#imagine getting pulled over by Plastic Man

[pumpkinfreak]

Plastic Man Issue #2 1941

This is a great second issue except for the racism toward the Chinese, but I'll get to that.

Plas is trying hard to get hired by the local police squad, and Murphy the Police chief is willing to let him on the force if he can break up a dope ring. The dope their referring to is opium. It's old-timey times every drug is called dope.

Plus, as Eel O'Brien, finds his old gangster friend Dopey Joe. How the police haven't thought to interrogate this man before is beyond me. It's like being a serial killer named Kill Kill McStabface. Dopey is more than happy to let Eel in on his drug smuggling ring, which requires him to travel to Canada.

Here's how the drugs are smuggled into the States.

Eel goes to Ottowa. Fun fact The City TM is only an overnight train ride away from Canada. In Ottowa Eel goes to a funeral home where opium is stashed inside a dead body. Eel traveled back to the States in a hearse with the body. He drops the body off at another funeral home, and the funeral director then passes the drugs to a woman.

The woman then passes the drugs by throwing them from her car into another car. The driver then arrives at a nondescript building and drops the opium tablets down a drainage grate outside of the building. The building is of course the opium den.

That is a seven-step process, and it's so fun to read and then the racism happens. It's painful but thankfully it only lasts for six panels and you can skip it, just know Plas captures the workers inside the den.

He then collects the other players in the ring including the woman, yes he does threaten to knock out this woman if she doesn't cooperate. I shouldn't laugh at that but I do every time. It's just funny to see Plas, not Eel, tell a woman he'll "Lay you out cold!"

It's like he hasn't figured out how to talk to people in a none gangster way. He hasn't quite worked out the chivalry part of being a hero. Then again sometimes you gotta knock a bitch out depending on the situation, and Plas is the guy to do it.

So Plas rounds up everyone and is instated as a Police officer. Yes, the man in the red leotard, with no real first name, is made an officer of the law.

They gave this man a gun

[quarterlifekitty]

Follow up to this post (sorryyyyyy this took like 300000 years) Simon Riley/Reader

You glance down at the list on your phone, slowly ambling along with the shopping trolley while Joey directs all of his focus towards the little tupperware of yogurt melts in the cupholder. He picks up another piece with his tiny thumb and forefinger, pushing it into his mouth and teething as is starts to dissolve. You could always trust him with food— ever since he'd been old enough to hold onto his snacks. He'd never spit things out or throw them to the floor. Simon never wasted food either.

A sigh leaves your lips as you're forced to recon with the price of cold medicine. You know you should get it now— it's snowing out, and it's be a pain in the ass to be caught without it. Well, you could probably make do, but you'd count yourself as a bad mama if you didn't at least keep some of the stuff for infants stocked. In the cart it goes, ticking up the total you're keeping in your head.

Joey makes a gurgle the calls your attention. You could be imagining it, but it seems like his hair is getting a little lighter— maybe he's taking after his father? The same dark eyes, too. You smile when you see him and all of the tiny little ways he's growing every day. But can't help but wonder if Simon might've stayed— if he'd known you were going to have such a pretty, sweet baby. Nothing short of angelic.

-x-

You look different. Of course, it wasn't as if Simon had expected you to look exactly the same. Truthfully, he wasn't expecting to see you ever again. You look, somehow, more beautiful than he remembered. Tired, but beautiful. The cute little fella in your cart doesn't hurt. While he knew he coudln't be the one to give them to you, he'd always known any baby that came from you would be gorgeous.

He wants to be happy that you'd found someone who could give you that. Someone who must've wanted the same thing you wanted. A better man than him, almost assuredly. He tugs the hood of his jacket up, as if that'll make his brick shithouse of a body any less conspicuous— he's wearing all black against the painful white of the flourescent light and linoleum floor. The jarring beep from the card reader you're using jerks him out of his self consciousness.

-x-

Fuck. Your paycheck must not've cleared just yet. You'd thought for sure it had, but you'd been wrong before and you'd be wrong again before the day was out, most likely. It was embarassing enough to have a card decline when you were alone, but with a baby in your cart? You hope to god no one's looking at you and thinking about calling social services. Just as you're about to take the world's deepest breathe to suck up what could potentially be a torrent of tears, a pale, tattoed arm glides into view and taps a beaten-up piece of plastic to the reader. You turn to see a familiar set of dark eyes perched above a black facemask.

You stutter out an unsteady th-thank you, almost in a daze. Joey picks that moment to mumble some vague simulacrum of the syllables you'd utter, trying to copy the intonation.

Simon had never been a chatterbox. Sometimes it was a relief, and sometimes it was agonizing. The silence that accompanies the three of you as he follows you to your car is somehow both. You put Joey, all bundled with his tiny striped hat pulled tight over his ears, into his car seat before anything else. Simon's already popped your trunk and started putting bags inside.

You walk around and turn the ignition, just to get the heat going for baby. And—

… there's nothing. You feel like the sound you release in frustration echoes in the snowy car park.

-x-

The energy in Simon's car was tense. He'd offered to jumpstart yours, of course, but you didn't want to have your baby waiting around in his car while you tried to make it work. Seemed a better option to just strap his car seat into Simon's car and have him drive you home. You'd go back for your car another time.

Meanwhile, Simon's starting to get more and more furious with whoever the father in this scenario is. It was becoming clearer and clearer that he wasn't in the picture— and why the hell not? You're beautiful, the baby is an angel— even if he hadn't been cut out for fatherhood, how could he do this to you? Leave the mother of his child without enough for groceries, and with that shitbox of a car? Before he knows it, Simon has a growing to-do list in his mind. Once he's got you home, he's going on a hunt.

Home. It wasn't his home anymore. You had gotten despondent, nervous, and he was terrified of not being what you wanted, what you needed.

He carries the groceries in for you, of course. He feels transfixed as he watches you handle your baby, setting him on you hip in a well-practiced motion while you dig out your keys and jam them into the lock. Must still be sticky, like it was when he left. Whether Simon knew it or not, he'd find himself offering to tend to that too.

You set Joey down on the old recliner by the door, tugging off his tiny boots, hat, and other winter accoutrements. They go onto the coatrack, though their size makes it look a little ridiculous. Like you have a fucking build-a-bear for a roommate. The empty hook stares back at Simon.

While you set your baby in his play pen, Simon finds himself falling into old habits. Putting away the groceries. Everything is more or less in the same place. There's a feeling in his diaphragm that wells up, empty and sorrowful at the knowledge none of this belongs to him, and as soon as these things are away, he should leave. Maybe threaten the landlord on his way out regarding the lock.

"I'm going to put on a cup of tea. Do you want one?"

He nods, feeling his words catch in his throat. You don't bother to ask him if he takes it the same way you remember. Some things never change.

The little table in the kitchen still has a slight wobble. He tags it in his mind as something that needs to be fixed. That mental list is a long one. Before long, you have a mug and an opened pack of Arnott's assorted biscuits in front of him. There's more scotch fingers than anything else. You never used to leave them for last.

When you're sat in front of him, after a few deep breaths and sips of your black tea (he'd watched you add the same metric fuckton of honey you always did), Simon finds himself feeling uncharacteristically… chatty. He has a million questions, most of which have answers that would probably hurt you to say and hurt him to hear.

"I don't know how to thank you… For the groceries, the ride, all of it. I'm not sure what I would've done. I wish there was more I could offer."

If you had to guess what he'd want in exchange for his kindness, you'd guess he'd want to be left alone. That you'd let him leave quietly again. But you don't know how to offer that without it sounding backhanded. He casts his gaze over to the playpen for a moment, and you follow it.

"'Ow old is he?" The question catches you off guard. It occurs to you for the first time that Simon might not know this is his baby.

"Eight months. His first birthday will be in March." He squints as if his eyes have the ability to zoom, watching as your son sucks on some silicone teething keys.

"Woulda thought he was… younger."

"He's kinda small. He was born premature and he still hasn't really caught up to where he's supposed to be, weight wise. But he's healthy otherwise. His name is Joseph, but I call him Joey. Hi Joey-bear," you say, waving towards the playpen as your baby gurgles happily. That's one thing he doesn't share with his father— the expressiveness.

Then again, Simon's currently got a look of concentration on his face as if he's helping mission control launch a rocket. He's doing mental math. And he suddenly feels ready to kick his own ass.

Premature. And you were alone.

"So he's mine." It's not a question. He may not have wanted to be a father, but he did love you. He trusted you. The baby couldn't have been anyone else's given the timing.

"Yes, he is. Biologically, at least." His jaw aches from how he clenches it.

"When did you find out that you were pregnant?"

"A few weeks before you left. I was trying to figure out how to tell you, and… I knew that the way you left… Well, you didn't leave like someone who wanted to be found."

He wants to ask why you didn't go after him. Call him up and tell him what a bastard he was and that he left you on your own with a baby. But he knows goddamn well why you didn't tell him.

Because you didn't think he'd want to know. That he wouldn't have wanted to help. That if he did come back to take responsibility that he'd end up hating you for trapping him and forcing him to turn into something he didn't want to be.

And you named the damned thing Joseph. He'd never told you about Joseph. What a way for fate to twist the long glass shard stabbed into his gut. It shatters from the torque and leaves a thousand little pieces churning inside him with infinite sharp edges grinding together.

"I always kind of had the feeling that you'd leave. At least this way… it was like I could hold onto a part of you."

Joey picks that moment to whine, starting to get fussy and squirming. You nearly spring up, speeding over to the playpen to lift him up and bounce him with a palm to his back. Simon gets an agonizingly good look at Joey's face while his head is perched on your shoulder, your back to the kitchen. He can't see himself in his face. Just you. Nervous-lipped and innocent.

And fuck, you just look like such a goddamn natural handling his son. That's the only way he can see it now.

"I have to— I'm gonna put him down for a nap, I think he's a little cranky. I'll be right back but, I… I don't want to keep you. Thank you again, Simon," you force out with the littlest crack in your voice, but it seems enormous to him.

The dark circles, the declined card, your car, the lock on your front door, and you're giving him an out. A chance to leave and forget this ever happened offered up on a silver platter. He follows you to the tiny spare room he used to use as some mockery of an at-home office. Now it's a rather quickly assembled nursery. All of it you'd done on your own.

The walls are yellow. There are pock marks from the way things had been mounted on the wall, before. Must've been in a rush to get things ready, hadn't had time to fill them in. He didn't need to know that you cried when the paint wouldn't fill in the gaps, not that you'd expected it to. It was just one of those days where you wanted something impossible to happen because it would've made life a little easier to bear.

You shush and coo at Joey, wrapping him up in his favorite blanket to help him settle. You scoop a plush lion off of the floor to tuck into his arms as soon as you set him down.

"Such a big day for my big guy," you say softly, "I'm sorry your mama keeps getting into trouble." You kiss your pointer and middle fingers, touching them to his forehead as he loses the fight to keep his eyes open. You gasp when you feel the once-familiar sensation of Simon's calloused hand slipping over yours. He pulls you, urges you, into the hall, softly shutting the door behind himself.

You're pulled against him as his restraint reaches its end, mouth hungry and wanting, the welling pit inside him black and empty without the thrum of your pulse beneath his fingertips. He always was a nasty kisser— tongue running against your gums and tracing your teeth. Saliva strings between your panting mouths by the time he pulls away. You just barely manage to wrangle your synapses enough to swallow and clear your throat before speaking.

"Simon. We shouldn't— I won't do this. I can't. I can't handle having you for a night and being alone again. You can forget today happened if you want, forget that you ever found out about us, just don't do this to me."

"You wan' me on my hands and knees, then?" Your brows twist in a pained confusion.

"W-what are you talking about?"

"I'll beg. I'll beg if that's what it takes. If you let me be a part of this."

"A part of this what?"

"This family. I want it."

"You said you didn't—"

"I thought I didn't. I've never wanted to take something back more than that. I didn't… Didn't think anything that came from me could be good. Guess I forgot about your part of the equation. I left because I'm a fucking idiot and a coward. I thought you wanted me to be something I couldn't be." His hand circles the meat of your hip, thumb inching up the hem of your sweater. He feels a few more stretch marks than there were before. You grab his wrist as if to pull him away on instinct, but pause.

"I don't… It's not cute. How my body changed, that is. I don't… I don't think you'll find me all that attractive anymore." Rip out his heart and stomp on it, why don't you? You say it without a hint of bitterness. It wouldn't have hurt so bad if there'd been some venom in it, at least. But no, you say it like it's a fact. Plain and simple.

"Sayin' shite like that… S' like you want me to knock you up again to prove you wrong. Can't believe I missed out on seein' you all full and pregnant… I shoulda been here. Taking care of you."

It's hard not to melt against him. It always was. He's warm and encompassing and makes you feel sheltered.

"You have to promise you won't leave again. Not me, and not him." You've already pressed your cheek to the breast of his jacket. You don't know how you'll be able to live without this— if he decides it a promise he can't make.

He wants to tell you that you have cart blanche to kill him in whatever way you find most suitable if he does something that fucking stupid, but he knows that wouldn't make you happy right now.

"I promise, love. Never again."

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mdni][girldad Roy][enemies to lovers][mlw][his tragedy of a life is not comically accurate][soft tragedy][fingering][unprotected p in v][creampie][rough sex, I think?][vibrator][Baker Street by Gerry Rafferty][squirting][slight dacryphilia][watersports mention][pronebone][mating press][spit]

"Who comes to a dick appointment without condoms?" Roy hisses, muscular arms crossed over his broad chest, the fabric of his tank top stretched so tightly that you're half-expecting it to start ripping in front of your eyes.

You push past Roy, stepping into his apartment and you look around at the state.

It's not untidy.... It's... Lived in. Disarranged throw pillows, a few crumpled papers tossed around the small trashcan that's located just beside the large, flat screen TV. There's a few scattered toys, a Barbie doll without it's shoe and it's....

Oddly reminding you of yourself whenever you do this.

"What kind of man doesn't have his own condoms?" You spit back, picking up the doll and dropping down on the sofa, grabbing the nearest thing with bristles, and combing through the long, blonde hair.

"The kind of man who— you can braid hair?" Roy questions, his brows knitting into a contemplative expression and you nod your head, as your manicured fingers card through the plastic strands, twisting hair over hair. A fishtail braid.

"Can you braid my kid's hair?"

The question is.... A surprise, more than anything, and your hands falter, before you look up at Roy, your eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Sure." You shrug, dismissing it before you set the doll on the coffee table before lifting yourself from the seat, before staring at Roy with narrowed eyes.

"Take your pants off."

"Shit, at least romance me.." Roy grumbles, mock-offense lacing his rugged features before he scoops you up, a muscular forearm bracketing your ass and a scarred finger hooks around your chain, tugging you closer into a kiss.

Roy's lips are the furthest thing from moisturized, a prominent crack down the centre of his bottom lip that occasionally catches on your own lip and you smile into the kiss, the ticklish feeling making you laugh into the kiss.

"Bitch, don't you own Vaseline?"

Roy smiles into the kiss, dimples in his cheeks deepening and his hand pushes open his bedroom door. "No," he hums, before tossing you on his bed, the springs creek just a bit as you bounce on the mattress, and his hands reach for the edge of his shirt, tugging it up his torso.

Very unceremoniously, might I add.

"But I've got lube." Grabbing an unlabelled bottle from the top of his dresser, and tossing it in your direction, ignoring the thud of the hard plastic hitting your forehead, as well as your cursing.

"This doesn't even have a label!" You hiss, one hand holding the bottle of lube and the other, rubbing your forehead with the heel of your palm.

"Gas station said it was lube." Roy shrugs his broad shoulders, before he crawls over the messy nest of sheets and bedding, grabbing your hips and tugging your basketball shorts from your hips.

Leaving you in your—

"Do you have to wear granny panties every time you come see me?" Roy groans, his leafy pools locked on the pale blue panties you're wearing. A white lace trim, and daisies dotted over the fabric that leaves far too much to the imagination.

"Do you have to be named Roy every time I see you?" You say his name like some kind of slur, a tone that isn't missed on him as he hooks his fingers into your panties.

"Oh, fuck off." He rolls his eyes, and you huff, lifting your hips just enough for him to pull the cotton down your ass. "I was named after my uncle."

"What was his name? Roy Rogers McFreely?" You snort, and you barely get to laugh at your own joke before you're roughly tossed onto your stomach, with your legs spread obscenely and a painful swat lands on your ass, before Roy's rough palm smooths over the stinging burn.

"Very funny." Roy huffs. "Now give me the lube."

"You're not using gas station lube on me." You deadpan, looking over your shoulder with a scowl. Your brows knitted and perfect lips tugged into a frown that just made him wanna kiss them.

Of course not now.

Roy's calloused fingers are occupied with a more interesting pair of lips that didn't call him a soulless ginger on missions, and his middle finger circles your clit in a way that makes your back arch just a bit sluttier.

"It's got an expiration date." Roy groans in frustration.

As though an expiration date makes it better.

You flip the bottle over in your hand, looking for the date.

"This says June." You state. "And what month are we in?" Roy hums, his fingers still circling your clit as he leans over you, inspecting the bottle with you.

"January." You deadpan. "Of three years after this bottle's expiration year."

"You know, I don't appreciate being spoken to like I'm some kind of idiot." Roy scowls at you, gingery brows knitted into a scowl, his pinkish upper lip curled in distaste at your tone.

"Well maybe next time, don't be an id—" Your voice cracks and a shaky gasp leaves you when two fingers begin to fuck into your gooey cunt. And Roy hums, resting his chin on your shoulder and he tips his head to look at you.

A cocky grin on his face and it seems like all your energy goes into placing a hand on his face, and pushing him lightly.

"Nice try." Roy mocks. "I'm entirely sober. I'm basically Superman."

"If he—... lacked a soul."

"Say I have a soul."

Roy has your knees forced apart by his muscular thighs, fingers fucking into your cunt while his free hand holds a wand vibrator to your throbbing clit. Your legs shake, puffy pussy glistening with his spit and your wetness, combined into a slick mess that trilled down your messy folds.

"I—I'm... 'm not a liar..." You whine, your hands fisting at the sheets, the edge of your T-shirt between your teeth, your cheeks flushed and messy with tears that had threatened to spill from one too many ruined orgasms.

Roy tuts you, moving away the vibrator away from you and pulling his fingers out of you roughly. And he takes the time, the corners of his mouth twitching, before pulling into a devious grin at the sight of your hole spasming around nothing.

And those glistening fingers make their way to your mouth, pressing down on your tongue and those eyes alone.

Perfect, pretty emerald eyes.

Fanned by pretty, Disney ass lashes, thick brows and the lightest flickers of blue in his eyes. And you suck on his fingers.

Savouring the taste of his fingertips that seem to constantly taste like the feathery end of an arrow, mixed with his spit and your cum, and you whine around his knuckles. You slobber. You whine, you cry.

Your toes curl when that vibrator meets your needy clit, tracing up and down your slick slit, and you barely notice that you're biting down on Roy's fingers when your head tips back. And you squirt.

Soaking Roy from his chest, to his boxers, and the sheets below you. Roy doesn't register your teeth digging into his fingers, only focusing on the messy cum that trickles down the creases of your ass and he hums, pulling his fingers out of your mouth.

And inspecting the teeth indentations.

"Good thing we've never sixty-nined." He mumbles, almost to himself, before his hand, soaked with your spit, slaps your pussy.

Your body rocks, your tummy dipping inward with each flinch of pleasure-pain, whimpers slipping past your kiss-swollen lips. All red from Roy sucking on them while ruining your orgasms and he leans forward, pressing a kiss against your temple.

A soft, gentle action that anchors you in this moment, but before you can say anything, anything at all, your thighs are in a long distance relationship and you're tasked with holding that vibrator to your throbbing clit while Roy pushes into you.

It's a sensation that's painfully familiar.

That almost burn that makes your toes curl and your back arch into the mattress to get away from him, and then, that slow, painful pulling out that has your hips lifting to take more of him.

And you glance down at where Roy slowly feeds your pussy. Inch by inch, as he carefully takes the vibrator from your hand, resting it where he thinks it needs to be.

And God, is he right.

Not directly on your clit, but shy of it, to the right and your lashes flutter, the back of your head resting against the headboard and Roy groans, his hips bumping against yours in the slowest, deepest rhythm.

For someone who makes you squirt with how rough he is, honestly, he doesn't even fuck.

Roy makes love.

90's, R&B, silk shirt and crying in the rain type of love. His hips don't stutter, don't falter, all that he's focused on is taking you to pound town on a safe journey and getting you home in time to feed your turtle.

"Don't close your legs, don't close your legs." He breathes out, switching off the vibrator and setting it aside, before angling his hips.

The blunt, rosy tip of his cock nudges against a spot that makes your kiss-swollen lips form the cutest 'o' shape, eyes nearly crossing and that's the spot.

And Roy begins to fuck.

Hard, messy thrusts that leave a creamy ring around the base of him, his palm coming to rest just above your mound and pressure begins to build like a fucking wildfire. And you babble, eyes welling up with tears as each stroke brings you closer to that precipice of pleasure that makes you believe that Roy might be God's favourite.

Because no fucking way ANYONE would have dick this good.

Unless maybe, Batman.

And Roy leans forward, a hand roughly grasping your chin, and he forces his thumb between your lips, watching the way your eyes glaze over when he presses down on your tongue. That mind-numbing sensation of his cock stilling and twitching against your gummy walls makes your brain fuzzy and all you do is stick your tongue out, catching the spit that leaves his stupidly perfect mouth.

And Roy smears his messy, wet hand across your face, before grabbing your chin again, fingers digging into your cheeks and he leans forward.

Pressing a sloppy, hard kiss to your lips, tasting your spit and cum on your lips and he groans, his hips pistoning in and out of you with no fucking warning.

The headboard hits against the wall, the sheets rustle and the loudest sound is the messy squelch of your sopping pussy as he fucks you into oblivion.

"You're so fucking perfect." Roy pants, kissing you like there's no fucking tomorrow and god, your blood is rushing in your ears and the sound is deafening.

Especially when you feel those skilled fingertips sinking to your hair, your walls fluttering and spasming as you gush, pushing his cock out of you and he places the most gentle kiss against your forehead.

You don't drink enough water to be able to push out liquids like this. But that's not your problem or even the mildest concern.

Not when your face is pushed into the pillow that smells like his musk and cologne, not to mention that tiniest hint of sweat. And definitely not when he's reaching over you, muscular and scarred hands gripping the headboard tightly, as he slowly slips into you.

Gushy walls swallowing him whole, and Roy's chest presses against your back, his face buried in the curve of your neck and he presses the sweetest kiss against your pulse.

Sucking marks into your skin, his hand coming to wrap around your throat just a bit, fingertips digging into the slight plush and his hips fucking roll.

Cock pummeling into you at that slow, passionate pace and Roy hums quietly. "You like it? I've been taking a— hah— a Spanish dance class with Jason."

And you let out a laugh, a breathy giggle and you whine as he nudges at your cervix.

"N—not enough words to say how gay that is." You mock, your hands clawing and gripping at the sheets, your brain fuzzy and your tongue lolling just a bit.

And Roy laughs. A low, raspy chuckle.

"Oh, you're really gonna get it now." And he lifts, just a bit, his fingers curling into your scalp and tugging your hair back, enough to expose your throat.

"Now... 'm gonna fuck you 'til you piss yourself."

[luveline]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

You try to break up with your boyfriend. Aaron just wants to know why. (And what he can do to fix it.) [4k]

c: fem, stripper!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff epilogue, suggestive themes mdni. requested here 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I don’t want to see you anymore. 

The text doesn’t compute at first. He reads it twice. Reads the sender’s name, his heart stopped clean in his chest. 

He puts down his pen.

The idea that the text wasn’t meant for him crosses his mind, but that might further break his heart. He knows you have clients, but you don’t contact them outside of the club. 

His second thought is that he’d been a client unknowingly, but he made it clear to you those few months ago that he liked you as you, not as a service provider, and not as something to be bought. You thought he was trying to acquire you as a private escort. He explained it as what it was truthfully, if vulnerably.

He’s being broken up with, he surmises. Over text. By a woman he adores, who he’d thought was happy. Aaron opens his phone to call you, clicking your contact, bringing it to his ear. You don’t answer. He calls again and he’s clearly declined three rings in. 

He puts his phone down and has a few minutes of unbreathable heartbreak. Just a few minutes, his hand to his stomach, trying to think of things as reasonably as he can. 

Aaron doesn’t care that you’re a stripper. He might’ve at first. Denied his attraction to you, because of course he had feelings for you when you were standing against the side of the club in your dancing lingerie, who wouldn’t fall in love with you? Every fool lucky enough to see you undressed must assume the same thing. He thought it wouldn’t work, and that you’d never be interested in a man like him. 

Interviews for information lended themselves to rare moments of conversation. He liked how you talked, how your eyes moved to his, the way you watched his mouth. Your unusual friendship with Spencer drew you closer, and activated a rare seed of jealousy within him that helped him place you in his life. He had real, tangible feelings for you. 

And now it’s over. 

He scrunches his eyes closed and gets up from his desk. Puts his coat on, but leaves his things where they are on his desk. 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks as he descends the steps down from his office into the bullpen. 

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” 

“What happened?” 

Aaron turns to Morgan, hiding his panic as well as he’s able to. “I have a small emergency. It’s fine. Can you make sure things are okay here?” 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks again. 

Aaron keeps on going. He tries your number again on the way down. Three times, a fourth by the time he’s at the parking garage. 

The fifth time, you answer. 

He almost breaks the phone, its plastic body creaking in his hand. “Honey?” he asks. 

“I don’t want to see you anymore, Aaron. Is it hard to understand?” 

He’s taken aback. Some part of him had held onto the hope that it was a mistake. “Yes,” he says slowly, struggling to pull his keys out as his car comes into view, “it is.” 

“I don’t want to be with you.” 

“Have I upset you?” 

“Would that make it easier?” 

“No. I don’t think anything would make it any easier. Honey, this feels so sudden. Can’t we talk about it?” 

“I don’t want to see you.” 

“Please.” He can’t imagine never seeing you again. Just a few days ago he was sitting at the dinner table with you laughing opposite, your socked toes brushing his ankle. “Please, give me the chance to fix this.” 

“Aaron, it’s not really fixable. Please don’t call me again.”

“Y/N,” he says, firmer now. Anger leaks into his tone —what’s going on? “Let me come over. We need to talk about this.” 

“No–”

“It’s not fair to me for you to do it over the phone.” 

“…Okay. Fine. I’m at home, but I have work at six.” 

“I’m on my way.” 

He hangs up. Your terse allowance is all he needs to get in the car and drive, checking his watch. There’s plenty of time between now and six. He can figure out what’s wrong and hopefully change your mind.

He thinks about it more seriously as he’s parking outside of your place. Perhaps he doesn’t want to change your mind. You aren’t acting like you, none of your kindness can be found in such a swift dismissal, but he thinks of your foot under the table, your sock rubbing along his ankle without comment. 

He takes the stairs to your apartment. It’s not the nicest place to stay, but it’s far from a slum, either. He doesn’t worry about you when you’re home beyond the usual everyday fears: Is she eating? Sleeping? Having a good day? 

Now he’s thinking, What did I do? 

He gets to your apartment and pauses at the threshold. After a moment's deliberation, he knocks. 

“Come in, Aaron.” 

He pulls down the handle and lets himself in. You’ve mail piled on the sideboard and your shoes tucked under it, a coat rack further in bragging scarves and coats and jackets of all different colours. He’s always liked the interior of your apartment. It doesn’t feel as cold as his own, parts of your personality peeking in through everything, from the flowered tiles in the bathroom to the glass lampshade in the bedroom. 

You’re sitting in the kitchen with the light off. “Hey,” he says, voice already laden with relief he doesn’t mean to share. 

“Hi.” 

“Can I sit down?” 

You gesture for him to do as he likes. 

Aaron sits down at your table. It’s a small square just big enough to share dinner, plain wood edged in a darker slate grey outline. Sometimes when you’re feeling especially pretty, you’ll lean heavily on an elbow and grin at him, enticing him in for a kiss.

“What’s this all about?” he asks quietly. 

“I just think we’re… at the end of our relationship.” 

You don’t sound truthful. He knew there was something strange in your voice over the phone. 

“What’s making you feel that way?” 

“Does it matter?” 

Again, avoiding and evasive. 

He meets your gaze unflinchingly. “I care about you. I love you,” he says. “I know I can’t be who you pictured for yourself, and if you really can’t see a future for us, then… I’ll have seen it alone. I just wish I could understand this sudden change. Did I do something wrong?” 

“You’re not who I picture for myself,” you agree. 

“No?” he asks. 

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong, but I can’t see us together. We’re not the right fit.” 

You twist a ring around your middle finger. He thinks he’s starting to understand. “Do you think we’re not the right fit?” 

“Please don’t use your psychoanalysis on me.” 

“It’s not psychoanalysis, sweetheart, it’s– I know you.” He grimaces. “I’d like to think I do. And I’m allowing myself the audacity to believe you were happy with me just a few days ago. What happened between then and now to change your mind?” 

You stare at your two-toned table. Your mouth opens to talk, little but air making it out. Your shoulders begin tightening like you’ve been keyed between them, twisting and twisting. 

“What do you want me to say?” you ask. 

Dramatic, he’d hope you could say you don’t love him, or don’t care about him enough to let him convince you the rest of the way. “Is this really what you want?” he asks instead. 

Your staring turns to squinting. With a start, he watches a small tear drip from the corner of your eye to your nostril, to your cupid's bow. 

“No,” you say carefully, “it’s not what I want. I don’t like you being against me.” 

“Then what’s making you feel this way?” 

You cover your eyes with one hand. “I wanted to do this over the phone,” you say in a squeeze. 

He reaches for you but doesn’t touch. “I couldn’t let you.” 

“I just want you to be happy,” you say, so high he can barely understand you. “I’ll never be like you, Aaron. You’re so smart, and you’ve done so much. You’re a hero, and you must look so stupid with me. What do you think people say when they realise what I am?” 

“It doesn’t matter to me what they say. I know you, and they don’t.”

“What about what I think?” 

“What do you think?” 

You wipe your face roughly, eyes lit with an anger he’s unprepared for. “I told you, don’t psychoanalyse me. I don’t want to have to explain it, I just want to say what I have to say. I don’t want to be with you because you won’t be happy, and neither will I.” 

Aaron isn’t too prideful to recognise when he needs to fight for what he wants. He reaches over the table and takes your arm into his hand, picking it up, feeling down The length of it until he’s curled his hand over your smaller fingers. “We are happy,” he says softly, giving your hand a small shake. “I understand where you’re coming from. When we first met, I couldn’t have predicted that I’d be here with you now. I do wonder what people think when they ask me what you do and I tell them you’re a performer. I know we agreed to it, but there are moments where I feel like I’m being cruel to you. But just because there’s a stigma surrounding what you do, it doesn’t mean that you’re any lesser than me. You’re not less intelligent, or less accomplished. We chose different paths and I’m glad we did. If you weren’t a dancer I never would’ve met you.” 

“Do you know how it feels for me to come home to you sometimes?” you ask weakly. 

“I’d hope it feels as it does for me. Every time I see you, I’m relieved.” 

“Aaron, I get this rush of safety, like you’re– I’m finally safe. I can take care of myself, you know that, but now I have you it’s that I don’t even want to. And that’s stupid. I know that that’s stupid.” 

“What I’m thinking,” he says, soft, not as worried about being without you now as he is of the horrible way you’re feeling, “is that you’ve thought about all of this a lot. I’m glad you’ve taken time to reflect on us and your life, but I wish you’d thought more about what we both want.” 

“I want you to be happy,” you argue, as you had a few moments ago. 

“And I’m never happier than when we’re together.” He shrugs. “Love isn’t about work. Your job shapes you as mine shapes me, but you have to know that who you are is what’s important.” 

“I don’t know who I am…” 

“I know exactly who you are,” he says, rubbing a loving thumb over your knuckles. 

“I’m… I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you, on the phone. I knew if I talked to you like this I’d be too much of a coward to really see it through.” 

“I see. You’ve planned my heartbreak weeks in advance.” 

You shake your head sadly. “Aaron, we’re not good for each other. You make me this awful, weak version of me, and I’m no good.” 

“We have been nothing but happy since we met.” Aaron pulls your hand up and kisses the side of your wrist. He isn’t ashamed of you. He doesn’t make you weak, you aren’t. “I don’t know how to explain it. Sometimes it feels like we’re from different worlds, but it’s not that melodramatic. You’re my partner. I love you. It’s hard not to think about what others think of us, but I know exactly what I think of you, and I know what you think of me, too.” 

You share a look. 

“I’ve never heard you talk so much,” you say, your frown fading. “I’m sorry.” 

“You haven’t done anything wrong.” 

“When I thought I couldn’t get any more embarrassing,” you mumble. 

“You aren’t embarrassing. Please, put the thought out of your head.” 

“Thought out of my head,” you repeat, still mumbling as you flex your fingers, pushing them between his and intertwining your hands. You bring them linked to your forehead and take a heavy breath. 

“Do you really want to break up?” he asks softly. 

Your breath warms his arm. “No.” 

“You can have the things you want, you know? I imagine that there are people who laugh when I tell them about you, but you have to know that their opinions would never matter to me.” He pulls his hand from your head to encourage you to meet his eyes. “No one else matters but me and you. We don’t have to factor in other people. We can just be together.” 

“I’m not worth all the fuss,” you say under your breath. 

“What, this fuss? Honey, a few weeks ago you cried in my lap because I got you that cake from the bakery. And you know what? I didn’t want you to cry, but getting to rub your back?” He chances a smile. “That made my night.” 

“You like making girls cry.” 

“Yes,” he says, trying not to grin like a fool as you stand from your chair and put yourself in front of him. He is no saint. He pulls you onto his thighs and wraps an arm around the small of your back, your legs either side of him. “That’s my goal in life, sweetheart.” His voice falls to a whisper as you hang your head against him, tip of your nose to a rough cheek. “Making you cry…” 

Your arms creep to his neck. Resting on him, rather than hugging. He doesn’t mind, he’ll do the hard work. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. 

“It’s okay.” He turns your face with his to press his lips to your cheek. “It’s alright, honey, bumps in the road happen with everyone.” 

“All my fault.” 

“Maybe next time, if you feel so strongly about something, you can just extend me that little bit of faith and… know that I’m here for you. Even if it did mean we wouldn’t be together, it doesn’t have to be that you’re alone, making such a big decision. Valiant,” he adds, enjoying the warmth of you seeping into his shirt, his face, his neck where your wrist is laid against it. “You’re not a coward. But I wish you wouldn’t be this brave about breaking my heart.” 

“Stop making me feel guilty.” 

His laugh is a breath against your cheek. “No, it’s fine, isn’t it? Use me and abuse me.” 

“Shut up. Stop, what is this weird guilt tripping you’re doing?” You laugh at his absurdity. “I’d never abuse you.” 

“I know. Just step on me a bit.” 

“Stop, stop,” you mumble, your voice turning slowly from self-pitying to honey, all that love for him he knew you still had like threads of gold shooting through it, “I don’t wanna step on you, I never would…” 

“Just rough me up a little.” 

“Never.” You press your face to his neck. “Thank you for not letting me do it.” 

“I won’t let you go so easily.” His hand trails up your back, feeling the softness of you beneath your t-shirt. Fat, muscle, all of it familiar, and treasured by his touching. 

He squeezes you rather tightly, then, but you don’t complain, you just sigh. 

“It’s not that you’re not who I picture for myself, like I said before,” you confess, leaning all your weight against him, barely held up by your legs either side of him. “You weren’t, but I didn’t realise that I could have you. I didn’t really know men like you existed. I should’ve known I was looking in the wrong age bracket.” 

“That’s not very nice. In my line of work they call that a feedback sandwich, honey. Something cruel between nice things to distract me.” 

“Sorry. Just had to get it in.” 

He considers your teasing a return to normalcy, guiding your head away from his with a hand to the back of your neck. “If this was a ploy to make me leave work early, consider it successful.” 

“I know your attention usually falls to other places, Mr. Hotchner–” You burst into giggles as he pinches the back of your neck, but it’s only to pull you in for a kiss, smiling against your parted lips as your laughter fades away.

You scrunch his shirt in your hand and kiss him nicely. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“Forgiven.” Even if he did almost go into cardiac arrest at his desk. “I like begging to stay. It builds character.” 

“How long will you be like this?” you ask, shaking your head slowly, your smile poorly hidden. 

You’d needed a reminder, is all. Aaron isn’t solely business and sternness, he’s an idiot, your idiot, who likes to tease you, and doesn’t care who knows that. When he’s working he’s one person, and when he’s with you, he’s another. Both have their qualities and faults, but only one version is the one he needs to be with you. 

“At my age it’s perfectly normal to have a young and beautiful wife,” he says. “You’ve seen some of the other Section’s worker’s wives.” 

“I’m not that young,” you say. 

“So you admit it?” 

You reward him with a tired sigh, cuddling into his collar. 

—

…I'll never be your beast of burden. So let's go home and draw the curtains…

Aaron’s humming from the bedroom. He knows every classic rock song to exist, every word to every Beatles song. When the chorus comes, he sings under his breath, but you can hear him regardless. “Am I rough enough, am I rich enough? I’m not too blind…” he fades off. 

The music hums under your feet. Record player open on the floor, his Some Girls vinyl on the plate. 

You press a hand down your side. 

To inspire less worry on your part, you and Aaron are trying to be more open about the other sides of your lives. His work feels alien to you, and you worry that yours is dirty to him, despite reassurance that a job is a job. You know that already, but you can’t make yourself believe that he’s as happy as he could be if you were, say, a checkout girl. 

You’d make a cute checkout girl, he’d said. 

This is cute, too. Babydoll lingerie with feather edgings, starkly white against your skin. You fluff out the ends and neaten the crotch of your panties. Nothing is on show that shouldn’t be, but it’s still lingerie. It’s meant to excite. 

“Honey,” he says, dulcet tone carrying to the bathroom, “are you stuck again?” 

You laugh. “I bet you hope so.” 

“That’s accusatory in nature.” 

“I’m coming.” You give it a last glance in the mirror and head into the bedroom. 

Aaron’s sat against your headboard, flowery pillowcases behind his head and back. He discards the little figurine he’d been playing with out of boredom and looks you up and down, corners of his lips curling. 

“Home only,” he says. 

“I knew you’d say that.” 

“You look stunning.” His eyes seem darker. All pupil. 

“I have to wear some of these at the club, Aaron, that’s why I bought them.” 

Something in your voice makes him smile. “You said I could veto the ones that are too beautiful.” 

“I said too slutty.” 

“Honey, they’re all revealing in their ways. And I don’t have a problem with it…” He takes a breath. “Much. But some of these are meant for…” 

“The man who loves me?”

“Exactly.” 

He’d said something similar about the light blue set with darker flowers, the black set that showed the curves of your chest, and especially about the pink one-piece with white ribbons. That one gave him pause. 

“Spin?” he asks. 

One day it might bother Aaron that you dance, but for now he’s gently approving. Just wants you to be happy. So you do a little spin without any attempt to be sexy and beam when he whistles. 

“Beautiful. Really, honey, that’s the nicest so far.” 

“I have a confession.” 

“Yeah?” 

“This one was for you.” 

He’d know if you were lying. “For me?” he says, in that tone bordering stern, as much of his professionalism as you’re used to hearing these days. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Don’t,” he says, seductions gone as he tips his head back into a pillow patterned with lavender and peony. “Unless you’re done trying those on, I don’t want to hear it.” 

“This is the last one.” 

“In that case.” He covers his face with a cushion. 

You look down. Your stomach is a little bloated from lunch, and you have a shaving rash on your left knee, but Aaron won’t mind. He never does. Without worry, you tread to the side of the bed and climb onto it, one leg over his lap. The last time you’d been sitting in his lap, you’d been teary-eyed and regretful. Fuck, what was I thinking? you ask yourself, slipping a hand under his rising shirt to feel his abdomen. It’ll never not be weird, the FBI man and his stripper girlfriend, but it doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but him and you. 

You ease the pillow down his face. 

“Are you blushing, Aaron?” you ask. 

“Not purposefully.” 

“You look a little… hot.” 

“That makes two of us.” 

It starts slowly. The heat of you atop him, the pillows moved out of the way. You didn’t expect him to stay unbothered as you paraded your new spoils, but his willpower is remarkable, and he only breaks when you let yourself settle on his lap. His big hand cups your face. 

“That’s funny.” You lift up enough to be in kissing range, but don’t kiss. You just wait for him to react, holding your weight off of his chest. 

He finds the small of your back and drags. Your gasp isn’t your own, a breathy, excited thing as he brings your face to his for a kiss. Your lips almost immediately part in anticipation of his eagerness, of his hand on the back of your neck, and the unflinching heat of his mouth as he turns his head. Your noses brush. He wades in deeper, his own breath already failing him as the bridges of your nose press hard. 

They aren’t rough kisses, but there’s something desperate there. He holds you to him until he can’t, ushering you onto your back, his weight bearing down sudden and steady. 

“I can’t believe I nearly lost you,” he utters, stroking your cheek, edging back in to kiss you before you can reply. 

You wrap an arm behind his back and hike your leg, soft thigh naked and waiting for his touch. You didn’t nearly lose me, you think. To be lost, you’d have to be something worth losing, and you’re not sure you are, but Aaron? 

“I don’t think you could,” you mumble, forcing him to kiss your cheek, your jaw, the line of your throat. He nips at your neck, a shudder racing through you. 

“I have no intent of letting it come that close again, sweetheart.” 

His hand dances up your side to the soft hill of your chest. 

You hold the hair from his face and let him kiss you. He’s here to stay, no matter how odd a pairing you might make. You love him. That’s all he cares about. 

“Want me to do that thing you like?” you offer softly, mildly playful. 

He laughs into your neck. “No,” he says, “I think tonight is about you, hm? You’re all dressed up. I think that deserves a reward.” 

You knew he’d like the white babydoll. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

[kxsagi]

OK BUT LIKE

BLLK VROTHERS REACTING WHEN THEIR LITTLE SISTER ASKED THEM TO WALK HER DOWN THE AISLE

maybe rin and sae together

LMAOOOO I IMAGINE THEM SOBBING (we know reo and bachira did lmaooooo

LOVE YOU

“𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞”

a/n: LOVE YOU TOOO

THIS WAS SO CUTE TO WRITE

ft. mikage reo, bachira meguru, isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, kaiser michael, karasu tabito

mikage reo

the second the words leave your mouth: “reo, i want you to walk me down the aisle,” he genuinely short circuits. mouth hanging open, hand clutching his chest like an overdramatic disney princess. 

“i… oh my gosh. you mean it? me? me?” he sniffles. hard. “don’t do this to me, i just got a facial.” 

reo is acting like he just got nominated for an oscar. suddenly, he’s pulling up pinterest boards, wedding planners, and muttering things like, “okay, so your color palette is soft blush, but with maybe a mauve undertone… no wait, that’s too 2022. do we want more of a lavender-gray? do you want peacocks?” 

the man is GONE. emotionally. financially. spiritually. he’s designing matching custom outfits for the two of you. he tries to hire a mini orchestra to play you down the aisle. he practices different walking speeds just to see which tempo feels the most cinematic. 

and the night before the wedding, you find him curled up in a fluffy robe, hugging a childhood photo of the two of you and softly whispering, “my baby girl is getting married… what if i trip and ruin the moment? should i rehearse again?” 

on the day? he’s sobbing. like, ugly crying. “you’re the most beautiful bride in the whole world. even if you’re not wearing chanel.” 

bachira meguru

you go, “hey, i was wondering if you could walk me–” 

“YES. YES I WILL. A THOUSAND TIMES YES.” 

he jumps onto the couch like you just proposed. nearly knocks over a lamp. his shirt flies off somehow. there’s confetti? no one knows where it came from. 

this man starts training. like, literally. he builds a fake aisle out of cardboard in the living room and practices walking you down it with a random bouquet of plastic forks. 

“you think i can backflip down the aisle while holding your arm?” 

“NO.” 

“… what if i do it real slow?” 

at your dress fitting, he gasps so dramatically the stylist flinches. 

“OH MY GOSH. YOU LOOK LIKE A PRINCESS WHO FIGHTS DRAGONS AND HEALS HEARTS AND *sniff* CAN STILL KICK MY ASS.” 

he cries into your veil. full on, snot-bubble sobs. 

on the actual wedding day, he has to stuff tissues in his sleeves because he knows he’s gonna leak from the eyes and nose. halfway down the aisle he starts whispering nonsense like, “okay don’t trip don’t cry don’t scream don’t do a handstand–” 

you elbow him. 

“right. serious. majestic. i got this.” 

immediately trips over your veil. 

isagi yoichi

when you ask him, he blinks like he’s buffering. “walk you down the aisle? me?” 

he goes quiet, then smiles. softly. that warm, older-brother grin. “i’d be honored.” 

but two hours later you catch him staring at your baby pictures on the couch with glassy eyes. he tries to act normal. 

“i’m not crying. i’m just… remembering. shut up.” 

this man treats your wedding like the world cup final. printed checklists. a backup boutonniere. mints in his pocket. he even puts deodorant on his ankles “just in case.” 

at your rehearsal, he holds your arm like it’s a sacred relic. guides you like a knight escorting royalty. whispers, “you’re so grown up now… don’t fall for any tricks. if he breaks your heart, i’ll break his knee.” 

you laugh. he’s dead serious. 

on the big day, he takes one look at you in your dress and just goes, “whoa.” and then his eyes water. but he doesn’t cry. no. he clenches his jaw like a soldier. 

his walk is steady, but his hand is squeezing yours like he’s sending morse code for “i love you forever.” 

itoshi rin

you ask, “rin, will you walk me down the aisle?” 

“… why?” 

“because you’re my brother, dummy. and i want you.” 

he stares. then turns around and mutters, “… fine.” 

you don’t hear a peep from him for days. you assume he doesn’t care. then you accidentally walk into his room and catch him… researching proper aisle etiquette on youtube. 

he slams the laptop shut like you caught him watching something else. “get out.” 

“… were you practicing your posture?” 

“GET OUT.” 

on the big day, he’s silent. tense. eyes sharp. suit crisp. he sees you in your dress and his whole face cracks. 

his lips twitch. his eyes look glassy. but he holds it in. barely. 

as he links arms with you, you hear him breathe, “you look really pretty.” 

you glance at him. 

“… shut up.” 

he’s definitely crying on the inside. 100%. 

before he hands you off, he looks the groom straight in the eye. 

“don’t hurt her. ever.” 

that’s not a threat. that’s a promise with consequences. 

itoshi sae

you go, “sae, will you walk me down the aisle?” 

he stares at you like you just asked him to do your taxes in a clown suit. “… why would i do that?” 

you pout. “because i want you to.” 

he shrugs. “i guess.” 

but then you hear him cancel a madrid training session the next week. he shows up to fittings. he critiques your groom like a stoic wine connoisseur. 

“his handshake is weak. is that really who you want?” 

“sae.” 

“… fine. 6.5 out of 10.” 

he’s the calmest one on the day of, until you put on your dress. then he blinks a little too slowly. clears his throat five times. 

“… you look alright.” 

“that’s it?” 

he glances at you again. “… you look better than alright. now stop looking at me like that.” 

(he totally cried in the car on the way home. never admits it.) 

nagi seishiro

you ask him and he just mumbles, “ugh, sounds like a hassle.” 

but then you add, “there’ll be snacks at the reception.” 

“what time’s the wedding again?” 

he tries to convince you to be carried down the aisle like a princess so he doesn’t have to walk. 

“what if i just teleport you?” 

“this isn’t an anime, seishiro.” 

“unfortunate.” 

he forgets he’s supposed to wear a suit and shows up in pajamas until reo throws a bowtie at his face. 

when he sees you all dressed up, he blinks. “… you’re sparkly.” 

he doesn’t cry. but he does hand you a gummy bear from his pocket and goes, “for strength.” 

(you still have it in your purse.) 

kaiser michael

“you want ME? the MICHAEL KAISER? to escort you down the aisle?” 

he flips imaginary hair. “obviously. i’ll have to outshine the bride a little, but i’ll try to tone it down.” 

you threaten to replace him with ness. he shuts up. 

he insists on glitter. refuses to walk to “boring music.” tries to choreograph a slow-motion runway strut. 

on the actual day, he’s the only one who bows to the guests and says “your majesty has arrived.” 

but when he sees you? he gets real quiet. 

“… you look beautiful, little star.” he means it. he really does. 

but then he adds, “thank goodness i moisturized today. otherwise i’d be crying and flaky.” 

karasu tabito

“me? walk you down the aisle? damn right i will. who else is gonna make sure this idiot doesn’t drop the ring?” 

he says it with a grin, but when he sees you in your dress he shuts up. fully stunned. 

“… shit.” 

“what?” 

“you’re really getting married, huh.” 

he pauses. 

“… don’t cry, you little gremlin.” 

he’s the one crying. quietly. behind his sunglasses. 

before he walks you down, he pops a mint in his mouth and goes, “you ready?” you nod. 

“cool. i’m gonna make a stupid face to ruin all the photos.” 

“don’t you da–” 

too late. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[bunny-jpeg]

retired!price needed a mission. he had been in the military since the day he could enlist, he was molded by the structure of it all. early riser and late evenings, whisky and cigars. the feeling of a gun in his hands was second nature. debriefings and helicopter rides. that was his life, that was what he was good at. one mission after another, even when his body wanted to quit, he mentally couldn't.

now, at the age of forty-seven, he was retired. he had no mission, no objective. it made him almost pace around his flat. that was until you moved in next door.

you gave price purpose, even if you didn't mean to. there was something about you that captivated him. you pulled him in like a siren's song. price could imagine himself curled up next to you in the evenings, listening to your quiet breathing as you fell asleep. breakfast in the mornings and dinner in the evenings. falling asleep in front of the television. the problem was, you were painfully younger than him. still an adult. you had just graduated university, but still younger than him. that and you had a boyfriend. price couldn't care to remember his name, he had to go. now.

price hated seeing his hands all over you. your boyfriend, it felt so juvenile for a woman as amazing as you. you needed a man, not a boy. price thought you shouldn't be waiting around for him to finish (fail) med school. you needed a real man, someone who'll provide. and price could provide for you in spades. "does the boyfriend help with any of the finances?" price asked as he helped you bring your groceries inside one afternoon. you looked at him with a curious expression and replied, "no." and price just smiled as he patted you on the shoulder, "well, he isn't much of a man then? if he can't take care of his girl." the smile was friendly and it slowly coaxed you into his arms. but not before price took care of your boyfriend. he remembered when you came to his apartment in tears because they found a body near the river. wrapped in plastic and with no suspects in custody, price lingered when the police talked to you. and then reassured you when the police left.

after that price knew that he had to take better care of you. you were hurting, you needed price. so while you were out, price let himself in and got to work. it wasn't hard to replicate your key, he had swiped the spare from the bowl by the door when he came to visit you one day, only for the key to returned the next afternoon. a few cameras installed around the apartment to keep you safe. this was about your safety. price couldn't have you getting hurt, not when your boyfriend went and got himself killed! (you worried his killer was still out there). "do you ever feel like someone's watching?" you asked over morning tea before you went to work. price was leaned back on the couch enjoying his own cup with his other hand on your thigh. price replied, "sometimes, but it might be anxiety overactin' in your brain. maybe you need to take a vacation." "hmm, maybe." price liked his mission now, to protect you. keep you safe from whatever or whoever killed your boyfriend. did he have mob connections, were you in danger? it was alright, price could protect you. but it would be hard to when he lived so far away from you. why don't you move in? it wasn't like he was using the spare bedroom. but the spare bedroom wasn't used for long, soon you found comfort in price's bed. you had become a little more paranoid, there were still no leads on your boyfriend's murder case, but price was a comforting presence.

even his smell managed to calm your mind. you often wore an article of his clothing out to feel protected. it was even better when those clothes were on the hefty, strong, hairy body of your friend. price preferred the term husband when referring to him. but you'd get there eventually. it was easier to catch a wife with honey than vinegar, so he'd let you play those cute games. the will they-won't they as if price hadn't killed your boyfriend to get with you. you were made for him, every atom in your being was meant for price. you were his mission! his sanity! he needed to keep you safe, so don't blame him when he slipped an air tag in your work bag and another in your weekend purse. he always knew where you were, you just thought it was luck when he perfectly had dinner ready for as soon as you came home. the home cooked meals made you much more agreeable with price. the savoury sauces, meats and vegetables. all to add a little more fat to your hips, price liked his women soft. easy to take care of but with enough chub to carry a healthy baby. he knew your hips were wide and your chest was big. you had the body of a goddess that price yearned to worship. to fuck.

so while, price had never believed in god. rather he believed that it was better to stay out of religion given what he had done in his past. but when his worn, calloused hands gripped your soft hips and sank himself into your pussy. it was heaven. the skies opened up and the angels sang their choir. price already imagined the ring on your finger and the baby at your hips. out of this flat and into a bigger home outside the city. price would provide, as he always did. when his cock nudged against your gummy walls, it only egged his fantasy on further. your pathetic boyfriend didn't know what he had, but price did. so that was why your boyfriend had to get out of the picture. price knew every inch of skin better than he did. he knew every curve and mole. the scar on your side from an childhood accident to your stretchmarks at your hips. a divine being was what you were and when price fucked you it was a religious experience. your moans were music to price's ears and you made him yearn for you more. it was a taste of heaven that would drive a mortal man insane. his hairy stomach up against you as he fucked you with heavy strokes. he was so much bigger compared to you. he could bruise you, crush you, if he so desired. but the only bruising would be at your cervix, but don't worry price will soften the pain with his cum. the bed creaked under the both of you. he made promises that the would kill you safe from anything that could harm you. he was a man, not a boy, exactly what you needed. he'll take care of everything, just keep loving him. being with him. and you, with squeaky moans, promised that you'd love him. that made something in price's bed click and he fucked you without much hold-back. when he finished inside of you, he planted a kiss on your lips, a passion that would only be matched when you got married.

"my baby girl." he said softly as he rubbed your back afterwards.

price found that your anxiety lessened as time went by. planning a wedding with a baby on the way kept your brain occupied. there was nothing to worry about, love. no one would hurt a hair on your head. price's mission would forever be you. you and the babies. a proper price family. just don't look in his safe. you might not like what you find. in particular the pistol with the missing bullet. <3

[bbrissonn]

𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝 - 𝐥𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ in which your agent forces you into a relationship for PR, but when you find yourself developping feelings for the boy, everything goes to shit

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ disclaimer: english is not my first language and this is not proofread so please excuse any errors and if any words are missing add them in your head :) also this is a work of fiction, this doesn’t reflect how these boys act in real life, and it isn’t how i imagine them acting 

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ warnings: angst angst angst, no happy ending cause bitch does the song sound like a happy ending 😭, mention of sex but no nsfw content, swearing

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ pairing: luke hughes x reader

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ wc: 8.7k (including lyrics)

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ guts masterlist

Want it, so i got it, did it, so it’s done Another thing i ruined i used to do for fun Another piece of plastic i could just throw away Another conversation with nothing good to say

You were currently sitting in your manager’s, Chris, office alone, two other chairs next to you as you waited for him to return with his “special guests”. You truly had no idea what this was about, you never had meeting with guests, or whatever he meant. Your confusion only grew as you heard your manager’s laugh as he walked back into his office, another man in a suit next to him as he too laughed out loud, and a boy who looked about your age walking in behind them. 

“Y/N, this is my friend, Mike, and his client, Luke, he plays for the New Jersey Devils.” 

“Hi.” You answer looking briefly at the two before looking back in front of you. The last thing you wanted to do at the moment was have a social party with two strangers. 

“Excuse her behaviour, she’s been a little one edge lately. You two make yourselves comfortable.” Chris said as he walked to his desk chair, pulling out some papers from one of his drawers. Meanwhile, Luke took a seat next to you, sending you a small smile, which you didn’t bother to return, and Mike sat on the last chair. “Ah, don’t you just love a freshly printed contract!” Chris added, looking at his friend before the two shared a small laugh. 

“Contract?” You and Luke both ask at the same, looking at your respective managers. The two stayed silent for a couple of seconds, before Chris cleared his throat. 

“Mike and I have been talking for a bit, and we’ve both come to the conclusion that this is an excellent step for to the two of you to take to help your careers.”

“Career? I’m doing just fine, thank you very much.” You sassed as Luke shifted awkwardly in his seat. He knew who you are, how could he not. Your first big time movie had released only a couple of weeks ago, it was all he would see whenever he watched TV. But the movie had not been doing has good has your manager had hoped, no brands or magazine really reaching out to work with you. 

“Luke’s an uprising star in the NHL, Y/N, big prospect here, lots of attention on him. It wouldn’t hurt for you to get some of it.” 

“Well if he’s so beloved, what’s he need me for?” You asked, pretty much ignoring the two other men present in the room. At that, Mike stepped him, coughing slightly to bring the attention to him. 

“Luke’s been involved in some… worrying headlines lately. Being seen with you, seemingly in a committed relationship would do him some good.”

“Relationship?”

“Commited?” The two of you exclaimed once again. The last thing on your mind at the moment was being in a relationship, you had to focus on your career. 

“I’m not dating a stranger!” You said, drifting your gaze from Mike over to Chris, who was already looking at you with a pleading smile. 

“You two don’t need to actually date, as long as the media believes you do, what you do in your private time is none of our business.” He explained, his words almost sending you off of yout chair. 

“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever head!” 

It took almost an hour for Chris to convince you to sign the contract, which somehow had crazier terms than the idea itself. Your “relationship” would last for 8 months, meaning during the length of Luke’s season. To make it even worse, no one outside of this room could know about the contract, meaning you would have to pretend to both your families and friends. Thankfully, the boy who would be your fake boyfriend was not as ugly as other men you’ve seen, sure he was far from your usual type, but he had some positive traits as well. His height being the first thing to catch your eye when he first walked in. Plus, he was an athlete, and it was hard to ignore his muscles showing throught his thigh polo shirt. He didn’t seem like an asshole either, so maybe there was a chance the two of you could somewhat get along. 

“So, what’s your favourite colour?” Luke asked as both of your managers left the small room for a couple of minutes, insisting the two of you got to know each other a bit. You looked over at him as his words hit, was this really the first thing he was going to ask you? You just rolled your eyes as you looked down at your lap. “Look, I’m just as happy as you are about this. And if I’m being honest, I’m not really interested in knowing more than needed about you.” He added, shifting slightly in his seat to have a better look at you. 

“Green.”

“Green?” He scoffed, making you send him a look, almost challenging him. 

“Yeah, green.” You sassed, making the boy smirk slightly.

“Like a- like a bright green or-”

“Are you mocking me right now?” You questioned, not finding the smile on his face amusing.

“No, no, just… interested, you know. There’s lots of greens out there.”

“Forest green.” You answered, keeping it short in simple before looking away and back down at your lap. 

“Not gonna ask mine?”

“Not interested.”

“Dark red, for sure. Although, you can never go wrong with maize and blue.” 

“Maize and blue?” You quipped. It was now Luke’s turn to give you a look. 

“Maize and blue. Michigan, baby!” He said with enthusiasm, earning himself a look once again. You took a second to look at him, really look at him. He  looked like a baby. 

“Michigan?”

“Michigan.” He repeated with a grin. 

“You from there?”

“Sorta.” He responded. You raised your brows at him, clearly indicated for him to expanded his answer. “Born in New Hampshire, moved to Toronto for like 10 years, then we moved to Detroit, been living there ever since.”

“And maize and blue, that’s…?” You trailed off.

“University of Michigan! Maize and blue, wolverines.”

“And I’m guess you went there.”

“Sure, did. My eldest brother too.”

“Cute.” You said, your voice filled with sarcasm. “When you’d graduate?” This was your way of finding out how old he was, without directly asking. 

“Didn’t.” Great, a college dropout. 

“You dropped out?”

“Yeah, to come here. If it makes you feel any better, I did attend all my classes, got good grades. I’m not some idiot.” He explained, you could tell he was feeling a little annoyed by your question. 

“Okay, well when would you of had graduated?”

“2025.” If you had a drink in your mouth, you would’ve spat it right out. This guy, this college dropout guy, was 2 years away from his graduation. You were right, he looked like a kid because he is one. 

“Gosh, how old are you?”

“Turned 20 last month. Why?” His words made you stand up, ready to storm out of the room and hunt down Chris. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not doing this. Gosh, you’re a kid. I can’t pretend to be in a relationship with a kid!” You exclaimed as you went to push the door open, only to realize it was locked. Great. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Well, how old are you?”

“Don’t asked a women her age!” You snapped as you still tried to push the door open. “24.” You whispered as you realized there was no way this door was going to open, at least not thanks to you. “25 in January.” 

“You’re like… the same age as my brother.” Luke whispered to himself, his face turning into a grimace at the thought. 

“See, even you find it weird! Let’s just tell them it makes us uncomfortable. You’re too young for me, and I’m too old for you.”

“Never said you were too old for me. What if I like older?” He smirked as he made himself more comfortable in his chair. There was no denying his attraction towards you. Your instagram had popped up tons of times on his explorer page, and he never shied away from liking your posts. 

“You just said I am your brother’s age. Do you not find that weird?”

“Well, if we’re getting technical, he’s born in 1999, and from what I understand, you’re born in 2000. So you’re not his age, you’re just like 3 months younger than him.” He explained, his smirk still plastered on his face as you dropped down on your chair with a sigh. This was going to be the longest 8 months of your life.

I thought it, so i said it, took it ‘cause i can Another day pretending im older than i am Another perfect moment that doesn’t feel like mine Another thing i forced to be a sign

“So, what do I do exactly?” Luke asked from besides you. The two of you were currently on your way to some award show, meaning you would have to walk a red carpet. A red carpet with Luke. 

It had been about three weeks since you had sign the contracts, you and Luke had spent some time trying to get to know each other. He tried to put in some effort, ask you question as simple as your favourite food, and some more complexe, like what made you move from North Carolina to New York. You barely put in any efforts to answer his questions, simply because you weren’t interested in him getting to know you, and vice-versa. The two of you had been spotted a couple of times by fans, but you never held hands, or displayed affection towards each other in public, not like you did in private, but no one really knew what to take away from the pictures. 

“Just, stand there and smile. There’s gonna be like a thousand cameras, so just keep your eyes moving, ignore their questions and yells. When the workers tell you to move, you move.” You explained, your eyes looking outside the window. The red thigh dress hugging your skin perfectly, your heels the same colour, you looked gorgeous. Luke was wearing a black suit with a red tie matching your dress. 

“You gonna pretend like you at least enjoy being within 5 feets of me.”

“Aha. You’re so funny, I’m dying of laughter.” You responded, you voice in the same monotone voice you always used with him. “You make a fool of yourself, or me, and I will rip your eyes out with my own hands.” 

“Kinky.” Luke smirked as the car came a stop. The boy looked over at you, your eyes were closed as you took a deep breath. You hated this things, you hated walking down that carpet, papparazies with cameras in your face like wild animals. You hated it. Your eyes snapped open, and a giant smile appeared on your face.

“Let’s go.” 

Luke stepped out of the car first, everyone around holding their breathes as they waited to see who else was going to come out of the car. The boy stretched his hand towards you, a small nod of his head as you slowly made your way out of the car. The cameras were flashing around you everywhere, and you could tell Luke was getting a little overwhelmed. 

“Ignore them, just walk with a smile on your face, nod a bit.” You whispered to him as you leaned in close. Then, the two of you made your way to the door, you fingers intertwining with Luke’s without you even noticing. As you crossed the door, Luke let out a small “woah”, his eyes rooming around the entrance. He had been to his fair share of events for the NHL, but none of them were like this. Everything look expensive, everyone looked expensive. He was completely starstruck. So much he didn’t even noticed a worker coming over to the two of you and giving you instructions. 

“Luke?” You asked, making the boy snap out of hi trance. “We gotta go, come on.” You whispered before guiding the boy to where the worker had gone. “You okay?” Your voice was so low the boy wasn’t even sure if it was real of his imagination playing a trick on him. 

“Yeah, it’s just…”

“A lot.” 

“Yeah.” He answered as you looked over at him. The boy could’ve sworn he had seen the corner of your mouth lifts slightly, before your head snapped back to the worker. 

“Alright, you too, once she’s done, you two can go. Remember to smile, you both look perfect, enjoy the night!” She said with excitement as the girl in front of you moved to the next area of photographers. Luke heard you take another deep breath before slowly making your way onto the carpet. 

“Put your hand on my waist.” You whispered, a smile on your face, as you let go of his hands, that you hadn’t even realized you were still holding. Your hand landed near the top of his shoulder as you put one of your foot out and bent your leg. The slit of your dress riding up you thigh as flashed surrounded you. You felt Luke’s hand glide across your lower back before settling on your waist and pulling you a little closer to him. You instinctively leaned your head on his shoulder as you plastered your best smile. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

“This is exhausting.” The boy sighed as the two of you finally sat down at your table. 

“Welcome to my world.” Thankfully, the two of you were able to avoid any interviews, and once you were done with the carpet, you were free for the rest of the night. 

“You nominated for anything?” Luke asked as he reached down to the menu on the table. You had warned him that he wouldn’t be able to pick was he ate, everyone was getting the same thing, besides of course people with allergies and such. Chicken. Not his favourite, but not the worse. 

“Me, no. The movie is, but I doubt we’re gonna win.” You answered, only two of your co-stars could attend, the other one being busy with a new project. Sadly, you were seated a couple of tables away from them. 

“Why not?”

“Because when you go up against movies like Avatar, it’s hard to win.” Luke didn’t asked any other question about the awards after that. 

“For what it’s worth, I think you should’ve won.” Luke whispered to you as the cast of Avatar made their way onto the stage. You looked over at him, the two of you hadn’t spoken since before the show started. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean Avatar’s good you know, classic. You’re movie was great.” 

“You watched it?”

“Before the whole… you know. My brother, Jack, we were looking for something to do and he made us go. You look hot in black.” He mentioned, clearly referreing to the long black silky dress you had worn in the movie. 

“Are you flirting with me?” 

“Is it working?” He asked with a smirk, only making you roll your eyes. 

“No.” Silence. One minute, two minutes. “You didn’t mention you knew who I was.” This was probably the first time you had been the one who made the effort to keep a conversation going. Luke smiled as he shifted in his seat slightly. 

“To be fair, you don’t really like when I talk, and when I do, I doubt you listen.” He answered. You couldn’t tell if he was taking a jab at you or not. He probably was. 

“Just because I am not interested in what you have to say, doesn’t mean I don’t listen.” You said, almost like you were defending yourself. 

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You sassed. “We’re at every different points in our lives, we have different interest, our brains don’t think the same way. I mean you’re pretty much a college frat boy, and I am about to be 25. You play hockey, which I know nothing about, and I act and model. Totally different.”

“I modeled for American Eagle once.” He stated, and you couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. But as you looked over at him, the deep shade of red on his cheek answered your question. 

“You modeled for American Eagle.” You repeated softly, trying your best to hold in a laugh. 

“Just… laugh. You wouldn’t be the first one.” He mumbled with a small smile on his face. You let out a small giggle.

“That’s interesting. See, we could talk about that.” 

“It was… like two years ago. It was like with the school or whatever. My buddies were, like ruthless. It was horrible.” He explained, making you giggle even more. 

“They at least pay you well?”

“Yeah, yeah, it was good.” 

“Good on you.” The rest of the night, you and Luke surprisingly talked a lot. You hated to admit it, but you were warming up to him. He was sweet, there was no denying that, and you did feel bad for how you had acted before. 

“Y/N!” Chris exclaimed as you answered his phone call. You and Luke were now back in the car, on your way to your apartment. 

“Hi.” 

“How was your night?” You looked over at Luke, his eyes focused on his phone as he texted his brothers, who were apparently freaking out about his outing with you.

“Better than I expected.” You answered honestly. 

“Good, good. Have you been looking online? They love the two of you together, you’re all the media is talking about right now…” The man kept going but you paid no attention to his words. You eyes fixated on Luke. He had a soft smile on his face as he typed away on his phone, chuckling every now and then. You hated to admit it, but this night had gone far better than you had imagined. Luke was… well he was something. Maybe these next couple of months wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

Well, sometimes i feel like i don’t wanna be where i am Gettin’ drunk at a club wuth fair-weather friends Push away all the people who know me the best But it’s me who’s been making the bed

“I mean, it’s been great! Just, so proud of her, and excited for her. She’s been working really hard for years, and I mean, yeah, just, she deserves this.” Luke answered the reporter, the lie slipping so easily from his mouth. You were now two months into this fake relationship, and your friendship with Luke had grown. You two actually spent time together now, enjoying the other’s company. You had been quite present in public with him, and fans were quickly growing for your relationship. 

The lies came out so easily about your relationship. How you had met, how long the two of you had been together, all of it. It almost worried you how good he was at it, of course for you, it was just acting, but this was totally new to him. Gosh, he was so good at it that sometimes it almost felt real. Like right now, his hand on your waist, holding you close to his side as he spoke with a large grin. 

“Think they like me more than you, now.” The boy joked as the two of you sat down. You were now at a movie premiere, your movie premiere. This project had been completed long before you ever met Luke, yet it was still so easy for him to lie about how proud he was, and how hard you worked. He didn’t know. He didn’t know how much effort and passion you put into this job because he wasn’t there, yet the lie sounded so natural. 

“Yeah might have to let you come alone next time.” You joked with a fake smile on your face, one that Luke knew too well by now. 

“What’s wrong?”

“You do it so easily.”

“What?”

“The lying. Just, I don’t kno- nevermind, it’s stupid.”

“No, no, hey, talk to me.” Luke whispered, his hand reaching for yours. His touch felt so natural, so right, that you had to remind yourself why he was doing it in the first place. You were surrounded by people. 

“I just, you’re a really nice guy, Luke, and this industry it can… can do stuff do stuff to you, bad stuff. Stuff that changes a person, and I’d hate for that to happen to you, and for me to be the reason.” You admitted, looking down at your lap. You almost felt pathetic. 

“I am not gonna lose myself. Trust me, I’ve got 2 older brothers and a bunch of guys that keep me very humble on a daily bases. They keep my grounded, my whole family does. Even with hockey. And I am tougher than I look, you know.” He joked at the end, elbowing you slightly. You smiled softly at him, nodding your head slightly. 

“You promise?”

“I promise.” He whispered back, his pinky connecting with yours. “My parents are always asking about you, you know. Jack and Quinn, too. Well, pretty much everyone in my life.” The boy added after a couple of seconds of silence. His words made your body stiffen. 

“Oh.”

“Do you, uhm, wanna meet them? That way you can see for yourself how humble I’m being kept.” The boy added. 

“Sure, yeah.” You answered, your voice shaky as you looked around the room. 

“We can just start with Jack, he’s the worse one though, but he’s the only on that lives here, so. But we do play Quinn in like 3 weeks, so my parents are gonna be in town…” 

“Jack first works.” 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ 

“Can’t believe my brother actually convinced you to date him. I mean little Lukey, with you.” Jack said with a teasing smile on his face. By the ton in his voice, you understand he meant the “with you” part as a compliment, almost saying you were too good to be with his brother. 

“Jack-”

“I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised. I taught you well, Lukey.” The older boy added with a proud smile. You looked over at Luke, who smile at you apologically. You had spent your evening at the brother’s apartment, Jack had tried his best to cook a meal for the two of you, but you ended ordering instead. 

“It’s getting late, I should get going.” You stated, peaking quickly at the time at your phone. 

“I’ll walk you to your car.” Luke said, standing up quickly from the couch and you were fast to follow his move.

“You can stay over if you want. Its getting pretty late.” Jack said nonchalantly, making you look over at Luke. The two of you had never spent the night over at the other’s place. Well, actually, Luke did sleep over most of the times after events, but he always slept in your spare room. You knew they didn’t have a spare room, and sleeping on the couch was too risky as it could be seen form the kitchen. 

You and Luke shared a quick conversation with your eyes, refusing to stay over would probably wave form red flag. 

“I’ll leave the two of you alone, don’t worry. Just, please remember that I do sleep in the room next to yours, Luke.” Jack said with a smirked as he stood up from the couch, joining the two of you. He ruffled Luke’s hair slightly, before giving you a smile. 

“Good night.” He said before turning around and making his way to his room. After his doors closed, silence took over the whole apartment with you and Luke standing in the middle of the living room. 

“So…” 

“You really don’t have to if you don’t want.”

“No, no, it’s okay, I’ll stay. He seems really happy about it, so.”

“Right, yeah. Uhm, I’ll get you some clothes.” Luke said before guiding the two of you over to his room. Ten minutes later, you were laying next to him on his bed, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie of his. 

“He’s not as bad as you said, you know.” 

“That’s ‘cause he just met you. He’s an ass, really. Once you get to know, like really know him, he’s gonna be the most annoying person you’ve ever met.” Luke said with a scoff, making you smile slightly. Luke’s bed wasn’t exactly the biggest, meaning the two of you were laying shoulder to shoulder. 

You looked over at him, only to find him already looking at you. And then before you knew it, he was pulling you on top of him, your lips connected as his hands roamed your body. 

There was no denying the the two of you felt quite attracted to the other, and as you got to know him more and more, you attraction only grew and grew until you felt like you didn’t even have to pretend anymore. This was turning into something real for you, and you could only hope that the boy felt the same. 

The next morning, you woke up alone in the bed, wearing nothing but Luke’s hoodie. The first notification on your phone being from him. Hey, had to leave for practice, didn’t wanna wake you. Left a key on the counter, i’ll call you tn :).

Only he didn’t call, didn’t text either. And when he showed up at your place the day after, it was like nothing had happened. You wanted to talk about it, you needed to talk about it, but he had quickly made it very clear that he had no interest in that conversation. So, you stayed quiet and pretended it didn’t happen, that nothing happened. 

I’m so tired of bein’ the girl that i am Every good thing had turned into something i dread And i’m playin’ the victim so well in my head But it’s me who’s been making the bed

“It was so nice to meet you, sweetheart. You should come visit this summer.” Ellen gushed as she hugged you tightly. 

“I will.” You lied with a smile. Your 8 months would end right when summer would start, and you honestly had no clue what would happen after that. 

“Maybe we’ll see Luke a little more if you do.” Jim joked as he and Ellen waved at you as they left the apartment. Jack had offered to drive them to the airport, meaning it was only you and Luke in the apartment. His apartment. You hadn’t been over since that night, a night that almost felt like a secret. Like if you were to talk about it, or mention it, the world would explose. Like you were walking on breaking glass, and bringing it up would be that extra pressure that would make it snap for good. 

“You stayin’?” Luke asked as the two of you stood by door. 

“I don’t wanna be a bother.” 

“You won’t.” Luke said softly, his hand reaching for yours. “I want you to stay.” 

Those words, those 5 small innocent words, somehow lead to you once again waking up in nothing but his hoodie. You were alone once again, but you could head the two brothers arguing about something stupid in the living room. You quickly found your underwear and a pair of sweatpants before making you’re way to the two boys. 

“Y/N!” Jack exclaimed as he saw you slowly walking down the hallway. The older boy was sitting on the couch, while Luke stood behind him. But the younger boy quickly made his way over to you, wrapping his arms around. 

“Morning, baby.” The boy said softly, making your eyes grow wide. Baby. Luke had just called you baby. You never used nickname, never had and never even talked about it. 

“Hi.” You mumbled against his chest. 

“Y/N, tell your boyfriend that you always brush your teeth before you eat, not after!”

“Gosh, Jack, leave her alone.”

“Why would you brush your teeth before you eat? You’re just making them dirty again.” You answered Jack, making the boy’s smile drop, while Luke just let out a chuckle. 

“I made pancakes.” The boy mumbled, guiding towards the kitchen and away from Jack. 

“You trying to poisson me?”

“Not yet.” Luke chuckled as he placed a cup of coffee in front of you. The boy leaned against the counter as he watched you slowly started eating the pancakes in front of you. 

“Are we gonna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” The boy mumbled as he walked past you, pressing a small kiss to your head before heading towards the bathroom. His reaction and action to your questions made his answer quite clear. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

“What’s up with you?” 

“Mm?”

“What’s up with you?” Luke repeated, making you look up from your phone. The two of you were currently sitting on your couch, a hockey game playing on your tv. 

“Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“That’s bullshit. You’ve been on your phone the whole night.”

“I’m busy, Luke.” You mumbled. It was a lie, you weren’t busy, you were just not interested in having a conversation with him after what had happened last week. Thankfully, he had left for a roadtrip with the team that same night, meaning you had one full week where you could just not think about him. The two of you texted a bit, but nothing more than seeing how the other was doing. The second the team’s plane had landed, the boy was quick to make his way over to your apartment, catching you completely off guard. 

“Yeah? Busy doing what? Scrolling on Tiktok?” The boy mumbled as he stood up from the couch. His action made you look up at him. “If you didn’t want me here, you should’ve just said so.” He added before walking away towards the front door. 

“You could’ve just texted, ask if you could come, not just show up at my door with no warnings!” You said as you followed him, making him scoff as he finished putting his two shoes on.

“That’s what this is about? I didn’t ask if I could come see you? We haven’t seen each other in a week, Y/N, sue me for thinking you’d want to hangout. For thinking you’d want to talk, catch up, see how I am doing-”

“Talk? You want to talk? Where was that attitude last week Luke?”

“What are you talking about?” The boy asked, making you scoff at him. He couldn’t be serious right now. 

“Why do you refuse to acknowledge the fact that we’ve had sex, twice now. Every time I even try to bring it up, you shut me out. So, I am sorry if I am not in the mood to talk to you when you please, Luke.” You snapped back, your voice filled with annoyance. Luke rolled his eyes at your words, making you bit your lip out of anger. 

“I can’t deal with this right now.” He said as he threw on his jacket. 

“See, you’re doing it again!”

“What is there to talk about, Y/N? We had sex, so what? Don’t be making a big deal out of this. Don’t act like this is something real, okay? We’re friends.” Luke said harshly, making your body freeze. The boy was gone before you even realized he was moving. Was this not real? Was all those nights spent doing nothing but talking about life nothing? Or how easily his lies would slip out of his mouth, were they really lies? 

Gosh, you felt like an idiot. Luke’s sole problem with this whole fake relationship thing was the commitment, he didn’t want that. He was a 20 year old just starting off his life, he didn’t want to be tied down right now. He didn’t have the time to be truly committed to someone right now, and you felt stupid for thinking he did. Stupid for thinking that those sweet comments he would make in front of camera were anything but sweet comment for the camera. Stupid for thinking some stupid contract would actually change Luke’s playboy attitude. I mean, that was the reason his manager wanted this relationship; clean up his image. That’s all you were, someone to clean up his image, to let other people know that Luke Hughes wasn’t just some guy going around fucking every girl he met. That’s all you were. 

You stood in front of you door for what felt like hour, praying and hoping that the boy would walk back in and tell you it was just a joke. That he didn’t mean those things and you meant more to him than he let on. That you weren’t just his friend, or his fake girlfriend. But he never came back. Never said the words you wanted to hear the most. Never. 

The next morning, you texted him asking if the two of you could talk. Nothing. No answer, no reaction, just silence. He had seen your message, and you couldn’t help but tear up at the sight of your message thread. Seen. 1 hour. 2 hours. 3 hours. The sun was starting to set and the word seen was still plastered on your screen. You felt even more stupid than you did the previous night. Laying awake in your bed, waiting for something, anything. Any sign of life that let you know that he was out there thinking about you. 

And a sign of life you were given. Of course, it wasn’t the one you wanted, if anything it was the opposite. You cursed yourself as the first tear fell down your cheek, and then even more as the tears kept falling. No way. There was no way this was real. He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t do that to you, right? 

But he did. On your phone screen, staring back at your tear stained face, were photos of Luke in a bar, his hands all over a girl as his lips danced with hers. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of course he did, the contract didn’t mean anything to him, it was just to keep his manager happy. 

You knew he knew this would get out. That people would see and it would reach you in only minutes, but he didn’t care. You were the last thing on his mind as he walked into that bar, his eyes roaming the room to find someone, anyone, who could help take his mind off of you and the stupid contract. People knew who he was now, he gained followers like crazy as the public became more and more in love with your relationship. And here he was, blatantly cheating on his fake girlfriend simply because he could and he wanted. 

There was no way Chris would make you keep your promise of 8 months. No way he would make you look like the stupid girl who went back to her cheating boyfriend. Right? No, no, Chris wouldn’t do that you. Although you weren’t so sure anymore, you thought Luke wouldn’t do something like this, and he did. 

And every night, i wake up from this one recurrin’ dream Where i’m drivin’ through the city and the brakes go out on me I can’t stop at the red light, i can’t swerve off the road I read somewhere it’s ‘cause my life feels so out of control

The next morning you woke up with your phone blowing up, which made you quite confused since you had made sure to put it on do not disturb last night, meaning the only one who could be reaching you right now was Chris. You had fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning. You hated this. You hated that you let your guard down with the boy, hated that you let him, gave him the power, put him in a position to hurt you. You hated what you actually felt for him. You wouldn’t call it love, but your heart was his and only his. It was stupid, I mean you had only known him for barely 3 months. 

“What the hell happened?” Chris asked as soon as you answered his call. You tried your hardest not to let the tears fall again. Sitting up in your bed as you looked over at your clock, 10 a.m. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” You whispered, your voice breaking slightly. 

“I’m outside your door.” The man said before hanging out the call. You slowly made your way out of bed, walking to your door and letting the older man in. Chris tried his best to hold in a gasp as his eyes met you. Your hair was a mess, but that’s not what caught his attention, you face did. It was red, really red, so were your eyes. Left over mascare from the previous day lingering around your eyes. 

“Y/N/N…” He said softly as he followed you to the couch, where you threw your body down before wrapping yourself in a blanket. “Are you okay?”

“Please… please tell me the contract’s done.” You begged, your eyes tearing up as you watched Chris looked down at the floor. 

“He won’t… he won’t let us. I asked, I mean this looks bad for him, but Mark he’s… he’s not letting up.” Chris explained, his voice low and soft as tears started falling out of your eyes. “Talk to me.”

“We argued. We did… we hooked up, twice. And it meant more to me than it did to him. He got mad, stormed out, and I haven’t heard for him in almost two days, so.” You explained, trying your best to keep your voice stable. Chris let out a deep sigh at your words, his fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

“I’ll talk to Mark, again. See if we can find a middle ground.”

There was no middle ground. You had signed the contract. Luke had sign the contract. And although Mark was not happy with his client, you had signed the papers. Which led to you sitting in Chris’ office, Mark next to you and Luke on the other side, later that day. The last time the four of you had been in the same room, you never would’ve guess what the next couple of months were going to be like for you. Never in a million years did you think you would grow to actually enjoy the younger boy’s presence, and you certainly never believed you would actually have feelings for him. 

“All right, so, papers were sign-”

“Can’t we just sign other papers to say we agree to end it or whatever.” You quickly cut Mark off, making the three men look over at. 

“Y/N…”

“No. I am not gonna be painted as the dumb girl who goes back to a cheater! This was supposed to be good for my image!” You said looking at Chris. He knew you were right, so did Mark and Luke. This was supposed to be a good thing. 

“Y/N-”

“No! I am turning 25 in a week, Chris, I am too old for this stupid high school drama. I don’t care about the stupid contract! I am done with this.” You said sternly before standing out and leaving the room. Of course, Luke was quick to follow you. 

“Y/N!”

“Fuck off, Luke.” You called out, not even bothering to turn back around. Of course, just to your luck, the elevator took forever to come up, giving Luke the chance to catch up to you. 

“Please, just hear me out.” The boy begged as he stood besides you. His words made you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. Thankfully, the doors opened and you were quick to enter and press the button to close to door. Unfortunately, Luke was quick to place in hand in the way, joining you inside. 

“Hear you out? What is there to hear out, Luke? You’ve made yourself very clear, so, please, just leave me alone.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No!” The boy said before pushing the emergency button, making the elevator stop. 

“What are you doing?”

“Let me talk.” 

“I don’t want to hear what you have to say, Luke. I get it, okay? You’re young, and you wanna enjoy your life. You don’t want to be tied down, I get it. I can’t give you what you want, and you sure as hell can’t give me what I want, so just back off.” You whispered before pushing the button. Thankfully, you weren’t far away from the first floor, meaning about 3 seconds later Luke was standing in the elevator all alone. His eyes fixated on you as he watched you made your way out of the building. 

He was such an idiot. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Every year was the same. You’d go to sleep the night before your birthday, expecting to feel completely different the next morning. But then you’d wake up and feel the exact same. 

25 was no different. If anything, you felt even more pathetic this year. You were 25 crying over a 20 year old who only thinks with his dick. Everyone always looked like they had their lives figured out by that age, relationships with someone they were convinced they were going to marry, or kids on the way, a stable work income, dreams they wanted to fufill. You had none of those. Well, since your fake relationship with Luke, producers were a lot more interested in what you could bring to their movie. But that attraction only came once you were by a man’s side. 

This 20 year old little boy had brought more success to your career than you ever did before. Pathetic. Even more pathetic that the same 20 year old could not give two shits about you. Pitiful. Yeah, that works better. 

You had no plans for the day, ever since the whole “cheating” drama went down, you had stayed inside. You didn’t go on social media, there hadn’t been a single sign of life from you, and honestly you didn’t have the energy to give you. You couldn’t be bothered to give you because you were too busy mourning the lost of a relationship that didn’t even exist. 

You spent your morning on the couch watching some stupid reality dramas, trying to make yourself feel better. Hoping that maybe there were some bigger idiots out there. And as you watched the same girl cry over the same guy for cheating on her for about the tenth time, you realized maybe you weren’t so pathetic. You had made it clear to everyone you wanted to be alone today, you didn’t have the energy to socialize right now. The only people you were planing on seeing were your food deliveries guys. 

So, when the sound of your doorbell echoed through your apartment, your brows furred. It couldn’t be food, no you were currently eating it. You were left even more confused as you opened the door to see no one. Looking down, your eyes met with a large basket filled with flowers, treats, stuffed animals and much more. A larged card with your name written on it with a handwriting that you could recognized all too well. You could see him out of the corner of your eyes. Granted all you could see was the top of his head as he had stopped halfway down the staircase as he heard your door open. But he was there. You weren’t sure what you should do. Do you look at him? Keep pretending you don’t? Do you even take his gift? 

Your head was telling you to go back in, take the gift, throw the card away and just fill yourself with sweets. But your heart had the better of you. You missed him. You hated that you missed him, but you did. Luke almost let out a yelp as your eyes met his. He didn’t know you could see him. The two of you stared at each other before you softly nodded towards your door. 

The next thing you knew, the two of you were sitting on your couch, Luke’s gift basket on your coffee table as you stared at the wall. Luke’s gaze was fixed on you, you knew it was. You could feel it. 

“I miss you.” He whispered so lowly you could barely hear it, but you did. You didn’t know if you should believe him or not. You let out a small scoff at his words. You weren’t falling for it. “I’m being serious, Y/N.”

“You don’t miss me, Luke. You miss the attention I gave you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is. Because the second that attention was gone, you went to someone else to give it to you.”

“I want to be with you, Y/N, and I am so fucking sorry for what I did. And I know sorry is never going to make it to you, but please-”

“You want to be with me? You want to really be with me?”

“Yes! The only reason I never mentioned the fact that we had sex was because I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same way I did about it.”

“But I did! And when I finally told you, you pretty much told me to go fuck myself and that it meant nothing to you! And now you really wanna sit here and tell me it meant more to you than a quick fuck? Please, Luke, I wasn’t born yesterday.” You snapped, looking over at him. “You embarrassed me. You made me feel stupid for thinking you would ever want something more than a quick fuck. And that wasn’t enought, that you had to go and hookup with some random chick in a public place, knowing people would find out, that I would find out about it. Now I look like the idiot who got cheated on by some kid.” 

“Look, I messed up, I know I did. I freaked out and ran away, when I should’ve just been honest with you. But, please, let me even try to make it up to you. I want to be your boyfriend, Y/N, I really do.” 

“I turned 25 today, and when you turn 25 it makes you realize that you have no clue what’s going on in your life. I mean I’ve got about 15 to 20 years until I can’t have babies anymore. I want to get married and have kids soon, Luke. And you’re no where near wanting that in your life. Maybe you are being honest, maybe you do really want to be with me. But I mean what I said in the elevator, you can’t give me what I want. I don’t want to wait another 5-6 years for you to be ready to settle down. I need someone who’s ready right now.” You explained. Luke knew you were right, his older brother had gone throught the same realization last summer. 

“We’re at different points in our lives.” Luke mumbled the same words you had told him during your first real outing in public together. Gosh, you wish you could go back and do so many different things that night. You wished you hadn’t let your guard down, maybe this whole thing would’ve never happened and you’d be out celebrating your birthday with your friends and fake boyfriend. Maybe. 

“Yeah… and if I’m being honest, I don’t think I could ever forgive you. You made me look like a fool to everyone, Luke. And maybe I was just being stupid with my feelings or whatever but I atleast thought we were friends, and you’d never humiliate me publicly like that.” You said harshly, making the boy look down at his lap. “I deserve better.” 

“I’m sorry I can’t be better.”

“You should leave.”

And i tell someone i love them just as a distraction They tell me that they love me like i’m so tourist attraction They’re changin’ my machinery and i just let it happen I got the things i wanted it’s just not what i imagined I’m so tired of bein’ the girl that i am Every good thing has turned into something i dread And i’m playin’ the victim so well in my head But it’s me who’s been making the bed

The next day, you were freed. The whole contract thing was done. Chris had told you the reason it hadn’t been before was because Luke didn’t want it to be done. But that something in him had changed last night and he had agreed to end it. It felt odd really, you never guessed you could miss something that never really existed so much, but you did. You cut all public ties with Luke and his world, making it quite obvious to the public that your relationship was over. 

You went back to your old life, pretending none of it had happened. Pretending that Luke Hughes hadn’t walked into your life three months ago and flipped your wold upside down. You didn’t talk about it, you refused to talk about it because you weren’t sure you’d be able to answer any questions without crying. You felt even more pathetic about that. You and Luke had never officially been together, neither of you ever flat out say you liked the other. So why were you so hung up on him? Maybe it was the way he always knew how to boost your confidence before a red carpet. Or maybe how attention he paid to details. You didn’t know, and you didn’t like it one bit. 

What made it even harder was that Luke was went back to how his life was before. A different girl in his bed almost every night, and now since he was linked to you, even more attention was brought to it. It was hard, seeing the boy you were so hungup on kissing all these girls. But all the negative attention that came with it almost made you feel better. This whole situation was supposed to do some good for both your images. 

Now a month later after your “break up”, you were the girl who go cheated on, but was thriving in the industry, while Luke was a cheating whore. It made you feel good. Good to see that people on the internet stil hadn’t lost their minds and sense of logic completely. Good that maybe you did come out of this stronger and more liked than before. Good that you were about to start working on the biggest project of your career so far, and Luke would be stuck being reminded of his actions every time he opened his phone. 

But you still felt pathetic. You weren’t sure you’d ever stop feeling pathetic. Pathetic for lying to all your friends and family, lying to his family. Pathetic for not answering any of Jack, or Quinn or even his parent’s messages. But you couldn’t. What were you supposed to say? Oh, I am actually not that sad because we never really dated, it was just a contract. I mean, that would be a lie, but part of it would also be the truth. It was just a contract. You both messed up, and you needed to stop acting like this was all Luke’s fault. 

You shouldn’t have slept with him, you shouldn’t of had let him ignore the fact that you slept together for so long. You did this to yourself in a way. You knew going in about Luke’s behaviour, you knew the second the contract was over, he’d go back to his old ways. You knew. But you still let yourself fall for it. You could even say you were to blame for it. You kissed him first. You kissed him. Both times, you iniciated it. So, who was really to blame here? 

Somethings i feel like i don’t wanna be where i am Countin’ all of the beautiful things i regret But it’s me who’s been making the bedMe who’s been making the bedPull the sheets over my headMaking a bed, oh-oh

[dollfacefantasy]

ADD TO THE COLLECTION ♡

pairing: rick grimes x fem!reader

summary: rick finds an old halloween mask out on a supply run. he brings it back to you, and the two of you put it to good use

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, mask kink, praise/degradation, cnc sorta

a/n: yes i wrote another ghostface mask kink fic. idc idc. you can pry that idea from my cold dead hands. every single man i simp for will have one if it's the last thing i do <3

kinktober slot: day 4 - mask kink

"Ew. You know that thing probably has like a billion diseases, right?" you say, a wide smile spreading across your face as you look at the raggedy Halloween mask in your boyfriend's hand.

The slender, pale face stares back at you with its motionless expression of horror. You hadn't seen one of them in a long time. Certainly not since the world went to shit.

"A billion? I don't know about that. Maybe a million," he teases.

Rick enters the room and approaches where you sit on the bed, wanting to show off his find from the supply run a bit more.

"Don't bring it too close to me. I don't wanna catch something," you say with a hand raised in defense.

"So dramatic," he mocks, "I'm not gonna put it on you."

The wooden floor creaks below his boots as he steps to the edge of the mattress. He sits down, the foamy surface dipping with the addition of his weight.

You can't help leaning forward a little bit out of curiosity. Scooting closer to his side, you look between his face and the mask.

"Were you guys raiding a Spirit Halloween or something?" you ask, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He chuckles. His hands rotate the mask between them. It actually isn't in horrible condition. Maybe a little dusty, but there aren't any huge stains or tears. Visions of him wearing it rise to the front of your mind. You could imagine his head turning, the hollow black eyes following you as he watched your figure move about. The thin fabric fanning out over his shoulders also comes up. Your favorite though is the thought of how it would look above you while he thrusts in and out of you.

Shaking those images out of your head, you refocus when he answers your question.

"No, nothin' like that. I just saw it and thought of you," he tells you, turning his head and pecking your cheek, "I remembered you tellin' me how you used to love those movies."

You almost visibly swoon. "That's so sweet. Slasher movies make you think of me," you coo, "How did I get so lucky?"

Your arms slide up and drape around his neck, bringing you closer so you can nuzzle the side of his face. His skin scratches at you a little bit. The prickle of stubble was rising again.

He returns your affection and pushes the mask aside in favor of pulling you into his lap. The two of you melt into each other and then back onto the bed. One of the perks of living in Alexandria now was not having to wait until everyone fell asleep for the night to go at it.

Rick could be so soft for you. Ever since the two of you met, he seemed so naturally protective. He always lets you hold his hand. Your safety was his top priority along with that of his kids. Before the world went bad, you'd bet he was the kind of guy to hold the door open on dates and call women "miss" or "ma'am."

You're pretty sure that's why you want to see him in that mask so bad.

You knew Rick had another side to him. Something beneath the mask of being the good guy. You'd seen it before a few times. The nights where he ended up soaked in someone else's blood, the sticky crimson liquid coating his facial hair, staining his clothes.

A week after he first found that mask, he comes to your room at night wearing one of the pieces of clothing that's been marred with someone else's insides.

The mask over his face has been cleaned. He clearly washed away the dust and any other sign of mileage on the thing. The ivory plastic front shines without a spot of grime while the black fabric draped atop his hair sits there, dark as the night sky outside.

It's a sharp contrast to the white t-shirt he has on. The cloth pours down his neck and over his shoulder onto the light garment. But the abdomen of this top isn't as pristine as the collar. Blood speckles across the snowy threading, the pattern spatters in a way that makes it look like one of those ink blot tests. If you were the one being questioned, you'd say it looks sort of like a tree.

He stands there against the frame of the doorway in silence, waiting to be noticed. You had been cleaning your boots. When you finally finish, you rise from your spot on the edge of the bed and tuck them in their normal spot against the wall. Sighing, you lean back and prepare to finally have nothing left on your to-do list.

But you feel the other presence in the room. You catch him in your peripheral vision, and a gasp tears through you. Your heart springs from a calm resting beat to erratic thrashing against your ribcage. Thoughts melt from your head while breaths grow spikes in your lungs.

Once you turn your head fully and give your brain a second to register that it's only him, you start to calm down. You let out a deep sigh and put your hand across your chest.

"God, don't do that," you huff, "You scared me."

He doesn't respond.

You continue to catch your breath before looking over at him again. Your eyes scan up and down his figure. He leans against the wall so casually. His arms cross over his chest while his ankles hook one on top of the other below. Even though you can't see his gaze, you can feel the intensity of his pupils on you.

"You're lucky I didn't have my gun on me," you tell him and narrow your eyes.

Again, you get no words out of him. But this time he does push off the edge of the entryway and step forward. He swings the door shut behind him and continues to stare you down.

It's weird. Having him just stand there, digs a pit in the bottom of your belly. For a split second, your mind floats the possibility that this isn't him. The paranoid sector of your head poses questions like what if this was someone else who just found the mask? What if they just looked like Rick?

But then his arms drop from his chest and you see the silver of his watch glimmer in the pale moonlight. 

It doesn't kill the tingling in your nerves any; rather, it transforms the sensation. It's a different kind of strange seeing Rick act like this. It wasn't the version of him that came out for a true threat.  He was never so silent when that was the case. In moments of desperation, he became feral - eyes darting around, limbs taut with the preparedness to strike. But that's when you realize this isn't a moment of desperation. He's the one in control. He's the threat in this situation.

"You're not even gonna try to run, little girl?" he asks, his voice coming out in that familiar drawl but with a little edge to it.

Your spine lights up like a fuse. Excitement seeps into your bones. Everything feels jittery. You don't know what to do or say. In this moment, you just want.

"You're in the way. I don't have anywhere to run," you say. Your voice waivers almost as if you naturally fall into the role of the helpless victim.

It's weird hearing yourself like that. In the world you lived in, you never wanted to sound like that. Showing weakness meant death. And hearing it from someone you loved meant their time was coming to end. Being able to express it now though, it felt different. You weren't sure how to articulate it, but that could be due to the fact that you'd never been so turned on before in your life.

He approaches you further. The wooden floor boards creak beneath his slow steps. You try to back up but your knees hit the mattress.

"No runnin'? You're gonna make this too easy for me," he chuckles, "Put up a little fight."

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip. He leans in closer to you, reaching up to drag his fingers down your cheek. You try to lean back but end up having to sit on the bed and scoot away on the mattress to create some distance.

He just laughs and grabs your ankle, preventing you from getting too far. You try wriggling your leg a little bit, but he tightens his grip and grabs the other one.

"Tsk, tsk. Pathetic," he taunts, "You're just gonna let me take what I want?"

You try kicking a little harder, but it's of no use. Each jerk of your leg goes to waste. Nothing changes. There would be no difference if you didn't move at all and just made what he said true.

"So cute," he mocks, "Just tirin' yourself out for me."

"It's not fair," you whine. You roll yourself onto your belly and try to drag yourself away by grabbing the edge of the bed. He doesn't let you though. Even though Rick was lean, he didn't lack strength. That coupled with his training as a pre-apocalypse police officer meant he knew how to restrain people. You whimper and buck your hips to try and create some momentum to get away, but it's all of no use.

"You cheated. You didn't give me a chance to run," you continue to pout before repeating your prior sentiment, "Not fair."

He laughs and whips you around onto your back again. This time he leans forward and tugs your hips harshly, dragging you over the collection of blankets so that your ass is flush against his semi-hard bulge.

"Who said I have to play fair, princess?" he asks, "Weak little thing like you wouldn't have made it far anyways."

Another whine bubbles from your lips as you squirm. He looms over you, keeping you accessible to him with the weight of his body. As he closes in, your breathing becomes heavier. The white ghostface stops inches away from the tip of your nose. You stare into the expressionless eyes of the match while your cunt throbs against the heat of his pelvis.

"You're lucky I caught you here. Spares you the embarrassment of getting dragged back, kicking and screaming. Or even worse, me pounding you into the grass out there where anyone could see," he breathes.

You shudder at the images his words create in your head.

He can feel the tremble of your limbs, and he pushes the mask up slightly to bare his lips. For a second, you think he's going in for a kiss. And in a way, that's true. But it's not on your mouth. Instead, he ducks down to your throat. He attacks it with fervor much more intense than what you usually felt from him.

These kisses are hot and open-mouthed. The tip of his tongue tickles your pulsing skin. His lips feather against it while his teeth nip and tug. All you can do is melt under it. You try to keep in character and put up a bit of resistance, but it's not a strong performance.

His fingers hook over the top of your little sleep shorts and panties and pull them down to your mid-thigh. That was all the room he needed. His hand not clutching one of your biceps slides down between your thighs. He can feel the slick on his fingers in seconds, and he huffs out a laugh.

"Oh, you're a bad girl, aren't you? The slightest bit of attention, and you're dripping. I didn't even have to do anything," he says.

After those words hit your ears, he pulls back. He tugs your shorts all the way off to free your legs before he shoves his jeans down far enough that his length can spring free. He's almost fully hard. The sight of your slippery cunt makes it easier to take it from almost to solid.

He strokes it and watches you. It's obvious how ready you are, but he can't help but want to draw it out a little more.

"Take off your top," he commands.

Your breath hitches, and you swear you feel your heart stutter. Of course, he'd seen you naked before, but it felt new here. This wasn't Rick's cool blue eyes gazing down at you with love. It was the dark, empty patches of painted plastic.

Nevertheless, your hands venture down and peel your shirt from your body. Once it's gone, your tits are left exposed to his view. He doesn't touch them, and you can't see if he stares directly at them, but it feels like he does.

He pumps his cock a little faster. A small groan rumbles from his mouth.

"I don't even have to say it twice. You didn't even need to see my face to listen. I either have you so well-trained, or you're just the most natural slut out there, babydoll. Just waiting for orders to follow like a little puppy," he rasps.

He pushes forward and slides his leaky tip against your folds. A small whine sneaks out of you at the pressure on your clit. The head nudges it before gliding down toward your entrance again where it pops in.

You both hiss at the feel. On his part, you're already so warm and tight. For you, it's the mild stretch combined with the satisfaction of having something inside you. Either way, it's just a taste of what's to come.

He sinks in more, guiding the rest of his shaft into your pussy. Whimpering, you arch your back off the bed the tiniest bit. His hand lands on your tummy and pushes you down again though. He forces you to take it all and then rocks his hips back and slams forward again.

"So sensitive," he teases.

His hands curl around your hips before he starts thrusting. Like the earlier kisses, his pelvis snaps against you with more force than usual. Your eyes roll back from the bouncing rhythm while your fingers clutch the linens beneath you.

"Poor baby. You never had any fight in you to begin with," he teases, "You give in so easily."

"It- it's not my fault," you whimper. More moans seep out of you. It feels like every slap of skin on skin knocks a new noise from you.

"Oh yes it is," he grunts, "You didn't even try because you want this. You just wanna be filled up. Don't even care who's doing it."

As he says that, your hazy eyes look up at the mask. "Do too..." you pout.

Your walls squeeze around him tight at the sight of the haunted face watching you. It bobs a little with his motions as well, shaken by the force of them.

He laughs at you from beneath the mask and speeds up a little. You clench around him in tandem with your toes curling. He leans in and bends you further in half on the mattress.

"Ok sure, sweetheart. That's why you didn't even need to see my face before I slid my dick inside you," he breathes.

Your little clit throbs at the words. As if he can sense it, one of his hands rises to thumb at the nub. Your hips buck in response, eager for more. Deep, whiny sighs flood into the air from you. He can't get enough.

"That's right, keep squeezin' me, darlin'" he says, arousal infecting his tone now too.

You nod like you have a real say. The way he was battering your pleasure spots and swiping at your clit had you tightening up involuntarily. He still moans with the feeling though. His head tilts back. You can hear his panting getting louder below that mask.

A few strokes later, he reaches up and yanks it off, dropping it to the floor next to his boot. His hair hangs damp against his forehead while his cheeks are a little flushed from the heat. None of this stops him from fucking into you though. It's as if he can't stop. The chase for release captures him on a deeper level.

Even without the help of ghostface, his stare is intense. His pupils glare into you as he provides you with more pleasure than you know what to do with.

"You think you're gonna cum for me? Gush all over my cock?" he croons mockingly.

You nod. Your arm weakly flies up so you can grab at his wrist. "Need it, Rick," you whine.

He chuckles, a small smirk teasing his lips. "You can have it then. Let it go for me," he says.

Your hips buck in time with the next handful of whimpers that leave your lips. The climb to the top feels so fucking good. Your core sizzles up until it reaches a fever pitch and you explode into white hot pleasure. A low, satisfied hum reverberates from you as your eyelashes dust your cheeks.

He fucks you through the feeling, one hand on your throat, the other down at your clit, swirling around the small nub a few times to give you the extra boost. It makes you nice and tight around his dick. Your walls squeeze like a vise. He has no choice but to let go.

As desperate as he is to fuck it deep inside of you, he stops himself at the last second and pulls out. He grabs his cock at light speed before that feeling can vanish and pumps it at the same rhythm he'd been thrusting into you.

Warm, milky ropes of cum shoot out onto your belly. The splatter across your skin, glimmering in the cool light of the night. You force your eyes open when you hear his deep moan. You're almost certain you've never seen anything as beautiful as Rick's face when he releases. His brows furrow while his jaw relaxes. He parts his lips in a small o. You watch with droopy eyes, the haze of lust still not totally gone yet.

When he's finished, he stares down at you in a similar fashion. His hand cups the back of your neck so he can bring you up to give you a kiss before he goes and grabs a towel. The bloody shirt he'd been wearing is gone when he returns. He cleans the spend off your belly and then crawls back into bed with you.

You snuggle up to him, ready to close your eyes and conk out. But then you think of something.

"I knew it was you before you took off the mask," you say. The flesh of your cheek smooshes against this chest.

He looks down at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Cause your watch," you say proudly, as if you'd discovered some great clue.

The information registers but then his lips break into a grin. "Hmm, smart girl. I'll have to keep that in mind if I ever put on the mask for something secretive," he teases before yawning and tugging you closer to his side.

"Mhm, cause I'd figure you out right away," you murmur.

"I'm sure," he agrees, pressing a few kisses to your head. "Get some sleep, baby."

[bucks-babe]

Plastic

Summary: Bucky using a fleshlight for the first time

Warnings: Smut, toys(fleshlight, vibrator), dirty talk, watching porn, overuse of the word fucking, anal?, cum eating, degradation, use of the word bitch, slut and whore, surprise guest at the end

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: I wrote this in like an hour so be warned. I’m kind of in the same headspace I was in when I wrote Be Mean to Me so this is quite dirty and a little mean. Anyway, you are responsible for your own media consumption. Any and all mistakes are my own. Huge thanks to the amazing @buckys-wintersoldier for beta reading; however any and all mistakes are again, my own. Bucky’s a loud, horny, little boy but he is so hot. THIS IS SOOOO HOT!🤭🤭

Bucky knows that he looks insane, standing by the door of his apartment with his ear pressed against it, listening for the footsteps of his delivery driver. He knows it’s coming soon, having his phone in his hand, obsessively checking the progress of his order. His cock, already hard and throbbing, twitches when he hears the elevator ding and he knows that it's his package. Bucky knows the sound of everyone’s steps on his floor.

As soon as the coast is clear, Bucky whips his door open and grabs his box, barely remembering to lock the door before sprinting up to his room, tearing the packaging open on the way. Flinging himself down on the bed, he moans at the sight of the fleshlight in his hand. “Oh, sweetheart, pussy’s so fucking pretty. Look at that pretty clit. Want me to rub it, huh? Make you cum around my cock?”

He tosses the toy to the side, quickly getting rid of all his clothes and grabbing the lube from his bedside stand along with the TV remote. Bucky silently thanks Sam for showing him how to use a smart TV. One of his favorite things about the 21st century had to be porn. He never had this type of porn back in his day. It would only be magazines of naked women, not that he was complaining, but watching people having sex was much hotter to him.

With the TV in his room and no one living with him, Bucky was able to watch porn in HD as loud as he wanted to, and fuck if he didn’t have the strongest orgasm of his life the first time. 

“That’s gonna be too bad, baby, because I’m fucking your ass today. Don’t give a shit if it hurts, you’re gonna take what I give you and let me fill that tight little hole up as much as I want.” He grabs the fleshlight again and pulls the silicon out, only to flip it to the other side where the fake asshole was before putting it back in its casing. 

Without thought he sticks his tongue in as far as he could, ignoring the plastic taste, and groaning at the tightness of it. “Fuck, you’re gonna choke my cock aren’t ya? Yeah, you are, bitch.” He grabs the remote and quickly gets to a porn website and logs in. “What should I watch, slut while I ruin your little ass?” He already knows exactly what video he was going to watch, there was no doubt about it. It’s the same video he’s been playing on repeat for weeks, never able to last the whole time.

The sight of the woman’s ass swallowing that huge cock sends him over the edge. Maybe it was because the man’s cock looked just like his, making it that much easier to imagine he was fucking her, making her hole gape. Her ass bouncing has him hypnotized, not able to comprehend how it was so perfect.

“Can’t wait to fuck that little hole. Leave you open and sore. Makes my dick so fucking hard.” Clicking the video and grabbing the lube, Bucky puts the tip of the bottle in the hole, squeezing until the slick was dripping out. He doesn’t wait for the intro to finish, quickly skipping past it and to his favorite part, moaning immediately when he clicks play and they’re fucking full force, both moaning, skin slapping, and ass jiggling. 

Bucky has to rewind the video to just before the man slides his cock in, wanting to imagine that he was the one fucking her. He spreads his legs out, feeling his sack hit the bed and another idea enters his brain. Rolling over he grabs the vibrator from the drawer before settling back into his spot, this time with the wand nestled under his balls. Turning it to high, Bucky grinds his sack down further, staring at the way they vibrate over the toy.

If he didn’t have as much control as he did, Bucky could have came just from that. He wants so bad to have her lay down on his bed while he straddles her face, smothering her with his sack, grinding and sliding his balls around face, listening to her choke on them, all while fucking into his toy, pounding, pouring load after load into it.

With that thought in his mind, Bucky lines the fake hole with his cock, the cold lube leaking onto his dick causes him to jerk, his tip grazing her hole. “Fuck, bitch, can’t even get the tip in. Don’t worry, I won’t stop. Don’t cry, you’ll get used to me fucking you whenever. Your little holes are gonna stretch and swallow my cock without problem eventually.”

He has to press to get his thick tip to pop it, and when it does Bucky loses his mind. “Ohhhh, fuccckkk. So fucking tight, shit, gonna make me nut already. So fucking wet, fucking made for me. Shitshitshit.” He has to use every bit of self control in his body to not shove the rest of his length inside, not wanting to blow just yet, not when he hasn’t even seen his girl swallow his dick in her ass while bouncing on his lap.

For just a moment, Bucky regrets placing the vibrator on his sack, but it feels too good to take off, now adding wiggles to his grind, moving the vibe all over his huge sack. “Ready for the rest of it, whore?  No? Well too fucking bad because I want it and I’ll fucking take it, bitch.” It takes him a minute to find the remote, pressing play and turning the volume up, fuck the neighbors. 

He groans in frustration when the people decide to take their good ol’ time getting to the fucking, but when he sees her squat over his lap Bucky feels his cock pulse in anticipation. Her perfect ass swallows his cock without hesitation, and Bucky follows. As soon as he gets past the tip, he slams the rest of his length in, frantically bucking his hips to meet the toy, head falling back and eyes shut.. The sound of his cries, the lube squelching and leaking down to his balls where they bounce between the base of the toy and the vibrator, all drown out the video playing.

“Ohfuckohfuck, so fucking good. Oh shit, ass so tight, cock fucking choking. Can’t. Shit, I, oh fuck.” Bucky’s mind becomes mush, only the carnal urge to fuck and fuck hard drive him. “Love this, love th, fuck! Bet it fucking hurts. Can’t do anything but get fucked. Does my big fat cock hurt? ‘S it tearing you open? Just meant to take this fat fucking dick. Don’t care, bitch. Don’t give a fuck that it hurts. Better get fucking used to it because I’m gonna keep you on my cock all the time.”

When he opens up his eyes, that’s when he truly starts to fuck. He’s almost positive that the bed is going to break any second, creaking and shaking with every thrust. He puts all of his strength into fucking up into the toy while both of his hands come down to help his brutal pounding. “Look at that fucking ass, oh my fuck. Take it, fucking take it. See, slut, told you. You fucking like that shit, fucking like being my cocksleave.”

His moans get higher in pitch, balls still slapping against the vibe with every thrust, practically being thrown around with the speed of his fucking. “‘M’gonna fucking nut. Gonna pour every fucking drop in you ass. Fuuuccckkk, wanna cum on it, watch it bounce while I keep fucking you. Gonna bust so fucking hard. When I’m fucking done you’re gonna be gaping so fucking much I’ll shove my sack inside. Uh, huh, you’ll fucking like that.”

He takes one hand off, searching for the remote that’s been bouncing all over the bed, and turns the volume up all the way, not able to hear over the cacophony of sound he was making. “Ohhhhh, shit, ready? Ready for this fucking nut? There’s so much fucking cum, oh fuck. So much, gonna blow. C’mon, keep bouncing that big ass on me. Don’t you fucking dare stop when I nut, you fucking hear me, bitch? You’re gonna milk every fucking drop from my sack. Gonna be more than one tonight. Have me so fucking horny.”

His thrusts become sloppy before he decides to just stop bucking and let his sack rest on the vibe and his hands take over the work. “Ohhhhh, fucking gonna blow, gonna nut. Ready, fucking ready? Bouncebouncebounce, just like that, just like that. FUCK, YES. GIVE ME IT. GIVE ME THAT FUCKING HOLE. TAKE THIS FUCKING NUT.”

The string of curses doesn’t slow down for minutes, his orgasm not abiding at all. “Fuck me! Leaking everywhere. All over the fucking bed. Cum’s filling you up so much can’t even handle it.�� He keeps going until he’s almost too sensitive, pulling the fleshlight off wasting no time bringing it up to his mouth, swallowing mouthfulls of cum until it’s all gone. “So fucking good, but I’m not fucking done. Get over here, baby.”

Still laying on the bed, Bucky looks over to you, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m surprised you heard me over all that noise you were making.” Bucky just chuckles and lazily reaches an arm out for you, beckoning you over, which you happily do.

You take off all your clothes before joining him in bed, grabbing the fleshlight and licking the drops of cum he missed off, humming at the taste. “You know, you could have just called me over instead of watching our videos? I’m pretty sure we’re gonna get another noise complaint. The whole building probably heard you.”

Bucky rolls to his side. “Can’t help it, baby. You’re so fucking sexy and the way you take my cock. Can’t get off to anyone else, only my favorite pornstar.” He cuts himself off with a groan.

“I don’t know if it counts as being a pornstar if we only have sex with each other, Buck.”

“Of course it counts. Last time I checked, thousands of people come to watch us fuck each other dumb. Speaking of, we haven’t made a video in a while and I bet they would love to see you squirt on my dick, don’t you think?”

At your giggle, Bucky goes and sets the camera up, making sure not to show anything in the room that would give away who you both are, knowing that you would blur your faces when you go to edit. As much as he loved to hear how crazy men and women go over the two of you, Bucky didn’t want them to know your identities. 

“Sweetheart, you are so fucking beautiful, can’t even put it into words.”

“Don’t have to, show me, big guy because I’m dripping and I need a big cock to fill me up and my boyfriend's right here.” And Bucky’s going to do just that.

[neocitylights]

SUMMARY: As an agent, secrecy is your second nature. After all, it binds your entire life together—going as far as your marriage with Jaemin. It shouldn’t be so hard to improvise, right? With your double life on the line, Foxglove just needs to keep her secrets… a secret. Even if it means pulling off the biggest lie of your life—except this time, without double-sized mercenaries, ticking bombs and high-security buildings to break into. GENRE: Romance, fluff, action, comedy, secret agent au, doctor!Jaemin WORD COUNT: 10k WARNINGS: Cursing, suggestive themes, depictions of violence NOTES: The second installment of my NCU series is finally here! My first Jaemin fic, inspired by Charlie’s Angels and Alex & Jason’s relationship. Please let me know what you think!! It’s gonna make my day!!

Agent Foxglove had spent the last two months tracking the key code’s location. 

It’s the reason why you’re currently avoiding the spotlight at this pompous, extravagant fundraising gala at the most luxurious hotel of the city, where its elite is sipping champagne while idly promising million-dollar pledges to charity as if they’re not at fault for half of the country’s problems. 

Barbara Lim is your focus tonight. 

More specifically, the high-security key code in Barbara Lim’s possession. 

As the head of a major hospital chain, she’s one of the very few women in the city with a firm grip on her business operations. Barbara is a powerhouse in a world full of men, leading the field with a long list of accolades to back her up. Still, beneath her polished, well-crafted exterior, lies something far more interesting—a direct connection to government-funded projects involving bioweapons and illegal medical experiments. 

The mission is as cliché as it comes. 

Since Barbara has full clearance to one of the most secure storage vaults in the city, all you have to do is to extract the right information out of her, then let the agency take over her unofficial operation before someone else beats to it.

At first, it seems easy enough. 

It’s not the hardest mission you’ve had, and even if you’ve had to grit your teeth and fake-smile at a few filthy pick-up lines from men old enough to be your grandfather, at least you’re enjoying the expensive free booze and the silky, designer dress the agency had sorted just for the gala. 

You spend the night watching from a distance, blending in effortlessly by mingling in between the socialites, making small talk as if you’d ever need plastic surgeries and high-society club invitations. Having scoped the security rotations, camera locations and possible exit points, all you need to do is wait. 

As you sigh for the nth time of the night, Renjun mimics the action in your ear, sounding exasperated enough to tug an amused smile at your lips.

“If you’re that bored at a high-end party, imagine how I feel being locked up in here having to babysit you.” 

The words make you laugh, your brain painting a perfect picture of your ever grumpy handler—part reluctant co-worker, part begrudging friend—hunched over the multiple monitors at the operations center.

“You’d get bored without me,” you tease quietly, still smiling as your eyes follow Barbara across the venue. “Remember when the agency switched seats and paired you with Donghyuck?” 

“Please, don’t remind me,” Renjun groans, his dramatic eye-roll almost audible through the comms in your ears. “That was the worst experience of my life. I don’t know how Mark does it.” 

Reaching for a flute of champagne from a tray nearby, you take a few steps to follow Barbara as a snort escapes from your mouth. “He doesn’t,” you deadpan, tone somehow still humorous. “Mark just panics while Haechan wings everything and somehow gets away with it.”

Ignoring Renjun’s sassy remarks about your peculiar co-worker, your attention is suddenly captured by Barbara and the young man she’s currently chatting with, a wide smile on her face as he acknowledges a pair of businessmen accompanying her. 

Unaware of your sudden interest, Renjun continues his rant about Donghyuck in your ear. “Have I told you that he keeps asking why I pretend to not like him? As if I have to actually pretend—”

“Junnie,” you cut in, frowning at the scene of Barbara beaming at the guy, her laugh ringing loud enough it reaches over the music. “Can you identify the guy that’s talking to the target right now? The cute one in glasses?”

The handler scoffs at your unnecessary quip, the sound of his keyboard soon replacing his Haechan hate discourse. 

A sound of surprise escapes from Renjun’s mouth, slowly skimming through the guy’s file. “Jaemin Na, head doctor at New Frontier Hospital,” he reads, a hint of surprise in his voice. “He’s the youngest surgeon in the Neurology Department. Apparently Barbara scouted him herself.”

You hum, eyes subconsciously narrowing at the doctor, still making small talk to his crowd. “What do you think?”

“Well… there’s nothing out of ordinary in his file,” Renjun starts, his initial skepticism fading while scrolling down the doctor’s medical and university records. “He’s got a pretty solid career, actually. Maybe that explains Lim scouting him?”

“Maybe she likes pretty boys,” you say, taking a sip of your champagne to mask a grin over the handler’s half-hearted annoyed grumble. “Keep digging for me, will you?”

As pretty as he looks, Jaemin Na definitely stands out in the crowd—but not in a way that you’d expect for a good-looking guy like him. 

In a room full of people wearing fabricated masks for a show, the doctor seems to be the only one who looks discreetly, almost politely unimpressed by it all, even as the Barbara Lim bats her eyelashes at him. 

Along with his boss, since Jaemin’s a good few decades younger than most attendees, it doesn’t take too long for you to notice other several lingering, enamoured eyes over him. The crisp, all-black tuxedo paired with the squared glasses does look heavenly good on him after all, an ironic contrast for a doctor. 

Renjun is still listing the information on Jaemin’s file when you see it.

A faint, almost imperceptible glint of metal against the massive glass windows of the venue, just barely there before it vanishes into the dark again. 

“Renjun,” you interrupt again, urgency now slipping through your voice despite the discreet whispering. “I don’t think we’re alone tonight.”

It takes a second before the handler’s voice finally comes through your earpiece, clearly confused. “What?”

“I think I saw something outside the venue,” you continue, casually walking closer towards your target, a chill creeping up your spine with each step. “Check the perimeter’s CCTV, please.”

You already know what you saw, but you need a confirmation in order to act upon it. 

As your pulse quickens in anticipation, you instinctively follow the angle, calculating the possible shot with ease. In your ear, Renjun just confirms your suspicions—a sniper is set up just across the street from the venue, at a high vantage point, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The problem isn’t just that Barbara is the target, but also that Jaemin is standing directly in the line of fire too, unknowingly shielding the woman. 

If there’s one thing you know about snipers, it’s that collateral damage means nothing as long as the job gets done.

The champagne flute is long forgotten as you weave through the crowd with smooth, practiced steps. Attentively watching the pair, your initial plan is discreet, carefully thought as to not raise any unnecessary eyebrows. Given you’re not the only one on the clock tonight, sending the gala into disarray is probably the least productive scenario for both of you.

The sniper doesn’t seem to share the same thought. 

As soon as you spot the red dot flicker on Jaemin’s back for a millisecond, you can’t help breaking into a run, heart thumping against your throat.

Then—the shot’s fired. 

Renjun is frantically calling your name through the comms, but the noise barely registers as you slam into Jaemin’s back, taking Barbara down with you. The three of you crash onto the polished floors just as the bullet cuts the air above. The venue immediately erupts into screams, the orchestra screeching to a halt as the guests fearfully surge towards the main entrance.

Barbara’s security guards are quick to act, spotting her fast enough to scout the woman away by disappearing into the swarm of panicked bodies. 

Turning your focus back to Jaemin as you move over, you keep his body pinned to the floor as a second shot rings out, the marble column right behind you taking the hit. 

“Stay the fuck down!”

The order sounds more like a hiss, Jaemin’s body tensing beside you, breath sharp as a deep frown settles between his eyebrows. 

The mission’s already ruined.

Though Barbara is still very much alive, your chances of extracting any intel about the damn key codes out of the woman are clearly blown. After tonight, you know that her security detail will probably be tighter than ever—there’s no way you’ll get close to her again soon, as far as the agency’s influence can go.

“Foxglove,” Renjun calls loudly, the codename sounding foreign in his voice, yet laced with an unusual hint of worry. “You need to leave. Right now.”

“I know,” you mutter, eyes scanning the chaos for a quick second, gaze lingering over the building outside the cracked windows. “Do you have a location for the sniper?”

“That’s a problem for another time,” he snaps, his characteristic impatience slipping through a loud scoff. “The cops are coming, just fucking leave.”

Despite the chaos, your mind’s already running through contingency plans, not expecting an easy escape under both the police and Barbara’s security. Turning back to Jaemin one last time, his brown eyes are attentively observing you. 

There’s something in the doctor’s gaze that surprises you—a hint of amazement? Confusion? Maybe annoyance, if the furrowed eyebrows are anything to go by?

Before pushing yourself off the floor, you shoot him a wink, biting back smile at the look on his face. “You should stay put, alright?”

Through the comms, Renjun exhales loudly, again leaving you to picture the handler rolling his eyes at your antics. “Are you seriously flirting with him? Are you purposefully trying to get caught or something?”

Taking advantage of the now empty back-of-house, you follow Renjun’s instructions through the quietest exit route. Given it’s an employee-only, no businessman or socialite would ever dare to set foot in that area, making it the perfect escape for you. 

The clicking of your heels echo over the corridor, almost giving the moment an eerie vibe.

You don’t listen to his steps, nor feel his presence behind you before a hand suddenly reaches for your wrist.

“Hey—wait—”

Acting purely on instincts, you’re quick to whip around, effortlessly swinging your leg with a forceful kick against the attacker. It takes a second for Jaemin’s legs to be swept out from under him, the doctor crashing to the floor for a second time that night, except this time you realize your mistake a second too late.

A gasp immediately escapes from your lips as you meet the attacker’s eyes, only to find a certain doctor groaning on the floor. “Oh my God, Jaemin! I’m so sorry!”

Renjun groans in your ear, very much exasperated by another interruption. “What the—why are you talking to that guy again?”

Jaemin pushes himself up on his elbows, blinking at you with a hint of both disbelief and amazement. “You know my name,” he says, pausing for a second before huffing an incredulous laugh. “What the hell was that? You just… tackled me out of nowhere.”

Moving closer, you crouch down beside him with raised eyebrows, reaching out to fix the crooked glasses on his face. “Would you rather have been shot?”

A grin curls the doctor’s lips, his expression suddenly doing a complete 180 as he chuckles. “Wow, you’re really pretty.”

Ignoring the choking sound of your handler in the comms, you can’t help grinning at the guy, doing your best to mask your surprise. “Am I?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin hums, regarding you with attentive eyes as the grin on his face widens. “Also a little terrifying, but mostly pretty.”

Amused by his unexpected reaction, a laugh escapes before you can stop yourself. “You’re really funny, Jaemin,” you mutter, offering an apologetic wince as Renjun calls out again. “I have somewhere to be, though. Unless you want to end up in an interrogation, you should also—”

“No can do,” Jaemin counters, shaking his head with an easy, almost brattish chuckle. “You don’t get to save my life and then just disappear like that.”

You smirk, intrigued by his teasing despite the urgency of the moment. “Are you challenging me?”

The doctor only tilts his head, raising an eyebrow at you with a teasing glint to his eyes. “Am I?”

Before you can fire back, your handler’s voice cuts in again, his tone sharper than usual. “The police are outside!” Renjun snaps, frantically clicking away at his keyboard on the other side. “Just fucking leave, Foxglove! That’s an order!”

It’s rare for Renjun to outright bark orders at you, even as your handler. If he’s taken the exception of doing so tonight, then you know that he absolutely means it and you’re probably pushing your luck by staying a second longer. Still, despite every warning blaring inside your head, you just can’t bring yourself to leave Dr. Jaemin Na behind. 

“I’m taking Jaemin with me!” 

As you blurt the words, a second of silence lingers between the three of you for a moment before both Jaemin and Renjun break it in unison.

“What?”

“Oh, you want me to come with you?”

Their voices overlap in a comic contrast, one laced with a flicker of annoyance, the other with pure amusement. While Renjun sounds half-confused, half-aggravated, as if he can’t decide whether to yell at you, work with Donghyuck instead or start drafting a resignation letter, Jaemin just looks and sounds oddly entertained by your entire ordeal. 

Taking the doctor with you is a reckless, dangerous decision—and if you’re completely honest with yourself, there’s really no need for Jaemin to actually run from the authorities or Barbara’s security guards.

Yet, something tells you that he has to. 

So as you rise to your feet again, offering a hand to pull him up, a knowing smile takes over your face.

“Come on, pretty boy.”

As an agent of a private intelligence agency, being in high-risk situations is almost second nature to you by now.

A regular day on the job for you usually means slipping into new identities for undercover operations where Renjun is your only company, extraction missions that always seem ready to go sideways no matter how careful you are, and intel gathering in places where a wrong move can easily put a target on your back. 

Yet, sitting across from Jaemin in his apartment, trying to skirt around a conversation about… whatever the both of you are, this particular situation somehow feels like one of the riskiest, most nerve-wrecking things you’ve ever done. 

The thing is, while you’re exceptionally skilled at deception, survival and strategy, talking about your feelings unsurprisingly isn’t your forte—an absolute contrast to the doctor who’s always been ridiculously open about his feelings and emotions about you, more often than not wearing his heart on his sleeve. 

You don’t even realize the turn that the conversation’s taking until it’s too late. 

One moment, you’re having dinner together. Taking advantage of a rare break in between your missions, you’d caved to Jaemin’s incredibly persuasive requests to spend the night at his place, watching him cook as he narrated every step of his five-star meal as if a host of a cooking show. Now, you’re sitting on his couch. Holding a glass of your favorite wine between your fingers, the air feels heavier than it was five minutes ago.

That is, before Jaemin asks the question that’s been lingering over you for months. 

“So, are we doing this or not?”

As you take another sip of wine, only half-pretending not to understand the question, your silence stretches for a beat longer. “Are we doing… what?”

Jaemin instantly gives you a look, somehow caught between impatience and amusement. “You know exactly what,” he starts, eyes squinting in your direction. “You, me, and the very obvious relationship that you’ve been trying to skirt around like I’m one of your targets.”

A soft, almost too heart-felt scoff escapes from your mouth as you frown at his words. “I don’t treat you as one of my targets.”

“It’s not the end of the world, you know,” Jaemin continues, ignoring your little deflective quip with a knowing grin. “We’ve been fine so far and I’m serious about this. I’m really serious about us, Bunny, you know that.”

The nickname—a silly callback to the time the doctor had shown up at your place unannounced, only to find you fresh off a mission and still wearing a Playboy bunny costume—draws warmth to your cheeks, a reaction far too uncharacteristic for a seasoned agent like yourself.

Despite his sweet words, you can’t help the heavy sigh, setting the wine glass away before moving closer to Jaemin’s side. The doctor immediately makes room for you, humming in delight as you cup his face, seemingly ignoring the more serious touch that the conversation’s heading. 

“My life is anything but normal,” you argue, tone as careful as the way your fingers brush against his cheeks, holding him gently. “Nothing about me is normal, Jaemin.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” he answers, pressing a kiss to your palm as his grin widens, eyebrows playfully wiggling at you. “My girlfriend is a badass secret agent.”

“Nana, please.” You sigh, rolling your eyes before purposefully squeezing his face for a second. “Are you listening to what I’m saying?”

Instead, Jaemin just chuckles, pulling away from your hold to wrap an arm around your shoulders. “Have I told you that I talk about you to my patients sometimes? They think I’m making you up.”

Caught off-guard by his sudden confession, your mouth parts in disbelief. “First of all, I am not your girlfriend,” you chide, pointing an accusatory finger at his chest. “Second, you should not be talking about me to your patients. Are you crazy?”

“About you,” he corrects smoothly, clearly enjoying himself despite your half-hearted outburst. “Don’t worry, I just tell them that I know someone who can take down five men in under a minute and still look good doing it.”

You sigh, struggling to hold back a smile. 

“Jaemin—”

“What? They love it.”

“This is serious.” 

Jaemin nods, the teasing edge of his voice suddenly softening for a bit. 

“I know, Bunny.”

In the short time you’ve grown closer to each other, the doctor has grown awfully aware of the way you work. As someone who’s used to secrecy and half-truths in order to survive, vulnerability doesn’t come easily to you—it takes time, caution and safety. As annoying as it can be, this is Jaemin’s roundabout way of coaxing you into opening up.

“I don’t think you understand what being with me actually means, Jaem,” you say, your fingers now unconsciously tightening around the fabric of his shirt. “This isn’t some spy fantasy movie, it’s really dangerous for you. I know people who would really use you against me if they found out how much I—”

Jaemin raises an eyebrow at the sudden pause, immediately reaching for your face so his eyes meet yours. “How much you what?”

You look away, rolling your eyes. “It’s not relevant.”

With a teasing hum, he brushes a thumb against your cheek. “Hm, I think it is.”

A sigh escapes from your lips, a hint of mock annoyance flickering on your face. “Nana.”

Amused by your little act, Jaemin chuckles, leaning in just a bit closer with a smile. “I get it, baby. I know,” he answers, his voice carrying a touch of finality as if he’s made up his mind long ago. “I know it’s dangerous. I knew that when you saved me from getting shot by a sniper months ago.”

As you frown, your eyes immediately snap back to his again, though with a hint of uncertainty. “That’s not—”

“I didn’t finish,” he cuts in, furrowing his eyebrows despite the softness in his gaze. “You’ve trusted me with your life. Why wouldn’t I trust you with mine?”

At his words, your mind immediately flickers back to the particular night—one with a mission gone wrong and a knife slicing too close for comfort. Though you’d managed to escape mostly unscathed, the deep gash on your side not stopping you from finishing the job, somehow you’d still found yourself at Jaemin’s doorstep, bleeding through the layers of tactical gear and avoiding the agency’s questions and reports.

The doctor hadn’t asked for an explanation, not hesitating even for a second before ushering you into his apartment in apprehension and half-hearted frustration. 

Jaemin had patched you up with the utmost care, cracking flirty lines here and there as a distraction to the pain despite his gentleness. As the rest of the night followed in a similar fashion, he’d simply waited until you were ready to talk. It was the first time you realized that maybe—just maybe—Jaemin was someone you could trust.

“I just… worry about you,” you admit, rolling your eyes at the tenderness in your voice, as if trying to downplay the weight of your words. “I don’t have the best track record when it comes to relationships, either.”

“Well, they weren’t me,” Jaemin counters, a smile on his face that looks both confident and reassuring. “Remember what I said? You don’t get to run away after saving my life.”

As your resistance falters, shifting into something fiery, a second realization strikes you. 

Jaemin isn’t backing down. 

It’s the first time in your chaotic, unruly life, that someone’s standing their ground—not just against you, but for you. The doctor’s stubbornness can rival your own sometimes, so it really shouldn’t surprise you that he isn’t one bit fazed by the danger of the complications of your relationship. 

Maybe that’s why, despite every logical argument screaming at you to keep him at arm’s length, you still find yourself giving in.

A sigh escapes from your lips as you frown at him, his unwavering gaze growing triumphant. “If we’re really doing this, then you have to know that I won’t be your regular girlfriend. I lie to people for a living and I disappear for missions and—”

“That’s hot,” Jaemin cuts in, completely unfazed by your half-hearted exasperation with a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “What?”

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, shaking your head at the doctor before cradling his face in your hands again, a little more forcefully now. “Do you really want this? Are you sure?”

His grin stretches wider, eyes twinkling with mischief as he leans in just a little, as if sharing a secret. “You think I’d turn down the chance to date a literal action movie lead?” 

You roll your eyes, but the faintest hint of amusement curls your lips. “You cannot tell your patients anything about dating a spy, Jaemin.”

Jaemin hums, pretending to be in deep thought for a second before shaking his head. “Now, that’s just boring.”

Before you can reprimand him, the doctor closes the small distance by pressing a firm, lingering kiss against your lips. Jaemin’s hands settle on your waist, tugging you closer until you’re smoothly swinging a leg over him, sitting on his lap as your arms close around his neck. As if sealing an unspoken agreement between you, he deepens the kiss, fingers tracing slow, soothing circles against your hips.

Pulling away despite his resistance, you rest your forehead against Jaemin’s, smirking against his lips. “Okay, Na Jaemin,” you exhale, a teasing touch to your voice. “You’ve got yourself a girlfriend, then.”

With a flicker of his fingers against your chin, the doctor just chuckles, ultimately shaking his head.

“You’ve always been mine, Bunny.”

Foxglove has faced armed, double-sized mercenaries, defused bombs under pressure, retrieved classified, critical intel, and more than once broke into high-security government agencies and buildings. 

Yet, none of those… activities prepare you for the moment your father’s name suddenly flashes the phone’s screen on a random Thursday morning. 

As the only daughter of two very devoted men, you’d most definitely grown up in a home built on love and unwavering support. Alan and Andrew truly raised you as their own—the first, as a professor that filled your young, but scarred world with knowledge and imagination, and the second, as a military lieutenant that built the strength and confidence you’d eventually channel to become an agent. 

Though you’d never once questioned how deeply they cared for you, there’s still a few traces of your past that keep you from sharing everything with them—maybe exactly because of their love and support, you can’t help hesitating sometimes, trying your best to keep them from worries and disappointment.

You love both of your parents fiercely, and they sure love you just the same. 

That’s exactly why you’re nothing but an ordinary civilian, just an accountant graduated with honors with a nine-to-five job, living in the city as a young, single woman.

To them, that is.

As the phone rings for the nth time, leaving you to stare at it like it’s counting to an explosion, your husband steps into the kitchen with a frown on his face, though it quickly shifts to a delighted one as soon as he reads Andrew’s name on the screen.

“Good morning, Bunny!” Jaemin greets, pressing a kiss to your cheek before walking past you, headed to the coffee machine with a knowing grin. “If you don’t pick up, he’ll keep calling.”

You sigh, picking up the phone from the counter and staring at it for a moment. “I know.”

The doctor gives you a pointed look and you finally swipe the screen to answer, subconsciously schooling both your expression and your voice as if your father would actually see you.

“Princess! We have great news!”

Andrew’s booming voice echoes through the kitchen of your apartment, warm and familiar despite your apprehension. Even through your stress, it still feels good to hear your father’s voice, the nickname—result of one of your childhood obsessions—tugging a smile at your lips.

“Hey, Dad,” you start, raising an eyebrow as you try to keep up with his cheerful tone, Jaemin watching you thoroughly entertained. “Oh, really? What kind of news?”

The line hustles for a moment until Alan suddenly chimes in with a curse, his usual dry amusement laced to a quick greeting before continuing. “The kind you’ll have to pretend to be excited about, darling.”

You can’t help frowning at his words, your unease growing tenfold over the ominous tone of his voice. “What do you mean I’ll have to pretend?”

With an excited laugh, Andrew seemingly beams through the line. “We’re visiting you next week!”

Jaemin immediately chokes with a sip of his decaf. 

An internal nuclear meltdown explodes in your head. 

“You’re… visiting?” you croak, clearing your throat in a poor attempt to mask your surprise, heart hammering against your chest. “Why?”

“Why are we visiting? Alan, did you hear that?” Andrew chides, sounding nothing but disgruntled at your lacking reaction. “Do I need a reason to visit my daughter? A daughter that I haven’t seen in way too long because her job keeps her hopping from city to city?”

It feels like you’ve forgotten how to function for a moment, staring at Jaemin with alarms blaring in your head post the meltdown. 

Andrew and Alan are visiting their daughter, one that they haven’t seen in way too long because of her very high-demand, all-over-the-place job—visiting their daughter who they think works as an accountant, living a very normal, stable life, having absolutely no idea that she’s married to a whole beefy, health freak husband while occasionally beating people up at night for her actual job. 

As you swallow, scrambling for a response, the doctor just grins at your predicament. ��No, you don’t need a reason, Dad,” you answer, wincing at how artificial the words sound. “It’s just really short notice, I thought you guys were coming in the summer.”

“That was the original plan, princess,” Alan explains, sighing apologetically on the other side. “I was asked to take over a summer course at the university, though. We’re really sorry about springing this on you.”

“We’re just a couple of dads checking in on your favorite daughter!” Andrew beams, the smile on his face almost visible through his voice. “We’ll be there for a week, so clear your schedule for us, alright? I can’t wait to see what your life is like!”

Yeah, the life you’ve been lying about for years.

A highly classified, off-the-books life that involves facing armed, double-sized mercenaries, defusing bombs under pressure, retrieving classified, critical intel, and breaking into high-security government agencies and buildings. 

Also, the life that got you a man you’ve been married to for nearly three years now. 

As you force something vaguely human-sounding as a reaction, Alan confirms their travel details with tidbits of small talk before excusing himself in a sudden rush, seemingly having lost the track of time to leave for work. 

About to end the call, Andrew calls out your name for the first time in the entire conversation. “I’m really excited to see you, princess.”

Though it’s a little choked from both distress and fondness, you can’t help smiling at his words. “Me too, Dad.”

The moment you put the phone down, slumping against the kitchen’s counter, Jaemin’s grin grows wider. If the doctor didn’t look like he was having the time of his life listening to the call, maybe you’d actually worry about his feelings over being a well-kept secret. 

Approaching you, Jaemin steps closer and wraps an arm around your waist to pull you up. “This is fun,” he starts, pursing his lips to muffle a short laugh at your expression. “It’s not the end of the world, Bunny.”

The familiar words make you groan, forehead falling against his shoulder dramatically. “No, it’s worse than that.”

Jaemin rubs a slow, soothing hand up and down your back, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “You could just tell them the truth, princess.”

“Yeah, only if you want me to give both of them a heart attack,” you retort, a scoff following as you look up to shoot him a sharp, pointed glance. “Also, I am not a princess. Erase that from your memory right now.”

As he chuckles at the cute, sour frown on your face, Jaemin teases you by pinching your nose. “Don’t be like that, baby.”

You swat his hand away with a huff, crossing your arms as you lean back slightly. “This is really bad, Jaemin.”

“I mean, it’s not that bad,” he muses, brushing his fingers against your cheek with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s just your parents.”

“It is that bad,” you snap, an incredulous laugh escaping from your lips. “My parents don’t even know I’m married. Is that not bad enough for you?”

The doctor pauses for a moment, a glimmer of mischief still lingering in his eyes as he hums thoughtfully, hands now resting on your waist with his fingers tracing lazy patterns against the bare skin peeking through your sleepwear.

“Alright, let’s assess your situation,” he says, seemingly deep in thought despite the playful touch in his voice. “You told your parents you’re an accountant. They think you have a normal life. They’re coming to visit for a week, and in that time, you have to pretend to be a very boring office worker and somehow explain why your very sexy husband exists.”

“Don’t summarize it like that,” you groan, closing your eyes with a deep sigh. “It makes me feel worse about lying.”

He chuckles, raising an eyebrow at you. “What’s the worst thing they could ask for?”

You shrug, frowning at the unexpected question. “I don’t know, seeing where I work, maybe?”

As his lips twitch for a second before curling into a grin, Jaemin shoots you a pointed look. “So, you’ll need a fake office.”

A sound that resembles a snarl escapes from your lips, gaze hardening at the amusement on the doctor’s face. “Jaemin.”

“Bunny,” he mimics, eyes narrowing at you with a pout playing on his lips. “Think about it. If you’re an accountant, you need a boring office. We’ll throw some fake papers around, make a business card with your name on it—”

You scoff, begrudgingly amused by his proposal. “I think being in a relationship with a secret agent is getting to your head, baby.”

Jaemin just continues his spiel, shaking his head at your words. “—and Renjun can be your secretary—”

“Now that’s the craziest thing you’ve said so far,” you joke, chuckling at the thought of your fiery handler as a regular, ordinary office worker. “Renjun would rather babysit Haechan for a month than do anything clerical. Why do you think I’m always the one filling the reports?”

As if he’s trying to jolt you into agreement, the doctor playfully tickles your sides, snickering as you push him away with a punch to his chest. “Well, I think it’s a brilliant plan.”

Honestly, if you really think about it—it’s not that much of a bad idea.

Out of all the things you’ve done in your life, building a fake office to fool your parents definitely wouldn’t be the craziest point on the list.

All it would take is a call to the agency, cashing in a few favors here and there from Haechan and maybe Jeno. The agency’s got so many front businesses across the city, at least one of them ought to have an office to be borrowed for a day. Though Renjun would definitely laugh at your face for even considering dragging him into… whatever this should be, Mark is gullible enough to possibly play a fake co-worker, if needed. 

It’s not exactly a brilliant plan, but… it’s a possible one. 

Something must shift on your face as your brain plays out the situation, mostly out of habit than actual intent. Jaemin immediately clocks the change, unbothered and completely entertained by your reaction. 

He watches you with a flash of amusement in his eyes. “You’re actually gonna do it, aren’t you?” 

“No, I just… considered it for a second,” you retort, rolling your eyes before pulling away from him with a step back. “This is your fault!”

As Jaemin feigns a frown, his bottom lip jutting out in a dramatic pout, his voice drops to a grouchy tone. “What? How is it my fault?”

“You put the idea in my head,” you accuse, poking his chest with a glare that lacks any real bite, especially as your hand traces over the fabric of his tank-top right after. “You know that I’m crazy enough to agree with whatever you say.”

The doctor grins at the admission, pulling you into his arms again with a hum of delight. “Is that so?” Jaemin teases, dipping his head to press a featherlight kiss to your neck. “Isn’t that your own fault, Bunny?”

You scoff, fingers instinctively tangling in his hair, giving it a light tug. “Sometimes I really want to punch your pretty face, Jaemin.”

“Hm, that’s not what you said last night,” he mumbles against your skin, his smile evident in the lazy kiss to your collarbone. “Plotting a fake office visit and a background story for your husband. Iconic behavior from my Bunny, honestly.”

You roll your eyes, though the corner of your mouth twitches upward. “It would be fun, actually.”

Jaemin lifts his head, eyes sparkling with a familiar mix of mischief and pure affection. “Say the word and I’m in,” he says, knowingly winking at you. “We can make a whole operation out of it. Operation Accountant Bunny. Renjun can supervise.”

You laugh despite yourself, offering him a half-hearted warning glance. “Nana.”

His grin widens. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You raise a teasing eyebrow in his direction. “I thought that was me.” 

Without missing a beat, Jaemin playfully amends himself. “The second best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

As you roll your eyes at his little quip, the faint smile tugging at your lips betrays you. With a quiet sigh, you just let yourself lean further into him, the weight of the situation momentarily forgotten as his embrace tightens around your frame. 

Your eyes are closed in both dread and confort as the question slips.

“Ready to meet my parents?”

Jaemin is more than ready to meet your parents. 

As you sit stiffly in the passenger seat of his car, watching him sing along to whatever song currently playing on the radio, there’s no doubt in your head that your husband is thoroughly ready to meet your parents, even if you’re discreetly, controllably panicking inside. 

While Jaemin effortlessly looks like the perfect picture of a trophy-husband—the simple glasses and white button-up combo working wonders for him—you’re looking the part of your fake life. In your best accountant professional outfit, the black dress is passable enough as long as no one notices the few faint bloodstains the washing machine couldn’t get rid of.

It doesn’t take long until he’s parking outside the restaurant, though you make no move to unbuckle your seatbelt just yet. Instead, you stare out the window for a moment, trying to catch any glimpse of either your parents inside the posh restaurant. 

Beside you, Jaemin watches your obvious stalling with an amused smirk, his laid-back demeanor ridiculously contrasting against your own.

Turning to him, you offer the doctor an eye-roll. “You’re enjoying this.”

Jaemin frowns, feigning innocence with a half-hearted pout. “Enjoying what?”

As you narrow your eyes, the smile on his face quickly returns. “The impending disaster that’s about to happen.”

“You’re so dramatic, Bunny,” he coos, a hand reaching over to pinch your cheek with infuriating fondness. “A week ago I was patching you up from a street fight. Having dinner with your parents isn’t that big of a deal, is it?”

You glare at him, resisting to melt against his touch by pulling away slightly. “I hate you.”

Jaemin clicks his tongue, tilting his head at you with an arched eyebrow. “When did you get so mouthy?”

With a scoff, you flash him an unbothered smile, way too sweet for the bite of your tone. “Don’t act like you don’t like it.”

The corner of his lips betrays a smirk before he leans closer, voice immediately dropping to something softer, a touch taunting. “If anyone can handle chaos, it’s you,” Jaemin starts, shooting you a playful wink. “We’ve got this. I’m a great husband and your parents adore you, it’s going to be fine.”

Taking another look outside, you exhale an exasperated sigh. The place looks nothing but extravagant with its polished floors and dim lighting, leaving you to silently pray that the news of your two-year marriage won’t send your parents into a meltdown—especially not in front of the high-end crowd.

Inside, your parents are already seated, their contrasting personalities on full display. 

Andrew practically leaps from his seat the moment he spots you, his grin stretching from ear to ear. Meanwhile, Alan just looks as if he’s about to judge one of his student’s presentations, barely acknowledging your entrance with his sharp gaze locked onto Jaemin instead.

The lieutenant is the one to reach out first, pulling you into a tight hug that lifts you slightly off your feet. “There’s my princess!” Andrew beams, giving you a firm squeeze before setting you back down. “I was starting to think you bailed on us!”

Behind you, Jaemin chuckles. 

Just like that, you’re not the focus anymore. 

Andrew’s eyes are quick to shift towards the doctor, his grin faltering for a second before he sizes Jaemin up with an exaggerated squint. Alan leans back in his chair, adjusting his glasses with a frown—not exactly hostile, but definitely the kind that can probably make his students second-guess themselves. 

“Princess,” the lieutenant starts, offering you a side-eye as a sly smile grows on his face. “Who’s this?”

Flashing an award-winning worthy smile, your husband holds out a hand, smoothly stepping into the sudden tension. “Na Jaemin,” he introduces himself, taking your father’s hand with a gentle hold. “It’s nice to finally meet Bunny’s parents.”

Alan, still frowning, narrows his eyes at the nickname. “Bunny?”

“Are you a co-worker?” Andrew asks, his curious gaze flickering from Jaemin to you in visible excitement. “Are we finally meeting your friends?”

As Jaemin places a hand on your lower back, just slightly pulling you closer against his side, the words slip as casually as the grin that grows on his face. “Oh no, I’m her husband.”

Silence. 

You watch as your parents’ brain short-circuits, nothing but shock on their faces. 

Alan recovers first, clearing his throat as he moves forward on his seat. “I’m sorry—your what?”

“Husband,” the doctor repeats cheerfully, still grinning as he politely holds his hand out again, your father promptly taking it despite the sudden blow. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Andrew blinks at you slowly, seemingly still processing the information. “You’re married.”

You wince. “Yeah.”

The lieutenant’s face crumbles into something melodramatic. “Since when?!”

You glance at Jaemin, then back at them. “Two years?”

Andrew makes a choking noise. “How long have you known each other?”

Offering a guilty smile, you shrug. “Two years and a half?”

As he clutches his chest like you’ve wounded him, Andrew slumps dramatically into his chair. “I need to sit down.”

“You are sitting,” Alan points out dryly, watching his husband in a mix of exasperation and amusement before waving a hand at you, offering a wary glance to Jaemin. “Both of you. Sit. Explain yourselves.”

A single peek at the doctor’s face tells you everything—as Jaemin moves to pull out your chair like the perfect gentleman he is, you can practically see the amusement dancing in his eyes, thoroughly enjoying your parents’ dramatic reaction. Under their watchful scrutiny, he’s quick to take a seat beside you, a hand resting lightly on your knee under the table as a quiet, secret reassurance.

“So,” Alan starts, adjusting his glasses as if about to start teaching one of his classes. “Let’s start with the basics. How did you two meet?”

Jaemin leans back, draping an arm over the back of your chair like he’s settling in for a fun story, a grin stretching on his face again. “Oh, it’s a great one—” 

You shoot him a warning look. “Nana—”

“You see, it all started with a little breaking and entering—”

Your eyes widen in horror as you whip your head toward him. “Jaemin!”

Andrew immediately chokes on his water, coughing violently as he pats his chest. Alan just stares unimpressed like he’s trying to decide whether he’s hearing things or if his daughter has truly lost her mind.

“I’m kidding, by the way,” Jaemin says easily, chuckling as his voice drops a tone. “Mostly.”

You groan, shooting him a sharp look before turning back to your parents again. “It was not breaking and entering,” you intervene, exasperation lacing your tone. “We met at a work gala. The company I work for manages the hospital’s finances.” 

Andrew narrows his eyes, still looking very much suspicious. “Hospital?”

“I’m a doctor,” your husband explains, the revelation immediately softening the hard edges of your parents’ expressions. “I work at New Frontier’s Neurology Department as a surgeon.”

Alan raises an eyebrow, visibly impressed. “That’s… nice.”

“How about the fact that you’ve been married for two years and we’re just finding out?” Andrew asks, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “What happened to letting your parents know what’s going on in your life, princess?”

“It just kind of happened,” you counter, digging at the corners of your brain for any passable excuses. “We weren’t really planning, but Jaemin asked and so I just…”

“That was my fault,” Jaemin continues, raising a hand to his chest with a half-hearted guilty chuckle. “I admit that I dropped it on her out of nowhere. I was lucky she said yes, actually.”

A beat of silence takes over the table for a second, only for Alan to chime in with a deep, resigned sigh, drawing all eyes to him. “Honestly, we should’ve known this was a possibility when you said you’d rather become a witch than having a wedding party at ten years-old.”

Momentarily stunned, you blink at your father before a laugh of disbelief escapes from your lips. “Dad!”

Andrew immediately lights up in sudden realization. “At Minsu and Anne’s wedding! You threw a whole tantrum over the flower girl dress!” He laughs, shaking his head at you. “For a little girl that loved princesses, you sure knew how to compartmentalize those stories.”

Well, turns out that’s a skill you can still master even as an adult. 

Judging by the amused look Jaemin throws your way, he’s probably thinking the exact same thing.

“So, do we have any pictures of… whatever you guys did?”

Alan’s question snaps both of you out of your reverie, Jaemin’s face immediately lighting up as he fishes for his phone, soon scrolling through his gallery for the few pictures of your whirlwind elopement, witnessed by a grumpy but touched Renjun, a confused and slightly shocked Mark and Haechan, who mostly only attended for the free dinner you’d promised to the very short-list of guests. 

As the night carries on, a strangely comfortable rhythm settles over the table during dinner, the initial shock of your revelation replaced by childhood stories and laughter with Jaemin unsurprisingly winning both of your parents over his charm and witty answers. 

While the lieutenant repeatedly remarks how well-matched you two are, noting every little thing Jaemin does for you, the professor stays on a quieter note, though just as taken by your husband’s knowledge—even if offering a little sarcastic quip every now and then, Jaemin taking in stride despite your protests. 

Whenever you catch his eyes, a mix of pride and mischief flashes across Jaemin’s face, as though he knows exactly what’s going on in your mind. 

A few hours later, as you step into the cool night air to bid your parents goodbye with warm hugs and promises of an upcoming brunch, you feel like you can breathe properly, the weight of one of your secrets finally off your shoulders. 

At home, you’re quick to toe off your heels with a relieved sigh, rolling your shoulders to shake off the tension as Jaemin locks the door behind you, tossing his jacket onto the couch.

“I told you, Bunny,” he starts, flopping down to the cushions with his arms stretched over the backrest waiting for you to join. “Told you it’d be fine. They loved me.”

A huff escapes from your lips as you settle beside him, head falling against his shoulder. “Sure, keep telling yourself that,” you mumble, closing your eyes for a moment as exhaustion settles. “We’re never doing this again, by the way.”

“What do you mean?” Jaemin scoffs, mocking a frown despite the playful glint in his eyes. “It was fun, I had a great time.”

“You were interrogated, Jaemin,” you deadpan, lifting your head just enough to shoot him a half-hearted glare. “Is being married to a spy seriously affecting you this much?”

“They were lovely,” he counters, a grin soon growing on his face. “I completely charmed them.”

“You shocked them,” you correct, sighing quietly. “I still can’t believe how well this entire thing went.”

Jaemin hums, his gaze flickering through your face for a second, eyes sharp despite his easygoing tone. “What’s that look on your face, hm?” he asks, nudging you lightly. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how quiet you were on the ride back.”

You exhale, fingers playing idly with the buttons of his shirt. “Have you ever felt bad?”

Jaemin tilts his head, confusion flickering across his features. “About what?”

“I keep you separate from a lot of my life,” you admit, voice dropping to a quieter note. “I don’t really talk about you to people. My own parents didn’t know about us for almost three years.”

He blinks at you, a chuckle escaping from his lips with a touch of obviousness. “You keep me safe.”

“I know!” you sigh, nodding as one of your hands reaches to cup his cheek. “I know, but… it’s not fair to you, I guess.”

The doctor leans into your touch, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “I don’t need people to know about us, Bunny,” he says, shaking his head softly. “I just need you. Do you need me?”

You nod again, heart clenching at his words as your lips threaten a smile. “Yeah.”

“Then you have me,” Jaemin answers, a mischievous grin suddenly taking over his face before pulling you closer, pressing an exaggerated kiss to your cheek. “I’m not letting you back out of this, remember?”

As you roll your eyes, you surrender to his antics with a groan. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You know, if you really feel bad about keeping me a secret, you could always start posting me on your social media,” he jokes, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe an appreciation post? I have a lot of husband pictures, if you want.”

“I don’t have social media,” you note, your blank expression soon shifting to a teasing one as you raise an eyebrow at him. “Besides, I wouldn’t want people actually knowing how sexy my husband is.”

“Right,” he says, playfully nodding in agreement. “Let’s keep my insane levels of attractiveness classified.”

You scoff. 

“You’re insufferable.”

Jaemin grins. 

“You married me.”

Right.

So you can’t resist pulling him closer, fingers curling around the collar of his shirt as your lips finally meet his for the first time that night. The kiss slowly grows deeper as his arms wrap around your waist, though you’re quick to pull back before Jaemin tugs you to his lap, a peeved frown settling on his face at the sudden interruption. 

“Why’d we stop?”

The look on your face only adds to the answer. 

“You deserve more than our couch tonight.”

The first thing you notice once stepping out of the elevator is your apartment’s door slightly ajar.

To anybody else, it would probably look like a slip of your mind when leaving, but Foxglove knows better. You’d only been gone for an hour—just a quick trip to the market to pick up fresh fruits upon Jaemin’s insistence of eating healthy and giving your parents a deserved in-law hospitality experience. 

Thoroughly used to your modus operandi, especially being the main focus of your safety measures himself, Jaemin also knows better than overlooking such a small detail. 

The hallway is too quiet. 

Inside, you can barely hear low voices.

Moving without hesitation, you drop the grocery bags at the doorstep, quietly pushing it open just enough to slip inside with featherlike steps.

It takes a second for you to take in the scene of your living room. Jaemin’s sitting on the couch, wrists bound by a pair of handcuffs on his lap. Looking entirely too relaxed for someone in a hostage situation, there’s a subtle shadow of arrogance on his features as he glares at the intruders. Across from him, your parents sit in a similar fashion, except their wide-eyes are barely concealing their panic over the three black-suited men watching them.

As one of the men steps forward, carelessly tossing a folder at Jaemin’s face, you can’t help the quiet, dangerous anger from simmering in your chest. The man takes a seat on the table across from your husband, exuding a kind of arrogance that makes your blood boil as he glares at Jaemin. 

“We have reason to believe you’re operating under a false identity, Dr. Na.”

Jaemin just laughs.

Sounding nothing but amused, his lips curl into something dangerously close to mockery, sharp eyes meeting the man’s gaze in nothing but unbothered defiance.

“You’re even dumber than I thought,” he starts, a scoff escaping from his lips. “Not only did you break into an agent’s home, but you also think I’m the spy?”

It takes a second for you to move into the living room, stepping behind the men and hooking an arm around the shortest’s neck, yanking him backward in a chokehold. He doesn’t even get a chance to react before you’re slamming him into the shelves, Jaemin’s books falling to the floor with the impact.

The second man reaches for his gun, not fast enough as you reach for his arm with a twist, disarming him in a quick move. The gun clatters against the hardwood, a kick from you sending it underneath the couch. 

The last man—the one who had been questioning Jaemin—freezes as you turn to him.

Alan and Andrew are gaping.

Jaemin, on the other hand, looks nothing but delighted. 

The man suddenly lifts his hands, unmoving as you step beside him. “Wait—”

A single punch sends him to the floor with a thud.

You wince, shaking your hand as the impact spreads through the fingers. “Ouch.”

Jaemin lets out a low whistle, grinning at the scene as if you just didn’t destroy half of your home. “Yeah, remind me to never piss you off.”

As his wide eyes flicker back and forth between you and the half-awake man by your feet, Alan snaps out of his daze first. “What the hell just happened?”

Andrew just blinks at your husband, still lounging comfortably on the couch as if this is a regular week day for him. “Did I just watch my daughter just throw a man against her bookshelf?!”

“Oh, yeah,” Jaemin answers, nodding enthusiastically with a chuckle. “Wasn’t it amazing? I do think she went easy on them, though.” 

“I’ll explain everything in a bit,” you say, throwing a quick, apologetic glance at your bewildered parents. “I just need to finish this before calling Renjun.”

Alan raises an eyebrow at the new name. “Renjun?”

As he hums casually, Jaemin nods as if they’re having an ordinary brunch conversation. “That’s her handler.”

Ignoring them, you step over the man still groaning on the floor, grabbing the front of his shirt before yanking him up to eye-level to meet your gaze. Tilting your head as you study the man in front of you for a second, your voice drops to an alarmingly calm, too relaxed tone. 

“Talk.”

The man’s jaw tightens, his silence stretching.

You lean closer, the words shifting into something razor-sharp now. “Are we doing this the hard way?”

His defiance cracks a little, a flash of doubt crossing his face.

Behind you, an amused snort escapes from Jaemin’s mouth. “I’d answer if I were you. My Bunny’s not exactly known for her patience.”

The man swallows nervously. “We thought he was the agent.”

“Are you telling me that you broke into my home and threatened my husband because you thought he was the agent?” you ask slowly, unimpressed. “My husband, who just happens to be one of the top surgeons in the city, an agent?”

The doctor lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Damn, Bunny,” he starts, a grin tugging at his lips. “You’re the one with a double life, and I’m the one accused of being a secret agent first? That’s crazy.”

“You’re a government operative, aren’t you?” you press further, not resisting an eye-roll upon the man’s stiff, short nod. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

The second punch sends the man into dreamland. 

In no time, your practiced efficiency kicks in and Foxglove’s quick on securing the intruders—zip ties, a few well-placed kicks to keep them in line, clean and controlled. As you finish binding the last one, Renjun’s already on speed dial.

“Junnie!” you greet, keeping it as light-hearted as you can so it doesn’t piss him off. “What if I tell you that three idiots just broke into my apartment thinking Jaemin was an agent?”

The line stays silent for a second before Renjun sighs exasperatedly. “Are you for real?”

“Unfortunately,” you reply, glancing at the men scattered over the floor of your living room. “Can you send a team, please?”

“ETA’s around ten minutes,” he announces, his tone then shifting into something more focused, a touch softer. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you reassure, sparing a glance at Jaemin, who gives you an easy grin and a nod from the couch. “We handled it.”

Renjun exhales sharply, almost relieved if you trick yourself into it. “Call me as soon as they’re done with the clean-up.”

As the call disconnects, you finally turn to your husband, relief settling deep in your bones. You sit beside him on the couch, working the handcuffs off his wrists with one of your tricks. The moment it clicks open, Jaemin rolls his shoulders, twisting his wrists with a small wince.

Before he can say anything, you take his face into your hands, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones as you press a lingering kiss to his lips.

“Hi.” 

Jaemin grins, his voice sounding nothing but warm. “Hey.”

You sigh, hands sliding from his shoulders down to his chest. “Are you okay?”

“I’m peachy,” he assures, lips curling into a grin before taking one of your hands into his own, pressing a kiss to its back. “You look the prettiest beating people up. Also, your chapstick tastes like bubblegum.”

Though the tension in your chest is still to ease up, you can’t resist a chuckle at his unwavering behavior. “You really scared me, Jaemin.”

The doctor shakes his head, leaning forward to brush a kiss to your cheek. “You got here before they could do anything. I knew you would.”

The adrenaline’s still running through your body as you take a deep breath, moving on to help your parents. Before you untie them, you meet Jaemin’s eyes for a second, a quiet reassurance passing between you before you muster the courage to address the shocked silence in the room.

“I don’t work in accounting.”

“My God,” Alan starts, blinking at his husband in disbelief. “We raised a secret agent, Andrew.”

Andrew frowns, visibly trying to process everything. “A secret agent?” he asks, giving a short pause before a surprised sound escapes from his mouth, eyes wide towards you. “Holy shit, princess, do you kill people?”

Jaemin perks up, raising an eyebrow at your father. “Oh, that’s a good question.”

Andrew turns to him, eyes wide as he pieces the details together. “Jaemin! Did you know?”

Your husband shrugs, nonchalant as always despite the grin on his face. “The breaking and entering thing wasn’t entirely a lie,” he admits, sounding remarkably relaxed. “Bunny actually saved me from getting shot by a sniper.”

You turn to him, ready to scold him for the unnecessary details of your unusual first meeting. “Nana.”

As he winces, Jaemin offers a half-hearted guilty smile. “Sorry.”

While your parents process the second shock of their week, you move closer to finally untie them. “I need to get you two somewhere safe, okay?” you explain, making quick work of the zip-ties around their wrists with an apologetic glance. “There’s no time to explain all the details now, but I promise to tell you guys everything soon.”

Something in your expression gives you away—whether it’s the lingering tension in your shoulders or the tip of apprehension in your eyes—because the moment they’re free, both Andrew and Alan lean forward without hesitation, wrapping you in a firm, reassuring embrace.

For a second, you freeze. 

Caught off guard by their warmth, you hadn’t quite realized how much you were bracing for their disappointment, or anything other than the soft, quiet understanding that settles over you now.

“We’ll talk later, princess,” the professor starts, squeezing your shoulders encouragingly with a nod. “Don’t worry, alright? You’re still our daughter, no matter what.”

“A secret agent,” Andrew mutters, shaking his head between pride and exasperation, an amused sigh leaving his mouth. “Jesus, you could’ve warned us before dropping that bomb.”

You exhale a laugh, a relieved breath escaping from your lips as you hug them back. “I know.”

Jaemin sighs fondly, watching the scene with soft eyes. “Man, I should’ve recorded this.” 

Taking in the chaos as you step back—the bound intruders, the wrecked bookshelf, the lingering stress in your veins—you know that the day’s far from over. There’s a mess to clean up, questions to be answered and reports to be written, a lifetime of explaining to do. 

Still, if there’s one thing you know for certain is that everything’s going to be fine now.

The smile on your husband’s face is enough proof of that.

The new apartment still smells faintly of fresh paint and cardboard, the last few moving boxes scattered across the hardwood floor. 

It had taken you longer than expected to make the move—between your missions, Jaemin’s shifts at the hospital and the aftermath of your parents’ visit, life flew by a whirlwind in the following months. 

Now, being in a new place means a fresh start with a lot of more space, brand new safety measures at every corner and plenty of room for Luna, Lucy and Luke, the latest additions to yours and Jaemin’s chaotic daily routine.

As you stack the last box of Jaemin’s books into the shelves, the sound of his voice easily echoes through the half-empty living room.

“Bunny?”

Turning around, out of all things you’d expect your husband to be currently doing, finding him kneeling on the floor with a small, pink velvet box in hands would definitely be the last on your list.  

“What the f—”

“Wow, Bunny!” he cuts in, grinning as he shoots you a look. “Language!”

Noticing the ring sitting inside the little box, your breath immediately hitches. “Jaemin, what on Earth are you doing?”

“Well,” Jaemin starts, huffing a small laugh that almost sounds uncharacteristically nervous. “I just figured it’s time for us to do this properly.”

You blink, still caught between shock and disbelief despite your amusement. “Do what properly?”

“I know we’re already married but with everything that’s happened, I thought we could do this one more time,” he says, looking up at you with playful sincerity, a touch teasing. “You still wanna stay married to me?”

A laugh escapes from your lips, a mix of exasperation and affection as you take a step closer, taking his face in your hands with a fond smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

The doctor grins. “You love me.”

The words are barely a whisper against his mouth as you nod, chuckling at the way his grin widens. “Yes, Nana,” you murmur, fisting his jacket before hastily pulling him up. “I still want to stay married to you.”

As he stands up, slipping the second ring on your finger, Jaemin’s quick to press an eager kiss to your lips, expertly hoisting you up in his arms despite your protests. 

“Are you sure you’re not backing out of this?”

The answer is easy.

“Never.”

. ˚｡ MASTERLIST . ˚｡

[kiyawritesforf1]

PADDOCK PROPOSAL - LANDO’S POV

Much appreciated imagine with Lando’s POV

Carlos POV here

⸻

Lando’s not saying he trained his son for this exact moment… but he is saying the kid’s clearly inherited his taste in women and his sense of drama.

It starts off as just another sunny afternoon in the paddock, mechanics humming around, chatter buzzing through the garages, and somewhere in the chaos, his three-year-old tornado of a son is off playing with Carlos’s daughter again.

No surprise there — those two have been inseparable since they were old enough to waddle. Today, though? Today is special. Because his son, his legend of a three-year-old, just took a plastic diamond ring from the hotel jewelry box and gave it to Isabella Sainz.

Lando sees it from across the paddock — her tiny hands waving the ring in the air, curly hair bouncing as she runs toward her parents.

“Mamá, mamá! Look what Theo gave me! We’re getting married!”

Lando chokes on his water.

Carlos turns like he’s just been told Ferrari’s making him team principal — slow, stiff, and with a face already halfway between confusion and cardiac arrest.

Lando sets his bottle down and folds his arms, biting back the smug grin crawling onto his face. His wife leans in slightly beside him.

“Is that… the fake ring from my nightstand?”

“Yup,” he says proudly. “That’s the one. He nicked it this morning while I was brushing his hair. Slipped it in his pocket like a pro.”

Carlos is spiraling now — trying to make sense of the toddler-sized proposal, pointing at the ring, mumbling to Y/N, and glancing around like someone’s about to jump out and tell him it’s all a prank.

It is not a prank. It is, in fact, the best thing Lando’s ever witnessed.

“God, I hope there’s a photographer around,” Lando murmurs, already pulling his phone out just in case.

From a few feet away, Isabella’s still twirling, flashing the plastic ring on her tiny finger like she just left a Tiffany’s. And Theo? Theo is standing there with his hands on his hips, chest puffed out, beaming like he just sealed a contract with Mercedes.

Lando’s heart practically melts.

“That’s my boy,” he whispers. “Look at him. Cool. Confident. Committed. Kid’s three and already got a future wife lined up.”

His wife’s trying not to laugh. “Carlos looks like he’s going to pass out.”

“He’ll survive,” Lando grins. “Barely.”

He strolls over casually, just in time to hear Isabella say it again — louder this time, to Carlos’s face.

“Look, Papa! Theo gave me this ring! I’m his girlfriend now!”

Carlos’s expression is priceless. A mix of horror and denial with a generous splash of dramatic suffering. The man looks like he’s been hit with a rogue tire.

Lando can’t help himself.

“Well, well, well. Looks like we’ve got a wedding in the works,” he says, all innocent-like, arms folded as he takes in the chaos.

Carlos whips his head toward him, eyes wide. “A wedding? Lando, are you kidding me?”

He shrugs. “She said yes. What am I supposed to do — stop true love? I raised a respectful, romantic king.”

“You raised a menace,” Carlos snaps.

“Tomato, tomahto.”

He steps closer to Theo and ruffles his curls. “Proud of you, bud. You picked an amazing girl. Smart choice.”

Carlos looks ready to throw him into the McLaren hospitality fridge. “She’s three, Lando!”

“So is he. They’re perfectly matched.”

Carlos lets out a slow, dramatic breath through his nose. “This is your fault.”

Lando raises a brow. “Oh? And how’s that?”

“You bring him to the paddock. You let him run wild. You’re letting him propose to my daughter!”

Lando turns to Theo. “Did you ask her nicely, mate?”

Theo nods. “I said ‘you’re the prettiest girl ever, wanna be my wife?’”

Lando puts a hand on his heart. “Iconic.”

Carlos is spiraling again. “She’s calling him her boyfriend now! You’re not taking this seriously!”

“Oh, I’m taking it very seriously,” Lando says, all mock-gravitas. “I’m already picturing the guest list. Zak can officiate. Max can drive them to the reception in the RB20.”

Carlos groans.

Lando grins wider. “And obviously, Isabella will walk down the paddock with a bouquet made of tire warmers.”

“You think this is funny?” Carlos mutters, eyes closed in defeat.

“I think it’s beautiful. Childhood sweethearts. Paddock royalty. You should be honored, mate. They’re going to have fast kids.”

Carlos pinches the bridge of his nose. “I need a drink.”

Lando claps a hand on his shoulder, smirking. “Make it a double. It’s going to be a long engagement.”

He glances back at Theo and Isabella — now holding hands again, giggling like they’ve just conquered the world. And yeah, sure, it’s probably not legally binding or whatever, but Lando doesn’t care.

Because in this moment? He’s never been prouder.

His son is in love, Carlos is unraveling, and the paddock has never been more entertaining.

Best race weekend ever.

⸻

End.

[slattlicker]

i just need like a drabble of how schlatt would be with his pregnant wife, like you KNOW that man will bend over backwards for his doll and his baby

ugh. he is perfect.

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * built like a wife, shaped like a mom ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ imagine: you’re pregnant. schlatt is insufferable. and obsessed. ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

﹒₊✦ a/n: you are so right, angel ♡ we love a good protective husband and father-to-be!!!

warnings: pregnancy fluff, domestic comedy, one (1) feral husband, TOO MUCH FREAKING love and cuteness UGH

enjoy! (👶´ ∀ `👶)

✧✧✧

✧ cravings emergency ✧ approx. 6 weeks along

it’s 10:37 pm on a tuesday when schlatt’s phone buzzes violently against the nightstand. he fumbles for it, eyes still bleary, and squints at the text from you.

YOU: i need pickles and chocolate pudding immediately. or i will cry. this is not a joke.

he stares at it.

then stares at the ceiling.

then texts back:

SCHLATT: doll it is literally 10:37.

YOU: and yet i am literally about to perish.

there’s a 30-second pause before he rolls out of bed like a man going off to war. “alright,” he mutters to himself, pulling on sweats. “if my girl wants pickles and pudding, then pickles and pudding she shall have.”

cut to twenty minutes later: he’s standing in front of your couch, bags in hand, panting like he just finished a triathlon. “you. owe me. gas money. and a kiss.”

you look up at him with the wide, desperate eyes of someone on the brink. “did you get the big pickles?”

he sighs and drops the bag in your lap. “barrel dills. and three kinds of pudding. and a bottle of tums because i’m smart.”

you practically burst into tears. “you’re my hero.”

he flops beside you, grumbling but smug. “damn right.”

you open the pudding first—why? nobody knows—and after a few bites, the silence stretches. he notices you fidgeting, like you’ve got something stuck in your throat.

“…what?” he asks finally.

you look down at your lap. “sooo… i also picked something up today.”

“…another snack?”

you shake your head. from under the blanket, you pull out a little plastic stick in a ziplock bag. two pink lines, clear as day.

schlatt just stares. then back at you. then at the test again.

“…i’m sorry,” he says slowly, blinking. “are you telling me that my food run was actually for two people?!”

you burst out laughing, ugly-snorting halfway through, and he grabs your face like he’s trying to scan it for truth. “you’re serious? like—you’re pregnant pregnant?”

you nod, and he exhales like he’s just been shot right in the heart.

then—

“…does this mean i have to go get more pickles?”

you laugh harder. “probably. these will last me like...6 hours, tops.”

he’s already halfway off the couch again, muttering, “jesus christ, i didn’t know there’d be a third roommate in this relationship.”

but then he pauses, glances back at you, and his voice softens:

“…we’re really having a baby?”

you meet his eyes, all warm and teary and happy. “yeah. we are.”

he grins, wide and boyish. “shit. you’re gonna be such a hot mom.”

you throw a pickle at his face.

✧ nesting chaos ✧ approx. 18 weeks along / mid-second trimester

schlatt wakes up to the sound of metal on metal.

that’s the first sign of trouble.

the second is that your side of the bed is empty, and the third is the faint scent of paint drifting down the hallway.

he blinks blearily at the clock: 7:13 am. on a saturday.

he drags himself out of bed like a corpse and stumbles toward the noise. his voice is gravel. “babe…? why does it smell like… nursery school in here?”

he rounds the corner and immediately stares, slack-jawed, at the scene before him.

you’re standing in the nursery, hair shoved into a messy bun, wearing one of his hoodies over your bump and waving a paint roller like you’re michelangelo. there’s painter’s tape on the walls, drop cloths over the floor, and approximately seven opened sample cans scattered across the dresser.

“oh!” you chirp. “you’re up!”

“…barely.”

“come look!” you wave him over, beaming. “i narrowed it down to three colors—‘hazy moonlight,’ ‘mushroom milk,’ and ‘enchanted forest.’”

he squints at the swatches, half-awake. “those are the same color.”

you spin dramatically toward him. “they are not. one is a neutral sage. one is a dusty sage. and one is a sage with cool undertones, which is crucial for light balance.”

he blinks. “you’ve lost your mind.”

you point the roller at him like a weapon. “and you said you wanted to be involved.”

“i meant, like, holding your hand and rubbing your back while you cried over animal mobiles. not waking up at dawn to paint a room green.”

“well,” you say, stepping back with your hands on your hips, “our baby deserves a room that inspires calm and creativity.”

he sighs and walks over, pressing a kiss to your temple. “you’re out of your damn mind,” he mumbles, “but you’re cute about it.”

then he grabs the nearest roller. “let’s make this kid the most emotionally balanced forest nymph on the block.”

you blink at him, touched.

“…you’re gonna do the high parts, though, right?”

he smirks. “only if i can make the closet into a secret lair.”

“deal.”

✧ sonogram appointment ✧ approx. 25 weeks along / second trimester

“do you think she’ll have my nose or yours?” you mumble, half-drowsy in the passenger seat, one hand resting on the swell of your stomach.

schlatt glances over at you, eyebrows raised. “she’s the size of an eggplant right now. she doesn’t have a nose nose—she’s got like… a snoot.”

“a snoot?”

“yeah. a lil’ critter snoot. like a capybara.”

you stare at him. “please never say that in front of the doctor.”

“i won’t,” he lies.

✧

the room is dim and cool, the gentle sound of the monitor humming beside you. you’re already lying back on the table, gel on your stomach, when the sonographer grins and tilts the screen toward you both.

“alright,” she says brightly. “let’s take a look at your little one.”

schlatt is standing at your side, one big hand cradling your shoulder, the other tangled loosely with yours. and for a minute, the two of you just stare.

there she is.

a real baby. little nose. little fingers. she’s curled up like she’s cozy in there—legs tucked close, one arm floating lazily near her head. her spine arches gently across the screen, bones visible in clean little rows like piano keys.

you can’t breathe for a second.

and when she zooms in on her profile—round head, button nose, blurry little lips—you hear schlatt exhale beside you, shaky and quiet.

“…holy shit.”

you look up at him, and he’s wrecked. glossy eyes. a smile that’s trying not to tremble.

“that’s our kid,” he murmurs. “that’s—she’s real. look at her. she’s in there, like, living.”

“she kicked me awake at four a.m. this morning,” you remind him gently.

“i know, but—” he squeezes your hand, still staring at the screen. “now we get to see the criminal herself.”

the sonographer laughs. “they're measuring strong. heart rate is healthy. do you want to know the sex?”

you glance up at schlatt. he’s already nodding.

“i mean, we’ve been calling her ‘she’ for like a month,” you say.

she grins and types something into the machine—and on the screen, in soft block letters, it appears:

“boy”

you don’t even register your own tears until schlatt’s brushing them away with his thumb, laughing wetly.

“a boy,” he whispers. “oh my god.”

“we're gonna have a little dude?!” you say, voice cracking.

“i’m gonna teach him how to mow the lawn wrong on purpose and eat cereal with chocolate milk,” he replies reverently.

you sniffle. “you’re gonna ruin him.”

he leans down and kisses your forehead. “yeah. it’s gonna be awesome.”

✧ gender reveal ✧ approx. 26–27 weeks

the bets are brutal.

schlatt’s uncle has $50 riding on it being a girl. your mom brought a pink balloon bouquet and already monogrammed a baby blanket with a cursive “sofia.” your best friend has been calling the bump “little miss thing” for two months.

no one suspects a thing.

you and schlatt sit smugly on the picnic bench, watching your backyard fill up with nosy relatives, paper plates, folding chairs, and a gender-reveal cake that’s very intentionally frosted in soft neutral tones.

“do you think it’s mean we lied to everyone?” you murmur, as your cousin sets up her phone to record.

“absolutely not,” schlatt says, not even hesitating. “this is the most fun i’ve had all pregnancy.”

you grin. “and when the inside’s blue?”

“oh, they’re gonna lose it.”

he leans over to whisper in your ear: “i bet your mom faints.”

“schlatt.”

“what? i’m not gonna catch her.”

✧

everyone gathers around the cake table, chattering excitedly. someone yells “team girl!” and half the crowd cheers. you hear the words “she’s totally carrying high!” like it’s gospel.

you and schlatt take the knife together, hands overlapping on the handle.

“alright,” he announces, clearing his throat. “moment of truth. but before we cut, i just wanna say… win or lose, i knew we were having a girl the second she told me she was pregnant.”

you elbow him gently. “shut up and cut it.”

he laughs and sinks the knife into the center, and when you pull away the slice, it’s like time slows.

bright. obvious. inevitable.

blue.

there’s a single beat of silence.

then—

“what?!”

“you said—”

“oh my god it’s a boy?!”

schlatt lets out a victorious bark of laughter. “and i win the pool!”

you turn to your stunned family and give a sheepish shrug. “sorry. we lied.”

“but he’s a very cute little liar,” schlatt adds, holding up the slice like a trophy.

your mom fans herself with a napkin. your uncle groans and hands someone a $20. and your best friend screams, “i bought a pink onesie for nothing?!”

it’s chaos. and hilarious. and just...perfect.

and when schlatt leans over and presses a kiss to your temple, hand resting protectively over your belly, you can already picture the little boy you’re about to meet—tiny, wild, and impossibly loved.

✧ the drive ✧ approx. 39 weeks

it starts at 2:43am.

you wake up feeling… damp. not sweat. not anything normal.

you sit up slowly, hand on your belly, already so over being pregnant. your back hurts, your hips click when you move, and you swear the baby has been doing barrel rolls for three days straight.

then you feel it.

that unmistakable pop and warm rush between your legs.

“…babe?”

a groggy grunt from beside you. schlatt’s got one arm thrown over his eyes, hair messy, breathing deep.

you nudge him. “schlatt.”

he flops his arm off his face. “what, baby? you good?”

you blink at him, wide-eyed. “my water just broke.”

there’s a pause.

a single beat of silence.

then—

“…you’re lying.”

“schlatt!”

“holy shit—okay—okay, okay, okay.” he sits up like a vampire rising from a coffin, grabs his glasses from the nightstand in one smooth motion, and suddenly, calmly mutters, “copy that.”

you stare at him. “what—?”

he’s already out of bed. “bag’s packed. car’s gassed. you showered before bed, right?”

“i—yeah, but—”

“good. pads in the backseat. towel’s on your chair. i preloaded snacks into the hospital bag last night. let me grab the extra charger.”

“…are you reading from a script?”

he’s shuffling around the room, hair a mess, eyes half-lidded but focused like a military general. “been rehearsing this for three weeks, baby. just breathe. you’re doing amazing.”

✧

five minutes later, he’s guiding you gently down the stairs like he’s walking a vip to a black car. you’re waddling a little, breath catching with each cramp, but schlatt is solid beside you—hand on your lower back, towel already on the seat, keys in his free hand.

“seat warmer’s on. i adjusted the recline. buckle up, princess. you just focus on breathing. let me drive.”

“…you’re terrifying right now,” you whisper as he helps you in.

he kisses your forehead. “you’ll love it when they give me a sticker at the check-in desk for 'most supportive dad'. i will be keeping it.”

✧

by the time you pull into the hospital parking lot, contractions biting down harder with each breath, schlatt’s a man on a mission.

he parks like he’s trained for this, grabs the overnight bag, loops your arm around his shoulder, and half-carries you through the sliding doors with the practiced ease of someone who’s read the checklist five times and color-coded it.

a nurse meets you with a wheelchair almost immediately. schlatt helps ease you in, tucking the towel under you like second nature, murmuring, “i got you, i got you,” the whole time. you’re wheeled down the hallway, nurses asking questions, lights flickering above, the sound of your breath and their quiet urgency wrapping around you like static.

and just as the nurse turns down a hallway to check you in—just before you disappear around the corner—he stops walking.

“hey, wait,” he calls gently, stepping close to the chair. “hang on.”

the nurse pauses.

he bends down, brushing a hand along your cheek, like he just needs a second longer to look at you. you blink up at him, breathing through a contraction, trying to smile. he smiles back—but it’s tight, almost wobbly at the edges.

“did i… do everything right?” he asks, voice low now, just for you. “i mean—i know there’s still stuff to do, but… up to this point. did i take care of you okay?”

you can feel it in his voice—not panic, but something tender and bright and scared. like he knows this is the last moment you’ll have like this: just the two of you, before it becomes something bigger. louder. louder than either of you can even imagine.

you squeeze his hand. “schlatt… honey, you’ve been perfect. you're going to be a fucking amazing father to our boy.”

he exhales—deep and soft. his shoulders fall just slightly, like he’s finally allowed himself to feel how heavy all this waiting has been.

“okay,” he whispers. “okay.”

he leans down and kisses your forehead. even when he pulls back, he lingers there for a second longer than necessary. and when he straightens, his hand slides right back into yours.

“i’m right behind you,” he says to the nurse.

✧

the hospital room is quiet now. dim lights. soft breathing. a baby sleeping on your chest, impossibly small, impossibly real.

you’ve been alone with him for a while—just the two of you. letting your body settle. letting your heart catch up.

but now, you need him.

“can you get my husband?” you whisper to the nurse.

and not a full minute later, the door opens gently.

there’s schlatt.

he peeks in with wide eyes, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to be here yet. he’s got his hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up his arms, hair a wild mess, and he’s clutching a paper coffee cup he definitely forgot to drink.

but his eyes are on you.

not the baby. not the monitor. just you.

“hey,” he says softly, stepping in.

“hey,” you breathe back.

he comes to the side of the bed, setting the cup down without looking at it, his gaze scanning over your face like he’s trying to memorize every part of you. his hand brushes your hair gently out of your face, and when he sees the tired shimmer in your eyes, something in his chest visibly eases—like just seeing you alive and okay made the world spin again.

“you good?” he asks, his voice low, unsteady. “you—shit, baby, are you good?”

you nod, leaning into his touch. “i’m good. tired. sore. but… i’m okay.”

his eyes go glassy. “you scared the shit outta me,” he whispers, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “i’ve never—i mean. you—”

he cuts himself off, just swallowing hard before leaning in and pressing his forehead gently to yours.

“you were so fuckin’ brave,” he murmurs. “you did everything. you—god, you’re incredible.”

you let out a shaky laugh, your hand finding his. “you were pretty brave yourself.”

he exhales sharply, squeezing your fingers.

it takes a moment for his eyes to finally flick down to the bundled-up baby against your chest. he goes still.

“is he…” schlatt blinks fast, like he’s not sure if he’s dreaming. “is he okay?”

you nod. “he’s perfect.”

and that’s when the awe sets in. that quiet, open-mouthed holy shit look that only schlatt could make both adorable and heartbreaking at once.

“can i…?”

“you can hold him,” you say gently, already shifting the baby toward him. “of course you can.”

his arms slide under with an instinct you didn’t know he had, cradling the newborn like something rare and sacred. and as soon as the baby settles in his arms, all the air leaves his lungs at once.

“hi, buddy,” he whispers, the tiniest smile curling his lips. “i’m your dad.”

your throat tightens.

he looks back at you, eyes swimming. “you did so good,” he says again, voice raw. “i’m so proud of you. i love you so much.”

"i love you. so, so much." you rest your head on his arm as he holds the baby, the three of you close and safe and whole.

and now there’s nothing left but to hold each other—and your son—as the sun rises on the first morning of the rest of your lives.

[unmillion]

Mark Grayson Headcanons #001 ˚꩜

⭑ Going comic book shopping would be considered a date in his book, but it’s more like he drags you around and tells you every little detail about his favorite comics. As soon as his eyes set on one comic, he drops the story of the last and begins explaining the whole plot of the next (it’s safe to say you don’t get the full story of any). He would always ask you if you want to do something else, scared of boring you and losing your interest. 

 ⭑ He would totally try matcha, expecting not to like it and ready to force the sip of your drink down the hatch with a smile just to please you. To his surprise he actually ends up loving it, to the point he finally pulls the plastic cup from his mouth and the tea is completely drained. Obviously he buys you another, the cost of him always accidentally eating your food starting to add up. 

 — similar idea but I think he would have one of those coffee orders with specifics…

 ⭑ He would listen to whatever you listen to, over time buying the cds too so you’re able to listen to them on his cd player whenever you come over. The pop music grows on him oddly quickly, him being a bit too familiar with the lyrics in a week or so (like imagine this man singing sabrina carpenter subconsciously whenever it comes on, HELLOOOOOO?). 

 ⭑ Romcom enjoyer. Yes, you heard me. Debbie probably made him watch a few when he was younger. The classics mostly, When Harry Met Sally, Notting Hill, Pretty Woman, etcetera. One day, you’re walking with him through the school halls, and he casually says “I’m just a guy, standing in front of a girl, asking her to love him.” and you stand there astonished. His only remark is “What? You haven’t watched Notting Hill?”  

(dividers by @bbyg4rlhelps 🫐🫶)

author’s note: brother it is 1:46 in the morning and i’m at my cousins house writing this next to her as she sleeps. this was not proofread xoxo. thank GOD it’s summer 😭

[fligniuz]

high and dry

luigi mangione x reader

｡𖦹°‧ you and your boyfriend find a way to unwind while camping.

word count: 5.3k • nsfw • read on ao3

warnings : f! reader; EXPLICIT; drug use (marijuana); oral (f! receiving); semi-public sex

notes : Please ignore. Way too high and thought this was profound

An owl coos in the near distance. The night is lively and crawling with critters of all sorts, twigs crunching and leaves fluttering, bugs scrambling about in the soil beneath your tent. You’re curled up in your sleeping bag—doublewide, of course, because god knows Luigi can’t stand not being attached to your hip at night—watching the back of your eyelids, because there’s no service this deep in the woods and you didn’t think to bring anything to keep you busy on these slow, noisy nights.

Camping is fun with your boyfriend, for the most part. You like traveling with him regardless—and the feeling is very mutual—but Luigi finds a way to make these occasional trips special in a manner you never imagined camping could be; he can find the most beautiful treasures tucked away in far corners of the places you’ve explored together, knows the trick to making the best s’mores every time, and most of all, Luigi makes everything fun. He’s the salt of the Earth, easy and gentle and always smiling, always exuberant.

He’s also probably a lot smarter than you. Next to you he has Dune cracked open on his knees, reading with fascination for what must be the third time since you met him, completely oblivious to your boredom. Ugh. You wish sleep would come easier on these nights of travel and adventure; even the warmth of him next to you isn’t enough to lull you unconscious. Maybe it’s all the noise outside. Maybe it’s the ache in your calves from your hike earlier in the day. Maybe it’s that the ground is a little cold underneath you. Maybe it’s all of those things at once—nevertheless, you just can’t fall asleep.

Although…you did prepare on one front.

“Gi?” you perk up.

He turns a page, lifts an eyebrow. “Hm?”

Sitting up in your sleeping bag, you lean back on your elbows, a ghost of a grin lingering on your lips. “I brought something fun for us to do.”

“What’s that, baby?”

Luigi doesn’t even look at you. He’s still buried in his book, eyes scanning over the words on the page quickly. If it weren’t adorable that he can get so hyper-focused you’d be really, really annoyed.

Reaching for your backpack, you unzip the front pocket and shuffle through your things before your fingers graze a plastic tube, stuffed with your antidote: two fat joints, rolled with the best flower you can find in your city. Smirking, you pull one out and turn to him with it wedged above your upper lip like a faux mustache, your fingers gesturing upward at the ends of the spliff for emphasis.

Now he looks up. When he sees what you have tucked under your nose, his eyes widen.

“Is that pot? You brought pot with you?”

In your defense, he really shouldn’t be that surprised. He’s caught you green-handed in your natural stoner habitat many times—but he’s never actually joined you, now that you think about it. You take the joint from above your lips.

“Wanna smoke with me?” you ask, batting your eyelashes.

Luigi glares at you. “This is definitely peer pressure,” he says.

Peer pressure. Ridiculous.

“Okay, grown ass man.” You roll your eyes and fish a lighter out of your backpack. “You can get high or not. I’m getting high regardless, I’m just sharing. Your choice.”

You secretly hope that he’ll agree to it. Picturing your straight-laced, modest, chivalrous gentleman of a boyfriend—who, admittedly, has cracked open a can of beer on his forehead to impress you, but only once!—with a joint between his lips, puffing on wisps of smoke, eyes bloodshot and smile wide…It’s an image you like a lot more than you care to admit, something corrupt and unfitting for a guy so proper. Your sweet, shy boyfriend, who could hardly make the first move on you, who has only ever dabbled moderately in drugs, who limits himself to one cup of coffee a day because “it’s basically normalized crack” or something, getting baked with you in this tent in the middle of the woods. You love it. You’d like to see a stoned Luigi.

He pauses, fiddles with the edge of a page, then folds it, setting his book aside. “Okay. But only a few hits.”

Yeah, only a few. Famous last words.

Luigi watches you intently as you bring one end of the joint up to your mouth and cup a hand over the other before lighting it, watching sparks flicker as the familiar, harsh taste fills your mouth. The first hit is always your favorite. You love how it burns, how it spreads warmth through your body and down your spine, peaking at the tips of your fingers. Your exhale is heavy, deep, nearly a sigh, a weight off your shoulders, water off a duck’s back. This is your favorite comfort.

“Have you ever gotten high before?” you ask.

He nods. “Yeah, a few times.” It’s not that surprising. He’s an Ivy League graduate, after all. “Last time was my sophomore year, with a few of my friends. One of ‘em had been growing some of his own and wanted us to try some, but he was super cheap, so we smoked out of a Coke can with some holes poked in it.”

You giggle. “Did you at least have fun?”

“Y’know…” he makes a little face like he’s pondering, his lips quirked in a concentrated pout. “I’m not sure I even got high. I didn't feel much.”

Your silly, silly boyfriend.

Handing the spliff to Luigi, you retrieve your pocket ashtray from your backpack. If there’s one thing you know how to prepare for, it’s getting high—anytime, anywhere, anyhow.

He copies you when he hits it, bringing it to his mouth and taking a long drag, and goddamn, he looks pretty when he smokes. You wonder why you hadn’t asked him to join you sooner; the glow of the cherry lights up his face perfectly, and the added ambiance of the noises of the forest and its inhabitants makes the moment feel all the more intimate, all the more special. Ghostly clouds of smoke color the space around him, wispy and gray, a sheen of mischief over his Michelangelo face. Sinful. Gorgeous.

When he hands it back to you he’s hacking, ducking into his elbow, face red. You can’t help but laugh. “You can’t take that big of a hit, doofus.”

He shakes his head defiantly, still coughing up a storm, practically keeling over. “No, ‘m f—ugh—I’m fine. Shut up.”

Sliding a hand under his shirt, you rub his back, palm grazing that slit of scar tissue on his lower spine. His skin is so warm, buzzing brightly, and it makes your head spin—you practically have a walking radiator for a boyfriend. He’s always kept you cozy at night. He starts to calm under your touch; you hand him your water bottle and he takes a few sips before handing it back and getting comfortable again beside you.

“Can I try again?” he asks politely, and you pass him the joint.

His second hit goes much smoother, to his relief. He takes a drag and giggles at you, his smile as wide as his eyes, and when he breathes out he manages not to cough, instead settling for another sip of water. The smoke clouds around him and when you tell him he looks beautiful you swear you can see the tip of his nose flush pink. You shift to lay on your back as you take the spliff from him, and he follows, burrowed into your side. Luigi watches you take another hit with blown pupils, your lips puckered, smoke billowing from the corners of your mouth. You’re so relaxed, like you’re in your element, flying high—no pun intended—on cloud nine with him right next to you, admiring you with hearts in his eyes.

He realizes quickly that he has discovered something new about himself: he likes doing drugs with you.

“Damn, baby,” Luigi purrs, fingers rising to trace shapes on your thigh. “You’re hot stuff, you know that?”

You grin, rolling your eyes. You’re never sure how to respond to Luigi’s compliments. You hear them quite often, every chance that he gets throughout the day, even when he’s not with you (you’ve gotten a helping of texts conveying something along the lines of “Thinking about your fine ass”, just to remind you that you truly are on his mind twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, especially when he should be doing something else). But you’re still not accustomed to his never ending sweetness, or his eyes on you from across a room, or his unconditional attraction. You’re still not used to him; but how can you be blamed? You never knew that boys this perfect walked among the Earth.

“This is my favorite way to relax before bed,” you say, changing the subject. “And it might help with your back. Some people get prescribed medical marijuana for chronic pain, you know.”

He thinks for a second, then makes this cute little face of agreement, eyebrows and lips wrinkling up as his head tilts. “Maybe. I’ve never considered that.”

Luigi gestures toward you, silently asking for the joint again, and you chuckle at his sudden eagerness. Your adventurous boy.

The two of you pass the spliff back and forth like this for a few minutes, laying back on your shared sleeping bag, stealing glances at each other. It feels natural, easy, like you’ve done it your entire lives; smoke curls in every corner of your little tent, blanketing the both of you, the world spinning on its axis just as smoothly as before—you have nothing to worry about in this moment. It’s just you and Luigi, getting baked and talking back and forth about whatever comes to mind: declining birth rates for him (what’s new?), the latest happenings around town for you. It’s peaceful.

“You high, babe?” you ask after awhile. Your hand is in his hair, scratching those perfect curls.

He nods, thick lashes fluttering. “Yeah. This is nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Luigi hums, his hand grazing your hip.

You go to stub out the roach, but before you can reach the ashtray he stops you.

“Wait,” he says, prying it from your fingers. “I wanna try something.”

You’re confused when he takes one long, heavy drag, but you start to understand when he threads his fingers in your hair and pulls your head close to his. You open your mouth expectantly and he blows smoke past your parted lips, so damn close to you, and you’re breathing in and riding the waves of pleasure that come with your high mellowing out and climaxing. And even though you know it’s coming, you still sigh when he kisses you, one hand holding your jaw in place, thumb stroking the slope of it.

It’s a free-for-all from then on. You’re well aware that the second Luigi gets his mouth on yours he finds it increasingly difficult to stop. He has to pause for just a moment to let you flick the roach into the ashtray for good, and when he’s on you again his lips are moving slow, deep, hungry, antsy for you. For all his shyness, the boy can certainly kiss. It’s not often that the two of you get to tune out all your responsibilities and just mess around like this, and as you guide Luigi to lay back so you can straddle him you feel overwhelmingly grateful, suddenly all the more appreciative of these fleeting moments that both of you are rarely afforded.

“Fuck,” you whimper in between kisses. “Are you really gonna fuck me here? Right now?”

Luigi smirks. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he teases, like his hands aren’t lurking over the round curve of your ass. “And you started this, not me.”

“What? You literally started it—“

Those sharp incisors bite into a tender patch of skin on your neck, and you fail to swallow the whine that naturally follows. Fuck. It would be a bit of a fib to say that you weren’t hoping your boyfriend would be a horny kind of high, that you hadn’t been fantasizing about the two of you fucking like rabbits in this very tent all day; it’s romantic with the natural atmosphere and it’s really hot to be doing something like this in such an open space, not to mention dirty, tucked away in the middle of the noisy, deep forest. Weed certainly helps you get to sleep, but weed and an orgasm? There couldn’t possibly be a better combination.

It’s getting quite muggy in here.

Luigi’s kisses aren't helping. He’s impossibly close, his tongue exploring the inside of your mouth, grazing your teeth, your soft palate. You seize the opportunity to capture him between your lips, sucking on his tongue, and he groans; his taste is heady, stained with the musk of the weed. Things are quickly getting wet in places other than your two mouths moving together. You raise both hands to cup his face, feeling fresh stubble against your palms, the flex of his jaw as he kisses you, and then you move your hands back and up through his curls, dragging your nails along his scalp just how he likes.

He giggles.

“What‘s so funny?” you ask, smirking.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, moves his lips to your neck. “That just feels good.”

And so you do it again and again, relishing in his groans as he licks and sucks his way down the column of your throat; you already know that he’s leaving marks, and you don’t even care—you’re either too high or too turned on by the thought of anyone who sees knowing he gets to have you like this. He comes back to your lips soon enough, licking into your mouth, biting and sucking, and you feel fuzzy all over, like your nerves are made of cotton. He’s so warm. Your hips are sublimely flush against his, and your pajama pants are tight enough to create some delicious friction—so how can you possibly be blamed for grinding against him? His perfect cock is getting harder underneath you, his hands guiding you back and forth in his lap, making the prettiest sounds into your mouth. If getting him stoned makes him this comfortable around you, you hope he never sobers up.

“Do you like that?” you tease, kissing the corner of his mouth.

Luigi grabs your face with both hands, stroking your cheekbones, your temples. “I like everything you do,” he answers, eyes dark and adoring. “Can I see your pretty tits, please?”

Fuck. How could you possibly say no? It’s a team effort to get your tank-top off but the moment he’s able to feel for the clasp of your bra he’s freeing your chest, groping you as you grind down into him. His hands feel wonderful on you after a long day of confinement, easing away the familiar ache of your breasts, and your buzz only exaggerates your euphoria. This is the highest you’ve been in a while. And it’s even better than you could’ve imagined with Luigi accompanying you, holding you close and rocking your hips against his lap. You can feel how wet you are, how sticky it’s getting between your thighs.

Your nipples are pert from all his attention and he catches you off guard when he takes one into his mouth, teasing the very tip with his tongue, just flicking back and forth for what feels like forever. You aren’t sure how you’re not leaking through your pants and making a mess of his lap. All you can do is sit there and let him lavish your breasts and your nipples with his love, watching your body respond to his affections eagerly, flushing and tingling.

Luigi seems to appreciate the scene just as much as you. “Fuck,” he whispers, breath hot against your nipples. “I wanna lick you all over.”

You moan.

“Could eat you up, baby,” he murmurs.

“Please don’t!” You feign protest; the fine hairs on his jaw tickle your neck and send shivers through you. “I’m not very tasty…”

“Really?” Luigi’s warm hand glides down your tummy and over the front of your pajama pants, undoing the knot, slipping under the elastic waistband and sliding down further, further still, until he’s cupping your throbbing cunt, fingers spreading your slick through your folds. “Mm…I beg to differ.”

Now he’s determined to prove you wrong. He goes to tug down your bottoms and you slide away from his lap to pull them off, and through your concentration and the blur of your high you almost don’t hear him speaking to you:

“I want you on your knees with your ass up,” he instructs.

You like it far too much when he tells you what to do.

When your pants are off you lean down onto your elbows with your back arched, and Luigi quickly maneuvers himself behind you, groaning at the sight of your panties perfectly complimenting the soft edges of your ass and your cunt. His fingers latch under the waistband and as he peels them down your thighs you await with anticipation the sound of his own clothes rustling, being removed—but instead his fingers cup your pussy and play with your arousal, abundant and coating you obscenely. You feel exposed and shy with his eyes on you like this, most certainly not made any better when he moans reverently, like he’s been walking in the Sahara for miles and miles and you’ve just presented him a tall glass of water. In a way, you have; you’re wet, slick smeared all over your cunt and your inner thighs, probably the most turned on you’ve ever been, and he can fucking smell you—

And then his mouth is on you—

“Gi,” you gasp, taken aback. He doesn’t bother to start slow; his tongue licks a broad, smooth line up the slit of your cunt, lurking at your pulsing clit, working it between his lips and sucking with gentle pressure. Luigi is nothing if not honest—he really is licking you all over, between every fold and crease, eager to taste everything you have to offer. He’s always liked to take his time, but right now he drinks in your most sensitive spot furiously, hungry and impatient, just ravaging you whole. His talented tongue plays with your clit as he sucks, something he knows you love, and goddamn, if he keeps it up like this you won’t last long at all.

You’ve been high many, many times, and Luigi is no stranger to a sore jaw, to put it mildly—but you’ve never felt his tongue on your pussy while you’re high, and you think it just has to be your new favorite thing. You almost wish you could just keep him like this forever, that thick head of curls between your thighs from behind, that fucking mouth, always running and running when he’s not preoccupied like this. You could never tire of it.

He stops sucking to lick at your entrance, chin pressed against your clit, and you have to grab your pillow hard when he slides as much of his tongue into your hole as he can fit, pushing in deep, like he’s trying to fuck you with his mouth alone. This crazy, fucking irresistible boy.

“Fuck, oh, fuck—” you sob.

Luigi’s thumb lowers to play with your clit as he dips his stiff tongue into you, and the pressure of his mouth with the jolting pleasure of your buzz is just too much, too much for you to take. You bury your face into your pillow and cry out, biting fabric, curling your back and grinding into him. When you whine, “Luigi, ‘m so close,” he seems a bit unprepared for your orgasm but he grabs your thigh with his free hand and moves his lips and tongue to your clit again, jerking his head back as he sucks, and then two of those perfect fingers are filling you, pressing against that spot that makes your eyes cross and your knees buckle, and you’re coming hard on his face.

It takes a moment for you to come down. You nearly fall asleep curled up on your side, your orgasm weighing heavy on you; you can feel your high in your bones by now, pulling you down towards the earthy ground under your nylon tent, your nerves warm and fluttering. When Luigi’s hand grazes your knee and your thigh you roll over onto your back, fisting his shirt and pulling him close to you again.

“Hi.” You kiss his cute little nose. “Sorry.”

He furrows his brows at you, smiles gently. “What?” Your lips are on his, mouths mingling, and you can taste your own cunt on his tongue. “What the hell are you sorry for?”

“I came a lot faster than I meant to,” you explain, hand pushing up his shirt and gliding underneath, over his back, skin warm and tender against you.

Right then he pulls away to look at you, directly in your eyes, and you feel like you must be the luckiest girl in the world with the most handsome boyfriend—you smooth your hand over his defined jaw, thumb tracing the light dusting of freckles beneath his eyes. His chin and the sliver of skin above his lips are still slick with your arousal.

“I was thinking that was a record,” Luigi suggests, fingers dancing up your sides. “Have I ever made you come that fast?”

Little shit. You could kiss that stupid smile right off of his face. You try—you really give it your all—but that grin never leaves his lips, only growing when you thread your fingers in his hair.

“Baby,” he murmurs against your mouth. “You’re so fucking sexy. I almost blew in my pants with you bent over like that. Fuckin’ told you you’re tasty.”

Nibbling on his lip, you giggle. “I was expecting you to be less talkative when you’re high, but I guess I was wrong.”

Luigi trails his hand down your stomach and over your cunt, and you jerk when his fingers brush your sensitive clit. “You love it, don’t you?”

And when he collects your slick on his fingertips, he adds: “I know this pussy loves it.”

Fuck.

“Keep talking,” you whisper, nodding.

“Yeah?” He kisses underneath your ear, down your jawline. “You’d probably love it if I fucked you in this tent, wouldn’t you? If I did you dirty right here in the middle of these woods?”

The vibrations of his voice against your eardrum give you full-body shivers. You moan wantonly into the night just to see if the noises of your activities are truly that loud, that obnoxiously obvious. The thought of the tent shaking with your efforts makes you feel warm and sludgy in your bones.

You grin. “Take your shirt off. And your pants.”

And he does with the cutest little smile, quickly pulling his plain tee up and over his head, pecs and abs flexing perfectly. Just as you ordered, his sweatpants are next, pulled down his thighs and tossed aside, leaving him in just his gray Calvin Klein’s, his thick cock swelling against cotton. Gorgeous. Absolutely stunning, this boy.

When Luigi slots himself between your legs again you roll your hips up against him, fingers tangled in his hair. It hits you then that the two of you really are naked in the wild woods, getting frisky in a small little tent while the night settles in around you—and you feel lit up and alive all over again, hot between your thighs, greedy for his touch everywhere it shouldn’t be. Hooking your thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, you kiss him, tracing the divots of his V-line with your knuckles. His bare skin against you is warm like a bonfire, tensing under your fingertips.

He groans into your mouth when you take his cock in your hand. You’ll never quite get used to the size of him; even after all the time you’ve spent with him in this manner, your jaw still drops with every initial stretch. Luigi fills you up perfectly. Like he was made for you. You pump him a few times in your hand, stroking the fat, leaking tip with your palm, and he responds positively, brows furrowed in pleasure.

“Baby,” he moans, tone whiny and griping—lucky for him, you’ve always been able to take a hint, and you slide his boxers down his hips quickly, letting him kick them aside; and when he comes close and presses his hot cock against your cunt both of you shiver delightfully. He guides the blunt head through your folds, collecting your arousal and circling your clit, and you’re getting impatient—

“Need you to warm me up, Luigi,” you whisper, wrapping your legs tightly around his hips.

He nods. “I got you.”

You can feel him breaching your entrance and pushing inside of you slowly, oh so slowly, and it’s like his dick is splitting you in half, breaking you in. Relentless. Searing. Your head presses into the pillow behind you and you bite your lip, savoring the ache of him stretching you to your limits. You’ll never get used to it, no matter how many times he gives it to you.

When he bottoms out he stills, resting his hand on your abdomen to feel the imprint of his cock inside of you. It’s unbelievably sweet that he still gives you as much time as you need to adjust—but you don’t really need it, not with the added help of the joint you shared relaxing your muscles. Your arousal grows more relentless with each second he spends buried to the root in your pussy.

“What are you waiting for? Christmas?” you ask with a teasing grin. “Get to it, buster.”

“Hold on,” Luigi hisses, steadying your hips. “I’m trying really hard not to come right now.”

Oh. Oh. Fuck, that’s hot.

And, yeah, when you focus hard enough you can feel his cock twitching inside of you, like he’s already about to bust at the feeling of your cunt wrapped around him while he’s high.

“Does it feel good?” you ask with impishness painted all over your face.

He bites his lip, smiles, shakes his head like he’s in disbelief. “You’re unreal. Your pussy is perfect. Fuck.”

His forehead is pressed against yours, all damp curls and wrinkled brows as his hips finally start to pump back and forth, dragging his cock slowly along the soft walls of your cunt. The pace he sets is unsurprisingly merciful, considering he just had to spend a whole minute resting inside of you to avoid coming too fast; he rocks into you without hurry, wiry hairs bumping your clit, cock working you open easily.

“Oh!” you moan approvingly, fingernails raking up his back.

Teeth sinking into your shoulder, Luigi slides one strong arm underneath your hips to lift up your ass, pressing in at an angle that makes your stomach churn, and you arch into him, loving the way he pulls your body in close for a sweet kiss. You trail your fingers up the nape of his neck and into his curls for what must be the millionth time tonight and he sighs into your mouth. When the head of his cock punches a spot inside of you that’s particularly sensitive, your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Right there,” you gasp, “right there…”

“Yeah?” Luigi kisses the bridge of your nose, between your eyebrows, your eyelashes. “Is that the spot, babygirl?”

“Yesss,” you cry out without meaning to.

And then he brings three fingers to your mouth, slides them past your lips. To shut you up, of course. He’s quite used to this.

“So fuckin’ noisy,” he chides. “Gonna get us caught.”

Your cunt squeezes him.

“You’d probably like that, wouldn’t you?”

Mhmm, you nod, his fingers still stuffing your mouth. You want to tell him that you aren’t a pervert—you simply like the idea of any wandering eyes knowing that he’s yours, that you get to have him like this whenever you want, however you want.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, pumping faster now. “Dirty girl.”

You swirl your tongue around his fingers for emphasis and he groans.

Luigi is so close to you that you feel like you could crawl into his skin, burrow inside of his heart like a tick on a dog, right where you know you belong. He’s tepid and generous with his movements and you want him inside of you forever and ever.

“Feeling warmer?” he asks, looking into your eyes.

You nod, pussy fluttering around him. Your thighs are squeezing him so tight and you look so pretty underneath him, taking his cock so well, and this has to be his least favorite part of sex with you—the fact that it has to end, at some point or another. And he really wasn’t lying when he told you he was struggling to hold back.

He quickly pulls his wet fingers from your mouth and brings them to your pussy, finding your clit and working you in circles, replacing them with his lips on yours. You whine against him.

“You got something to say?” he inquires.

You bite your lip. “I’m gonna come if you keep that up,” you whisper, tugging at the wild hairs on the back of his neck.

Luigi chuckles. “That’s the idea.”

“You’re close?” Your perfect doe eyes stare up at him, red and blurry from your high. “I want you to come in my mouth.”

“We’ll get there,” he advises. “Take it slow, baby.”

You’re gripping the sleeping bag, cunt throbbing under his ministrations. His dick is kissing your cervix by now, and you’re taking every inch like you were born to do it, eyes squeezed shut and mouth making sounds the animals in these woods are bound to remember for the rest of their life span. There’s a fire burning in your belly, flames licking your abdomen and flaying the flesh like marshmallows over a fire—and you’re coming, you’re coming hard, head thrown back and throat bared for his teeth to mark. There are stars flashing behind your eyelids. Shooting stars.

And then you’re empty, but your disappointment cedes when he asks, “you ready f’me?” Your orgasm still has you trembling, but you nod insistently and he’s on top of you, kneeling over your chest and fisting his cock.

You have to crane your head up to meet him, but you make do in the tight space and wrap your lips around the head, creating a perfect suction for him to buck into. It doesn’t take much; he strokes the base of his dick and you suck, and within a minute a familiar taste is hitting your tongue, warm and sort of sweet. Luigi is the prettiest when he comes. He throws his head back and tenses his abs and his thighs, biting those lovely lips, swearing to himself—“oh, fuck, fuck!” It’s beautiful and you can’t get enough.

“Did you swallow?” he asks as he pulls away from you, and at your nod: “Let me see.”

And you do, because there’s nothing you love more than being obedient for him. You stick out your tongue to show him your empty mouth, and he is quick to kiss you, tasting the remnant of himself on your lips. He groans as you thread your fingers through his hair.

“I fucking love you,” he whispers when your lips separate.

Smiling, you whisper back, “I love you.”

The two of you dress. It’s simple, a bit awkward after getting your brains fucked out of you in a tent—but hey, what can you do? Once you’ve crawled back into your sleeping bag Luigi flicks off the small lantern hanging from one of the support beams, quickly following you and settling under the cover and blankets you brought.

“So,” you perk up, “that was fun.”

“What? The fucking?”

You snort. “I mean, yes. But I was referring to the pot.”

“Oh.” Luigi blinks. “Right. Yes. I agree.”

“Would you smoke with me again?”

He pauses to think, then grins to himself. “If this is what that leads to, then yeah, I’m down.”

Your goofy little boyfriend.

An owl coos nearby, and you snuggle into Luigi’s arms, warm and safe and very, very sleepy.

^ dividers by cafekitsune

[frmisnow]

total loser. ⊹₊⟡ nsfw.

summary. crashing a party just to unwind? yeah, that was the plan — until you end up sharing a smoke with the lead singer of that metal band. turns out the ‘playboy sex god’ image? total myth. awkward, tipsy, and apparently… a virgin?! this night just got interesting !

warnings / includes. all fictional ofc, smoking, drinking, suggestive themes, soft!dom reader

damned be after parties.

but long live your connections and well.. pretty face, that's what gets you in one of these special parties, pretty privilige is alive and breathing!

for the fact that this was an after party of a last tour show for one of the biggest metal bands right now, you'd imagine it to be a lot more expensive. these red plastic cups just don't cut it, and whose idea was it to squeeze so many people into one little room? that's the charm of the metal industry, i guess.

apropos charm of the metal industry?

you'd think somebody put something in your drink, the way you see the jungkook in front of your eyes right now? leaned up against a wall, nursing what looked like his fourth shot, hair messy like he just got of stage.

one of his bandmates stumbles past, slapping him on the back, and jungkook nearly loses his balance. He mutters something, barely audible over the music, brows drawn together in this adorable mix of annoyance and confusion. his eyes trail over the room before ultimately settling back onto the man in front of him, patting his back, a cigarette pack in his hand.

you made your way through the people, way to much sweat and way to close might i add, did you look obssesive? maybe. but the cold night air sounded heavenly and you could use a good smoke. plus, you'd rather come of as a groupie then get suffocated on the dance floor.

with each step, you felt the chaos of the party fade a little more. the fresh air hit your face like a slap, and you welcomed it, relishing the brief moment of solitude. But you weren’t the only one seeking a breather.

jungkook pushed off the wall, nearly colliding with you as you stepped outside. the cold night air was a relief, sharp and refreshing, cutting through the haze of noise and sweat. he fumbled with the cigarette pack, almost dropping it as he tried to shake one out, his fingers clumsy from the alcohol.

"need a light?” you offered, pulling your lighter from your pocket.

he met your gaze, a hint of gratitude in those dark eyes, before quickly looking anywhere else but you, “thanks. I usually don’t smoke, but—” he paused, taking a deep drag before exhaling a cloud of smoke. “i guess i just get… scared. so, i drink. and then i drink some more and then i start smoking, it's a bad habit.”

silence fell over the both of you, you didn't decide to pry since that'd just be rude. even though there were quite a few thoughts in your head. why was he scared? rather, who was he scared of?

after a while (and plenty of drags), jungkooks voice cut through the carefully established silence, small and quiet, a mumbling-like tone that made him seem tipsy, "i don't know i just want to feel something.." he trails off, shaking his head, clearly oversharing, "i mean no, i feel something when i'm on stage i just-"

he took a breath, taking another drag before ultimately stupping it out with his shoe, giving him another oppurtunity to not stare at you, "would you have sex with me?"

the next thing you knew, you were standing outside jungkook’s apartment, the door slightly ajar, a hesitant light spilling into the hallway. you weren't proud of it, but you also didn't have time to really think it through? teaching a hot rockstar virgin how to have sex? that sounds ai-generated and it was simply something you couldn't pass up on.

he fumbled with the keys, his fingers still shaky from the drinks or maybe that was just him, you'd seen his feet tap onto the floor multiple times throught the uber and his eyes never quite seemed to settle. maybe he was just a naturally anxious person, that's the impression he gave of.

the place was small but cozy, with a faint scent of lingering smoke and rock posters plastered across the walls, giving it an oddly inviting charm.

"i think you're really pretty." he managed to hold eye contact this time around, though he was clearly fidgety.

you smiled, genuinely, a rush of flush going straight to your cheeks, fuck weren't you supposed to be the compsoed one? yet he was so sweet in a way. "flattery won't get you anywhere but it's a nice start."

he grinned, walking ahead of you intot he kitchen, the small amount of alcohol he had in his system making him lose some balance in his step but he quickly recomposed himself, his eyes lingering on you for just a second longer then last time, "would you like some water?"

you don't think you've ever had anybody ask you if you wanted to drink water during a hookup, but you welcome the thought. see? so sweet, how would you even teach him sex?

"sure." you respond, shrugging, as he pours some in, "can i kiss you?"

he nods, the water in the glass swirling in small circles as he takes a step closer towards you—he's so close you can feel his breath on your skin, each one of his exhales and inhales—his eyes on you, "yeah."

his tone is quiet, but firm and his free hand slowly reaches to your waist, "can i touch you?"

you hush a 'yeah', closing the gap between the both of you, pulling your shirt of yourself.

as he grasped the lace of your bra, he hesitated, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. you guided his hands, gently tugging him on, the material falling away effortlessly.

"oh.." he gasped, like all the air had been knocked out of his lungs, eyes taking a quick glance on the now exposed skin in front of him—all of the tension he was carrying in his shoulders quickly disappearing.

he put the glass down on the nearest surface, "sit on the couch." he mumbled, breath shaky as he gently pushed you back.

"woah commanding now?" you raised your eyebrows, genuine surprise written over your face though you grin, walking down the hallway, sitting down.

"i'm a quick learner." he muttered, his eyes on you as he followed behind, quickly making his way on the couch, sitting incredibly close to you. he leaned forward, his body hovering over yours before he quickly put his mouth on your neck, leaving small kisses on the skin.

you encouraged him, tugging him closer, your fingers weaving into his hair as he found his rhythm. with every kiss, he grew bolder, his hands exploring the curves of your body like he was savoring something sweet.

you pulled him down with you, laughter escaping your lips as he stumbled slightly, catching himself with a grin.

“okay, maybe I’m not a pro at this,” he said, his cheeks slightly flushed. You smirked, enjoying his awkward charm.

you guided his hands, showing him how to touch, how to tease. the couch squeaked under you as you shifted positions, getting more comfortable. his kisses became more confident, more demanding, each one igniting a fire within you.

as his clothes started to come off, the atmosphere became charged. You watched as his eyes widened, a mix of surprise and desire flooding his expression. he was eager, and you were more than willing to lead the way.

you tangled your fingers with his, showing him what felt good, how to respond to your body. he mirrored your movements, following your lead, the shy, awkward dweeb from earlier replaced by someone more daring. you sucessfully managed to change a rockstar; that'd look good on a resume.

[wholoveseggs]

Kinktober - {Day Thirty-One} {<- kinktober masterlist}

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

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ HAPPY HALLOWEEN ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

{Elijah Mikaelson X Klaus Mikaelson x f!Reader} Request {@originals23}: Well, I am all for Elijah, but Kinktober without Klaus must not happen;) I therefore request a Klaus story with a female reader and kinks 15 (m/m/f) and 17. Maybe with some jealousy as Klaus doesn't like to share. ;) Hope you are feeling a bit better! Thanks!!

♡♡♡ Hiii darling @originals23 you know how much I adore you~ And of course the other man in this ménage à trois HAS to be Elijah ♡♡♡

7.3k words - Kinks: costumes, lots of blood drinking, threesome, lots of flirting, a haunted house && Klaus and Elijah competing over you in bed ...

“You’re joking.” Rebekah’s tone was flat as she stared you down in the doorway, her disapproval nearly tangible.

You blinked at her, feigning innocence, and looked down at your outfit as if trying to figure out what could possibly be the problem. “What?” you asked, tilting your head. “Is something wrong with it?”

Rebekah’s gaze didn’t waver, taking in every inch of your ‘vampire’ costume. The short, form-fitting dress, plunging neckline, lace gloves, and, of course, the dramatic collar. 

“Is this supposed to be funny?” she asked, her voice dripping with barely-contained irritation. “I thought you’d have more taste than to show up looking like that.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be such a buzzkill!” You laughed, waving off her disapproval with a flick of your hand. “It’s Halloween, and I’m here to have fun.”

Rebekah’s lips tightened. “You do realize there will be actual vampires at this party?” she said, her eyes narrowing.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “So... they’ll get the joke then?”

Rebekah sighed, moving over to sit at the edge of her bed as she slipped on the ridiculous hot pink heels she had chosen to complete her Barbie costume. The look suited her in a way that only added to her usual allure: effortlessly beautiful and intimidatingly flawless. “I don’t think you quite understand,” she started, giving you another withering glance.

“Sorry? Didn’t catch that,” you interrupted with a grin, pulling a pair of plastic fangs from your pocket and popping them into your mouth. Turning dramatically, you flashed her your best vampy grin.

Rebekah let out an exasperated sigh, but you saw the slight grin that tugged at the corner of her mouth. You always had a way of making her laugh, even when she didn’t want to. “I’m being serious,” she told you, standing up and reaching for her handbag.

“Ya don tink I can sedu a ampire like tis?” you said, grinning wider, struggling to speak around the fangs. You barely had time to flinch as Rebekah reached over and snatched the fangs right out of your mouth, tossing them over her shoulder without so much as a second glance.

“Hey!” you protested, trying to catch them as they sailed behind her. “I was just starting to get the hang of those!”

Rebekah rolled her eyes, crossing her arms as she looked at you with a smirk. “Honestly, you’re hopeless. And I can’t imagine what Elijah and Klaus will think when they see you dressed like… well, that.”

At the mention of their names, you felt a warm flush rise in your cheeks. You quickly looked away, pretending to fix a wrinkle on your dress. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you muttered, hoping the blush wasn’t as obvious as it felt.

“Oh, please.” Rebekah’s grin widened, clearly enjoying your sudden shyness. She had known for a while about the little crush you had on her brothers, but she had never outright called you on it. Not until now.

You gave her a wary look, but she only shook her head, laughing softly.

“That dress is definitely going to test their self-control. Elijah, I suppose, will try to behave himself. But Klaus? Good luck with that. He’ll probably drag you off to some dark corner the second he sees you.” She smirked, leaning in conspiratorially.

The flush in your cheeks deepened, and you turned away, embarrassed. But Rebekah wasn’t finished. She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“Or maybe you wouldn't mind that. Maybe you're hoping for it." She raised an eyebrow, studying your reaction carefully. "If you had to choose one of them, which would it be? Elijah, or Klaus?"

You swallowed hard, feeling your face grow hotter. Your pulse was racing, and you knew she could hear it, could sense the quickening of your heartbeat. But there was no point in lying to her. She would know if you did.

"Both," you whispered back, meeting her gaze at last.

Your face was definitely burning now, and you bit your lip nervously. The thought of either one of them alone was enough to make you weak in the knees. The thought of both of them... well, it was almost too much to imagine.

Rebekah's grin widened, and she leaned back, looking satisfied.

"That's what I thought," she said, chuckling softly. Then, with a shrug, she turned away, heading toward the door. "Well, come on, then. Let's go. We can't keep them waiting forever."

You hesitated, still flustered from her teasing. But after a moment, you followed her, trailing behind her out of the room and down the stairs to the party happening in the courtyard.

The place was decorated to the nines, just like any other Mikaelson party, with elaborate decor, dim lighting, and an ever-growing throng of guests mingling and dancing to the live music. The scent of alcohol and expensive perfume filled the air, and you caught sight of a few familiar faces, including Marcel and Cami. They both looked like they were having fun, chatting and laughing as they sipped their drinks.

You felt a rush of relief at seeing them, glad that there would be someone else around to help ease the tension. The last thing you needed was to be alone in a room full of vampires, especially in your current outfit.

You followed Rebekah through the crowd, trying to stay close behind her so as not to get separated. As you approached the bar, you saw a few of the vampires look your way, and you quickly averted your gaze, pretending not to notice.

You could feel their eyes on you, and the weight of their stares made the back of your neck prickle. Wearing this costume was so funny when you imagined it, but the reality was far more nerve-wracking.

You tried to push the anxiety aside, focusing instead on the music and the atmosphere. The music was loud and pulsing, with a heavy bass that vibrated through your body, and the lights were dim enough to make everything feel a bit surreal, like you were walking through a dream.

You spotted Elijah at the bar, nursing a glass of wine and talking with Hayley. He looked dashing as always, dressed up as a 1920s gangster. His suit was perfectly tailored, and his hair was slicked back, making him look more like a mob boss than a vampire. It was a very good look on him, and you felt your pulse quicken as he glanced your way, his gaze lingering on your outfit for a moment before returning to the conversation.

Klaus was nowhere to be seen, but you figured he must be around somewhere. He wouldn't miss his own party.

As you approached the bar, Marcel and Cami waved you over, inviting you to join them. Marcel chuckled at your outfit, shaking his head as he took in the whole thing.

"Nice costume. Did you leave your fangs at home?" he asked, laughing.

You blushed, smiling sheepishly. "Yeah, Rebekah wasn't really a fan," you admitted, glancing over at her. She had joined Elijah and Hayley, and the three of them seemed engrossed in their conversation.

"I like it, it's very bold," Cami chimed in, giving you a reassuring smile. She was dressed as a butterfly, with big, sparkly wings and a glittery top. It suited her well, bringing out her bright eyes and golden hair.

"It's supposed to be a joke," you explained, a bit self-consciously. "I figured if I showed up looking like a cliché, maybe the actual vampires would find it funny. Guess not, though."

Marcel shrugged, taking a swig of his drink. "I think you look hot," he told you, grinning. He was dressed as a prince, complete with a crown and fake sword. "You're definitely turning some heads tonight."

Cami nudged him with her elbow, rolling her eyes. "You're such a flirt," she teased, shaking her head. "Ignore him, he's just saying that because he thinks it'll get him lucky."

Marcel feigned innocence, raising his hands. "Who, me?"

You laughed, relaxing a bit. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

"You must check out the haunted house," Cami said, gesturing across the courtyard. There was a small building, covered in fake cobwebs and skeletons, that had been transformed into a spooky attraction for the party.

"It's pretty awesome, there are some seriously creepy creatures in there," Marcel added, giving you a sly smile. "Some of them might even bite."

Just then, you heard the familiar sound of Klaus' voice coming from behind you. You turned, and your heart skipped a beat as you caught sight of him. He was dressed as the Phantom of the Opera, and the mask accentuated his handsome features perfectly, making him look even more mysterious and dangerous than usual. His gaze fell on you, and he grinned, his eyes darkening with hunger.

"There you are," he said, his voice low and husky. "I've been looking for you."

Marcel and Cami exchanged a look, and you could see the amusement in their eyes. You swallowed hard, trying to compose yourself.

"H-hey," you stammered, your voice cracking slightly.

"Interesting choice in costume," he teased, his gaze raking over you slowly.

You felt your cheeks grow hot under his scrutiny, and you bit your lip, trying not to squirm.

"Do you like it?" you managed, giving him a coy smile.

Klaus' lips curved into a wicked grin, and he stepped closer, his hand moving up your arm. "I think it's perfect," he murmured, his fingertips trailing along the choker around your neck.

You couldn't deny that you enjoyed the way his gaze seemed to undress you, and you swallowed hard, feeling a familiar warmth pooling between your legs. You couldn't remember ever being this affected by someone, and the fact that it was Klaus only made it worse.

"Well, I'm glad someone has good taste," you said, forcing a lighthearted tone, trying not to let him know how flustered you were.

"Mmm, indeed." Klaus' fingers traced the collar of your dress, brushing against your skin and sending a thrill through you. He moved closer, his other hand settling on your waist as he bent down to whisper in your ear.

"But I think it could be improved," he breathed, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "You need a real bite."

Before you could respond, he dipped his head, his fangs grazing the side of your neck, just above your pulse. Your breath caught in your throat, and your heart began to race.

Marcel cleared his throat, and you suddenly remembered where you were. You flushed, pulling back a little and glancing around, noticing that several people were staring at you.

He chuckled and pulled away, giving you a wicked grin. He was teasing you, and you both knew it. But there was no denying the heat in his gaze, or the way his fingers tightened on your waist, as if he wanted to pull you closer.

"Save me a dance later?" he murmured, his thumb stroking over your hip bone.

You nodded, still a little breathless. "Of course," you managed, licking your lips.

His eyes followed the movement, his gaze darkening. "Good." He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering against your skin. "I'll hold you to that, love."

With that, he stepped back, giving you a wink before turning and heading back into the crowd.

You let out a shaky breath, your heart pounding. It was almost overwhelming how attracted you were to him, and it didn't help that he knew it, too.

Marcel and Cami exchanged a knowing look, and you rolled your eyes at them.

"Oh, shut up," you muttered, taking a long sip of your drink.

They laughed, shaking their heads.

"It's about time, though," Cami said, grinning.

"I'll drink to that," Marcel agreed, raising his glass.

You gave them a warning glare, but they just laughed harder. "I'm going to check out the haunted house," you announced, turning on your heel and walking away.

Their laughter followed you as you crossed the courtyard, heading toward the small building. Your mind was racing, replaying the way Klaus had looked at you, the way his touch had sent a thrill through you. You knew you were blushing, and you were grateful for the cover of darkness as you slipped inside the attraction.

You immediately regretted the decision. It was dark and creepy, filled with cobwebs and skeletons, and the eerie soundtrack only made it worse. There was definitely a spell or two involved, the entire atmosphere was designed to put guests on edge.

You wandered through the maze of corridors and rooms, trying to find the exit. There was something about the dark corners and flickering candles that made you uneasy, and you couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching you.

You reached a dead end and cursed under your breath, turning back. A sudden loud scream came from the speakers, and all the lights began flashing, making your heart leap into your throat. You hurried forward, desperately searching for a way out.

You turned a corner, running blinding for the exit. But instead of finding the door, you crashed into a hard body, nearly falling over. Two strong arms wrapped around you, steadying you, and you gasped as you looked up into familiar brown eyes.

"Elijah," you breathed, clutching his chest. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you."

He chuckled, his hands resting on your hips. "That's quite alright,"

"I-I was looking for the exit," you explained, a little embarrassed.

He grinned, stepping back and gesturing to a nearby door. "You've found it," he said, taking your hand and leading you through.

The fresh air hit you, and you took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. Elijah's touch was still making your pulse race, and you couldn't deny that you had been hoping to run into him, too.

"I'm sorry if I startled you," he said, his thumb tracing over the back of your hand. "Need a drink?"

"Please," you breathed, following him as he led you toward the bar.

He ordered two drinks, handing one to you and lifting the other in a toast. You clinked your glass against his and quickly took a sip of your drink, hoping he couldn't hear the way your heartbeat quickened.

"I'm a bit insulted by your outfit." He said, his tone playful. "I've never considered a vampire so... tasteless."

You nearly choked on your drink, surprised by his bluntness. You couldn't tell if he was serious or not, but the look in his eyes told you he was at least half-teasing.

"Hey, now. I'll have you know, I put a lot of thought into this outfit," you told him, feigning offense, though you couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up.

Elijah smiled, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. "Did you put glitter on your face? You're sparkling."

"Isn't that what vampires do?" You flashed a coy grin. "Sparkle in the sun?"

Elijah shook his head, his fingers trailing over your jaw. "If we did, we wouldn't do it nearly as beautifully as you."

You felt your cheeks flush at his compliment, and you looked away, taking another sip of your drink. You weren't sure what to say, he was so damn smooth with his words.

"Thank you," you finally murmured, meeting his gaze again. "For rescuing me in there."

He chuckled, taking a sip of his own drink. "My pleasure. Though, I'd say the rescue was a bit mutual."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you've rescued me as well, darling. From a very dull night."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Dull? Hardly. It's a Mikaelson Halloween party, there's nothing dull about it."

He shrugged, his gaze traveling over you again. "Perhaps. But a night spent in your company is much more exciting."

You blushed, looking down. You could feel his eyes on you, and the tension between you was nearly palpable. You had always had a crush on him, and it was surreal to be standing here, with him looking at you like that.

"Dance with me," he said, pulling you closer.

You nodded, letting him lead you onto the dance floor. The music was slow and sensual, and you could feel the beat pulsing through your body, making your heart race.

Elijah's hand settled on your waist, his other gently grasping your own as he drew you in close. You rested your free hand on his shoulder, looking up at him through your lashes. Out of all Rebekah's brothers, he was the hardest to read, and sometimes the most intimidating.

But there was no denying the heat in his gaze as he looked down at you, or the way his fingers tightened on your waist. You bit your lip, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

"Tell me, sweetheart," he said, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "Did you pick your costume specifically to try and get attention?"

You blinked, caught off-guard by the question. "I, um..." You weren't sure how to answer. The truth was, yes, you had picked the outfit hoping to attract their attention, but you hadn't thought anyone would call you out on it.

"I'm not judging," he assured you, his hand sliding down your waist, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. "I'm merely curious."

"Maybe," you admitted, a flush rising in your cheeks. "What do you think?"

"I think," he murmured, his fingers dancing along the hem of your dress, his touch sending sparks of desire through you, "that you don't have to try so hard," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear.

You let out a soft gasp and your hand curled into the collar of his suit jacket. You knew it was a reckless idea, that getting tangled up with a Mikaelson was bound to end badly, but right now, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

"You're dangerous, you know that?" you whispered, looking up at him.

"So are you," he replied, his eyes darkening.

You could see the hunger in his gaze, dark veins rippling under his eyes ever so slightly. You knew that he wanted you just as badly as you wanted him.

"How much did this little outfit cost?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You snorted, rolling your eyes. "What does that matter?"

"Because I want to know how much money I'm going to spend replacing it."

You blinked, your cheeks growing warm. "Elijah," you whispered, a thrill rushing through you.

He smiled, a wide toothy grin, and then spun you around, dipping you back. The move was fluid and graceful, and you clung to him, laughing breathlessly. The alcohol was making your head spin, and the heat between the two of you was intoxicating.

"I must confess I'm a bit jealous," he murmured, bringing you back up. His hand rested on the small of your back, keeping you close as the two of you moved together.

"Of who?"

"Niklaus has made it clear he's interested in pursuing you. I'm afraid that if I let you out of my sight, he'll steal you away." He chuckled, and the sound vibrated through you.

"And what do you intend to do about it?" you asked, a challenge in your voice.

He smirked, his eyes darkening. "Why, I intend to keep you right here, where I can enjoy you for myself."

"You can't keep me, I'm not an object," you teased, even as you felt your pulse quicken.

Elijah smiled, amused, his gaze moving to someone standing behind you. "Perhaps not. But Niklaus certainly thinks so."

You glanced over your shoulder and saw Klaus leaning against a nearby pillar, a drink in his hand and a smirk on his face. He gave you a wink and lifted his glass, silently toasting you.

Your cheeks flushed, and you turned back to Elijah, biting your lip. You were torn between being flattered by their attention and feeling embarrassed by it. You were just a human, after all, and they were two powerful vampires, kings among their own kind.

You felt another pair of hands sliding along your hips, and Klaus' familiar scent filled your nostrils. He nuzzled against the crook of your neck, pressing a soft kiss against your skin.

"Can I have that dance, love?" He murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

Your breath hitched, the proximity of both of them sending your pulse racing. The fantasy that you had built up in your head suddenly seemed very possible and it overwhelmed you. The heat of them, the way they touched you, the way their bodies moved against yours as they danced. You felt like a piece of prey caught between a wolf and a panther, and they were circling, waiting for the right moment to strike.

You saw Marcel watching you, an amused grin on his face. He had seen everything and was clearly entertained by the whole situation. You felt a sudden wave of embarrassment wash over you, and you stepped away, clearing your throat.

"I, uh, I should probably go find Rebekah," you said, avoiding their gazes. "I'll.. see you guys later."

Klaus' brows furrowed, and he reached for you, his fingers brushing against yours. "Love, wait—"

You pulled away from them, mumbling an excuse, and hurried off, disappearing into the crowd. Your cheeks were burning, and you could feel their eyes on you, but you didn't dare look back.

You made your way through the party, keeping your head down and avoiding eye contact with everyone. Searching for Rebekah, you found her in a far corner, chatting with Cami.

Rebekah smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Have you received the attention you were hoping for tonight?"

"Uh, yeah," you muttered, shaking your head. "Perhaps a little too much."

Cami snorted, hiding her grin behind her hand.

"You don't say," Rebekah chuckled, giving you a knowing look.

"I'm not sure what I was thinking, wearing this." You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you, and you looked down at the ground, your cheeks heating.

"Nonsense," Rebekah said, linking her arm with yours. "It's not the outfit, but the girl wearing it. And besides, those idiots have been pining after you for ages, this is hardly news."

Cami nodded in agreement. "They're smitten, and everyone can see it."

You rolled your eyes, not quite believing them. "I guess…”

"Did they bother you?" Rebekah asked, a hint of protectiveness in her tone.

"No," you replied, quickly shaking your head. "I mean, not really. They were just a little... overwhelming. I'm not used to having two guys chasing after me."

Cami nodded, giving you a reassuring smile. "If anything, I think it's a good thing. Gives you the chance to decide which one you're more into."

Rebekah let out a laugh, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Please, if she knew who she was more into, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

You glared at her, trying not to blush. She had a point, but that didn't mean you wanted her bringing it up in front of Cami.

"I don't know," Cami said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You seem pretty torn. Maybe you should just try them both out, see which one fits better."

You blinked, surprised by the suggestion. But before you could respond, Cami held up a hand, stopping you.

"No, listen, I'm serious. There's nothing wrong with trying to figure out who you're more attracted to. It's healthy."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Are you saying I should sleep with both of them?"

"If that's what it takes," Cami replied, shrugging. "You deserve to know what you want, and I don't think you'll find the answer until you give it a try."

Rebekah pretended not to hear, sipping her drink, but the corners of her mouth twitched, as if she were trying not to smile.

You stared at her for a moment, speechless. You hadn't expected such a suggestion, but at the same time, part of you wondered if Cami was right. You did want them both, and they were clearly interested in you. But there was no way in hell you could choose between them. Maybe sleeping with both of them was the only way to make things clear.

"Here," Rebekah said, interrupting your thoughts. She handed you your fake fangs, smiling mischievously. "Go put these back on, and then find my brothers. I'm sure they'd be happy to continue the party in private."

You gave her a look, but she only laughed, patting your arm.

"Just trust me," she said, winking. "I've seen you with them, you are not acting like yourself, all shy and sweet. That's not you. Go be reckless, have fun, and maybe get laid. You need it."

You felt your cheeks grow hot, and she pushed you gently back towards the dance floor. Cami joined her, both of them laughing and pushing you playfully.

"Hey, are you blushing?" Rebekah called after you, giggling.

You waved her off, rolling your eyes. But there was no denying the heat rising in your cheeks, and the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

You made your way through the crowd, looking for them. But they were nowhere to be found on the first floor so you headed upstairs.

You found them sitting on the lounge on an ornate looking sofa, discussing something in hushed voices. It seemed heated, like they were arguing over something… But when they saw you, however, their conversation halted, and they exchanged a glance.

"Back so soon?" Klaus teased, his eyes sweeping over you.

You kept your mouth closed, trying to hide the fangs. You sat down in-between them, letting the silence stretch between the three of you.

Elijah cleared his throat, glancing at Klaus, and then back to you. "Is everything alright, sweetheart?"

You have them a wide grin, the ridiculous plastic fangs finally revealing themselves.

Klaus burst into laughter, throwing his head back, and Elijah's lips twitched.

"That's the ugliest thing I've ever seen," Klaus said, snorting.

"And yet, somehow, it looks quite fetching on you," Elijah remarked, a small smile playing on his lips.

You giggled, feeling a bit foolish, but also emboldened. "Why, thank you gentlemen. Now it's only fair you show me yours," you said, waggling your eyebrows and popping the fangs out of your mouth.

Klaus chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “If that's what you wish."

You watched as the veins under his eyes appeared and his fangs lengthened. It looked extra frightening, paired with his phantom costume, and you couldn't help but reach out, touching one of his fangs.

He grinned, and his eyes flashed gold, a sign of his werewolf side, too. "Does this frighten you?" he murmured, leaning closer.

"Not at all," you told him, biting your lip.

He smirked, his gaze flickering to your mouth. "Good."

You turned to Elijah, and found him watching the two of you intently, his dark eyes glittering.

"Well, don't I get to see yours, too?" you asked, batting your eyelashes.

Elijah hesitated for a moment, and then his own fangs descended, his eyes flashing black.

You let out a soft gasp, reaching out and touching his cheek. His skin was warm, the dark veins under his eyes were dancing, and you could feel the power radiating off him.

"Beautiful," you whispered, awed by their supernatural sides.

Klaus chuckled, watching the two of you with amusement. "Our little human has quite the appetite," he murmured, his eyes gleaming.

"Indeed," Elijah replied, a smirk tugging at his lips.

They exchanged a look, and then turned back to you, their gazes heated. You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling a bit nervous.

"Elijah and I have a bit of a wager going," Klaus said, leaning closer.

"Niklau-" Elijah started to speak, but Klaus cut him off.

"No, no, no, Elijah. We should get to the bottom of this, once and for all," Klaus said, a mischievous look on his face.

"What are you talking about?" You asked, confused.

"Well, my dear brother is under the impression that he is the one you have feelings for," Klaus explained, his tone playful.

"Niklaus, I swear to-"

Klaus held up a hand, stopping Elijah. "However, I believe it's me you're attracted to."

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. You had a feeling they had been bickering over this since the moment you left them downstairs.

"What if I can't choose?" You asked, meeting their gaze.

"Then you'll just have to spend the night with both of us," Klaus replied, a wicked grin on his face.

"Niklaus. That's enough," Elijah said, his tone sharp. You could tell he was irritated by the way Klaus was behaving. But you didn't mind the teasing, and you knew just how to shut them up.

You took a deep breath, trying to gather your courage, and then you grabbed Elijah's tie and pulled him toward you, kissing him.

Elijah let out a surprised grunt, but quickly recovered, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer. His lips were soft and warm, and you could feel his fangs scraping against your mouth.

The kiss was intense, and you were breathless when he finally pulled away. He smiled, his eyes dark with desire, then he looked over your shoulder at Klaus, a smug expression on his face.

"Well, there's your answer," he said, sounding a bit pleased with himself.

You glanced behind you and saw that Klaus was glaring at Elijah, his jaw clenched tight. You giggled and turned to him, pulling him in for a kiss.

He growled, his hands sliding over your body as he kissed you, hard and demanding. You could feel the anger rolling off him, and you had to admit, it was kind of thrilling.

"See, she likes me more," Klaus said, a smug grin on his face.

"Incorrigible child," Elijah scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"Both of you shut up," you told them, feeling impatient. "You're ruining the mood."

Klaus smirked, his eyes flashing. "As you wish, love."

They both leaned in, pressing soft kisses to either side of your neck simultaneously. You closed your eyes, sighing, your fingers curling into the fabric of their shirts. Their lips trailed over your skin, their fangs gently scraping against you.

"We should go somewhere more private," Elijah murmured, his hand sliding up your thigh.

Klaus nodded, nipping at your earlobe. "My room, perhaps? I'd very much like to have you alone."

"Oh, no. My room," Elijah countered, his voice low and husky.

You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up in your throat, and you opened your eyes, looking at both of them.

"How about the guest room I'm staying in? Feels like neutral territory," you offered, smirking.

"Agreed," Elijah said, pulling you closer and nuzzling your neck.

Suddenly he scooped you up into his arms and you yelped in surprise. He smirked, and you watched Klaus grab multiple bottles of champagne. He popped one open and began to chug it.

You giggled, holding onto Elijah's neck as he carried you to the bedroom. He placed you on the bed, and you watched as they stripped their clothes off, tossing them carelessly to the floor.

"Why Phantom of the Opera?" you teased Klaus, admiring their toned bodies.

"Because I look dashing, of course," Klaus replied, grinning. "I miss the fashion of that era,"

"And you?" You looked at Elijah, "did you just find an old outfit in your closet?"

Elijah chuckled, shrugging. "More or less. Though, I did take some liberties with the suit."

You rolled your eyes, amused. They were such divas, always wanting to look their best. But you weren't complaining, they were incredibly sexy.

Elijah was the first to move, crawling onto the bed and hovering over you. He captured your mouth in a passionate kiss, his tongue sliding against yours. His hands moved over your body, gently squeezing your breasts before ripping your costume open. You gasped, and then moaned as his mouth moved down, trailing kisses along your exposed chest.

"Cheap satin, mass produced garbage," he muttered, tossing the shredded fabric to the side.

You laughed, but your laugh turned into a moan as his lips wrapped around your nipple, sucking gently. His hands slid over your hips, squeezing possessively.

You arched into him, your fingers tangling in his hair. He was rough, but not too rough, and you could feel the heat building between your legs.

You felt the bed dip, and then Klaus was kneeling next to you, his cock already hard and throbbing. You reached out, wrapping your hand around his length and giving him a slow, firm stroke.

"That's it, love," he groaned, his hips jerking forward.

Elijah chuckled, nipping at your neck. "Impatient as ever, Niklaus."

Klaus glared at him, his eyes flashing gold. "And you're not, Elijah? Look at you, rutting against her like a bloody animal."

Elijah pulled back, a smirk on his face. "Touché."

You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head. The tension between the two of them was palpable, but you couldn't bring yourself to mind. It was thrilling, being the focus of their attention.

You quickly shut Klaus up by leaning forward and taking him into your mouth.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hand tangling in your hair.

You swirled your tongue around the head, and then bobbed down his shaft, taking him in as deep as you could. Enjoying the low moans you pulled from him.

Elijah kissed and nipped his way down your body, settling between your legs. He spread your thighs, and you whimpered as he ran his tongue along your slit, the sensation making your toes curl.

You knew they would be good in bed, but this was... beyond your wildest imagination. The way they worked in sync, almost competing for your attention, left you breathless. It was exhilarating, and you couldn’t help but revel in the pleasure they both brought you.

Elijah's tongue danced over your clit, his skillful movements driving you wild as he circled and dipped inside you. You moaned around Klaus's cock, the vibrations intensifying the pleasure building within you.

“Fuck, love. Your mouth feels incredible,” Klaus groaned, his fingers tangling in your hair as he thrust forward. 

You tightened your lips around him, feeling the heat radiating from both men. Elijah’s grip on your hips was firm, holding you still as he devoured you. The pressure inside you mounted, a delicious tension just out of reach. Your thighs squeezed his head, and you caught a glimpse of his smirk through the haze of pleasure.

Klaus was groaning and cursing, his thrusts becoming erratic. You knew he was close, and the thought made your core ache. With a final, fervent moan around Klaus's length, he spilled himself down your throat, a deep growl escaping his lips. You relished the taste, the raw connection of it all.

Elijah pulled away, and you whined at the sudden emptiness, your body craving more of his touch. He grinned, fangs descending, and pressed his lips to the delicate skin of your inner thigh. His bite pierced your skin, and the pain quickly transformed into a rush of pleasure. You could feel him drinking from you, pulling your essence into him, intensifying your arousal.

Your breath caught as you felt yourself tipping over the edge. Climax ripped through you, leaving you trembling and gasping. Elijah pulled away, licking the wound on your thigh clean, then pressed a soft kiss to your skin, his eyes dark with desire. 

“So sweet,” he murmured, his voice husky. “I could drink from you all night.”

Klaus chuckled, tracing a finger along the bite mark. “Now, now, brother. Let’s not be greedy.”

Elijah’s mouth moved higher, trailing kisses along your hip bones and stomach. You could see the dark veins under his eyes, the whites of his eyes now black. He was equal parts beautiful and deadly. You reached down, tracing the veins under his eyes, captivated by the sight.

Klaus smirked, watching your reaction. “Our little human is quite fascinated by our supernatural side.”

“Indeed,” Elijah murmured, his mouth hovering over the curve of your breast. 

“It’s kind of hot,” you said, breathless with a smile.

Elijah grinned, then latched onto one of your nipples, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak. You moaned, arching into him, feeling the tension building again.

Klaus chuckled. “Elijah, I do believe it’s my turn.”

Elijah paused, glancing at him. “Of course.” he muttered, reluctantly pulling away.

Klaus shifted behind you, pulling you into his lap, your back pressed against his chest. “Now, when it comes to you making a decision, it’s all about who’s best, isn’t it?” he whispered in your ear.

You swallowed, eyes fluttering closed as his hand slipped between your thighs, pressing two fingers inside you. “I-I guess,” you stuttered, struggling to focus on his words.

“I’m going to show you why it should be me,” Klaus said, his voice low and husky.

Elijah’s eyes narrowed, jaw clenched. He didn’t like being upstaged, but you couldn’t help but feel amused. They were both so competitive, always trying to prove themselves better than the other.

“Come now, brother. No need to be jealous,” Klaus said, smirking.

Elijah’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m certain I’ll win her favor.”

You giggled, the sound turning into a moan as Klaus curled his fingers, rubbing against your sensitive spot. He pressed a kiss to your neck, nipping at your skin, and you could feel his fangs scraping against you.

Your hands gripped his thighs, nails digging into his skin. He groaned, fingers pumping in and out of you, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Elijah watched, gaze intense. You could see the jealousy in his eyes, but there was desire there too. And it turned you on even more.

“Don’t hold back, love,” Klaus murmured, his voice seductive. “Let me hear those sweet sounds.”

Your lips parted, and you couldn’t stop the moans spilling from your mouth. It was overwhelming—the way Klaus touched you, the way Elijah watched. The tension inside you was building, and you knew you were close.

Klaus sank his fangs into your neck, and you cried out, the sensation pushing you over the edge. Your body trembled, waves of pleasure crashing through you. 

Klaus growled, teeth digging deeper, and you could feel him drinking from you. The combination of pleasure and pain was intoxicating, and you found yourself wishing he would never stop.

But eventually, he pulled away, lapping at the bite marks on your neck. You felt lightheaded, a pleasant buzz flowing through your veins.

“Delicious,” he whispered, his voice rough.

Elijah leaned forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. He tasted like blood, and you could feel the desperation in his touch.

“Now, now, brother,” Klaus said, amusement lacing his tone. “I didn’t say you could have a turn.”

“Oh, stop,” you chuckled, pushing on Elijah’s chest and turning to face Klaus. Straddling him, you kissed him passionately, then slowly lowered yourself onto his length.

“Bloody hell,” Klaus groaned, his hands gripping your hips.

“You feel so good,” you whispered, biting his lip.

He smirked, thrusting into you. You moaned, throwing your head back, and began to ride him. His fingers dug into your skin, and you knew you’d have bruises later, but you didn’t care.

Elijah pressed himself into your back, licking the bite mark on your neck, sucking more blood from it. You shuddered; the feeling of him behind you combined with Klaus thrusting into you was almost too much.

Klaus’s eyes flashed gold, veins dancing beneath his skin. You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his and locking your gaze with his. He looked so damn beautiful, eyes dark with lust, skin flushed.

“Cum for us, sweetheart,” Elijah whispered, breath hot against your ear.

You couldn’t hold back any longer. You cried out, your climax crashing through you as they both watched with rapt attention, intensifying the pleasure.

Your vision blurred, and you felt dizzy. You had no idea how much blood they had taken from you, but it must have been a lot.

“Niklaus,” Elijah warned, voice strained.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Klaus muttered, letting you fall back into Elijah’s arms.

“I’m fine,” you said, breathless. “Just a little dizzy.”

Elijah scooped you up and laid you down, his lips finding yours. “I’m afraid we got a bit carried away,” he said, his expression regretful.

“I’m not complaining,” you replied, giving him a weak smile.

“Here,” he said softly, biting down on his wrist and holding it to your mouth.

You nodded, taking his blood. It was surprisingly sweet, reviving you, clearing the fog from your mind.

“That’s cheating,” Klaus grumbled, pouting.

“We need her in top form for the rest of the night,” Elijah replied, lips twitching with a smile.

You ran your fingers through Elijah’s hair, pulling him in for a kiss as you parted your legs. He smiled, positioning himself between your thighs.

You moaned as he eased into you, filling you completely. His movements were slow and deliberate, and it felt so damn good. You could almost feel the way his blood flowed through you, rejuvenating you.

Elijah’s rhythm was steady, thrusts deep and sure, kissing and nipping at your neck and jaw. You were lost in pleasure, fingers digging into his back.

It didn’t take long for your release to build again, your whole body trembling. Elijah groaned, pace quickening. You felt his body tense, control slipping, and he finally spilled himself inside you.

He kissed you, eyes dark with desire, then pulled out, breathing ragged.

Klaus began to slow clap, a smirk on his face. "Well done, brother."

You couldn't help but laugh, even though you were utterly exhausted. "I guess we're all winners tonight," you said, a sleepy smile on your face.

Elijah chuckled, rolling onto his back and pulling you into his arms. You snuggled against him, feeling safe and warm.

Klaus shifted on the bed, lying beside you and pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. "So... who do you choose?"

"Both," you replied, not even having to think about it.

"Afraid that's not an option," Elijah murmured, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your arm.

"And why not?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because," Klaus said, his hand sliding over your hip, "we need to know who the victor is."

You rolled your eyes, knowing this was just another game to them. "Fine. Elijah, then."

"Ha!" Elijah exclaimed, looking smug.

"Actually... No. Klaus," you said, turning your head and smirking at him.

"Don't lie to make him feel better," Elijah said, a teasing tone to his voice.

You giggled, unable to keep a straight face.

"You're not going to make a choice, are you?" Klaus asked, his tone amused.

"Nope," you replied, grinning. "Also, you both owe me a costume,"

They exchanged a look, and then turned back to you, their eyes glinting with mischief.

"We can arrange that," Klaus said, his lips curving into a wicked grin.

"And perhaps," Elijah added, his tone suggestive, "you could wear it for us."

You smirked, your pulse racing at the thought. "Oh yeah? What would you have me dress up as?"

"Hmm," Klaus murmured, his hand trailing over your hip. "How about a naughty nurse?"

Elijah raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Or a sexy librarian?"

You giggled, enjoying their suggestions. "Perhaps a French maid," you said, giving them a flirty smile.

"I think we could work with that," Klaus said, a wicked glint in his eyes.

"Agreed," Elijah replied, his expression mirroring his brother's.

You sighed, smiling contentedly. "I love Halloween,"

Below, the sounds of the party continued, music and laughter drifting up to you. But the three of you remained locked away in your own private world, enjoying each other's company, and the promise of what was to come.

{<- kinktober masterlist}