even have anything to change—“

“i’ve already organised sleepwear for you, but you could wear something of mine if you’d like?”

that sly smirk slid its way onto his face once again, rolling your eyes as you walked past him — pulling out your phone to cancel the uber. “fine, i’ll stay. i might take you up on that offer too.”

lo and behold, an array of skincare and pyjamas were set out on his bed as you entered the master bedroom once again — and to top it off, gift bags filled with designer items that you’d never thought you’d ever own. “miguel…is this all for me?”

“unless i have another sugar baby, who else would it be for? ‘course it’s for you, darling — consider it a…’welcome’ gift.”

“more like my entire tuition fee, hell. you didn’t have to spend all this money on me, y’know?”

“cariño,” you could see miguel walking up to him from the mirror in front, his arm slipping round your waist to pull you into his back. “i spend my money how i want, and i want to spend it on you. so i don’t want to hear no more complaining from you, understand.” the small nod you gave earned a small grin from him, a hand smoothing up the curve of your back until it reached the shimmering zipper under your neck.

“you look like a goddess tonight, baby. so fucking beautiful…” his words were whispered softly into your neck, gentle breaths caressing your skin. as he spoke, the zipper slid lower and lower — until your dress was held together by the tips of his fingers. the cold metal of his rings brushed against your bare skin, the tips of his fingers dancing on the curve of your waist as he lets the fabric pool at your feet.

“m-miguel, i’m sweaty from all the dancing! at least let me wash up first, or something.” if you weren’t sweating much then, you were definitely sweating buckets now. the heat radiating from you mixed with the heat simmering between the two of you made for a heady cocktail of unspoken desire — and you silently cursing yourself for almost breaking the number one rule: ‘don’t fuck on the first date.’

“we can use my shower then, it’s large enough for the both of us.” we? oh, you’re definitely breaking that rule now. “i didn’t say this was gonna be a joint effort, did i? i can wash myself, miguel.” you weren’t even convincing yourself with the breathy way you spoke, the way he was caressing you, the pure adoration in his voice was something you haven’t felt before. plus, this is the guy who’s willingly paying you to simply be around him — it’s a win-win situation.

“i know you can, baby —“ letting out a deep chuckle, miguel intertwined your hands and lead you towards the bathroom — “but it’s more fun with two, no?” the gentle pitter-patter of the waterfall shower reverberated through the silence of the room, the sound of fabric rustling followed shortly after. glancing down at your feet, miguel’s clothing was promptly discarded — your widened eyes trailing up his hefty frame.

“fucking christ…”

the man in front of you was nothing short of absolutely beautiful. despite spending everyday surrounded by older men, you never found yourself truly attracted to them until now — or maybe it was simply just miguel himself. “i thought you wanted to take a shower, muñeca?” oh, yeah, the shower. before you could even finish your thought, miguel was already occupying half of the space in there, leaving a small pocket for you to slide into.

the expeditious beating of your heart was muffled by the steady stream of water, but it was more than clear to miguel what you were feeling in that moment. the moment was strangely intimate, and dare i say innocent, for the predicament you found yourself in. his hands gently roamed your skin, barely making contact with any sensitive areas aside from fleeting brushes. he made a point to use his hands instead of a rag, claiming he could ‘clean you better than a flimsy cloth’.

it was truly getting unbearable, utterly frustrating. your subconscious and ovaries were in an intense battle of wits, when a third party made itself known in the worst way possible. you really had forgotten that miguel was as naked as you were until you felt the base of his cock slide between your ass cheeks, chest flush against his back. the slightest hitch of your already shaky breath earned another rich laugh from within him, thick fingers playing with the skin of your tummy.

“you feeling cleaner or what? i’m more than happy to keep going if you are, baby.”

of course you wanted him to keep going! you were already as wet as is, in every way possible. “i..i think you might’ve missed a spot.” the hand on your tummy paused, his breath hitting your ear as he bent down slightly. “i did? i like to consider myself very thorough, cariño — enlighten me.” you did your best to turn with the small space you had, looking up at him with a more confident expression than the one you wore previously.

“here.”

now it was miguel’s turn to be surprised, the tip of his finger brushing against your swollen clit before tapping against your slit. it had been so long since you had a real good fuck, and right now you were genuinely about to give this man some babies if he kept on smiling like that. “mm, looks like i did. forgive me for being so careless. i’ll make sure she gets extra attention.” his words trailed off as he sunk to his knees, the gentle spray of water splattering against his face.

he tapped your ass, lifting you up with one hand as he pressed you against the cool glass, legs resting on his shoulders. his pretty lashes were dusted with droplets of water as he gazed at you from between your thighs, nipping and sucking on the sensitive skin as he kneaded your skin gently. his thick tongue was enough to completely spread you open, eagerly collecting your creamy essence.

miguel was moaning like a pure slut, you would think he got more pleasure in eating you out than you did. his eyes were rolled back, hips absentmindedly bucking to the rhythm of the shower as he sucked on your clit. the position was not uncomfortable by any means, but the unadulterated pleasure you were feeling made it hard to stay upright — nails raking down the expensive marble tiles as you practically grasped for straws.

“grab my hair, darling. i don’t want you to fall.”

whilst his words were slightly muffled, the undeniable concern in his voice had you moaning embarrassingly loud. miguel was clearly strong enough to hold you up all alone, so you surrendered the grip you had on the wall to rake your trembling fingers through his hair — tugging on the curly strands.

“nngh..fuck..”

he fucking whimpered. miguel o’hara, the richest and most powerful man in this city, was shamelessly whimpering between your thighs. that was certainly the biggest ego boost ever, the fact that it’s your pussy that has this huge man so drunk. pushing out your hips, you practically smothered his face — riding him mid-air as you felt the delicious sensations bubbling up inside of your stomach. breathless chants of his name left your lips, panting softly as your head fell back against the panels.

“c-cumming! ugh— fuck, miguel!

the jerks of your body made miguel grip your ass tightly, licking his lips of your release as he shuffled upwards, grinning down at your disheveled form. “you’re breathtaking when you cum for me, beautiful. can’t believe you’re all mine.” he whispered against your lips, forehead to forehead as he kissed you for the first time. it felt like a million tiny fireworks going off inside of you, the previous tension in your body instantly melting away as you leaned into his touch — tongue’s pressing against each other as drooled slipped down your necks.

he kept his mouth latched onto yours as he gripped his leaking cock, dipping the pearly tip inside of your sensitive hole. his movements were unhurried, sloppily kissing you as he dipped in-and-out, in-and-out. it was a steady pace that you soon found yourself liking more than usual, a stark contrast to the inexperienced fucking’s you were getting before. “inside, please…i wanna feel you, all of you.”

you were too dangerous for this old man’s heart. having a pretty little thing like you beg for him to fuck you like you deserved, to mold that sweet cunt into the shape of his cock — it was all too tempting. he was more than willing to do anything his sweet baby asked him to, and he wasted no time in giving in to you. “shit, cielo, no one’s ever fucked you right, huh? she’s gripping onto me like a vice.”

he was right, in every sense of the word. you didn’t know how many partners he had before you, and really didn’t want to find out — but one thing was for sure, miguel knew exactly how to please you. your head fell against his chest, his hand lifting it up by your chin as he pumped into you. “tell me, dulzura, i’m the only one that’s made you feel like this? only man to fuck this perfect pussy right?”

he took the tiny nods and breathy whimpers as a yes, grinning like a madman as he revealed in the satisfaction of ruining you for anyone else — not like he was gonna let you go in the first place. his pace picked up vigorously, finding the perfect balance between pounding into your sore cunt and softly rutting against your ass. the skin where you both combined was tinged red, the on-going waterfall above unable to fully wash away the evidence of your cream on his pelvis.

“only you, miguel — no one…no one’s better than you. i’m yours, daddy.”

those words, hushed and warm, pushed his already inflated ego to the edge. his hips bucked widly, prodding at the spongy spot inside of you as she pressed his lips against yours once more. all sounds were trapped between your connected lips, muffling the choked squeal that left your lips and the guttural groan that left his as he came deep inside you. he did promise to clean you extra throughly, and what better way to do that than flushing out your canal with his cum!

he lazily rolled his hips against yours, ignoring the sticky liquid bubbling on the side of his spent cock. “did so well for me, my beautiful princess. i’m so proud of you.” the fluttering of your heart made you instinctively turn away, cheeks flaring with heat as you pouted — you really can’t believe you fucked on the first bloody date. your little tough act didn’t fool miguel, in fact it fuelled him even more. he continued to praise your very essence, worshiping the ground you walk on despite your protests — smiling softly as he sees your fierce resolve weaken. “there she is, you ready to let me love on you now?”

“yeah, yeah. but first, we need an actual shower. no fucking this time.”

“no promises.”

this was the last place you saw yourself in life, but maybe being in miguel’s arms were where you were supposed to be.

- thank you for waiting and make sure to watch ateez at coachella!!!!!

[idolatrybarbie]

pairing: marcus pike x alex dozie (fem!OC)

word count & rating: 4.4k | explicit - 18+ only please and thanks

summary: marcus pike is the new congressman for the great state of Vermont. it's time to celebrate.

content tags: angst, takes place in 2022, alcohol, background american politics, smut - vaginal fingering, mentions of cockwarming in a way but it's more like Mormon soaking hey don't look at me like that, penis in vagina sex, painful sex, racism, slutshaming, misogyny (none of these from marcus.)

tags & notes: @atinylittlepain | still feel weird being here i am nawt back do not alert the authorities - gin really loves these two and that is inspiration enough to write and post for them.

It’s a cloudy November day when he wins. No rain, no smog; simply overcast. The weather could almost fool you into thinking that this is any other day. Another Tuesday nearing the end of the year, who cares?

If she lived a different life, maybe that would be the case. Alas, she does not—she lives this one. After a win in the primaries and an election sixteen months in the making, they’ve crossed the finish line. Well, he has. Marcus Pike, the latest (and greatest, though she’s biased) congressman Vermont is lucky to receive.

And who is she exactly? If you asked her, no one. Ask him, though—

“Everyone, please give it up for Miss Alex Dozie!” Marcus booms. His voice carries across the room easily, naturally. Like he’s made for this. He is.

They all follow his word like gospel, the raucous applause almost as loud as the heartbeat in her ears. Alex watches more then feels Marcus take her hand in his own, lacing their fingers together as he lifts their arms in the air. Together in victory. That’s what this is, isn’t it? A victory and this is their celebration party. Surrounded by staffers, donors, volunteers—you name it. A variety platter of New England’s who’s-who all here to celebrate the congressional win of Marcus Pike, a rising star and thought leader in the Democratic party.    

He’s a little too centrist for Alex’s liking, but despite being press secretary for his very political campaign, they never really get around to talking shop. Hard to chat about affordable housing with his tongue down her throat.

Alex sinks back into her body slowly. Marcus lets her go, replacing her warm palm with a glass of champagne. He continues his speech as she flutters through the crowd to the very edge of the room.

“It’s been a long journey. A lot of hard work from everybody in here. I also want to thank…”

Alex tunes it out, gazing blindly across the room. There must be almost 300 people in here. She had never known what that looked like. Does she even know that many people? One hundred living souls, and then triple it. The fact astonishes her. Even more people voted for him and got him here. They believe in Marcus Pike.

Being him right now must be about as close as one gets to playing God.

Marcus starts to wrap up his speech, catching her attention again. He’s searching for her face, bright like a beacon. He breaks into that million-dollar smile of his when sees it.

“I want to thank you,” he says. The words are spoken to a sea of suits, but she knows what he really means. “I truly couldn’t have done this without you. We are going to make a difference here. I can feel it. And for that, I am forever grateful.”

We. That alone makes Alex feel all gooey inside. A small smile fights its way across her lips.

               The crowd breaks into amiable chatter, the party portion of this formal celebration spreading like a virus as more drinks are made and softer pop music spouts out from wherever. Alex has half a mind to meander over to coat check and grab her things. Before she can convince herself, Marcus sidles up beside her near a darkened window.

“By yourself?” he asks.

“As is preferred,” she says.

Marcus hums. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to put up with me.”

“Terrible, truly.” But it’s all smiles; he is all smiles, Alex mirroring him.

They have to keep it cool here, professional. She can read his eyes. You look beautiful. The heavy blink and bashful glance down at her shoes will have to suffice as a thank you. Alex watches as Marcus readjusts his tie, thick fingers grazing the soft fabric. She wishes they were in her mouth instead.

“Great party,” she says, clearing her throat.

“Yeah. Got this press secretary, she planned it all for me.”

“You’ll have to get me her card.”

“Of course,” Marcus says. Light laughs fall from both of them. “You did a great job.”

“It’s alright,” Alex shrugs.

“It’s amazing,” he insists. You’re amazing.

“All previous party planning experience was organizing my senior prom.”

“And it’s still fantastic, look at you.”

“The process was much easier with a congressional Platinum card, trust me,” Alex says. Then she holds up her drink—not the standard fare of J. Lasalle but a Bourbon Ginger from the open bar—and lets it fall in a clink against Marcus’ half-empty flute of champagne. “To money.”

“To success,” he says.

“Yeah, that too.” She lets the prickly pleasantness of ginger root and dark liquor slide across her tongue. It burns going down, but she likes it like that. “So… What are your plans for the rest of the night?”

“I dunno’,” Marcus says, shrugging his shoulders. His voice lowers to a whisper. “I was thinking about breaking in the new office. You?”

“Does breaking it in have anything to do with fucking me in it?”

“It could.”

“I’m pretty amenable to these plans, then,” Alex says.

Marcus offers her his hand again. “Follow me.”

They wait as the tide of partygoers pushes in, making their escape when it falls back, slipping through tall double doors. Marcus leads Alex up a back stairwell, heels clicking against wood. He lets her lead the rest of the way, watching the slink in her step and the sway in her hips. He hates it when she leaves but loves to watch when she walks away—and tonight, he gets the best of both.

Alex stops at the doorway. She waits for him to cross the threshold first; it only feels right. Marcus pulls her in by the elbow, a goofy grin overtaking his face.

“C’mere, gorgeous,” he says.

They connect at the mouth, soft and gentle like Marcus’ hold on her waist. He runs a soothing finger over the material of her dress—smooth white satin that swathes over her hips and neck, leaving her shoulders bare. Vintage Ralph Lauren on loan; Alex couldn’t dream of owning something this expensive with all her lingering Howard loan debt. The dress, along with the pearly cream heels that were once her mother’s, is a drastic change from her outfit at this afternoon’s swearing-in ceremony: a dress with frumpier sleeves, sitting just below the knee in a purple bright enough to rival a red clover. She’d hated it, feeling trapped inside some illusion of a church girl with her hair pressed into long pin curls.

The way Marcus looked at her then, same as now, made it worth it. He thinks the world of her, along with the Sun and the rest of the solar system too. He slides a hand across her chest, a nipple peaking against the fabric. When he squeezes, her cunt drools. Alex slips a hand into his hair, pulling hard enough that Marcus moans into her mouth. They move as a unit, one step at a time until he has her caged against his new desk.

They break only when she looks down, hiking the smooth fabric up to expose the bottom half of her body. Marcus cups her gently over her underwear, feeling dampness against the heel of his palm.

“Couldn’t have done this without you, sweetheart,” he whispers against her lips.

“You could have,” she says between sweet kisses to each cheek.

“I didn’t want to.”

Alex smirks. “Lucky you, then.”

She likes to tease, but the self-satisfaction on her face falls when he presses his hand against her harder. The pressure against her clit makes her ache, moving her hips up to meet him. She starts to grind against his hand. Marcus watches the wet patch on the gusset between her legs grow as Alex gets herself off. Lucky him indeed.

“What do you need, baby?” he asks.

“Touch me…please.”

A small gasp falls from her lips when he peels her panties down, Alex lifting her hips to aid in the effort. They wrap around her ankles, caught by the backs of her heels. Marcus touches her bare skin, already wet and sticky when he runs two fingers against her.

“More,” she says.

"Hmm, I don’t know,” Marcus says. “I think you like it like this.”

“Marcus Jordan Pike…put your fingers inside me or get the fuck out of this office.” Her tone is breathy but commanding, drawing his attention from her hips to her eyes.

He doesn’t need to be told twice, slipping a finger through her wetness before sinking it into her cunt. Alex moans, and Marcus moans with her. His starting rhythm is slow and purposeful, searching for that spot that gets her eyes to cross as she bites her tongue to keep quiet. She cants her hips in time with him, meeting every thrust of his middle finger as slick squelches onto the webbing of his hand.

A high whine tears from the back of her throat when Marcus finds what he is looking for. He adds his index inside of her, massaging the spongy spot inside of her with deft attention.

“Fuck, Marcus,” Alex sighs, panting into his neck. She holds him close by the shoulder, arm wrapped around to his neck as she pulls lightly at his ear.

“That feel good?” he asks. All she can do is nod. “My baby feels so good, huh? You worked so hard. I’m so proud of you. Let me help you relax.”

Something about being called his baby has her weak in the knees. She likes that, just a little. Alex would never admit it, not in this environment of all-or-nothing stances, not even to him. The feminists of this town and the Internet would eat her alive for admitting even the fantasy of being a kept woman turns her on, just a little. Still, Marcus can tell by the way she clenches tight around him.

“Such a sweet thing…so smart, you know that? Couldn’t do anything without you.”

“Marcus, please. D-don’t stop, just—right there.” She stutters on a breath when he presses his thumb to her clit. Alex’s thighs clench around his hand, trapping the limb so he can only move from the wrist down.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. Feel it, baby. I’ve got you,” Marcus whispers against her ear.

He captures her for another kiss, languid as he speeds up his fingers and the circle of his thumb. She cums with a cut-off cry and a tremble of her hips, pulling him closer and pushing him away with her body as she creams over his fingers. They stay joined a few moments longer; she sits up a little more, smoothing out the collar of his dress shirt.

When Marcus moves his hand, Alex fulfills her wish. She takes him by the wrist and leads his fingers to her mouth. She tastes herself as they pass the wet heat of her tongue, swirling between the two digits for good measure. Marcus groans as he watches, mesmerized.

“You’re killing me here,” he says.

 “We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Alex asks. She reaches for the zipper of his pressed slacks, hard cock waiting for her underneath. “Public servant and all.”

The zipper needles down easily, two buttons on the inside of the linen plucked undone in a moment. She rolls Marcus’ pants down to settle over his ass, revealing to her the pre-cum stained front of his briefs. Seeing the pair of novelty underwear she got for his birthday, Alex laughs. His cock is covered in bald eagles.

“Why is you laughing at me still sexy?” Marcus asks.

Alex draws him in by his tie. “’Cause you’re a perv,” she says.

Marcus scoffs, but there’s no bite in it. “I don’t have a comeback for that.”

She works him out of his underwear, spitting onto his shaft before giving him a stroke. “That’s how you know it’s true.”

Alex sets them into motion, leaning back to signal Marcus. He immediately swipes everything—nameplate, important government documents, a miniature post holding the American flag—off the desk and onto the floor. He runs his tip, slick and swollen, through the mess of her cunt. Teasing her, he presses against her clit like a button, making Alex jolt.

“Just fuck me, dweeb,” she says.

One thing about Marcus is that he takes direction well. He slides into her with ease, both moaning in sync at the fit and feel. Filling her with one thrust of his hips, she makes him stay there for a moment, savouring the sensation. The fullness is enough to make her feel good—sometimes it’s enough to make her cum, like when they sat together in the campaign office, her on his lap as she squeezed her cunt around his thick cock to orgasm.

Then she taps at his hip, pulling at Marcus’ forearm to get him to meet her horizontally. His thrusts start quick and small, grinding against her insides as he never quite leaves her. Idly, she wonders how many times they’ve fucked in an office. The campaign office? They’d made up a bit of an accidental schedule, twice a week on Tuesday and Friday when everyone usually went home before seven. A handful of times in his car, which were always her least favourite no matter how long Marcus ate her out to make up for it.

 Once in her bed. It was late August this year, the air balmy as she and Marcus stepped out of that upscale bar in one of those times between overcast clouds and dripping rain. He’d had a few too many to drive home, and Alex lived just three blocks over. She hadn’t meant to fuck him. It was only the second time, after a quick and easy mistake they’d made on the fold-out table that operated as the volunteer command center; that particular night, there were still Vote4Marcus stickers in her hair when she got in the shower.

But Alex did fuck him, and it was amazing. Probably what spurred her to keep fucking him. Not the money, or the potential power. Just the tender, semi-drunk sex they shared on her double mattress. The only time it ever happened.

She’s trying to calculate how many Tuesdays and Fridays are in eight calendar months when a particularly sharp thrust catches her attention. Alex groans, but not in the sexy way, as Marcus punches his cock into her cervix. It feels good still, in a way, but the pinch of pain is throwing her off.

“H-hold on,” she mutters, so quiet she can barely hear herself. Marcus keeps going, fucking her with a hand at her sternum for leverage.

“You feel good?” he asks.

“No, just—hold on,” Alex repeats. She places a hand over his as Marcus slows to a stop.

“Everything alright?”

Before she can answer, they both feel his phone buzz in his pocket. Marcus pulls away from her, wiping his hands on his pants to check. She sees his mouth screw up in a side pout as he reads whatever message is waiting for him.

“Time to go?” Alex asks.

“I just—this big donor is heading out, the McCaskills? Polly wants me to start greeting people as they leave.”

Another one of many times Alex would love to tell Polly Friedman-Blau where she can put her tight smiles and wandering eyes.

“Of course.” She’s already standing, lifting her leg to pull her underwear back up and over her crotch. They are uncomfortably sticky, but that won’t be a problem for long.

“What do you mean, of course?” Marcus asks behind her.

Alex turns, smoothing out her dress. She’ll have to find a bathroom to properly fix herself up before heading back downstairs.

“I mean, come on. What are you, the lobby boy?” The hurt anger bubbles up from nowhere, shocking her as much as him.

“They donated thousands of dollars, Lex.” She hates that name. He knows she hates it. “We wouldn’t be here without them,” Marcus says.

She makes for the door now, shaking her head. Alex ignores the burn between her thighs. She doesn’t make it to the hall, though. Marcus grabs her arm, pulling her back to him.

“What?”

“Can we just—can we not leave tonight like this?” he asks. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.” He peppers her face with soft kisses, gentle with his words. “When it’s all said and done, I’ll find you. We can continue this back at my place.”

His place. The place she’s never seen. Something roils hot inside her, small fireworks snaking and sparking between her ribs.

“Okay?” Marcus asks.

“Okay,” Alex agrees.

He fixes his pants and she straightens his tie. Marcus is off again, heading downstairs. Alex lingers in his office for a minute longer, taking it all in. They made it. They are here.

When an appropriate amount of time has passed, she wanders out to find a bathroom, closing the door behind her. A few party drunkards have made it upstairs. Alex smiles politely and ducks out of any potential conversations by moving onto the stairs and heading down. A bathroom presents itself at the foot of the steps, a golden sign that says ‘Ladies’ waiting for her.

The door swings inwards silently. Alex hates to say she’s impressed, what with the horrible screech of her own bathroom’s hinges. A glance in the mirror tells her she doesn’t look too crazy. Taking advantage of the empty presence, she locks herself in the very last stall to take a piss. As she wrangles the wafer-thin toilet paper, she hears the door open again. Not so silent after all.

Two sets of expensive heels—four clicks against the stone floors—echo throughout the room. Alex is about to get up and flush before someone speaks.

“Oh, I don’t know,” one woman says, voice low. “That girl he thanked… I’ve heard some things.”

“She’s not a girl. We’re all women here,” another woman says.

“Could’ve fooled me,” the first one snickers.

Alex keeps her breathing even, still listening. “What’s the word on her?”

“Oh, you know. The usual: she’s sleeping with him.” Well, that’s not inaccurate. Still, it stings to hear coming from— “She’s only in it for the money, you know? Supposedly, she had a thing with her TA back in undergrad.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. But then she set her sights on political office. But she doesn’t want to be the man behind the desk. She just wants to reap all the benefits.”

“Little does she know, all those men have some sweet thing under there to keep ‘em warm.”

“Trust me, I think she does. Bold of her to assume he’d ever make her First Lady.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Marcus Pike is a name you remember. Alex Dozie? Come on. We’ve already had Barack and Michelle.” The other woman doesn’t say anything to that. “There was something about his fa—”

Alex takes that as the time to strike, pressing the metal button jutting from the wall to get the toilet to flush. In a few seconds, she unlocks the stall door and saunters out to the sink. Silently, she rubs soap between her palms and fingers, sticking her hands beneath the automatic tap to rinse away the suds. The women are exactly as she expected: thin, white, and beautiful. Their dresses look much more expensive, much more modern.

She wonders if they’d say all that if she looked more like them.

Alex waits ‘til the door shuts behind her to let the tears well up. Well, shit. This is supposed to be the night of everything right, and it’s all going terribly wrong. She walks blindly, water blurring Alex’s vision as she keeps her head down and eyes forward. Eventually, she reaches an office on the first floor. Fine wood paneling and frosted glass windows. The office chair is practically calling her name. When she slumps into it, the tension bleeds from her spine. Somehow, the leather seems to have that new car smell to it.

It takes a few minutes to realize that this is her office. She recognizes it from pictures Marcus sent her. Their tiny what-ifs were turning into reality, and this was one of them. If I win, you’re taking this office. It’s the nicest one…besides mine. There were so many of those that Alex began thinking it impossible for them to lose. Like this was fate or something.

Fate; destiny. She was meant to do this. Fuck whatever Malibu Bitch numbers one and two think. Who cares what people know, or think they know? Alex is here, and she knows exactly why. It has nothing to do with the…extra-curricular activities between her and Marcus Pike. It was because she’d worked her ass off; because she deserved it. A tenuous thread of hope, sure, but it was enough to keep her from finding Marcus and quitting on the spot like she wanted to.

Instead, she heads to coat check and gets her purse and jacket. Alex tips the lady with President Andrew Jackson, calling a cab in the lobby. A long, hot shower and a good night’s sleep will make everything better; it always does.

Alex wakes at five o’clock. She does not feel better. Somehow, she feels worse. Whatever slathered over the surface of her skin last night has settled, sinking deep into her bones. It’s not quite anger, or sadness. A churning disquiet has taken up in her gut, leaving no room for breakfast or coffee. A box of things sits on the kitchen counter, waiting for her to take it into the office—her new office. Alex almost forgets it three separate times.

The drive is sure to be the only calm part of her day. Alex savours it, taking the easy route through town. The building is cute, not a monster when it’s not plugged full of people. It’s an eclectic mix of brick and metal on the outside, dated but sleek on the inside between hardwood and glass. Inside is quiet, too, which she enjoys. Still, her stomach stirs with unease. It feels like everyone stares when she walks in.

Alex’s thighs ache, a reminder of what she and Marcus did last night. She bristles at the thought, shame creeping up the back of her neck. Maybe they shouldn’t do that here. This isn’t some rental space in Downtown Burlington. This is an important office.

She puts her box down at her desk, the contents landing with a thud. At the top of her trinket pile sits a framed photo: Alex and Marcus, smiling as she waves at the camera from the hip. She forgets now what they were talking about, one of the earlier Vote For Marcus Pike banners hanging behind them, pinned to a wall. This was a month into Alex working for him. A month of wondering if he still remembered, and figuring out quickly that Marcus didn’t. The first real conversation they’d had where she had no excuse to duck out of the office or wander away. The first real conversation with the man that would change her life.

15 months ago and yet it feels so far away; unreachable. Alex wants to crawl into the picture frame, claw back time to when she knew what she was doing here. The objective was simple. Get Marcus elected. Now? One night and she’s been sent into a tailspin.

When she looks up from the photo, it’s because of all the clapping. When does all the goddamn clapping end and the real work start? Alex was starting to wonder. She moves from her desk to the doorway, catching a glimpse of what the fuss is all about. It’s Marcus, of course. He doesn’t see her; how could he with all the people in the way? He glad-hands and smiles his way through the office. Someone takes a photo—fancy camera, flash on—and Alex blinks. She’s been injected into Clinton-era comic strip, waiting for them to bring out the baby to kiss.

Marcus Pike gets applause for showing up to do his job. Sure, it happens, but when did that become her life? Her reality? Alex does not belong here. Clearly, he doesn’t need her here. He didn’t call last night when she didn’t show.

The campaign trail was then, and this is now. She is of then…Marcus doesn’t need her now.

Thank god for the printer in this office. She types up something quick, waiting for the blocky machine to whirr to life. A quick, six-sentence letter of resignation spits out moments later. Alex takes it, folding it in two. She goes to grab her box of things, Marcus’ eyes staring back at her. She leaves it.

Her heels click and clack against the floor as she makes her exit. Letter clutched in her hand, she doesn’t notice the tiny young woman in front of her until they collide.

“I’m so sorry,” she squeaks first.

“It’s my fault,” Alex says, shaking her head.

“You’re Miss Dozie?” the woman asks. She looks a little scared, a little reverent.

“Unfortunately. Why?”

“I’m supposed to bring you some briefings,” the woman says. Alex notes the badge on her lapel. Office aide. “After I bring Mr. Pike his coffee.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Okay?” Alex asks. The aide nods, brow furrowed in confusion. “Could you do me a favour, though?”

“That’s my job, ma’am.”

“Could you put this on Mar—Mr. Pike’s desk for me? Preferably when he’s away from it,” Alex says.

“Of course, ma’am,” the aide nods. Alex wishes she knew her name.

“Thanks,” she nods. “Good luck up there, hey?”

Alex walks away, through the lobby to the front doors. In less than an hour, the weather has changed from overcast clouds to sputtering rain. Albert Hammond serenades her with guitars, alerting her to a phone call. She almost picks it up, finger automatically reaching to press the ‘answer’ button. Alex thinks twice about it, checking who it is. Marcus, of course.

Frozen on the sidewalk, rain pelts her head as she watches the phone ring. After about a minute, it stops, his name disappearing.

Seems it never rains in Southern California

Seems I’ve often heard that kind of talk before

It never rains in California

But girl, don’t they warn ya’?

It pours, man it pours

[softluci]

aggressive affection, i think

(part two here!)

[ @yourlocalsinnamonroll​ (hi!) sent me an ask to do more gen z headcanons and i started working on something for her, except it isn’t actually a set of headcanons, but rather a really long...one-shot? but anyway, i thought of actual headcanons that i can share now, so i can return to my ROOTS hopefully this will do in the meantime. ]

i’m not sure if this is something unique to younger people, but i am one hundred percent sure that younger people do it a lot, just going off of the behavior of my friends and i. (i’m gonna tell you now that this isn’t entirely sfw, so minors dni please and thank u)

but i’ve found that it’s pretty common for friends to be, like, aggressively affectionate with one another, for lack of a better phrase. if not aggressively affectionate, then just really flirtatious, often for no reason, and it is still meant entirely in a platonic sense. some examples of this that i have experienced include, but are not limited to:

“i’m gonna eat you,” “do u wanna make out,” “just remember, no matter WHAT happens, i will ALWAYS wanna make out with you,”  “i have literally wanted to fuck all of you at some point,” “let’s have sex,” “stfu before i kiss you,” [points to lap] “is this seat taken?” “every day i’m like, ‘wow, [name] is so cool, we should make out,’” and so on and so forth.

so you can imagine the fun i’m about to have.

lucifer

“blindsided,” does not even begin to describe what you’ve done to this man. while his recovery time was quick, he was still so, so confused. 

all he said was, “you look nice today,” why did you threaten to kiss him? was that even a threat? 

he doesn’t know because you said, “stop before you get kissed on the mouth,” but it doesn’t matter because you failed to consider that he is obsessed with you in dire need of a kiss on the mouth, and you, silly thing that you are, just provided conditions under which he can get one. 

that said, have fun trying to explain to this man that you were joking while he’s holding you against him with the most smug look on his dumb little face. if you don’t wanna kiss him, okay, but by the time he feels like letting you go, your face is gonna be scorching and you will have properly learned not to do that again. unless you enjoyed yourself, in which case—

by the way, if you believe in a higher power, you had better pray he doesn’t do this to you because now that you’ve planted the idea in his villainous little brain, he’s just biding his time. so the next time you compliment him innocently, and he says, “be quiet before i kiss you,” like the monster he is, assert your dominance by kissing him first, it’s the only way to maintain your dignity. 

mammon

why would you do that to him. he is literally in love with you, you can’t be doing this. he knows he’s an attractive person, but you can’t tell him that, and you especially can’t do it by flirting with him, it’s embarrassingly disarming. especially since he was going to make fun of you once he saw that you were looking at the issue of majolish with him on the cover. he had a plan and everything, and you ruined it. he was gonna say something dumb cool, after which you would be embarrassed , and he would laugh. 

but then you looked at him, said, “i’m gonna eat you,” and his entire plan was thwarted. now you have to stand there and watch him struggle to form a sentence while his face gets red. you should take this opportunity to bite him, give him a little nom on the shoulder or something, just to razz him. it’ll be great, i promise. 

luckily, he can’t even think about doing this to you without having to lie down, so you should be safe—unless, of course, he catches both you and himself by surprise. so if you get nommed on, you had it coming. 

levi 

you menace. you absolute villain. you’re laughing. 

levi was about to go into a match he was nervous about, and then you said, “it’s okay, no matter what happens, i will always wanna make out with you,” and then he dropped his controller and blacked out, and you’re laughing. 

you’re terrible. absolutely awful. acquaint yourself with shame while you blow cool air into his face and shake him awake. 

when he does wake up, and he reminds you that he’s the avatar of envy, do nawt be surprised. 

try to explain to him that you were kidding and let it slip that you say these types of things to everyone and you’re getting a tail around your waist. no matter how much he might stutter while he makes his point, the fact remains that he’s the only one you’re allowed to say these things to now. you can do it to the others while he’s not around if you feel so inclined, but he’s going to find out eventually, so good luck explaining yourself while he doesn’t keep his tail still when he uses it to hold you in place. 

your only saving grace here is that he is physically incapable of doing it to you, but, you know. that probably gets overridden by how possessive he’s gonna get.

satan

you’re deranged. or just really confident. or a fool. it doesn’t matter, you fucked up. he said a normal thing, and then you threw him for a loop. 

you were nervous about an exam the next day, he said, “you’re a capable person, you have nothing to be worried about.” 

and then you, evidently forgetting that he is not one of your human friends, said, “flattery will get you made out with,” and tried to walk away. 

first of all, how was that flattery? he was stating a fact. second of all, who said he didn’t wanna make out with you🤨. he never said that, you are making assumptions about him and his character. 

anyway, he has no idea where you think you’re going, but you didn’t make it very far before he caught up to you anyway. 

when he repeats what you said back to you in the form of a question, with that deceptively polite look on his face, know that he is being rhetorical. do not bother trying to explain yourself, it’ll be difficult to do so in a convincing manner while he’s backing you up to the nearest wall. do not be surprised when he takes this opportunity to blindside you with praise, directly into your ear, with that fatally smooth voice of his. and do NAWT be surprised when he pulls back and says, “why am i not being made out with?” with a dumb little smile. it brings him a lot of joy to see you squirm.

you don’t even have a saving grace here. this man is ruthless, he’s gonna do this to you literally whenever he wants, and he won’t even let you look away, let alone run away, so find joy in the monster you have created. 

asmo

listen. unless you are genuinely empty headed, there is absolutely no way you did this on accident. 

he wasn’t even doing anything out of character either, it was the middle of self-care night, he was putting moisturizer on your face for you, and he went, “you’re even cuter up close,” which is a normal, tame thing for him to say.

so unless you just have uncontrollable knee-jerk reactions, no way did you say, “so make out with me then,” to this man, by accident.

you’re lucky he has some knowledge of the fact that you sometimes say things that aren’t smart, so he didn’t just immediately jump on you; however, you are by no means in the Clear. 

you blinked and he was nose to nose with you and basically in your lap. now you have to deal with his wandering hands while you try and explain yourself—that is, if you can even overcome how flustered you are, which you probably can’t. luckily, he knows you probably didn’t mean it, but he’s still asmo, so he takes it upon himself to be respectfully heinous like the gentleman he is.

so when he somehow manages to get even closer to you and says, “honey, you should really get a handle on those impulses of yours, unless you plan on following through,” like the bastard he is, know that from that point forward, whatever happens is on you. 

here is another man with whom you have no saving grace; now that you’ve given him the idea that he can be more explicit with you,,, well.

beel

you’re a heathen. why would you do something like this. well, you know what, maybe you aren’t that much of a heathen, considering that you did bake cookies for him. that was really sweet of you, so he thanked you and complimented your skill, like a regular person.

so why, exactly, did you say, “i only accept thanks in the form of kisses, preferably with tongue,” ? something is genuinely not right with you. 

now you have this man standing there, confused and red in the face. he’s trying to do the math, and nothing is adding up. like, it’s definitely doable, he can definitely do that, but, like, why would you make this request so suddenly?

this is probably the only instance in which you can coherently say, “i was kidding, you don’t actually have to do that,” and it almost doesn’t work. 

you absolutely should not have been leaning against the counter because now he’s standing in front of you, and you have nowhere to run. 

however, the thing about beel is that he is someone who flusters people without meaning to, so he has no idea of the effect that his, “are you sure?” has on you. 

luckily, you’re still mostly coherent because you know that beel isn’t heinous like his brothers, so you manage to tell him that he doesn’t have to kiss you if he doesn’t want to because you were kidding. 

you have every right to be surprised when, all of a sudden, you’re sitting on the counter, and he says, “why do you think i don’t want to?” 

do you have a saving grace with this man? kind of. he would never say what you said or something similar, but the next time he compliments you and you choose to be normal and say, “thank you,” he’s gonna ask if he should kiss you, so try not to collapse.

belphie

now. he isn’t the Worst Person you could’ve done this with. but by god you are out of your mind.

your first mistake was choosing to lie down next to him, not because you had plans to be a menace, but because he is always a menace and has a thing for reminding you, which he can do more easily when you’re in proximity to him. 

so when he said, out of nowhere, “are you ticklish?” you should’ve just rolled away, which wouldn’t have worked, but it would have been less chaotic then saying, “you are legally required to make out with me before you try and find out.” 

you said it so casually that he was almost stunned into staying still, but his recovery time was excellent.

the next thing you knew, you were laying underneath a very smug, very menacing man, who seemed entirely too prepared to listen to what you had to say for once. 

“legally?”

okay, so, maybe you should’ve chosen your words more carefully, but he was seconds away from tickling you, so you didn’t exactly have time to defend yourself. you can never backtrack with belphie anyway, so it makes sense that you went headlong into your claim, telling him that yes, this is, in fact, the law of the land. 

“i was never one to pay attention to the law, but since you’re being so insistent, i guess i don’t really have a choice—”

leave it to him to pretend like you’re a burden as if he isn’t literally head over heels in love with you like everyone else fond of you. bastard. 

there is absolutely nothing to save you from this man. he isn’t tactful enough to wait for an opportunity to do this to you, like satan or lucifer, so expect to be Just Sitting There when he tells you that you’re required to make out with him right this instant—it’s the law.