#HEAT HAZE SHADOW WHO???

[scalproie]

tekken 8 first trailer ost finally dropped i am no longer normal

[tadpolesonalgae]

Azriel x Third-oldest-Archeron-sibling!reader: Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 4[*]

A/N: a truly beautiful friendship is always founded in chaos (it’s funny because of who Eris is in mythology)

Also, I would like to emphasise the bickering at the end is entirely whispered—enjoy

Warnings: Just general angst, sexual undertones, unjustly jealous!Azriel, swans (don’t even get me started on how scary they are, and don’t try to tell me otherwise if you haven’t been cornered by at least one)

Word Count: 6,618

-Part 3- -Part 5-

A voice is calling your name from somewhere: somewhere foggy, and distant.

A voice that really has no business interfering with the hot, male body that’s pressing you into the wall.

Large, playfully rough hands grip your hips, using his own to keep you pinned against the brickwork, groping your ass appreciatively.

You arch up into him, mouth opening over his own, tongue stroking and flicking. Fingers rake through his hair, turning it messy as you haul him closer. The lovely press of his cock against your abdomen, the ego-boosting sign of his appetite. He groans into your mouth, bucking his hips, and you drag the soft swell of your breasts over his chest. The cool night air scrambles beneath your skirts, making them flutter and billow, urging him closer.

The voice sounds again. Clearer; closer.

It’s strange how it sounds like—

The male body is forcibly torn off you, cold flushing your front, leaving the uncomfortable dig of brick into your backside. You blink away your haze, real world events crushing back down, slamming home when your eyes lock with sharp hazel. He’s clearly pissed. It’s probably the most emotion he’s ever shown to you.

How miserable.

“Did you forget we’re have dinner tonight?” He asks gruffly, hand still resting firmly over the male’s shoulder who’s looking warily between the two of you. It dawns on you what he’s just seen you doing, the position he’s caught you in; heat swallows your body whole. The shameful, humiliated type, and you force yourself to keep his gaze. Beg yourself not to hang your head.

“I’m not going,” you manage, eyes flicking away from his. “I already told Fey, and she said it was fine, so…” His brow narrows, attention piercing into you, judging. “They’re not compulsory, anyway,” you mumble, “so really I— there’s no reason for me to be at one.”

“It’s a family dinner. There’re plenty of reasons for you to be there.” His eyes flick to the male who just had you pressed between him and a wall, “unless something more important comes up.”

There’s no obvious sign, but he’s agitated. Irritated. Maybe a foul mood.

Azriel releases the male, eyes flicking over his shoulder—a sure dismissal. When the male refuses to leave, Azriel’s shadows thicken. Definitely a foul mood. “Is there something I can help you with?” He mutters sharply, piercing attention zeroing in on the male—Bas.

His golden eyes turn on you, peering warily, “who is this? You said you were on your own.” Heat washes down your spine, gaze flicking between them, wishing for the floor to open up under your feet. “He’s—nobody. Just a—…” You fumble, unsure what to say. “Acquaintance,” Azriel finishes for you, hairs rising at the back of your neck as he stares at you. “A friend of a friend.”

Bas’ lips lift into a smirk, and you pray he’s going to keep his mouth shut for once. But he turns to Azriel, standing less than an inch shorter than the shadowsinger, “I don’t see what business you have with a friend of a friend,” he drawls, making both of you stiffen.

The dim faelights gleam in his intelligent golden eyes, bringing out the rich darkness of his skin, the outcropping of his sharp jaw, the thickness of his hair that hangs in lovely, rough locks.

Azriel’s eyes narrow, shadows coiling at his back, peeking over menacingly large wings, “and what business do you have with her? She has plans for tonight.” One of Bas’ brows quirks in subtle challenge, and you brace yourself. “Considering she sought me out, I think her plans have changed,” he says, that provocative smirk still tipping his lips.

“Bas…” you murmur, stress tensing your muscles.

Both of their attention switches to you, and your mouth seals itself shut.

Azriel shakes his head, “she’s coming with me. Don’t bother her again, Bas.” The words are final, and you can tell the conversation is over. Bas doesn’t back down, though. Always ready for a bit of rough and tumble. Practically lives off the edge. “Now I didn’t realise she was your property, Az,” he drawls challengingly, his attention then settling over you. “And you should have told me who this other person was, sweetheart.”

They know one another?

“She’s not your anything,” Azriel says, a rough sharpness to his voice. “Back off, Bas.”

The male doesn’t budge. Instead his gleaming eyes fall on you.

Oh no…

“Sweetheart?”

Heat warms your skin, gaze darting anywhere but the two males before you. You really don’t want to go to the dinner. To see all of them so soon after the mess that happened precisely one week ago… And it would be weird to show up after having said you weren’t going. What if you went and there wasn’t enough food? She has enough on her plate, she doesn’t need to worry about extra dinner guests.

You’re staying with Bas.

Hazel meets your gaze, and words stumble. “I…” I’m not going to the dinner.

“You…?” Azriel repeats, jaw tightening.

You flush, eyes lowering, heat warming your cheeks against the cool night air.

You turn to Bas, and he frowns. “Sorry,” you say gently, “I should see my sister.”

The wings at Azriel’s back loose a slight bit of their tension—still pulled taut. “Right, let’s go,” he says, cutting off any communication, “we’re already late.” You shoot Bas an apologetic look as you move to follow behind Azriel—keeping his gaze ahead. He merely shakes his head, giving you an easy smile, “find me after, okay?” A wave of gratefulness washes over you, and you push every drop of it into the thankful look you send him. Then you turn, hurrying down the uneven cobbles after the Shadowsinger.

He’s silent when you catch up, walking at his side, a pace behind. He doesn’t look at you once, continuing down the road that will lead to the River House. Fighting down the humiliation, you clear your throat. “Can you—” You nearly trip, righting yourself a second before your tipping point. Stumbling, you scoop the fabric of your long dress into your hands, raising it out of the way of your feet.

He continues walking, though slows a little as you scramble after him.

“Azriel,” you say, a little breathless. “Azriel, wait.”

He halts suddenly, making you flinch with the abrupt stop. Sharp hazel eyes press down on you, and you falter. “Yes?” He asks. Fumbling for words, your eyes flick out from under his, skipping over the shops in the darkening streets. “I—…” you begin, unsure what to say. “Can you…can you not mention any of that?” You request softly, embarrassing heat warming your cheeks.

“Who would tell?” He replies coldly.

Humiliation settles in the pit of your stomach. You lower your head a little. Nod. “I didn’t want you to think…”

“I don’t make a habit of interfering with other people’s business,” he says pointedly, watching you. Why does it feel like he’s scolding you?

Your lips press together, shoulders curving inward almost imperceptibly.

His eyes flick to your hair, and his hand raises, as if to shift a strand—tuck it away. But he stops, noting your gaze. “You need to fix your hair,” he says, a touch softer than before. “It’s obvious what you were doing.” Shame is like a deadweight in your gut, hands feeling dumb as they attempt to neaten out a mess you can’t see. His eyes narrow when you lower them, and you both know it would be easier if he was the one to right whatever’s wrong with you. He doesn’t, though.

“I’m not like Nesta,” you say softly, a little shakily.

His brow narrows slightly, “nobody said you were. There’s nothing wrong about being similar to her.” Heat warms your skin, and you stumble under the look.

“I mean, that—what you…saw—that’s not normal. It’s not a… I’m doing doing any of that…”

“Drinking and fucking?” You flinch at the crude wording, and a gleam of apology flashes in his hazel irises. He watches you quietly for a moment, and you shift under his gaze, hands moving to rest on your elbows, dress swishing close to the ground.

“You know it’s fine if you are,” he says, gently. “As long as you’re being sensible about it,” he adds, “there’s nothing wrong with doing that if it works.” Your lower lip wobbles at the implication—that he knows you’re doing this to try and get over him. How desperate you’ve become.

“But find someone other than Bas,” he says, making you furrow your brow.

“What’s wrong with Bas?” You ask. He’s been great. Azriel watches you silently again, hazel eyes piercing into you blankly. Has your lip-tint smudged?

“He’s not…” Azriel begins, as if debating how to frame what he wants to say. Make sure you’ll understand. “You shouldn’t spend your time with someone like him,” he settles on.

“‘Someone like him’?” You echo, looking back up the street to where the two of you had been. Heat crawls up your spine, and you hastily look away.

“He’s different from you,” Azriel says, bluntly.

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” you argue softly, peering at the cobbles. You hear him sigh, as if he doesn’t know what to do with you. “He can’t give you what you’re looking for. He’s the type to string you along until he’s bored, then never visit again. Stay away from him.”

“He hasn’t done anything bad…” you say quietly, shifting lightly from foot to foot. “He’s been…he’s been very nice.”

Azriel sighs again, and that funny feeling settles in your stomach. Disappointment tickling your insides. “That’s to draw you in. As soon as you try to bring him to a dinner, or to meet one of your sisters, he’ll bolt.”

“Why would I bring him to meet any of you?” You ask bitterly at the lack of confidence. “Do you plan to keep your partner a secret?” He counters with, tersely. “Maybe.” You reply defensively, still looking at the ground.

He’s quiet again, and you can almost feel the air shift. “Need I remind you of last week’s events,” he asks, quietly. “You’re not known for keeping your mouth shut.” You bite your lip to keep it from trembling, nails digging into your elbows. “And I thought you didn’t make a habit of interfering with other people’s relationships,” you murmur.

“I know they’ll make good decisions,” he counters. “You don’t have enough experience. To know what you’re doing.”

“Stop treating me like a child,” you whisper, head dipping. “I know what I’m—” you cut yourself off as a sob tries to work its way from your throat. Take a deep breath. Swallow. “I know what I’m doing,” you manage quietly.

“You’re going to get yourself hurt,” he argues. “You don’t want to damage yourself like that.”

Your body stiffens at the words, then a breath eases from your chest. You nod. “Okay.” You begin walking again, one foot in front of the other. He sighs again. “I didn’t mean it like that.” You keep walking.

“I’m trying to help you,” he says flatly, falling into pace.

“Okay.”

“So you’ll stay away from him?” Azriel asks, eyes falling on your smaller frame.

“Okay.”

His brow narrows on you, watching intently. Then, “look at me.”

Look at me.

The feeling of his fingers inside of you, close enough to share breaths, yet you were the only vulnerable one. Not an ounce of intimacy to be exchanged. You keep walking toward the River House.

Azriel doesn’t say another word.

————

In the end, you’re somewhat glad you went to the dinner.

If you hadn’t, you would be back here, in the mortal lands.

Well, with no wall, you’re not sure what to call your previous homeland. But you’re here, nonetheless, and all thanks to Elain. She’d wished to see Lucien, who had near permanent residence in the mostly intact house, and had invited you along with her. Whether she knew you needed some time away, or simply offered, you don’t know.

You’d arrived most likely around an hour ago, Fey and Cassian departing soon after, leaving you and Elain to spend the day as you pleased. You’d opted to take a stroll around the gardens, walking alongside the river that was just beginning to refill after an apparently hot and dry summer.

That was your first encounter with Eris.

You nearly jump out of your skin when he winnows to the river bank mere feet to your left, stumbling backward a few steps in surprise. Cutting caramel eyes pierce into you with razor-sharp scrutiny, noting your pointed ears. His brow narrows as he takes you in; he doesn’t look pleased with what he finds.

Blinking, you mark the blazing colour of his hair, the beautifully tailored finery, the flicker of flame in his eyes—remarkably similar to Lucien. “What…who are you?” You manage, calming your heartbeat. It’s a nonsense question, you realise—it’s obvious who he is. Anyone could figure it out through simple deduction. So you shake your head, “why are you here?”

Eris’ eyes narrow on you, then he’s striding forward, moving up the river bank until he’s come to stop before you. You take a single step back—if you have to crane your neck to look at someone, you’re too close. He’s remarkably imposing with his height and muscle, despite the inherent beauty of the fae.

“Who are you?” The words are short and efficient in a sharp, brazen way, and you find yourself wondering if you should have just continued on your way. “I’m—” you open your mouth to give your name, then realise it would be rude to assume he knew who you were. There’s no reason for him to. “Feyre’s my younger sister,” you supply instead.

His brow narrows. “I didn’t know there were four of you.”

Heat flushes your skin, and you look away. It’s not an insult, yet you feel embarrassed.

“So, why are you here?” You repeat, a little quieter, trying to change the subject.

“I’m expected,” he replies shortly, turning to face the way you had come. “Why have you been kept a secret?” He asks. You mentally scramble for an excuse to continue on your walk. You don’t want to go back yet, and he’ll probably expect you to winnow, and you aren’t really in a talking mood at the moment. No excuse comes to mind.

“I haven’t been kept a secret,” you respond finally, falling into step a little behind him. “Not intentionally, anyway,” you add as an afterthought, frowning. He's walking fast, and you’d like more time to take in the scenery. At least he’s not winnowing.

“You haven’t been present at any meetings,” he counters, “I find it hard to believe that’s a coincidence.”

Your frown deepens, “why would I be at any of them? Elain hasn’t been to any, either. The only time you would have seen her is in the Hewn City.”

“Which you were kept away from, too.”

You come to a stop, watching him. His brow narrows as he’s forced to slow his pace, looking vaguely irritated. “I was there when you danced with Nesta,” you correct, “all of us were.”

Eris stares at you blankly and it’s an effort not to squirm. “I was there,” you insist, “behind Elain?”

He doesn’t remember you.

Well.

“So you’re good at remaining unseen,” he says, turning to set you into motion again. You hurry after him, a little taken aback at the compliment. It’s a nice way to think about it, a faint smile tipping your lips, “thank you.”

“It was a question.”

“Oh…” you say, smile vanishing. It hadn’t sounded like one. “I guess… I prefer it…”

“You and the Shadowsinger must get along swimmingly,” he mutters, continuing along the path, neatly avoiding muddied parts. Something you fail spectacularly at.

The comment registers in your mind and you stiffen, muscles contracting as you force yourself to continue moving. “Not particularly…” you hedge, uncertain what’s appropriate to tell him. You aren’t familiar with Court politics. “No more than anyone else, anyway,” you correct, soothing out the slight rumple.

“No? Not settling in well?” He asks. You could swear there’s some sort of mocking undertone to the question, but you can’t figure out what the taunt is for.

“I…I guess not?” You answer, slowly. “It’s not bad,” you add hastily, not wanting to talk negatively behind their backs. He might bring it up later. You repeat the thought in your head, then shake it, smiling faintly. He hadn’t even know you existed until a few minutes ago, yet you think he could be trying exploit you. How silly.

The result of an over-inflated ego. Maybe you really should stop fooling around with Bas—he’s giving you all sorts of ideas about the value of your person, and it probably isn’t healthy.

“I mean, it’s fine. Just…normal, I guess. Compared with the initial chaos,” you add, satisfied with the end result of your rambling. The house is in sight now. All you need to do is pass between the river and the pond, and—

You stumble.

Not literally—it’s more of a mental scramble. Because right there, where they weren’t mere minutes ago, are a pair of large, powerfully built swans.

Eris continues walking like the two beasts aren’t eyeing you up with those sharp, beady eyes. You can practically see the light catching on the small teeth hidden beneath the beak. Glittering with menace.

“Let’s go this way,” you say abruptly, pointing to the path that winds around the pond. He comes to stop, clearly irritated by the unnecessary hinderances you’re causing. “This way is perfectly usable. We go this way,” he turns, continuing forward, fear rising in y our throat.

You scramble forward, clutching the skirts of your dress, “Eris!”

His caramel eyes slice into you, piercing in their intensity, but you don’t buckle. “I understand that maybe they don’t seem as vicious as the creatures of Prythian,” you murmur, as if they can hear you, “but swans are still very dangerous. We should go around.” Again you point to the pathway, ears perked up for any signs the massive birds are approaching. “And I get that you have magic, but you can’t just go around butchering local animals if they get in your way. That’s not how things are done here.”

He stares at you, as if asking if you’re serious. You hold his gaze because yes, you’re completely serious.

“You know they won’t attack you,” he counters, “and you’re correct, they aren’t dangerous compared to the beasts in Prythian. So move aside.”

You shake your head, “they could break your arm,” you insist, refusing to budge. His brow narrows in a scathing scowl, “they could break a human’s arm. I am not human.” He walks around you.

“They’re still dangerous, Eris. We should really go around,” you urge, watching as he walks along the path, remaining rooted to the spot. “Just winnow,” he snaps, then looks over his shoulder. “Unless you aren’t strong enough.”

“I can winnow fine, but…” Even that’s too close to them. You firmly believe animals have a sixth sense humans do not—you wouldn’t put it past them to know they’ve been cheated. “Please, let’s just go around.”

He watches you with narrowed eyes, weighing; judging. You freeze beneath his gaze, refusing to even breathe in case it’s the wrong thing to do. He turns fully to you then, and you think he might listen to you. Relief washes over you, but—

“You’re scared of these creature?” He asks, amusement underlying his tone. You flush. “Like I said, they’re dangerous,” you defend, lowering your gaze a little.

“You know, you’re fae. They won’t attack you.”

Your eyes flick up, doubting. “Why would they act any differently?”

“We are creatures of magic. Greater than they are. They know it would be unwise to attempt anything.” You blink, having not thought of it like that. The fae had felt different when you were human, more intense, more concentrated in a way humans weren’t. You hadn’t considered maybe other animals would understand that primal difference, too.

Eris’ lips twitch, and he holds out his arm—you’re completely certain it’s a mocking gesture this time. But also a challenge.

It’s also a prompt to face your fears. It’s been long enough.

You can do this.

You can prove to yourself there’s no need to be afraid of them any longer.

You take some small steps forward. Then a few more. And a few more after that. And then your arm is overlapping with Eris’, feeling the hot strength of muscle cording his forearm. An odd feeling of security settles over you, as the two of you begin to move forward.

You’re unable to help tensing as you pass them, even if Eris is on the side closest to them. Then to your dismay, he stops. “You can pet them, if you want,” he says, lips still quirked in the corners. He’s enjoying watching you shake and tremble at something half your size. “Are you insane?” You mutter under your breath, staring at the white beasts that seem to be waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Eyes widen and you stare at him, “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean that.”

He watches you steadily, eyes gleaming as he turns toward the swans, forcibly dragging you with him, despite your protests. “Eris…” you mutter, digging your feet into the mud, but you nearly slip. “Eris, seriously, stop it.”

He stops; you sigh in relief, but the tension doesn’t leave your body—still much too close to the great birds.

“Go up to one,” he says, a smirk on his rosey lips. “Touch one, then you can go.” He’s enjoying this far too much for your liking.

“No way,” you hiss, trying to pull out of his hold. The swans shift at the jerky movement, and you still. You stare at him, but he doesn’t seem inclined to move. “They’ll definitely do something if I try to go up to one!” You argue, as softly as possible. He just hums, and you wish you had continued walking instead of addressing him. Then you could be looking for blackberries, enjoying the natural sounds of the outside.

But here you are.

“You’re fae,” he reminds, eyes gleaming as he watches you intently.

Muscles tremble, thoughts flash in and out of existence within your mind as you look at the swans, sat neatly on the river bank, just at the water’s edge. A few long steps there, then back, and it’ll be over.

He’s right—you’re fae. They won’t attack you.

Still.

His arm unlinks from your own, hand pressing gently against the base of your spine. Egging you on.

You exhale a heavy breath, then move forward. Silently cursing him—unkind as it is. One step at a time as you descend the bank. The wind seems to have picked up, and you’re grateful for your preternatural sense of balance as you move down the muddy slant, feet settling on the pebble-filled shore.

Just three more steps, and you can turn back.

Two more.

One more, and then you’ll be in reaching distance.

The beady eyes pierce into you, wings stiffening, and you force yourself to breathe deeply.

“Just tap one on the head, and it’ll be over,” he reminds from your back, a little too loudly for your liking. Like he’s trying to get them to startle.

You steady yourself, blocking him out.

Come on, you can do this. You’re twice it’s size, and have immortality on your side. You can do this.

Slowly, shakily, you take the last step forward, reaching out your hand.

Black eyes meet your own, and you falter.

The swan shrieks, the second one hissing viciously, wings flaring to strike. You jump away, feet landing on the slippery rocks of the river. The massive birds surge forward, beak opening to snap at you, and you stumble, yelping as you fall backward. Icy water soaks up to your waist, and the breath whooshes out of you, your arms covering your face as wings flap.

When you open your eyes, the swans have taken off, and you’re up to your ribs in freezing river water. Trembling and shaking, you ease yourself out, soaked from the waist down, clothes wet and icy against your skin as you shiver.

Up on the bank, Eris is grinning, eyes gleaming with mirth as he watches your soaked state shuffle from the river, barely keeping his laughter to himself.

“You said—” Your heart is still pounding, vision blurring a little as you fumble for words. “You said they— That they wouldn’t…” Your teeth are already chattering, and you have to get warm quickly. You know how deadly the cold can be. Even with a reinforced body, the cold is as vicious as you remember, softly sinking into your arms, numbing your lips.

“Every animal has a fight or flight response,” he replies, voice lilting with amusement at your terror. “It was foolish of you to think you were above that.”

“But you said—”

“If I told you to dip beneath the river for five minutes without coming up for air because fae lungs are larger, would you do it?” He counters.

“…I wouldn’t disbelieve you,” you stammer, lips numb from the cold, lumbering back toward the bank.

The water in your shoes makes it hard to climb the muddy slope, and you end up having to use your hands to keep yourself steady, gritty dirt sliding beneath your nails. “Why did you lie?” You manage, heart pounding from fear, blinking away tears. His lips are still quirked into a rueful smile, enjoying your terror.

Hateful, hateful, hateful male.

“Don’t blame your idiocy on me,” he says smoothly, offering you a viper’s smile as he turns to continue along the path, leaving you freezing and shivering, soaked in river water. “Anyone with half a brain would have been able to see through that,” he calls over his shoulder. Tears spill down your cheeks, and for once, you don’t think, or fret over the consequences.

You winnow, and land a smack square across his cheek. As hard as you can.

He blinks, startled.

Then flame ignites in his eyes, glittering ire blazing hot as a forge.

“Don’t you ever,” you snarl, “do something like that again.” Fury heats your body, and you feel like a physical warmth is wrapping around you, fingertips tingling as if glowing, skin itching just below the surface. “Do you hear me, Eris?” You repeat, rage sharpening your words as your lip pulls back from your teeth.

The flame banks in his caramel eyes, and he yields a step. It’s satisfying, until you realise why.

You are glowing. But it’s not the bright, warm golden of Feyre’s happiness.

It’s green, and vivid.

Hands the colour of radiant starfall.

————

The Mother seems to enjoy putting you through various trials.

You come to this conclusion as you resist the urge to press deeper into the firm heat of Azriel’s chest as he carries you through the air.

For reasons you can only guess at, Cassian was otherwise preoccupied, leaving the Shadowsinger to fill in. Now Elain understands your relationship with the male, Feyre can guess at the complexities, and Azriel is part of the mess, so it should be obvious you’ll fly with your younger sister, right?

Unfortunately, Lucien had to be accounted for.

He’s well aware of the history between the Spymaster and his mate, and while he would never ask Elain to avoid him, she can guess well enough it would make him unhappy. That’s how you end up in his arms, split between wishing to be anywhere else, and wishing to be able to bask in his touch without anyone questioning how close you would lean. As it is, you’re stuck between keeping your distance, and not leaning so far it looks like you’re attempting to plummet to the ground far below.

The group is moving in silence, passing over the final stretch, and you can make out the twinkle of lights in the distance—Velaris. They’d gotten caught up in—what sounded like—a rather heated conversation with the Autumn Court heir, while you had opted to wait outside. The hallway had seemed too cramped, and you weren’t sure if you could manage being pressed so close to him without making your discomfort obvious.

Azriel breaks the silence. “Was everything okay with Eris suddenly turning up?”

The question startles you from your inner thoughts, and you replay it to catch the beginning. “Yeah,” you reply, trying to keep your eyes off him. “He’s just a bit…” You fumble for words, but he’s already nodding, knowing what you’re getting at. “He’s a little intense,” you settle on, “but everything was fine. For the most part, anyway.” You’re rambling.

“For the most part,” he echoes, a soft question in his voice.

“Well, I ended up falling into the river, but you know how it is…” you mumble, suddenly finding the sky very interesting. More interesting than Azriel.

(Liar.)

“I don’t think I do,” he replies. “What does soaking yourself to the bone have to do with him?” He asks, grip tightening ever so slightly as you begin the descent. You really don’t want to tell him—it’s not going to win you any adult points. At best it’ll just show how emotional your are, and that means baggage.

“It’s a long story,” you hedge, trying not to cling too tight to him as your stomach lifts in your belly. “We’ve got a while left,” he replies, gazing ahead. He could definitely be going at a steeper angle.

You sigh softly, trying to figure out how to make it as quick and concise as possible. “Well…he kind of…appeared out of nowhere, and we ended walking back together.” Azriel’s fingers press into your skin lightly, slowly spiralling in wide circles, “and there was a river involved.”

You nod gently, “yeah.”

“How?”

Teeth worry your lower lip, mouth pursing.

He exhales quietly. “We’re in an alliance, but that doesn’t mean you should trust him. I need to know everything that happened so precautions can be made,” he explains firmly.

“Okay…”

“So tell me what happened when you were walking alone with him,” he prompts.

“There’s not much to say…” you try, but he gives you a look that tells you to quit lying. “I don’t know…we were walking past the river, and there were some swans, and he convinced me to touch one, and…well, I slipped and fell in.” You leave out the glowing hands part. If you mention it, you know they’ll pounce. You don’t want to go through what Nesta did. The things she had to endure just to activate her powers…

Granted, there’s no looming threat of the queen anymore, but still. You’d rather not.

“He convinced you,” Azriel mutters under his breath, “and how did he do that?” You flush with heat, and pray he can’t tell. “I didn’t want to walk past them, and he…encouraged me to tackle my fear.”

“Stop forcing a good narrative on that prick,” he says sharply. “He didn’t encourage you, he manipulated you.”

“Maybe,” you murmur, “but I’m a little less afraid of swans now.”

Azriel sucks in a steadying breath. “And what did you talk about?”

You cast your mind back to the conversation. “He said he hadn’t known there were four sisters,” you admit, quietly, “he thought there were only three, and that Rhys was hiding me, for some reason.” He hums, and your hairs stand on end, able to feel the resonance thrumming through you. You hurriedly shift your mind elsewhere before your scent changes. “What else?”

You put your teeth into the inside of your lower lip, “I…” said we weren’t on the best of terms. “He asked…how…I was settling in,” you manage to string the words together, selecting each one with great care. “And?” He prompts. Oh dear.

“I said it was fine,” you reply, purposely vaguely. His eyes flick to you, and your own snap away in response. “Just fine?” He questions, softly. You make to nod, but he mutters your name under his breath, a quiet reprimand on his tongue. Heat coils in the pit of your belly, making you shift uncomfortably in his arms, leaning away.

A muscle feathers in his jaw, and he tightens his grip on you. “Stop doing that. You’ll fall.” You’re squeezed closer to him, and you squirm, the heat doubling. He mutters your name again, rougher.

“Stop doing that,” you hiss, sharply. You don’t have time to feel bad—it’s better to be rude than for him to realise the immense effect he has on you. “Stop leaning away from me,” he counters, “you’re being difficult.”

“I’m sorry my responses are an inconvenience for you,” you snap, quietly. No louder than a whisper.

“Don’t weaponise your emotions like that,” he murmurs back.

“I don’t see how I’d be able to when I don’t even know what that means,” you return, quietly. You feel his eyes press into you, and you look further away, inspecting the ground. “Don’t feign ignorance either,” he says sharply, “it’s immature.”

“Immature is making a problem out of something I can’t help,” you whisper back, snappily. His eyes narrow on you, and you shift again.

His hold tightens abruptly, fingers digging into you as he roughly readjusts his grip on your thighs and around your back. You squeak at the harsh treatment, heat bursting in your lower belly, and you squeeze your lips together, praying no sounds slip out. “It’s like you’re trying to get me to drop you,” he mutters beside your ear, “just keep still. We’re almost there.”

“Keep still?” You repeat incredulously, staring at him. “I don’t know if you’ve somehow forgotten, Azriel,” you hiss, emphasising his name. Hazel eyes flick down to you, and you gently push away the heat for a moment. “But I struggle to even think straight when you’re around. I can barely keep my head as it is, so forgive me if I’m a little shifty in a position like this,” you snap quietly. Probably the most aggressive you���ve ever been for a consistent time period.

“And I don’t know if you’ve forgotten,” he snipes back, eyes piercing into you, “but you managed to pull away on the brink of an orgasm.” Wild heat swallows you whole, and there’s no way your scent is remaining undetected now. “So you’re clearly more in control than you say you are.”

You stare at him, lips parted, skin flushed with heat.

“We are done with this conversation,” you hiss, breaking your gaze away. He doesn’t appreciate the verbal dismissal. “We’re done when I say we’re done,” he hisses in return. “Now what did you mean when you told Eris you were fine?”

You purse your lips, pointedly averting your eyes.

He mutters your name, grip tightening on you. You ignore him.

He repeats it, rougher this time, shadows twining around you.

“Cut it out,” you whisper, sharply.

“Expand on the fine comment,” he pushes, and you can physically feel the weight of his gaze upon your cheek. “Why are you so hung up on that one, tiny part?” You return, a sliver of irritation peeking through. “Because you’ve been acting strangely for a while now,” he hisses, “and if you’re starting to spiral like Nesta—”

“Do not threaten me, Azriel,” you snarl softly, skin heating—tingling. His eyes flicker, and his hold lessens on you a little, “it’s not a threat,” he soothes, “just an observation.” You narrow your brow as you watch him warily. “Like I said: you’ve been acting strange recently, and if you even gave the slightest hint that something’s off, Eris will exploit it.”

Your eyes flick away, slightly embarrassed by your tiny outburst. That wasn’t appropriate.

“So tell me, what happened when you said you were fine?” He repeats, gritting out the question.

“I…” You bite your lip, then give up. “He asked if I was settling in well, and I said I wasn’t.”

“Why did you tell him that?” He asks, gaze returning to pick out Velaris, much closer now. “Because it’s the truth,” you reply, a little weakly.

“I don’t care if it’s the truth, you shouldn’t have told him,” Azriel hisses. “He’ll give you the comfort you want, offer the reassurance, until you’re wrapped so tightly you choke on it.”

Hurt flickers in your eyes, vision blurring. “Maybe if I was better than fine I wouldn’t need the comforting,” you snap, turning your head and blinking away tears. His jaw tightens, “that’s not the point.” You stare at him. He stares back, features set in a stony line. “What is the point, then?” You ask weakly, the small spark of fight banking, beginning to flicker out beneath his oppressive gaze. “The point is,” he says, dragging out the words like he’s talking to a child. “You’re too naive.”

It’s like a smack to the face, your head reeling.

“You don’t know the dynamics between the courts. You don’t know about the feuds, or the history of Prythian. You don’t know enough to be trusted to act on your own,” he continues, oblivious to the number of scars he’s striking. “You’re a loose cannon, that I now have to compensate for.”

You stare up at him, hazel eyes glittering beneath the starlight.

“What’s worse—”

You put your hands over your ears. You can’t take anymore. If it was coming from someone else—fine. From anyone else it would be fine; understandable.

But not Azriel. That’s too much.

His brow furrows, lips moving, and you can guess he’s telling you to remove your hands.

You shake your head softly, unable to stand another word.

But his shadows contract around your wrists, tugging them away, and you hate the heat the bubbles in your lower belly at the roughness.

“You need to grow up,” he mutters, lowly. “You can’t just run away from something if you don’t want to hear it. You’re going to have to face it.”

A sob breaks from your chest, and your hands cover your face as the tears finally break, spilling down your cheeks. “Just leave me alone,” you cry, shoulders shaking as the tears continue streaming. “You find me irritating? fine. You find me annoying? Fine. You think I’m the worst, ugliest, most useless female in the world, fine,” you sob, unable to look at him. “But keep it to yourself, because every single word from your mouth holds more weight that you can probably even understand. And it is crushing me.”

You tremble in his arms, wishing they were there to offer comfort instead of being purely obligatory.

“You think Eris is the viper? You think he’s the one who’s bad for me? The one who’s trying to choke me?” You ask through your tears. “But you’re the one succeeding.”

Azriel’s eyes harden, and you feel the fractures growing larger. “I’m trying to keep you in line,” he replies, coldly. “For the sake of my Court, my High Lord and Lady, I am doing my best to keep people safe,” he emphasises. “And you are a proving to be a burden.”

You don’t know if he intentionally selected that word, burden.

You don’t know if he even realises which wound he’s targeted—so many have been picked open.

But you go quiet in his arms.

Docile.

The fight finally winking out.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

CBMTHY Taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @sakurafrost3-blog @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay @i-am-infinite @wannabewolf @thegirlintheshadows101 @kennedy-brooke @esposadomd

[naomeii]

Hello! Here's my request:

Modern au where Childe and reader get into a particularly heated argument because he always comes back bloody, battered and bruised from a fight. Unfortunately, Childe ends up telling her he liked it better when she was ignoring him instead of nagging all the time, which shatters her heart. He tries to apologize but she's already out the door and staying over at her mother's house. Even when her mother reassured her that Childe does love her, it did little to heal her heart.

On the other hand, Childe was in shambles. He kept on trying to call, email, and text her but she won't pick up. He was left alone at their shared house, the meal she made had gone cold but he still ate it and yet, he didn't feel full. He ends up crying himself to sleep on their entryway.

The next day, reader returns to their home with the intention of packing up her things and leaving but is stopped by an exhausted Childe who follows her even when she tells him not to touch her. He notices her missing engagement ring (she had left it in their bedroom) and is terrified; he begs her not to leave him while sobbing and holding her tight. Eventually, his pleas were heard when she finally forgives him after he apologizes for snapping at her.

Metamorphosis.

—Pairing: Childe x F!Reader

Content: Modern au, angst to fluff, arguments

Childe's entrance into your shared apartment was marked by the tired shuffle of his boots against the floor. The faint odor of blood mixed with the antiseptic scent of a healing agent lingered in the air. He looked up, eyes shadowed with weariness, as you confronted him in the doorway.

"What happened to you this time, Childe?" Your voice was a mix of concern and frustration, and your eyes scanned his battered form with a mix of anger and worry. This had become a routine – him coming back battered and bruised, and you, waiting to pick up the pieces.

Childe sighed, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "It's part of the job, darling. You knew what you were getting into when we started dating."

Your jaw tightened at the dismissive response. "Part of the job doesn't mean you have to come back looking like you've been through a war every single time! Do you even care about how this affects me?"

Childe's tired eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was a flicker of remorse. "I liked it better when you just ignored me, you know? Instead of nagging all the time."

As the weight of his words sank in, you couldn't help but recall the days when Childe was indeed all over you. His playful antics, the way he made you laugh until tears streamed down your face, and the warmth of his love enveloping you. It was a stark contrast to the current reality, where his flippant remark shattered the remnants of those precious moments.

"Childe, what happened to us?" The question slipped out, laced with a mixture of pain and confusion. "You used to care about us, about me."

He avoided your gaze, a hint of guilt crossing his features. "It's just the way things are now. We both knew my life was dangerous."

A bitter chuckle escaped you. "I knew, but I never thought you'd grow indifferent. I miss the Childe who used to come home to me, not this stranger who treats me like a burden."

His eyes softened, but it was too late. The damage had been done. You turned away, tears threatening to spill. "I can't do this, Childe. Not if it means losing myself in the process."

As Childe desperately reached out for your hand, the door swung open, as you quickly left.

"Wait, please!" Childe's voice cracked with desperation, but you were out the door, oblivious to his pleas.

In your tear-streaked haze, you hailed a cab, directing it to your mother's house. The city lights blurred as you tried to make sense of the shattered fragments of your relationship. The cab's interior provided a temporary sanctuary, shielding you from the unresolved emotions that lingered at the doorstep of your shared home.

Arriving at your mother's house, the front door creaked open before you could even knock. Concern etched across her face, your mother pulled you into a tight embrace, her worry palpable.

"What happened, sweetheart?" she asked, guiding you inside.

Through choked sobs, you recounted the argument, the hurtful words, and the irreparable damage that had driven you away.

"Sweetheart, people say things they don't mean when emotions run high. Childe does love you; I'm sure of it. Relationships have their ups and downs, but love can overcome even the toughest moments."

Her words, meant to console, offered a lifeline in the storm of emotions. Yet, despite her reassurance, the ache in your heart persisted. The wounds were fresh, the echoes of Childe's indifferent words still reverberating within you.

"I know, Mom, but it just hurts so much," you whispered, tears welling up again.

She held you at arm's length, her gaze filled with concern. "Take your time, dear. Healing doesn't happen overnight. If he loves you, he'll realize the impact of his words and make amends."

On the other side, Childe's attempts to reach you knew no bounds. His phone buzzed with unanswered calls and texts, each message a desperate plea for forgiveness.

+𝟗𝟗 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐃𝐮𝐦 <𝟑 3:33 am Y/n, please, just pick up the phone. I'm so sorry. I never meant what I said. I love you more than anything. 4:32 am I'm an idiot, love. I messed up, and I need you to hear me out. Let's talk. Please. 4:45 am ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 (Hey, dummy. I know I screwed up. I didn't mean any of it. I miss you... Can we just talk?)

The echoes of your silence were deafening. Each attempt to reach you felt like shouting into the abyss, the void swallowing his words.

Returning to the shared house, the remnants of your presence lingered. The cold meal you had prepared sat untouched, a poignant reminder of a time when warmth filled the home. Childe mechanically picked at the food, each bite a tasteless reminder of the void that now enveloped him.

The once-familiar walls seemed to close in as he wandered through the silent rooms. The solitude amplified the weight of his regret, and a profound loneliness settled over him. Despite filling his stomach, an emptiness gnawed at his insides.

Tears welled up, and he crumpled to the entryway floor, the place where the love you both had built now reduced to a battleground of hurtful words. The cool surface provided little comfort as he cried himself into an exhausted slumber, the entryway serving as a painful witness to the wreckage of a love he feared might be irreparably broken.

As the morning light filtered through the curtains, you cautiously returned to your shared home. The air hung heavy with the residue of the previous night's turmoil. With a determined resolve, you planned to pack your things and spend some time with your mother until the wounds of the argument had a chance to heal.

The moment you stepped into the entryway, you noticed a disheveled Childe, still draped in the shadows of sleep. His eyes, red-rimmed from crying, widened in surprise at your presence.

"Y/n…" His voice wavered, a mix of regret and exhaustion lacing his words.

"I'm here to pack my things, Childe," you stated, avoiding eye contact.

His eyes pleaded with you, but you remained steadfast. "Please, love, let's talk. I need you to understand."

"No, Childe. We've said enough," you replied, your voice firm. The weight of the situation pressed down on you, but you were determined not to let it sway your decision.

As you began gathering your belongings, Childe, propelled by a mixture of desperation and a genuine desire to make amends, rose from the floor. He moved closer, his hand reaching out involuntarily.

"Don't touch me, Childe," you warned, your eyes flashing hurt.

Childe's heart sank as he continued to trail behind you, the weight of your silence pressing down on him. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and he winced at the palpable pain in your voice when you told him not to touch you.

His eyes were red and swollen from the tears that had stained the entryway floor the night before. Yet, a glimmer of hope flickered within him, fueled by the desperate need to salvage what was left of the love that once filled their home.

As he followed you through the house, his eyes caught sight of your left hand. The familiar glint of the engagement ring was conspicuously absent. Panic seized him as he realized its absence, the realization hitting him like a punch to the gut.

"Y/n, where's the ring?" His voice trembled with a mix of fear and desperation.

You glanced at him briefly, the weight of your gaze heavy with unspoken words. "It's in the bedroom. I left it."

Childe's heart raced as he hurried to the bedroom, his footsteps echoing in the empty space. The room, once a sanctuary of shared dreams, felt haunted by the shadows of fractured promises.

He found the ring on the dresser, its absence from your finger a stark reminder of the fragility of the bond they had built. The intricate design, a symbol of their commitment, now seemed like a fragile artifact of a love slipping through his fingers.

Fear gripped him, the gravity of the situation hitting him like a tidal wave. He returned to find you near the front door, the distance between you growing wider with each passing moment.

"Y/n, I—I can fix this. I'll do whatever it takes. Please, don't go," he pleaded, the vulnerability in his voice bared for you to see.

As you moved towards the door, a determined resolve etched across your face, Childe's hand shot out, instinctively reaching for you. He caught your wrist, his grip firm but not forceful. His eyes pleaded with yours, mirroring the desperate turmoil within him.

"Y/n, please, I beg you… don't go," he pleaded, his voice breaking.

You paused, feeling the grip on your wrist, the pull of emotions warring within you. Childe's sobs echoed in the silent room, the raw vulnerability he displayed tearing down the walls you had erected around your wounded heart.

"Childe, you can't fix this with just words," you said, your own voice wavering with the weight of the situation.

His grip softened, fingers slipping from your wrist to intertwine with yours. "I know… I know, but let me try. I love you, and I can't bear the thought of losing you."

His tears fell freely, staining the floor beneath him. The vulnerability he exhibited, coupled with the sincerity in his eyes, created a tumultuous whirlwind of conflicting emotions within you.

"I can't promise anything, Childe," you said, gently trying to disentangle your hand from his. "But I need time to think, away from this… chaos."

Childe, however, held on tighter, his sobs intensifying. "I messed up, Y/n. I don't want to lose you. Please, just stay. Let me try to make things right."

The conflicting emotions battled within you as Childe's sobs reverberated in the room. Despite the anger, hurt, and the shattered trust, a deep well of love still lingered within your heart. The sight of him crumbling before you, laid bare in vulnerability, tugged at those lingering threads of affection.

Taking a deep breath, you relented. Your free hand reached out, gently cupping Childe's tear-stained cheek. Your touch, though soft, held the weight of both love and reproach.

"Childe, stop crying," you whispered, your voice a delicate plea.

His tearful eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world outside their shared turmoil seemed to fade away. The touch of your hand, wiping away his tears, bridged the emotional chasm that had grown between you two.

"I love you, but this can't be fixed overnight," you admitted, your tone a delicate balance of firmness and compassion.

Childe nodded, his grip on your hand relaxing.

In the days that followed, the atmosphere in your shared home transformed. Childe, once a tempest of chaos and unpredictability, began to change. The realization of the pain he had caused you, coupled with the fear of losing the love he cherished, became a catalyst for a profound transformation.

His actions spoke louder than words. Childe started attending therapy, seeking guidance to navigate the complexities of his emotions and learn healthier ways to cope with the challenges that came with his role in the Fatui. The reckless impulsivity that once defined him began to give way to a more measured and thoughtful approach.

The wounds of the argument were still fresh, and trust needed time to mend, but Childe's commitment to change became evident in his actions. He took on a more active role in maintaining the home, shared responsibilities with newfound diligence, and made genuine efforts to communicate openly.

Gone were the days of recklessness overshadowing your relationship. Childe, now more attuned to your needs and the impact of his words, worked tirelessly to rebuild the connection that had weathered the storm.

While the scars of the past lingered, the metamorphosis within Childe created a sense of hope.

[velvetures]

Got Me Snoring pt.2

A/N: I'm so sorry it took so long... I've been doubting doing a part two simply because the first blew up like... crazy... and I'm afraid this one isn't going to measure up to the first. But THANK YOU to everyone for the love on part one... it's wild how much you all liked it. I appreciate all of you thirsty fuckers. Summary: Ghost is set on giving you the same change of perception on reviving head after figuring out just how bad you are at taking care of yourself. T/W: NS/FW 18+ ONLY, cunnilingus, size kink if you squint, spit?, lots of fem! fluids, a little male fluids..., cursing, aggressive tension?, taunting, not proofread, and I'm still terrified this is gonna suck.

You woke up with a sore throat.

No doubt or haze in your mind about how it happened or why. And the only thing you could think was the word big…. big… big…

God, Ghost was so fucking huge. You nearly mistook the images in your mind for a dream. One so goddamn filthy you’d not be able to look him in the eyes. Only one of those big hands was sprawled over your belly. Fingers digging possessively into the little bit of pudge under them. Denting your skin and steadily reminding you of the rest of his body melted against the back of yours. You’d not moved an inch all night. Highly unusual on a normal day, but not with your Lieutenant sharing the bed.

Sharing a seat on the plane home wasn’t familiar either.

He felt inhumanly warm with his arm rubbing yours as the jet stream rocked the cabin of the plane. And the looks shared between the others as they watched the pair of you didn’t make your skin feel any cooler. Gaz staring at the spot where Ghost’s thigh rested against yours nearly made your pants singe. You couldn’t believe Ghost was just sitting there with his head leaning back against the wall. Maybe sleeping… he wasn’t really moving much. But you couldn’t tell. Nor possess enough confidence to look up or nudge him and find out.

Your sore throat ached a bit too. Raw, and making your voice scratchy, it’d been hard to give a solid ‘good morning’ without everyone asking if you’d come down with something. Your only thought was how Ghost came down something… and you had swallowed. A thought that felt good to hear in your own head… at least when Captain Price wasn’t looking at you with sharp, observant eyes.

Surprisingly, Ghost wasn’t the one who made you feel anxious. He’d been… different in leading up to the flight home. Having your bag packed before you’d noticed, getting you up before the others…. ‘Answer their questions later, little one.’ he’d whispered, masked mouth heating up your ear as he murmured so closely to it. Thoughtful… you’d decided. Realizing only after he’d solved the problem that waking up in bed with him would’ve caused a stir amongst the boys. He even made you tea… the way you like it; With some thick honey at the bottom. No doubt for your rasping voice.

No. Ghost was different.

No one had the gall to mention the Lieutenant strangely shadowing you though. Like you’d suddenly gained a massive black phantom tagging alone at your heels. On missions he would linger close by without anyone noticing, but that just felt… professional. Watching his wide shoulders slump towards yours while sitting on a shitty, makeshift, bench in a cargo plane? That was a whole different look. Even Price spent a good half hour chewing on an unlit cigar, trying to work out what you two had talked about the night before for Ghost to act like this. It was clear though. None of them suspected anything close to what actually happened.

Sitting next to him felt surreal. Especially when he’d been the one who silently insisted that you sit next to him. Having snatched you by your belt and tugged you onto the bench beside him instead of letting you find somewhere mushed between Gaz and Soap like normal. A low grunt of a sound and a firm nod pointed in your direction once he got a look at you sitting next to him much more shyly than normal.

You could smell his cologne, and memorize the tattoos peeking out close to his wrist. Feel his leg twitch to steady himself in his seat when the plane shook a bit. Even listen to the sound of his steady breathing. A whole new experience you’d not really thought about trying before. You nearly felt like you were learning Ghost all over again. Taking every small movement and reexamining it. Because… you couldn’t deny that he had readjusted his view of you.

A blowjob shouldn’t have felt that… intimate, you thought. Remembering the undeniably filthy things Ghost had said. It should’ve left you fulfilled… but not like you actually were. Some warm, expanding feeling, filling up your chest and making you want to hide your face and giggle. A grade school crush level of nervous energy you’d never felt towards a man before. Yet here you were, sitting there half-dumbstruck, watching your Lieutenant stretch his long legs and sigh softly as the landing gear rolled to a stop on the tarmac.

“Comin’?” He muttered, voice level. Maybe a bit impatient as those dark eyes settled on you.

Normal… you reminded yourself. He wasn’t talking you differently; No need to over analyze everything. Letting him lead was the smartest thing. The only way, really.

“Yeah,” Your voice makes you hesitate to say anything more. “Just got stuck staring…”

Ghost doesn’t show any real reaction. Just nods, and grabs his rucksack off the floor next to him. Wordlessly taking yours along in the same hand, walking off with -essentially- everything you had. Suddenly motivating you to not only move your ass off the plane, but follow his long strides to wherever it was he was possessed to go. And whether or not the others even noticed, you didn’t have the luxury of worrying about.

The Lieutenant had your weapons… and your only clean pair of pants.

You didn’t have to follow him far though. Only walking a few meters past your own quarters and down a hallway. Staring at the wide gap between his shoulder blades and the heavy sway that rocked the belt clipped around his hips.

He had your bag tossed next to his on a desktop inside his room without a single trace of the fact it wasn’t a habit. Sitting down heavily and reaching over stiffly to tug at the laces of his boots. Toeing them off with small squeaks of new leather and sitting them under the desk. Either purposefully staying silent to listen to your brain working, or totally unaware that you were stupidly standing there, watching your Lieutenant do a decidedly human thing with wide eyes.

“Come’ere…”

Ghost took off your boots just as simply as his own. Quiet, leaned over your foot propped up on his thigh and not even mentioning your hand resting on his shoulder to steady yourself. Feeling him tug the blouse out of your pant legs, and gently squeeze at your ankle to hold your foot steady.

You didn’t know how to feel about it.

Mortified… maybe. For the simple fact that you had worn the same socks for two days and his head was too close for comfort. Touching you. At least, touching you in a way that wasn’t meant for sex. It didn’t feel like you were doing enough. Weren’t providing him anything.

Guilty… yes? This wasn’t something normal in any situation. You hated a return. It’s what made you feel like you were causing a problem. Made laying low and staying quiet a habitual behavior. And Ghost being the one bent over and struggling to undo the tight knots in your laces? Nearly unacceptable. He didn’t need to… shouldn’t lower himself like that.

Ghost noticed it and you tried to beat him to the punch.

“You don’t have to-”

“Look like you’re gonna faint.”

That hand squeezing softly on your ankle tightens a little before releasing, gliding up your calf and patting you softly before guiding it off his leg. Those dark eyes look up and down your clothes, over your decidedly nervous expression, and back down to your boots before sitting them right next to his.

“Don’t tell me…” he mutters, leaning back in his chair, hands resting on his hips. “You’re not a fan of receiving… are you?”

~

The next two days, you leaned quickly that what was his, suddenly had made room to account for you as well. Almost instantaneously you’d been accounted for in just about every single way you could think of. You washed laundry… you found it put away in one of his drawers. You ordered food to base… it was in his room, not yours. Tried to get into your old quarters… the key wouldn’t open it anymore.

How he’d managed it, you didn’t even want to know. But, Ghost effortlessly took into account every single thing necessary to move you into his life without even a single question. And managed to do it perfectly. You couldn’t question it either, since he’d accomplished the endless tasks to such a degree of attention that you weren’t sure a man could even reach.

“Um, have you seen my black jeans?” The question felt a bit odd, and so did standing in the doorframe of his bathroom with a towel wrapped around you.

“Top drawer. In the closet, next to my pants.”

You couldn’t quite adjust this easily. Not that it wasn’t what you wanted per se. You’d enjoyed Ghost’s company more than anyone else the past couple days. And while he’d been accommodating, it wasn’t like he was bowing to your feet. He came and go as he wanted and didn’t crowd you like he was clingy either. However he did make you feel uneasy with how little he made a fuss about doing something for you.

You never asked for him to do anything. Yet he managed to do everything you ‘hadn’t gotten around to’. And worst of all, when it was time to sleep, he wouldn’t lay down until you eventually caved in and crawled under the blankets first. Almost like he was letting you get settled exactly how you wanted before even thinking about moving closer. No sex. No outward attempt at it. Not even a subliminal hint that he wanted more of your mouth, or anything else for that matter.

It nearly broke you. Or, better spoken, broke your perception of how you expected him to act. Which, made sense considering Ghost wasn’t anything close to the men you’d been with previously. They were always pushy… and he didn’t even push you to your side of the bed when you unconsciously wormed your way to his side at night. Your exes treated sex like a favor needing to be owed. And Ghost wouldn’t begin to act like he’d ever thought about the possibility despite having fucked your throat like he owned it.

Your jeans were indeed in the drawer next to his. And he did ask you to grab a pair of his as you retrieved yours, adding on that you’d be leaving in fifteen minutes… unless you needed more time to get ready.

You finished up in less than ten.

A bar on a Saturday night was Soap’s idea. Drinks, a few cigars, and the whole task force was his way of ‘team bonding’ and no one had a good enough excuse to deny him. Especially when there was a new mission lingering in the next couple weeks, and Price already had the files on hand. You thought it was a bit cliché. Sitting in a musty bar, listening to Price talk over the music about terrain, entry points, possible back-up, and the preemptive teams he was putting together.

It seemed his mind had been working just as hard as yours over the past days. Only you were preoccupied with Ghost’s hand firmly kneading at your thigh under the table. His thumb working at a sore spot just up and to the right of your knee. Forefinger squeezing to alternate the pressure and resist from making the movements feel too harsh. Looking far too relaxed while scanning a document and flipping through the pages with his free hand.

You’d resisted for hours at this point. Forcing yourself to stay quiet and not say something about it. Reminding yourself he was just doing it because he wanted to. Not because he thought he’d get something out of it. He wasn’t holding out. Every time his skilled fingers found another sore spot that made you twitch, you needed to physically clamp your mouth shut or take a drink so you didn’t tell him to stop.

“Another round?” Gaz held up a few bills in his hand, looking around the table.

When everyone agreed, you lost the willpower to sit still. Straightening up and trying to scoot towards the edge of your seat.

“I’ll go up since you’re paying.” The rush in your voice was lost on everyone. Everyone but the man who suddenly locked down with a vice grip on your leg.

Ghost didn’t even flinch. Still looking at the file in his hand, but that cold grip on you didn’t hesitate. Gluing you to your seat and enhancing the sudden sensation of his fingertips dipping under the ripped material stretching over your thigh. You couldn’t understand it. Dumbly trying a second time to stand up, only for it to earn you a side-eyed glance and a slight pinch to your exposed skin.

“No.” he muttered, chin jutting out in the direction of the man, already heading towards the table after seeing Gaz pull out cash .“The waiter’s comin’.”

And right on cue, a younger guy walked up and began taking orders. Going around the table, and stopping at Ghost was a very familiar kind of apprehension on his face after seeing that black mask stretched over his face. If only he could see under the table at the way your thigh was shaking from the soft touches.

“Nothin’ for us,” Such a cool dismissal of the guy that you hardly even notice what he said. “Price, leavin’ out.” He added, moving his hand to palm the back of your neck easily. Giving the slightest tug to get you up out of your seat as well.

“Little one’s comin’ with me.”

Not a soul at the table questions it.

~

Against the wall yet again.

Not unlike the first time… Ghost has a pattern. You’re breathless, but much more unaware of how this situation is going to play out. He hadn’t said a word in the drive, and kept the tightest sightline out the windshield you couldn’t even see his irises from your profile view in the passenger seat. The second he could spot the door to his room? His big body bullied yours right where he wanted it. Keeping you pacified by a hand over your mouth and dark, plotting eyes glaring down.

“Why’d you do that?” His question further raised the questions in your head. It’s all you can do to shrug, as if you had much autonomy over the rest of your body at this point anyways.

“At the bar,” The clarification deepens his irritated tone. “Why’d you take orders like that, huh? Like some fuckin’ maid.”

“You all wanted drinks.”

Unfortunately it’s not the answer he wanted, and you’re hauled that much further up the wall. Only now, you’re suspended fully off the ground. Balanced on his forearm jammed between your thighs; feeling his palm flat against the wall. God, it felt fucking ridiculous. He shouldn’t been able to do it, but he wasn’t even shaking. Dead calm and just watching you unintentionally grind down more on his arm the longer you’re forced to stay like that.

“I got my own.”

You nearly catch an attitude. Wanting to mention that it’s just ‘polite’. And for that matter, you’d not paired for a single drink all night. So, naturally it was only fair you go get them… You settle on saying something a bit more safe. Maybe more manageable even with how little your mouth wants to function.

“I didn’t pay.”

Ghost just snarls, head tilted and looming closer.

“I don’t fuckin’ care,” His hips flinch forwards, jamming against you to send the point home. And you’re not stupid enough to ignore that he’s hard. The long, thick line of his cock disappearing under the edge of his belt; tucked safely to have been able to escape the bar without anyone throwing looks his way.

“Stop doin’ shit just because.” He growls out a bit more directly. “Do it because you want it.”

His point skims over your understanding. “I do what I want!”

“Sure, sweetheart.” The dismissal is soft enough you know he’s not totally pissed.

“When’s the last time you made yourself feel good, huh?” He pauses, giving you a glimpse of his tongue licking his lips under that mask. “I think I remember you sayin’ you’ve faked it plenty of times… How many times is that? How many times you ignored that pussy cryin’ for attention?”

You get it. Oh, you finally understand… And damn it your face doesn’t burn hot with the realization that he’d caught on to just how bad you were about prioritizing yourself. Not even the dull, thudding pressure of your cunt sitting directly in his muscled forearm is enough to distract you from it. The mind game over, and Ghost holding yet another victory in his hand.

“I.. I don’t know,” You look away, unwilling to admit it. “A few times.”

“Bullshit,” He grunts, jerking his lower body against yours yet again. “You might not know that… but you do know how many men… don’t ya, sweetheart?”

Chest caving in defeat, you answer. “Five.”

Ghost’s chuckle is almost patronizing. A deep, rumbling one low in his chest that makes chills run up your back. Purposefully his wrist rotates a bit and your clit rolls over a thick muscle. You’re helpless to hide the pinched yelp it earns him, and it only makes him chuckle for longer. If you’d been in any other position, it would’ve been music to your ears. Now it just felt… punishing. Arousing beyond belief, yes, but still a bit of a sting to your pride.

“Five boys…” He muses aloud. “Not a fuckin’ one with enough sense to breathe without thinkin’.”

He stills for a moment, eyebrows furrowing over dark brown eyes. A debate in his head.

“Then i’ll teach you…” He nods once. Firm and resolved to the decision. His free hand coming up to trace your jawline with a reverent, almost scared touch. “Now that you’re mine… I’ll teach you how to be selfish.”

“S’not like I don’t know how.” It’s a wonder you’re able to sound that confident between the pressure to your cunt and the way he’s talking to you. Unflinching as always, he just smirks under that mask.

“Gonna show you how easy it is… to take pleasure. How to enjoy it.” Each word falls from his lips like thick honey. Whatever he’s planning so fucking rich in his kind that even his mouth slows and his accent thickens at the mere imagination of it. “You’re gonna learn to be good for me… and M’gonna start with that little pussy…”

One dangerous look down at where your thighs are trying to clench together freezes you.

“Not gonna let her be ignored anymore…”

~

Ghost’s tongue curls through your swollen, sensitive, lips; helping guide himself to your pulsing clit. Humming victoriously when your stomach flexes and your body jerks away from the steady pressure. Each lick is the same. Dragging up your slit and purposely spitting against your hole until you both can feel it dripping between your cheeks. Taking his time like this was almost painful. Feeling the twitch of his jaw against your inner thighs and hearing his thick swallows as he drank down your arousal.

It almost made you feel queasy, being the sole focus of this. Your hands unable to find somewhere to rest. Feet unwilling to settle on his back or off to the sides, like you knew you probably should be. Ghost was so intense that you shook. Muscles tremoring around his head and exciting him that much more. You were still stiff though, and it showed. Much to his excitement, it meant that he’d have that much more time between your legs. More opportunities to take you out of your head and throw you into a totally new one.

“It ain’t my mouth makin’ you shake, little one.” He murmurs, almost like he’s talking to your cunt instead. It’s hard to reply when those dark brown eyes lay locked on you from between your slicked thighs.

“I… I don’t know…”

Ghost just chuckles, kissing your inner thigh. Both hands slipping between your legs and using his thumbs to spread you open for him. Heavy eyes looking at your glistening hole covered in his saliva. Spitting on you yet again, and letting out a deep, satisfied sigh when your breath evaporates from the sheer sight of it.

“M’gonna make you feel everythin’ they couldn’t,” your eyes nearly roll back in your skull when he blows a soft, cool, breath over your hot skin. “You’ll memorize what my tongue feels like in your cunt… never gonna come empty again…”

You clench when those words come out more like a threat than a promise. Having heard that tone so many times sitting in on his interrogations. Always relating it to pure torture and the promise of wishing for death over being rested in Ghost’s hands. Only now it was startling just how badly you wanted to hear him speak like that again. Never having heard anyone sound so fucking serious about sex, or find yourself reacting so desperately. Your eyes scrunching shut and your head falling back against the bed, nearly pained with anticipation and a healthy dose of the most fearful arousal you’d mustered.

“Ghost - please, please… just, god take it easy on me.” Your voice is soft, pleading. Actually a bit timid of how far he planned on taking this. Of course he wouldn’t hurt you. You trusted him that much. But pleasure could be just as effective of torture, and Ghost was well-versed.

Another kiss presses to your thigh, “Nothin’ without your permission,” Those dark eyes gain crinkled lines at the corners though as he smiles. “But you’ll like it, little one. Every disgustin’ thing m’gonna do to make this pussy cream…”

His thumb glides over your outer lips, toying with you. Gentle to avoid sensitive spots and draw this out, but mean enough to remind you just how dedicated he was.

“Yeah, baby… you’re gonna look so good when I lick the fuckin’ come out of you.”

His mouth descends over you without another moment of hesitation. Still slow, but now it’s not just his tongue lapping at you. It’s his lips, rough with a couple days neglected of shaving. His teeth -which make you jump at first- pinching and nipping. But it’s all in the perfect pressure. Somehow fully aware of how sensitive you are right now and that the slightest move could be far too much. Reversing your twitches of apprehension into soft rolls of your hips against his face. Allowing you to guide him without a word. Learning how you want it whether or not you ever realized that it was guiding him better than a map.

You loved the slow, consistent pressure around your clit. Not rubbing right over it like he was sure you’d been subjected to before. No… you needed it softer. Sweeter. Just how a pretty girl like you deserved. Circles with a flattened tongue and his fingers working inside you. Even then, you got so fucking tight when he didn’t pull his fingers out all the way. Instead letting you milk them as the pads of his fingers curled against that textured, upper wall needing attention.

God, it was so easy. You had such beautifully clear reactions. What felt good, you’d nearly hold still for. As if you’d never felt it before and couldn’t withhold from the desperate curiosity. And when it didn’t, such polite grinds and roll of your hips would be almost too helpful in moving the bridge of his nose or his tongue to where you wanted it.

Ghost couldn’t remember the last time he ate pussy with such rapt attention. Enjoy it had always been easy. The taste, the sounds, feeling in control… any man in his right mind would relish in it. But you? You made his hard cock brushing up against the mattress fall to a true afterthought. He didn’t even care that there was enough precum drooling from his tip to soak through denim jeans.

Your first orgasm is a beautiful accident. Ghost’s body isn’t even what earns it. It’s his fucking mouth saying the nastiest things imaginable with a busy tongue stroking your clit. Rambling low and sluggishly, a thick lisp when his bottom lip tries to slide across your pussy on the right syllables.

Good job, tha’s it… s’good for me.

Keep fuckin’ drippin’ like that.

Stay right there -just like that- let me lick her clean baby…

You come quick and hard. Not even getting to relish in the feeling of release that wasn’t by your own hand before Ghost is working for another. It’s the most impatient habit he’s got and won’t deviate. Using the clench of your pussy around him to advantage by working you open all over again. Purposefully providing that “first touch” stretch throughout orgasms like a reset. Short term memory erasure of all his hard work just to massage at your shaking legs as gentle reassurance.

“Don’t — Don’t stop.” Your panting. Wanting to warn him as the second approaches a bit slower.

You’re still nervous to perform, but the edge is off. Having been given just enough reassurance that you can, in fact, come from someone else’s touch. But the slight tremor in your voice hints at the hesitation you have to come again.

Enough time elapsed to overthink what you sound like. How you appear from this angle and anything in between that has been a problem before now. Ghost doesn’t move an inch. The only thing he does is take a steady deep breath and move one arm to rest his forearm on the bed. Like he’s settling in.

Getting fucking comfortable.

And he stays just like that until you’re shoving yourself up the bed and away from his chasing mouth to try and take at least one complete breath. Your feet sliding in the sheets and the hair on the back of your neck getting cold once it’s not matted to the pillow. Previous experience anticipates that it’s the end. That Ghost isn’t going to follow. That he’ll take the credit for making you come twice, and enjoy a fluttering, wet cunt around his cock.

His face is next to yours and his swollen lips are kissing your temple over and over sweetly. One hand keeps his heavy weight off of you while the other gently reaches to your neck. Holding your head to ease the acute angle of it and shyly feel your pulse. You’re too dazed to see the look on his face. How relaxed he is, counting your heart beats and watching sweat slide across your temple and get caught in the baby hairs there. Observant, but utterly obsessed by this moment. Drinking in self-satisfaction and the much more addictive taste of seeing you fall apart under him.

“I got you. I’m here, breathe baby.” Keeping his chest close, he exaggerates his own. Pressing against you, grounding the feeling.

“It’s so much.” Admitting it makes you feel awful. Like you’re not enjoying it more than anything you’ve felt before. But you’re unable to explain just how raw your nerves feel. Terrified that if he touches your clit again it would bring real tears to your eyes.

Ghost moves closer, sharing body heat you didn’t know you even wanted. “I know, little one… you’re so sensitive. S’okay.” He answers, gently reaching down to pull both your thighs together and against him.

Curling you to his body and holding your legs to help ease the radiating pleasure signals thrumming in your pussy. His hand rubbing your outer thigh, squeezing at the stretched muscles in your hip. Dissipating the tightly-wound lower half of your body that is still expecting his fingers to touch you again. Split between wishing he would force another orgasm out of you and nearly passing out from overstimulation.

Ghost knows better though. You’d gone too long without someone else controlling your pleasure that it was going to be hard enough. And a second only compounded your body’s response. In the moment he felt possessed to prove a point. Really, the same one you had for him. But the moment you scurried back, that part of his brain turned off. Keeping you safe in this state was just as important as anything else. He didn’t want you faking anything again. That included when you felt like you couldn’t take more.

“We’re done, baby…” he kisses your cheek, tasting the sting of salt on his lips. “No more; jus’ easy touches… M’not gonna play anymore.”

It works wonders, simply taking the guesswork out of this. Allowing your legs to fully sag against him, trusting those fingers grazing up and down. Even your head letting go of the remaining tension holding you off the pillow. Ghost can’t help but smile. Kissing you yet again. And again. Helping himself to the sounds of your breaths evening out and the softness of your dewy skin on his mouth.

His hot body sticks to yours a bit, but it’s comfortable. Helps you feel secure, laying there balled up and trying to work through the multiple sensations still making it nearly impossible to open you eyes and look at him. Desiring to say a simple ‘thank you’ or at least, give him a smile just to show that you’re appreciative. Another one of those nasty little things you’re convinced is necessary right after the deed. Poised to give positive reinforcement at the first moment so the guy won’t run off.

“Th-thank you,” The way you say it almost sounds guilty to Ghost. Even the hand rubbing you doubles down, more firmly. Like he’s hoping to keep his own emotions in check by reminding himself of how skewed your perceptions are.

“S’not a ‘thank you’,” He replies, lips against your ear, feeling the easy, toothless, smile he’s got. “Told you the other day… I wanted it. Wanted you.”

Your eyes do open then. Hearing him refer back to the mission. Like he’s not the least bit affected by it in an embarrassed kind of way. Adding that much more reinforcement to the nearly unbelievable idea that he’s actually meant it and not just so he could get a bit closer to you. Surely he couldn’t, right?

“You mean that?”

Ghost’s eyes brighten, and he chuckles very deeply. Bumping his forehead against yours.

“You and your sweet pussy aren’t going anywhere.”

requests are thanks to: bvxygriimes bobochacha kmcmpmd simonsslvt verynastyspoon featherbrainedangel flower-olive riri-is-a-girlie bii-aan-ckaa mxshpitmom stormy-knight134 glocuseguardian3rd variety-fangirl and about eight anons that I can't tag unfortunately :(

you're all so lovely and I want to give you each a big smooch

reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

my ask box is always open, but fair warning I'm slow haha

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

You Make Me Wanna 1

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, best friend's dad trope other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You stumble through the open doors into the cool night air. The sweat on your skin chills you as your warmth melds with the evening temperature. The pulse of the club thrums through you as it follows you out, barely contained by the walls. 

You glance at the bouncer as you pass. He’s uninterested as he peers into the shadows across the street. You pull at the front of your shirt, airing it out as the heat of alcohol nips in your cheeks. You’re not in too deep. Three vodkas and water between to even it out. 

You sigh and lean against the brick, pushing your head back as you let your eyes close. There’s a tick in your cheek as you cross your arms. For all her nagging for you to come with her, Faye hadn’t been much of a wing woman. Maybe that’s what she’d expected of you. You don’t know, you just came to dance off the long week. 

Before you came out, you couldn’t separate her from the guy she was batting her lashes at. She swore before you came that she wasn’t looking to hook-up. Not again. Last time was just too weird. And you agreed, last time was the final straw. You’re done with those awkward encounters. 

You open your eyes and set your head straight. You would think she would be a lot more cautious. Considering where she came from. Or maybe that’s why she’s so reckless. She’s a bit too old for teenage rebellion. 

You stand and roll your shoulders. You’ll go back in and entice her away from that creep with a shot. You’re going home together. Just like she promised. 

“How did I know you’d be here?” The deep rumble has your ankle bending as you take a step, your clunk heel turning sideways. You know that voice, all too well. Fuck. “Where is she?” 

You face Walter as he marches up on you. Better known to you and all Faye’s cohort as ‘Mr. Marshall’. The no-nonsense detective who never has a good word or a smile for anyone. You’d hate to have a father like him. He makes you thankful you don’t have one. 

“Inside,” you shrug and go to spin away. 

“You just left her in there?” He snarls as he closes in from behind. 

“I’m going back in--” 

He grabs you and spins you to face him, his large hand tight around your arm. Despite the new strands of grey in his curls, illuminated by the lights of the marque, and the fine lines around his eyes, he’s still an imposing man. And strong. You wiggle, trying to tug away from his grasp. 

“Eh,” one of the bouncers calls over, “let her go.” 

He huffs but does as he’s told. He doesn’t want a scene, not that he couldn’t flip his badge out and swing his weight around. He never seems to shy away from that. 

“I came out to get some air. I didn’t leave her--” 

“No, but you brought her here,” he looks up, “that’s more than enough.” 

“I came here with her, I didn’t bring her here--” 

“Whatever. This shit might fly with your deadbeat mother but it won’t get far with me. Faye never started sneaking out until you came around--” 

You scoff, “she’s twenty-one. She’s an adult. And trust me, she was doing a lot before I ever met her.” 

“Take me to her,” he growls, “now.” 

You roll your eyes and the rumble stays in his throat. You wave him off and pivot on your heel. You clop forward and show your stamped wrist to the bouncer. They stop Walter and he sighs. You don’t wait for him as he stops and shuffles around. You don’t look back, knowing his badge will gain him easy entry. 

He catches up with you as spectrum of blues and purples haze over you from the coloured bulbs. He presses close as drunken clubgoers crowd around you. You search along the bar where you last saw Faye. 

“She was with some guy--” 

“Some guy?” He blusters, “are you serious?” 

You take out your phone and key in a message to her. You hit send and pop your head back up, scanning the writhing bodies. You don’t want to stay here with Walter, you can feel his anger roiling off of him. It would be better if you could find Faye first and sneak out of there. 

“I’ll check the ladies,” you offer. 

He doesn’t say a word. You set off towards the bathroom and sense him behind you, following you. Great. He trails you all the way down the hallway and only stops outside the black door. You push inside, doubting you’ll find Faye but all too happy to get space from that overbearing grump. 

You don’t bother checking the shoes under the stalls or the other faces in the mirror. You take out your gloss and redo your lips. You fix the collar on your cropped polo and turn to check the curve of your ass in your leggings. You look good even if your eyes are bit glassy. 

You look at your phone again. No answer. You can’t hide in here forever and you somehow don’t think a sign will stop Walter forever. The vodka fills you with doubt. You wish you were sober. 

You drag yourself back through the door and shrug at Walter as he meets you with a furrowed brow. 

“Not in there,” you say, “she’s probably dancing--” 

“You know, you won’t get far in life spending all your time in pits like this. You should go to school, grow up.” 

You ignore him. You’ve heard a million lectures from him, usually aimed at his daughter, but you don’t have to listen to him. He isn’t your father. He doesn’t know shit about you even if he’s profiled you as a bad egg. 

Your phone buzzes and you stop at the end of the hallways. His arm hits yours and you squint at the screen. He leans in, reading over your shoulder. 

“Shit!” He snarls sharply. 

The drunken message makes you cringe, ‘see u 2morrow. Got a hottie wit a botty.’ 

“Come on,” he grabs your elbow again. This time there’s no escape as he marches you across the cramped dancefloor. 

“Walt-- Mr. Marshall, what are you doing--” 

“Finding my goddamn daughter.” 

“But--” 

“But nothing. This is your fault. You’re not going anywhere until she’s home,” he sneers as you stumble in time with his long strides. “Then I never wanna see your face again.” 

[k0juki]

You don't wanna dance?

vampire hunter!Lando Norris x vampire!fem!reader au!

Warnings: mentions of drugs and killing but it's just a mention!

English is not my first language so feel free to point out any mistakes or errors! Also picture is not mine! Credit goes to the owner! Request are open!

More posts here! I'm gonna make it a little series.

Words: over 2k.

---

For the last couple of centuries, I spent my importantly traveling and hiding from vampire hunters. They almost killed all mine kind and because of that, vampires have become mere legends and myths.

A lot of them died, but others learned how to survive. Most of young vampires stayed in groups with others, more older vampires. Who protect them.

And in the heart of the loud city, where cobblestone streets echoed with human laughter, stood a lone figure cloaked in shadows. It was Lando.

Lando is a renowned vampire hunter, prowling the night with purpose, his senses honed to detect even the faintest trace of the undead. He always knew what he had to do. What is his purpose in this world. And mostly, he knew where to look for his prey.

They always hide in places like this, with loud music and a lot of people that spend all their money on doubtful drugs that get them killed.

Places like night clubs and bars are no stranger to Lando, and if he wasn't tangled up in this kind of job, he would have joined everyone there and enjoyed his young life with pretty women and one night stands.

"It's always clubs, never the quiet, relaxing places." Lando sighed and stepped inside. Saint and Sinners, an amazing name for a club. The air was a lot heavier and smoke from cigarettes could be smelled. A perfect place for vampires.

Amidst the pulsating rhythm of the club, neon lights danced and shadows whispered secrets in dark corners, the vampires were here, he was sure of it. Lando stood like a solitary sentinel, his gaze sweeping the crowded dance floor with practiced vigilance.

He's from a family full of vampire hunters and as a seasoned vampire hunter, he was no stranger to the dark allure of the night, but this night would test his resolve in ways he could never have imagined.

Across the smoky haze of the dimly lit room, his eyes locked on one woman whose back was towards him. Her hair was moving around as she danced carelessly. But then it was like something had stopped her.

As she turned around and her eyes locked with his, it was like when time stops. Who is she? What a girl like her is doing here? Surely she wasn't here for some drugs, she isn't this type of girl. And when you live long enough, you start to recognise the same people in different bodies but with the same intrigues.

She knew who he was the moment she saw him, only a fool wouldn't know who he is, but she wanted to know what he was doing here. She decided to move towards him with an ethereal grace, her every step a was grace and allure that she knew that drew him in like a moth to flame.

That woman is Y/n, a vampire whose beauty defies description, her eyes like pools of liquid moonlight that held him captive with their magnetic gaze. Despite the danger she posed, Lando found himself unable to tear his gaze away, his heart pounding in his chest with a mixture of fear and fascination.

As the music pulsed through the air like a heartbeat, Lando felt the pull that drew him ever closer to her, like two stars destined to collide in the vast expanse of the night sky. With each passing moment, the distance between them narrowed until they stood mere inches apart, the air thick with anticipation.

"Who are you?" Lando's voice was barely a whisper, lost amidst the cacophony of the club around them.

Y/n's lips curled into a seductive smile, her voice a melody that sent shivers down his spine.

"I could ask you the same thing, handsome stranger." She replied, her tone playful yet tinged with a hint of danger. "But I think we both know the answer to that."

Lando felt a surge of heat rush through him at her proximity, his senses overwhelmed by the heady scent of her icy perfume and the electricity that crackled between them.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

Y/n's smile widened, her gaze never wavering from his. "What do you think I want?" she teased, her words laced with a hint of danger.

She stepped closer to him and said "Isn't it obvious? I wanna dance." She whispered in his left ear and wrapped her arms around his neck. Inhaling his scent that filled her lungs, she felt as he put his hands on her hips.

His cold rings burned against her soft, yet cold skin, but his hands were so much warmer. She knew that she will lose control, but he smelled so godamn good.

"Dance? Is that what you want?" He thought that was a strange request, so he couldn't help but ask.

"Yeah, you're at the night club and you don't want to dance?" She started to pull away, but he was quick to take her back in.

"No, no, I just…I don't know you, you know? How could I trust you?" He still wasn't sure if she was a vampire, but vampires are known for how they can manipulate you into things you would even dream about. And he felt like she could be one of them.

"Hmm…you're right, we don't know each other so well," she spoke "and you're right, you can't trust nobody" and completely pulled away from him and stepped back, so he couldn't grab her like last time.

"Maybe it's better if it's stay like that." She answered somehow coldly, she wanted to vanish into a crowd of dancing bodies when she felt his hand grasp her wrist.

Turning to look at him, she was about to say something, but he beamed her with "I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry." He felt the cold skin in his hand and decided if his theory of her being that mystical creature was true.

Y/n wasn't stupid. She knew he was a very dangerous man and that she shouldn't be playing around with him, but because she knew who he really was, she thought it could be fun to mess with him a little and play along with her being just a tipsy little girl that has a little drunk crush on him.

"It's alright. Let's just dance, yeah?" She asked and he just nodded with a smile on his face. She tugged him more into the dance floor and gosh, he was beautiful, with his green eyes that had sparks in them, his curly hair that was so soft to touch and with that gorgeous smile, he was just amazing.

"So" She started, breaking their silence.

"So?"

"So, what's a guy like you doing in a place like this?" Curious little thing she is. Always needs to know all the answers. And you know what they say, curiosity killed a cat. But, well, she was already dead, so she couldn't care less though.

"I could have asked you the same thing?" He wasn't going to tell her that he's here because of her kind. That he's going to kill her if she is something that he thinks she is, no, he knows it.

"Yeah, but I asked first."

"I'm looking for someone." He stated after a few seconds. His green eyes looked around the club and then back to her.

"For who?"

"I don't know yet," he started "but I think it could be you." He wasn't so smooth about it at all and took her back in his hold.

She knew what he meant by it and he knew it was her that he was looking for, but she just smiled at him and pulled him closer by the collar of his white shirt that had a few open buttons down.

"Yeah? And how do you know it's me you are looking for?" She chuckled, maybe because she knew he couldn't do anything to hurt her. There was too many people and other vampires that were watching them in dark corners and if he even tried something, she could end him by just snapping fingers. That's how powerful she really is.

He didn't say anything, he just looked at her and as they danced together in the dimly lit room, Lando found himself drawn deeper into this woman's web of temptation, his every instinct screaming at him to flee, even as his heart urged him to stay.

"You know I can't stay here" he whispered, "stay here with you." His voice barely audible above the din of the club. It was something about her that just took him in and he knew he had to leave or else things could get bad.

Y/n's eyes softened, a flicker of vulnerability passing across her features, strange. "I know," she replied, her voice barely a whisper. "But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy the moment while it lasts."

He was mesmerized by her. She wasn't just an ordinary vampire, no, he was pretty sure that she is one of the vampires that lives so long because they live in clans, with other, more older and wiser vampires.

This could be his chance.

His chance to get closer to her and her vampire family. To kill them. To kill all the remaining vampires like he promised to do, because that's his job. His purpose.

But each of them, was playing their own dangerous game.

"I'm Lando, by the way." He introduced himself with his British accent. "Lando Norris."

As Lando extended his hand towards her, Y/n's eyes sparkled with mischief, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She knew the game he was playing.

"It's nice to meet you Lando," she answered "but unfortunately for you, I already know your name." Her smile was getting bigger and that sweet playfulness was now becoming a little less and less funny.

That made him stop. She knew him? How does she know him? They had never met before, did they? Confusion could be seen on his pretty face and she loved every second of it. She lives for it.

"You really think I'm this stupid?" She said as laughter left her mouth. The music swelled around them and Lando leaned in closer to that pale woman, his voice a low murmur against her ear.

"How? How do you know my name then?"

"I had hanky-panky with your father too," she pointed out back in his left ear, "and with your grandfather as well and so on...you are all very similar.”

Lando said nothing. He just stood there like a fool. Who was this woman? Was she really this old vampire that knew his family members better than he did himself?

"Your family is notorious for hunting my kind Lando. You really think I wouldn't know you? Or your family?" She teased, her voice a soft melody that sent shivers down his spine.

And he knew that he should be afraid. He was in the lair of vampires. He had every right to be afraid. But then again, he needed to know her. Her true identity and what she is capable of, if she is a threat.

"You won't tell me your name?"

"I don't know," she admitted, "I haven't decided." Y/n liked to play hard to get. It was in her nature.

“You want to know my name hunter?” she felt his hands tighten on her hips and how he started to rub his thumbs up and down.

“Yes, of course I do.” What was he doing? He should have left and not be asking for her name. And definitely not holding her close to him.

“It's Y/n”

It's Simple, but effective. He liked that name, he liked her. She had this something inside of her, that he hasn't seen in everyone else. Something special.

As the music continued to pulse through the club and the crowd swirled around them, Y/n suddenly pulled away from Lando's soft grasp, leaving him standing alone on the dance floor, bewildered and disoriented.

"Well...I guess i will see you around, Lando"

For a moment, Lando stood frozen in place, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched that strange vampire woman disappear into the sea of dancing bodies.

He felt a surge of panic rising within him, a sense of vulnerability he hadn't felt in years. "Wait!" he called out, his voice lost in the loud music of the club around him.

But she was gone, vanished into the dark club without a trace, leaving Lando to wonder if their encounter had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination. No, no, she was real. She has to be real, she knew his family, she knew him.

As he stood there, alone in the dimly lit club, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him from within. He had been so sure of himself, so confident in his abilities as a hunter, but now he felt lost and adrift in a world he no longer recognized.

With a heavy heart, Lando turned and made his way towards the exit, the sounds of the club fading into the background as he stepped out into the cool night air. He felt like he could finally breathe again.

As he disappeared into the darkness, he couldn't help but wonder, if he would ever see that woman again, or if she had been nothing more than a fleeting illusion in the night.

—

Do you want a part 2? Or just some blurbs, imagines, etc. from this au?...write me!🩷

Don't copy or translate my work!

[soapels]

stress relief

konig x female reader

tw: nsfw, dry-humping, konig is soft and down bad for reader

notes: guys i luvvvv konig he is too adorbs to not make a sappy lil smutty drabble of! pls enjoy this quick one n tell me who u wanna see next, drop suggestions + thirsts and whatnot ♡

all hearts & reblogs are so appreciated!

The two of you shouldn’t be up.

Let alone up to no good— it’s late, most of your comrades are sleeping just in the next room over, and you’re pretty certain it’s against standard protocol to let your fellow operator pull down your pants.

But he is, and you’re letting him.

Consider it stress relief, is what you tell yourself to ease the guilt and that niggling feeling of dirtiness creeping over your bones as he slots his hips up with yours, setting you down on the top of a table- oddly gentle for a horny man of well over six foot five- and places a smattering of kisses over your neck, cheeks, jaw…

He’s a little awkward, you notice, and that’s fine because you are too— he’s tall anyway, too big for his own good and most practical jobs (on the odd occasion or two, you may even catch him mourning the old rejection of his sniper application), so you understand.

You’re too dazed on his sweet touch to pay any of it much mind, though, his lips peppering puppy-dog kisses over every inch of exposed skin as he ruts his hips against yours, cock bulging through the fabric of his boxers, pants half down as he grinds against the wet spot of your panties.

“Perfekt,” he moans softly into the dip beneath your jaw, your nose pointed to the ceiling as your eyes search for purchase there, tummy clutching up with some unbridled pleasure as his big hands hold you close, gloved fingertips- nothing close to painful- digging into the fat of your plushy thighs.

The first whine he drags out of is you is fragile, he treats it like silver, a hand swinging up to brush his knuckles over the slope of your cheek, blue eyes a faded haze of lust and adoration as he momentarily debates freeing the both of you and sticking it in already.

(But he’s big— wouldn’t it hurt you? What if you don’t really want him like he wants you—? Konig can manage like this anyway, because you feel so good, his cock nudging eagerly over your clothed pussy, your aura sucking him in deliciously. And he’s sure he’d embarrass himself too- would cum too fast, ‘cause you’re just so sweet and pretty and he’s wanted this for too long.)

Konig’s patient, though, and you’re something well worth the wait, the gloved pads of his fingers swiping away the hazy tears that gather at the shimmery lines of your eyes. (Gorgeous, he’s sure there’s galaxies hiding there.)

When your hips start moving against his, timid at first- slowly building up to a speed that matches his own careful, needy one- he moans at your ear, teeth nipping at its lobe as he brushes away the hair there.

Delicately- so soft. So good.

You mewl and twitch when his very-evident bulge catches on your puffy clit, your cotton panties soaked with your budding arousal at the front- and he swears he nearly cums on the spot.

“Ja bitte,” he groans, voice teetering on the line of hesitant ferocity, his massive body towering over yours- swallowing you up in his shadow- as the cicadas thrum outside. And Konig lies you on your back, then, dragging you in by those hypnotic hips of yours that always seem to thwart his concentration, folding himself over you as he humps into you like a mutt in heat.

“Cum for me,” he whispers, all feral and sweet, the black curtain of his mask tickling the V of your jaw, “C-Cum for me, please.”

And you do.

All over, soiling the thin fabric of your undies, his pelvis soon jerking in response— stopping dead in its tracks— and then twitching as he nibbles on the soft expanse of your neck, spilling spilling spilling—

“Ah- good,” he whines out, voice blissed-out yet just thick enough to hear.

“Very good—… good girl…”

The my part of the good girl goes unspoken, but Konig really hopes you’ve got no intention of backing out on him now, princess…

(Or the next day. Or the next… Or the next…)

[catfern]

cowboy!ellie, who gives you her hat on a warm, beating day.

the sun tearing through the open sky, and you, hastily and poorly packed. she’d rather her head burn than yours. and it wasn’t like it was anything special. badly stitched leather, worn within an inch of it’s life. once a warm, chocolate brown, beaten and driven down to the raw cowhide underneath, held together by late-night repairs, chipped away with age. it was nothing if not unworthy of you.

but, there was something else entirely. your smile hiding underneath the brim, hints of ellie shadowed you. the smell of her elderflower soap, weak but persistent, trailing your hairline and gracing you when you laughed. the musk of whiskey, and the rolled cigarette smoke that had settled deep, unmoving, in the stitching. it made her gaze wildfire, a stretching extension of ownership. however she was, you now were.

cowboy!ellie, who smells herself on your neck, and in your hair. cowboy!ellie, who wants to see herself everywhere, feel herself all over you.

cowboy!ellie, who wants to devour you.

her fingers are rough, unkind. stretching you out with the tips, indulging in you, feeling you breathe around the intrusion. how strange it was, to be at the heart of you, to feel your pulse underneath her, your slick walls clenching around her as if to name her the centre of your world. maybe she was.

‘i’m so kind to you, aren’t i? lettin’ you look pretty in my things.’

she whispers in a haze of fog, ghosting your neck, your collarbone, your chest. heavy with liquor and campfire smoke, her kiss brands you, leaves you drowning in her scent, unescaping. she takes her time with you, desperation damned, exploring every inch of you with the calloused points of her fingers. her prize, hers. she pulls from you, and you writhe, and you beg, impatient.

ellie feels along the curves of your hips with her hands, dragging your slick across your body. you shiver, pleading with her,

‘ellie, ellie, please, god.’

but she’s too lost, enamoured and bewitched, too focused on her own discovery of you. otherworldly, to hear her name fall from you in that way. more. she needed to hear it again. 

again, again, pounding a rhythm into you, her name among the blasphemy falling from your lips like a song. feeling you clench around her, feeling how much you needed her, it only drove her. she enveloped you, one hand grasping the softness of your thigh, her whole body rocking above you with each thrust, ‘c’mon, darlin’, that’s it.’

you couldn’t pinpoint the extent of the heat, sitting in your stomach. a twisted, burning knot, filling you, searing her. she’s unrelenting, still, chasing those sounds that she pulls from you, her name, depraved and compliant in your voice. even after you clench around her, flooding her with velvet slick, and fall into the bed, heavy and dumb on her fingers, she continues, desperate to hear you.

‘lookin’ so pretty, flower. y’should wear my hat more often, suits you.’

[talesofesther]

serenity haze

Jenna Ortega x Reader

Summary: You notice the changes in Jenna in the lines that you draw; the sketches of her in your sketchbook have more lines to them, creases in her eyebrows, and shadows below her eyes. Your heart clenches painfully whenever you look at a finished piece you did of her.

Requested by anon

A/N: First time writing for her so don't crucify me pls. I still feel a tad bit weird writing about real people, but I see my Jenna as a character in a story, that's all. Hope you can enjoy this one, let me know your thoughts. Requests are always open, though be aware that I go where my inspiration takes me, and be mindful of my guidelines.

Masterlist

You were naturally observant, it was a habit that came with a hobby.

You liked to draw things, and to be able to draw them, you had to observe.

Because you're observant, you tend to notice patterns, details, and moments that might go unnoticed by most.

Lately, you found yourself drawing one thing in particular — or better, one person.

Jenna Ortega captivated you, anyone who met her would probably say the same. She is captivating after all. Yet you know your feelings are different, because you see a side of her that few people do.

You had been offered a role in the new Wednesday show, it was a smaller one, but a privilege nonetheless. And this role gave you the opportunity to meet Jenna.

After the first month of working together, it was already known on set that; where you went, Jenna wasn't too far behind.

You'd catch yourself searching for her in the crowds most days, her favorite coffee order in hand. She'd greet you with a warm smile that never failed and a hug that lasted a little too long. Jenna was sunshine if sunshine could be a person, she was the most genuine girl you knew; beautiful inside and out.

It was inevitable that she became your muse.

Unbeknownst to you — and maybe even to herself — Jenna felt drawn to you too. You were quietness, you were calmness, you were the steadiness she craved in her hectic life.

Jenna had no obligations with you, no expectations to meet; she could be herself, on good or bad days, and you'd still be there. She didn't know how much she needed something like that until she finally got it.

In some ways, it felt like you were her breath of fresh air whenever she needed one. Which seems to be happening quite often nowadays.

Whilst everyone was running around on set, cameras on every corner of the room, and people talking incessantly in their intercoms, Jenna was speaking with Tim about an upcoming scene in the show. She leaned back on what was one of the booths in the Weathervane cafe, crossing her arms over her chest and nodding along to his words.

He spoke about the dance, and Jenna confirmed she had almost all the choreography done already. Except she didn't.

What she had, were sleepless nights weighing down on her shoulders.

She tried to take a deep breath to calm her nerves, but it didn't do much. Her gaze skimmed over the room against her own volition, finding you sitting in a corner of the set — on the floor no less — sketchbook in hands.

Jenna felt the overwhelming urge to escape to your world.

Dark lines steadily appeared on the paper along with the drag of your pencil. You bit into your lower lip, a habit of concentration, and glanced up at Jenna; only to notice her eyes already on you.

The heat that came to your cheeks was instant and you gave her a sheepish smile. She caught you red-handed. Hopefully, she wouldn't bring it up.

Because, how could you resist? When Jenna is standing there against the sun, golden rays highlighting all her features for you; from the curve of her lips, to the tip of her nose, to the shape of her eyebrows. Flawless.

You couldn't resist taking out your book and drawing a quick sketch of her. Sometimes for you, watching people from afar was much better than seeing them up close, you could capture their essence fully, notice each little quirk or mannerism.

Take Jenna for example; her thumbs brush the fabric of her Nevermore uniform as she speaks with Tim, she's nodding eagerly to everything he says, not able to stay still on her feet. She's a little nervous, a little anxious. You could tell from the other side of the room.

It's no secret that filming this series is taking a toll on Jenna — your pencil traces the outline of her jaw on your sketchbook before you move to her eyes, and around them, you see yourself being forced to add just a tad more shadow; it's been happening for a while — you see her exhaustion in the lines that you draw.

The rough image of her stared back at you from your sketchbook, and part of you wanted to take her hand and go away for a day or two.

There's a sudden presence beside you that makes you flinch back to reality. Jenna sat down on the floor with you; she rests her head back against the wall, a lazy smile tugging at her lips.

She brought her knees closer to her chest, making herself look smaller than she already is. Turning to look at you, all she asked was; "what are you drawing?"

There's always a silent understanding between you both. You bumped her shoulder with yours, "that's confidential information."

And she actually pouts, lower lip jutted out and big doe eyes pleading at you; "even for me?"

"Especially for you," you mumbled, not sure if she heard or not.

Jenna doesn't inquire further, forever reciprocating the serenity you bring to her life. She slumped closer to you, allowing her head to fall on your shoulder, blindly trusting you to hold her weight if so needed.

You placed your sketchbook aside, focusing solemnly on her. Your cast and crew mates are still walking around, no one spares a glance at the two actresses who sit on the floor of Jericho's cafe; it feels like your own little bubble of peace for a precious minute.

"Were you and Tim discussing a new scene?" You asked eventually, gently leaning your head on top of hers.

Jenna hummed, "it's a dance that will happen at the school party, I'm creating Wednesday's choreography."

"That's exciting, do you have anything already?"

"Not really. I've got two weeks."

The turmoil of emotions was so evident in Jenna's tight voice that you almost pulled away so you could look her in the eyes and tell her… you're not sure what you'd say, but something to ease it.

Yet you held back, choosing instead to take her hand and whisper 'you got this' against her hair.

———

Things only got worse after your little moment.

Jenna has been on autopilot. You doubt she's sleeping, or resting at all. She's always the first one to arrive on set and the last one to leave.

The sketches of her in your sketchbook have more lines to them, creases in her eyebrows, and shadows below her eyes. Your heart clenches painfully whenever you look at a finished piece you did of her.

It was a Saturday night, you sat on the roof of your trailer, enjoying the starry sky above you, the cold breeze around you. With the flashlight of your cellphone on, you turned the pages of your sketchbook, reminiscing the drawings of last week; until a rather loud noise caught your attention.

You looked around you with a confused frown. The set's parking lot was empty, with only a few street lamps on, and no one in sight.

This could be a cliche horror movie scene. You could feel a chill running down your back; but then you caught sight of Jenna's trailer, the lights were on.

Checking your phone, you realized you had been sitting outside for longer than you thought. 1:37 AM.

Not giving yourself much room to chicken out, you hopped down from your trailer, stuffed your sketchbook in your pants pocket, and walked up to her door.

You hesitated, awkwardly hovering outside Jenna's trailer in the dead of night. Your stomach was twisting and turning unpleasantly. Coming from inside, you could hear the faint melody of 'Goo Goo Muck' playing.

Your worry got the best of you. Taking a deep breath, you raised your fist to the door, and knocked.

The music stopped abruptly, and you heard shuffling from inside her trailer. And then nothing, the silence stretched for a few good seconds, before her door finally swung open.

Jenna stood in front of you and got your heart shattering a little. She was a bit of a mess; hair up in a disheveled bun, only in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants yet you could see her forehead glistening with sweat, her lips quivered softly with each breath she took, and you could tell her eyes were red-rimmed if you looked closely.

"Hi Jenna," you started with a timid smile, "uh- I'm sorry to bother, it's just, I was out and I saw your lights on and just wanted to ask if everything's okay."

Jenna gulped down the lump in her throat, fidgeting with the sleeves of her hoodie; "yeah it's fine, I'm fine." She tried mimicking your smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Okay," you whispered sympathetically, seeing right through the lie.

"Um-" Jenna cleared her throat, but it sounded more like a soft sob. She avoided meeting your eyes then. "Would you- would you like to come in?"

It was a plea more than anything else. You didn't hesitate in saying yes.

You closed the door behind you and glanced around her trailer; she had her laptop on her bed, YouTube page opened to The Cramps' song; there was a stress ball rolling around on the floor, you figured that's where the loud noise from earlier came.

"I'm working on the dance," Jenna turned to you, threading her fingers through her fringe, restless.

"And how is it going?" You asked, though you had a feeling you knew the answer.

"I can't come up with anything," Jenna shrugged, chuckling humourlessly as her eyes welled up with tears.

Your heart was trying to escape your chest — Jenna's eyes were shining under the orange lights of the trailer, hands trembling as she tried to hold herself together — you took a step closer to her; "Jenna, I think you just need to let your mind rest for a while, have you-"

"I can't," she cut you off urgently, "the scene is one week away. One week. And I have nothing," tears started to roll down her cheeks, but you don't think she realized it.

Jenna started walking from one side to another of the small cramped space of her trailer, "I can't think of anything that would fit Wednesday, and we're shooting this scene next week. I told Tim I could handle it and yet I have nothing, what am I gonna tell him? That we're gonna have to postpone shooting because I can't come up with a fucking choreography?"

By the end of her rant, Jenna was panting heavily, borderline hyperventilating. Her tears came nonstop as sobs shook her body. She was hugging herself, chasing some type of comfort that wasn't there.

Your worry finally escaped you and you closed the distance between you both. You took her face in your hands, cupping her cheeks as your thumbs gingerly brushed away the wetness there; "Jen, look at me," you spoke softly, not missing the way her hands came to desperately grasp at your shirt, "breathe with me okay? Can you do that?"

A fresh batch of tears hit your thumbs and you felt your chest crack open; yet Jenna nodded, all reddish nose and glistening eyes.

You took a deep breath in, held it for a second, and then exhaled, watching closely for the way that she'd copy the motion. You did it a couple of times until her breathing was finally somewhat even.

"There you are," you mumbled, regarding her with a bittersweet smile when her eyes found yours, "you're okay," you promised, brushing away a few wisps of hair that clung to her skin.

A sob escaped Jenna's lips as soon as she heard the words, letting her forehead lean into yours in a silent request.

You gladly complied, raising your lips to place a kiss between her brows before guiding her head to rest on your shoulder. You embraced her body flush with yours, arms sliding around her back until you felt the curve of her spine. The thudding of her heart mingling with yours.

You could feel the gentle trembling of her body from time to time. It only made you hold her tighter.

Jenna had a death grip on you, your shirt bunched up on her fists as if you'd disappear if she let go. She buried her head on your shoulder, seeking a safe place, "I'm so tired," she spoke against you, words muffled.

"I know," you kissed her temple, "I know."

You're not sure if you held Jenna for five minutes or one hour, but you stood there for as long as she needed. And when she was ready to pull away, bright and puffy eyes timidly looking at you with nothing but gratitude, you didn't say anything; all you did was turn off her laptop and put it away for the night, dimming the lights on her trailer to give her body a much-needed break.

Then, you sat down beside her on her bed. There was a reasonable distance between you that she was quick to close, sitting shoulder to shoulder with you.

"Be honest with me now, have you been sleeping this past week, at all?" You raised a brow at her.

Jenna pursed her lips, in some ways resembling a child who'd been caught stealing from the cookie jar, "that obvious?" She asked, ducking her head to hide behind her fringe.

"Very," you smirked, "for me at least."

That got her looking up at you with tender curiosity, she was looking more like herself already.

With your heart in your mouth, you fished for your sketchbook in your pocket. You handed it to her without daring to breathe.

Jenna flipped through the pages as if they'd crumble between her fingers; carefully, reverently. You could hear the way her breath caught when she found herself between the sketches, once, twice, and then again and again. Different versions of her by your eyes; talking, thinking, walking, smiling, laughing, sometimes even scowling.

And Jenna has never seen herself look so beautiful, so enchanting. Is this how you see her?

Her vision got blurred again but she gulped it back this time, "it's so beautiful," was all she could whisper, smile tugging at her lips as her fingers traced one of the lines that formed her.

"You are," was your answer, in the same quiet tone, afraid to break the spell holding this moment.

Jenna's eyes turned up to you at last, big and vulnerable, almost completely black because of her pupils. She leaned in just a tad, your noses shy of brushing each other — gravity, magnetism, fate; whatever it might be, trying to push you together.

You ran your tongue over your bottom lip in a motion that she followed, "tomorrow, I'll help you with your dance," you took hold of her free hand, intertwining your fingers, "and it's gonna turn out amazing."

Jenna giggled, and you wanted to bottle up the sound and keep it forever.

"Tonight," you copied her smile, "we'll rest, okay?"

Bringing your hand up to her lips, Jenna planted a kiss on your knuckles, "okay."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Jenna’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @thenextdawn @alexkolax @aahdiieb @mindingmybidness12 @melthedwarf

[http-paprika]

BLUE / simon riley

my very, very late submission for @glitterypirateduck simon "ghost" riley challenge. this was heavily inspired by the new billie eilish song of the same title because I thought it fit him so well. i used the prompts "face touching", "the heat goes out and it's freezing", and "a confession is made"

simon ghost riley x female reader / 1106 words / contains angst, alcohol, and smoking

WITH every patron that hurried into the bar, cold and snow blew in with them—leaving those even in the darkest corners of the bar chilled and draining down more liquor. The drink spilled through her veins, warm and potent as she waited another hour, shrunk away in the shadows with her cost pulled tight. Simon wasn't coming, she knew better than to keep waiting for him. 

 Finishing her glass of whiskey, she lets it sting her throat the same way the tears in her eyes did. With remorse, she sets the glass down and rises from her chair. Through the crowded bar of happy couples and friends, someone's celebrating a birthday, another girl is sobbing in the corner with her friends trying their best to comfort her. The whole room pulses with life, feelings, love, and hate and she can't seem to find herself amongst the crush of emotions. Dull, apathetic, and removed as she slinks out of the door and into the blue moon night. 

 Winter still holds a fierce grip over Manchester, spilling white flurries in the air as she walks down the quiet streets with a cigarette to warm her from the cold. If he were there, they'd be sharing the smoke and she'd be warmed by the blushed haze that always befell her when their hands brushed exchanging the cigarette. 

 Her hand fumbles with her phone, the bright, blue light warning her of how late it was. But even with the early shift she had in the morning, she loiters along her route imagining he’ll be waiting by her flat like Simon would sometimes do. Giving her the delusion that he cared enough to come looking for her, even if he couldn't be bothered to grab drinks with her. 

 Despite all logic telling her not to bother with a call, she finds the number that she's left a hundred voicemails for. Sounding desperate and pathetic with every call as she tries to convince him into calling her back. 

 “Hi, Simon. It's me… again. I'm just calling to check in, I haven't heard from you in a week and I just want to make sure you're alright. Okay, I'm going to go, I'm at my flat. Call me, please.” The sound of the voicemail being replayed causes her to cringe, maybe he'd never hear it like he never hears the rest. Maybe he's got a new number, that was the type of thing someone as shifty as Simon would do. But she can't find reason in his sudden absence, no foreseen notice of a deployment or mission. No text to tell her he'd be unavailable. Nothing. 

 When she rounds the gate into her apartment complex, she can see in the low light of the second-floor walk, the lone figure waiting in front of her door even though he had the keys. Burly hands shoved into the worn pockets of his jacket with head tilted down as she climbed the stairs to join him. 

 She didn't need to see Simon’s face to know that he was thinking. Always thinking about the past he refused to tell her about. One that she could only dream up, trying to picture what had happened to turn him into the man he was. The man who she desperately tried to get over, but couldn't move on from. 

“I waited for you. It's the third Wednesday of the month, or did you just forget?” She asks, stubbing out the cigarette on the melt railing. The frame creaks as her fist tightens around it in frustration. “Simon?” 

 “Was busy with work, forgot to call.” He shrugs, pushing his hood back and shaking out his dark blond curls. A rough, wartorn face that she'd memorized like the back of her hand. It was so enticing to her, mesmerizing with his pale lashes and dark haunted eyes. The type of man that kept her safe at the bar and kept her up at night in stress. 

 “You're always busy.” She holds back a scoff, knowing arguing never got anywhere with Simon. He'd go silent with every accusation she'd throw, leaving her intimidated and guilty for yelling. Even if she knew he deserved it. 

 “It can't be helped. Times are tough.” Simon responds, his eyes trailing over her as she moves to unlock the flat. Fumbling with the lock like she did with the phone until his hand reached out and steadied her grasp. He leads her into the apartment like it was his own, with an empty place on the coat rack for his jacket, and a spot next to all of her shoes for his boots. An indent left throughout her home for whenever he'd find it in him to return.

 “Would you like a drink?” She asks, still feeling the need to play hostess as if he were a stranger visiting for the first time. At the edge of her seat waiting expectantly for a response and reaction. 

 “Sure.” He shrugs, pulling off the cloth mask as she shuffles into the small kitchen. Tiny enough that when he joins her there's tension as she tries not to bump into him. Pretending like she wasn't up the night before craving the warmth he gave, the firm touch of his hands, when her space heater died. 

 “I am sorry, love. I'll be there next time, I promise.” Simon apologizes, watching as avoids his presence like the plague. She chewed the inside of her cheek, knowing that she'd accept this apology like she'd done before. Knowing full well he never changed, and she’d never ask him to. 

 He reached out, sensing her indifference, and cupped her cheek in his calloused hands. That touch always turned her into mush, clay for him to mold to his will and whims. She knew it was pathetic how easily she swayed for him, knew that her friends always criticized her for being so weak-willed. But how could she possibly say no to him when he always came back, even if it was days late? Wasn’t she better off with him than trying to find someone else to love, wasn’t the heartache worth it? 

“You could do so much better than me, sweet girl. Sometimes I wish you would.” Simon confesses, his voice low and full of regrets. He turns his head down towards her, wrapping her close in his arms, taking the glass of water out of her hand, and setting it down. 

Her mouth opens to speak, but no words form when she realizes she’s just as guilty as him. She’d never change, he’d never change. Together, they’d stay unmoving, frozen in the longest, blue winter.

[babybeel]

— rises the moon - liana flores ♪

lucifer knew he was overworked. the signs were all there - heavy bags under his eyes, painful crick in his neck, seemingly permanent irritated attitude. but he’d had years to get used the heavy workload, taking on his brothers’ responsibilities too, no doubt in his voice as he put them before himself. his shoulders were broad enough, strong enough to carry the weight of the world, he didn’t care whether they were in the celestial realm or the devildom.

but lucifer didn’t like seeing it happen to you.

the exchange programme had been hardest on you, stuffed to the brim with new information and expected to navigate the sudden change in surroundings. you dutifully completed your studies, bridged the three realms and took care of the seven demons who you’d come to adore. lucifer blinked away the heat that threateningly pricked at his eyes at the thought. you meant more to him than he knew how to show, how to put into words either. he could only hope his sincerity around you was enough.

a call of your name surprised you after dinner, ready to turn on your heel and trod back to your room, fill out out some paperwork diavolo had asked of you and practice the spells solomon had so kindly taught.

instead, you meet lucifer’s gaze, eyelids heavy though stare gentle.

“come here,” lucifer’s tone is as stern as ever, but this time his demand seems more of an instruction. you nod, shadowing him to his room, a place familiar to very few. 

you flounder in his doorway for longer than you mean to, mind dazed and gaze unfocused. your name once again snaps you out of your haze, heat creeping up your cheeks. “sorry, i- um,” you stumble, not quite sure which words you’re trying to get out.

“come here,” lucifer repeats, a little softer this time now that his only audience was you. he pats the end of his bed gently and you can’t find it in yourself to decline, moving before you can think.

you’re embarrassed that the soft touch of the sheets and the warmth of the demon beside you sends you unravelling, bringing about a sudden swell of emotion. you suppose it’s a result of how fatigued you are, feelings on the brink of spilling and barriers all but worn down; lucifer knows better.

the demon’s big hand finds it way to the back of your head, ever so gently pushing you closer into his side. the steadiness of his hold is comforting, stabilising, and you feel for the first time in a while that you can truly breathe. in, and out.

“don’t think i don’t know how much work you get, and how hard you try,” lucifer whispers as the rise and fall of your chest evens out and you finally let your eyes flutter shut, if only to hide their newfound wetness. “get some rest now,” he hums, “i’ve got you.”  

[shiyorin]

Bunny Horus ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

Just an ideas I share with @roroco316

And look at that art!!!

Summary: Horus wear bunny suit

TW: NSFW, size difference, dub-con, primarch x reader, reader is female...

You bite your lip to suppress a fit of giggles as you enter Warmaster' private chambers... only to freeze at the sight before you.

The Warmaster himself stands facing the mirror in full regalia, if one could even call it that. A shiny black leather bunny outfit clings to every glorious curve of his primarch physique. The plunging neckline barely contains his heaving pectorals, muscled cleavage all but spilling free.

The corseted waist cincher impossibly tight before fanning out to a ridiculously tiny skirt, putting Horus' tree trunk quads and rippling calves on blatant display. Matching thigh-high boots accentuate the raw power contained in those godly limbs.

And at the back.... Oh by the Throne! Twin globes of Wasmaster' legendary backside bulge from the skintight leather, jiggling in unabashedly profane opulence with each subtle shift of his stance. You swear you see one perfectly sculpted asscheek peeking out from the hem in a delicious tease.

"Forgive me, Lord Horus..." You manage through a haze of semi-hysterical laughter, waving the data-slate still gripped uselessly in your hand. "I merely came to deliver the requested document bundle..."

Your breath catches in your throat as Horus turns to face you fully, making no attempt to hide or be ashamed of his provocative attire. In fact, he appears to revel in the attention, drinking in your gaze and knowing grin. 

Those smoldering eyes smolder with amusement, only further stoking the fluttery heat pooling between your thighs. Because standing before you in all his ludicrous revealing glory, the very last thing you expected to see was the burgeoning swell of Horus' arousal pressing obscenely against the tight leather...

"Like what you see, my dear?" A rich baritone chuckle rolls from the Primarch, all sin and arrogance as he saunters towards you.

You swallows thickly, mouth suddenly dry as bone from the sheer bestial magnetism radiating from the barely-dressed demi-god. Those eyes positively drink in the delicious flush creeping across your features.

"I have to admit, you cut quite the... tempting figure in that little number, my lord." you draw a steadying breath, pushing aside your initial shock. "Though I must know, Why did this happen?"

You let your tongue dart playfully across your full lips, unable to resist milking the primarch's prideful ego.

Horus chuckles again, deep and husky like rolling thunder before a bone-splitting lightning strike. "You wound me, my dear. Could I not simply indulge your... appreciation for the male form from time to time?"

That impossibly wide chest swells with exaggerated bravado, every flex and twitch of those pectorals and shredded abs rippling in tantalizing slow motion.  

"Or I could have lost a bit of a gamble with my brothers over who could stay focused longest while clad in..." his rich voice lowers to a smoky growl, "...distracting attire."

The fires burning in his gaze rake over you in a languorous visual caress that leaves her utterly powerless. Invisible tendrils of Horus' blistering charisma ensnare your mind, entrapping you like a hypnotized prey animal before a voracious predator.

"Now then, where were we, my dear?" 

The bulge at the apex of Horus' thighs grows more pronounced by the moment, swelling more turgidly erect with each heated breath. A shadow of glistening precum stains the taut leather in defiance of decorum.

You know you should leave, you feel the dull plasteel thud of the data-slate slipping through your suddenly leaden fingers as it clatters forgotten to the floor.

"Oh, it seems..." Those hips grind forward, grinding his bestial bulge against the flimsy scrap of skirt. "...You've become rather... flustered by all this, haven't you?"

With a panicked gulp, you avert your gaze, though your eyes keep roving back to the grotesquely large bulge with a mix of primal terror and curious attraction.

"Eep! Erm...you know what, m-my lord? I just remembered I had a... uhh... an appointment to get to! Very urgent. Perhaps we can reconnoiter these briefs, uhh, reports later!" 

You can't mask the slight quaver in your voice as you gather the scattered datasheets with clammy fingers. You scamper for the exit, doing your best not to take one last incredulous gaze at the seismic distension in Horus' pants.

But before you can make your escape, the Warmaster's massive palm clamps down on the back of your neck, pinning you in place as easily as swatting a gnat.

"Not so fast, my dearest one." He pulls you in close, bending down so that his thick, cloying breath, tinged with gunsmoke and crushed pearl, washes over your delicate features.

"I still need to discuss these requisitions. In detail..." A bead of sweat rolls down Horus' chiseled jawline. "Unless you think you can distract me some other way?"

All of your poise and self-confidence melts away in that stare. You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly very dry as you look up at the ultimate representation of male carnality looming over you.

"I...I didn't mean...that is to say, I would never..."

He drags his free palm slowly, purposefully down your waist, coming to rest on the sinuous curve of your pert backside. You squirms helplessly in his steely grasp.

"So why don't you be a good little one?" Horus murmurs, simultaneously dangerous and seductive. "And show some proper respect to your lord Primarch...?"

The hand on your rump squeezes possessively as he pulls you flush against the still-swelling latex bulge, leaving zero doubt of his intentions.

Your usually cool composure finally cracks like fragile porcelain. Your lips part, frantic breaths sawing in and out while pupils blow wide with panic, shock... and undeniable want.

Warmaster hauls you up by the hips, not even needing to support your negligible weight in his arms. With a shrug, he sends the scattered reports and data-slates scattering every which way. Then Horus turns and marches you towards the nearest wall, simultaneously prying you firm thighs apart against your feeble struggles.

As you are effortlessly pinned and stripped in one fluid motion, the Warmaster smiles.

"Logistics can wait, I have far more pressing matters to attend to right now..."

His words trail off into a rumbling chuckle as the first guttural cries of strained ecstasy begin echoing through the palatial chamber.

With a groan, Horus reaches down to unzip the pant, finally freeing his monstrously engorged cock.

The primarch's member, impossibly thick and veiny, springs forth with a heavy thump against your abdomen. Pre-cum already beads along the bulging ridge, leaving sticky trails across your trembling belly.  

"Time to inspect me more... thoroughly." Horus' voice is a guttural growl of pure carnal hunger.

Your eyes go round as saucers watching that gigantic erection sway mere inches from your exposed pussy. 

With one brawny hand splayed across your chest, the Warmaster pins you in place while guiding the bloated cockhead towards your slick entrance. The first few inches spear inwards with obscene ease, molten hot flesh stretching around his girth.

But soon your tight velvet walls clamp down, resisting the intrusion. A strangled whimper escapes your lips as inch after agonizing inch of primarch cock is crammed into your helpless body.

Eyes screwed shut with the overwhelming burn, you feel hot tears streak down your flushed cheeks. Horus merely chuckles before dipping his head to swipe a wet tongue over the salty beads.

"Do not fear, my dearest. Once this goes through, the torment will pass..."

By now over two thirds of his towering erection is stuffed inside your pussy, glistening and distending your belly with its bulbous outline. 

Your fingers dig helplessly at Horus' giant shoulders, seeking an anchor against the ruthlessly spreading pressure. Each ragged breath is a high keening whine, choked off by the relentless stuffing of your violated cunt.

"Don't fight it..." The Warmaster smirks as he licks another tear from the corner of your eye. "Just let it all the way into your core." 

With that, he rams his hips forward in a relentless pushing grind. Your body is lifted, mouth contorted in a perfect O of mixed agony and indescribable rapture as the final inches breach your entrance with a wet squelch.

You bucks and writhes feebly, inside completely full of primarch cock. But instead of soothing euphoria, fresh gales of tear-streaked groaning pour from your grimacing features. Once again Horus leans in to tenderly catch the salty beads on his tongue.

"Shhhhh, my sweet little one. I promise you will love that..."

Sure enough, as the primarch's hips begin languidly grinding and sawing, the pain seems to gradually give way to hazy shocks of pleasure spiking through your core. Your wails become muffled pants and mewls of depravity. Your eyes flutter back open to glare furiously up at the immense warrior defiling you so ruthlessly.

"F-fuck you, asshol--OOOHHH..." All pretenses at anger or resistance collapse as another deep thrust buries that unholy slab of mutra-genic flesh impossibly deeper.  

Your muscles go taught, fruitlessly trying to clench down on the monolith reaming you inside to a ruin. But your cunt simply stretches around its colossal invader, forced to conform and accommodate Horus' lewd rearrangement of your very anatomy.

For his part, the Warmaster merely laughs indulgently at your impotent rage, continuing to grind, twist and churn his oversized prick through every exquisitely tight inch of pussy. A satisfied grin splits his features as you writhe and moans in ecstatic torment beneath his bulk.

"There there, my little one... no need for such rancor." He leans down to place a kiss on your forehead. "

In a sudden, spiteful motion, you lurches upwards to sink your teeth deep into the Warmaster's pectoral muscle. Horus doesn't even flinch, letting you chomp and slobber before reaching down to playfully pat your head.

"Yes, yes...vent all the frustration you want, my dearest. Bite me, claw me, scream and curse..." His grin widens as the broad shaft crammed to the hilt inside your throbbing pussy begins to swell further in preparation for eruption. 

With force, the first boiling ropes of primarch seed erupt from the slit of his bloated cock-head deep within your cunt. Your entire body convulses as if struck by lightning as the thick, viscous emissions surge through your straining. A hoarse wailing cry is ripped from your throat.

Horus merely grunts with deep fulfillment, savoring your exquisite anguish while continuing to grind and churn his erupting tower of flesh through the spasming pussy. More and more demigod seed geysers forth, flooding your womb with its genetics. 

You writhe in frantic, overwhelmed release, legs kicking wildly as your body arches into an impossibly contorted bow. Drool and screams pour from you in equal measure while you're pumped with what feels like gallons of searing cum... and still the primarch's shaft keeps unloading its seemingly infinite payload.

At last the torrent begins to subside, leaving you a ruined, cum-drenched mess. Horus finally releases your limp, gasping body with a satisfied grunt, allowing it to flop loosely amidst the sodden cushions.

Leaning down, he places a series of surprisingly tender kisses against your forehead and cheeks. His lips brush your ear where a husky whisper rumbles out.

"Well done, my dearest. You did very well..."

Your empty eyes roll back in their sockets as one last pitiful groan wheezes from your throat, too drained to respond.  But there's no rest or respite to be had as you feel that rippling primarch shaft, somehow still granite hard, stretching your insides once more.

"D-did you really think...a single would be sufficient to sate my needs?" The Warmaster's teeth flash in a grin as he hooks his gargantuan arms beneath your knees to tilt your pelvis upwards.  His hips begin slamming with savage force once more, burying inch after inch deep within you.

He pauses for emphasis, smirking down at the limp form now bouncing helplessly from his ruthless drilling.

"My dearest, do you know that bunnies are always in heat?"

Those final words seem to jolt a spark of clarity back into your vacant eyes. They dilate to panic as your lips shape around a hoarse syllable of disbelieving protest.  But Horus swiftly leans over to seal your mouth in a deep kiss, thrusting his tongue past your gasping shock just as he continues spearing that immense impossibly deeper into your womb.

All you can muster is a defeated, bubbling moan into the sloppy lip-lock as you resign yourself to this fresh onslaught of primarch rutting.

[tashiberrie]

✮ WANNA GO HIGHER ✮  challengers x fem!reader 

mdni

⋆💌⋆ TAGS - fem reader, drug usage (weed), fwb kinda situation, everyone is high but it’s all consensual, no established relationships, suggestive

wc- 686

masterlist

The soft hum of rnb music filled the dimly lit dorm room, mingling with the heavy scent of marijuana. The glow from a lava lamp cast wavy and colorful shadows on the walls, creating an intimate and almost surreal atmosphere. The four of you sat in a circle on the floor, passing around a joint, your laughter and whispered secrets blending into the warm haze of the evening.

Tashi took a slow, deliberate drag, letting the smoke curl around her fingers before handing it off to you. She leaned back against a pile of mismatched pillows, her eyes half-lidded and sparkling with mischief.

“I swear, every time we do this, the world just feels... better,” she murmured, her voice a sultry purr that sent shivers down your spine.

You accepted the joint, your fingers brushing ever so slightly. The brief contact sent a jolt through you, who hid a smile by taking a deep hit. The smoke filled your lungs, warm and inviting, before you exhaled slowly. "You always know how to set the mood, Tash," you replied, your voice low and flirtatious.

Across from you, Patrick watched the exchange with a lazy grin. He leaned closer to Art, who was nestled comfortably against his side. Art’s hand absently traced patterns on the brunette's thigh, the simple touch making Patrick’s heartbeat quicken. "Doesn’t she, though?" Patrick said, his voice a rumble that vibrated through the blonde’s touch. "Our Duncanator is a master of ambiance."

Tashi's eyes sparkled with amusement. "I aim to please," she teased, her gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. She reached for the joint, but you held it just out of reach, a playful smirk on your lips.

"What's the magic word?" you teased, your tone light but your eyes dark with intent.

Tashi leaned in, her lips dangerously close to your ear. "Please," she whispered, her breath hot against your sweaty skin.

The tension in the room thickened, the air heavy with more than just smoke. Art shifted slightly, the movement drawing Patrick's attention. He turned his head, capturing his lips in a slow, languid kiss that tasted of weed and desire. Art’s fingers tightened on Patrick’s thigh, a soft moan escaping the blonde's swollen lips as Patrick deepened the kiss.

You finally handed the joint to Tashi, your fingers brushing once more. This time, the touch lingered, a silent promise hanging between the two of you. Tashi's lips curled into a knowing smile as she took a drag, the smoke curling sensuously around her face. She exhaled, the smoke drifting towards you as you watched her with a hungry gaze.

"Looks like we're not the only ones enjoying the vibe," Art murmured, pulling back from Patrick just enough to speak. Art’s blue eyes darted to the other half of his quartet, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

Patrick chuckled, his hand slipping under Art’s shirt, tracing the lines of his muscles. "Seems that way," he agreed, his voice a rough whisper. He pressed a kiss to his neck, savoring the taste of Art’s skin.

The joint made its way back to you, who took a long drag before passing it to Art. Your eyes never left Tashi's, the charged silence between you speaking volumes. She leaned forward, her hand finding your thigh, her touch burning through the fabric of your thin tennis shorts.

"Maybe we should make this a regular thing," Tashi suggested, her voice a low, seductive murmur.

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening under her touch. "I think I'd like that," you replied, your voice barely more than a breath.

Art shifted again, turning to face Patrick fully. His hands roamed freely, exploring familiar territory with renewed fervor. Patrick’s fingers tangled in Art’s sun kissed curls pulling him closer for another searing kiss.

The room pulsed with heat and smoke, the boundaries between friends blurring into something more. As the night wore on, the haze thickened, enveloping you all in a cocoon of warmth and desire. It was a night of shared secrets, lingering touches, and the intoxicating blend of weed and whispered promises.

[hatkuu]

"#i feel like if ur really mean kylar would blackmail u..." expand pls. thanks

HAHDDUUAOAAI!!! welllll.... you asked for it!!! you want absolutely nothing to do with kylar. you think he's gross and creepy and weird. so kylar takes to other measures to make you love him :)

tw: m! kylar, dub-con/non-con, somno, masturbation, yandere behaviour, general creepy kylar shit, gen! reader, blackmailing, (it's shameless smut (again)).

You're so pretty.

From the way your hair splays out on your pillow, the way your soft unbothered expression rests on your face, so tranquil - your lips parted - chapped by the winter air. It all means so much to Kylar. Every single small, beautiful thing.

Kylar can't help but touch himself to you.

Each stuttered stroke of his cock clenched tightly in his fist sends electric shocks of pleasure buzzing through his body; from the depths of his stomach through every risen hair on his skin. The wet shlicking sounds of pre-cum on skin raidates throughout your tiny bedroom. It's obscene. It's gross. But it still brings a smile to Kylar's face as you sleepily mumble, rolling closer to his cock as it bobs above your face. It's heavy with cum. Full of it. For you.

Kylar shudders at the thought of you waking up to him hovered over you like this. Would you scream? Push him away and call him disgusting? Or would you gasp at the extent of Kylar's love - and reach up to caress his hand as he thumbs at the slick pink tip of his cock - you would - you'd cry out for more - you'd lick and suck the cum off of his fingers, pouting at the waste on your bedsheets. He'd confess it all to you then: all of the pictures, all of the recordings of you masturbating, all of the things of yours he's taken over the past year, all of it.

"Ah, f-fuck— my love— my gorgeous, beautiful love—"

Kylar groans loudly, thighs quaking as his thumb traces over the flushed slit of his cock. Thick, virile precum leaks all over his fingers, slicking each stabbing thrust into his fist. He wishes it was you - your tight, wet hole that he dreams of just fucking into - his hips stutter at the thought of claiming you for himself; ruining you for any other sluts or whores that catch your attention—

The sounds of your cheap bedsheets crinkling snaps Kylar out of his haze. His teeth dig into his bottom lip to muffle the sounds of his pleasure. You roll over, hair splaying out beautifully beneath the cusp of your cheek. Kylar gnaws at the plump flesh of his lips to stop himself from cumming right then and there. You continue to stir, blanket falling off of your shoulders amidst your movements, mumbling blearily as you reach out a hand, feeling at Kylar's thighs at the edge of your single-sized bed. He jolts, moaning loudly as his cock throbs at the innocent contact of your skin against his own. Your hand stills, comfortable against Kylar's clammy skin, even in sleep.

"—love you so much— so, so, so much."

If it were any other normal night, you'd have woken up horrified, throwing your sheets off your body in a hurry as Kylar shrouds himself just out of sight. Your head would whip around wildly, looking for the source of the throbbing heat between your thighs - but you'd never find it. He knows that you can feel the residual warmth from his body, on the sheets, everywhere. You'd never find him, though. It makes his heart ache - makes it yearn for you to know who gives you so much pleasure during the dead of night - but he still hides. Sometimes under the bed, in the warddrobe, the shadowed corners of your bedroom, or just outside your open window. You never find him and it hurts.

But tonight is not one of those nights.

Tonight, he can finally prove that you love one another, that you're his.

He's happy you drank that water on your bedside table, because if you do wake, you won't remember any of it. He feels horrible using a watered down tranq dart on you - but it's for a good reason - and you'd understand it if he told you it was for your future. Your loving future together.

You'd be his. His gorgeous little house-spouse that greets him home with a loving, carefree smile; forever untouched by the disgusting outside world. You'd never want to leave your shared home and Kylar would happily keep it that way. You'd only want him - your husband - the only person who can keep you safe from it all.

His thrusts turn feral, loud pants and animalistic grunts slip from Kylar's chap-ridden lips as his thoughts are clouded with pictures of your wedding, your smile, your children, your shared home together, you meekly spreading your legs for him - clad in the prettiest of wedding lingerie - dressed so lewdly, just for him, just for your husband.

Kylar chokes, spluttering as his hips halt their movements. He can't cum. He can't waste it - you'd be upset with him - and he'd never willingly upset his lover.

Not now.

It has to be perfect.

Your eyes sleepily open, a confused, heated whine slipping from your kiss-swollen lips.

"Kylar...?"

"Y-Yes— i-it's me, your husband— I'll give you w-what you need, my love." His heart races again his ribs, pounding hot and heavy. His lungs swell, his breath hitching with each repeated thrust into his fist.

"F—Fuck, yes, yes, yes!"

Kylar continues chanting, murmuring praise and gasping as his orgasm rips through his body. Kylar can't find himself to care about anyone else in the orphanage. He hopes Robin hears it - hopes he learns to not touch what's rightfully his - Kylar wants Robin to know that you're his spouse. You blink up at Kylar, slowly, still confused at what he's doing. Kylar moans louder, grabbing a fistful of your hair and moving your head towards his cock once more.

It throbs above your very eyes, twitching and wanting. It's big enough to cast a shadow over your face in the dim moonlight let in by your shabby bedroom window. A fleck of sticky pre-cum falls onto your lips and your curious tongue darts out to taste it. It's bitter. You find yourself craving more as the flavour develops on your tongue.

"Kylar—"

"L-L—hnng—Love you!"

Thick spurts of cum land on your face, clumping against your eyelashes as squeeze them shut. You whimper, wiggling against his grip. Kylar doesn't relent. Not until you take his cum where it truly needs to be. Kylar continues tugging at his cock, squeezing out every last drop of his love onto your face. Kylar's breath hitches at your expression. Your lips are parted, his cum dripping lewdly down the plump flesh. Your eyes, still squeezed shut, hold so much love in them, almost as much as his own. Kylar always thinks you're gorgeous like this— covered in his essence— truly one with him.

You're so beautiful.

Kylar loosens his grip on your hair, letting your head fall backward onto your sheets.

You're so warm, so cozy, so oblivious to the thick layer of Kylar's semen coating your soft, perfect skin. Kylar sighs lovingly, tucking his dick back into his sweatpants with a smile.

That was the biggest load yet.

It's dark in your room though, so he'll probably have to use the flash this time around.

Kylar's sure you won't mind.

-

"I'd never date you, creep."

You scowl at Kylar, all bark and bite and hatred. Haunches raised, hissing at him, it's so cute. Kylar thinks every single part of you is cute, even parts like these when you're being an unruly brat.

"I... I think you should reconsider, my love."

"What?"

"I have something you need to see. Right now—"

Kylar snatches your wrist before you can bark out complaints at him. He tugs you into a shabby storage closet, addled with dust and lost things forgotten to time.

Kylar's phone is shoved into your face before you can berate him any further.

There's hundreds of them.

Lewd pictures of you that you never remembered being taken. In some your eyes are open, staring into the camera with obvious 'fuck me eyes', in others, your eyes are closed. In almost all of them your eyelashes are thick with hefty coats of cum smeared across your face. They're horrible, disgustingly provocative.

The perpetrator's cock hovers disturbingly close in each photo, proudly casting a large shadow over your distant eyes.

You gape at Kylar, spluttering at him as he happily scrolls through the photos on his phone. The easy-going smile on his face makes your stomach flip and churn, perpetually throwing you off balance.

"I— I did not do that! They must be fake— or something!"

You jab an accusatory finger into Kylar's chest, horrified that he's showing you something obscene as doctored lewd photos. He only continues to smile at you, unphased by your anger, only continuing to play dumb.

"I don't know, (Name)... There's so many..."

"No! Don't give me that bullshit, creep! Where did you even get these?"

You haven't had sex with anyone in this town, so how the fuck did this creep come up with these photos?

"It'd be horrible if everyone saw these, huh?"

"A—Are you blackmailing me? You wouldn't—"

Kylar wouldn't, but you don't know that.

As Kylar continues to scroll, you're met with the horrifying realisation that the cock in each photo is the same. The same scruffy, unkempt hairs at the base, the same thick pink tip, the same ridiculous size— your face falls as you glance at the hand holding the phone, then the hand in the photo, you switch back and forth and back and forth until you realise the smile on Kylar's face is one of feigned innocence.

It's a malicious, horrible smile.

"I-Is that—"

"Mhmm," He hums breathily, stuffing his phone into his pocket with a crazed giggle. His horrible, toothy smile still remains even as you step backwards further into the depths of the closet, still shining in the dim light. The squeak of shoes against polished concrete makes your lungs heave for air, tightening to a sickening degree. Kylar stands in front of you, chest to chest, tracing a loving caress along your cheek.

"You've been so mean to me lately... I had to help you realise how much we love one another."

You whimper, something you never thought Kylar could make you do. Fat, salty tears trickle down your cheeks as Kylar looms above you. You remember him being short - unassuming and pathetic - but now, he seems so much bigger, so much more of a threat than you ever thought he could be. Kylar's thumb reaches outward, thumbing at each tear and delicately smearing them into your skin. You flinch at the touch, sniveling in disgust as he sticks his thumb into his mouth, relishing the taste.

Kylar shakily breathes in, savouring the closeness between the two of you. You're awake - unaffected by any tranquilizers and so, so receptive to his touches - and you can't refuse him. Kylar leans close, his open, heavy breathing mouth hovering over your quivering lips.

"Do you... want to get married?"

You swallow, squeezing your eyes shut at the weight of his words. If you refuse - to your knowledge - Kylar will leak those photos to everyone in town. You'll be seen as a slut - forever socially ruined - and even if you preached up and down that they aren't real, no one would believe you.

[mintmatcha]

Part One: Baby Blue

cw: mentions of abuse, sexual encounter with dubious consent. a character driven piece

It was the first day of summer.

Fireworks scattered across the sky, just far enough away for the fat of their blooms to be concealed by the inky treeline. They whistled up, they fizzled down, forming a slow pattern that cut through the cicada song. The sound sizzled like fire and the night burned nearly as hot.

Cursed energy moved the same way fireworks did: unpredictably and variation in patterns. Fractions of light that flitted between almost everything, it flitted and flowed in an unsteady beat, dissipating into the air and forming fractals that spiraled out into nothing. When items got close enough to each other, they fully connected, sparked webbings that looped and laced endlessly a beautiful and lonely world for only Gojo Satoru's eyes to see.

The meeting house seemed to cling to remnants of curses, its walls tacky with faded imprints. Nothing more than ghosts of people who had once past through and the brighter, soft haze of you.

There was sorcerer somewhere in your bloodline, but only the silhouette of it was left for you, broad strokes with no real power behind it. When he was young, the men on the grounds had whispered about what a shame it was that you weren't like your father.

Sometimes, he agreed. Other times the sentence sat heavy in his stomach.

Gojo pushed off the shoulders of his yukata, but being bare chested did nothing to break the sweat. Heat still hung heavy on his skin. This house was not only stagnant in energies; wind passed over the tree tops, but didn't reach down to touch anything air on the property. 

A fuzzy, invisible string connected and Gojo knew you were near. He turned from the window before you even opened the door.

"Master Gojo." You bowed as you spoke, gaze cast low to the floor. The shadows moved heavy on your face and, for that moment, you looked like your mother in all the ways Gojo knew you would hate.

Over the years and infrequent meetings, he had learned a few things about you. Breakfast and lunch were your responsibilities, but dinner was deemed too important to be yours. You didn't sleep well at night, so you watched the stars and thought about everything and nothing.  The fall weather always made you sneeze, your mother always made you cry.

That night, your eyes were puffy and bloodshot, more so than they usually were.

"Master, huh?" He cocks his head and a droplet of sweat follows the new curve of his neck, trailing down, down, down. "Kind of kinky to call me that when we're alone."

Your eyes followed the beadlet for a moment and a pride swelled in his chest. He was used to women looking - they've been vying for his attention since he was too young to understand what those gentle touches and long glances meant. Power attracted desire, even long before he could reciprocate.

The way you looked at him feels different. It felt earned.

"You're still a cunt, aren't you?" you breathed, incredulous.

And suddenly, it felt like you'd really entered the room. Those fractals rotated, sparks spun. For once, he was thankful to be the only one who could see this version of the world. If anyone else could, he might have been embarrassed at how palpable his joy really was.

"How's my favorite maid?" He patted the porch next to where he sat,  "Sit with me. It's an order."

Just as you always did, you obeyed, walking across the room and coming down by his side. Usually, you'd have shed your traditional garments for something more casual to sleep in, but that night you were still dressed properly, with skirts pulled tight and neckline high. An unfamiliar scent clung to your skin, something much too mature for someone as young as you. Your mother wasn't someone to wear perfume, so he imagined you stole it from in between the pages of a magazine.

"You didn't bring your pretty friend this time."

Gojo wasn't aware of the silence between you until you broke it. A myriad of orange sparkles across the sky, fading out just as quickly as it had arrived.

"Oh? Which one?"

You stretched out, extending your legs past the perimeters of your skirts and pulling them back again. The fold of your leg pushed the fabric up, exposing much more thigh than Gojo is ready for. You've been beautiful since you were a child - beautiful in innocent ways, beautiful inherently- but you'd grown past that.  You were beautiful in ways that made him want.

"The one with the fox eyes," you said, “Geto Suguru.”

The recent memory of betrayal was bitter between Gojo's teeth. The news of it all had spread so quickly, ripping through whispers and gasps, that he hadn’t thought of the possibility of someone not knowing.

"Nah." He sucked the word through his teeth. It would have been impossible, but he swore he tasted gunpowder and sulfur on the air, “We aren’t friends anymore.”

You nodded as if you could possibly understand. 

"Gojo, I'm here to ask something from you."

You twisted to face him, eyes set strong and serious. Even in the dim of night he could make out how you sucked in air through your pursed lips to steady yourself.

"Have you ever..." You walked forward on your hands, pressing into his personal space. The tips of your fingers brushed against the sides of his thighs, so delicate he could barely feel it through the fabric. "Been with anyone?"

He scoffed and chuckled at the same time, almost choking on his own spit. Attention was not new, but touch? Touch was unexplored. 

"Yeah," he lied. He moved in sync with you, leaning back on to his elbows to make space for your body to slot above his. It was unnatural and strange, but welcome all the same,  "And I’m good at it.”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you breathed. He tilted his chin up, closing the gap between your faces as much as he dared; any closer and it would have shattered the cocky swagger he feigned. It was you who broke the tension, slipping your fingers under the rim of his glasses and lifting them off, “And you’re lying through your teeth.”  

The air pulsed with color - the deep blues and reds of his own energy absorbing yours for a moment, so vivid that it was all he could see. 

“Is that why you came here?” he said, conceit dripping from his voice, “Come to steal the great Gojo Satoru’s V-card?”

“No," you replied, “I’m here to give you mine.”

You discarded your shirt. With an ease, your bra followed suit, tits exposed to the night air. It struck him that you were the first woman he'd ever seen naked in real life, imperfect in all the ways porn hadn't prepared him for, but incredibly, wonderfully real.

"Well?" 

Gojo realized he had fallen still. You were there, waiting for an answer. 

He would've been stupid to say no. Men don’t turn down beautiful women, men don’t say no to sex. Despite that, a bitterness clung to the back of his throat. He swallowed it down as he brought his hand to the elastic band of his underwear and pushed it down.

"If Geto was here, would you have sat on his cock instead?"

You don't hesitate. "No, I don't want my first time to be with a stranger."

That struck him as odd; despite the occasional encounter, he barely knew you at all, and yet you were straddling his waist, skirts gathered at your hips. If anything, the relationship between you was nothing more than a childish dream, something Gojo held on to when he needed to feel human.

"I thought it'd be…" You cocked your head as you gripped his penis, much too tight to be comfortable,  "Firmer."

"Ouch," Gojo cooed, only part of his anguish performative, "Give a man a chance to warm up."

"We don't have time for a warm up," you insisted, "He'll kill me if he finds me here."

Before he could question, you moved again. Your panties were suddenly pushed to the side and he was suddenly very aware of just how close you were, core pressed against core. His body reacted the way you wanted it too, but that sick, bile taste rose again-

In some ways,  Geto tore holes when he left, nibbled, frayed edges where trust should be. Whatever was between the two of you was different than whatever Gojo had with him, but those jagged pieces ached the same. 

"At least-"  Gojo fumbled forward, grasping for your face and any semblance of control. Once he had you, long fingers completely covering your cheeks and buried into your hair, Gojo tugged you close, noses bumping, "Kiss me first, damn." 

When his lips met yours, you laughed. It's not what he expected, not what he imagined all those times the thought had crossed his mind. It was wild and arrhythmic and loud, uncontrolled and unrefined, so much so that he had to stop so your teeth didn't clash against his.  When he dipped in for another kiss, you didn't stop, laughing against his lips and vibrating his face with sweet sounds. It's so sweet that he swore he could taste it, thick and lingering like honey, a flavor he hoped he could sear into his mouth and chest, never to forget. 

Then, the taste of salt tinted his tongue. 

Gojo pulled back just far enough to see your tears shimmer in the afterglow of fireworks. Suddenly, you didn't seem grown; you were just a child in the same ways he was. Comfort did not come naturally to him, instead locking his joints still in shock.

"Shit, you crying?" he said without thinking. 

Wiping your eyes with the palm of your hand, you tried to dip back in for more, but a firm hand from Gojo denied you. That was the final straw; you slumped.

"I don't-" You huffed in, sobs trembling in the corners of your voice, "I'm sorry, I don't wanna do this-"

Gojo knew the taste of mania. The high, the bad choices, all of it followed by the crashing, horrible lows; he should have known something was wrong with you much earlier. 

“I’m a little insulted you only want to fuck me because you’re having a mental break down- oi, quick cryin’, I’m kidding," He insisted, but you just kept sobbing, each moment growing louder and louder. When you were younger, your mother would bruise the backs of your thighs with a wooden spoon when she found you talking to guests when it was ‘unearned.’ It was fucked up then, but now, in his arms, it felt much, much worse. If he wasn’t here, would you have cried on your own? Would you hold in your feelings in silence?

“Shh,” Gojo patted your side, “Just say what's wrong.”

The night sat deep, the fireworks gone and the moon only a sliver. Even with his blackout glasses off, he can barely see you; the limited magic you carried dimmed itself down to nothing but dim. Like those glow in the dark stars kids hung on ceilings, he thought, a light so low he wasn’t sure if it was really there.

"Satoru." 

Oh. That sat strange in his stomach. Satoru: so strange, so simple.

It struck him that he didn’t remember your name.The whispers about you were always Maid, Daughter, Idiot, Useless. 

"Satoru, I'm getting married." 

His stomach twisted again. No ring sat on your finger, no excitement laced your voice. 

"Oh, shit. When?" Gojo said, ��To who?”

"In ten hours," you said miserably, "Some Zen'in cuck//."

Gojo barked out a laugh at that. 

"It's not funny!” You were always funny, even when you didn’t mean to be. “They paid my mom for me and this stupid house and now I’m gonna have to spread my legs for some- some- some-.”

It took a moment for Gojo to swallow this. Arranged marriage was supposed to be for the elites, people who carried some sort of weight with their family name, but it wasn’t uncommon for the Zen’in clan to use it to their advantage. This meeting house was a neutral ground, holy in the same ways as a shrine; if you -a beautiful girl with just enough potential to guarantee a curse-user heir- were the consolation prize for owning property…

He doubted a man would turn down this deal.

“Can’t you just… say no?”

You scoffed and covered your chest, suddenly aware of your own nudity like Eve bit the apple.

“Not all of us are important, Satoru." 

Since childhood, Gojo had thought of you as normal. You were human, flesh and blood in the simplest, purest of ways, but that spark he had loved years ago had long been stamped out by the world. 

And Gojo hadn’t treated you much better. Teasing you through the years, claiming you as a ‘girlfriend’, never learning your name; it was like you were a doll, a simple plaything he could abandon here and return to only when he felt like it.

Geto flashed in his mind for a moment. He’d revel in the ways you saw yourself deserving of this.

Riko would have liked you, he thought. It was a shame you never got to meet.

The world shouldn’t be allowed to cannibalize both of you.

“You should go.”

You pulled away and watched him with wild, wild eyes. Gojo thought that, for the first time in his life, someone might be seeing more clearly than him.

“What?”

He gestured into the forest. The boundaries of it had disappeared into the night, forming a single neverending block. The whole world was in that nothingness, waiting for the night to end or for you to explore it.

"You should run and never, ever come back to this shithole.”

You didn’t even consider it, drawing back away from him.You clutched for your shirt, pulling it back on sloppily. 

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“I can’t.” you press, “Where am I going to go? What am I going to do?”

He didn’t know the answer to that. It was possible you didn’t even have a proper education, let alone experience outside these walls. The human world wouldn’t be kind to you-

But this world never offered you any kindness either.

“I dunno,” he said, “But it’s gotta be better than staying."

.

The next morning, the buzz started before sunrise. The anger, followed by panic. For the first time maybe ever, he heard others call for you by name, searching every nook and cranny for a girl that had long disappeared. Your mother cried, but Gojo doubted the tears were really for you.

About midday, a dark haired man ducked into his room, wrinkles deepened in fury. 

“Have you seen that-” The stranger bit back a curse, “That maid?”

He said maid the same way Gojo used to, with unnecessary weight to the word. If he had less sense, Gojo would have corrected him, but instead he shrugged. 

“Why would I pay attention to a housekeeper?”

Luckily, the bra you had forgotten last night was tucked into his luggage already.

As tiny chaos unfurled, Gojo hung onto the memory of your figure disappearing into the night, only sparing him the smallest of glances before you were gone. 

That was the last time he’d ever see you, he knew. 

He was equally happy and horrified by that.

[kirby0strombolli]

Ghostface | Matt Sturniolo P2

'What's the matter Sidney? You look like you've seen a ghost.'

ghostface!matt x reader

Chapter 2: ghost.

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

warnings: kissing, blood, that's probably it.

______________________________________________________________

As she hastily pulled on her cowgirl outfit, complete with a fringed vest, denim shorts, and a wide-brimmed hat, she couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that had settled in the pit of her stomach. The events of the night still lingered in her mind, casting a shadow over her thoughts.

But little did she know, things were about to get even more intense...

As the darkness engulfed the room, leaving her heart racing and her mind swimming with fear, a sudden knock on the door shattered the eerie silence.

Her breath caught in her throat as she hesitated, her pulse quickening with each passing second. Who could be knocking at this hour?

With trembling hands, she approached the door, her thoughts consumed by the terror of the unknown. Yet, as she swung the door open, relief washed over her like a tidal wave.

Matt stood there, leaning casually against the wall, his eyes widening in appreciation as they fell upon her. But something was off about him. He wore a cloak draped over his shoulders, and in his hand, he held a menacing mask.

"Wow," he breathed, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Let's ride, cowgirl."

Her cheeks flushed with warmth at his words, her heartbeat quickening at the sight of his approving gaze. Despite her lingering suspicions, she found herself unable to resist the pull of his charm.

Feeling a twinge of disappointment that Matt hadn't opted for a matching costume, she remarked, "Matty, we were supposed to be matching," giving him a playful pout.

"I know, baby, just a...little change of plans, that's all," Matt replied with a charming smile, though she couldn't shake off the feeling of suspicion that nagged at the back of her mind.

After all, they were heading to a halloween party, and Matt was known for his eccentric sense of humor.

Putting her fears aside, she flashed him a shaky smile and joined him as they made their way to the car.

______________________________________________________________

As they drove to the party, Matt's behavior became increasingly erratic. Her heart raced with a mixture of fear and confusion as Matt's touches grew rough and demanding.

As they made their way to the party, she couldn't shake the feeling of Matt's intense gaze burning into her. His grip on her thigh was tight, almost possessive, sending shivers down her spine.

And when their eyes met in the dim light of the car, she couldn't help but notice a hint of something dark and sinister lurking behind his usual charm.

"How do I look?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood.

She couldn't help but giggle at his attempt at humor. "Like a ghost...face?" she replied playfully, gesturing to his mask.

Matt's eyes widened slightly, causing suspicion to arise once again about his demeanor.

But before she could dwell on her suspicions any further, Matt's lips crashed down on hers, his kisses rough and demanding. Lost in the heat of the moment, she melted into his embrace, her doubts momentarily forgotten in the rush of desire.

"You look so good, baby," Matt whispered huskily between kisses, his touch growing more insistent with each passing moment.

Her breath hitched as she melted into his embrace, her skin tingling with anticipation. Their kiss deepened, fueled by an undeniable passion that threatened to consume them both.

Her fingers trailed along the curve of Matt's jawline, her nails grazing his skin with a tantalizing tease. With a low groan, Matt deepened the kiss, not pulling away, leaving them both breathless.

Matt's hands roamed eagerly over her body, igniting a hunger that pulsed through her veins.

Lost in a haze of desire, she barely registered the sound of laughter echoing outside the car until someone knocked on the car window, their mocking taunts piercing the night air.

Their passionate encounter was interrupted by the sound of mocking laughter echoing outside the car. Matt's mood shifted in an instant, his grip on her thigh tightening even further as he leaped out of the car to confront the intruder.

"Stay here," he commanded, his voice laced with a dangerous edge.

As she sat alone in the car, her mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions. Fear, desire, and suspicion battled for dominance as she tried to make sense of the events unfolding around her. But as she stared out into the darkness, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.

Something wasn't right.

And as she watched Matt disappear into the night, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was about to plunge headfirst into a nightmare from which there would be no escape.

But as she sat alone in the silent darkness, a bloodcurdling scream pierced the air, jolting her from her stupor. With a racing heart, she stumbled out of the car, her eyes scanning the deserted street in search of the source of the sound.

In the distance, a masked figure darted away into the shadows, leaving her frozen in terror.

At that exact moment , her phone buzzed twice, breaking the tense silence that hung in the air. With trembling hands, she retrieves her phone from her pocket, her heart pounding with apprehension as she reads the messages from Matt.

matt go ahead to the party, baby :) i'll be right there

With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she made her way to the party, her mind clouded with uncertainty. But as she stepped into the crowded room, surrounded by masked strangers, one thought echoed in her mind:

where was matt?

As she searches for Matt in the dimly lit room, she's surrounded by a chaotic mix of Halloween costumes. Everywhere she looks, there are ghosts, ghouls, and monsters, each one scarier than the last, staring at her, like she was covered in blood.

The air feels heavy with suspense, and the flickering lights create creepy shadows that seem to move on their own. It's like walking through a haunted house, with every step sending a chill down her spine.

That was when she finally spotted him, her shock undeniable.

He was carrying the Ghostface mask.

"No way," she murmured to herself, unable to believe what she was seeing. Her mind raced with conflicting thoughts, refusing to accept the possibility that Matt could be involved in something so...so evil.

He was carrying the Ghostface mask. 'The same mask-' But her thoughts were interrupted as Matt strode over to her.

She freezes on the spot as her gaze flickers to a flash of red and a glint of something being tucked into his waistband, causing her to recoil slightly in apprehension.

"What's that?" she asks, her curiosity tinged with dread.

"Somethin' for later, don't you worry your pretty face about it," he smirks, a mischievous glint in his eyes as she blushes furiously.

She looks down at her shoes, her mind racing with unease, but her thoughts are abruptly interrupted when Matt gently lifts her chin.

Her eyes widen in horror as she catches a glimpse of a shiny knife, its blade stained with blood.

A chill runs down her spine as her laughter dies in her throat, fear gripping her heart in its icy embrace.

Matt's eyes bore into hers, and in that moment, she feels a sense of overwhelming dread wash over her.

Frozen in place, she pales at the sight of the bloody knife, her mind reeling with the implications of what she has just witnessed.

"What's the matter, y/n?" he asks, his voice low and menacing. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

a/n: let me know your thoughts on this one!

taglist: @lexisecretaccx @itssophiasstuff @junnniiieee07

comment if you want to be added to the taglist! I have no idea how those things work but yeah :)