electrickadults

[somevampiresslut]

Yesterday was rly bad and my dad went put and bought me the new bedtime care bear to make me feel better

[rafesfavbimbo]

Daddy’s Girl.

Part 3 to this AU

Pairing: Older!Rafe Cameron x Stepdaughter!Reader

TW: Stepcest, DD/LG themes, eventual smut, unwanted manhandling, gaslighting, manipulation, immoral actions… more to be added

A/N: Long awaited… yet more to come hehe :D

-

Rafe is deeply in love. He would like to say it’s infatuation, or at least a little schoolboy crush. Yet, he knows it’s pure love. He’s never been a soft man, never felt so mushy inside and it almost feels emasculating. But when he looks into those pretty eyes full of youth and sparkle all he can feel is his heart ready to tear out of his chest and lay right in the palm of her delicate hand. She might be almost 20 years his junior, and worst of all his stepdaughter. It doesn’t matter to him.. not anymore. He’s done way worse in his life and capturing her in his clutches wouldn’t be the worst he’s done. At least he hopes not.

Rafe loves his wife… well it feels like he loved her. He’s sure he did, and he’s sure deep in his heart that fondness still lies there. Now though, his little girl is taking up way more space and expanding it to the point that he feels his chest constantly hurts with the adoration he’s developed for her. His little girl who he already knows he would do absolutely anything for. Even if it meant going against his wife.

Tensions been building ever since she arrived to Kildare and especially to their home. Not just between himself and her but between her and her mother. His wife who was initially ecstatic to bond with her daughter now filling with resentment and discouragement. Y/n is stubborn —that he learned. Sweet as sugar to him but to her mother is a different story. While she clings to him and listens to every word he says, the wall she’s built up for her mom and the distaste she’s showing her is deeply affecting his wife. Who cries to him about it every night and looks at him with displeasure in her gaze whenever her daughter goes against her but listens intently to him.

Y/n has taken to calling him daddy. Rafe loves it, it makes his chest fill with warmth and his stomach flutter rapidly. Especially with the way it drips from her lips with sultriness. His wife hates it. Although it’s meant to be paternal the way y/n gazes at him and the cadence she’s speaks it with is anything but innocent. Whenever he ask her to do something she immediately drawls a “yes daddy,” or “of course daddy.” To which he rewards her with a pinch of her cheek or the tip of her nose. While she smirks at her mother whose face always blazes red with distaste and envy at the affection they’ve developed between each other.

Don’t even get Rafe started on the way she whines at him with the same nickname. Y/n quickly grew accustomed to the wealthy life, regularly going on shopping sprees with Rafe’s card or whining at him that she wants something. He never denies her. Whatever she wants she gets. And She wants everything. Designer bags, shoes, clothing. All brand name. Opulent diamonds and white gold. Expensive makeup and skincare. Spa treatments, manicures, pedicures and lash fills. She’s definitely inherited her mother’s taste for the high-life. A girl like her deserves it all and Rafe is more than willing to provide her with all of it. Loving when she squeals with excitement and hugs him tightly with a sloppy, wet kiss on his cheek that leaves behind glittery gloss. “Oh thank you, daddy! I love it, love you!” She giggles and lets him wrap his arm around her back as he holds her pressed into him. Smirking down at her with a, “anything for you, princess. Daddy loves you more.” It’s borderline romantic and crosses the boundaries of platonic. His wife turns a blind eye each time. It makes her stomach sick, it feels borderline incestuous. Yet, she forces herself to find it endearing, this is what she asked for.

While y/n adores her stepfather, she’s got a nasty little attitude with her mom. Sneering at and snubbing her constantly. Calling her by her first name and speaking her to with a tone in her voice that is full of pure repugnance. Even snapping at her with a bratty attitude that Rafe wants to spank out of her and he shuts down with one harsh ‘Hey! What did I teach you about respect?” To which she whines and pouts her plumpy lips and batting her wispy lashes at him, her gaze always cutting into her mother while she stomps her way upstairs to her room. Her designer heels clacking on the tile floor and stairs until they hear her bedroom door slam shut.

His wife feels exasperated at her daughter’s attitude but Rafe doesn’t really blame his stepdaughter. His wife threw her to the side with a stranger, albeit her father but still. She barely knew him, barely knew his morality or how he’d treat a baby. All so she can continue living her life of a socialite and in luxury while her daughter lived a vastly different one. Then deciding 19 years later she wants to be a mom and expecting y/n just to play house so easily? Now that his wife wants to be a mom and not when his stepdaughter needed one. It’s selfish, and he doesn’t blame his girl’s disdain. In fact him and his wife have been getting into more and more heated arguments over the way he defends his baby girl and sides with her every moment he can. In fact, he’s even taken to telling his wife she better not dare scold his darling girl, only he can reprimand her and only she listens to him.

Mrs. Cameron is beginning to notice the weird dynamic between her husband and estranged daughter. At first she was thrilled that he was so willing to take her in and she loved how kind he was to her when she first arrived. Now though… it’s got a feeling settling in her gut that makes her shudder. The way he watches her daughter with eyes full of adoration, fondness and even lust she swears at times. The way his physical affection toward her is increasing, the excessive touching and increased shopping sprees that has left her daughter’s room filled with excessive luxury not even he provides for her anymore.

Don’t get her started on her daughter. At first she was thrilled to have y/n here, she’ll take accountability for her lack of maternal instinct and basically abandoning her child. She was young, afraid, pressured and not ready for the commitment. Her selfishness overtook her maternal desires. Now that she’s older though, she’s ready to be a mom. She’s ready to know her baby girl. It hurts her the way her daughter’s so reluctant and headstrong with her. Speaking to her with a bite of disdain in her tone and flinching away from her touch. She can see the sneer of revulsion her daughter gives her from the corner of her eye when she’s not looking… but that’s not what worries her.

It’s the way her daughter looks at her husband like he’s hung the moon and stars in the night sky. The way she hangs into every word he says, and submits to his will with ease. Giggling at his jokes like a schoolgirl with a crush and whining to him every moment she gets. The way she clings onto him and how she wraps her arms around his neck and presses her chest to him with a long drawn kiss on his cheek every time he comes home. The way she gets jealous and clingy anytime his attention is away from her and onto his wife. The horrid way she calls him daddy, it’s almost sexual in nature. Moaned out and enticing. She swears it’s less paternal and almost couple-like. And the clothing…

Mrs. Cameron knew her daughter’s style was skimpy if the way she picked her up from the airport and the unpacking of small pieces of cloth were anything to go by. Although now she trapezes around the house in almost nothing. Her nipples always peaking through and plump tits on display. Pretty legs and pert cheeks as well, her shorts and skirts always showing the bottom of her butt. Heels and wedges always clacking around their tile floors. Even the way she does her makeup, with her pretty lips always so enticing and suggestive while her eyes scream “fuck me.” All the time. The way her daughter flirts and has this aura of sensualness that exudes out of her. The way men, boys and even some women ogle her every time they go out. Leering at her with lust, want and yearning in their gazes. An influx of attention has come her way and she’s now the crowned ‘it girl’ and princess of Kildare. And Rafe was king. Y/n revels in the attention, she even plays into it…

Mrs. Cameron wouldn’t have thought this about her daughter had it not been pointed out to her at the country club by her group. ‘Your daughter… she’s beautiful. Absolutely stunning don’t get me wrong but the way she dresses… it’s provocative. And the way she acts, flirts especially. My boy hasn’t stopped bugging me to set him up. You let her dress and act like that around your husband?’ or ‘Your girl has a look on her that any man would absolutely fall into with ease. I know she’s your daughter, honey. But Rafe is only a man and she’s not his blood.’ To which she brushed off, turning to eye her daughter who’s flirting with the country club goers her age and then to Rafe who’s across the room eyeing them down with fire burning in his iris’s. Jaw with a grit and hand tightened around his cup. It makes her stomach drop with unease…

-

“My god! Stop with this shit, alright?! I buy her the clothes and I let her wear them. It makes her happy and it’s coming out my pocket!” Rafe bites at her, his eyes widened with defense at his wife’s nagging to him to tell her daughter to tone down her style and be more conservative. His finger pointed at her as they have yet another tiff over y/n. “She’s young! Of course her style isn’t as mature. You said you wanted her happy, right?” He says harshly, closing in on her when she doesn’t respond, “Right?!” Rafe is annoyed, he’s tired of having this talk. If his little girl wants to dress that way he’s sure as hell going to let her because the satisfaction he gains from seeing her happy is all that matters.

“Rafe! You know it’s not right! I-I tried to get past it, tried to accept that’s how she is. I know that Los Angeles is a fashion capital and there’s different customs with how big the city is! And those are the styles and maybe that’s the way they act there, but she’s not in Los Angeles anymore! She’s here, with us! Surrounded by our family and friends who are coming to me and telling me that she’s dressing and acting way too provocative! It’s bad for our image and it’s disrespectful! She’s a Cameron now and she’s got to start acting like it!” His wife bites back, tears in her eyes at her husbands tone with her. He’s getting meaner by the day.

“You really think I give a shit?! You think I care what people think of us?! No! What I say goes and if it pleases her to be who she is then it pleases me! That girl has been through too much! She deserves a little happiness in her life and I’ll be damned if you stop me from giving it to her! I’m the man of this house,” Rafe points at himself. Index finger stabbing into his chest as he domineers his wife. “Me! So quit it with bugging me about this shit! I don’t want to hear anymore of this fucking topic. End of convo!” He snarls, brushing past her with a shoulder check that leaves her speechless. Her throat gritty with hurt as she whimpers out a, “what’s going on with you? With us! Why are you being so mean to me?” His wife bites out with a cry. Her shoulders slouched into defeat as she stares into the back of his head.

Rafe turns his head to look at her before his snarl sharpens, “you don’t get to be mother of the year when you abandoned her to begin with. Now I’m taking care of her. She deserves to be loved.” With that he slams open the door and there stands y/n. Her lips in a frown as her eyes water with tears. Whimpers falling from her lips, she’d heard yelling and was too curious. Standing behind the double doors to listen in on them. Displeased that her mom is complaining about her once more, when all she’s doing is living and being.

“No, no, no. Ssh c’mere, princess.” Rafe’s voice instantly softens once he sees her state of being. His once hard and defensive demeanor dropping into one of care and affectionate. Reserved for the girl who’s stealing his heart and soul. His arms wrapping around her almost immediately as he brings her face into his neck and holds her head in his hand while the other wraps around her to pull her into him. Resting a cheek on the top of head and running his hand through her hair as she wraps her arms around his back and whines into him. Her tears wetting his skin, and she whimpers. “Don’t like when you yell daddy, ‘specially not about me.” She cries, holding onto him like her lifeline. He basically is. She’ll be damned if her mom gets in the way.

“No, my little girl,” he coos to her with pure softness in his voice. “Daddy’s just protecting you. Like he always will. Don’t cry, m’gonna take you out for a nice dinner, kay? Wherever or whatever you want to eat.” He kisses the top of her head and shakes her side to side, her manicured nails gripping his button up as her whines turn into soft sniffles. Both of them in their own bubble as his wife watches with shock and terror.

It’s too intimate, way too intimate. Especially for a father and daughter, and the ache in her chest feels like a dagger while the black hole of doubt in her gut expands. Watching as Rafe pulls her face out of his neck and pinches her chin to make her look at him. Her daughter’s beautiful eyes sparkling with love as she looks up at her stepfather. His cobalt ones sparkling with the same as he stares down at his stepdaughter. His chest filled with warmth and the need to please and protect her. Thumb stroking her pretty chin as he coos at her and gives her a comforting smile which she easily returns.

“Go fix yourself up and wear something pretty. Daddy’s gonna take care of it okay? Don’t worry.” He speaks to her so endearingly, pulling her by the grip he has on her face and pressing a long-drawn kiss to her forehead as both their eyes flutter closed. Soft sighs falling from from both of them as y/n’s grip on his dress shirt softens. It’s too intimate, it makes his wife look away with discomfort as she clears her throat harshly. Refusing to watch the moment any longer than she needed to.

Rafe once again turns his head to look at her, his brows furrowed and face full of disappointment. Before he looks back at his stepdaughter once more and cups her cheek, pressing a couple more soft kisses into her forehead as he tells her, “go on. Take your time.” He then spins her around and urges her with a soft pat on her back to which y/n turns her head to look back at him. A pleased smile on her plump lips as she tells him a soft, “‘kay daddy.” Eyes turning to her mother while Rafe also turns to look at his wife once more, and it’s the look that changes in her eye that leaves her mother taken aback.

While y/n looked at Rafe with love, respect and adoration. The moment her eyes fall onto her mother they fill with something else. She looks at her with something malicious. Viscousness running through her gaze as she stares her mother down, a small smirk forming on her lips that reads, ‘I win.’ Her eyes almost territorial, and as if she’s shooting daggers at her mother. It’s almost nefarious, running her eyes down her mother’s entire body with a look of scorn before looking into her eyes once more and deepening her smirk as she turns her head quickly, her hair snapping around with sass as she struts away with her sway of confidence in her hips. Heels clacking away from them and up the stairs.

Rafe having stared down his wife the whole time, missing the moment between her and her daughter. Both their gazes of scrutiny feeling like like they’re stabbing her but it’s the way her daughter looked at her. That leaves her taken fully aback to the point that she feels she needs to sit down or have a drink. It was almost hateful. Rafe’s eyes hold onto her as he stalks toward her once more. Watching as her eyes hold onto the ground in a daze, in repeated thought over the way y/n stared her down. Sitting on the couch in his office with pure stupefaction running through her body.

He stomps forward and stands in front of her, roughly grabbing her by the face as her forces her to look up at him. Staring down his nose at her as harsh breathes leave his nostrils, mouth in a line of dissatisfaction. Her teary, stupefied eyes starting up into his as his grip tightens on her face almost painfully. “I’m going to say this once, and only once.” He drawls out harshly, with a growl. His lip back in a sneer, “you make her cry again… I swear to god. I’m going to make you regret it. Am I understood?” She doesn’t react, quite frankly she doesn’t know how too. It’s all too overwhelming, the influx of thoughts bouncing around in her mind and the moment she witnessed leaving her speechless.

Rafe’s lack of patience catching up with him as he shakes her head and bites out even more gruffly, “I said. Do you. Understand?” His voice is full of scorn and underlying anger. Glaring daggers into her that go right into her beating heart as she whimpers and nods, letting out a soft “I understand, Rafe.” Her voice full of dejection and wavering with an oncoming slot of tears. He scoffs as tears run down her cheeks, releasing her by pushing her head away harshly, and giving her a small smile of condescension. Stepping back, while continuing to stare her down.

“Clean yourself up. I’m going to shower and get ready. So, don’t bother me.” He commands, turning on his heel with that as stomping out or his office, but not before shouting over his shoulder. “And don’t wait up for us! Or bother us! We’ll be home when we damn well please.” His voice further away as he stomped his way upstairs.

Mrs. Cameron’s tears are full blown now, covering her mouth and crying into it as she caves in on herself. Her heart thumping rapidly in her chest as she struggles to come to terms with the situation that just played it out. At first she was happy about the love Rafe showed for her daughter, yet now she’s slowly coming to terms with the fact that the love he has for y/n is slowly replacing the love he has for her. A home she once deemed a haven, ready to build a life with her husband. Now feeling anomalous and eerie. Everyday she feels more like a stranger while her husband and daughter feel more like they’re encasing themselves in their own world. Alone together.

She feels that she’s being replaced… by her own daughter.

-

A/N: I live for drama! Hehe, had to write reader equally as nasty as Rafe can be. I am sorry for the long wait! Life’s a bitch! Hope you all enjoy and let me know your thoughts in the comments!

Taglist: @xcinnamonmalfoyx @iknowdatsrightbih @inthelibrarybtw @pretty-pink-princess @enjoymyloves @stoned-writer @rafesfuckdoll @unrealmirrorball @khaibdl @idksmtms @queenvane64 @xoxohoneymoongirl @vogueprincess @loonysbarn @heartsforrafecam @cl4uus @spideysimpossiblegirl @littlelamy

If i’m missing anyone please let me know >.<

[lxkeee]

MY LOVE, IS MINE ALL MINE PART THREE

pairing: Lucifer x fem! reader

fandom: hazbin hotel

genre: fanfiction

notes: Imaoo sorry it took awhileee I'm actually a very busy college student while simultaneously having so much brainrot for this man so... Be patient omfg, I just posted part one a two days ago also, don't mind the warnings too much as it doesn't specifically for this specific chapter but it can be future parts of the story. So yes, hand holding before marriage will happen between Lucifer and [y/n]

warnings: none except hand holding before marriage Imao.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR

Lucifer paced back and forth in his room, worried. Walking around the large master's bedroom, passing by many piles of rubber ducks he made.

“She should be back by now.” Lucifer murmured to himself, sighing.

His eyes landed on to the framed pictures decorating his walls.

He prayed that Charlie met [y/n] up there, the one angel he trusts. Though, it has been eons since he's last seen her, he wonders if [y/n] changed after all these years, especially after he had fallen from grace.

Did she hate him? Did she miss him like how he misses her?

As he sat on his arm chair, a gold sealed white envelope manifested on top of the coffee table in front of him, pink glittery smoke surrounding the letter.

“...What the...?” Lucifer murmurs, hesitant and cautious, eyeing the envelope. What if it's a trap?

Suddenly his phone buzzed, he immediately checked it to see it was a text message from Charlie.

“I just left a letter on your table, it's from someone you know. I'll tell you everything that happened in heaven but I'll rest for a bit. Love you dad!”

Lucifer smiled though a tad bit worried, he can tell that the meeting didn't go as his daughter hoped. He can only give her time.

Lucifer then now turned his eyes back on the neat envelope, sparkling a little. He turned the letter around to see it was specifically addressed to him, written in an oh so familiar handwriting to him. Unknowingly, just by seeing the handwriting was enough for his eyes to tear up a little.

“[y/n]....” He murmurs, finally opening the letter. Using his sharp nails to scrape off the wax without breaking it or tearing the envelope. Taking out the carefully folded light yellow paper, unfolding it to reveal her letter to him.

My Dearest Lucifer

His cheeks flushed slightly, with a comma after dearest. My Dearest, Lucifer

“Oh [y/n], this will keep me up at night.” Lucifer murmurs with a small dorky smile on his face, his sharp teeth shining against the light, eyes watering.

My Dearest, Lucifer

       It has been awhile hasn't it? A couple of eons since we've last seen each other. You have no idea how excited I was when I heard your daughter would be coming here in hell. I made sure to write a letter in advance a day before her arrival. I have a lot to tell you, first and foremost, I truly missed you. You sly man, you really got married without inviting me. How's your time down there? I hope hell is treating you right, I really hope I'll get a chance to see you again. I hope we'll get a proper chance to talk, I want to personally hear you how you've been doing. I hope you'll get the chance to see the good of humans after giving them free will, I promise to find a way for you to leave and visit earth. I am running out of paper to right on but I promise to help your daughter up here and lastly, I want you to remember that I adore you always.

“Sincerely yours, [y/n] [l/n]” Lucifer softly reads out, voice shaking. It felt like he could hear her as he read the letter. The same kind [y/n] who always believed in him. His heart swells knowing that she's still trying to help in any way she can despite their distance. She never stopped believing in him despite him leaving without notice (not that he had the chance to).

“If only you knew how much I adore you too, [y/n]...” Lucifer murmurs softly, his finger tracing the outline of the paper ever so gently.

“I want to see you again, I have so many things to say to you... So many unsaid words I wanted to say... I wanted to tell you that I love...” Lucifer's eyes widened ever so slightly, cheeks turning red. He knows he loves her and he still does but he also loves his ex-wife, Lilith. Does he? Or is he just holding into something that no longer exists as it was something he had for a long time and now it's gone?

Everything in his life changed, Lilith's love for him changed, he changed.

Despite all of this, [y/n] remained unchanging inside his heart. Sure, Lilith held the majority of his heart but now? He is not sure but he is 100% sure [y/n] never left, he still has affections for the angel.

How can he not? She's the only one who believed in him when he was up in heaven? She comforted him whenever the elders said hurtful things to his ideas.

But now...

Her letter gave him a sense of hope that his decision of giving mankind free will might not be useless after all.

Lucifer closes the letter, gently folding it back on how it was folded before he opened it. Bringing the piece of paper to his nose, smelling the faint scent of her perfume. It brought back memories of his time with her in heaven.

“I'll ask Charlie about what happened up there later but for now, I'll take a moment to process this.” He says with a small sigh. Slipping the folded paper back into the envelope.

Lucifer sighs as he gently places the envelope back on his table, walking to his balcony. Eyes staring up into the smoky red skies of hell, devoid of any moon and stars.

He used to stargaze with her when he was still in heaven.

[y/n] was his moon, who shines during his darkest days.

Waving his finger in the air, specks of golden dust flickers out of his fingers. Forming a crescent moon.

Lucifer leans into the railings, eyes staring at the faux moon he created.

“Moon, tell me if I could...” Lucifer softly sang, eyes tired but hopeful. “Send up my heart to you...?” he asked softly, unfortunately no one answered.

A bit of a timeskip....

It has been a few months since Charlie's visit here in heaven and the next extermination is getting closer by the day. Emily and I are still trying to look for ways to help Charlie.

Sera adores Emily, I am sure that she wouldn't get punished. I on the other hand, Sera has been keeping a close eye on me. Criticizing me. Lute being tasked to watch my every move.

“Sera, this is utterly ridiculous! We should give those poor souls a second chance.” [Y/n] says, clenching her fists as she looked at Sera who was sitting on her chair inside the Seraphim office.

“That is enough, [y/n]. You keep this up and you'll end up fallen like Lucifer.” Sera said sternly, eyes glaring at the [y/n]. “You barely managed to escape that fate before, you could've fallen the same time as Lucifer but thankfully your actions weren't as severe as his.”

[y/n] slammed her fists against the table, angel eyes appearing on her wings with fury, “We aren't God, Sera! Who gave you the right to judge those sinners and claim they don't deserve a second chance?” she exclaimed.

Sera stood up from her seat, anger evident on her face. “Don't you dare raise your voice at me! You're on thin ice, [y/n]!”

[y/n] rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over chest, “What are you going to do? Huh? Kick me out of heaven?”

Sera's glare sharpened, patience running thin. “Keep that attitude up and you just might.”

“Lucifer doesn't deserve this treatment! You cursed him to not see the good of people! You cursed the people who have a chance to redeem themselves by taking their life! How does it feel that so much blood is spilled because of your decision?!” [y/n] asked angrily, tears running down her cheeks.

“We have our own souls to protect! This decision wasn't easy to make!” Sera remarked angrily, her wings spread out intimidatingly.

“Protect them from what?! As far as I know, it's only us angels who are a threat to them? If they do something that doesn't fit your standards or the elder's standards they are bound to fall from grace!” [y/n] says mockingly, rage and annoyance evident on both women's eyes.

“That's it, you've crossed the line!”

“You don't want to admit that I am right, angels are such selfish, greedy, and filthy creatures. I cannot believe I am associated with beings whose hands are stained with blood.”

You know, falling doesn't seem so bad.

Strong and harsh winds are blowing against my back, thankfully I still have my wings. It is currently useless, unfortunately. I don't have the energy to flap them to save myself from the approaching pain.

After that argument with Sera, the higher seraphim thought I was already way out of line and disrespectful. I was placed on trial, handcuffed with the type of handcuffs that prevents me from using my angelic powers while it simultaneously sucked the energy out of me.

I was deemed guilty, shameful, and ungrateful and a threat to the order of heaven.

Tossed out of the pearly gates of heaven by none other than Adam, that asshole really grabbed me by the hair.

[y/n] sighs softly, vision blurring. Trying to focus it as she falls from grace. The skies looked so beautiful.

Lucifer would've loved these skies, we've stargazed during the night before. When he was still in heaven with me.

Lucifer, I can see Ursa Major tonight. Someday, I'll bring you back here on the surface and stargaze like we've always do. No matter how many stars are in the sky, you always take my attention. You're like my star, you shine so bright and so pure.

I'll join you in the pits of hell, I hope you didn't forget about me.

I should be happy that I'm finally leaving that god awful place.

Why am I so scared of falling to my demise?

For a moment, I can see a glimpse of how Lucifer felt when he fell from grace.

Terrifying.

[Y/n] closes her eyes as she finally goes past the Earth's crust. Ichor flowing out of her hands from the handcuffs she had to wear.

“I am not allowed to die, I still need to see him.” [y/n] murmurs before eventually crashing into the fiery grounds of hell, she fortunately crashed somewhere where there weren't any people, a wide space of nothing but dead trees, a hotel can be seen in the distance.

Pain, pain shot everywhere her body. She let out a sharp scream of pure pain. Blood spilled everywhere before she eventually passed out.

It didn't matter, the pain didn't matter. She's here now. She'll look for him or Charlie.

She doesn't know Charlie would find her first.

END NOTES: YUHHH THEY'LL SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN IN THE NEXT UPDATEE

TAGLIST:

@n1chxyaaenthusiast @cherry-4200 @luleck @adaizel @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @thedarkkitten @selvyyr @froggybich @brithedemonspawn @kottenox @totallymitya (I can't tag you </3) @many-fandoms-lover

[bunnys-kisses]

hi bunny! i was wondering if you got an order for sourdough bread and blueberry muffins with a side of hard lemonade for toto? i think tumblr has been eating my asks! but if you did already get it ignore this!! love the writing and i loved the past two toto works 🫶🏻🫶🏻🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

bakery menu

want to submit your own orders? then check out the menu! there are tons of things to order and various wonderful servers. i do fandoms beyond f1 if something else strikes your fancy! as for this one, i see what your brain is cooking and i'm so sorry that your original order got eaten by the monster in my inbox! but thankfully this got through and i love the combination! i have grown a fondness for toto as i am part of a discord with other amazing people that's focused on him <3

sourdough bread ("i'm going to breed you.") + blueberry muffins ("i don't think it'll fit.") + hard lemonade (possessive behaviour) served by toto wolff (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, age gap (20/50), wife!reader, breeding kink, size kink (duh), pregnancy, missionary position

toto found your antics amusing. he knew it was just the kind of person you were. you were raised in a household where hugging and kissing on the cheek were normal! toto wasn't going to get mad at you because you were more touch-y feel-y than most.

he found it cute, because you were always so affectionate towards him. you constantly wanted kiss and toto's arm around you. you want to bury into his chest and make a home out of there. you wanted to be close to him.

it wasn't you he didn't trust. it was men.

it was a hands-y mechanic at a party. he was closer to your age and made you laugh, which only left a surge of jealousy in your husband's chest. the mechanic seemed new. so he probably didn't know that you were toto's wife.

you chatted with him happily and toto felt the jealousy surge up further. he finished the drink in his hand before he put the glass down and went to 'rescue' his wife.

"schatzi." toto said, putting on his best smile. he didn't want to scare off the mechanic. he came up to you and placed his hand on your lower back. the size difference was noticable.

you were toto's little wife, you looked up at him and smiled, "ah, honey! this is the new mechanic!"

toto smiled back at you, "i know, my love." he looked at the mechanic and raised his eyebrows, "i know you'll be a great addition to the team this season. it is lovely to finally meet you. this is my wife." he said bluntly, "mrs. wolff."

you perked up, "oh my god, i'm so sorry! i only introduced myself as my first name. this is my husband!"

the new guy's eyes went wide for a moment before he said, "oh... i see." he then cleared his throat, "um, i'll be right back then!" then swiftly left the situation.

you frowned a little and said, "i wonder what that was about." you looked up at your husband, "he seemed scared."

he rubbed the top of your head before he leaned in and kissed you on the apple of your cheek, "mm, i don't think so, schatzi. why don't we go find george and lily?" two people that toto could trust.

-

that evening, toto made sure to show his wife how much he loved you. those large hands on your behind as he got you up onto the shared bed you have. he watched you get out of the dress, exposing your body to him.

your nude form was for his eyes only.

the glittery gold ring on your left hand was evidence of that. your pretty signature with the last name 'wolff' was another. he could get lost in your beauty as he yearned for you. it was a deep throb in his chest at the sight of you.

the pretty nude colour bra and the bright yellow panties you wore. both looked perfect on your skin. and only made toto undress faster, he didn't want to keep mrs. wolff waiting.

he got his button-up onto the floor, and the undershirt. you rubbed your soft thighs together and he drank in the sight of you.

"a woman like you should be illegal. i'm worried if you get more beautiful, my love." he got onto the bed and took off the undershirt, "i'd have to lock you away."

he said it almost jokingly. he trusted you of course, it was other men that couldn't be trusted.

you giggled and took his belt off. the leather felt expensive in your hands. it soon was on the bed and toto quickly got undressed as well before he was on top of you. his hands on your panties before he showed them down your thighs.

"i'm going to breed you." he said softly, "i want to see you with my child. a proper mother." his nose was up against your jaw, he could feel your pulse as it quickened.

your core got hotter as you struggled to get your bra off. you replied, "then come on now, my dear husband." you took him by the face to meet your gaze, "let's make a baby."

he thought the wind was knocked out of him for a moment before he grabbed a hold of your bra and got it off your body, leaving you fully naked to him. he got on his knees with your legs wrapped around his waist.

a heated part of him wanted to fuck you the old fashioned way. on your back so he could admire every inch of your skin.

"but, i don't think it'll fit." you remarked with a slight giggle.

he replied with a smile, he looked handsome as always. "oh don't worry, schatzi. it'll fit." toto was a big man all over. big hands meant two things, one of those things was that his the tip of his cock was familiar with the beginning of your cervix.

and that he easily bruised your poor sweet hole.

but, since you two got married. it had been easier for him to fuck you, to sink inside of you. to feel you inside and out. but now with you under him, he slowly got his cock into you. one hand on your hip and one around his cock.

he got it all the way to the root and then had both hands on your soft hips. you were beautiful under him, your breath hitched and it made toto's cock twitched.

the beautiful, amazing mrs. toto wolff.

he started to move against you. his hands felt so large on your hips as he moved against you. he hunched over you to admire every inch of your heated skin. he could feel the praise bubble up in his throat.

no mechanic, no driver, no man was going to take you from him. he made a promise to love you for all of your days. and he was expecting for that to last for many years.

you held onto the covers under you and let him move your body back and forth. the stretch felt good. you remembered the days when you'd be bruised for a few days afterwards.

"i want you to have my children, schatzi." he said with a softness in his voice. the pleasure raced up his spine as he continued to move against you. you felt perfect to him, like a dream come true.

you moaned a little louder, in the comfort of your shared bedroom. husband and wife tangled up in one another. you placed your hands onto his chest as he continued to rut against you.

his cock hit all the right areas, it made you feel flushed at it all. it was a heated feeling throughout your body.

you tried to meet his pace, but everything felt so much. your heart was racing and you could feel it in your gut. you moaned a little louder, "please honey."

he continued to work your pussy, making sure that you felt good. how could he not want that? you were his wife. not that little mechanic's wife. you were his.

"i know, angel." he said softly, "i'll make you feel good." he leaned in to kiss you on the lips. such a delicate thing under his touch, he could feel the fire in his stomach as he moved against you.

the most perfect living thing. to have sex with you was a feeling that excited toto. to have you anyway he could. he pleasure you as much as you pleasured him.

you were his heart, the thing that kept it beating. to keep going, to keep winning.

you whimpers were cute, you were close. and toto continued to make love to you.

"toto."

"i have you, my love."

you clutched onto the covers under you. your back arched at the intensity as you came around his cock. you whined a little bit and tensed up. toto took this as a chance to pick up the pace and really work his dick into you. he came soon after and made sure to get himself in as deep as it would go.

he was trying to get his wife pregnant after all. a few hard thrusts and his cum drooled into the back of your womb. a good sign if all goes well. toto felt flushed, the sweat down his back as he eyed his beautiful wife.

no mechanic cane get too hands-y if there was a proper baby bump in the way. a sign that toto had staked claim of you as if the ring he bought you wasn't enough. plus, you'd make a beautiful mother.

he pulled out of you and curled up against your stomach. he rubbed soft circles and stayed close to you. he was breathing heavily as were you.

"my beautiful wife." he said as he kissed your stomach.

-

you were all smiles at the party toto threw months later as a way to socialize for the upcoming crew of mercedes. to start out on the right foot. a promise of a good season.

even now, six months pregnant with your first child. you were still all smiles and laughter. instead of a glass of wine, you had been pouring yourself sparkling water to still be part of the celebrations. the dress you wore highlighted your rounded middle.

but now that you were pregnant, toto had to keep a close eye on you. your center of gravity had been all screwed up since your belly sprouted. he didn't need his wife taking a tumble.

he easily caught the sight of you waving hello to the mechanic from last year and giving him a big hug. he also noticed that the mechanic's hand was a little to close to your behind for toto's liking.

if it wasn't glaringly obvious that you were taken already, give the ring, the house and now the baby. he knew he was going to have to talk to the other man before the season started.

toto didn't mind that you were the type of person who loved a good hub, it was who you were! but, it was toto's job as your husband to make sure that you remained safe. <3

[cleo-fox]

Conquer

Part 2 of 5

Series Masterlist

Series Summary: The king intends to take a bride. You just never thought it would be you. (Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Chapter Summary: It’s no surprise that Loki has a gift for talking dirty and you wish that it didn’t work as well as it does. You wish that—for example—it were a little more challenging for him to talk you into letting him get you off in the limo on your way to a gala event hosted by the Swedish government.

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

Chapter Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, enemies to lovers, dirty talk, praise kink, edging, teasing, p in v sex, vaginal fingering, orgasm delay, semi-public sex, light Dom/sub. (see series masterlist for series warnings)

A/N: I realize that the GIF I'm using for this chapter is TVA!Loki, but the attitude is very much in keeping with this chapter, so I decided to forgo accuracy in favor of thirst. Also, you may be thinking "Part 2 of 5? I thought this was going to be 3 chapters!" Me too. Welcome to what it's like being in my brain: even I don't know what's going on here.

The wedding night isn’t the end of the sex, of course.

The immediate, sharp need for your first coupling is gone, but there’s a dull and persistent ache that keeps you coming back to his bed every night (and several times during the day). Loki is equally ravenous, if not more so.

While you’ve come to terms with the fact that you’re going to fuck him, you still don’t like being the one to initiate sex. It sounds silly, but it feels like admitting to a vulnerability that you’re not prepared to acknowledge, let alone act on.

The problem is that your sex drive has skyrocketed since the wedding.

You’ve heard about this happening—the saying soulbonds are meant to be consummated, but some are more thorough than others didn’t come out of nowhere. You just didn’t think it would be a problem for you, especially once you found out who your soulmate was. 

You were wrong about this, of course—you are constantly horny. Your mind is a cineplex of perversion, constantly playing memories of the times that he has fucked you, ways he might fuck you next, his hands, his lips, his tongue, his annoyingly perfect cock. It makes you want to run your brain through the washing machine, like a couple of Tide pods and an extra rinse cycle might fix this.

But the part that drives you crazy is that he always seems to know when you’re in these moods and he always manages to claim the upper hand. It is—like so many things with Loki—profoundly irritating.

It’s all physical—your conversations are limited to the mundane or the utterly filthy. It’s no surprise that Loki has a gift for talking dirty and you wish that it didn’t work as well as it does. You wish that—for example—it were a little more challenging for him to talk you into letting him get you off in the limo on your way to a gala event hosted by the Swedish government.

You can feel his gaze caressing your body as you walk down the stairs to meet him. Your dress is gold and glittery, and hugs your curves while the slit sneaks just high enough that you know the fashion blogs will call it daring. You keep your eyes on your feet and your hand on the railing as you navigate the stairs in your heels. Normally, Loki would comment on that—something about how you needed proper education in comportment, you were a queen, queens don’t stare at their feet, people expected elegance, blah, blah, blah. Tonight, though, he’s silent as he takes you in, which you know means that he’s particularly enchanted by how you look. For a brief moment, you allow yourself to feel sexy and confident, to enjoy the fact that the most powerful man on the planet has been rendered speechless by how you look.

Are you ridiculously horny? Sure, but you’ve got it under control. You can hold out for an evening and you’re pretty sure Loki hasn’t figured it out. If he had, he almost certainly would have said something inappropriate when he offered you his arm. He’s probably going to be distracted by the gala anyway. Why had you ever doubted yourself?

When the two of you get into the limo, you remember why. 

The moment the door shuts behind you, Loki is pulling you close, his hands cupping your breasts and then sliding down to your thighs while his lips latch on to the spot where your neck and shoulder meet.

“What are you doing?” you ask, as though his intentions are in any way unclear.

“You need to come. I can smell you.” He’s hiking up the fabric of your dress.

Well. So much for him not noticing.

Your cunt clenches. “We’re in public.”

“Those windows are tinted and the partition is up.” His breath is warm on your neck as the fabric of your dress pools around your waist. 

“I can still wait.”

“Oh, I don’t think you can.” His fingers slip between your legs (when did you spread your legs for him?), gently grazing the gusset of your underwear, which you know is embarrassingly wet. “Soaked already,” he breathes, rubbing your clit through the thin fabric. “You need to come.”

“I-I c-can—I can wait until—oh fuck.” 

He pushes the fabric of your underwear aside and lightly teases your clit with the tip of his finger.

“You can’t,” he rasps, lightly nipping at your earlobe. “You’re such a greedy, needy little thing. Your cunt is insatiable.”

He presses his first three fingers together and rubs your clit in a big, broad circle that makes your back arch.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your hands flexing against the seat. “Fuck, just like that.”

“I thought you said you could wait?” he says with that mocking lilt to his voice, the one that makes you simultaneously want to punch him in the face and also ride him hard and fast and a little rough.

“Shut up,” you grit out.

He laughs low in your ear. “Oh, you don’t mean that, I know you love it when I talk you through it.”

You hate that he’s right.

“You love hearing about how tight and wet you are, how hard I am for you.” He drops his voice lower. “How hard I’m going to fuck you.”

You can’t help the quiet moan that falls from your lips.

“Yes, you love it when I talk to you like this,” he purrs. “And I love hearing what an utterly filthy, wicked girl you are.”

You whimper, despite your best efforts to keep quiet. 

“Oh, I like that little noise,” he says, increasing his pace ever so slightly. “Let me hear you.”

“I hate you so much.”

You’ve said this to him before and like all the other times, he simply laughs. “Hate me all you like, darling, but you and I both know that you love what I do to you.”

You bite your lip and try to focus on the pleasure that’s rising in your hips.

“Has anyone ever made you come as hard as I do?” he muses, like he’s just making casual conversation. “From the way that you scream and beg for it, I imagine that there haven’t been very many that were capable. Your cunt has quite clearly been neglected.”

You’re going to ignore what he’s saying. That’s what you’re going to do. There’s no reason to listen to any of what he’s saying.

“The truth is that you need me, don’t you?” he says, nipping at your ear. “You need me because I know exactly what to do to sate your needy little cunt. I know exactly how to make you scream.”

You hate how close you are, hate how the impending rush of your orgasm has basically rendered you speechless, save for a few incoherent whimpers.

He brings his lips close to your ear, lowering his voice to a growl. “What would those pitiful Midgardians say if they knew their queen was such a needy little slut?”

Instead of delivering a stern rebuke, you come hard. Incredibly hard—it is arguably one of the most intense orgasms he’s given you yet, blazing through your body with a ferocity that leaves you shaking in its wake.

And he notices.

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?” he purrs as he rubs you through the aftershocks. “I felt how hard you came, how utterly desperate you are for me to fuck you.” 

“Loki, please,” you breathe.

He tugs at your underwear. “Take this off.”

Your first instinct is to challenge him, but the fabric is now uncomfortably damp and you desperately need him to fuck you, so you lift your hips and slide your underwear down and off your legs without any complaint. He takes it from you and sticks it in his pocket.

You expect to hear the clink of his belt buckle followed by his silky smooth voice ordering you to sink down on his unfairly perfect cock. Even though you’ve just come, you want more. You always do with him. 

(You decide not to think too much about that last part).

Instead, though, he smooths his hair and settles back into his seat, looking out the window. After a moment, you clear your throat expectantly. 

He glances at you, utterly casual. “What is it?”

Your eyes narrow. He’s playing dumb and you both know it. 

“You made me take off my underwear,” you say, biting back a sharper reply.

“I did.”

“So…fuck me.”

He gives an amused little chuckle that makes your palm itch to slap him. “Darling, we’re in public, that would be unseemly.”

You roll your eyes before you can stop yourself. “You’re full of it.”

His gaze turns smoldering and stern. “And if you want to be full of my cock later tonight, you’ll change your attitude.”

You’re not sure if it’s the absence of underwear that makes you feel more aroused than usual or if he’s awakened some latent perversion you were previously unaware of. Possibly, it’s both.

Your breath hitches and he smiles like he knows he has the upper hand.

“Do you want that?” he says. “Do you want me to fill your tight little cunt with my big cock?”

You’re so far gone that you find yourself nodding before the thought of being contrary can even cross your mind.

“Well, then,” he says, flicking an invisible speck of dust from his tuxedo jacket, “you’re going to have to earn it.”

You huff out an irritated sigh and yank the skirt of your dress back down. “You’re an ass,” you say with a scowl.

“And you’re going to do exactly as I tell you or you won’t be coming at all.”

You stare at him, lips parted in the start of a complaint.

“And however much your pretty cunt is aching right now, I imagine it will be twice as worse tomorrow with no release,” he says. “If I’m feeling generous, of course. I could always make you wait longer.”

You close your mouth, biting back the urge to scowl.

He smirks. “That’s my good girl.”

Your cunt throbs. By the end of the night, your thighs will surely be sticky with your own arousal.

“This is unfair,” you grumble, crossing your arms and sitting back in your seat.

“Behave,” he says as you approach a rather impressive set of gates. “We’re almost there.”

A flick of his wrist sends seidr racing along your skin, smoothing your hair, straightening your dress, and fixing the smudge of lipstick at the corner of your mouth.

Your underwear remains in his pocket.

You have a feeling it’s going to be a long evening.

The Minister for Finance is giving a presentation. You’re not entirely sure that you would have been able to follow it under normal circumstances, but certainly not with Loki’s hand up your dress.

The two of you are seated at your own table—it’s one of the more stupid formalities he insists on, though you suppose it’s advantageous in this instance. His actions are obscured by the table and tablecloth and probably a little magic, but your heart is still racing with the thrill of it. His movements have been slow and deliberate, and the result is that he’s effectively been edging you for the duration of this forty-five minute presentation.

It feels incredible; it’s agony. You love it; you hate it.

“You’re being a very good girl,” Loki murmurs to you at one point and that alone nearly sends you over the edge.

“You’re a jackass,” you whisper back to him.

He chuckles. “If you want me to let you come once we get home, I’d suggest changing your tone, my love.”

You resist the urge to scowl, but only barely. “You made me come in the limo over here because you said I couldn’t wait,” you point out. “What happened to that philosophy?”

“It was supplanted by a desire to see what happens when I tease you for several hours.” A wicked smile curls at his lips. “Besides, I love how tight and desperate your cunt feels when I make you beg for me.”

You always come hardest when he makes you beg for him. You’d never admit it, though.

“I’d think you’d be more concerned about getting caught,” you say. “What do you think that would do to your image?”

“Oh, I think it would do wonders for my image,” he says. “Attentively tending to my wife’s needs despite potential social embarrassment? It’s rather feminist of me, don’t you think?”

“Okay, first of all, that is not what femini—” Your voice cuts out as he rolls his finger in a particularly devastating circle.

“What was that, my love?” he asks, voice thick with faux concern, his true intent easily betrayed by his shit eating grin. “You seem distracted.”

You’re not entirely sure if you’re tensing your muscles in anticipation of an orgasm or in an effort to stave it off. “You’re awful.”

His voice drops. “But I’m making you feel so very good, aren’t I?”

You take a deep breath, trying to soothe the tightening knot in your belly, even as your body is begging you to rush toward it.

“Aren’t I?” His tone turns stern and you hear the implied order loud and clear.

“Yes,” you bite out.

“Yes what?”

You swallow. You’re starting to get close, closer than he’s let you get so far. “Yes, you’re making me feel good.”

He smirks. “You’re getting close, aren’t you?”

You nod, taking another deep breath through your nose. Keep it together.

“I could let you come,” he muses. “Everyone’s watching the presentation. You could be quiet, couldn’t you?” His pace increases just slightly, enough for you to start to feel the tempting, shimmery tendrils of release. “Do you want that, lovely?”

It’s not a good idea, but you nod anyway. 

“I had no idea you were so filthy.” His fingers are massaging your clit more firmly and you bite back a gasp because you know it won’t be long. You’re trying to keep a straight face, but you’re struggling. You are so deliciously close.

“Are you going to come for me?” he asks quietly. He knows the answer.

You nod, not trusting your voice.

But just as you’re about to start to tip over the edge, Loki’s hand retreats and the building pressure in your hips diminishes back to that steady, throbbing ache just as the Minister for Finance concludes his presentation.

Loki is smirking like he expected this. “Ah. Unfortunate timing.”

You may kill him.

“You did that on purpose, you ass,” you hiss at him.

“Oh, you’ll thank me for it later,” he says, his voice dropping low.

You scowl at him, though you suspect he’s probably right.

You get a slight reprieve during dinner, but only in the sense that Loki’s hand is no longer up your dress. Your aching arousal remains, coating the inside of your thighs. Your heartbeat seems to be pulsing in your clit, the muscles of your cunt aching as they clench repeatedly around nothing.

While his hand is no longer up your dress, Loki continues to be as unhelpful as possible.

“Shall I let you unravel on my tongue?” he murmurs to you during the main course. “Or do you need my cock first?”

“I think you need to stop talking,” you say as evenly as you can muster.

“Whatever for?” he asks with the sort of feigned innocence that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Surely you’re not concerned that I’m going to make you come simply by telling you what I want to do to you.”

You take a slow sip of your water.

“Or perhaps that idea appeals to you?” he asks, dropping his voice even lower. “Do you want me to make you come in front of all of these people?”

There’s something about the idea that’s admittedly appealing in a taboo sort of way, though you aren’t quite sure you actually want to pursue it or if you’re just so desperate that even objectively bad ideas sound good.

“Truly, I doubt you could keep quiet,” he says. “You and I both know how much you like to scream for me and I’ve been teasing you for what, three hours now? But perhaps that’s what you want. You were about to come for me earlier. Perhaps you want them all to know what a needy little sl—ah, Stefan! So good to see you again.”

Loki has seamlessly directed his attention to the Swedish official who has approached your table. His ability to be charming and personable is irritating, particularly when he’s often been uttering absolute filth to you mere seconds before. Meanwhile, your brain has completely short circuited—your thoughts stopped being anywhere near coherent when he started touching you under the table during that presentation and your cunt is pulsing. You manage a polite smile and a pleasantly vague expression that you hope hides the fact that all you can think about is Loki throwing you down on the table and fucking you until you can’t walk straight and you’ve screamed yourself hoarse.

“You conducted yourself quite well,” Loki says softly once the man leaves. “I’d never have guessed that you’re hiding such a needy, sloppy cunt under that dress.”

You take a deep breath. “What’s to stop me from slipping off somewhere and taking care of things myself?”

His eyes flash a little dangerously and you hate how much it thrills you. “If you do that, I’ll see to it that you don’t come for a week. At least.”

You are irritated with him, certainly, but you are far more irritated with yourself for being even remotely aroused by his words.

“You’re insufferable,” you hiss instead.

Loki smirks and leans in to whisper in your ear. “We’ll see how you feel a few hours from now when I’m buried in your tight cunt.” His breath ghosts over your ear and it takes everything in you not to shiver. “I suspect I’ll find you much more agreeable. You always are when you need to be fucked.” His voice drops even lower. “And I know how much you need it.”

Your legs are shaking and you wonder how you’re going to make it through the rest of the evening.

You almost come during the concert.

It was probably easier for them to set up the orchestra on the same stage as the presentation, but it means that you’re still sitting at the same table as before, which gives Loki more than enough cover to continue touching you. His hand is creeping back up your dress before the oboe even plays the tuning note and while he’s still going slowly, it’s been four and a half hours and your body is aching for release in a way you have rarely felt.

His fingertip skates across your clit just a little too quickly and firmly and suddenly, you’re poised right on the edge. One more stroke of his fingers, just one more slight movement and you’ll come.

It’s a split second decision, so quick you can scarcely think twice about it. You desperately want to come, but even though you almost let it happen earlier, you know that a stifled public orgasm isn’t really what you want. You want him to hear you scream—you don’t want to hold back.

And you want to be good for him. You want him to reward you for being good, you want to be his good girl—

You shake your head to dismiss that thought and grab his wrist in a silent warning. Quickly, he moves his hand away, sliding it to your knee. Your cunt shudders and aches, the pulsing throb of your arousal even stronger than before.

He brushes his lips against your ear. “Oh, very good, darling. You’ll be rewarded for that.”

“You could reward me now and take me home,” you say pointedly, though it would probably be more effective if your voice wasn’t so shaky.

He chuckles, draping his arm around your shoulders. Every so often, you’ve seen a candid photo of the two of you in People or one of the other celebrity magazines and you’re always taken aback by how normal you look. You imagine that it would be the same if someone were to take a photo right now—you’d look like just another couple cuddling and canoodling instead of…whatever it is you actually are. Soulmates who hate each other but fuck like it’s their job and the rent is due? There’s no easy way to classify your relationship, which you suppose is for the best: this is not the sort of thing that should be common enough to have its own word.

“We still have quite a bit to go.” He brings his index finger—the same one that had just been up your dress—up to his lips and closes his eyes like he’s tasting something divine. “Norns, I can taste how desperate you are.”

You cross your legs in the hope that it will alleviate the pulsing ache between your thighs (it doesn’t). “You’re not helping.”

“Of course I’m not,” he says. “I told you, I want you begging for me by the end of the night.”

“How have I not already exceeded that threshold?”

He smirks. “I like to be thorough.”

Five minutes later, his hand is back between your thighs.

“Let’s try that again,” he murmurs. “Do you think you’ll be able to resist a second time?”

Somehow, you do—and two more times after that. By the end of the concert, your heart is pounding, your legs feel like rubber, your cunt is dripping, and you’d easily sell your soul for an orgasm.

“You’re doing so well, darling,” says Loki. He’s been full of praise and filthy promises and you can’t decide if that makes it better or worse.

“Can we please go home?”

He chuckles. “Of course not, that would be rude.”

“I have a hard time believing you’re concerned about rudeness, considering where your hands have been this evening,” you say with a pointed look.

“You wound me.” He stands and offers you his hand. You take it grudgingly, your legs wobbling slightly. “Now. Come help me charm the Minister for Defense. I need him to be much more cooperative about sharing intelligence.”

The only good thing about schmoozing with Swedish officials is that Loki can’t have his hand up your dress while doing so. Even so, he still finds ways to be constantly touching you—a hand on your lower back, your elbow, your shoulder, your waist. These things shouldn’t be erotic, but he somehow manages to make them so. Every brush of his fingers against your bare skin is agony: you are burning for him.

You watch the clock tick through another hour and a half while trying not to let anyone on to the fact that you’re keen to leave. Time feels like it’s dragging—even when the event officially ends, it still takes another thirty-seven minutes for you to say your farewells and make your way out to the front where your limo is waiting.

Your legs are shaking as Loki helps you into the limo. He slides into the seat next to you and you find yourself leaning into him, unable to resist any longer.

The door shuts.

“Loki—” you start to say.

“When we get home,” he says promptly.

“You can’t possibly—”

“Oh, I can.” He pulls you into his lap. “I’ve been hard for you all evening,” he purrs in your ear, settling you so that the thick column of his cock presses hard against your ass. “Do you know how many times I nearly dragged you off to some empty room to take you up against the wall?” He brings his mouth down against your neck, teeth pressing against your skin just hard enough to almost hurt. You tilt your head to the side to give him better access, guiding his hands to your spread thighs.

“Do you know why I didn’t?” he murmurs against your skin.

“Because you make terrible choices?” you say before you can think it through.

His low laugh rumbles deliciously against your throat. “No.” His hands slip underneath the hem of your dress, fingertips skating along the tender skin of your inner thigh. Your hips roll forward almost unconsciously, your breath hitching. 

“I didn’t because I know that you need to scream for me,” he says. “Just as much as I need to hear you.” His fingertip grazes your slit. “And you know that we can’t do that properly in the car.” His finger strokes your clit and you moan. “Poor thing,” he murmurs, tracing a slow circle over the sensitive skin. “I don’t think that I’ve ever made you this wet.”

“Loki—”

“I’m not giving you permission to come yet,” he murmurs, adding just a little more pressure. “I need you to be good for just a little longer.”

You let out a whine that you’re not at all proud of as he moves his hand away to gently massage your inner thighs. “Loki, please.”

“Be good.” His voice promises pleasure and punishment and everything in between and you feel drunk with desire.

“I’ve been so good,” you say, bringing his hand back to your cunt. “Please just let me come.”

“When we get home.”

“Just once. Please.”

He chuckles and brings his lips up to your ear. “You know that I’m going to take care of you,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “You know I always take care of your needy cunt. I always make you come. You just need to wait a little longer.”

“I need to come now.”

“Think about how good it’s going to feel if you wait just a little longer.”

“It would feel good now.”

“It will feel even better in our bed.” He rolls his fingers in a slow circle on your clit. “You know it will.”

You whimper, rolling your hips with his hand.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this desperate,” he says. “I’m rather partial to it.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you grumble.

“Oh, I’d advise you watch your tone, darling,” he says low in your ear, sliding a finger inside you, his thumb taking up the rhythm on your clit. “I don’t want to deny you, but I may have to if you keep being so pert.”

As if to make a point, he slides another finger inside of you and you find yourself once again on the edge. You grab his wrist, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you try to hold back the rising tide within you.

“Oh, good fucking girl,” he growls and the pride in his voice makes your cunt clench hard on his retreating fingers. “You want to come so badly, but you’re being so good waiting for my permission.”

“God, this had better be worth it,” you say as you wait for the pulsing ache between your thighs to recede.

“It will be,” he murmurs against your neck. “You know it will be.” He shifts you in his lap so you face him and guides your hand to his cock. “Do you feel how hard you’ve made me? I’m aching for you.”

You rub his shaft, working your way up to catch the tab of his zipper between your fingers. He looks at you, eyes hungry, a smirk curling at his lips.

Slowly, you pull down the zipper.

“Oh you wicked thing,” he purrs, a low groan escaping him as you wrap your hand around his shaft and slowly begin stroking him. He’s rock hard and throbbing, and your hand quickly grows slick with his precome.

You lean in, brushing your lips against his ear. “I want you to fuck me,” you say, flicking your tongue against his earlobe.

He chuckles. “Are you trying to flip the tables on me, darling?”

You’re a little miffed that he figured that out so quickly. “Would that be so bad if I was?”

He laughs again. “You’re adorable.” He slides a hand along your inner thigh and back under your dress. “But I think we both know who’s really in charge here.”

Even the possibility of his hand touching your cunt has your breath quickening and your hand faltering in its rhythm on his cock.

You’re not about to admit defeat, though.

“Don’t you want to fuck me?” you say, trying to keep the quaver out of your voice. You give his cock a few long, indulgent strokes. “We’re nearly there already. All I’d need to do is move a little closer.”

He chuckles, his hand sliding up to lightly tease your folds. “I would have made you warm my cock the whole ride back,” he says casually, like he’s commenting on the weather, “but I don’t think you could have done it without coming. You’re too sensitive.”

Your lips part like you have something to say, but all rational thought and the entirety of the English language has fled your brain and even more arousal is pooling between your legs.

Loki smirks like he knows all of this and he briefly strokes you from your entrance to your clit before withdrawing. “Ah, we’re nearly home,” he says, moving your hand away and patting your thigh before tucking himself back into his trousers. “Let’s make ourselves presentable, shall we?”

You climb off his lap and straighten your dress, but don’t even bother trying to fix your hair or makeup. You stumble out of the car a minute later, hoping that you don’t look like you’ve spent the entire evening poised on the brink of orgasm.

Loki, of course, is annoyingly put together. He wraps an arm around your waist and leads you forward.

“Oh, the things I’m going to do to you when we get to our rooms,” he says under his breath as you make your way into the foyer. 

“That had better be a promise,” you say.

“I thought we established that I’m the one who gives you orders—”

“We established nothing—”

One of his advisors—Sigurd, the same one who spoke to you in the hotel when he found you—is approaching Loki at a brisk clip.

“Your majesty—”

Loki barely takes his eyes off of you. “Later,” he says, waving a hand in Sigurd’s direction.

“Sire, it’s urgent.”

Your heart sinks. Loki stops and turns to Sigurd, eyes sharp, mouth pulled into a firm line. “It had better be.”

Despite the intensity of Loki’s expression, Sigurd looks unbothered and remarkably calm. “We received new intelligence on the matter you inquired about earlier, your majesty.”

Loki’s expression darkens and you realize with a sinking sensation that he has to go deal with whatever this is. “A moment,” he says to Sigurd before turning to you.

He lowers his voice so that only you can hear him. “Go to our rooms,” he murmurs. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

You nod and he leans in, brushing his lips against your temple. “Be good for me.”

A thrill runs through you.

By the time you get back to your rooms, though, you’re a little annoyed. He’s been teasing you for hours and when you finally get home, he suddenly has another work thing?

It would almost be funny if it wasn’t so frustrating.

Though admittedly, he did look pretty surprised and annoyed by Sigurd’s sudden appearance. It’s probably not fair to blame him for that.

Probably.

You take your time getting undressed, mainly in the hope that it will somehow hasten his return or trick you into thinking time is passing quickly. Not that you’re looking forward to him returning for any reason other than sex. You still hate him—you just really need him to fuck you. That’s all it is.

You hesitate for a long time over the collection of silk nightgowns in your wardrobe. Should you put something on? Should you just wait naked on the bed? A silky green number catches your eye. He’d probably like that. He’s pretty predictable when it comes to that sort of thing—put on his colors and he goes feral. With any luck you won’t be wearing it for very long, but you might as well do what you can to facilitate that outcome.

You contemplate underwear and decide there’s little point, given that tonight’s set is still tucked into his pocket.

You situate yourself in the middle of your bed and try not to think about your throbbing cunt. It would be so easy to get yourself off, but you know that it won’t be as good.

You need him.

You try to ignore the thought. It’s just physical. That’s all it is. You’re on edge from being teased all evening. It doesn’t mean anything.

You wait.

It’s late when you finally hear the door click open, followed by the tap of his dress shoes on the floor.

You sit up in bed, your eyes roving greedily over him. His suit jacket is gone and his tie is draped around his neck, shirtsleeves rolled up. You are loath to admit it, but it’s incredibly hot.

Before you can even get any words out, he’s striding across the room, eyes hungrier than you’ve ever seen them. His clothes disappear the second he hits the bed, followed swiftly by your nightgown. Seconds later, he’s on top of you, mouth seeking yours, cock pressing insistently against your stomach. Your hands are just as greedy, skimming up his back and combing through his hair.

“Have you been good for me?” he murmurs as he nudges your thighs apart.

“Yes.”

“Did you touch yourself?” he asks, his voice stern.

“No,” you say.

He knows you’re not lying and the hungry smile he gives you almost makes it all feel worth it. “Good girl,” he growls. “Do you want me to fuck you now?”

“Yes,” you say breathlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he drags his cock through your slickness. “Please.”

He chuckles as he lines himself up at your entrance. “I know, darling, I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Your cunt is so slick and sensitive from his hours of teasing that just the act of him sliding inside of you feels like you’ve reached your own personal nirvana. 

“Oh, fuck.” Your voice comes out in a whimper and your legs tighten around his waist to hold him in place because he feels so overwhelmingly good.

Loki lets out a low groan as he eases inside you, catching his lower lip between his teeth as his brow furrows. “Perfect.” He leans in to kiss you as he starts to move. His first thrust is slow but even so, it draws a whimper from your throat. He’s always felt good, but this is transcendent.

“Oh god, please don’t stop,” you gasp.

“I won’t, my love.” His voice is tender as he moves with an aching, slow precision. “Not until you’ve had your fill.”

For the first time this evening, you let down your guard. Every time he’s touched you tonight—even before the gala in the limo—you’ve had to hold back to some degree. You haven’t been able to give into it, to let yourself be completely unbound and unguarded. But now when he’s moving inside of you, you have the freedom to just be and feel and it’s exquisite. Every thrust of his hips, every reverent caress of his hands, every sigh or groan is an opportunity to discover a new kind of heaven.

“You were magnificent tonight,” he murmurs, sliding his hand between your bodies to rub your clit. “Even with my fingers playing with your pretty cunt under the table, you looked every inch a queen. My queen.”

He’s never talked to you like this before and it makes your body sing. You arch, rolling your hips with him as the building wave inside you rises impossibly high, as though every orgasm you almost had this evening is starting to arrive all at once. The tension in your hips is equally fantastic and unbearable, a supernova of sensation that may destroy and remake you all at once.

“Filthy girl, I can tell you’re getting close,” he purrs, tilting his hips so he hits the spot that makes you tremble. “You act so prim and proper in public, but it takes so very little to turn you into my perfect little slut when I get you alone.”

You are approaching the peak, the whirling center of the storm building inside you. “Loki—please, I can’t, I’m gonna—”

“That’s it, darling. Soak my cock like a good girl.”

You always come the hardest when he’s inside you and this is no exception. The pressure in your hips is suddenly and spectacularly ablaze with a shimmering euphoria that draws a raw and primal moan deep from inside your chest. You are a fountain of sparks, all the tension and desire of the evening finally reaching its apex. You have yearned for this all night and the resulting blaze is spectacular.

His pace is still slow, but Loki’s eyes are wild and you get the sense that his composure is hanging by a thread. Though his eyes occasionally flutter shut as your cunt convulses around him, his gaze is locked on you in a kind of wonder. 

“Do you have any idea how good you feel when you come on my cock?” he rasps.

Even in the throes of utter bliss, you need to hear his voice. “Tell me.”

“I would create entire worlds and walk through the fires of their destruction just to feel you come.”

You shudder out a sigh. “More.”

He picks up his pace just slightly. “I would flatten mountains and raise valleys and reverse the currents.”

“More.”

He’s hitting that aching spot inside you again and the rolling tremors of the aftershocks are starting to coalesce into another building wave. You moan and his hand moves back to your clit, slick fingers pressing and rolling in just the way you need.

His eyes shine, bright with lust as his hips and fingers work diligently to unravel you again. “I would take down the stars and bring the heavens to the earth…”

His words are making you dizzy and his movements are coaxing the pressure inside of you into a cyclone that you know is going to take you down.

“Loki, please.” These are the only words you know because your entire world is him moving inside of you, inevitable as the sunrise, the architect of the heavenly destruction and renewal that is building and building in your hips.

He shifts so his weight is entirely on his elbows, bringing his lips up against your ear so you don’t miss a single word. “I would lay my crown at your feet and forsake my name…just to feel you come on my cock.”

The coil in your hips snaps and unfurls into a starry, sparkling oblivion that has you crying out his name over and over like he’s your ending and beginning, the center of your universe. Your eyes are shut against the onslaught of intense sensation, but you can feel him reaching the blissful height he’d been speaking of. He groans and slurs out a few incoherent oaths before succumbing to you and filling your pulsing cunt with his hot release.

His mouth is on yours and he’s kissing you like he means it as he slows to a halt. You lie together for a long moment, hearts beating wildly against each other. 

This felt different than other times. There was an intensity there that had nothing to do with the sex. You don’t know what that means, other than it’s definitely not any kind of feelings for him. It must be something else. You’re certain it’s something else.

“I didn’t realize I’d be called away upon our return.” 

You’re so distracted by your thoughts that the sound of his voice startles you slightly.

“Oh, um, yeah, I figured…it seemed unexpected,” you say.

He lifts his head to look at you, green eyes intent. “Trust that there are very few things that could have pulled me away from you in that moment.”

He’s being sincere. It’s not what you expect and that scares you a little, though you can’t quite articulate why. The idea that he would care whether you thought he’d intentionally extended your wait hadn’t even occurred to you. You don’t really know this side of him. 

“So, it wasn’t like…making a proclamation designating June National Peanut Butter Month.” You know you’re deflecting, but you don’t know what else to do.

He frowns. “That can’t possibly be a real thing.”

You shrug. “It might be. Lots of governments do stuff like that. Maybe you should consider it.”

His smile is slight, but brief as he stretches and slowly eases out of you. “I will leave that to others.”

There’s a beat of quiet and you suddenly find yourself desperate to fill the silence. “What did they need to talk to you about?”

He looks at you sharply and you wonder if this was the wrong thing to say. Loath as you are to admit it, this conversation has fostered a flicker of warmth between you, a fact you only notice now because of its sudden absence.

“It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with,” he says as he rolls off of you. It’s not unkind, but it’s also not warm, and the discussion is clearly closed.

Part of you mourns the loss of that little spark of closeness, but a larger, louder part is intent on pretending it never existed in the first place.

“Suit yourself.”

You’re annoyed and you roll off the bed and go about your evening routine with a little more clattering and stomping than is strictly necessary. There’s a lump in your throat that you don’t understand and you’re full of feelings you can’t define. You eventually settle on the bed with your back facing him, glaring at the wall like he can see you.

But then he reaches for you in the darkness, his arms winding around your waist, nose nuzzling against the nape of your neck as he pulls you to his chest. And instead of reading him the riot act, you let him hold you and let yourself relax into his embrace, fingers twining around his. You sleep better like this, you tell yourself. That’s the only reason you’re allowing it. It’s nothing to do with him.

You’ve told yourself that every night since your wedding and every night, it gets a little more difficult to believe.

Next chapter coming soon

[mattsangel]

𝒉𝒂𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅│𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐

𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉… your stalker is tormenting you at a party, almost revealing his identity in the process. 

stalker!matt x goodgirl!reader, party scene (mention of alcohol use), cursing, smut (no actual sex), dirty talk, pet names

3k words

loud bass is blaring through the dark neighborhood, the annual start of the year party being held at one of the school’s rich kid’s mansion. in this part of town, the houses are enormous, almost looking like castles, and modern, with multiple luxury cars parked in the driveways, the selection varying between porches and audis leaving the streets vacant for guests to park their cars. just like every year, there are cars parked everywhere, the front lawn of the house is full of teens and red plastic cups. the fall air is crisp, but it’s not cold just yet.

your friends walk up the stairs to the beautiful white and grey house, giggling to themselves while you take your time, trailing behind and observing your surroundings. you’re wearing a beautiful short, open-back black dress with a pink bow in the back and some matching pink heels. your long hair is in loose curls, pulled back by a bow, leaving only the front pieces out to catch in your glittery lip gloss when the wind hits your face. 

as you’re observing the people around you, most are students you’ve run into in the hallways, some are from other schools, just there for booze and a good time, you notice a dark form next to the garage doors. it’s too dark for you to be able to make up a face, or any trait, but from their build you can tell that it’s a male. he’s definitely wearing dark clothes, but before you can observe him some more, he’s vanished towards the wooded area behind the house. shaking your head slightly, you make your way towards the open front door to find your friends.

the house is packed, the walls are shaking from how loud the music is. there is a beer pong tournament in one room and people dancing in another. drinks are being left on various surfaces of the house, confettis are on the floor and you can even spot discarded shoes and purses. you make your way to the kitchen, where you assume you will find a drink and your friends. after almost getting lost in the big house, you finally find a beautiful kitchen, with marble counters and gold accents. alongside bottles of various alcohols, a bowl of fruit punch that people spiked with god knows what and some cans of soda are a few chips bags half eaten. pushing those to the side, you grab a red solo cup and fill it with rum and coke, not being much of a drinker but wanting to loosen up a little bit for once. 

cup in hand, you make your way to the dance floor, where you finally find your friends dancing and laughing with what seems to be the guys of the football team. as you try to make your way to them, mumbling sorry’s to the people around and pushing your way across the dance floor, the arm of a drunk guy slaps your drink all over your dress, making the black fabric stick to your skin. without even looking your way, the guy walks away, not even bothering to say sorry or help you out. 

giving up on your friends, you beeline for the staircase leading up fancy, white and gold stairs to try and find a bathroom. you reek of alcohol, the smell so strong it is almost making you nauseous. the upstairs area is just as beautiful as the rest of the house, the ceilings high, walls decorated by art pieces that must be worth millions, although for the owners it must be only a dime in their pockets. there are many doors, you push them open one by one, in hopes that the next one might be a bathroom. 

it is much quieter in this part of the house, and it takes you a few minutes to realize that you aren’t alone upstairs. at first, you assume that it must be some drunken kid looking for some place to crash in or even a horny couple trying to make their way to a bed but soon enough, you notice that the footsteps are going in the same direction as you are. your heart racing, you don’t want to turn around to face them so you open the next door in front of you and go in, realizing that it is a big library, only illuminated by the street lights from outside. forgetting about the mysterious footsteps, you walk in further, looking to find a light switch and admire the beauty that is this place.

there are at least 20 aisle of books all the way down to a beautiful red velvet couch against the wall. the carpeted floors are making it a bit hard for you to walk in your heels so you carefully step out of them and walk around the shelfs, admiring the endless copies of books, going from encyclopedias to fictions and memoirs. as you run your fingers against the dusty book covers, you suddenly hear a door close and someone walk in. you look through the shelves, but it is too dark for you to make out much.

“who’s in here?” you say softly, hoping that it is someone you might know.

you get no answer, only hearing soft footsteps against the carpet making it’s way closer to you. as you try to walk away and closer to the door, you notice a black doc marten boot from the other side of the shelf you were hiding behind, as your eyes go up the form of the man, he turns around and walks to the other side of the room. he is wearing black pants and a black hoodie, making it impossible for you to know who he is.

your heart rate is spiking up, your face is hot but somehow, you refuse to leave without knowing who he is. pushing your curled hair behind your shoulder, you slowly walk in the same direction as the dark figure.

you take a deep breath before addressing him again, “do i know you?”

he leans back against the wall next to the couch, his hood covering the upper half of his face, “maybe”, the raspy, dark voice says.

a shudder goes through your body after hearing his voice, which you don’t recognize. you walk closer, intrigued and somewhat feeling brave. as you get closer to him, you can see that the lower half of his face is adorning some stubble, his pink lips glistening as he licks them.

“it would help if i could see your face, don’t you think?” you lean your hip against the shelf closest to you, as you speak.

the mysterious figure let’s out a dry laugh, “it’s more fun if you don’t.”

he makes his way to the couch, sitting down and spreading his legs slightly, his lap almost inviting, “liking what you see, princess?”

you bite your lip to stop the tiny smile making it’s way onto your lips. you’ve always loved the unknown, being intrigued by things you couldn’t decipher, “maybe, but i’d like to know who you are, mr. darkness.”

you see a dark smirk coming onto his lips at the nickname, “let’s play a game, then maybe you’ll get to know who i am.”

“what kind of game?” in a very concerning way, this turned you on. it shouldn’t. you should be scared, although you could admit you were a little. but after being sheltered and watched over your whole life, the word innocence being automatically attached to your name by everyone, you needed an escape. 

an escape in a sick and twisted game with a stranger that looked impossibly dangerous but oh so captivating.

he pushed his hips up a bit, getting more comfortable in the soft couch before rubbing a hand across his jaw, “i’m going to ask you ten questions and if you answer all of them truthfully, i’ll answer your questions. don’t try to lie to me.”

your breathing picks up, “and if i don’t tell the truth?”

“believe me, you don’t want to go there,” he says, his voice low, “i know everything, sweetheart.”

your pride and curiosity takes the best of you and suddenly, you find yourself standing closer to him, ready for his game to begin.

it can’t be that bad.

he clears his throat, “question number one,” he pauses for a second, “what perfume are you wearing?”

you frowned, not understanding what kind of questions he’s asking. and for what?, “chanel number 5. always has, always will.”

“good,” he nods slowly, “question two, what shade of lipstick do you have on right now?”

“charlotte tilbury pillowtalk,” you continue, “how do you know i’m not lying?”

“i told you,” a dark smiles appear on his lips, “i know everything about you.”

you feel his gaze on your body, but his hood is still a bit too low for you to see much of his face.

“question three, what chapter of your favorite book do you keep rereading?”

his questions are getting weirder, “chapter twenty three.”

he hums, “it is a very good chapter,” he clears his throat, “question four, what color of underwear are you currently wearing?”

your eyebrows shoot up, not expecting such an intrusive question, and you choose to mess with him a little, “they’re purple.”

a sinister laugh comes out of his mouth as he gets up and walks towards you, “i thought you were a smart girl, y/n.”

you start to walk backwards, your back hitting the bookshelf behind you, trapping you, “i am smart.”

he tsk, using his two fingers to lift your jaw, “smart girls don’t lie,” he says, “and you don’t own a pair of purple underwear, you hate that color.”

shock takes over you as you realize that this man knows a lot more than you could imagine, “how would you even know that?”

“stupid question,” he answers, “you’re wearing pink lace panties.”

as you try to answer, he surprises you by grabbing your lower half, and swinging you over his shoulders, walking towards the couch. the alcohol on your dress now dry, only leaving the smell of rum lingering on you.

as he throws you down, your dress lifts up, revealing your light pink panties, “beautiful,” he says as sits next to you.

you pull down the hem of your dress, sitting down straight as you study the man, who is now very close to you. you can smell his cologne, and notice that his left sleeve has moved, revealing dark tattoos.

“what happens now?” you whisper in the silent room, now noticing that it started raining outside.

his right hand comes up, and he caresses your bare shoulder, gently removing your hair from there, “i’m going to have to punish you.”

his words make the pit of your stomach burn with excitement, arousal pooling in your now soaked panties, making you squeeze your legs together. 

this doesn’t go unnoticed as he looks down and licks his lips, letting out a small laugh, “but you won’t make this too hard for me, now will you, honey.”

you shake your head, “no, i won’t.”

“good,” he spreads his legs and pats his lap, “be a good girl and lay across my thighs. on your belly.”

you do as you are told, climbing over his lip and settling on your stomach, your head laying on the armrest. you feel his hands travel up your legs, stopping at your thighs before he roughly pulls the skirt of your dress over your ass, bunching it up on your hips. 

a low grunt comes out of him, as he caresses your now pantie-clad ass, “you know what happens to liars, right, y/n?”

you nod and he slaps your ass hard, “i need words, baby.”

“yes,” you whisper.

“what happens to liars, uh?” he smooths his hands over your ass before landing another hard slap.

you let out a hiss, “they get p-punished.”

the mystery man hums, slapping your ass again, “that’s right, honey,” he runs a hand up your back, grabbing a fistful of your hair, making the ribbon fall out, “but you’re a good girl aren’t you? you’ll take it well for me.”

as you squeak out a yes, he grabs both of your arms, crossing them behind your back and using the pink ribbon to tie them up, “that’s better.”

“count them with me, baby,” he says as he slaps your left ass cheek this time, harder. 

“one,” you say softly, your eyes watering from the pain.

he lands another one, “two.”

and another one, “three.”

once he gets to ten, you let out a sob that you’ve been holding for too long. the pain is making your ass cheeks burn, but your now soaked underwear is telling him that you secretly love it.

just as you think that he is about to slap your ass an eleventh time, he starts rubbing it in an almost tender way, “good girl, you did so good for me.”

“i think you deserve a reward,” he says moving his hand in between your thighs, pressing it onto your aching pussy, “what do you think?”

you nod vigorously, needing some sort of relief, “yes, please.” you whine out.

he starts to rub circles on to your covered clit, “you’re so wet, honey, is it all for me?”

“yes,” you try to muffle your moan by biting your lip.

he slaps your pussy lightly, “i want to hear you, don’t do that.”

he finally grabs the top of your soaked, lace panties and removes them, shoving them into his hoodie pocket, before running his fingers through your folds, “making a mess on my fingers already.”

he pushes his thick, middle finger inside of you, making your back arch into him and a high pitches moan come out of your mouth, “never had something so big inside of you before uh?”

he picks up his pace, as you start grinding onto his leg, looking for some more friction, “look at you, being so desperate for someone you don’t even know,” his other hand comes to grab at your neck from the side, squeezing it just the right amount, “i know you’ve been longing for this, baby, i know this is what you’ve always wanted.”

his words could make you think that he did know everything. like he knew that at night, you would watch videos of girls getting spanked and fucked by masked men, to get off. like he knew that you always secretly dreamed of being choked and tied up. like he knew that from the moment you saw him, all mysterious and dark , you weren’t instantly attracted to him.

as you get closer to your release, a familiar knot forming in the pit of your stomach, his fingers pick up their speed, his breath hot on your back, “you look so pretty like this, all tied up and soaking my fingers.”

this is enough for you to come undone onto his fingers, your release coating your inner thighs and his hand, he removes his fingers and let out a satisfied hum before his other hand comes to grab at your hair, making your head turn towards his still hidden face. 

“look at that mess you’ve made on me, sweetheart,” you see his glistening fingers as he brings them to his mouth and suck on them, making your jaw hang slightly, “taste so good.”

after removing his fingers from his mouth, the brings them to yours, “taste yourself.”

you let out a moan as you suck on his fingers like your life depends on it. he takes them out of your mouth with a ‘pop’ and starts untying the ribbon lacing your arms together. when your arms are finally free, he sits you up straight against the couch, letting you catch your breah for a minute.

just when you’re about to open your mouth to speak again, he gets up and walks towards the door, your pink and still wet panties still hanging out of his hoodie pocket.

just when he is about to grap the knob and open the door he turns slightly towards you and says, “see you around, pretty girl. next time, don’t lie to me.”

he closes the door behind him, and just like that, you are left completely on your own, the sticky mess still in between your thighs, your hair disheveled and absolutely confused as to what just happened.

when you finally get yourself together and go to put on your shoes, a small piece of paper falls down from the strap of your dress onto the floor. you pick it up and open it.

i’ll be watching you, darling. keep being a good girl and you might find me again.

and it’s signed; mr. darkness.

a few days later, as you get home from school, you find a bouquet of pink roses on your bed with a small note attached to it. you look around before opening it.

meet me at the abandoned house on main street friday at ten o’clock.

you smile down at the note, carefully putting it in your bedside table drawer, alongside all the other ones your stalker has been leaving around for you. 

© 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥

𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓’𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆; i’m thinking of maybe making a series out of this one since you guys are just as obsessed with stalker!matt as i am… i love writing him, let me know if you’d want more! i love you guys x

[superblysubpar]

<- part six | part eight -> | series masterlist

chapter summary: No more bets.

the song: Read Your Mind by Sabrina Carpenter

also for your listening pleasure: Girl Can't Help It by Journey, Open Your Heart by Madonna, U Got The Look by Prince, and The Lady in Red by Chris de Burgh

5,328 words | please see masterlist for gen warnings / brief descriptions of scars-previous head injury / SPICE/SMUT - really just some dirty talk and a teensiet tiniest start to oral (reader receiving) | my blog is 18+

Hawkins, Indiana - the past

  His hand was in yours, and then it wasn’t. 

  “Well, well, well,” a voice sneered in front of you as you blinked at the boy who just dropped your hand at the sound of it. “What do we have here, Stevie?”

  A group of boys around your age leaned against a falling apart fence just outside of the ride, eyes surveying you up and down, then looking at Steve Harrington standing next to you. The leader of the pack a face full of freckles and a grin that made your stomach unsettled when he pointed it at you and took a step forward.

  “I’m Tommy, and you,” he grinned wider, like if he showed off more teeth, he’d placate you into thinking you enjoyed his company, “Well, you must be new to Hawkins. Think I’d remember a face like yours.”

  “Knock it off Hagan,” Steve grit out of his teeth, a fist clenched at his side. 

  “I’m…I’ll…” you stuttered out at the boy named Tommy, backing away and looking at Steve as you did. “It was…I’ll see you around?”

  You scrambled away from the boys as Steve took a step towards you, but Tommy’s voice rang out, making his head turn. 

  “Does Harrington have a little girlfriend? Gonna share all the juicy details with us, Stevie?” 

  “What? No!” He answered too quickly, cheeks pink, no longer looking at you. “She’s just some stupid girl, I got stuck with her on the ferris wheel…”

  You didn’t stick around to hear more, swiping at your wet cheeks with the back of your hand. 

  Glittery green and gold smeared across it, freshly smudgable after Steve Harrington held your hand until it was over. 

A house on Cornwallis Street - Sunday

  Your hands shifted on the steering wheel, even though the car was in park. Clammy and shaking as you rubbed them on your denim shorts and took a deep breath. With your window rolled down you couldn’t help but smile at the sound of Journey coming from the backyard, the large splash that followed the shout of ‘Don’t you dare Henderson!’. Peals of laughter and the distinct smell of something grilling only added to elements encouraging you to join them. 

  But you were still sitting in your car. 

  You didn’t question it, when after the party last night, Eddie didn’t drive you home, but to the shop, dangling your keys in front of a shocked face as he proclaimed it was finally fixed.

  “But…I didn’t pay you, I thought you couldn’t…” 

  Eddie had waved you off and smiled, “I’ve been working a lot.” He dropped the keys in your lap and grinned wider, “Besides, Harringon’ll be paying me three hundred bucks tomorrow.”

  You looked down at your thighs, thinking about who’s hands had just been pushing them apart a few minutes ago as Eddie quietly probed, “Right?”

“Of course.” You nodded, telling yourself that technically you and Eddie had won the bet.

  Nobody had slept with anyone. 

  Which is what you tell yourself again as you take another deep, bravery seeking breath and step out of your car. 

  Each step on the sidewalk then up the driveway is a little easier, your chest feeling a little lighter as the laughter and music only gets louder.

  But then you see the sign. 

  The same color of the suit you have in your bag.

  The same color he told you he can’t concentrate when you wear it. 

  Bright, bold, outlining four white letters.

  SOLD. 

  You’re still looking at it when the door swings open, Robin greeting you, dripping wet from the pool and a slice of watermelon in her hand.

“Finally! I’m outnumbered, and Max is too busy canoodling with Lucas and I need more girl power!”

  She grabs your arm and pulls you into the Harrington’s foyer as a louder call of, “I told you, as soon as Lucas apologizes for what he did-“

  “And I told you, that I cannot apologize for something if I don’t know what I’m apologizing for!”

  The pair walk out of a room on one side of the foyer as they argue, Max mumbling under her breath as they exit your sights and into the den.

  “You know exactly what you did.”

  Robin rolls her eyes and points up the stairs, “This downstairs bathroom is all packed up and,” she makes quotes with her fingers around the watermelon as she recites, “ ‘It’s cleaned and if any of you idiots fuck it up, you’re dead’ , but there’s one by Steve’s room, change and come help me seek vengeance on the boys!”

  She’s gone as fast as she arrived, the silence of the house now overpowering, but at least it gives you space to take a moment to breathe and collect your thoughts.

  Steve’s moving. 

  Why didn’t he tell you?

  Your fingers glide on the wood banister as you climb the stairs, something sitting heavy in your gut from the more important question that’s gnawing at you.

  Why does it matter that he didn’t? 

  Once you find the bathroom, your fingers tug on red nylon and strings. The suit you rummaged around for in your drawer this morning pointing out the glaringly obvious answer. It matters he didn’t tell you because-

  It was a good suit, that was the only reason why it was picked for today.

  Not because of where you were wearing it.

  Not because of the boy who lived there. 

  Because he definitely still does live there, at least for the time being.

  It’s easy to spot his room when you exit the bathroom, bare feet padding across hard woods as you tug the hem of your white tshirt over your hips a little lower. Worried you shouldn’t be walking around the house so uncovered despite the fact that you’re about to be even more so outside in the pool, when you catch your reflection in the mirror above his dresser. 

  The room is in shambles, half packed you assume. Boxes open, and only half filled, litter the floor, the white plaid wallpapered walls bare, whatever hung on the nails left behind now packed away. Your fingers linger on the top of the dresser, thumb catching on his watch, a Polaroid of him and Robin, the worn brown leather of his wallet. A tight squeeze pulls at something in your chest when the slip of paper with the name ‘Brit’ and a heart shifts beneath it. 

  You can’t help but wonder if he called that number that night like he said he would. 

  Wonder if he took her out to a movie, held her hand, let everyone know that Steve Harrington was on a date with her.

  Your bag drops on his bed that’s unmade with sheets that match the walls as you wonder if she was here too. As you wonder how many other girls have been in this room, this bed. 

  A loud shout outside, just below his window makes you jump, pulling you out of the spiral of doubt you’ve fallen into and down the stairs. 

  The cream carpet is plush beneath your bare feet, the framed photos are gone, the desk as well, so nothing stands between you and the sliding glass doors out to the pool.

  It’s a different view than the last time you were here. The bright turquoise littered with even brighter inflatables and swimsuits. It’s warm, it’s light, it’s loud, as bodies splash in it and compete with the radio playing top hits for the loudest thing. Eddie’s shaking his curls out back and forth all over Robin who’s shrieking and running past him. 

  The thought of stepping outside and arriving late has you turning into the kitchen, searching for something your hands can fiddle with before joining the party. 

  Which is how Steve Harrington’s lungs finally give out, and he dies. 

  He knows he’s not actually dying, but he’s sure that the process has to feel eerily similar to this.

  He rounded the corner to find his fridge door opened, the glow of the interior light silhouetting around your curves hidden under a white shirt making his breath stutter in his chest. And as you bend at the waist, red fabric cut high and only climbing higher, reveals the perfect swell of your ass and his lungs fail to function, like one’s collapsing because he’s been shot, or he’s taking on water and they don’t know to expel the air anymore. 

  “Jesus Christ.”

  It slips out of him much like the yelp the words startle out of you, the shoot up of your body involuntary, causing your head to smack into the top of the fridge and a litany of curses to tumble out of your lips. 

  Steve rushes over as you hold your head and spin, blinking and looking dizzy.

  “Shit, shit, sorry.” He’s across the room in seconds, hands cupping your cheeks and tilting you gently while his eyes focus on your forehead, inspecting. He frowns and moves to the left slightly, towards the sink,  though he leaves one of his hands in contact with your skin. 

  The furrow of his brow deepens as he dampens a towel and you try to breathe out of your nose and in with your mouth so you don’t focus on how his normal smell is stronger with his shirt off and mixed with sunscreen and chlorine that clings to his skin. Skin that shines with a sheen from each, that’s somehow not gross, but tantalizing. So much of that skin on display revealing more freckles than you can fathom counting. Skin that looks more tan from the dark chest hair curled against it or the swim trunks that sit low on his hips. 

  Steve looks at you with raised eyebrows and you realize he’s asked a question and you absolutely didn’t hear it. 

  “Um,” you swallow, your tongue taking up too much room in your mouth, “Wh-what?”

  Steve’s lips twitch as he stands fully in front of you again, damp cloth raised as he whispers, “Something distracting you, honey?”

  Your throat has something stuck in it, and no amount of clearing it seems to fix the problem. You focus on the freckle just to the left of his lips instead of his smug eyes as you admit, “Can’t concentrate when you wear that color.”

  The reward of his low laugh and smile has you wondering if someone hand sculpted his lips and cupid’s bow. 

  “I’ll be sure to wear it every chance I get just to torture you then,” he murmurs while fingers adjust your chin into the light. Your back rests against the center island, legs sandwiched between his spread ones so he can raise the cloth to your skin, apologizing with his eyes as he tacks on, “Only fair, since you woke up and decided evil today.”

  The damp material of his swim trunks sends a shiver up your spine when it hits your thighs, and your hands grab his waist in a wince when the cloth makes contact with your still fairly fresh head wound. You’re in a staring contest with a gold chain around his neck as you fib, “This is the only swimsuit I own. Just happens to be red.”

  Steve finishes with your forehead, but two fingers curl under your chin and lift so you have to look at him as he speaks through a smirk.

  “You’re pretty cute when you lie.”

  “Come on Steve,” you whisper, fingers curling into his hips without thought, “You’re better than cheesy lines and rookie moves like this. Besides, the bet’s over. We can go back to hating each other now.”

  He shakes his head, nose bumping yours as he does and he exhales, “Never hated you.”

  Your swallow is loud as he leans closer, one hand on your hip and fingers playing with the so to speak fire of the strings holding your suit together as you offer, “Despised?”

  Another shake of his head, another step closer so your lower halves are pressed together and your eyelashes are fluttering. Your head falls back with a gasp as his mouth trails along your jaw, hot breath and wet lips against it as you stutter out, “De-detest?”

  He responds into your skin, just below your ear, something that sounds like the word, “Never.”

  His name leaves you breathlessly as his tongue lightly licks down the side of your neck, lips following in a delicate brush. 

  “Steve-”

  He hums into your collar, nose dragging around the curve of it while your hands grip his sides. “Stop saying my name like that honey, or I’m gonna get down on my knees and make you say it much,” he nips at your earlobe, “Much, louder.”

  The space between your legs throbs, thighs push even tighter together at the thought of Steve’s mouth there. 

  “Steve,” you scold, cheeks warm, body even more so in all the places it touches his. 

  “Baby,” he groans, nose knocking your cheek, “What did I just say?”

  He starts to lower himself, hands drifting so too, on the outside of your thighs. Brushing bare skin and aching to push it further, cup your ass and roll your hips against his. Especially when your fingers hold his jaw in place so he has to look at you. Only slightly distracted by how kissable your lips are as they say, “You’re moving.”

  Steve shakes his head no and you laugh again and he wonders how many more times he can make that sound come out of you. 

  “Harrington, there’s literally a sold sign in your front yard.”

  He leans in closer, unable to resist the chance to taste your lips again, to feel their lingering sting against them all day. He’s got this insane thought that he wishes you were wearing lipstick, so it could be smeared against him, marking up his mouth and neck, shit, even his dick, so everyone knows he’s yours, it’s yours.  

  “You worried I’m gonna be too far away?” He somehow manages to ask through the fog of images of your lips surrounding his cock, big eyes blinking at him as you-

  “I’m actually worried it isn’t far enough,” you swallow around the tight feeling in your chest.

  His forehead knocks yours, hands squeeze your waist and then climb higher on your curves as he tsks, “Even cuter. You gotta quit lying baby.” But he relents some of the upperhand, the thought of you being worried about him leaving making him admit, “I’m crashing at Robin’s for a bit. And we’re trying to save up for a place together.”

  “Oh,” you nod, distracted by the way his nose traces the bridge of yours, how his eyelashes flutter and the freckles on his cheeks stand out more from a morning in the sun as he does. “Th-that’s good.”

  “Yeah?” The corner of his lips rising in a smile making them brush yours. 

  “Mhm,” you hum, “So you can take Brit on that date still.”

  “Who?” He blinks, cheeks turning pink as your fingers scrape up his stomach and through his chest hair. 

  “Brit,” your eyebrows raise, “Smells like peaches, and giggles and dots her eyes with hearts? The picture perfect girl to take out around town and proudly hold hands with?”

  “Again,” Steve leans the few centimeters closer, whispering against your lips, “Who?”

  You push at his chest, as much as it pains you to do so, needing the distance from the intoxicating mouth that smells like mint and lemonade. But

Steve remains strong in his position, fingers curl around your ear and hold your neck in place gently as he speaks like each word might spook you into running.

  “I’m staying in Hawkins. I have no idea who you’re talking about. The bet is over. Can you stop being so stubborn and let me kiss you like I’ve been wanting to since we were twelve?”

  Your heart rumbles low and slow, like thunder rolling in, it cracks in your chest like lightening hit it. Every ounce of your body is buzzing, like the strike tore your body in two. One part that can’t believe you’re hearing him say it and another that wants to run even though you know it doesn’t strike the same place twice. The fear of being caught in the storm with no way out has you stalling. 

  “Ask me nicely.”

  Steve laughs, and you wonder how you never noticed how much you like making that sound bubble out of him. 

  Or how much you like the way he licks his lips before he says something important. 

  “Please,” he murmurs against your mouth, “Can I kiss you?”

  Your lips part the same time a shriek calls from the den, “Steve! The food is burning!”

  He curses under his breath, hand grabbing yours as he pulls you through the kitchen and into the den. 

  His frown only grows as the smell of burning food does when the two of you exit the sliding door. He tugs you with him across the warm pavement of the patio, the cool summer breeze has goosebumps arriving on your legs as he shouts at the curly haired boy fanning a smoking grill.

“Henderson! You had one fucking job, man! These aren’t just burning they’re-“

  “Scorched,” Lucas supplies around a cough, smacking the air with his hat. 

  “Torched,” Mike pipes up, squinting and pinching his nose closed.

  “Dead,” El delivers morosely.

  Will snorts and covers his mouth and Max mutters under her breath, “Imbeciles.” 

  But then she’s smiling at you.

  Then they’re all smiling at you, even Eddie and Robin who stand just beyond them, staring at Steve and yours intertwined hands. 

  The attention on it makes your hand feel too heavy in his and you go to slip it out, but Steve only squeezes it tighter, waving his other at them, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer. Now get lost, or I’m not making more and you can eat these disgusting things.”

  The “kids” take off and Steve turns to you, thumb swiping over the back of your hand, cheeks pink and swallowing loudly. “Um, about my really nicely asked question that was rudely-“

  “Yes.”

  The just as interrupted response stuns him as much as it does you. But when he smiles, and takes your cheeks in both of his hands, and leans in slowly, you’re sure the answer was the right one, the storm clouds dissipate, the threat of another crack gone. 

  This kiss, is like rain. 

  The good kind of rain. Slow. Steady. Steve’s lips capture yours sure, calmly, breathing out just as the pair of his mold around your top one. He holds them through an exhale against your cheek as your hands fall to his chest naturally. You can feel the thud of his heart beneath your palm as his mouth parts to do it again, deeper, stronger. Each beat against your skin the rain hitting a window until it’s so natural, so steady, it’s a simple background noise. 

  It’s only when loud whoops and whistles break the calm that you hear yours in your ears and feel his heart again, the calm disrupted. Your cheeks warm beneath his palms as he kisses you again, a chaste and over too quick peck around a smile. 

  That pesky thing is still stuck in your throat, suddenly unsure how limbs and words and human things work anymore. You stumble a step back and trip on a pool noodle when your stomach flutters with a swarm of butterflies intent on trying to escape. He catches your waist before you fall as you gesture to the water, “Alright, well, that pool’s not gonna swim in itself.”

  Steve smiles, but he narrows his eyes, squeezing at the outside of your thighs, “Honey, I thought we were done being mean to each other.”

  Your eyes blink at him, confused, butterflies constructing a roller-coaster in your stomach now as well, as you ask, “How is me swimming being mean?”

  “Kissing me like that then parading around in a little red bikini?” He swallows as his fingers play with the strings of said suit, whispering, “Mean. Incorrigible, baby.”

  This feels surreal, his hands on you, calling you baby while your friends are only a few feet away and absolutely watching. Even more so when you whisper, “Big brain word.”

  Steve taps your chin, lifting it as he asks, “What’s my prize?”

  Looking into Steve’s, Buttercup’s description of Westley’s eyes being like the sea after a storm can’t help but float through your mind. But Steve’s are a lot more like the forest after one. Wet and darkened earth soaking up all it was just given, richer in color and waiting to be explored. 

  “What do you want?” 

  Steve grins, his mouth parts, but then you’re both being drenched with water, two buckets dumped over your heads as you shout in protest against the cold. 

  Robin and Max yell something about the fire in the kitchen being too hot and they needed to put it out as they run away from you both with laughter. 

  You peel off the white shirt that clings to your body now as you mumble something about payback. Steve groans at the reveal of your body in only the suit. It’s easy to look over your shoulder as you walk away from him and ask, “Tell me later?”

  Even easier to shove a grinning Eddie towards the pool as you walk past and mumble, “Shut up.”

  He grips at your shoulder as he flails, pulling you in with him, your double splash drowning out your shriek and the beginning of Madonna’s Open Your Heart booming out of the stereo. 

  When you resurface, swiping water from your eyes and laughing, you turn to find Steve again and aren’t surprised when he’s already looking at you. Your arms rest on the ledge when you swim up to the side and mock his voice, calling up to him.

  “Take a picture, it’ll last longer!”

  He sticks his tongue out at you as you laugh and swim away, but he can’t help but wonder where he packed his Polaroid, and if he can get you alone long enough to snap several his eyes only photos. 

  He’s still thinking it, later, as the sun inches closer to the other side of the sky, and you’re relaxed on a lounger next to Robin. 

Eyes hidden from him behind sunglasses, hands resting on your stomach, brushing back and forth over your skin as you roll your neck. 

  Prince’s U Got The Look fills the now much quieter backyard, the kids all having disappeared under the excuse of getting movie snacks and a video rental from Keith an hour ago. Robin’s voice interrupts the lyrics with, “How much you wanna bet they’re at the arcade and they aren’t coming back with the snacks?”

  You groan and sit up, “No more bets. But,” a sigh leaves you, “Yeah. I’ll go order a pizza? Steve’s got a billion contraband rental’s downstairs too. I’m sure there’s something halfway decent in there.”

  “Ha-ha,” he says dryly, watching you stretch has him sinking lower in the pool so only his eyes show. He squeezes them shut when your top slips just a smidge higher as your arms raise, the curve of each breast peeking out from the bottom and giving him a heart attack. 

  He’s certain that’s exactly what’s happening when he opens them to find you slipping your white shirt on. Only it’s not your white shirt.

  It’s his.

  Steve watches the collar linger on your nose, then slip over your chin as you smile at him and hook your thumb over your shoulder, “I’m - phone…pizza.” Stumbling over your words and shuffling towards the house quickly. 

  He waits exactly sixty seconds before he’s swimming towards the ladder and climbing out. Eddie’s voice taunts from the tube he’s floating in, with his arms behind his head, even with closed eyes he looks smug, “And where are you going?”

  “To…help. With the calling for pizza.” He towels off quickly, Robin snorts and Eddie makes a booing sound. 

  Robin calls from her lounger, “Don’t say we never did anything for you, Dingus!”

  Steve slides the glass door on their snickering, the house quiet and much cooler than the Summer outside. He glances in the kitchen, the hallway, searching for you, when he hears a creak upstairs. 

  He finds you in his room, in his shirt still, sunglasses pushed onto the top of your head as you sift through a bag and pull out a pair of denim shorts.

  “Hi,” he whispers, when you look up at him.

  “Hey,” you smile, voice quiet too, “Why are we whispering?”

  “I-“ he starts quiet and clears his throat, returning to a normal volume, “I don’t know. Guess I thought if I spoke too loud I might wake up from this great dream.”

  The grin spreads on your lips and you shake your head, “Wow. That’s bad, even for you, Steve.”

  He takes a few steps towards you as you continue to shake your head with a smile, only stopping when he asks, “Say my name again? Please?”

  Steve takes the shorts from your hands, dropping them on the ground as you murmur, gently, “Steve.”

  His tongue darts over his bottom lip before he says, “Can I tell you what I want for a prize now?”

  You’re only able to manage a small, “Mhm,” between pressed together lips as your hands sweat and your stomach burns, and your chest constricts while his fingers toy with the strings of your swimsuit bottoms. 

  He kisses you, slowly, licking out over the seam of your lips until you open for him. His hands guide you backwards gently until he’s climbing over your body on his bed and Prince’s voice fades into Chris de Burgh’s. 

  His body presses against yours, weight heavy and making your eyelids flutter as his hand cups your cheek, then traces your shoulder, the curve of your breast down to your hip. Your stomach burns with want, fingers dig into his hair as he releases your lips and kisses your chin, your chest through his shirt. He only travels lower, pushing it up and kissing your stomach, along the seam of your suit. Your legs rise on either side of his head, fingers leaving his hair to curl into his sheets that surround you and fill the space with a cedar and mint haze. 

  “St-steve,” you hiccup as he nips at the inside of your thigh. 

  He moans, palms pressing you open wider, mouth leaving a wet and hot trail of kisses and breaths up each leg. This wasn’t the plan, he wanted to take it slow, but he can’t help it anymore. He speaks into your stomach, kissing your skin between every few words. 

  “Baby, please, can I taste you?” His fingers tug on the strings of your suit and his vision blurs when you make a sound that sounds like a whine and roll your hips, searching. He’s gone fully blind as you tug on his hair again, drunk off of you without a single taste. 

  “Yeah? Gonna let me put my mouth on you?” He noses at your cunt through the suit, dragging it up against the fabric, babbling anything that comes to his mind without a filter. “That what you want, honey? To come all over my tongue?”

  Your palms press to the bed as you sit up, fingers tugging at the mess of brown waves between your thighs when his tongue licks over your suit.

  Your mouth parts in a gasp, eyes fluttering from the barely there friction, the minimal release of the tension you’ve felt since the kitchen downstairs hours ago. 

  Steve looks up at the sound and nearly comes in his shorts, the image of your dazed eyes and pouting lips, the heave of your chest under his shirt having him really thinking about where his camera is again. 

  “Oh,” his voice falls into a teasing lilt, playing with his food before he eats it, “Look at you. You’re already fucked dumb and I haven’t done a thing.”

  Your body is engulfed in flames at the taunting words, somehow turned on and irritated in the same sentence.

  A Steve Harrington special skill, you think. 

  He curses the words almost immediately after they leave him, thinking he’s pushed it too far too fast but then you’re saying his name like that again, saying the word please so softly, so sincerely, his vision goes white and scratchy like the tape of all of his abilities to think clearly was just ejected from his brain. 

  Steve sits up with a groan, backing away from the bed with the shake of his head. 

  “You’re trouble,” he rasps, breathing heavily from across the room, back against his dresser.

  “What’s wrong?” The mood shift jarring and making your legs close, your arms cross over your chest in a hug, wondering what you did.

  “This,” he says then immediately waves his hands, “No, not like that! I-“ he cuts himself off with another groan, a hand swipes through his hair only making it messier. You clench around nothing at the wild hair, the pink cheeks, the dark chest hair and tan skin as he paces.

  “I wanna-“ he starts.

  “Harrington! Quit making out up there and bring down some of what I gave you! I’m tapped and the pizza guy’s here.”

  Steve curses and he spins on his dresser, grabbing his wallet.

  His wallet. 

  Bring down some of what I gave you.

  His shoulders hunch as he swears again, “Those…brats. I swear to god I’m gonna kill them.”

  He spins to find you yanking your shorts on, muttering, “I cannot believe I fucking fell for this.”

  “Fell for…what are you talking about?” Steve steps closer and you back up quickly, waving your hand at him.

  “Save it.” 

  He watches you storm out of the room, confused, and then looks down at the wallet and quickly rushes out after you, “No, no, no, honey it’s not-“

  “Don’t,” you spin on the stairs, voice icy, “Call me honey.”

  Steve takes another step down, pleading with his eyes as Eddie, Robin, and a stranger stand in the foyer, blinking up at the two of you. “Eddie didn’t give me money for that. He…” his hand swipes through his hair again, tongue over his lip as he lowers his voice, “Can we please go somewhere else to talk about this?”

  Your arms cross and Steve sighs.

  “He gave me money…for a different bet. Sort of bet. Bet is a bad word for it.”

  Something rumbles in your chest once more, though no storm was forecasted, you should have known there was bound to be more. 

  Steve’s lips pout as he waves his hand while explaining in a ramble, “After the bet started, I told them how much I actually liked you. And they agreed to help me. And if I got you to actually give me a chance, with their help of course, Eddie’d pay for a real date and Robin would cover our shifts when we went.”

  The explanation should be sweet, but all you can focus on is that Steve didn’t just have the guts to tell you right away. That your friends all helped manipulate you and lied. You start to wonder if the power even went out, if Eddie knew Steve would be at that party, if Robin put In Your Eyes on on purpose, the diner, your car being busted - all of it. 

  What was real between you and Steve, and what was made with movie magic? 

  The storm cracks in your chest, letting the first drops fall down your cheeks. 

  “I have to get out of here.”

  The calls of your name and his steps behind you on the stairs ignored as your vision blurs. 

  Leaving a boy standing in a yard on Cornwallis street while you disappear without your shoes again. 

BICFTF TAGLIST: don'thatemedon'thatemedon'thateme there's still two chapters left! As always, thank you for your support!

@ash5monster01 @madaboutjoe @foreverinwanderlust @the-fairy-anon @scarletwitchgf

@curlsincriminology @siriuslysmoking @redbarn1995 @starry--sarah @starksbabie

@taccobelle @angst-lasagna @blckburd @crownofdecit @torntaltos

@sanniegirl1214 @yourmommilf @khena @ytgus @starryeyedpoet17

@halfburntout @belle101200

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Darlin’, Darlin’

Pairing(s): Jacob Black x Swan!Reader, Jacob Black x Bella Swan, Edward Cullen x Bella Swan

Warnings: wolf imprinting, scenting, makeout, agedup!jacob, hurt&comfort, one night stands, changed it a little bit from the prompt, renee being a crap mom, sorry i tend to write her in a negative light but i have never been able to stand her character 😅, plus i have my own unresolved mommy issues lol 😅 , mention of alcohol consumption, reader smokes, unprotected sex just imagine reader being on birth control, flings, virgin!jacob, losing that v card, kinda bitchy reader?

Words: 4818

Stepping one foot out of your taxi, you finally take in the sight of the Cullen residence. Just to make sure, you double check the address that was on the wedding invitation.

Yup, this was the place.

Already there's festive laughter streaming out of the house. Some people lingered on the large wrap-around porch, talking amongst one another.

You weren't looking forward to the wedding but your mother called and pestered you enough to where you just gave up and sent in your RSVP despite your reservations. It wasn't that you didn't like Bella, you just never liked the idea of marriage. Your mom had failed at several before. In the end you always wondered what the point of it all was.

And a wedding in your mind was the most absurd thing to waste one's money on. Especially one as extravagant as this one. You surmise that the Cullens obviously were the ones to foot the wedding bill. Neither Charlie nor Renee would have the funds to put together a glittery wonderland like this one.

Readjusting the skirt of your dress, you walk up the steps, bombarded by the loud music and chatter. You were already regretting going through with it when you weave through the throng of people in the house. Unfamiliar faces that stare at you in your trek to find Renee. Though really you just wanted to fist a few drinks into you first. Your mom wouldn't be happy if you got drunk so early. It would definitely lighten your mood, but you shake off any thoughts of libations.

After asking around, you learn she's upstairs helping the bride get ready.

Fine paintings were displayed on the wall as you take one step at a time. They look to be originals too. Not that you knew much about art. The paintings were beautiful regardless. Everything about the Cullen house was meticulously perfect. A wonder how your clumsy sister was marrying into this atmosphere.

You follow a gaggle of female voices to a closed bedroom door. When you knock, a short pixie of a girl opens it with startling gold eyes. "You must be Bella's sister!" She's open and inviting, tugging you by the arm inside of the room.

Renee calls over to you, delighted at your presence. "You made it!" She throws her arms around you, suffocating your nose with her strong perfume. Like with most of your family, you were never close to Renee. The moment you were accepted into a university away from her, you leapt on the opportunity and never looked back.

She steers you to where Bella is standing in front of a floor length mirror that reflects her image. Her wedding gown was sleek and not as terrible as you first imagined it to be. When was the last time you'd seen her? Probably not since your own senior year in Arizona.

Her dark eyes round at your appearance, definitely not expecting you to be there.

"Hey Bella. Congratulations." Your lips quirk up in a small smile that hides your desire to not be there. This is what you had to do in front of your family. Put on a mask and pretend you were happy to see them. You felt awkward in that room, knowing your interaction was being watched by the pixie girl, your mom and an unknown blonde woman who was drop dead gorgeous.

Her thin lips part in a struggle to gather any useful words. "Th-Thanks." It was clear she didn't really know how to act around you either.

You shoot an anxious look to your mom as if to say 'See, I did what you wanted me to do now let me free.' Ridiculous how you still looked to her for any guidance even though she would offer you none. Renee merely sighs and nods her head toward the door.

Relief makes the warmth in your face cool down as you give Bella an awkward wave goodbye before hightailing it out and back down the stairs. The rest of the house was no better. Your claustrophobia starting to get the best of you as you desperately try to elbow your way to the backyard for some fresh air. It was so stuffy in there. The lack of fresh air flow was really starting to get to you.

That's when you bump into someone- well honestly you thought it was a wall by how sturdy and hard the person's body was. Wobbling backwards, you're grateful that at least the body you bumped into had faster reflexes than you. A large, tan hand grips at your wrist to pull you back up and stabilize your posture.

You stare up into a handsome face with penetrating dark eyes. His jaw slackens, whatever he was going to say. Pure shock ripples across his face.

"S-sorry about that." You apologize and brush off his hand, or at least try to. His grip on your wrist is incredibly strong. Furrowing your brows you look back up to him. "Um, excuse me. . ."

He blinks, snapping himself out of whatever stupor he'd been in. "Sorry. Sorry." His fingers reluctantly release your wrist, hovering over your skin until you pull your hand back to your chest. Cute and towering over you, you feel the anxiousness in your chest from the crowd subside. He doesn't move. Instead he introduces himself with a shallow breath. "I'm Jacob Black."

"Oh, Jacob Black. That name sounds familiar." You reply and give him your own name.

"You're Bella's sister." Jacob states but his voice still held a bit of confusion.

You awkwardly chuckle. "Yeah, that's me." The intense way he's looking at you has you slightly uneasy. "How do you know Bella?"

"We. . ." he clears his throat, finally averting his gaze from you. "We're friends. I live on the reservation. Charlie and my dad are best friends."

Trying to remember your childhood with Charlie, nothing comes up. When your parents split, initially you lived with him. But being a small kid alone at night while he was working wasn't really ideal. After a while it was decided that you should be with Renee and Bella. It must have seemed like the best option. Honestly you were screwed with either parent.

"Since you've been in the loop," from your peripheral you notice a waiter carrying around a tray of drinks (thank god they were serving alcohol before the ceremony) "what is Bella's fiancee like?"

That sours his face. Jacob doesn't bother to try and hide his dislike for this guy that was marrying your sister. His lips squirm but he couldn't conjure any positive words. "He's. . . well, I don't trust him."

"Why? Does he mistreat her?"

"Well-"

"Oh!" You smile when you connect the dots. "You like Bella, don't you?"

He's slightly loud now. "No!! No, I-I don't like her. I mean, I did, but not anymore, obviously."

Was it obvious though? The way he was yammering on made it all too obvious that he still had feelings for her. You watch him suffer, occasionally taking a sip of your champagne. When he winds himself out, he mutters one more apology. Jacob's face a beet red. You just chuckle.

"No need to apologize. Guess it was my bad. I don't know much about Bella. We've never been close. I was just curious."

Around you, the flow of guests was starting to congregate to the backyard. "I think it's time." You take one more sip and set aside your champagne flute.

At the reception, you again find yourself outside on the front porch. Her husband (and his family) were quite honestly the most beautiful people you'd ever set your gaze on. And they seemed to genuinely love Bella. You just hope that her marriage lasts longer than any of Renee's.

Next to you on the front step was another cocktail. Your fingers were occupied with holding up your cigarette. Watching the slow dance of the smoke curling upward. It was a beautiful evening, you'd give them that.

Having said hello to Charlie a few minutes ago, all of your duties here were over. You'd stay in the little rinky dink motel that Forks has tonight then head back to your actual home.

Snuffing out the stubby remnants of your cigarette, you toss back the rest of your drink and fish your phone out of your jacket pocket.

You're about to call a taxi before you hear the creaking of the porch's floorboards behind you. Twisting around to see Jacob Black leaning against the wooden column. "Heading out so soon?"

All honesty, he was cute. A year or two younger than you, Jacob was like a giant in comparison to Bella's now husband. More muscular too.

"Yeah. I have to go back to work the day after tomorrow." You won't tell him just how eager you were to return even if that meant you had to work. Anything was better than be surrounded by strangers. "I have a motel room for the night though. Gonna call a taxi."

"I can give you a ride, if you want. It'll probably take a taxi time to get up here." Jacob looks down the narrow, winding road that was the only one to lead up to the Cullen estate.

"Really?"

There's a ripple of relief in his gaze and the spreading of his smile. "Of course. You wanna go now?"

Arching a brow, you look around him to the front door where inside was the warmth of celebration. "You don't want to stay?"

His nose scrunches up. "Nah. There's nothing left for me in there."

Weird way to put it but you shrug it off and follow Jacob to a little red Volkswagen car that, while being on the older side of vehicles, appeared to be well maintained. Definitely didn't match any of the other fancy looking cars lining the Cullen's driveway. You're surprised they didn't hire a valet.

Pure magic the way Jacob maneuvers his car around all of the others without hitting any of them. Watching it made you nervous so you'd squeezed your eyes tight, listening to Jacob chuckle.

A good thing about Forks was that it wasn't a big town. And the motel was the only local one in the town.

"I appreciate this. Can I give you money for gas?" You lean back into the worn cushions of the seat.

"Don't worry about it." He just waves you off. The lightness in his voice doesn't match the anxious drumming of his fingers against the wheel. You frown at the behavior, tucking it away in the back of your mind. Your nature was to be untrustworthy of people. Especially those you've just met.

"Why did you go to Bella's wedding?"

"Because she invited me. And. . . as much as I hate him, Bella's still my friend."

That was sweet but the ceremony must have been a dagger in his heart, another reminder that the girl he loved could never be his.

'Why did you go to her wedding? You looked like the whole thing was actual torture." Jacob turns your question against yourself. "You even said that you aren't close with Bella."

"Obligation. My mother paid for a plane ticket to come to the wedding without my knowledge. Really laid that guilt heavy when she said the ticket was expensive." You roll your eyes when you remembered that phone call. "And I guess it's the least I can do as the older sister. Just show up."

A lull in conversation settles until Jacob brings up "So you probably won't be coming back any time soon. . . That's a shame. . ."

You shrug. "There really isn't a reason for me to stay. My life isn't here."

The drinks you previously consumed were beginning to make your tummy warm and your morals. . . well, loose. You start really taking in Jacob's side profile, his defined cheekbones and full lips. The muscles that are roped in his neck. Were you really entertaining the idea of sleeping with Bella's sloppy seconds?

You bite your bottom lip, fighting against the ache you feel between your legs. It had been a while since you'd last had a good rutting. But you felt that this guy, no matter how sexy he appeared, was a virgin. That was something you didn't want to deal with. You wanted a man who knew what he was doing.

Reigning in your drunk horniness, you turn your head to stare back out the window. No, you definitely didn't want to have another reason to come back here.

Quiet the rest of the way to the motel, you watch the neon sign grow closer as Jacob pulled into the pebbly parking lot. You stretch and grab your bag from between your feet.

"Thanks again for the ride. Are you sure you don't want any money for gas?"

Why did he look like a sad puppy?

"Like I said, it's alright. But. . . Can I get your number instead?"

You feel your brows shoot up and you know you must have a ridiculous expression. "My number? What for?"

His cheeks tinge with warmth as Jacob peels his eyes away from you. Yup, definitely a virgin.

"I'd. . . I'd like to get to know you." Was all he could mumble out.

Damn he was making it too easy for you.

An impish curl to your lips. "You can still get to know me. Want to come inside for a little bit?" The implication was too obvious that even Jacob was able to catch on your meaning.

Poor thing is stammering, conflicted with saying yes but the sweet part of him wanted to reject your offer. You really didn't think he would agree but enjoyed the shock he got from your words.

Letting him sit in the car perplexed, you open the car door and bid him goodnight.

It only took a second before you heard footsteps right behind you. You felt his body heat at your back when you open your motel room door. The lights were still on, the way you left them, at least casting a warm glow over the meager furniture in the room. You set your bag down on the chair and finally turn around to face Jacob.

He's blushing terribly, unable to hide his nerves and you take pity on him.

"You can sit down, ya know." you chuckle and he obediently sits on the edge. "You said you wanted to get to know me more, right?" Crouching down, you open the mini fridge that the motel offered. Having already stashed away some items you bought at the liquor store. Fingers crack open the can.

Jacob's gaze fires something inside of you. His blush was intense but it didn't compare to the heat in his eyes. A small blush of your own actually tinges your face. "Yeah. I did. Like what's your favorite color or your favorite food?" His smile would flood any girl's panties.

You hide your giggle by taking a sip from your can. "Hmm, those are real stumpers." The more the both of you joked around, the more tension that leaves Jacob's frame. Sitting next to him he's now comfortable enough to scoot closer to you so that your bodies are pressed together.

In a rather sneaky way, Jacob had stolen your can of beer and was drinking from it too. Well, now you couldn't have him driving back home tonight with a good conscious.

And just as the alcohol was starting to warm him too, his hands grew bold and traveled from resting on your thigh to your waist and higher until you were pressed against his chest. Jacob's kiss overflows with passion and lust that completely takes your breath away. He's definitely kissed before, that much was certain.

His skin nearly scalds under your fingers as they find themselves gripping the soft cotton material of his button up.

This was a new Jacob that you hadn't seen. Was he keeping this part hidden deep down all along?

Hot hands hike up the hem of your dress, impatient to rove the skin of your upper thighs. He palms the soft, squishy flesh of the insides of your thighs before pausing near the elastic band of your panties. He's groaning to himself, knowing what lay beyond the flimsy fabric. Just to verify for yourself, you grind yourself against the tent of his pants. Jacob shivers and given your unvoiced permission, his fingers pull aside your underwear.

His face is hidden in the crook of your neck, lips nipping at the juncture of your jaw. It makes your head tilt back to give him more access. Jacob growls in appreciation, thick fingers playing with your wet pussy lips. You squirm, wanting him inside of you but he was strong and kept you at bay. If this was indeed his first time then Jacob was in no rush. Like he wanted to memorize through the touch of his fingers each intimate part of you.

Nose nuzzling the soft skin of your throat, inhaling deeply. A finger grazes over your swollen clit making you jump from the sudden contact. Your little whine just makes his cock harder. Jacob chokes on his own moan and glides over your clit again.

Most men wouldn't even know where the clit is. Especially virgins. Jacob seemed to find it right away and liked how this small button of nerves could send you into a spasming fit.

As much as you want to regain control, your head is swimming from the attention he's giving your body. Eager hands and lips.

Jacob becomes slack jawed when he finally inserts a finger past your sopping folds. "Oh fuck"

He keeps whispering 'fuck fuck fuck' as his finger slides in and out, helped by your pooling arousal coating it. Your mewling is cut short though and turns into a cry of dismay when he removes his hand completely to examine his glistening digits. Bringing it up his lips, he sniffs it and you swear a dark possessiveness seizes his expression. Jacob licks his fingers and thumb clean.

While he's distracted, you scramble to fling your clothes off; skin burning up with desire. When you look back at him, his eyes are now glued to your naked form.

"Come on. You're turn." You grin and lean back against the pillows on the bed.

So obedient, Jacob nearly rips his shirt to shreds. The buttons were but an obstacle to him now.

Boy were you delighted to see his sculpted body. His abs and cum gutters that were oh so prominent. And once his pants were removed-

How was this guy still a virgin??

You've been with your share of men, but none of them had a cock as thick as a beer can. Damn near hypnotized watching it as he crawls on the bed and slots himself in between your open legs. Something animalistic on his face as he grabs your legs and throws them over his broad shoulders. Going by pure instinct, the bulb of Jacob's cock is dragged along your begging slit, experimentally bullying the tip inside.

Once he had the tip in, he snaps his hips harshly, piercing you and stretching out the walls of your pussy with his thick cock.

Now you're the one chanting 'fuck fuck fuck' repeatedly as he gives you no time to adjust. Now that he's inside of you, Jacob can't help but devour you entirely. Fingers digging into your plush skin as he holds onto you tightly. The tight squeeze your pussy offered his cock was driving him inside so that he mercilessly pounded into you. You enjoy every second, every ram his cock tip dealt your cervix. It was impossible for a virgin to fuck you this good and this dumb but there you were just a screaming mess. Absolutely no thoughts in your head, only focusing on the stretch the width of his cock gives you.

You try your best to buck against him, to reciprocate every pleasure he gave you but it was laborious to keep up with him. So you just let him use you as a fuck doll.

You wanted to be fucked into oblivion.

Jacob had a rude awakening the following morning, not just due to the slight headache that was ringing in his brain, but because when he reached over for the warm body he thought was next to him there was only cold bed sheets.

He peels his eyes open to find the bed completely empty besides himself. There was a piece of paper with black inked writing. It had an apology. You were running late to your flight and apologized.

But no number.

Staring at it for a moment, Jacob sighs, running a hand over his face. He just couldn't believe what he'd done last night. Worse was you'd left no number.

Really, he couldn't help himself once he'd imprinted on you. That was sealing the fate of the night. Especially when he smelled your arousal. Fuck, he was just hoping to be invited to stay with you. Though he didn't quite believe it at first when you'd offered him to come inside your room. He would've done anything in the moment to stay a little longer with you.

The alcohol wasn't what really urged him on once he got going, it was the wolf in him. To claim and. . . Jacob blushes to admit it, but to breed too. All instinctual, of course. He wasn't ready for kids and clearly you weren't either. But that's what his wolf was howling at him to do.

It was embarrassing to admit that at the end of the day, his wolf really did control him.

He runs away from his own thoughts by reading your note again, overly focusing on the lack of number. Anxious thoughts sweep him up in a smashing wave.

Pressure upon his chest makes him feel like he can't breathe. Repressing the urge to shapeshift into a stronger form that would allow him to really express the anguish he was feeling. It hurt when Bella rejected him. The hurt had stayed with him up until he'd spotted you.

He thought it cruel kismet that you turned out to be Bella's sister. Who would blame him though? No one has seen you in Forks since you were small. And Bella never spoke of you either. To him, you'd only been an urban legend with only a handful of pictures as shaky evidence.

This explains everything though. Why he was drawn to Bella. She would eventually lead him to who he really belonged with. You.

The animal in him gnashes it's teeth together, growling for it's imprintee, it's mate.

If only Jacob knew.

Find her.

Find her.

Find her.

A constant bark in his mind until he leapt from the bed and got dressed. He couldn't silence it until he obeyed. Finding his cellphone drained of battery. Jacob curses his past self for not charging it prior to the wedding. He'd have to wait to call Bella and hopefully she would answer on her honeymoon.

You frown at the unknown number that had your phone ringing. Since you were at work, you ignore it.

At first.

Four more calls sets you at your limit until you excuse yourself and go into the hall to answer it. "Hello?"

"You're a piece of work, you know that?! Showing up to my wedding without speaking to me for years?!"

"You invited me! And mom made me!" You snap, knowing who it was. Bella. What was she doing calling you? She was supposed to be on her honeymoon with her perfect husband. Renee must have given her your number. "What is it? What's so important that you pulled me away from work?"

"How could you do that to Jacob? You fuck him a-and then just leave without anything?!" You remember that stutter from childhood. It always got worse when Bella was upset.

Grinding your molars, you make sure to lower your voice so you weren't heard from your coworkers. "I left a note explaining that I would be late to my flight."

You hear her derisive scoff "But no contact information! Was he just a fling to you? A-A boy toy?!!"

The laugh left you before you could stop it.

"You think this is funny?!"

Cackling now, you have to take a deep breath to settle yourself. "Oh my god I don't think I've heard anyone say that in years!"

That adds heat to her tone. "You can't use people like that!!"

"I didn't use him. For god's sake Bella, we had a good time and that was that. I told him I didn't have anything left in Forks. Gave him plenty of opportunities to leave. I didn't force-"

"He-he REALLY likes you. And you just tossed him aside! That night meant more to him than you could possibly know!"

Maybe you should have been more considerate. But your jaded side was strong, having been fucked over by guys one too many times before. Some of them virgins too. Fuck you didn't want to say Bella was right.

"He can't be that upset that I dashed without leaving him a number. We hardly know each other. He'll find someone else now that he has the confidence that he could even get a girl."

Bella goes silent for a moment. You hear soft whispers in the background, most likely Edward. She returns to you with a frustrated huff. "Look, just- please call him or better yet go see him. I've never expected much from you, but you have to see him again. Please."

This was the only thing she's really asked for from you.

You called him when you got home, heavily apologizing because it was most possibly the best sex of your life if you were being completely honest. And he deserved an explanation on why you'd left without giving him your number. "It wasn't anything you did, really. I'm just kinda a shitty person. I'm really sorry. . . I should've been more empathetic. I remember when I lost my virginity-"

"Oh god. Th-that's not the reason why I wanted your number. I didn't just want to screw you. I. . ." You listen to him gulp. Jacob takes a deep breath. On the other end, unbeknownst to you, was Jacob pacing back and forth at a rest stop near where your city was in. He'd never meant for it to sound like he was tattling to Bella and butt-hurt. All he asked was for your number before she countered demanding a reason why. He was completely honest with her. She blew up at him over the phone to the point he had to hold his cellphone at arm's length. Bella hung up immediately once she was done. Probably to call you. Apparently she hadn't told you about the whole wolves and imprinting thing.

Using what scent was left on his shirt, he'd strapped his shorts and shirt to his leg and shifted to his wolf to track you down. It may have been extreme, but by the time he'd gotten Bella to answer her phone he was already at his wit's end. He knew he may have come off as a creep by doing this. This was an itch he desperately needed to satisfy. The wolf in him demands to know where you'd gone.

He couldn't say that to you. That would make him sound downright demented.

"I would just really like to know you. For real. Not just your favorite color or food. I want to know that too, but I want to really know you." God did he sound lame? Jacob thought what he just said was totally lame.

"You sure? You may not like what you find." There's a hint of sadness.

"I'm positive."

Setting up another date, you put down your phone with a tender smile. Maybe. . . Maybe this wouldn't be like all the other times. He sounded sincere. And no one else has gone to the trouble of getting your number from anyone.

You just hope you weren't making a big mistake.

Grabbing your cigarette and lighter, you head outside onto your small porch.

You put it between your lips while your thumb fumbles with the lighter's sparkwheel. A crunching sound a few feet away from you makes you pause. The cigarette falls from your lips as you stare into large brown eyes stare at you from a break of trees. Russet fur was highlighted by the street light that was near. You didn't think wolves were capable of growing to such a size. This thing was gargantuan.

There's not an air of danger around it. The wolf merely wags it's tail, snout shaping into what you could only describe as a grin before it pads back off into the night.

You smile to yourself. "Wow."

It was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen.

Perhaps a good omen.

Tags:

@enchantingcupcakecollectionfan

@bakugospartner

[verbenaa]

opus 4 (nothing compares to the sighs that fall from your lips)

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:

“Have I mentioned how absolutely divine you look, darling?”

“Well, you did make the gown.” Your hand tangles in his hair, pressing him closer as you arch into him. He buries his face into your chest, kissing and licking at the skin bared to him above the low neckline.

“It’s quite easy when you have such a lovely muse.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Astarion/Reader

𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut, 18+

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 6.9k

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: exhibitionism, frottage/thigh riding, clothed sex, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, vampire bites, blood, soft dom astarion, tailor astarion strikes again

𝑎/𝑛: if larian can't give us a masquerade, then i will! welcome to my current fixation which has been this masquerade ball fic. idk there is no rhyme or reason to this, its just fun and indulgent and glittery. i hope you enjoy and please like/comment/reblog etc ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

ao3 here

masterlist

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The chandeliers twinkle brightly from the cavernous ceiling above as you float across the polished ballroom floor, slippered feet moving swiftly as your dance partner twirls you around, an arm wrapped tight around your waist while the other grasps your hand as he leads you through the elegant steps of a waltz. 

Wine burns through your veins as it sings a siren’s song, the sanguine liquid slipping down your throat with ease this evening, the vintage aged to perfection. Melted wax drips from the tapers decorating the room, their flames no more than whirls of shining light as you spin around and around, gown fluttering with every elegant movement.

It wasn’t often you attended these sorts of events, despite the amount of invitations you’ve received over the years. Being the most recent hero of Baldur’s Gate had its occasional perks it would seem, and this ball was certainly one of them. 

It was the same routine every time. You would open the frequently ostentation envelopes, perfect calligraphy written with expensive pots of colored ink on the front and oversized wax seals in golds and reds and blues on the back. Inevitably, after a passing glance at whatever solicitation lay inside you would feed it to your hearth, letting the fire gobble it up as it burns to black.

This particular invitation, however, had caught your eye. The envelope itself was nothing of particular elegance, though the black of the envelope and silver lettering did stand out among the others in your post box that day. The matching silver wax seal on the back opened easily with a quick flick of your letter opener, and a singular word on the thick vellum piqued your interest in a way that few ever did on these inane things.

Masquerade.

You can easily recall the way the word made your heart jump, mind moving to the imagined scenarios of your younger years, the adventures of storybook heroines always featuring stories of flowing gowns and glittering masks.

Your own gown flows around your form as you dance the steps, soft fabric laying perfectly against your curves as braided straps of silk rest over your shoulders. The skirt flows down around a high slit up the thigh, velvet the color of the deepest ivy brushing against the marbled floors with every movement. 

The metallic threads glow in the candlelight, embroidered designs of liquid silver cascade in small clusters down the bodice and onto the skirt like little groups of stars falling from the sky. The low back of the dress leaves you uncharacteristically bare, almost everything above the line of your waist exposed, though the air is warm against your skin with all the bodies present this evening.

Your dance partner cuts a dashing figure, a vision of velvet and quicksilver in his own right. He looked made for the part—like some dark hero from a storybook come to life in front of your eyes.

Gods, he looked so handsome. 

Your cheeks flush as you watch him, following his lead as his hands tighten around you, that familiar knowing smirk decorating his elegant features even with the dark mask he wears obscuring the top half of his features, claret eyes framed with black and silver.

You pull yourself closer to Astarion, filling your senses with his familiar and comforting scent as he continues to lead you through the steps with sleek perfection, footsteps confident and head held high under his disguise.

The dance ends, orchestra moving on from the dreamy waltz you had just turned about to on the floor, a lilting concerto taking its place after a brief respite. Astarion leads you to the side of the dance floor, a hand poised on your waist as you walk to the fringes of the room. 

You touch his velvet-covered shoulder, the intricately embroidered doublet matching the color of your own gown to perfection, down the same argent threads. The two of you were certainly coordinated this evening, if nothing else.

It had taken little to convince Astarion to agree to join you, his own love for overdramatic and lavish debauchery too much to deny something like a masquerade ball. He had certainly wasted no time designing outfits for the two of you, spending extra moments throughout his evenings constructing and embroidering them until every detail was as perfect as he had envisioned.

“Astarion!” You whisper into a delicately pointed ear, an emerald earring glinting in the candlelight as you rest your hand on his bicep, leaning your weight into him. “Go get us more wine!”

“You absolute lush.” His smile is fond as he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead, careful not to disturb the delicate lace mask resting over your eyes, satiny ribbon tied behind your head in a pretty, perfect bow.

It was hard to deny his comment, especially when there was that delightful fuzziness that occupied your every sense, clouding everything in a wonderfully warm haze. You had easily lost track of the number of glasses you had imbibed over the evening, though you are fairly certain you simply misplaced some still half full goblets on the random trays of servers who wandered through the space.

Your thoughts swirl as he walks away from you in search of more spirits, his retreating figure a vision. He really was too handsome, dressed in his finery like this. Maybe you were wrong all these years to give your regrets to so many an occasion, if seeing Astarion dressed in the rich velvets and silks he deserved to wear was to be your prize.

A hand on your shoulder draws your attention, and you turn a moment later, reactions slowed by the alcohol still dancing in your veins. Behind you is a man, handsome enough—if only in a rather ordinary way—his warm brown eyes looking out at you from behind a mask of bright crimson as he gives you a friendly smile.

“I must ask how such a lovely gem such as yourself is simply wandering around alone on a night like this?” The words are meant to be suave and charming, though you ignore them, as uninterested in the man now standing before as you are in his words or the meaning behind them. Your eyes draw instead to a overflowing vase of flowers on a table behind him, a downright gaudy display of cultivated blooms bursting from an equally ostentatious vase.

“Do you happen to know what type of flowers those are behind you?” You point at them, not addressing the man’s prior words to you. He turns to look behind him with befuddlement, taking in the large arrangement with barely a blink of his eyes before he turns back, scanning up and down your velvet-clad figure.

“I’m afraid flowers aren’t my specialty.” His answer is short and no-nonsense, he was clearly a man uninspired and uncreative if that was the best he could come up with, the roll of your eyes mostly obscured by the lace covering your face.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting you before, may I ask your name?” He sidles ever a bit closer, and you take a measured step back in response as you cross your arms casually in front of you, head tilting to the side as you observe him.

“How could you know? We are masked, after all.”

“It would be my honor, my dear mysterious Lady, to have your next dance?” His words are polite, even with such blunt forwardness. 

You are saved from having to answer by an arm wrapping around your waist from behind, that wonderfully delicious scent of bergamot and brandy filling your senses with his presence.

The man across from you looks affronted at Astarion’s arrival, eyes falling to the arm wrapped tightly around your body and the angular face pressing against the crown of your head.

“Darling, won’t you introduce me to your new friend?”

“Oh! My love, you’ve returned!” Your smile is beatific as you turn towards him, eyes meeting his own you look for your promised goblet of wine.

“You never mentioned you were…partnered.” The man—what was his name again?—says before you two, a frown etched onto his features. 

“Well, you never asked. This is my—” Astarion cuts you off before you can finish.

“Husband.” There’s a prideful possessiveness to his words that strike your interest, though you fight the urge to roll your eyes all the same. You and Astarion may be life partners, but married you were not.

“Here you are, my sweet.” He holds the full goblet towards you as it dangles between his elegant fingers, wine threatening to spill from its silvered edges. “Now, let us continue our fête elsewhere, hm?”

You give the man a bored look before turning away, downing your wine quickly before moving to place the empty silver on the table behind him, the overlarge bouquet towering over you. Without a second glance, Astarion takes your hand in his, pressing a kiss to the back before stepping away with you into the crowd beyond.

He leads you to a secluded corner, the area obscured by the shadows of the lofty space. Astarion’s footsteps finally slow as you near the wall and he notices your raised brow, an expectant expression on your face.

“Married, Astarion? When exactly was our wedding day, just so I don’t forget the anniversary.” You speak wryly, an amused smile on your lips. “I’d hate to not get you a gift.” 

“Well, we may as well be married. Don’t you agree?” 

“I certainly don’t see a ring on my finger.” You make to look at your hand, a playful smile old your lips as you tease him. Astarion’s frown deepens, a look of childish petulance crosses his features, obvious even with the mask hiding his expressive eyebrows.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous that another man was simply talking to me?”

“Darling, I think he would have done more than simply talk to you if you’d let him,” He rolls his eyes, exhaling a huff as his hands come to rest above the swell of your hips, bracketing your waist with those talented, nimble fingers.

“Besides, he wasn’t talking, he was flirting with you.” You could swear he was pouting, amusement building with every passing minute as you bite your lip to hide your growing smile.

“I hadn’t noticed, honestly.” Your shrug is a touch too put on, the casualness of the action at odds with the finery you wear as the smile you try to hide escapes, painting your features with a certain cunning that Astarion knows all too well.

“Oh, I think you knew exactly what you were doing, darling, letting that man flirt with you.” Astarion’s hands on your velvet covered waist tighten as he walks you backward, not stopping until your back meets the intricately wainscoted wall, the two of you partially obscured by the heavy drapery of a nearby balcony.

“You’re far too smart, my sweet, to be so unaware.” The rest of ball swirls on obliviously around you both, dizzying in its opulence as music from the orchestra begins its climb to a rousing crescendo.

A coy smirk is the only answer you give him, the incline of your head daring him to continue as the lace covering your eyes only adds to your mystique tonight. The wine running through your veins turns your body hot, your confidence brimming with the help of the alcohol.

“And so what if I did, Astarion?” His ornate mask does little to hide the spark flaring to life in his crimson irises, thumbs tracing circles dangerously high on your ribcage as he steps closer into your space, the flowing skirt of your gown brushing against his own finery as he pushes close.

“Then I suppose you leave me no choice but to give you a little lesson, dearest.” 

One of the hands at your waist skates up, passing over your breast before brushing up the column of your neck, hand wrapping lightly around your throat as you lean your head up to look at him. His fingers brush over leftover scars from feedings past, and the sudden pressure on your throat has your body on high alert, heat licking at the bottom of your belly as you inhale a shaky breath.

Astarion’s mouth crashes down onto yours, stealing your breath as he kisses you with abandon. You answer his kiss with your own hunger, opening your lips to welcome his tongue. Your free hand comes up to brush against his chest, fingers tightening in the fabric to pull his body closer as your lips and tongue move against his own.

Your back is pressed hard against the wall behind you, the molded wood cool as Astarion crowds you, his chest pushed tight against your breasts. You widen your legs slightly and he quickly fills the space, a covered thigh coming to rest in between the slight spread of your own.

Astarion’s lips move to your jaw, your head tilting for him as the hand on your neck gives one last squeeze before brushing down your side until it finds your hip. The thigh between your legs presses in harder, and you thank the Gods that Astarion had the wherewithal to design a gown with such a high slit as you feel the fabric of his pants against your bare skin of your upper thigh.

The hand on your hip pushes you slightly forward and your covered center makes contact, the hard muscles of his leg rubbing deliciously against your core. You choke on a moan, and you can feel his smirk against your skin as his lips caress that spot behind your ear you love so much. 

“Do you think you can do it? Ride my thigh with all these people milling about?” His words are spoken low into your ear as your eyes fall shut at the tone of his voice, the devious lust that permeates every word sending a shiver through your body.

You bite your lip as you tug him closer, burying your face into his neck. You move your hips, starting with a slow movement, barely enough to provide any relief. But you feel it, all the same, cheeks flaming as you focus on Astarion and his leg, the alcohol drowning out the noise of the rest of the ball around you. 

What must you look like, you wonder, to anyone who happens to look on? You hope that the image of you together is only that of a pair of lovers embracing closely, too lost in their own world to care about anything else.

You can feel your wetness growing with every pass over his thigh as your hips undulate in soft motions, Astarion’s body pressed as close as possible to your own, shielding you with his form as much as he can from your place in the shadows. 

The feeling is wonderful, enticing in such a public arena, but it is far from enough. Your arousal grows, the dampness seeping through your underwear and onto the dark velvet of his pants as his cock twitches against you, his length hard as it strains against the fabric.

You feel his hand come down from your waist to brush against the slit where it falls against your thigh, his fingers tracing up and down your skin in teasing passes.

Those fingers slide inside the skirt of your gown, grazing the outside of your thigh as they make their way towards your ass. Your skin is hot where his cool fingers touch, a blazing line of heat marking every movement they make as he caresses the flesh barely hidden by your underwear.

“How wet are you, darling?” His words are sinful as he whispers them in your ear, hand easing under the line of your panties to rub against your bottom, his fingers creeping ever closer to the place where your aching cunt connects with his leg. 

“Astarion,” You whine in his ear, hand gripping the collar of his doublet. “Please.”

You don’t even know what you are begging for, but as Astarion’s fingers finally find your wetness you are unable to conceal the moan that falls from your lips. His fingers move, just enough to gather evidence of your arousal on his fingertips. 

“Oh, you sweet thing. You like this, don’t you?” You can hear the smirk in his voice as his hand trails away from the center of you, brushing back past your underwear and out of your gown. He brings the fingertips up to press against his lips, tongue sneaking out to lick at the slight sheen that coats them. 

Your mouth goes dry at the sight, your breathing hard as your eyes trace his features.

Astarion’s hand covers your own where it grips at his collar as his other adjusts himself in his pants, hiding his erection as best he can from sight. He pulls away from you, helping you adjust your dress with quick fingers. Your eyes catch upon the sight of your arousal on his pants, catching the light as he turns. You cheeks burn at the sight, your swallow audible.

“Follow me, love.” You don’t question him on where he is heading as he makes a line for the closest set of ballroom doors, pace quick as he weaves the both of you through the sea of bodies that make up the cities’ finest members of society. 

“Are we going home?” You whisper quietly as you follow, unsure if you were ready to commit the incandescent aura of the evening to memory alone quite yet.

It had taken hours to get ready, time spent bathing together before pampering each other—applying scented oils on skin and through hair, Astarion helping you pin your hair into its complicated updo this evening taking almost an hour alone, his fingers applying the rouge to your cheeks and lips with care as he admired your features with the utmost affection. No, you certainly weren’t ready to leave quite yet.

“It would be a shame to end the evening so early, don’t you think?” Relief and joy spills through you in equal measure at his words, eager to continue tonight’s festivities, whatever they may be.

You walk through the main hall, hand in hand with Astarion, the wine still buzzing in your head as he draws you up the large, elegant staircase of swirling marble. Your presence goes unnoticed as you pass others dressed in their own finery, shimmers of glitters and gems, silks and tulles flowing past as you climb step after step.

You make it up the rise of the large staircase, skirt twirling as you spin around momentarily to take in the scene of the party now beneath you. Its a world of luster that takes your breath away, everything filtered with the heady glow from the candelabras and wine flowing aplenty. 

With a tug on your hand, Astarion leads you away from the center of the room, breaking off to go down a smaller corridor to the side before cutting aside on one or two more until you are isolated, the noise of the orchestra below now faraway and faint.

The hallway feels hushed and hidden away, safe from the prying eyes of society as the candlelight sconces adorning the walls flicker, dancing fragment of light illuminating the narrow corridor. Astarion walks you back with hands on your waist until you feel the half-paneled wall against your uncovered back, the wallpaper ornate with scrolling vines and berries, vibrant reds and greens contrasting against the darkness of your gown. 

Astarion’s head bends to your chest, pressing a tender kiss onto the swell of your breast, over the place your heart beats in three-quarter time.

“Have I mentioned how absolutely divine you look, darling?” 

“Well, you did make the gown.” Your hand tangles in his hair, pressing him closer to your breasts as you arch into him. He buries his face into your chest, kissing and licking at the skin bared to him above the low neckline.

“It’s quite easy when you have such a lovely muse.” His nose nuzzles at the flesh of your breast, breathing in your scent as he groans against you, pressing his hips against your own so you can feel the evidence of his prominent erection.

Astarion bites down into the flesh of your breast that rises above your gown without warning, fangs piercing the tender skin that heaves with your breath as he drinks in the sweetness of your blood. It flows thick in brightly colored streams, a surprised moan ripping from your lips at the sudden action.

He sucks from the swell above your gown, blood dripping to stain the bodice as he licks and tastes the rich claret of you made all the sweeter from the wine, his hand drawing down your belly before dipping lower. 

He finds that slit on your thigh, hand working its way underneath before moving to cup around your wetness as you cover your mouth with your hand, hiding your moans behind a palm as your eyes flutter shut.

Astarion moans at the dampness he finds there, fingers quick to push aside the gusset of your underwear to run his fingers through your slick folds, collecting your arousal on his fingertips, spreading your wetness up and down the expanse of your center. You can feel his erection pressing against you, still hidden by his pants as he relishes your body’s reaction to his actions, lips still licking and sucking at the skin of your breast.

The fingers at your core move to rub your clit, the light pressure a relief as you bite your bottom lip to keep quiet, eyes glancing to the side quickly before closing once more to indulge in the feeling, his mouth not letting up as he savors your lifeblood.

“Astarion, what if someone sees us?” Nerves make their way into your soft voice, barely a whisper as your body tenses slightly with unease at the prospect of being seen by another. Astarion’s head lifts away from your breast, fangs leaving twin pinpricks on your chest, blood pulsing from the wounds in time with your heart as his eyes draw up to your own.

“No one will recognize us, my dear.” A finger circles your entrance, and your knees threaten to buckle under the pleasure. “Though we can stop if you want to.”

You hesitate and Astarion’s fingers pause to give you time to think, his mouth still drinking from the blood leaking from your breast, tongue licking at any stray drops.

“No,” You shake your head, needing little time to ruminate on the decision. “Please, don’t stop.” You let the desperation you feel run into your hushed voice as you give him your consent to continue, your hands in his hair brushing through the strands as you buck your hips into his hand.

“Thank the Gods.” His finger pushes in, working its way into you with sinfully slow movements, your head hitting the wall behind you as you let out a hiss at the feeling. You can hear your wetness as his finger dives deep, the sound of it obscene in the otherwise silent hallway.

“Gods, you’re so wet,” He kisses against your collar bone, nuzzling into the skin there as he breathes in your scent. “Who knew you were such an exhibitionist? Absolutely filthy of you, sweetheart.”

You whine at his words, Astarion coaxing more quiet moans from your lips as his finger pumps deep inside you. His free hand trails up to your shoulder, pushing off the delicate strap of your gown before moving down to pull at your bodice. 

Taking care not to rip the velvet, Astarion succeeds in freeing the breast he had fed on, hand coming up to weigh it in a palm as his mouth licks at the exposed nipple. 

He sucks on the hardened peak as his finger pulls out of you only to be joined by a second a moment later, the stretch barely noticeable with your wetness aiding his smooth thrusts in and out of your cunt.

His fingers curl against your walls as his tongue licks at your nipple, laving the peak as he finds that special place, deep inside your body and presses into it.

He’s relentless as his mouth works your breast and his beautiful fingers fuck you, his other hand squeezing the breast still covered, fingers working underneath the fabric to brush at the nipple.

It would be so easy to come like this, a fact Astarion does not miss as he can feel your body’s reaction, the telltale tension building inside you. Slowly his fingers leave your heat, brushing up against your clit with slippery motions as you whimper at the loss of them. He presses one last kiss to the tip of your breast, still wet with his lingering saliva, before he lowers to his knees in front of you.

“Astarion, what are you doing?” Your words are breathless as your hands run through his hair, the mask on his face slightly askew.

“I still seem to be a bit peckish still, though for a slightly different taste.” Warmth rushes to your cheeks as they flush, the alcohol still floating through your body painting everything in that same warm haze that has surrounded you through the night.

Astarion’s hands glide up your legs, brushing over soft thighs as he grabs at either side of the underwear where it rests low across your hips. His eyes flick up to yours as he pulls it down, guiding the thin, lacy fabric down your legs. He’s unhurried, clearly not worried about being caught or seen as he takes his time while his eyes never leave yours. He steadies you as you step out of the panties, pocketing the damp lace with a roguish smirk and raise of his brows.

His hand wraps around your thigh, pushing it up and pinning it against the wallpaper as he holds you open to his gaze. Your pussy is absolutely dripping for him, the sight of his otherworldly beauty as he stares at the center of you, open for him, takes the breath from your lungs.

There would be no mistaking what was happening if someone were to come upon you now—Astarion kneeling before you, supplicant, as he bares you to himself—unmistakable to anyone gifted with eyesight.

Astarion leans in to press a kiss to the thigh he has pinned, lips moving across the smooth skin with the lightest of touches before skipping over your weeping core to kiss the opposite thigh. You whine at the blatant misdirection of his mouth, hips bucking in indignation with as much motion as you can manage.

“Oh, I’m sorry—did you want something, darling?” He moves his face away from your body to shoot a look upwards, his features smug as he sees the abject desire in your gaze tempering the glare you shoot down at him.

“I thought you were still hungry, dearest.” You keep your words sweet, not letting the aching want you feel bleed into your voice as your eyes narrow. 

“Patience, sweet thing. I’m sure I’ve taught you about it once or twice before, have I not?” His head dips forward once more, breathing in the scent of your essence with a performative sigh. “Now, ask nicely. And do use your words and tell me what you want.”

“Astarion!” You start, exasperation building as you contemplate the words to say to appease him. He could be so demanding at times like this, a trait you found yourself caught between loving and hating in equal measure, though ‘loving’ did usually win out in the end.

You briefly debate making him wait for your words, watching his own impatience grow as you play coy, but this certainly isn’t the time or place for what could be a long, drawn out battle of wills on who would break first.

“Fine. Pretty please, Astarion, will you do me the honor of licking my cunt until I come? Preferably before we get caught?” Your frustration mounts as you say the words though you find the strength to keep your tone as breezy and unaffected as his own, despite the slight embarrassment beginning to creep in as the elusive power of the wine fades ever so slowly with every minute that passes.

Astarion grants you your wish with a wide, feline smile, licking a stripe up the center of you, his tongue running through your folds before brushing lightly against your clit as he savors the taste of you.

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

His tongue laps at your folds, taking his time to move up and down in languid strokes, never focusing on any one place. It’s a maddening feeling, a whine slipping from your throat as your hips roll, asking for more.

His tongue dips into your entrance, whorling around the opening as he tastes you, his moan against your cunt matching the one that leaves your mouth. Your hands tighten in his hair, hips writhing as his tongue thrusts inside you.

Astarion is eager to taste your essence, tongue flicking deep in your waiting wetness as hushed cries fall from your lips with every brush against your walls. You could sob from the feeling of the lightning hot pleasure that works through your body in time with every push of his tongue. He eats you out like a man starved, his mouth moving against your entrance as he works to plunge you closer towards ecstasy.

His motions are fast-paced, quicker than normal as he works to bring you to your peak, and you whine once more when he tongue leaves to lave at your folds instead. Two fingers are quick to replace his tongue inside you as he circles your clit instead, flicking the pearl simultaneously with perfectly timed thrusts of his fingers, curling up into that special spot.

“You really are so good when you set your mind to it, love.”

Your pleasure ratchets higher, a tremor running through your body as the leg supporting you grows weak with your impending orgasm, muscles in your thigh shaking slightly.

“Astarion, please don’t stop,” Your begging only serves to spur him on, tongue moving faster and his fingers curling faster with a repetitive motion that has your body tightening around him.

“That’s it, darling, come for me.” Astarion’s words are reverent, and you embrace them as you hurtle over the edge, euphoria rushing through your body, the feeling enhanced by the leftover wine as your fingers grip tight in his hair.

You come on his fingers and tongue, Astarion working you through the waves of your completion as they flow through your body, your cunt spasming tight as his tongue doesn’t stop licking at your clit. You bite the flesh of your lip, the delicate skin splitting under your teeth as you keep the sounds of your orgasm at bay, tiny dots of red spilling over your lips.

You uncurl your fingers from his hair, smoothing out the curls as your breathing evens out and your orgasm leaves you in a sense of pleasant euphoria. Astarion presses soft kisses against the skin of your inner thigh as his fingers finally slow inside of you before pulling out. He places one last kiss to your entrance, licking up the remnants of your come before he leans back and places your leg back down onto the ground.

He rises from the floor with a graceful motion, hands skating up your curves as his mouth crashes against your own. You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue as he kisses you, the flavor of your own blood and come dizzying. 

Astarion licks at the blood on your lip, sucking on the mark as it bleeds. You open your mouth to him, his tongue tangling with your own as he deepens the kiss. Your hands work in a frenzy with his own to loosen his pants, the button finally coming free in your rush to free his cock from the confines of his clothing.

Astarion pulls his hardness from his underwear and you pump him, the velvety feel of his shaft warmer than normal as your blood courses through his veins. He moans into your mouth, hips pressing closer to you as you work his cock up and down, his precome shining in the light of the sconces as you spread the fluid on the heat of him.

His hands move down from your hips, brushing over your bottom as he grasps under the curve of your rear, squeezing.

“Up.” You are quick to obey, eager to feel him inside you as you jump up, Astarion catching you as his hips pin you in place against the wall, his hands supporting your weight in a tight hold against your ass. 

The half paneling of the wall presses into your back as you push your dress out of the way, the skirt easily parting around the slit as you guide his cock to your waiting cunt, still wet with your come. Astarion stares at your mouth as you lick at the precome that coats your fingers, pupils blown wide as you take a finger into your mouth and suck.

“Like the taste, darling?” Astarion’s erection finds your entrance, your wetness coating the crown of his cock as he bucks in shallowly, the head barely pressing inside you.

“Always. I think I’d like to have a little more.” Your arms wrap around his neck as you roll your hips against his cock, taking him slightly deeper inside your waiting warmth as you lick at his lips.

Astarion lets out a low growl as he pushes inside you in a single thrust, gliding home as hips meet your own. You both moan at the feeling of him inside you, the satisfaction of Astarion finally filling you euphoric as you wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Did you design this dress thinking about how you would fuck me in it?” Astarion sets a steady pace as he moves his hips, your own meeting his thrusts as best as you can with such a limited range of motion.

“Of course I did,” He licks at the blood drying on your lip. “I thought about how beautiful you would look coming on my cock wearing it, too.” 

He pumps his cock harder, hips rutting against your own as your arms around his neck tighten, bringing him ever closer to you. Your lips meet once more, pressing against one another’s to silence the noises of pleasure breaking from your throats with every thrust. 

“No one can make you come like I can, can they?.” His words come on an quiet exhale of exertion, tinged with the smallest bit os what sounds like possession, his lips brushing against your own with each syllable that leaves his mouth.

“Don’t tell me you’re still jealous, Astarion?” You can still feel the leftover fog from your orgasm, hands playing the hair at the nape of his neck, the strands soft against your fingers as you try catch your breath in vain, every thrust of his cock making it harder and harder to breathe.

“I want to hear you to say it.” The hands on your ass squeeze, cock hammering harder into your center. “Say: ‘No one can fuck me like you’.”

There’s a familiarity to the veiled desperation in voice, though its been years since you’ve heard it. You would know the sound of it anywhere, the cadence of his longing to be wanted and loved and cared for burned into your mind for eternity, settling there like a haze over your vision.

Your heart grows tender at his words, and you hold onto him tighter, pressing a kiss to his lips before giving him the words you know he needs to hear from your rouged lips.

“No one can make me come like you,” A kiss to the tip of his nose where his face rests close to your own. 

“No one can fuck me like you,” A kiss to one cheek, then the other. 

“There is no one for me but you, Astarion. Only you.” Finally, his lips—your love and passion pouring out onto him with the simple press of your lips against his, a hand coming to brush his cheek.

“Gods, I love you.” His thrusts grow sloppy as he grips your hips harder, mouth falling open against your own as his pleasure builds.

“I love you too.” You lips part with the tilt of your head backwards as Astarion hits a particularly deep place inside you, fingers curling hard into the fabric covering his shoulders. He thrusts faster, making sure to hit against the same spot on every push forward.

Astarion’s hand sneaks from behind you to press against your clit, rubbing quick circles as his thrusts grow frenzied, losing their rhythm as he chases his impending high, intent to bring you with him over the edge.

“Will you come inside me? I want to feel you.” You press a kiss onto the shell of his ears as you whisper the words, your tongue darting out to tease at the sensitive skin of the elegant point.

“Is that what you want, darling? My come?” His hips stutter at your words spoken so intimately as you clutch at him, the warmth of your cunt drawing him closer and closer to his peak.

“Gods, yes. Please!” You aren’t afraid to beg as his fingers strum fast on your clit as his thrusts hit deep, your vision clouding over as another orgasm nears.

“Then take it, love.” Astarion buries his face into your neck as he comes, hot spurts of his spend spilling deep inside your body as you ride him through his completion. The feeling of him coming is exhilarating, and his fingers don’t stop until you crest over with him, the contractions of your cunt drawing him in tight as you take all you can of him as he hides his moans into your skin.

You roll your hips on his still hard cock as you work yourself through your orgasm, Astarion still pumping his own shallowly inside you as he comes down, breath hot against your neck. 

Slowly, the world settles back down, both you coming back to yourselves from where you stand against the wall, breathing slowing. 

Astarion’s cock is soft as he pulls from you, his come sliding out with it to make a mess onto your thighs. Astarion watches as his come collects at your entrance, the fingers on your clit moving downwards to push it back inside you with a gentle motion.

“Waste not, want not, my love.” Astarion’s finger curls one last time to press against your walls as you squirm, your body overly sensitive in the aftermath of your orgasm.

He presses a kiss to your forehead before removing his finger, moving his hands to help you stand back on the floor with steady feet. 

He pulls your panties out of his pocket, bending down onto a knee as he helps you back into them, gently lifting one ankle after the other as you still catch your breath, before he raises the ruined lace back up your legs.

He adjusts the skirt of your gown, making sure the velvet falls perfectly before he presses a soft kiss to your covered stomach. He rises, fingers tracing your form as he does, dragging the long forgotten silk shoulder strap back where it belongs as you work your breast back into the bodice.

“Astarion.” You touch at his cheek, capturing his attention as he looks back at you. His gaze is clear as his eyes meet your own, the beautiful crimson red of them soft as he searches your face.

“You really are the only one, Astarion. You are the only one I will ever love, until my dying breath. There will never be anyone else.” You watch as your words settle over him like a balm, the love you feel radiating into him as he accepts them into his own heart.

His features soften even as he scoffs at your words, his hand coming up to cover your own on his face despite himself.

“Oh, I know. Maybe I just wanted to hear you say it.” You let him lie, willing to let him keep this facade in tact.

“I’ll say it as many times as you wish.” Astarion’s hand takes your own where it rests on his face, pressing a kiss into the palm before lowering your joined hands.

“I’ll be sure to let you know, darling.” Astarion adjusts his own finery, settling the velvet back to rights as his eyes draw to the bodice of your ruined gown.

“Did you account for potential bloodshed when you designed the dress too?” You remark as you eyes follow his own line of sight, looking down at the blood staining the velvet dark with wet, sticky blotches. 

“Let’s just be thankful that blood and wine look similar.” 

“Nothing we can do about that bite mark though.” You sigh as you attempt to pull up the neckline slightly higher to no avail.

“Everyone will simply have to be left to wonder, then, won’t they?” Astarion bends down to press a fluttering kiss over the marks decorating your chest, squeezing your hand.

“Think you have another dance in you?” You squeeze at his hand back in response.

“I suppose we still have a few more hours before sunrise to wile away.” Astarion walks, gently pulling you after him as the pair of you make your way back to the glittering ballroom below. “Let’s go have some more fun.”

[flowersandbigteeth]

A Heath the Gargoyle part 2? It’s going to be the 1 year anniversary for his story soon (you posted Dec. 29 2022) and I’d love to see the couple’s relationship in a more established/long term phase. Maybe Heath is getting ready to propose so Y/N doesnt end up “dying alone eaten by local strays”?

I can't believe it's been a whole freaking year!!! Time goes soooo fast! Okay, I didn't make it the 29th...but I'm close ^_^

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Gargoyle (Heath) x F reader

Word Count: 3.5 K

General Plot: You and Heath go to a childhood friend's New Years Party.

Previous Parts

TW: nsfw gargoyle smut, extremally awkward party conversation, p in v sex, flying and being in high places if heights bothers you, discussion of depression, hurt comfort dynamic

“Are you sure this looks good?” Heath asked you, shifting on his feet and plucking at the silver tie you’d fastened to his neck to match your sparkly dress.

“It's perfect!” You beamed, smiling up at him and swatting his hand. “Don't look so nervous!” 

“I don't want to embarrass you,” he said, uncharacteristically shy. 

You snorted. 

“I’m more worried about the opposite,” you sighed. “Just…take anything they say with a grain of salt.” 

“What does that mean?” He asked. 

“Grace and I have been friends since we were kids because my mom works for her dad’s company…I kind of had to be her friend. Don't get me wrong, we were really close when we were kids,” you said. “But now I only see her for her annual New Year's party for my mom's sake. It's all I can stomach…how do I say this…she's kind of…competitive….You'll see.” 

The two of you stood on the doorstep of her boyfriend’s obnoxiously large house, the sound of the party inside filling the chilly night air. You wore a sparkly dress, and Heath a sharp suit customized to fit his wings. 

“Maybe they didn't hear me.” 

You hit the doorbell again, and it let out a hollow DING. 

“I’ve got it!” Someone shouted behind the door. 

You heard the sound of footsteps, and the door swung open to reveal Grace's boyfriend Mark. 

He was a better than average looking guy with blonde hair cut in a trendy style, wearing an expensive suit.

“Well…hello!” Mark said, his head tipping back to meet Heath’s eyes. “You’re…” 

His mouth hung open for a moment, at a loss for words, then they both spoke at once.

“Heath.” 

“Huge.” 

There was an awkward pause before you stepped forward and hugged Mark. 

“Thanks for having us over, Mark!” You beamed, shoving a bottle of champagne in his hand. 

Mark blinked for a moment as you pushed past him, pulling Heath behind you. 

“Grace’s in the kitchen!” He called after the two of you as he shut the door. 

“Hiiii!” Grace squealed as you pushed through partygoers to get to the kitchen. 

It wasn’t particularly difficult since Heath was bigger, harder, and wider than anyone in the room.

Grace looked beautiful, dressed in a glittery champagne bodycon dress. She'd always been lithe, her profile spruced up by a new pair of boobs Mark had bought her.

As usual, her party was perfect, every detail considered. There was a bartender wearing a bow tie serving drinks, the perfect music playing, and fresh flower arrangements everywhere. 

All the furniture had been removed to create a dance floor, and someone had specially designed gold lights to set the mood.

“So this is the man himself!” Grace exclaimed, looking up at Heath with wide eyes. 

“Gargoyle,” you corrected. 

“Right! Right! Henry, wasn't it?” 

Heath gave her a humble smile and stuck out a hand to shake hers. 

“Heath. Nice to meet one of (Y/N)’s friends.” 

She held his hand a moment too long before she dropped it.  

“(Y/N), shame on you for keeping him hidden away!” 

You blushed and put a hand on Heath’s arm, unsure what to say. The two of you had been half hibernating for the winter. You tended to get a bit of depression during the cold, dark months. Heath was more than happy to snuggle up with you and his fluffy little cat Aero and cuddle, which is all you really wanted to do from November to April.

People usually imagined gargoyles sitting stoically in the snow and menacing passerbys, but Heath liked to nest, tucking you both in piles of warm blankets and reading to you while you shared snacks.

Her eyes traveled from the tip of his folded wings, down the trim suit was wearing, to his clawed feet. 

“I can see why,” she went on, her mouth hanging open for a moment before she caught herself. “I'm so glad you two came!” 

“I've been missing my best friend! Let's get you some drinks!” she squealed, leading you out of the kitchen.

Heath glanced down at you and raised an eyebrow.

“Best friend?” He mouthed at you, and you shrugged. 

“Pomegranate martinis for us,” she said to the man behind the bar. 

“What do you like to drink, Heath?” Mark asked, appearing with the bottle of champagne you'd brought and handing it to the bartender. 

“Whatever you've got with Whiskey.”

“Gotcha, big guy,” the bartender said, tossing bottles elegantly as he made the drinks. 

When you were all set up with beverages, Lily led you out onto her back patio. 

“Look at this,” you said, taking in the beautiful outdoor space. “You've been hard at work! It's beautiful out here!” 

She'd put in layers of neatly trimmed flowers and bushes, which were dusted in snow. White lounges were arranged to make comfortable seating areas warmed by blue glass fire pits. The massive pool glowed, steam drifting up from its surface. It looked like it had come straight out of a magazine. 

“Isn't it? Mark got the best landscaper in the state! I'll give you his card!” 

She frowned at you. 

“Oh, you're still in that icky old apartment, aren't you?” she asked.  "You've got to get out of that place. Aren't you afraid of mold? It's terrible for your complexion."

“(Y/N) lives with me. Gargoyles like high places, so I have a flat downtown,” Heath corrected her, then smiled down at you. “Though the only plants we have are potted.” 

“Heath is really good with plants,” you said, smiling back at him with warmth. “He’s made us a whole jungle on the balcony!” 

“Hmm,” Grace hummed, eyes dropping to Heath’s large hands. “You look like you're good with your hands, Heath. You’ll have to come by sometime and give me some lessons.”

Heath’s eyebrows rose, glancing down at you for help. 

“How’s work going, Mark?” You asked to change the subject. 

“Mark got a promotion,” Grace said before he could answer. “He's a senior account manager at Dawson and Shields.” 

“Congratulations, Mark,” you said politely. 

He raised his drink and put a possessive arm over Grace’s shoulder. 

Before anyone could speak, one of Grace’s’s friends practically ran towards you, eyes on your hulking boyfriend. 

“(Y/N)!” Mary wailed, throwing her arms around you in a way she’d never done before. 

“Oh…Oof!” you gasped, catching her weight. “Uh…nice to see you again, Mary. This is my boyfriend, Heath.” 

He put his hand out to shake hers, but she shoved her body past it, attempting to plaster herself to his chest.

“We do hugs here!” Mary brayed. 

He took an awkward step backward, gently pushing Mary off of him with one large hand. 

“Sorry,” he said, tapping his nose. “Your perfume. My kind is very sensitive to scent.” 

He folded his big body down and tucked his nose into the spot where your neck met your shoulder, tapping a small kiss into your skin and subtly sniffing your neck as if he was cleansing his pallet. 

Mary’s face turned bright red, and she took a step back. 

“Are you still working at that bookstore?” Grace asked, filling the awkward silence.  

Before you could answer, she turned to Heath.

“I've been trying to tell (Y/N) it's time to get a grown-up job for years now. I mean, who works minimum wage at some shabby little bookstore at our age, don't you think?” 

Heath glanced at you and tipped his head to the side in a way you recognized as annoyance, though didn't look it. He took a sip of his drink to hide his frown.  

“What do you do, Grace?” He asked when he’d straightened his face.  

Excited to talk about herself, she went on, her hands waving around as she talked. 

“I'm a beauty influencer!” she said. 

“Beauty…influencer?” Heath asked. “I'm not sure I know what that means.”

She stuck out her chest to show off the Chanel necklace resting just above her cleavage. 

“I model jewelry, makeup, and nails,” she said. “Then I do reviews on all the products!” 

“Oh..uh…neat,” he said, trying to be friendly for your sake.“I didn't know that was a job. Do the brands pay you?” 

Her bright smile fell for just a moment before she plastered it back on. 

“Well…No, but I'm hoping to get some sponsorships this year!” She said. “I have 1,000 followers on TikTok!”  

Heath gave her a blank look. 

“Tik… Tok?” He asked, glancing down at you for guidance. 

“Um…it started as an app for teenagers to lip-sync popular songs, but now lots of people use it!” you explained. 

He raised his eyebrows but was at a loss for words.  

“What do you do for work, Heath?” Mark asked. 

“I own a shabby little bookstore,” he said before taking a long drag of his drink. 

“Oh!” Grace said with a stilted smile. 

There was another incredibly awkward silence. 

“Well, I think that's wonderful!” Mary cheered, squeezing his elbow. “There aren't enough brick-and-mortar stores these days! Everything is online!” 

Heath brightened, though he took a half step away from Mary.

“We do a lot of online business, as well.” 

He brushed his heavy hand over your hair, affectionately. 

“We?” Grace asked. 

“I made (Y/N) my co-owner.” 

“Wow, sleeping with the boss, (Y/N),”  Mary snickered. “I never thought you had it in you.” 

You blushed, but Heath folded you under his arm. 

“It’s the other way around,” Heath chuckled, brushing his thumb over your bare shoulder as he spoke. “(Y/N) is the boss. She’s got more of a mind for business than me. I'm just a book nerd, but she’s a marketing genius. Sales were dropping the year before last, so she managed to turn the store into more of a destination. Since she took over things, we've started focusing on hard-to-find antiques and hosting auction events. Profits have quadrupled.” 

“Oh!” Mark said, snapping his fingers. “Of course! You own Gargoyle Book Gallery! That's a legend! My boss loves antique books...first editions and all that. He raves about your spot all the time!” 

Heath tipped his drink at Mark. 

“Donny Shields, right? He comes by for poker night.” 

“Poker night?” Mark asked. 

Heath nodded. 

“Some guys from the Business League come over on Saturdays to play a couple of hands of poker and shoot the shit,” he explained. 

Mark’s eyebrows shot up. 

“I'd love to get in on that!” He said, eyes almost green with envy. "Can't imagine the conversations over that table!"

Heath shrugged. 

“We’ve got a full table now, but if a spot opens up, I’ll ask the guys,” he said. 

Grace decided too much time had passed without anyone paying attention to her. 

“Now that Mark is on track to be partner, we are going to buy a new house!” she said. “I don’t understand how you can stand to live in a tiny apartment!” 

Mark looked at her like he did not, in fact, want to buy a new house. 

“We’re still discussing it,” he said. 

Grace smacked him on the arm. 

“Don’t be silly, Mark,” she said. “With your raise, we can afford something bigger!” 

“I mean, I spend a lot of money on your stuff for TikTok, Grace,” he murmured. “Maybe if you were pulling in some revenue-” 

Grace smacked him again, harder this time, and gave him a look that said, “Shut up if you know what’s good for you.” 

“This place is really nice,” Heath offered Mark, trying to be diplomatic. “Plenty of room for a family.” 

They both spoke at once. 

“We aren’t starting a family.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought when I bought it.” 

You and Heath glanced at one another and took long sips of your drinks. 

“I have my career to think of!” Grace said while Mark found somewhere else to look. 

“That’s a pity. You’d be a great mom!” Mary said. “You could be a mommy blogger. Your fans would love that. You and Mark would have beautiful babies.”  

“Of course. We have excellent genes,” Grace said, enjoying being complimented. 

Her eyes slid mischievously to you. 

“What about you two?” she asked. “Are you thinking of starting a family?” 

You and Heath’s eyes met. 

“Maybe,” Heath said. “If you want to.” 

Your cheeks warmed, but not from embarrassment. 

“I’d like that,” you said. 

Grace frowned. 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asked. 

The two of you looked at her, confused. 

“You know, because of your mental illness. You wouldn’t want to pass that on to your kids…and how can you be a good mom with depression?” 

Your heart dropped, and tears flooded your eyes. It shouldn’t have gotten to you. You knew how Grace was, but it still hurt. It was something you’d always felt a little insecure about. 

Heath’s mouth fell open, and he shoved his glass into Mark’s hand. 

“It was nice to meet you, Mark,” he said before he scooped you up in his arms, and with a heavy pump of his wings, the two of you shot up into the night sky. 

He flew a couple of blocks away, before he stopped and hovered in place.  

Tears slid down your cheeks, leaving an icy streak as they cooled. 

“Are you okay?” Heath asked as the two of you hung suspended in the cold December air.

You sniffled, wiping your tears. 

“Yeah…I told you…Grace is competitive. She doesn’t like anyone looking better than her,” you whimpered. 

You felt a low growl in his chest. 

“That’s no excuse,” he said. “I think you’ll be a great mom. I’m not the least bit worried.” 

“But what if she’s right?” you asked. “What if I’m a terrible mom? What if my kids are messed up or something?” 

Heath let out a chuff with no humor. 

“That’s nonsense, teacup,” he said. “Depression is pretty common…and you manage yours just fine. Nobody is a perfect parent, and everyone has different challenges. Grace sounds like some kind of eugenicist. It’s creepy, to be honest.” 

“Are you sure?” you asked. “You don’t wish you had a perfect girlfriend like Grace?” 

Heath laughed out loud. 

“Grace is not the perfect girlfriend. Sooo far from it. I kind of feel bad for Mark, to be honest,” he said. “You on the other hand…” 

He tucked his head in the crook of your neck, smattering kisses over the skin. 

“You are smart…sweet…patient…incredibly patient,” he whispered, kissing you or nibbling with each word. “I have no idea how you put up with that woman.” 

“You get used to it,” you murmured. 

He tipped your face up to his. 

“I don’t want you to get used to that kind of meanness,” he said. “I don’t want to control who you see…but I don’t like them. I’d rather spend the rest of New Year's with you if that’s okay, not some snobby weirdos.” 

He adjusted you in his arms, nudging you to loop your legs around his waist. You pressed yourself against his warm body to chase away the chill of the night air. With one arm holding you to him, he cupped the nape of your neck, guiding your lips to his with the other. 

He tasted like oaky whiskey, making your mouth water. His heavy kisses chased any thoughts of Grace or the party away. 

Hovering in the inky night with the twinkling lights of the city sparkling in every direction, your only focus was Heath’s thick hand holding you securely in place and his lips on yours. 

You ground your hips into his body, delighted to feel his hardening shaft meet your core. 

His hand slipped down your neck, tugging the front of your dress down with a stiff jerk. The straps snapped, and your breasts tumbled out. 

“Heath,” you gasped, but he hushed you with another deep kiss before speaking. 

“It’s dark. No one can see us. Let me make you feel good.” 

He dipped his head, drawing a peaked nipple into his mouth. The contrast of his hot tongue and the chilly air made you quake. He licked and sucked one nipple and then the other until you’d completely forgotten everything going on below. Your world shrank to just Heath and all the decadent things he could do to your body. 

Your head fell back, pleasure snaking up and down your spine as he delighted you. Thick fingers roughly shoved the skirt of your dress up your thighs, and he traced your slit, growling at how wet you were for him. Another swift jerk and your shredded panties were fluttering a hundred feet down to the snowy earth. 

You gasped his name, but he was high on your scent and taste, wholly focused on giving you pleasure. He screwed two fingers inside of you, opening you up for him. You let out a needy whimper when they pulled out for a moment but were quickly replaced with his tail, thrusting in and out of you. 

You hardly heard the buzz of his zipper, your eyes rolling back in your head. With a tight thrust of his hips, his tail slipped away, and his thick cock filled you. He clutched your ass with a deep, satisfied grunt. 

A hundred feet up in the sky, you didn’t dare unhook your arms from around his neck, so you were at his mercy as he slammed his shaft into you. You bleated lusty yelps with every smack of his heavy balls against your skin, clinging to him for dear life. You were dizzy from fear blending with pleasure, your breaths ragged gasps. There was nothing between you and falling to your death but Heath’s enormous arms and powerful wings. 

“You’re so fucking perfect, (Y/N),” he growled into your ear, practically feral from the way your channel spasmed around his cock. You were tight, wet, hot, and the only woman in the world he wanted. Gripping your ass, he used your cunt like a fleshlight, slamming his cock into you over and over again. 

The tip of his naughty tail circled your clit, pushing you closer and closer to your end until there was nowhere else to go, and you went careening over the edge. With the addition of your pussy strangling his cock he couldn’t hold back any longer, his final thrusts savage and bruising.

Your stomach dropped as he lost control of his wings for a moment, and the two of you dipped into a free fall for a few seconds. You felt his searing cum fill you as you screamed into his chest. The confusing sensation of falling and his cum filling your womb slammed you into another unexpected orgasm. You bounced in his arms as he steadied the two of you. 

“Heath!” you gasped, your nails digging into his neck. 

“It’s okay, teacup, I’ve got you,” he muttered as he titled his wings, and the two of you streaked across the city. 

Instead of heading home, he deposited you on the roof of a tall building downtown. 

“Wait here,” he said, zipping his fly, and before you could say anything, he swooped away. 

When he returned a few minutes later, he was holding a bottle of champagne. 

“Where did that come from?” you laughed as he settled next to you and tugged you into his lap. 

“I stole it from a party going on down there,” he chuckled. “Don’t worry, they have plenty.” 

You giggled, leaning back into his chest, while he popped the top, aiming the spray off of the edge of the building, before tipping a little into your mouth.

There was a pop, and fireworks exploded in the sky across the city. 

He turned you around to him, slipping something out of his pocket.

"I wanted to do this tonight...but things didn't go quite as planned..." he said, appearing suddenly nervous.

You tipped your head to the side, confused until he opened the little box in his hand revealing a pretty ring.

"Heath!" you gasped your hand going to your lips.

"(Y/N)," he said. "Since the day I hired you, my world changed. At first it was just a fantasy crush. I mean, as your boss...I felt like it was wrong to act on it...but something about you is irresistible. It was impossible not to fall in love with you. Impossible not to steal you away.

Then we started dating and for awhile, I thought that was enough...but as the year went on...I realized I was happier than I'd ever been and you seemed...happier than I'd ever seen you...So...I want to make this permanent. If...you want that..."

Your eyes danced from the ring up to Heath's eyes. More fireworks bloomed in the sky, and you could see them reflected in Heath’s dark irises.

"Are...you asking me to marry you, Heath?" you asked.

"I guess I forgot the most important question," he said, giving you a shy chuckle. "(Y/N), will you marry me?"

Tears filled your eyes again, but this time for the best reason.

"Yes! Of course! I love you, Heath! I want to be with you forever!" you said.

“I love you, too (Y/N). Happy New Year,” he said quietly, slipping the ring out of the velvet and slipping it on your finger.

“Happy New Year, Heath,” you said tucking your head into his cozy shoulder and watching the fireworks make your engagement ring sparkle.

[perseephoneee]

decorating the tree (kol mikaelson x f!reader) {ficmas day 5}

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ happy day 5 of ficmas!

warnings: kind of angsty, mostly fluffy, a little steamy. but most importantly, festive.

a/n: i got a little carried away with this one. kol is just my baby boy. also the formatting is horrendous because tumblr was being a little bitch.

↳ masterlist  ↳ ship exchange ↳ join my taglist ↳ ficmas 2023

The holidays could be the most bittersweet time of the year. Observing everyone with their friends and families without having your own was lonely and often damaging. You usually could go home for the holidays, see your loved ones, or sleep in at your childhood home, but not this year. This year, because of all the shit happening in the French Quarter, you were forced to be alone.

You hated every second of it.

But, being the go-getter you were, you decided to make the most of it. And you involved the Mikaelsons in this scheme (they were part of the reason you were stuck in this mess anyway).

You had dragged Kol with you to get a Christmas tree. More like, Rebekah had convinced him to go with you. You harbored a massive crush on the original vampire, and Bex, your newest friend, was fully aware of it. It’s why she engineered him to spend more time with you. He helped drag the tree to your tiny apartment and lounged on your couch like a cat as you finished setting it up and dragging out your holiday ornaments.

“Should I go for a color scheme or just hang up whatever?” You asked Kol, holding up a box of white and gold ornaments. He was posed on your couch like a Greek statue, hand thrown over his eyes and legs sprawled out like he couldn’t give a damn. He opened one eye to look at your ornaments. You held up your box of random accouterments, including an abominable snowman and a glittery baguette ornament.

“I like the random ones,” Kol mumbled, laying his head back and letting out a sigh like the world was oh so cruel.

“Am I boring you?” You chastised, a frown marring your features.

“Darling, you could never bore me,” Kol coos. “I just find this to be obtuse.”

“What about it is obtuse?”

“When will you get to enjoy all of this?” Kol finally sat up, gesturing to your apartment. “With everything going on…you’d be lucky to have a Christmas.”

You deflated at his words, clutching your box of ornaments between your hands. Kol was right, but you loathed it. You wanted to just have a holiday, that was all.

He took notice of your somber mood and got off the couch to crouch in front of you.

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” he sighed, picking up an ornament and hanging it on the tree. “Maybe I’ll be wrong.”

He wasn’t entirely wrong; you wanted to hate him for that. But you never could, not really. You spent your whole life feeling like you were holding your breath, but it was like you could actually breathe with him. He made you smile and also frustrated you to no end. Kol saved your life once, and you wondered there and then if it was physically possible to give him your heart. You never figured that part out.Later that week, you were at the Mikaelson compound preparing for a war meeting slash holiday dinner. Dinner was your idea, and Elijah backed you up. Some poor soul they compelled was likely making you food as you sat on Rebekah’s bed, flipping through a book.

“Did you ever have any holiday traditions?” You asked the blond, not looking up as you spoke. You could hear her rifling around at her vanity when she turned to you.

“Bonfire,” Bex answered. “We’d write our wishes and throw them in the fire.”

“We should do that!” You exclaimed, looking up at her. She chuckled at your excitement, even as a melancholy look crossed her features.

“What would you wish for?”

Rebekah took a beat.

“My family, together, at peace,” she said softly, looking down. You repositioned yourself to sit at the end of the bed, looking at her sadly.

“I won’t leave you, you know,” you murmured. “Even if I should’ve hit the hills a while ago.”

“I know that, dove,” Rebekah sighed. “You’re as much a part of this family as I am. I’m…grateful for that.” She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and you were hit by the realization that she was just a girl in a woman’s body. “Because you’re my family, I know exactly what you’d wish for.”

“Oh?” You lifted a brow at that.

“For someone to meet you under the mistletoe,” Rebekah teased, getting up from her chair and tackling you down on the bed in a fit of giggles.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you gasped between laughter.

“Oh dear, Y/N, if only you could acknowledge how much he cares,” Rebekah sighed, and you poked her on the nose before rolling out of her reach.

“Don’t tell lies, Bex, it’s cruel,” you chastised.

“Is my darling sister being a vixen again?” Kol called from the doorway, catching both you and Rebekah’s attention. He leaned up against the door, arms crossed and a smirk on his face. You felt your heart rate pick up as you took him in.

“What do you want?” Rebekah inquired, looking bored.

“Dinner is ready; I came to fetch you,” Kol smirked, giving you a wink that sent your heart spiraling from the stratosphere. Rebekah grumbled and got up, pushing past you and out the door. You moved to follow, but Kol grabbed your arm, pulling you back towards him.

“Kol,” you breathed, looking up at him in question.

“Do I scare you?” He asked, peering at you. “What?”

“Or is it nerves?” He traced his thumb over the vein on your inner arm, and you could swear he was listening to how your heart thumped. “What makes your heart jump every time I come around?”

“I get startled,” you stutter, ignoring the look in his eyes at your lie. Kol hummed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as his fingers traced your face.

“You know what I loathe about you?” Kol whispered. “You smell too sweet to resist…”

You wondered what would happen if you dared to kiss him right then, but the timing was never your forte, and you were interrupted by Rebekah yelling at the two of you to hurry up. You pulled yourself away, holding your breath, hoping to calm down as you descended the stairs. You could feel Kol following behind you.

Dinner was extravagant, as most things in the household were. You gored on rotisserie chicken and baked brie, letting the flavors coat your tongue. Elijah and Klaus bickered back and forth about a course of action with fighting the witches (they wanted Hope, of course). You could have been more helpful in these discussions anyway. Frankly, you weren’t sure why they kept you around. Maybe one day you’ll find out.

Dinner was interrupted by an explosion.

You felt yourself fly back, hitting the floor in the dust. The enemies had effectively retaliated, and the Mikaelsons fought back perfectly with tooth and claw. You brought yourself to a standing position, coming eye to eye with a witch who looked at you like you were a pawn on a chessboard. You sucker-punched her before she could make a move.

The Mikaelsons dealt with the threat in record time, and when the dust on their battlefield had settled, the arguments started. First, Klaus ranted about how they should’ve been more prepared, and then Elijah tried to explain how they made logical choices up to this point. Rebekah would occasionally butt in.

You just stood there hearing the noise build up in your head. You had the vague sense that you were bleeding, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Someone came up next to you, and you turned to see it was Kol. He said something that you didn’t hear before biting his wrist and holding it up to you. You tentatively took it, letting his blood coat your throat before pulling away. The ringing stopped, and you felt your body stabilize.

The pressure from the family screaming match didn’t go away, though. Someone yelled, “Stop,” and everyone turned to look at you. You almost didn’t recognize your own voice breaking the chaos.

“Just stop,” you pleaded. You looked at each sibling, forcing them to really see you. “It’s the fucking holidays…why is there always fighting? Why are you always fighting?” Your voice broke. “You have each other, and you care so much even when you pretend you don’t, and you’re always fighting.”

“I would do anything to have my family right now, but I don’t, and it kills me,” you choked. “You guys have each other, and what do you do? Nothing. Nothing at all.”

You don’t know why you broke, but you did. Being alone during your favorite season hurt you way more than you let on. It felt like looking from outside your body as you walked out of the compound on the way home. You entered your apartment silently, flipping on the lights to absolute silence.

You took a shower and went out in pjs, bundling yourself up in front of your fireplace. It was one of the amenities that sold you on the apartment. You wrote out your wishes on a piece of paper, folding them into paper cranes (for the sake of being dramatic) and tossing them in the fire. You sniffled, hugging your knees to your chest and weeping. You missed home and your family. You felt terribly alone.

On your paper cranes, you wrote for your family, for being surrounded by loved ones during the holidays, and Kol liking you back. Simple, trivial wishes, but ones you had nonetheless. You debated calling it an early night when you heard a knock on your door.

You got up slowly to open it, recoiling in shock when Kol bounds in with Klaus following behind him. Both are wearing Santa hats.

“Mother of God—“ you curse, watching as Kol drops boxes of decorations on your couch and Klaus makes a beeline for your kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

“Celebrating Christmas,” Klaus says, pouring himself a drink (somehow finding your alcohol).

“What?”

“Elijah and Bex will be here shortly,” Kol chimes, taking out some lights and struggling to detangle them. You walk over to help him. As Kol says, Elijah and Rebekah come with more decor than you can handle and even some presents. Elijah gives you the early gift of a record player, a sleek Audio-Technica he sets up in the corner. He puts on a Christmas record and lets Elvis Presley’s “Blue Christmas” sound fill the space. Rebekah decides your apartment should be rearranged and goes to work pushing the furniture into their new places, making Klaus help her. You join Kol in decorating the tree. This mainly includes you redoing what he’s done since he’s absolutely dreadful at it. He pretends like he doesn’t notice you do it.

“This one reminds me of you,” Kol says, holding up a bright red apple ornament. It’s lightly dusted in glitter.

“Why? Because I’m the apple of your eye?” You jest, earning a slight chuckle.

“In Jewish tradition, the apple symbolized strength and hope for prosperity,” Kol explains. “In Wicca, it’s a powerful tool for protection. Much like you.”

You don’t have anything to respond to that, as Kol places the apple in the perfect place. You don’t move to rearrange it, it’s already in its home. You blush under Kol’s gaze and go back to decorating.

Rebekah claps her hands to capture everyone’s attention.

“Family photo time!” She announces, brandishing a camera she must’ve found stashed in one of your drawers. Klaus groans, and she swats him. You all gather in front of the tree. Elijah holds the camera with Klaus behind him, Kol, you, and Rebekah. Rebekah wraps an arm around your middle and props her head on your shoulder as you lean into Kol to fit better in the frame. Kol puts an arm around your shoulders and rests his head against yours.

“Smile,” Elijah says, taking the photo. You all gather around the screen, and you can’t help but smile at how well it turned out.

“You have a future in photography,” you chuckle, nudging Elijah. He rolls his eyes.

“No, thank you.”

Klaus pours everyone some champagne (again, where he was finding your alcohol is a mystery). You see the star at your tree's top and struggle to fit it on. Grabbing a chair, you nervously climb atop it.

“Here, let me help,” Kol says, grabbing your waist for support as you get on your tip toes and fit on the star. He holds you as you step off the chair, finding yourself in his arms. “Can we go somewhere quiet?” He asks, a hint of a tremble in his voice.

You gesture towards the bathroom, a place that’s already too noisy because of your rocky heater. He walks ahead of you, and you close the door behind him. You watch as Kol takes in the checkered floors, blue wallpaper, and clawfoot bathtub.

“Darling, this place is horrendous,” Kol states, and you laugh. “It works.” “It’s terrible.” “Not all of us are made of money,” you cross your arms, leaning against the counter.

“I have to get you a new place purely so I don’t have to look at this one,” Kol runs a hand through his hair, another hand on his hip. He looks ridiculous, and it makes you love him even more.

“What did you need the privacy for?” You ask.

“I have a gift for you,” Kol rifles through his pocket, pulling out a small red box. Your breath catches as he hands it to you. You open the box with trembling fingers to find a necklace inside. It’s simple, with a pendant of a moon eclipsing the sun. Your fingers trace with the charm with a delicacy reserved for beautiful things. “I saw it and thought of you.”

“I don’t know what to say…” “Say you’ll let me take you on a date.”

Your head shoots up, and you look at Kol with wide eyes. For once, his expression isn’t one of a cocky vampire, but rather a nervous boy. “What?”

“I figured it out,” Kol starts, stepping closer to you and cornering you by the door. “Why your heart beat so fast around me…why Rebekah is always asking me to do things with you…why you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” Kol looks down at you, forcing you to look up to meet his gaze. “You like me.”

“I—“ “It’s alright, I like you too. A lot. More than anyone in the past centuries,” Kol whispers. You wonder if maybe that wish you threw in the fire possesses real magic as you see your dreams coming true.

“Okay.” “Okay?”

“You can take me on a date,” you answer, feeling your breath shaky as Kol steps closer.

“Can I call you my girlfriend?” He trails his fingers across your jaw, chin, and lips. Your body is on fire.

“You can call me your girlfriend,” you whimper as his nose brushes yours.

“Can I kiss you?” He lets his breath fan your face, and you can barely let out an affirmative before you grab him by the collar and drag his lips to yours. One of his hands boxes your head against the wall as the other holds your hip, pulling you closer. Your hands tangle in his hair, and you hear him let out a small groan at the action. You let him take control because you’re barely holding on with the way he kisses and touches you. You’re afraid you might break apart if he lets go, and you can barely hold in your gasp as his fingers brush under your shirt.

You would let him take you right there, and then if not for Rebekah knocking on the door.

“Stop snogging and finish the tree!” She yells, earning a growl from Kol as you hear her walk away cackling. He turns back to you, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips as he looks at you with eyes the color of the night sky.

“How does 8pm tomorrow sound?” “Sounds like a date.”

[s-4pphics]

surprise!!! rubs hands deviously together!! 

hi guyth…. more richsnob!oc x meanmechanic!ellie even tho she’s not that mean🥺

wc;cw: 1.6k oooo, smut MDNI!!!, not proofread bc who cares :p, ellie’s a whiny sub im breaking my silence, eating out no cheesecake factory, slight degradation, one pussy slap sorry can’t help myself, nipple play, pain kink lol(scratching), choking mmm, exhibitionism?!😳, no aftercare bc oc is a cunt, some dirty talk bc i’m a loser, dassit real cute

“you’re so gorgeous, honey.” 

you were smiling so hard in this dingy, dimly lit bathroom. 

“t-thanks.” 

you nodded at her, hanging your chanel bag on the doorknob. you slowly unbuttoned your pink, cashmere celine sweater, hanging it on the hook on the bathroom door. and she watched your every move. ellie’s stuttering made you smile harder as you slowly walked towards her, your glittery heels clicking on the tile. she was looking you up and down, eyeing your lace bra-covered chest. you could hear her breaths pick up in pace with every step you took, and you loved how nervous you made her. you were going to swallow her whole, eat her alive, rip her apart—

“are we… are we gonna have sex in here?” ellie whispered, her breath brushing your cheesing face. 

“‘m not fucking you, you’re filthy. would’ve fucked you in my bed but you wanted to be a stubborn bitch and try to embarrass me,” you said with a bright grin, but your tone was sinister. she shuddered and you saw the blush across her freckles get deeper. 

“‘m sorry—“

“be quiet. no you’re not,” your smile dropped as your stare harderend. her breath caught in her throat at your tone. “you hurt my feelings, y’know that right? you denied me in public, i couldn’t believe it.” 

she looked so cute: she was staring at the floor, her thighs were squeezing together through her dirty, grease-stained jeans, her fingers twitching, and fuck, you wanted her so bad. you were so wet.

“look at me, baby.” 

her eyes flickered to yours, slowly and dazedly blinking like a kitty signing i love you! fuck, you love her, you love her—!

you leaned forward like you were going to kiss her, her eyes fluttering shut and parting her lips like she wanted your tongue inside her fucking throat. but you stopped her. “take your pants off, honey.” 

her eyes slowly peered open to look down at your lips before she snapped herself out of her daze, kicking her boots off and reaching to undo her belt before shoving them down her legs. and you just watched. 

“get up there,” you said as you nodded your head towards the sink and counter by the wall. she almost tripped over her own feet(and boots) as she rushed over, jumping to sit on top of it.

you walked over to her and she automatically parted her legs so you could stand in between them, propping herself up on her hands behind her. she was showing you the little wet stain on her green boyshorts. she’s so cute! 

“should’ve left that fucking door open, hm? so everybody can watch you be a disgusting fucking slut?” you whispered in her face as you glared at her. 

she flinched at your tone, but her hips bucked up to lightly brush against your thighs with a whine. you scolded her with a sharp don't fuckin’ touch me. her eyes got teary, but she listened. 

“should i open that fucking door?” 

she shook her head fast with a pout on her pink lips. 

“answer properly.” 

“…no,” she said shyly. she looked up at you with gentle eyes, giving you cute touch me, please! make me feel good! eyes. 

you smirked at her before reaching behind your neck, unclasping your 18K white gold diamond chanel necklace and put it around her neck. she whimpered and bit her lip before licking them. 

“yeah? like being pretty? you’re so fuckin’ pretty, ellie.” you cooed at her, slowly dragging your hands to her chest so you could grab her tits through her tee. it was filthy, but you didn’t care because she threw her head back, her bandana slipping off her damp head and onto the sink. all you had to do was grab it and tie her fucking hands together and make her—

“touch me please, fuck, want you to touch me s’bad,” she slurred out quietly, bringing her mouth up to kiss you but you moved back, grabbing her throat in your manicured hand. she moaned at your tightening grip, her eyes fluttering. fuckherfuckherfuckher—

she had a small grimace on her face like she was preparing for a scolding, but all you did was kiss her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, all while you choked her out. you felt her grinding down hard on the counter. 

“want me to make you cum?” you whispered in her ear before you licked it. 

“need you t’make me cum, need you need you, m’yours,” she gasped out. 

and you released her to drop into a squat, right in front of her clothed pussy. you grabbed the elastic of her boyshorts and ripped them off. damn near tore them to shreds to get them down her legs. and you almost creamed yourself at the sight of her cunt, all wet and twitchy and yours.

so pretty! you thought. ruin her, make her bruise! 

“pleeasse, pleasepleaseplease,” she desperately whispered out. 

“please what?” 

“make me cum, w’na cum for you, all over you,” she said between choked gasps. you didn’t even touch her, yet! 

and you gave her that sugary sweet smile you always have on when you see her before leaning forward to give her clit a slow kitten lick. her thighs jerked up to spread her legs more, but you dug your nails into them to bring them back down. she moaned out again. fucking painslut. you dug them in harder, and she got wetter on your tongue. 

“want me t’hurt you, baby?” you moaned out against her, and she shook her head yesyesyes before you could even finish speaking. 

“don’t touch me, you understand?” you whispered against her. she nodded faster. 

“say you understand, ellie.” 

“iunderstandiunderstand!” 

you grinned as you pressed a glossy kiss on her swollen clit before you pulled her to the edge of the counter by her thighs, sucking her clit into your mouth without warning. 

you heard her let out a quiet mhm! when you hummed at her taste and her smell, reaching a hand up to raise her white tee up and over her tits. you slapped one of them before bringing your hand back to her thigh. 

“touch ‘em for me, i’m busy,” you muttered against her before diving in again, flicking your tongue on her bud. she was a mess above you: head thrown back, lip between her teeth so she wouldn’t scream out, grabbing and pulling at her nipples with grease-stained hands while your necklace shimmered under the dirty lights, all while she bucked up against your face to get your tongue deeper. 

you were swirling your tongue and sucking on her as quickly as you could manage. you still had to get your fucking car! 

“ffuuuck, ‘m right there—!”

“yeah, honey? gonna cum?” you hummed against her, right on her clit. 

“m-mhm! shit, ‘m gonna cum so fast—“

and there was a knock on the door, a male voice shouting out. “yo, ellie! you in there?” 

and she jumped. she tried to close her legs and run, but you held her down to suck on her clit harder. you watched her eyes roll back into her skull as she almost fell forward. 

“we gotta charge that rich girl for her window repairs!” the same voice yelled out, knocking harder. 

so you sucked on her harder, sloppy noises filling the grungy bathroom. she was whining out quiet uhhuuhs while she bucked up against your mouth in attempts to ride your face. you felt her pussy tensing and all you could think was minemineminemineshesfuckingmine—

“did you see that fuckin’ necklace she was wearin’? it looked like it was weighin’ her down!” 

and you felt ellie freeze up before a squeal of fuck‘mcumming! left her mouth as she fell back on the counter, her pussy tensing and releasing on your tongue. her slick poured out of her pussy, and you slurped it all, sloppily licking up her juices as you shook your head between her trembling thighs. she was moaning your name along with fucks and yes’s with her head thrown back as her hands held the edge of the counter, and you watched it all. you loved it all. fuck, you’re going to marry her—

you hummed in satisfaction, and she jerked in overstimulation. she whined out at your incessant sucks before you released her, slapping her clit hard before standing. your knees snapped; this was the hardest you worked in your life! 

“ellie, what the fuck?! are you good?!” the male voice yelled out from the other side. 

the girl didn’t reply and you laughed at her slumped, gasping form, her pussy still twitching lightly due to how hard she came. the little devil on your shoulder snickered at you, patting your shoulder in hysteria. you laughed harder with her. 

you turned and walked back to the door grabbing your sweater to put it on before snatching your purse off the knob. hm, you never locked the door. you’re glad you didn’t! 

you opened it and walked out, making sure to block ellie’s… state on the counter. you shut it and turned, making eye contact with an intimidated, shocked young man. jesse, his tag read. he was also dirty, you hated it. 

“hi! i heard my car was ready?” you said brightly, masking your disdain. your girlfriend's pussy juice was still on your lips. 

“um… yes. the pink bentley with the smashed window?” he stuttered out as his blush deepened. 

“mhm! will you ring me up?” you asked sweetly, pulling out your black card and handing it to him, and he nodded slowly as he took it. 

what a fun first date! 

meep c:

p3 to this.

[chrisevansleftpeck]

Little Angel

Word Count: 852

Content Warnings: None :)

“Daddy you get three guesses. What’s in my hands?” Natalie swayed side to side, looking up at Spencer with a mischievous smile, her little hands clamped together tightly behind her back. The fluffy santa hat sitting snug on her head swayed with her.

You watched from the kitchen, stirring the big pot of hot chocolate before the team came over. You didn’t even notice the big smile on your face, but watching your daughter and her daddy giggle together made you the happiest lover alive.

“Hmmm,” Spencer hummed curiously, even though he could easily profile his little girl given he’s had lots of practice with her. Natalie loved testing Spencer, making him profile her and play puzzles. “I think,” Spencer swayed his head to the side to peek as Natalie screamed loudly, giggling too. 

“No peeking!” She said, funny at first, but eventually a pout grew on her face and little tears began to run from her honey-gold eyes, just like Spencer’s. Spencer got on his knees next to her to sit criss cross on the living room carpet. 

Natalie wattled over to him, finding a seat on his left leg and her body facing him. She revealed to him what he profiled wrong. He was almost certain it would’ve been her favorite plastic cookie from a small baking set you’d bought her for her birthday. He was wrong though. 

She extended it towards his face, a little glittery, paper angel ornament she’d made in school the other day. In her wobbly five year old hand-writing it said “I'll always be your baby girl”. Morgan always called Natalie baby girl and Spence always called her baby. It was the first thing she thought of writing.

Spencer gently took it from her hands, holding it in front of his face, trying to make out the writing. He looked back down at his daughter, her arms now wrapped around his waist but too short to wrap completely. “Thank you.” He whispered, kissing her wavy mousy brown hair. 

A part of her was still upset he hadn’t guessed it though, and Spencer could clearly tell. “Hey, let’s put it on the tree, Nat.” He said lifting her up and letting her wrap her scrawny legs around his hip. He walked her towards the half-decorated tree. You guys were so busy at the BAU that Spencer didn’t even have time to assemble the tree until today.

“Can I do the star too, Daddy?” She said grabbing onto and twirling a little piece of his hair in her hand.

Spencer looked to you, waiting for the boss’ approval. You nod your head, “Sure, why not.” You said, turning the stove off and letting the hot chocolate rest. You walked over to Spencer and Natalie and dug through a box on the floor for the star.

You handed it to Natalie as she made an “oooo” sound at its intricate detail. “Thank you, Mommy.”

Spencer lifted her up to the top of the tree as she took a minute to steady it on the tree top. Spencer let her back onto his hip and stepped back, letting her look at her work. 

“Perfect, Daddy. Thank you.” Natalie began to sway her legs, a sign she was getting antsy and wanted to get down. Spencer gently let her off of him as you took her place at his side. You stood next to him, resting your head on his shoulder. 

“I love her.” He whispered to you. “Thank you for having my baby.” Spencer kissed your forehead, his words sending butterflies to your stomach. You turned to Spencer to give him a little kiss just as Natalie poked at your side. 

“Mommy you should hang the angel I made.” She handed the paper angel to you then pointed at the tree. 

“Isn’t this for daddy?” You asked her, recalling moments ago when she presented it to him. 

A moment hit Natalie, disappointment on her face. “I only had time for one star. Can you share, Daddy?” She turned to Spencer with a little pout.

“Of course, baby,” He assured her, tucking a small strand of loose hair behind her little ear. He then turned to you, holding the hand-made star, “You hang this one, Y/N.” 

You took the angel from his hands gently, then rose to your tippy toes and scanned the tree. You felt Spencer's arms come around your waist, lifting you a bit higher. You grabbed one of the faux pieces of pine and slipped your daughter's angel around it. 

“Mommy’s short.” You hear your daughter whisper by Spencer’s side, causing you to giggle.

“You know, you’re pretty short too.” You point out, throwing sass back with a smile.

Natalie put her little hands on her hips, “But I’m gonna be big like Daddy soon. You won’t.” 

Spencer’s mouth formed an “O” at the uncalled for sass, leaving you laughing. You pulled Natalie into a big hug, Spencer joining in too.

“I’m gonna be squished.” She said, wiggling her way out just as the oven dinged. “I’m hungry.”

“Okay,” You said, picking her up, “Let’s eat.”

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

The Taming of Man: chapter three - Dragon Shifting!Katsuki Bakugou x F!reader

I'm pretty sure I'm starting to burn out a little, so while these chapters are only a couple days a part, the next ones might have a bigger gap. Still loving this so far, the plot is plotting, and I hope you love it too!

This is incredibly based on the song The Willow Maid by Erutan, I highly recommend giving it a listen for the best experience.

Warnings: Cursing, reader is She/Her and will be AFAB in later chapters, Shirtless Katsuki, hints at a toxic relationship between reader and her mother, slight misogyny

Words: 2,513

The walk home was different than the walk back for Katsuki. First of all, it was nightfall, so he had to rely on his limited, albeit better than human, night vision.

Leaving Nebel was easy enough, all he had to do was walk in any direction and it seemed to teleport him right to the border between it and Leben, which was a lot quieter than before.

Schatz wasn't so glittery in the moonlight as the sunlight, making it easier to ignore (Despite his stupid lizard brain wanting nothing more than to build the shiniest nest), and no animals seemed to live in it, meaning less danger.

Eisen was a little taxing, because he had to climb up the sturdy and unmoving orange trees, walk on it's branches above, and then climb back down, but at least it didn't feel so eerie and liminal as the last three.

And lastly, there was Böse, the forest he knew well, as alive and bitter as ever. Home. He made his way past the clusters of Portobello mushrooms and thickets of thistles (the one he beat still withered on the ground), over the Acrimony tree roots, and around the rocks covered in Magma Moss. He could see the exit, the clearing of trees, leading to the back of his Palace.

He knew everyone would probably be asleep, or at least resting in bed, so as he made his way through the courtyard and to the royal kitchen door he tried his best not to raise any red flags. He crept through the halls, climbing lengths of stairs all the way to his chambers. He walked past his study, stopped at the bathroom to piss and replace his substitute shirt bandages with actual gauze, crept into his bedroom, and quietly shut the door behind him.

His room was dark and warm, if that made sense, his bedframe made of rich oak, his linen sheets parylene red, his shelves lined with books, a mirror framed in gold hanging above his mahogany desk, and the entire area being lit by yellow flames resting on candles. He sighed with relief, glad he didn't wake anyone who might have questions. Since he told everyone he was going camping, he'd have to explain why he was back so soon.

"Dude, why do you smell weird?"

Katsuki jumped, spinning around to see his personal servant Kirishima standing in his room preparing his clothes for the next day. Katsuki huffed and shook his head, gritting his teeth. "None of your damn business..." he grumbled, beginning to undress. Kirishima grabbed him his pajamas, which he changed into without another word. "Weren't you supposed to be camping," he asks, to which Katsuki borderline shouts, "Weren't you supposed to be minding your damn business?"

Kiri just laughs a little and finishes with Katsuki's clothes, coming over and patting his shoulder. "Fine, don't tell me, but I know a pretty girl when I smell one" he taunts, singsonging "Pretty girl" and making his way to the door. Katsuki tensed, his teeth gritting a little. "What the hell are you talking about," he mutters, trying not to give away the fact that he was right.

Ejiro turns around, an amused grin on his face. "Last I checked, honey and roses aren't a part of your natural scent," he laughs. Katsuki pursed his lips, face turning red and eye twitching a little. "...Don't you have more important things to do," he barked, evading the situation with all the grace of an elephant in skates.

Ejiro sighed, shaking his head with a smile and leaving. Katsuki relaxed a little once he left, settling into bed and getting ready to sleep. Damn it...he did smell like honey and roses. It was probably that stupid hug she gave him, all soft and close and relaxing...

He pushed his face into his red silk pillow, groaning loudly into it and squeezing his eyes shut.

Going home for you was easy, all you had to do was grab your things, go through the portal, and walk through the forest until you reached the palace. It was late, but not as late as it could have been, so you had to pay closer attention to the little rocks and roots that might trip you, even if they always seemed to move out of the way.

you knew from first glance that everyone was settling in, the courtyard lacking the busy and energetic sounds it usually had, and so you felt safe enough to climb back up the wall and waltz in to the palace like nothing happened.

"Where have you been," Ururaka whisper-shouted, standing in the middle of the courtyard and apparently looking for you. She had her hands on her hips, her brows creased as she stared you down sternly. "..." you turned around, moving to climb back up the wall. "Get over here," she ordered, making you wonder who the servant really was here, and you begrudgingly obliged. "You're lucky you got back when you did, your mother is looking for you! Do you realize how long you've "Been in the bath?" A very long time, (Y/n)!" You smiled, giggling a little as Ochako led you to your chambers and helped you strip to put on your pajamas. "What," she whined, clearly this who thing stressed her out. "You lied for me," you said blithely, putting your arms up as she slipped the silk nightdress over your head. Ururaka was silent for a moment, before relaxing a bit. "Well, yeah, what was I supposed to do? Now come on!" She yanked you out of your bedroom, the two of you dashing to the throne room to meet with your mother. You both slowed once you neared it, walking gracefully in and curtsying at where your mother sat on the center throne. She looked just like you, or rather you looked like her, with the same hair color and eye shape, the same grace surrounding you turned to regality surrounding her.

She glided down to you, taking you by the arm and beginning to walk you away from your maid and to the gardens. "is...something the matter," you asked, hiding your fear of the fact that she might have found out about your near-daily escapades to the other realm. The two of you stepped out, now walking among the rows and rows of roses in all colors. You loved these roses, how elegant they were, you even had them made into perfume, along with some sweet fruit blossoms that grew locally in the gardens.

"Not at all...actually, I have something to run by you."

Crap. When she wanted to "run something by you," she really just meant that she would tell you something, and then you'd agree. "What is it," you asked brightly, hoping not to let on that you in fact were not enthusiastic about this. "Well, you're getting to the age where...you see, when I was twenty I already had you and..." she was struggling to put things lightly for you, so she just came out with it. "Some suitors are coming by this week to...chat with you." Double crap. A suitor? Wasn't all this a little early? You supposed they must be eager, after all your kingdom was the only kingdom around. Any man put before you would be a grand duke at best, and the way things worked in your country, he would be brought up to be prince instead of you being brought down to be duchess.

"Lovely," you sighed, smiling at your mother to show how "happy" you were. She smiled back, taking your face in her hands and kissing your forehead. "My perfect princess...you always do the right thing," she said contentedly. "Yep..." you responded, nodding. what were you going to do?

"I think you'll find my manor to be quite satisfying to your needs, princess, although of course we have no female wait staff, so we may need to blah blah blah blah bladi blah..."

You smiled and nodded along, listening to a sales pitch as to who you should sleep with for the rest of your life. This was going to be a rough week. You might have responded, if the corset around your waist weren't so breathtaking. You remember being squeezed in to it, Ochako's foot on the wall you faced for support as she pulled the laces tightly.

You didn't mind the dress, a soft pink and cream colored gown with floral lace detailing and pink heels to match, your hair fixed in yet another bun, but it was uncomfortable as hell. Besides, you had plans! Your basket was currently sitting in your room on the vanity, containing the health elixir you would give to Katsuki. It was stupidly easy to make, using few and abundant ingredients, the hardest part being sneaking into the palace Enchantment Room and waiting for it to brew.

All that was left to go and give it to him, you'd finally be able to learn about the world beyond your realm! It'd be great, you could just feel- oh shit, wait, this guy's walking up to you now.

He took your hand and kissed it, looking up at you flirtatiously. You smiled with all the grace you could muster, taking your hand away as quickly as possible without alarming suspicion. "well, this was lovely, but I must go..." you looked over at Ururaka, who screamed "don't you dare," with her eyes, before looking back at the man and continuing to smile. "and attend to womanly things." He just nodded absent mindedly, it was the perfect trump card over any ignorant man, and watched as you stood and walked off to your chambers, practically gliding. The second you were up the first flight of stairs, you kicked off your heels and booked it to your room. No way in hell you'd be late, even if you didn't necessarily plan a time you knew this was an hour or two past when you left yesterday, and therefore around the time Katsuki would be there.

You had no time to change, so you just grabbed your basket, double checked for the potion, and began to run out the door. You slid to a stop though, pausing for a second. Quickly, you grabbed a little piece of paper, a pen, and quickly scribbled. "In the forest, don't wait up!" You didn't want Ururaka to worry.

You ran back out, out the window, up the wall, through the forest, to the creek, and into the water. You swam up, tossing your basket out first, and then hoisting yourself up. Once again, you were immediately dry, and you breathed in the fresh air of the ever-alive forest.

Looking around, you noticed Katsuki wasn't here yet, so you just took a seat on the stump. Bored for the first time ever in this place, knowing you could be interacting with a real life Dragonborne, you began singing. It was the same song you always sang, the song your countrymen knew so well. You never stopped singing, even when you ended the song, something inside you just compelled you to do it.

After about 10 minutes, Katsuki pushed his way through the brush, this time wearing a shirt and carrying a satchel. You turned to him with a smile, waving at him from your seat. "Heyyy Katsuki! I brought you the potion!" Katsuki made his way over, sitting down beside you. "Why're you so excited, 's not like we're doing anything fun," he huffed. You laughed a little, taking out the bottle out of your basket. It was cylindrical and sealed with a cork, the liquid inside golden and glittering in the sun.

"Oh but we are, you don't know how much I've been looking forward to this." You were that excited? For some reason, he found that a little endearing. He knew you weren't excited to spend time with him specifically, anyone could have walked through and you surely would have been equally happy, but it still did something to his cold little heart.

"whatever...So how does this thing work?" He took the bottle from you, surprisingly gentle, his calloused and scarred hands grazing yours. The sensation on your hand lingered a little, making your heart beat just a little faster. Why did he make you feel like this? He was rude at best, and yet something about his brutish nature made your cheeks heat.

"Well, you apply it to whatever wound you want, unless you're healing a sickness, then you drink it." You took the bottle back and popped open the top, the thick scent of vanilla and mint pouring out. His nose wrinkled at the strength a little, which was adorable, and wordlessly took his shirt off. He planned on putting it on those thistle punctures, and he needed to have his shirt off to do that.

"Do you always do that," you asked with amusement, this being the second time you've seen him shirtless and the second time you've seen him period. "Shut up," he grumbled, tossing his shirt aside. "Yeah yeah, what are you gonna use it for?"

Katsuki sucked his teeth, rolling his eyes to you. "What do you think? Look at my arm," he scoffed. It was true, the little holes were pretty gross looking, so you shrugged. "Well, hold still, it might sting," You said, to which he replied, "huh," before you applied it to his wounds with your fingers. "Hey," he barked out, pulling away from you. You frowned, pulling back ever so slightly.

"Relax, Ok? It's not gonna kill you," you said, gently coaxing him with your voice. He stared at you hesitantly, before sitting in a little closer and holding still. You smiled at him and got a little more of the potion on your fingers, gently rubbing it in to each of his wounds. He was wincing a little, so little you could hardly notice, but the punctures disappeared almost immediately as you healed him.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" You corked the bottle, putting it back in your basket. "Shut up! I was just surprised, because... because your hands are so damn cold!" He was clearly making that up, the sting definitely startled him a little. "ok, I get it, you're super strong and tough, now what are you teaching me today?"

"Just shut up already...and you're learning about the countries today." He opened his satchel, pulling out a rolled up map. There was one big circular mass in the center of it, with scraggly lines separating the borders inside it. There were perfect rings surrounding the very center, each one labeled with the names of the forest rings. You could see where he scribbled the words, "YOU ARE HERE," with an arrow pointing to the very center ring.

"Wow," you whispered, the way your eyes lit up tugged at Katsuki's heart strings. You really found this interesting, didn't you? He was silent for a moment, staring at your side profile, before quickly getting a grip.

"Right, So this is the Atlantic ocean..."

Gosh, I hope reader doesn't sound stupid 😅 If she does, I hope you'll see in later chapters that she's really not. Anyways, please comment what you thought, I love hearing it! If you have any questions, please direct them to my Ask Me box :)

Taglist: @sky-angel101 @the-galaxy-fiend

[lio-the-chaotic-nonbeanie-weenie]

The Favorite Side

Summary: Roman just wanted to celebrate his birthday but...of course, because of Logan's impromptu photoshoot, he's left to celebrate alone. After all, it's not like he's anyone's favorite side...right?

AO3 Link

Pairings: None, BROTHERLY Creativitwins

WARNINGS: FOOD MENTIONS, REMUS BEING REMUS, LIGHT ANGST

(A/N: Roman just wanted to celebrate his birthday but...of course, because of Logan's impromptu photoshoot, he's left to celebrate alone. After all, it's not like he's anyone's favorite side...right?)

taglist: @part-time-zombie @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat @enigmasalad

Roman sighs, watching from the banister as he peered around the wall. Today was Logan’s photoshoot for his new skirt look. Thomas had the idea of getting Logan all dressed up once again. Once Logan was told about it, he seemed happy and even flattered to help Thomas do another photoshoot. Of course, that called for some creative touch, and they called Roman in.

            Roman was happy to help and asked when they were going to do the photoshoot. His heart then sank when they told him the date. His birthday. He tried to get them to change it without throwing a tantrum, but they seemed to have forgotten how important that day was. So, Roman spent the whole day of his birthday listening to everyone fawn over Logan and praise him. He couldn’t do anything but hide his own pain because Thomas forbid, he threw a fit or got upset as his special day was overshadowed by the favorite side.

            Now, the prince himself watched from up the stairs as Patton, Janus and Virgil gathered around Logan. Remus was nowhere to be found, having been gone all day. The photoshoot had ended hours ago and Roman had made up some excuse that he had things to attend to inside the Imagination but really, he didn’t want to listen to them anymore. Yet, he was still here and watching in envy. It just wasn’t fair. Why did Logan get all that attention? Why does he get to dress up when it’s not even his special day? What does he have to do to have that for himself? Roman sighs, feeling so small now. Logan always was better than him. He was smarter and quick to understand things he didn’t. He was organized and focused. He was everything Roman wasn’t.

It hurt even more, knowing that the fans loved Logan even more than him. Roman was just the annoying, loud, and arrogant prince that no one liked because he was mean to his friends. Maybe he deserved nothing today. Sighing once again, Roman decides to let Logan have this. After all, Logan deserves the spotlight more. He had shoved the logical side towards the backstage one too many times. So, as everyone rains more praises on Logan, the princely side quietly slips away before anyone could notice him.

As soon as he closed the door to his bedroom, Roman felt his legs tremble and he moved to sit at his desk. He glances at the calendar tacked to his corkboard, sniffling as he sees his birthday marked a with big gold, glittery circle. He then picks up a red marker and crosses it out multiple times. Roman then tosses the marker aside and huffs. It looks like he’s going to celebrate alone this year. With the wave of his hand, Roman summons a red velvet cupcake with a little candle.

 “Happy birthday to me…”

            Roman then blows out the candle and watches the smoke swirl into the air. He then buries his head in his arms, sniffling again. He’s trying so hard not to cry but he can’t help it. It was supposed to be HIS day. Not Logan’s or anyone else’s. The tears drip onto his desk as he breaks down. While everyone was celebrating Logan downstairs, they’ve truly forgotten their prince who had hidden away. Their prince who was left to be alone on his special day. At least that’s what Roman thought. Who would want to still celebrate his birthday after all his failures?

“Hey, Prince Poopy!”

Great.

Roman sniffs, not bothering to look up or dry his tears.

“What do you want? Don’t you have some kind of chaos to cause elsewhere?”

“Not for another few days at least!” Remus replies, slipping out from under Roman’s bed. “What’s got your dick twisted?”

“First, eww. Second, nothing. It’s dumb.” Roman then sighs. “I’m just…having another bad day, Ree.”

Remus frowns as Roman buries his head in his arms, spotting the cupcake nearby and stealing it.

“Ro…”

“Drop it, Remus. I don’t want to talk about it. Why don’t you bother Janus or…or Logan?”

“Well, Jan is busy making out with his wine glass and I didn’t wanna be downstairs with the other light dorks.” he says as takes a bite of the cupcake with the wrapper still on. “They’re busy playing dress up with the skirts again.”

Roman sighs and sniffs, tears falling again. It’s silly to be crying over a missed birthday but it was the one day where he didn’t have to feel guilty for getting special treatment. Where he could enjoy affection without needing to seek it or beg for it. Where he could pretend for just a moment that he was loved by them all. It was the one day that Roman could be surrounded by love but instead, Logan stole that from him. Logan had everyone else’s attention and praise. And he deserved it.

            Remus could only watch on as Roman fell apart. He frowns and stands up, finishing the cupcake before looking at Roman. He really looks upset today. Remus then glances at the calendar. It’s filled with important dates and deadlines as well as reminders. The intrusive side then notices that today’s date was crudely crossed out. Oh.

“So, you’re just gonna mope all day on your birthday, moody booty?” Remus asks a moment later.

Roman looks up at Remus with wide, watery eyes.

“You…You remembered my birthday?” he whispers, surprisingly hopeful for Remus.

“Of course I did, dumbass. Why would I forget my own twin’s birthday? We share it.” Remus answers, feeling an ache in his chest.

“B-But you have your own birthday day. You don’t have to celebrate with me…”

Remus sighs.

“Okay, Pissy, look. I only agreed to have my own birthday day so you can have yours too. I know you like having your moments.” he explains before averting his gaze. “But it’s kinda boring to celebrate alone sometimes. Sure, it’s fun with Janus but not as fun without you.”

Roman rubs his tears away, gaping at Remus.

“Remus…” he lunges at him and tackles him into a hug. “Thank you...for remembering. I’m sorry I let you celebrate alone but I’m here now. M-Maybe we can celebrate together?”

Remus blinks this time and pulls back to look Roman in the eyes.

“Really? I thought you were going to celebrate with the others again.” he replies, a bit surprised.

“No.” Roman’s face falls, sighing. “They…They’re busy talking about Logan’s photoshoot and fawning over him. Not even Thomas remembered. I deserve it though.”

            Remus is frozen for a moment. Oh, hell no. No, they did not. That’s why his brother was so upset. Those bastards. The dark Duke holds back a growl and huffs instead. If they wanted to exclude his twin like that and make his special day all about someone else, then so be it. They don’t deserve Roman if they’re going to treat him like that. Remus doesn’t show it on the outside often, but he does care about his brother. So, the dark creative side grins.

“You know what, Ro? We don’t need them to celebrate. You and I are going to have our own party here.” Remus proposes, patting his twin’s shoulder.

“But-“

“You deserve it, Ro. You deserve to throw your own damn party.”

Roman finally smiles at that, rubbing his tears away.

“Okay. As long as you’re here, Ree.”

Remus grins.

“Always! Now, you get yourself all princely and pretty. I’m gonna raid the kitchen for food and snacks.”

            Roman giggles and Remus feels the ache in his chest ebb way. Good. If the others were just going to hurt his brother, Remus will just have to make sure to cheer him up and give him a damn good birthday. He leaves his brother to get ready and ambles downstairs. Much to his annoyance, the others are still fawning over Logan. Gross. Wrinkling his nose, Remus sneaks over to the kitchen as he listens in on their chatting. It’s free juicy gossip for him.

“I just refreshed the page, L. Everyone’s loving your new look.” comes Virgil’s voice.

Fucking traitor.

“O-Oh. I’m not used to all that attention. I wish I could thank them all.” Logan follows, sounding flustered.

“You’ve had quite the day, Logan. We’ll let Thomas handle that.” Janus replies.

Patton’s giggles follow.

“Speaking of Thomas, he wanted to know if we had any other important things going on this week.”

“Other than his current cabaret play? I believe there’s nothing else important for him to do.”

Janus hums.

“Are you sure? We’re not missing anything, are we?”

Virgil huffs as he cuts in.

“Shut up, Janus.” then to Logan. “Hey, don’t worry too much, L. That’s my job. Besides, we looked at your schedule earlier and nothing was missing.”

Logan sighs.

“You’re probably right.”

Remus growls lowly at what he hears and resists the urge to knock some heads together, turning towards the fridge. He starts rummaging through it, stealing the jar of crofters as revenge. He then summons a giant bag and steals a few things such as Patton’s icing and whipped cream, some leftover cookies, a bag of Doritos, some champagne that Roman likes and hides in the back of the fridge, and a jar of pickles. Huffing, Remus then hefts the bag over his shoulder and makes his leave, waiting for someone to-

“And where are you going, you little shit?”

Of course, Virgil is the one who caught him.

“Why do you care, emo? I thought you were busy with whale dork over there.”

“Because you’re sneaking out of the kitchen with a huge bag. You’re not stealing the silverware again, are you?”

Remus rolls his eyes.

“I’ve got better shit to do then steal silverware.”

Janus huffs a laugh.

“Off to collect body parts then?” he asks this time.

Remus giggles then grins widely as he drops the big news on them.

“I’m celebrating RoRo’s birthday with him!”

The dark duke then watches with glees as every single face in the room pales in horror. Wonderful. It’s so wonderful that it makes Remus cackle joyfully, doubling over as he does.

“W-Why are you laughing?!” Virgil huffs, trying to act as if he didn’t just realize how badly he fucked up.

Remus giggles again, catching his breath.

“Hoo…that was good. I’m laughing because, wow, you’re all a bunch of fucking idiots.” he grins.

“W-Well, we…we didn’t mean to forget Roman’s birthday! Honest!” Patton cuts in, trying to fix things like he always does.

Remus rolls his eyes.

“You meant it. You didn’t. Blah blah blah. Even so, you’ve already hurt him. You always do.” he huffs, staring Patton down.

Patton shrinks with a squeak and Logan takes that moment to cut in.

“Alright, Remus. We apologize for forgetting Roman’s birthday, but we really did not mean to. I hadn’t thought to include it because I got caught up in the photoshoot.” The logical side explains.

“Oh, fuck you, you brainy bitch! You were enjoying all the attention and the spotlight! Remus growls, glaring at Logan. “You whine and whine about being ignored but have no fucking problem pushing my own fucking brother aside!”

“Like you fucking care about him, Remus! You knocked him out once!” Virgil cuts in with a hiss.

“Yeah, but he knows I would never hurt him as bad as you all do. I don’t fucking lie to him. I don’t fucking think he’s annoying. I don’t put him down and make him feel fucking worthless like you all do.” Remus spits back. “I don’t fucking forget his birthday! Ever!”

“Remus, if you let us, we’ll celebrate Roman’s birthday now. We can prepare something.” Logan tries.

Remus laughs.

“It’s too late to celebrate. You spent all day shoving him aside. You think he’s going to accept a last minute, half-assed celebration?”

“Come on, kiddo, please? You can help too.” Patton pleads this time, desperate to make up for another mistake.

“No. You’ll make it up to him, let him believe you truly care, and then break him all over again. It’s an endless fucking cycle.”

“Then why do you get to celebrate?” Patton asks.

Remus growls, glaring at them all.

“Because I didn’t forget his birthday. I never have. And you know what? He never forgot mine.”

The room falls silent for a moment then

“Remus…we’re really sorry. Truly. Let us make it up to Roman. And to you.” he speaks, feeling just as guilty though he doesn’t show it.

Remus huffs.

“Shut up, Janus. I know he laughed at your name but he apologized. You haven’t apologized to him. You’ve been a total bitch All of you have. None of you get to apologize or throw a party right now until Roman feels better and says he ready.”

            The dark duke then looks around as everyone shifts under his gaze. They all share the same guilty look. Remus waits for any of them to say something more and huffs when no one speaks up. Fucking cowards. Remus glares one last time then continues on his way out with the stolen goods.

“By the way, if I hear any of you fucks at the door, I will rip your heads off.”

With that last threat, Remus heads up the stairs and returns to Roman’s room. As he enters through the door, the dark duke is greeted by Katy Perry singing her birthday song on Roman’s radio. This isn’t usually Remus’ kind of music but he lets it be for today, reminding himself that Roman needs this. Smiling to himself, Remus locks the door behind him and joins his brother.

“I got the shit, Ro!” Remus grins, putting the bag down on the floor.

“Please tell me it’s actually edible stuff and not some mold that you scraped of off the kitchen sink.” Roman chuckles, going over to see what his twin brought.

            Remus looks up and pauses for a moment. Roman had combed his messy hair and his face sparkled with makeup like it’s supposed to. Good. Remus would never admit it out loud, but he liked seeing his brother all sparkly rather than shining with tears on his face. Putting that thought aside, Remus opens the bag and it falls open, the snacks and other stolen goods tumbling to the floor in a pile.

“Ta-da! I said I would raid the fridge for us, dummy! Look!” Remus then picks up the jar of crofters and gives it to Roman.

It’s half empty already but there’s enough for Roman to enjoy.

Roman snickers.

“Did you steal Logan’s jar out of spite?”

“A little birthday bonus for the birthday prince.” Remus grins.

Roman giggles, pulling Remus into a bear hug. Remus happily hugs back.

“Thanks, Ree.”

“Of course!”

After a few moments, they break the hug and Remus looks around. It could look a little more party-like. Grinning, Remus waves his hand and the fallen fairy lights float up and wrap themselves around the canopy of Roman’s fancy bed, flickering back to life. Another wave of Remus’ hand makes some extra star thingies appear and they decorate the walls, glittering under the light. Remus also summons some gold, silver, red, and green balloons. Much better.

“Ooh, I like it, Ree.” Roman smiles, catching a ballon as it floats down into his hands.

“I thought you’d like some decorations.” Remus grins. “Now, we just need entertainment.”

Roman perks up.

“Ooh, I’ll handle it! You’ve already done so much, dear brother.” he grins, waving his hand.

            With a bit of creative magic, their food is set up like a picnic on the floor and is surrounded by soft pillows and blankets. Roman’s laptop is propped up on some books and a list of movies pop up on the screen. Another wave of Roman’s hand makes them both change into pajamas and the lights dim down. Sure, it’s no grand party that he usually has but this is good too. Roman’s glad Remus at least remembered.

“So, what movie should we watch?” Roman asks, sitting with Remus on the floor.

Remus picks up the jar of pickles.

“Dunno. I was gonna let you have the pick since it’s your birthday.

“It’s your birthday too, dummy.” Roman giggles. “Go ahead and pick!”

Remus sets the jar down as he blinks in surprise.

“Alright, fine.”

            After looking through Roman’s movie list, Remus ends up deciding on Shrek. Roman isn’t surprised and they start the movie. By the time the movie was half-way mark, half the snacks that Remus had stolen were eaten. Roman is happy, laying on his tummy while Remus laid out like a starfish as he used his brother’s back for a pillow. Roman feels lighter and happier, relieved that someone remembered him. That someone still cared for him.

            Remus feels happy too, seeing his brother happy. They both may argue and fight and insult each other but at the end of the day, they still need each other. They’re still brothers who can put their differences aside to celebrate their birthday together. Maybe Remus will do that often. It’s very rare that he and Roman have any down time together. Smiling, Remus glances at his brother who is currently shoveling the last spoonful of crofters in his mouth.

“Hey, Ro?”

“Hm?”

“Happy birthday.”

Roman grins and a faint glow surrounds him.

“Thank you, Remus.”              

[outoutdamnspark]

Nails

Emmet x Reader

Just a little warmup. I wrote this because I, too, have a thing for hands, but also because having pretty nails is something that makes me feel good about myself and I just wanted to put that into something.

(cw: slightly suggestive, but nothing explicit. hints of body worship. reader is non-binary. Emmet has a thing for hands.)

Ingo: Lips -> here

Emmet loves it when you paint your nails.

He loves to hold your hands, playing with your fingers, fitting his own between yours and gently stroking them just to feel your skin against his. It’s grounding, his favorite stim, and he’ll seek it out absently when he has a build up of energy he needs to let out but doesn’t have the room to pace or the desire to flap his hands. Or, if he’s feeling anxious, he’ll squeeze your fingers gently but rhythmically, keeping time with the nervous tapping of his heel against the floor. It keeps him sane in crowded space when he’s so overstimulated he feels like crying angry, stinging tears. 

But your nails are his favorite part. If you keep them short he likes to trace the edges of them with his fingertips, enjoying the blunted shapes and trying to memorize them. If you keep them long he likes to stroke the pad of his thumbs across the tops of them, feeling how smooth they are and memorizing the texture. 

If you wear fake nails then he’ll move his touch in a repetitive pattern, up and down and around, seeking out the faint outline where the acrylic meets your natural nail bed. It’s like a fun little maze with no real stakes that he can navigate over and over again as many times as he wants and never get frustrated. Sometimes they’re all the same; sometimes they’re not - tiny little differences that he likes to explore on each nail.

But oh. If you paint your nails. That’s another story entirely. 

He likes to help you pick out the colors, whether they’re glossy or matte or glittery; if it’s a special event or a date night he’ll help you coordinate your nail polish to your outfit, or even just to match something he’s wearing if it’s more casual. He’ll often pick out several different colors all of the same hue and watch as you slowly stroke the colors along your fingernails, finding satisfaction in how easily they glide on. It’s calming to his mind, nearly hypnotic, something to help him quiet the constantly racing thoughts brought on by his ADHD.

Eventually he’ll ask you to teach him, watching you closely as you show him just how to hold the brush, how to smooth the polish down the length of each nail one at a time until the entire thing is evenly coated. He’ll be a little sloppy at first but he’ll learn quickly, until he’s gliding something bright and pretty across your nails with expert grace.

His hands are steady despite his usual constant movement, his grip gentle and sure, and as he leans down to softly blow on the newly-applied polish, he’ll look up at you with eyes like moonstone and desire before kissing your knuckles slowly. 

Tell him he did well. Praise him softly. Watch the way his eyes darken and the way his steady hands begin to tremble. 

Later, when your nails have dried enough that you can touch things without ruining all of his hard work, Emmet will pin you to the bed by your wrists and smirk at the way the polish on your nails glints in the low light of your shared bedroom, almost like his signature on the canvas of your body, because to him you are nothing less than art.

His favorite colors on you are metallic - chrome and glittering gold and rusty red, anything shiny, bronze-y, icy silver-white. He loves the way they catch the light and seem to glow, so when he covers your body with his own and holds your hands while he rocks against you, makes you gasp his name, he’ll keep his gaze on the flash of shining paint on the tips of the fingers he loves so much and feel the warmth of pride in his chest that he’s the one that helped to decorate such a beautiful being as yourself. 

And once he lets go of your hands to let you wrap your arms around him, to let you hold him close as though you never want to let him go, he’ll close his eyes with a groan and imagine the way your painted nails must look as you drag them down his back and mark him in return.