#and then pair me with a wine and eat me the hell out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

calummss · 6 months

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Sweet Ultraviolence | Klaus Mikaelson

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summary: it was no secret that klaus mikaelson felt for you, but you didn’t, maybe deep down but not enough. so how do you react when the nortorious serial killer gives you the most fucked up surprise?

pairing: fem! reader x klaus mikaelson

words: 4k

a/n: scene taken from the sexiest ahs scene ever. here’s a link !! probably my favourite klaus fic i have written. also smut!! i’ve written smut?? i’m not a smut writer so if it’s bad pretend it never happened….

‘Just because I agreed to this doesn’t mean it means anything.’

‘This date?’

‘Don’t call this a date.’

‘Why?’ Klaus asked,grabbing his wine glass, his gaze sitting on your frame as he sipped the red liquor. ‘We’re at my house, eating a lovely dinner with a beautiful girl. By my definition it is a date.’

‘Please,’ you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you felt the warmth of the fireplace hit your bare skin, engulfing you in a hug. ‘You are fully aware of why I am here so let’s not read something into this.’

Sitting at a table with Klaus Mikaelson was not as romantic as it sounded. The dark walls pushing in on you, a dark gaze staring at you, darkness that made up the house. Even the plate of meat, potatoes and vegetables seemed less appetising as they normally would. Maybe it was the blood seeping out of the flesh that made you feel agitated, maybe it was the notorious vampire serial killer that so desperately wanted you to be his.

‘Still,’ he paused for a second, ‘you came.’

You yourself took a sip of the white wine you had mixed with sparkling water, the subtle bitterness biting your tongue, the warm fuzzy feeling of the alcohol leaving a familiar taste of comfort.

‘Klaus, sometimes I think you are so delusional, like how are you functioning?’

‘I function just fine, love.’

‘Get me another one of these,’ you held up your glass, lifting it to your red painted lips to drown the last drop of its contents. ‘And maybe I’ll continue to act like I am loving this dinner date from hell.’ You gave him a wide grin displaying your obvious sarcasm.

Klaus smirked, his twisted smile making your stomach churn. This would be a lot easier if he weren’t attractive but of course the maniac looks like he was carved by Lucifer himself.

‘That’s a tempting offer.’

He barely lifted his hand signalling the compelled boy that he wanted something. ‘Another white wine with sparkling water for my ravishing date, Taylor.’

‘Wow,’ you jested in fake astonishment, ‘so intimidating. Raising your hand, getting whatever you want…do you enjoy it? Getting everything with the snap of your fingers.’

‘Why wouldn’t I?’

‘You compel people to do stuff for you. Don’t you want people to do things because they want to? Care for you?’

‘No one cares about me, love.’ He chuckles, ‘I’m the monster, remember?’

You didn’t reply. You stayed silent, staring at him being the only communication amongst the quiet room, only the cracking of burning wood to be heard. ‘Why do you like me?’ You shoved the potato around your plate, using it to smear the watered down blood across the porcelain.

‘What’s not to like?’ Klaus shrugged his shoulders, leaning back into the chair, the definition of his abs to see seen through the thin material of his shirt.

You looked up from your plate. ‘Just answer the question, please.’

‘You’re like a ray of sunshine on a bad day. When I’m near you I feel you good nature rub off on me—makes me want to stay close. You’re kind even if not to me, you treat everyone the same and give chances to people that probably don’t deserve them. You help when help is needed and disregard yourself for others. You’re beautiful. You smell good, and the fact that I cannot have you makes me want you even more.’

‘I’m not something you can own, Klaus,’

‘I can’t own you love, but I can own your heart if you let me.’

Again you stayed quiet, scared that if you speak he could hear the smitteness in your tone, knowing that for a second he had gotten under your skin.

‘Admit that you are drawn to darkness, Y/n,’ his eyes stared into the most inner part of your soul, ‘even the purest of heart are drawn to it.’

‘I never said I’m not, Klaus,’ you took a sip of wine. ‘I like darkness. The unknown, the excitement…Just because I don’t like your darkness Klaus doesn’t mean I’m denying my thoughts or feelings.’

‘Keep telling yourself that.’

‘You aggravate me.’ You downed the rest of your drink again, setting it down with a loud thud.

‘Makes you more attractive.’

‘Taylor?’ You smiled over at the boy Klaus had compelled for tonight’s dinner, that what you had hoped anyway, ‘Do you by chance have any earplugs, sweetheart?’

Taylor’s eyes grew wide, pressing his lips together as he turned his head towards Klaus for further instructions. Klaus felt his stare but continued to stare at you with a grin.

‘What are you staring at, Taylor? Get the lady some earplugs.’

Taylor left soon after, leaving the two of you alone which made you chuckle at Klaus who didn’t deny your request.

‘What?’ He asked plainly.

‘Nothing.’ You cut a piece of the steak and let the blood coat your tongue, continuing to feel his eyes linger on your for the rest of the night.

A week later and you were back at school. Vacation was over and reality hit. Thankfully you were seeing Mr. Saltzman today. A class you could pay a little less attention to since you sat in the back of the room, daydreaming away. You were too busy talking to friends that you didn’t realise a pair of eyes that stalked you from afar. Eyes watching your every move.

Finishing up the conversation you said your goodbyes to Dana and Heather and turned around to head towards the gym but when you took a step back you collided with a body making them stumble and spill their drink on the floor.

‘Oh my god, I am so sorry. Are you okay?’ You reach out to help Connor find his balance but he slapped away your arms, letting out a deep growl.

‘What is your fucking problem, bitch?!’

‘Excuse me?’ You drew your eyebrows together. It was clearly an accident. Why was he getting so worked up?

‘I said what is your problem?’ He came dangerously close.

‘Hey,’ his friend pulled him back, trying to reassure him that it was an honest accident.

‘You better apologise.’

‘I literally apologised, asshole. How about you pipe down on your ego and take a long second to reevaluate your life? Pathetic.’

Connor’s face turned red, his strength releasing him from his friends grip, his face too close to yours for your liking. ‘I’ve disliked you since I’ve known you, Y/n. Don’t give me more reasons to hate you.’

‘Get a life.’ You laughed out loud.

‘You better watch your back!’

‘Okay, Connor. Will do.’ You called after him as he left the scene,his head turning your way as you cleaned off the few drops of water that caught themselves on your fabric. Chuckling to yourself, you headed the way you were supposed to go and headed towards cheerleading practice, the anger giving you a surge of adrenaline that reassured you that you were going to nail the landing you had failed to complete for weeks.

Klaus had watched the scene from afar, his eyes trailing Connor as he walked past Klaus whose forehead creased, his eyes turning lifeless as he turned around and followed Connor to wherever it was he was heading to.

Practice was good and you were right; you managed to pull off the stunt earning you praise from the coach, letting you know that if you keep up the good work you will be the best cheerleader Mystic Falls ever had. You hated saying it but you lived off of praise. Was there a better feeling than being seen for your hard work and determination? Not really, but that was your opinion. You headed towards the locker room, your red cheer uniform starting to slowly take up some of the sweat from practice. It was late. Everyone went home instead of you. You wanted to perfect the new choreography and stayed long after practice ended. So when you entered the locker room it was dead silent. The squeaking of the locker made you flinch as you placed your water bottle into the side pocket of your bag. You were about to take out your bag to change when you heard the sound of droplets hitting the floor. Wet drops. Only then had you noticed that your feet were also wet. And it wasn’t sweat…it was too much for it to be just that… When you looked up to where the sound was coming from you froze. Staring up at the ceiling just above the lockers, the body of Connor hung from the wall. Broken arms and legs that were twisted inhumane. His intestines spilling from his torso, head hanging from his neck like it was about to fall off. His blood was dripping onto your locker, the smell of blood prominent and not something that could be ignored. As you stared up at him, taking in his lifeless body, a faint smile spread across your lips as you thought back on the scene earlier in the hallway.

‘You like my surprise?’ A voice sounded from behind you and you knew exactly who it was so you didn’t bother to turn around, too fascinated by the body hanging like a spider.

‘You did this?’

You heard his footsteps come closer, his heavy footsteps giving away his exact location whenever he moved, so much that after a few seconds you knew that he was standing right behind you, him too staring at the body.

‘I didn’t like how he talked to you or his lack of respect, his entitlement.’

You rubbed your lips against each other, turning around to slap Klaus across the face, feeling a painful sting across the palm of your hand, grabbing a handful of his shirt and getting up on the bench looking down at him. Vertical wrinkles appeared between his eyebrows, his eyes bigger than before. Fear. Fear that he had fucked up the last chance he had of being with you. Scared that you would never ever look at him again. Fear that he had lost you before he even had you.

You took your finger and slowly dragged it across his face, pulling down his bottom lips as you stared at him. ‘That is the most fucked up thing anyone has ever done for me,’ you stared into his eyes that were still wide, your lack of transparency making him feel sick. ‘That’s so hot.’ You dragged out, taking that fistful of his shirt and crashing your lips onto him, your hands roaming his hair, tugging as you felt him against you. His tongue running across your bottom lip, tasting what he had craved for so long. He continued to place wet kisses down your cleavage, continuing to kiss your legs, holding onto your ankle as he came face-to-face with the blood on your foot. Looking up through his lashes he saw you wipe away a single tear, inhaling the scent of blood before dragging his tongue across the top of your foot, licking the sweet taste of blood. Coming back up to kiss you again, you could feel his hot breath ricochet off your cheeks, his growling making your cunt ache from between your legs as he continued to kiss you.

‘I thought you hated violence.’ He breathed, allowing you to catch your breath.

‘I was wrong.’

‘Does that mean—‘

‘Shut up and kiss me.’

Klaus had never shut up so quickly, pressing his body against yours wanting to be one with you. Ripping off his shirt you felt him against your skin. His fingers curled around the hem of your panties, dragging them down your legs. You curled the finger around your top, ready to take it off but Klaus’ hands shot up to hold them still. ‘Don’t take it off. I want to fuck you in it.’

You suppress a moan as he lowered his head underneath your skirt, feeling his breath on the inside of your thighs, already making your legs tremble. You let out a quiet yelp as you felt his tongue licked your slit, closing his lips around your clit as he started to swirl his tongue around your cunt, sending vibrations through your stomach as you moaned. ‘Fuck,’ your hands grabbed his hair, trying to give yourself some stability. Klaus noticed your legs growing weaker. He picked you up with your legs over his shoulders and laid you down on the blood covered floor, feeling the blood go up your ass. Klaus continued to suck on your clit, concealed groans vibrating against your cunt, the knot in your stomach growing tighter as his tongue focused on your most sensitive spot. You could feel your thighs go numb from holding them up. Your breath becoming shorter the more Klaus dragged his tongue across your cunt, collecting your juices, making you realise you were about to come. You felt your muscles contract, your legs starting to shake as the knot tightened faster than it had ever before.

‘Fuck,’ you pressed air past your lips, ‘please don’t stop.’

Close to coming, Klaus gave one last suck before you felt your stomach explode, squirming underneath him as he continued to flick his tongue over your sensitive clit, making your body shudder with aftershocks.

‘Fuck Klaus, fuck fuck fuck.’

You felt Klaus press a kiss on your cunt before coming out from underneath your skirt, catching your lips so you could taste yoursef.

‘You like this don’t you?’

You nodded.

‘You like the way I touch you?’

You nodded again, feeling his hand make its way down to your cunt again.

‘Stop,’ you breathed, stopping his hand trailing down to your cunt that had craved his touch the moment he stared into your eyes. ‘Let me,’ You slowly dropped to your knees, blood staining them s you reached for his trousers, starting to unbuckle his belt, your fingers slipping off the buckle.

‘What are you doing?’ Klaus let out a suppressed smile, his head hanging low to see your hands undoing his belt, your lips caught between your teeth.

‘I want this.’

‘My cock?’

‘Yes.’ Another deep breath.

‘I thought you hadn't done this before?’

‘I haven’t.’ Having undone his buckle and strap, you grabbed his front pockets and pulled down the rough fabric, the bulge beneath his boxer meeting your eyes, a warm heat spreading through your legs. ‘But how do you know that?’

‘Watching you is my favourite pastime.’

‘You’re fucked up…’

‘So are you, love.’

Taking a gulp, you pulled down his boxers to release his cock that sprang against his stomach. Your breath caught your throat. It’s big. Klaus could feel his pre-cum pumping through him just thinking of your innocent lips tucked around the head of his tip. His chest swelled with air as he trailed his finger down to the base of his cock, twitching under his own touch. Your breath hitched, trying to get as much oxygen into your lungs, as you watched him come towards you, knowing that his size would make it hard to breathe. His hand stroked over his hardened shaft, collecting a small speck of pre-cum. You grabbed his thick pulsing length, a groan leaving his throat as your fingers wrapped around him. You leaned over, carefully licking his tip, slowly building your way to sucking on his head, spitting on it as you wet his pink cock.

‘Fuck,’ Klaus hissed, his dirty blond curls falling back as his hand tangled itself in your hair.

You gagged on his size, but you refused to let go of him, pushing his cock deeper into the back of your throat. Saliva filled your mouth as you focused, moaning against him as he gently started thrust in and out, not wanting to hurt you.

‘So, so eager for me, aren’t you?’ He groaned.

His hands found their way to your hair, pulling your head back, allowing him further access to your throat. A mixture of tears, saliva and cum dribbled from between your lips, but he didn’t seem to mind, deep groans continuing to escape his pink lips. The slight sound of you gagging letting his moans increase in sound.

‘Such a pretty face. Look at you.’ He glanced down, staring into your eyes. ‘You look so good taking my cock. Your first time having a cock down your throat and you’re doing so well.’

A pool of cum was now dripping below you. You couldn’t help it, you were so turned on. You needed him. You need him inside of you soon. Growling, he pushed the head of the shaft past your lips, hitting the back of your throat. Klaus tangled his fingers into your messy hair, eager to push in deeper. You swallowed around his throbbing length, earning a huffed moan. You continue stroking him, your hand gliding along his shaft, your own arousal starring to grow

‘You’re so fucking good at taking my cock,’ he thrusted in and out of my aching mouth. ‘Your first time and you already know how to send me over the edge.’

He pulled out his cock giving you time to breathe. You gasped out for air, before he slid back inside of you. Pre-cum was leaking from his tip, the salty taste mixing in with your own spit. You pulled in your lips around his cock, sucking harder, your tongue pressing up against the head and circling around it. Your lips and throat we’re starting to turn numb, every thrust releasing a tear, every salty tear mixing with the shaft.

‘Look at me,’

Your eyes shot up and stared into his.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ He moaned loudly before releasing into your mouth; hot jets hitting the back of your throat. ‘Be a doll and swallow.’ He worked hard to suppress a moan, jerking himself through his orgasm. Both of your chests were heavy—you had almost forgotten what breathing felt like. He huffed and dragged his fingers across your face, stroking your cheeks as he stared at you with sparks in his eyes. ‘You did so well, my love.’

Carefully grabbing you by your throat, Klaus pulled you up and swiftly turned you around, his hard cock pressing up against your firm ass as his hands glided over your tits, smearing the blood across your uniform and cleavage; drops of blood running down your chest as you placed your arms behind your head as Klaus started to place kisses again the thin skin on your neck, gently sucking on it, making the hairs on your body stand up.

‘God, you’re so fucking hot.’

You hummed in response, his mouth on your neck making it hard to concentrate.

Klaus brushed the tip of his cock against your slit, teasing you as his moved it along your cunt, adoring the way you whimpered at his slightest touch.

‘I thought you were a gentleman and wouldn’t fuck a girl so shortly after the first dinner.’

‘I’m not a gentleman tonight, my love. You make it hard to control myself,’ Klaus whispered in your ear, sending a chill down your spine that stopped before it reached your toes as he thrusted into your core making you shout out.

‘Oh my god, Klaus. Fuck you feel so fucking good.’

His cock stretched out the walls of your cunt that welcomed him, each thrust slowly adjusting to his size. His lips kept him busy at your neck and collar, leaving trails of dark marks. Hickeys or blood, it was hard to tell. You could feel the blood slowly dry out on your skin, but new blood spread across your body as Connor’s blood continued to seep out of him, letting you and Klaus be covered in his surprise. He began to pump his cock out of you with pace. Your hands grasped his wrist, nails digging into his skin, asking for more. Throwing your head back onto his chest as one hand wrapped around your throat, the other holding your waist.

‘Not satisfied darling?' He smirked against your skin, picking up pace as he pounded into you. Your tits moving with every thrust, the sound of skin filling the locker room.

‘You're so fucking tight.’ He grunted into your neck. 'It's like you were made to take my cock. Look at you, taking my cock like the good girl you are. Who would’ve thought you were so sick and twisted?’ You felt a new bundle tighten in your stomach. ‘Fucking in a school locker room covered in blood. God made me immortal because you are my match. Fuck, you feel so good.’

Those words felt like fireworks exploding inside of your gut.

‘Shit!’ You cried out in ecstasy, as he pulled you into a climax, sending your body over the edge. He kept on thrusting, overstimulating you, until moments later, he reached his high as well, and filled you up with his cum. Klaus stayed inside of you for a few seconds, breathing heavily as a sweat pearl rolled down his forehead, holding you tight in case your legs were to give in.

‘Your body was made for me.’ He huffed. Klaus slid his cock out of you, staring at you, slowly lowering you to the red messy floor, setting you down before laying down next to you, holding his head up with the palm of his hand.

You took a few seconds to breathe, catching your breath as your high started to fade, catching a glimpse of the body up high. ‘You can’t leave that there. I’ve got class at seven in the morning.’ You mused, gazing at Klaus who had blood spread across his chest. He looked so hot you could fuck him again.

‘Don’t worry, love,’ he reached for the bag behind him. ‘I know how to clean up messes. I’ve done this for over a thousand years.’ He placed a cigarette between lips, pulling out a lighter and taking a drag of the hot smoke. He truly was irresistible.

‘Have you killed a lot of people?’

‘Yes.’

You grabbed a knife that laid behind your back, the knife Klaus probably used to cut certain parts of Connor. ‘Would you kill me?’

Klaus took another drag over the cigarette, the smoke making his voice sound deeper than it was. ‘No.’ He shook his head.

‘Would you kill for me?’

Klaus stared up at Connor pointing at him, ‘You have to ask?’

‘There’s this guy, Dean Gabriel. He took away the only person I ever loved.’ You said, staring at the knife, feeling Klaus prop himself up. ‘He violated my sister. Made her feel disgusted, defiled her without her consent. She took her own life because that man ruined her life in twenty minutes. And whilst she is no longer here, he gets to roam around like nothing happened…’

Klaus leaned forward, his voice sounding huskier, ‘Just tell me where he is and he won’t see any more sunrises after I find him.’

Gazing at the knife, you swung your leg over Klaus to straddle him.

‘Promise me he’ll suffer.’ A tear fell down the apple of your cheeks, ‘I want it to be painful.’

‘I promise.’

You lowered yourself to kiss him, your tears mixing with the blood on your face as your heart was finally lighter than it had been for a while. All because of a surprise you enjoyed more than he had anticipated.

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farfromstrange · 3 months

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S.M.S | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Getting intimate with Matt in the morning on a lazy Sunday.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), SMS (soft morning sex), slight Dom!Matt, praise kink, use of "good girl", unprotected p in v, slight choking, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, slight (very slight) breeding kink, mention of cum eating, use of "my wife"

Word Count: 1.8k

A/n: This is pure filth with no plot. I don't know what came over me. I'm so desperate for this man, it's not even funny anymore. I'm gonna take a cold shower because writing this made me feel some kind of way... anyway, enjoy this little smut piece! Diving right in under the cut (with a gif), so minors, scramble!

Read me on AO3

The morning sun streams in through the windows. In the distance, a few birds are chirping at the top of their little lungs. A car honks. The people of Hell’s Kitchen are slowly waking up and going about their weekend.

All the noise doesn’t matter to you though. The four walls you call home form a protective shield around you, and the only music in the air is the mixed sound of your moans and Matt’s strong thighs meeting the back of yours as he thrusts his thick cock into the tight confines of your cunt.

He’s behind you, one of his arms wrapped around your shoulders from the front, and the other holds on tight to your hip. He moves your body back against his, thrusting into you over and over again at a gentle pace. You don’t have to do anything but take his long, deep, and slow strokes that you can feel in your stomach.

With every thrust, the tip of his cock brushes against the spongy spot inside of you. The spot that makes your eyes roll back, your toes curl, and stars erupt in front of your eyes. It makes your entire body give in to the compelling pull of absolute pleasure, the coil within you tightening and tightening and tightening, but still too far away to explode.

Matt’s fingers are rough, but when they touch you, they remind you of soft feathers, always making sure not to hurt you. He pours his love into his touch like a poet would bleed his soul into his rhymes. His touch burns into your being—into the essence of who you are—and it consumes you to the point that you could never forget the feeling of Matt Murdock touching you. Sometimes it’s rough, sometimes it’s sensual, but it’s always full of unconditional love.

His sweaty skin slaps against yours. He drags his cock out of your cunt again, slowly, until only the tip remains inside, and you whimper at the loss. He grunts into your ear. The sound of your wetness collecting around his shaft, pouring down your thighs together with his pre-cum like an overfilled glass of white wine, reverberates in his ears. It drives him crazy.

Matt grunts, and he pushes back into you. The squelching sound that your slick folds make is not only audible to him.

You convince yourself that you can feel every single vein along his cock as he fills you in a way only he can. You can feel him twitch, already so sensitive from a sloppy morning fuck—but are you even fucking or are you, in the most literal sense of the word, making love? Are you being primal and animalistic or are you being gentle with each other? It’s more of the latter, you suppose. Neither of you is in a rush. It’s early morning on a Sunday. All you need is each other after life kept you separate for most of the past week. What you have and what you are doing right now is raw, unbridled intimacy—and a primal need that you need to satiate.

His stubble scratches against the sensitive skin of your shoulder. You moan again. The added stimulation intensifies the burning in your core. The position he has got you in allows him to go deeper, but it tightens your walls to the point it’s almost painful. It’s not unlike you to crave a little pain with pleasure.

“You’re so fucking tight like this,” Matt growls into your ear. “I can feel your pulse against my cock. Do you know how fucking lewd that sounds?”

“Oh, God!” Your eyes roll back, and your toes curl as you moan his name again and again.

He chuckles roughly. “Never heard something more beautiful.”

“Matt, please,” you beg without knowing what you’re begging for.

You want to come. You want to clench your walls around his cock and cover him in your wetness until the sheets are soaked; you want him to fill you up with his cum until you’re stuffed to the brim, and you want him to eat it out of you like a starved caveman, but you also don’t want this to end.

You want to keep feeling him just like this, in every ounce of your body, consuming you whole, and loving you endlessly, emotionally, and physically.

He smiles against your heated skin. Again, he kisses your shoulder. His hand comes to rest around your throat, not squeezing but simply holding you.

“Lift your leg for me, sweetheart,” he commands.

You inhale sharply. How could you ever disobey him? You lift your leg as he told you to, and he grabs your thighs with his hand, throwing it over his own. You’re on your side, spread wide open for him—over him. His cock hits even deeper, even further than before, and you ask yourself if that is even possible. He’s just so fucking thick.

“There you go,” Matt purrs, his lips pressing to your ear. The sweat dripping down his temple mixes with yours and soaks into your skin. “Good girl.”

The good girl gets you. It gets you every time. Praise from him is like being praised by a higher entity. Your walls tighten in a vice grip.

He groans. The groan is so deep it makes his chest vibrate, and his hand tightens around your neck ever so slightly. It’s enough to make you gasp.

You cling to him. Your nails drag over the hairs on his forearm. The moan you let out sounds high-pitched and too far away to grasp, but he hears it. He hears it all.

And then Matt—that fucker—reaches his free hand between your legs and he cups your wet pussy. His cock still thrusting in and out of you scrambles the words in your brain and turns them into desperate mewls.

He curses when you clench down around him. “You take me so well,” he never fails a beat with the praise, knowing just when to use it to pull a response out of you.

You reach behind yourself to tangle your fingers in his hair. The strands are sweaty, sticking to his skin, and you wish you could see more than his stubble. You wish he would tilt his head down to kiss you. Instead, you have to press your lips to the skin of his neck, tracing your tongue over his pulse points and tugging at his hair. That is how you can taste him.

You are needy and desperate, and your body is the one thing in control. You couldn’t form a coherent thought even if you tried. It’s just him, his hands, and his cock; he consumes you, all of you, without mercy.

Your touch burns his fuses. He whimpers. You love it when he does that. When he sounds wrecked for you. Only for you. You are the only one that can make him feel this way.

His hand disappears from your cunt. “Open,” he instructs.

Out of instinct, you open your mouth. He slides the three fingers in the middle between your lips, pushing down on your tongue until you gag like you would on his cock.

“That’s it. Get them nice and wet for me so I can rub your clit.”

You moan, swirling your tongue around the digits. You suck on them. The saliva drips from the corner of your mouth, down his forearm.

“Gonna make you come, okay?” Matt pants. It turns him on just how messy he can get you, and every time anew, he sees how far he can go. He gives another harsh thrust, then adds, his voice still beyond breathless, “Make you come all over my cock.”

A strangled moan escapes him, and it is like porn to you.

When he finally kisses your cheek, you turn your head to meet his lips. As soon as you taste him and yourself on his tongue, you’re done for.

He cups your pussy again, this time rubbing all three fingers you just sucked over your sensitive clit. You howl. Your back arches away and at the same time into his touch–you’re going to burst soon, you know it.

As if he read your mind, he presses his fingers just below your jaw. The rhythm of his fingers on your clit matches the pounding of his cock, and he skilfully drags his thrusts along your G-spot.

You pull at his hair. “Matt. I’m gonna–” The words are too much to utter at this time.

“I know,” he coos. “I know, baby. I’ve got you.”

“Fuck!”

“Come for me.”

The coil snaps, sending a shockwave rippling through your entire body, and drowning you in ecstasy. Your thighs quiver and you shout his name like a prayer. You’re falling, and there seems to be no end in sight. No one to catch you.

You come long and hard, his thrusts faltering as you suck him in and clench with the sheer force of your orgasm. Instinctively, you pull your leg back to shut them and keep him trapped inside, but his hand stops you.

“Keep your legs open,” Matt says.

You cry out. With every thrust, with every flick of his finger over your already sensitive clit, he drives you deeper into a state of overstimulation.

“I want you to give me another one, baby. One more, and I’ll fill you up. Please.”

It doesn’t take long for you to be back on that edge. You intertwine your fingers with his on your throat. The perfect necklace.

Matt pulls out again. You tilt your hips back, forcing him back inside. “I’m gonna come,” you warn him.

It hasn’t even been two minutes since he last made you, but he knows just how to keep you on edge. That way, he can drag several orgasms out of you, each more intense than the other. He has made it his mission to ruin you for any other man.

When you come this time, Matt lets you snap your thighs shut as your entire body shakes in his arms. You cry out, bucking your hips, and clinging to his hand, but it isn’t enough.

He thrusts upward into you once more, and then he’s coming, too. His hot cum spurts into your cunt. For a moment, he stills completely.

Matt sinks his teeth into your bottom lip, the copper taste exploding on both of your tongues, but a little blood has never turned you off.

He fucks his cum into you, slowly, passionately, making sure that no drop goes to waste. Only when he’s satisfied does he stop, and he allows the two of you a moment to breathe.

Thump, thump, thump. Your heart begins to slow down.

“Holy shit, Matthew,” you murmur.

He chuckles, smoothing the spot where he dug his teeth into over with his tongue. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Oh, good morning, indeed.” A satisfied giggle passes your lips. “I think we just woke the neighbors.”

“What time is it?”

You peek at the alarm clock on the nightstand. “Half past ten,” you say.

“Then it’s not a disturbance of the peace,” he states as a matter of fact.

“It’s not?”

“Nah.” He pulls out, rolling over to pull you into his side. “A noise complaint would never hold up in court. Even if they filed one, I’m a really good lawyer,” he says, “and I will defend my wife’s pleasure until the day I die.”

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #daredevil #no y/n #pwp #daredevil x reader #smut #charlie cox #reader insert

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joeloverture · 3 months

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sea-cret obsession | j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | updates blog pairing: dad's enemy!yachter!joel miller x f!reader summary: [no outbreak] your dad's always had a superiority complex when it comes to his place at austin's finest yacht club. when joel miller joins the club, not only does he dethrone your dad — he also becomes your newest obsession. warnings: (18+ mdni) yachter!joel, dad's enemy!joel, age gap (mid 20s/mid 50s), alcohol, joel is implied to be older than reader's dad - don't read too far into it, reader wears a bikini (anyone can, i promise!), fantasizing, creepyish joel but reader's into it, soft!dom joel, porn with a paper-thin plot, m!receiving oral, throatfucking, facial, cum-eating, f!masturbation, blowjob in the captain's chair, daddy kink (oops), thigh riding, dirty talk, praise, degradation, pet names, aftercare [no use of y/n] word count: 2.9k a/n: this was supposed to be a ficlet for @iamasaddie's ✏️game. this is not a ficlet. please suspend your disbelief, this concept simply fell into my lap the moment i saw the wonderful moodboard aly put together for me. go check out the other fics, most of which are much shorter than mine and are absolute brain candy, that stemmed from aly's game!

Austin is hotter than the hinges on the gates of Hell, and you haven’t stopped sweating bullets since climbing out of Lake Travis. After an afternoon of floating belly-up in your bikini off of the dock of the yacht club your dad frequents, your need for a drink finally outweighed your need for aimless swimming.

Your bare feet are still burning from the hotfooted walk across the wooden deck into the bar. Water droplets cling to your skin and leave a pattern of stippled concrete in your wake. It’s been a few hours you’ve seen your dad around the club, having already gotten into a pissing contest with new club members over horsepower and amenities. Your dad’s the type to always want the biggest and the best: the most decks, the biggest wine fridge, the nicest galley — because God forbid he lose his running ten-year superiority to a newbie.

So yeah, you need a drink. You don’t even have to order; the bartender, Callie, simply slides your usual order over, which you nurse while watching a preseason football game. You haven’t bothered to sit down, your hip popped out with your elbows propped up on the granite countertop.

You don’t even notice the wolf whistle from behind is directed at you until a man sidles up next to you, flashing a smile at Callie. He looks like he belongs in a yacht club, curls styled and sculpted neatly around his face down to where the collar of his blue blazer begins. Some of the buttons on his striped shirt are undone, and your eyes, much to your chagrin, linger at the slice of tanned chest peeking through the fabric.

He looks you up and down, unabashedly licking his lips when he sees the crease of your thighs. “Sweetheart, you’re much too pretty to be entertainin’ the ragtag kinda men around here.”

It’s not the first time you’ve been hit on by the yachters at this particular club, but it is the first time one of them has caught your eye. “I’m not–” you start before you hear the telltale sign of your dad’s laughter coming from close by. You turn around, drink in hand as he rounds the corner, sunglasses on and a towel around the back of his neck.

Your dad’s expression immediately sours with a speed you’ve never seen in him before. His lips draw tight at the sight of you – or maybe the sight of the man next to you.

“Joel,” your dad says, separating from his entourage. He wraps a protective arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his chest. “I see you’ve met my daughter.”

“Seems it,” the man, presumably Joel, nods, flagging down Callie for an old fashioned. The glass sweats condensation along his sturdy hand. He holds eye contact with you while he sips, only looking away when he runs his tongue along the rim of the glass. “Oughta let me take ‘er for a ride one day. Bet she’d appreciate the fine machinery of a real boat.”

You don’t miss the innuendo to his words even if your dad doesn’t. You scrub your hands along your sides, your sunscreen-sticky skin dewy beneath your palms. You shush the part of yourself that bets you’d appreciate it, too.

“Your boat is maybe good for getting to the retirement home across the lake,” your dad snaps, squeezing your shoulder. He pushes his sunglasses up his nose. “C’mon, kiddo, let’s head home.”

You find your flip flops at the bottom of your beach bag, barely having the time to kick them on before your dad is practically pulling you out of the yacht club. He gives half-hearted waves to his usual boating buddies until you’re in the parking lot, surrounded by heat shimmering over the blacktop. The scalding hot leather seats burn the backs of your thighs and the small of your back as you settle in. With a purr, the air conditioner blows a fresh burst of wind in your face.

“What was that all about?” you ask when he starts the engine.

Your dad clips his sunglasses on his polo shirt, gripping the steering wheel ten and two with a winded sigh through his nose. “Fuckin’... rookie with his triple-decker Ferretti.”

Joel looked rich. But not Ferretti rich. “Who the hell in Austin owns a Ferretti?”

“That son of a bitch, that’s who. I don’t want you runnin’ amok on Joel’s boat, you hear me?”

“Ain’t planning on it,” you respond as if you don’t already know what’ll happen if Joel propositions you again.

You see Joel again soon, but only in passing. A wink behind your father’s back, a drink from the gentleman across the bar that was only coincidentally Joel. The locations of these run-ins are always different. Sometimes you walked by each other on the dock. Sometimes he’d give you both a quick wave from across the water before he sped off, leaving the boat rocking on the stirred up tide and your dad cussing up a storm.

Today’s almost-tryst happens on the dock. You’re walking past Joel’s designated dock in a bikini that you’d nearly thrown out because of its snug fit. You have to smother your disappointment when you don’t see him on the top deck sipping a beer. You know better than to be disappointed over the man who your dad has not only claimed as a mortal enemy, but also claimed as the antichrist. With the thoughts Joel gives you when your hand is between your thighs, it might not be too far from the truth.

You think you have most of it figured out – he’s rough, he has to be. With how relentless as he is on the waters, it makes no sense for him to be anything else. His fancy, custom belt buckles snicking as it comes undone so he can yank his jeans down and get inside of you. Those chains he always wears would hang in your face, swaying with every roll of his hips into yours as he chases his pleasure deep inside of your–

“Woah there, darlin’,” a honeyed voice coaxes you, a muscled arm darting out to stop you in your path. “Almost walked right into the lake.” Your head snaps up to look at Joel, the very inconvenient object of your fantasies. You swallow the quickly-forming lump in the back of your throat. “You sure you ain’t had too many?”

“Positive,” you say. You haven’t even done a shot s0 far today.

“Mmm, alright.” The playful glint in his eyes doesn’t seem too convinced. It makes your heart stutter before you remind it to keep beating. “Tell ya what, you’re welcome to ‘sober up’ on my boat.”

You look between where your dad’s dock sits empty. He’s out with his co-workers today, shooting the shit too much for their own good. Then you look between Joel and his boat, the beauty of a Ferretti that’s just two steps away.

Mouth already watering at the possibilities, you say, “I do remember you promising me a ride, old man.”

Joel’s lips curl into a knowing smirk, and he makes the long step from the dock to the boat, hand held out for you. You don’t hesitate to let him help you aboard.

You’re on your knees in front of the captain’s chair before he gets to the middle of Lake Travis. “Old man,” he mocks above you with his legs spread as far as they can go. You kitten-lick his hardened cock, making sure to lap up the obscene amount of his precum. There’s certainly one part of Joel that doesn’t need to go to a retirement home, and it’s in your mouth. You suckle at the leaking head of his cock while his strokes your cheek, only pulling away to spoon a drop of his precum from your lip onto your tongue. “You like suckin’ an older man’s cock, pretty girl?”

You nod eagerly, taking him deeper so you can tongue the vein along the underside of his cock. From that, he groans, head slumping on the headrest so he can gather himself. You spit a generous amount into your hand, wrapping around the base to properly suck him.

“Bet there’s a whole ‘nother lake in that skimpy lil’ bikini of yours, ain’t that right?” You nod around his length and go a little deeper. He’s heavy on your tongue, long and girthy all at once. He presses lightly against the back of your throat, prompting you to gag around him, but you wouldn’t pull away from him even if the yacht itself set on fire. He moans as you start to bob your head up and down. You rub your thighs together just thinking about what his cock could be capable of between your legs. “Mhm, I know, baby. You wanna push that outta the way and give it a rub for me? A rub for your real daddy?”

A choked whimper punches its way out of you. His hips jerk from the vibrations, unintentionally pushing himself further down your throat. You expect it to be too much, but it isn’t. You pull away from him, taking a quick breath as you wrap your hand around the wide palm seated on his thigh and raise it to the back of your head. “Please fuck my throat, daddy,” you pout up at him, a mixture of your spit and his precum dripping down your chin and into your cleavage.

Another groan tugs its way out of him when he looks down at you. He cups the back of your head and brings his cock back to your mouth. “Can’t say no to such a gorgeous fuckin’ face. Gonna look so damn good covered in my cum.” You keep licking his tip, not wanting to miss a single drop of him. “Go ‘head and put a hand on your pussy, baby. Rub that clit that daddy’s got all throbbin’.”

And how could you ever say no to him? Your hand is down your bikini within seconds, peeling your tacky panties away from your cunt so your fingertips can rub circles along your clit. A circle against your swollen core pulls a moan from you right as he thrusts into your throat. He starts out slow, tentative as he pushes all the way into your throat and then pulls all the way out. His second thrust is much harder, stifling your breathing for a moment as a strangled noise of pleasure leave his parted lips.

He nudges you further down onto his cock, burying your nose into the triangle of skin exposed by his rumpled button-down. You force down the gag that builds in the back of your throat. Joel keeps your mouth speared on his cock with shallow rolls of his hips into the warm wetness of your mouth. You whine, prompting a hearty chuckle from him. “Good girl, daddy’s good little girl. Keep playin’ with yourself for me.” He smirks down at you. “Ain’t much different than what you do in your own bed, huh? Pussy just cryin’ for some cock, I bet.”

You moan in agreement as your eyes flutter shut when you rub your clit harder, harder, harder until arousal is smeared all over your knuckles and across your mound. “Nuh-uh,” he says with a punctuating adjustment of his hips. You gag, spit webbing through Joel’s happy trail. “Eyes on me.”

You’re satisfied to find him just as debauched as you feel. Strands of his usually put-together hair are out of place along his forehead, and his golden chain glistens with sweat. His hands grip the arms of the captain’s chair, spread on the tanned leather and exerting dominance over your kneeling silhouette. But you aren’t fooled. There’s a certain rosiness to his cheeks, a flare to his nose, that lets you in on the secret: he’s just as wrecked, just as in deep as you are.

You pull up and immediately sink down on his cock again, pleading eyes looking up at him, asking him. I want it daddy. I want you. And then he’s fucking your throat in earnest. His hips buck up to meet the back of your throat. You struggle to keep up with his size, his pace, but you suck his cock even with the knowledge that you won’t know how to explain your sore throat or raspy voice to your dad.

Joel squints down at you, absorbing the seeping spit from the corners of your raw lips, your droopy, ecstasy-laden eyes. He sighs, sinking down into the chair as he grinds his cock into your mouth and moves your head up and down his length. You take the hand that isn’t playing with your clit and reach to grab at his balls, kneading them. A narrow breath trips out of his lips. “Nasty bitch. Fuck, baby. Daddy’s close. Keep – keep doin’ that.” You drag your tongue along that bottom vein again, kneading one of his balls and making sure that when he pulls you off of his cock, you treat the head to one final taste.

“Open up, slut,” he coaxes. His cock twitches. He jerks himself once, twice, and then cums, rope after rope hitting your damp skin. His cum is hot, sticky, and you’re too preoccupied with trying to catch some of his release that your hand stalls over your cunt. You whimper when his cum lands on your tongue and follow it up by swallowing. Joel’s breath is unsteady as he looks down at you, cock softening in his lap. “Good girl,” he praises, reaching out to run his thumb along your stained skin. Drop by drop, he feeds you his cum, and you lap it up just as eagerly as you’d lapped him up.

You pull your hand out of your bikini when he’s done, tacky arousal stretching between your fingers. Going back on your haunches, you suck in a deep breath through your abused throat.

Joel pats his wide, thick thighs above you, the same ones you’ve been fantasizing about since that first day in the bar. “I promised you a ride, didn’t I?” A familiar, hooked smirk pulls at his mouth. Your face lights up in recognition and you practically scamper onto his thigh, stumbling as you tug your bikini out of the way to settle yourself on the linen coral shorts he has on. Joel laughs, a noise that has your cunt leaking onto the fabric, clit fluttering from the friction. Heat pulls tight in your stomach.

His hands land on your hips, guiding you back and forth when you hesitate at first. “Grind on daddy’s thigh, baby. Wanna see you cum on me.” Your head tips forward, forehead slotting against his shoulder when you start to push your hips into his. Need springs awake in your stomach when he drags you forward. A frayed moan tumbles out of you from his near-manhandling. You rut into Joel, bouncing, grinding yourself on him in the same way that you’d imagined yourself doing at least a dozen times before this.

“Daddy,” you whimper when the muscle goes taut underneath you, plucking something in your cunt. At the same time, a speedboat passes Joel’s yacht outside, leaving the ship rocking on the water in time with your movements as you ride his thigh. You yelp, a strained noise as the pressure intensifies on your clit. “Close!”

He grips your hips even tighter, bounces his thigh up against you. “That’s it, that’s it. Let it happen baby, give it to daddy.”

You come undone with the taste of his cum still rich on your tongue and his words ringing in your buzzing ears. Your orgasm whips through your body and leaves you shuddering against his center, halfheartedly continuing to roll your hips up against him. His thumbs rub circles into your skin while you come down. You suck in a shaky breath, Joel’s palm stroking the small of your back. “Did good for me, baby. Look real pretty when you come. Real pretty.”

You give him a shy smile, and he leans forward to kiss you, a brief moment of gentleness amidst his usually ubiquitous harshness. He pulls away with a tiny pat to your ass. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You stumble off of him on shaky legs, leaning against the captain’s console. Joel pulls his shorts down his thighs and tucks his cock away, the wet spot your cunt had made on him beyond visible as he stretches himself out. He fishes around in a drawer in the galley for his baby wipes and joins you back at the console. He takes them to your face, wiping down where his cum had hit your skin. He even dabs gently at your thighs. Orgasm bliss clings to the edges of your vision still, and you can’t help but lean into him as he takes care of you.

“Could take you for a real ride, now,” Joel says with a moderate shrug. “Nice cove on the west side of the lake, good for a quick swim. I’m sure your dad would throw a fit if he knew, but I’m sure you’re good at keepin’ secrets, too. Got a real good mouth on ya.”

You playfully punch his shoulder with a roll of your eyes, and in that moment, it feels like you’ve known Joel much longer than you have at all. Like this isn’t your first time on his boat, and this wasn’t his first time being in your mouth. “Alright,” you begrudgingly smile at him. “Whatever you say, old man.”

It’s his turn to roll his eyes as he starts the engine.

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #✏️ game club

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eoieopda · 11 months

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the one with mingyu and the twin bed

summary: you brought your boyfriend to your parents’ house for christmas dinner. he can’t get a grip because you can’t keep yours to yourself. pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader type: drabble (smut) | rating: 18+ | wc: 3.5k au: est. relationship, home for the holidays cw: teasing, teasing, teasing; unprotected sex; mingyu is a pouty lil simp; multiple orgasms; reader rides it like she stole it and has to keep him quiet in the process :’) a/n: nobody asked, i just have mingyu brain rot 🥲 🚨 MINORS OR AGELESS BLOGS WHO INTERACT WITH MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED. MY WORK IS NOT FOR YOU.

You might kill him. And really, if that’s not your goal, it’s still the most likely result. This road you’ve chosen starts with a squeeze of his knee under the table, travels up his thigh and — well, Mingyu can imagine how it ends, but not when or where. That’s the problem.

Well, that’s the primary problem.

The worst part about it all is that you look so unbothered by it all. You’re laughing through conversation with your parents, who sit on the opposite side of the table, like Mingyu isn’t on the brink of passing the fuck out beside you. Like his slacks aren’t squeezing the life out of him in the same torturous way your hand is.

You’re moving so slowly that the table cloth doesn’t even flutter with your secret ministrations.

He knew you were a devil, but what fresh hell is this?

“— feeling okay?”

Mingyu has to blink himself back into reality to realize he’d been spoken to. Your father, who Mingyu had thankfully met before tonight — and made a positive, sustainable first impression on — looks concerned. His eyebrows furrow the same way yours do when you’re worried.

“Sorry,” Mingyu starts by clearing his throat. He flashes a smile that makes your mother blush, not unlike the way you usually do. “I was daydreaming about that galbi jjim from earlier. Don’t know if I’ll ever eat better.”

That’s a lie, he thinks immediately. Dessert is one seat over, fingertips whispering over his inseam, and Mingyu’s mouth is already watering at the thought. But he’s stuck. You’re untouchable as long as the pair of you are at this table, and you’re untouchable upstairs for more reasons than one.

Your mother is flustered — so is Mingyu, but for an entirely different reason — and she glances up at your father. His smile is a flat line, but it reads like approval. She elbows him gently.

“See, yeobo?” She quips, “I told you he was charming.”

Then, she turns to look at you with a firm nod. “You picked well.”

“To be clear, Mingyu picked me,” You laugh, waving your free hand dismissively. “With the amount of girls queuing up for his attention, he had options — a lot of them. I just lucked out.”

At this, he short-circuits, so much so that he nearly sprays the wine he’s sipping all over the table and your unsuspecting parents.

“Oh, no, no. Not even close,” He sputters, earning a surprised giggle from your mother. Faked offense pulls the corners of his mouth down, puckers his lips into an pout around his words. “I had to beg for your phone number, if I recall —”

“Did you really?” Your mother gasps. Her hand flies up to cover her mouth, as if she’s watching one of the daytime dramas she’s always talking about.

Your father looks smug as he reaches his arm out over the table, fingers closed over his palm. The hand you aren’t using to commit unspeakable crimes lifts to meet his fist over the acorn jelly, knuckles tapping lightly.

Your father smirks, “That’s my girl.”

You look at Mingyu fully now, not from the corner of your eye the way you had been. It’s downright spooky how your face can look that innocent at a time like this. That is, until you bite down on your plush lower lip.

Fuck.

Is he about to faint? He really might faint.

“Okay, fine. You’re right,” You demur with a shrug.

That sweet smile of yours is unbelievably misleading, but goddamn, does it look good on you.

“I didn’t make it very easy for you, did I?”

He tries not to clench his jaw when you flatten your palm and squeeze the highest, innermost part of his thigh. He fails miserably. After all, you’re running out of real estate; and Mingyu’s running out of resolve.

This is it for me, he thinks. Remember me as I was: a fucking simp.

Thankfully, both of your parents stand up to carry dishes off to be washed. They cross the threshold into the kitchen and miss the way Mingyu’s head slumps back against his chair. So desperate and defeated, he ignores the way his skull aches after colliding with the oak backrest.

He squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the sweet release of death.

When their footfalls are no longer audible, Mingyu assumes they’re out of sight. You shift, but he doesn’t crack his eyes open until he feels the heat of your breath on the shell of his ear. His gaze locks on the ceiling when you whisper, “Can you blame me? It’s so cute when you beg.”

If his dick strains any harder against his pants, the zipper may break.

“You’re trying to kill me,” Mingyu gulps. He shakes his head, voice wavering. “Baby, I’m gonna drop dead in your childhood home — on Christmas, no less — and it’s gonna be all your fault.”

The tip of your nose nudges the side of his face as you place a kiss on his earlobe. The white knuckle grip he holds on the edge of the table is the only thing keeping him together, and you know it. Still, the feather-light touch of your fingertips finds what it’s after. They trace the outline of his bulge through his slacks, and before he can stop himself, Mingyu audibly sighs.

He’d tell you to stop if he could jumpstart his brain. That’s a lie, he corrects himself. He doesn’t want you to stop; he just wants you. Wants you so badly that it hurts.

“Attempted murder,” Mingyu mumbles helplessly.

God, he’s pathetic.

Head slumped to the side, he finally allows himself to look at you. Immediately, he has to wonder: is there anyone who wouldn’t beg for you? He’d be on his knees in a heartbeat if your parents weren’t loading a dishwasher, several meters away. He’d clear the table himself, too, if sweeping his arm overtop and sending silverware to the ground counted for anything.

Unbothered by the internal crisis you’ve started in him, you stroke him slowly, like you have all the time in the world to end him; and not a care at all that you might get caught in the process. The kiss you leave on his jaw is so soft — and so laughably chaste, all things considered — that he’s not sure it even happened. To keep from pleading out loud, he grinds his teeth even more harshly together.

Are you there, God? It’s me, Mingyu.

His prayers are answered immediately, which makes him a little bit suspicious — and a lot more feral.

You hum, amusement downright musical, and he shivers. “I’m going to help them finish down here. Wait for me upstairs?”

When Mingyu shoots up to his feet, the force of his thighs against the underside of the table threatens to flip it. The remaining wine glasses wobble in place, but thankfully, you’d all killed the bottle some time ago; no drop is left to be spilled. He still cringes at the close call, though. With a grimace, he mutters rapid-fire apologies — whether to you, the glassware, or the God of Dirty Thoughts, he’s not sure.

You trap your bottom lip between your teeth to keep from laughing, which Mingyu appreciates. His clumsiness would have been embarrassing if he wasn’t so incomprehensibly horny. All that blood flow has been redirected away from his brain, though, and his dirty mind can’t focus on how not cool he’s being about all of this.

Just you, that little smirk on your lips, and the million ways he wants your mouth on him.

Once he steadies himself, it only takes a second for Mingyu to race towards the stairs. Any and all chill he might’ve had is left behind him in a cloud of dust.

It’s downright cartoonish, the way he scrambles up the steps — stumbling, knees colliding with the hardwood as he goes — but it’s effective. He reaches the landing in record time, then all but kicks open the door to your childhood bedroom. As soon as the doorknob collides with the wall behind it, Mingyu freezes in place.

That wall, he realizes, is the only barrier between your room and your parents’. Worse, your old bed is set longways against that very wall. And because the hits just keep on coming, it’s a twin bed.

With a frilly purple duvet and shockingly minimal surface area, no less.

Horrified, Mingyu steps forward and places his hand flat against the small mattress. It doesn’t take much pressure to make the bed springs squeak — when has anything ever gone his way? — and that revelation nearly has him screaming obscenities at the ceiling.

Fuck.

How is he supposed to fuck you under these conditions?

Frantic, he closes the door behind him, shuffles forward, and drops to his knees next to the bed. At his height, the frame barely reaches his midriff. Clearly, his life is a fucking joke.

Elbows now resting on the mattress, Mingyu clasps his hands together and leans forward to rest his forehead against his knuckles.

He’s never tried this before — not earnestly, anyway — and he doesn’t know where to start. Whatever the reason, he’s sure he can’t pray to any listening deity to let him get his dick wet. Anyone who hears his cry would smite him on the spot, he thinks, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Before he can settle on a prayer, footsteps sound off on the stairs just outside the door. The words are muffled; but there are multiple voices, which tells him that one or both of your parents have joined you on your journey upstairs. Suddenly, Mingyu is overcome with guilt.

He’s in their home, having eaten their food — and now he’s a full-blown heretic, wanting nothing more than to devour their daughter like a man starved. But he can’t because, if he does, they’ll hear every dirty detail and —

Mingyu is many things, but he is not quiet.

You are, however, and he can barely make it out when you say, “Thank you, again, for dinner. And for letting us stay overnight.”

“Oh, don’t you dare!” Your mother peeps. Mingyu freezes, knowing in the rational part of his brain she can’t see him, but unable to stop himself. “It’s our pleasure! Really, it’s a long drive back for you two —”

Your father interjects, “— and Mingyu must be exhausted if he’s already in bed.”

For personal reasons, he thinks as he squeezes his eyes shut, I will be passing away.

There’s a moment of silence in which you must be hugging your parents goodnight, then there’s the quiet creak of the door opening. Footsteps, then more silence — you pausing for a moment, likely taking in the sight of him, then the door shutting softly behind you.

He can’t hear your approach over the hammering pulse in his ears, but he can feel the warmth of your body when you stand closely behind him. On instinct, he leans back onto his heels. A reflex of your own, you card your fingers through his hair and turn him into putty.

As embarrassing as it is to reckon with the fact, Mingyu acknowledges that the massage of your fingers might make him cum in his trousers.

“Were you praying?” You whisper, giggle evident despite the hushed tone. Your fingernails rake gently over his scalp; he swallows hard.

Mingyu is past the point of attempting nonchalance, so he confesses immediately. “Need divine intervention at a time like this. A twin bed? Parents? I’m doomed.”

“Maybe.” You lean down over his shoulder to purr into his ear. “Doomed or not, you look so perfect on your knees.”

That comment reverberates down his spine, ricochets off every vertebrae as it goes. He has to bite down on his fist to keep from groaning. It sure as shit doesn’t stop his eyes from rolling back in his head.

You drop your hand from his hair to trail your fingers down the length of his neck, then across the top of his shoulder. As you do, you step out from behind him and into his line of sight. You, illuminated only by a small, butterfly-shaped lamp, confirm his suspicions:

Ariana Grande was right all along. God is a woman.

You maintain eye contact as you reach behind your back and begin unzipping your dress. The burgundy fabric pools at your bare feet, having slipped right over the silkiness of your thighs without issue. If he wasn’t already in his knees, Mingyu would’ve dropped the same way.

“How confident are you that you can be quiet?” You ask softly. “Stakes are high, and you’re normally so vocal.”

Right out of the gate, he trips.

Mingyu responds with bravado and without whispering, “I can do it.”

Then, he slaps his hand over his big fucking mouth.

Biting back a smile, you reach out for the collar of his shirt. The buttons are undone with care, like any and every decibel is too much of a risk. You hum as you continue your work, “We can make it a challenge, then. If you can stay quiet, I’ll let you cum.”

He lets you slide his shirt off his frame as soon as you’re finished with it. It lands where your dress did, wrinkling white on top of red.

“If you can’t —” You pause and gesture down to his belt buckle, which he’s already gripping tightly to. It’s undone before you can blink, which causes the side of your mouth to twitch upwards. “— I’ll stop.”

Mingyu nods, more determined than he’s ever been, and pushes himself to his feet. Less nimbly than you, he fumbles desperately with the button and zipper at the top of his trousers. Eventually, he frees himself and they drop, too. They land with a muffled sound before being kicked blindly aside.

Your gaze drops to his briefs, pupils dilating when you see the mess you’ve made of him. The dark grey fabric is close to black at the tip of his dick, arousal seeping into the fibers and tattling on him. That is, if the blatantly thick imprint of his length hadn’t sold him out already.

His knees threaten to buckle all over again when he sees a flash of pink swipe over your lips, wetting them as your eyes grow even darker.

No, he really might cum on the spot.

You step over your discarded clothes. Closing the distance, you flatten your palms against his bare chest, push up on your toes, and kiss him properly for the first time in hours. His only instinct is to whine like a fucking baby when his lips part and you lick into his mouth, but he refuses to break this close to the starting whistle.

No, Mingyu will keep his shit together. He has to keep his shit together — even as you suck his bottom lip into your mouth and release it swollen with a pop.

“What do you want, baby?”

He doesn’t know if it’s his chest or your hands that are burning up, but a wildfire spreads as you run your palms down from his pectorals to his abdomen. Every muscle in his body tenses as your touch lowers. His lungs seem to, too, because he struggles to keep his breaths even.

Your fingers hook under the waistband of his briefs, knuckles tickling against the sensitive skin underneath his hip bones. You continue your questioning, as if he trusts himself to answer.

“My mouth?”

Oh god.

He wants it all, always and every which way, but he knows he won’t last a goddamn second in your throat — and you know it, too, even before he furiously shakes his head.

Eyes laser focused on you, he does his best to beg without words. The puppy-dog eyes win you over every time.

When you smile at him like that — petal soft, still so devilish — he audibly sighs. There’s no helping him, he knows it. It’s a reflex, a rubber mallet to the knee. Thankfully, you let that breathy concession slide; let his briefs slide, too, until they drop unwanted around his ankles.

Mingyu is so hard that it hurts.

He’s a throbbing, leaking mess when your hand finally — fucking finally — wraps around his cock. Experimentally, you give him a light squeeze while you work the length. Your gaze flicks upwards to gauge his reaction, wrist rolling when you reach the crown.

If he had to guess, Mingyu would bet that he’s turned purple with the effort it’s taking to keep his needy mouth shut. But your eyes twinkle up at him and you tell him that he’s beautiful; and suddenly, his chest and cheeks go a shy shade of pink.

“Lay down, pretty boy,” you whisper, nodding your head towards that shitty little bed.

As he stretches out onto his back — to the best of his ability, with his heels nearly dangling off the end — he swears on his life that his friends can never know how weak he gets when you call him that.

You place your hands on his chest to keep your balance, lifting one leg over his until you’re straddling him. Your right knee settles uncomfortably between his leg and the wall, but you don’t complain. Instead, you look him dead in the eye and pull your fatal, black thong to the side.

Even in this piss-poor lighting, Mingyu can see the way your darkened eyes glint. He’s spellbound — there’s no other word to describe it.

One hand takes hold of his cock and lines it up to your cunt. The other raises to your lips, index finger extended. You tease him without saying a word, and he hears it loud and clear.

Oh, he’s going to be so good for you.

That’s what he tells himself until your arousal makes contact with the tip of his cock. That’s what he repeats in his head, over and over, when you sink down and gush around him, slick dripping to coat the centimeters that don’t quite fit inside of you. What he says out loud, elongated and definitely above a whisper, is:

“Fuuuuck.”

You quickly lean over his chest to cover his mouth with your hand. Though your pulses are both racing, he’s less focused on his total, abject embarrassment than he is on the amusement that causes your mouth to curve.

Keeping your hand where it is — for the good of everyone, really — you nip at his earlobe. He waits for the inevitable consequence of his actions.

Goddamn it. How stupid does he have to be to forfeit a prize like you?

“You don’t listen very well, baby,” Your hushed tone drips like honey into his ear. Involuntarily, his hips jerk upwards, pushing further into your wet heat.

Any distance is too much.

“But you feel so fucking good —”

Again, he ruts against you when your teeth graze his earlobe. Under your palm, his whimpering is unintelligible, but that doesn’t stop him. You catch his groan in your hand before it can hit the air.

“— might have to bend the rules for you.”

It’s torture.

Mingyu knows you’re moving this slowly to avoid upsetting the box springs below, but whether or not there’s method to the madness, it’s still unbearable.

You swirl your hips in a way that makes his vision go white at the edges, grind down into his lap with quiet precision. He can feel that soft, spongy spot hiding behind your front wall; and he can hear those delicate little sighs as you fuck yourself deliberately.

He can feel his mind go blank, too, moments before your cunt milks him for all he’s worth. You don’t stop once he spills himself inside of you — you won’t, he hopes.

“Oh, shit,” you whimper, almost inaudibly. “I’m so close.”

The hand not covering his mouth disappears between your legs. If the way your eyes roll back is any indication, you’ve found what you were looking for.

The sight of you is too much for Mingyu to handle. Nipples peaking through the translucent fabric of your bralette, wrist moving in the opposite direction of your hips, eyelashes fluttering while you rub spirals into your clit. Perfect, top to bottom.

Mingyu cums again when you do, refractory period be damned.

And when you collapse down onto his chest, walls still fluttering around him, he encircles you with his arm so tightly that he can feel you trembling through the aftershocks. With your face now nuzzled into the crook of his neck, the tables turn.

“Fuck,” you mutter. The sound is mostly lost against his skin, but there’s enough volume to make you both start to snicker.

You kiss his neck, nudge him with the tip of your nose. Whispering, you ask, “Not bad for a twin bed, huh?”

Mingyu snorts. “Kinda feels like high school. You know, parents on the other side of the wall, cute little bedspread,” His voice trails off so he can press his lips against your temple. Voice low in your ear, he smirks, “Nutting within thirty seconds.”

Your muffled laughter shakes his shoulders, too. Then, you fall into a silence so easy he’s sure you’ve fallen asleep on top of him. To his surprise, you peep, “I didn’t think this through.”

He hums inquisitively in response. You crane your neck to meet his eyes.

You inhale deeply, then sigh, “I have to waddle down the hallway of my childhood home to the bathroom — right past my parents’ door — and pretend like we didn’t just do what we did.”

Mingyu flashes you a wolfish grin that catches you off guard. Your eyebrows raise in anticipation.

“Need some divine intervention, sounds like. Maybe if you pray about it —”

The only thing louder than the playful smack you land on his bicep is your laugh, straight from the bottom of your chest.

#jade’s drabbles #jade writes #svt #svt drabbles #svt scenarios #svt imagines #svt smut #kim mingyu #mingyu drabble #mingyu scenarios #mingyu imagines #mingyu x reader #mingyu x y/n #mingyu x you #kmg #btshoneyhive #re: the one with mingyu and the twin bed

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

For a request:

Maybe a rescue fic with ghost, price, or soap? One where they rescue their non military fem s/o? I know you’ve written some already and they are so good but I EAT THEM UP EVERY TIME and love that trope so much!!!!!!

Hurt/comfort is my drug I swear

I know that’s pretty vague so maybe I’ll think of more eventually but that’s what I’ve got for now.

I love your writing!

- 🧚🏻‍♀️🧚🏻‍♀️

None Lacking Sins

Pairing: Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader

Synopsis: It started with the incident at the grocery store and then built to the hidden gun in the nightstand and a quick, frantic, call to your boyfriend.

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: Implied stalking, violence & blood, angst, protective Soap, suggestive language and conversations, implications of wanting a kid, vulgar language, fluffy banter, hurt/comfort, canon typical actions, edited in the middle of the night

A/N: I've been in a Soap mood lately, tbh. I think I'm going to flip-flop uploads for my Gaz series and Requests too...anyways. Enjoy, anon! You can never go wrong with a rescue fic!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You called him for the first time when you were at the store, picking out dinner and asking what he wanted for a welcome home meal.

“Well,” his sly voice made you roll your eyes, but a smile still blossomed over your lips. “If you want me to be rash, Bonnie, I’d say that I wouldn't mind a good bite out of your–”

“Johnny, you finish that sentence, you’re not going to get anything besides butter on toast. Give me a recipe before it gets dark out.” Veiled glee was obvious from your tone, and the heat on your face could all but be heard over the line. Two months apart had made you both eager to be in each other's presence.

Picking up a box of pasta, you flip it over and check the price, sticking to your budget and tilting the phone parallel to your chin. A deep chuckle meets your ears, and your chest feels light as it pierces your lungs.

Your boyfriend was off in Australia this deployment—he’d been complaining about the heat nonstop on those few and far between video calls the two of you shared. While it was a step-up to know where exactly Johnny was this go around, the prospect of his job still made you incredibly nervous. There was never a time you could remember when he came home without a new cut or scar; bruises were all but guaranteed.

Sucking down a soothing breath, you place the pasta into your cart and fix the phone’s position. The Scot was coming home in a day or so, you wanted to make him feel at home again. Destress.

You’ll see him before you know it. There’s no need to worry.

“Bit snappy, then, eh? Oh, alright.” The man huffs good-heartedly, and you hear the springs of those thin barracks-bed mattresses as his large frame shifts. Johnny lets off a soft sigh before continuing. You listen intently, leaning onto the handlebar ahead of you. “What about a nice plate ‘O that one you always make—hell—the…the one with the Pollock and cabbage.”

You blink through a laugh, shaking your head and pushing yourself off to go find the needed ingredients. The dish wasn’t easy to make, in fact, it took a helluva lot of time, but you didn’t mind in the slightest when it came to cooking for Johnny. He deserved it.

“Hey, now,” He teases, smirking to himself, “What’s so funny over there, Dearie? You makin’ fun of me?”

“I would never dream of it, oh great and wondrous, Mr. MacTavish!” You huff, fake serious, as you place a box of cookies into the cart and pass a few strangers who raise an eyebrow at your conversation. A man passes by with a blue cap on, and you swerve the cart to move around him while tossing back a frown. You soon continue on like nothing happened, pulling back the sense of security from the man over the line. “Do you want mashed potatoes with that as well? Wine?”

Johnny groans, “Hey, you’re the one that asked me!”

Divulging into giggles, you make your way around the store and stock up, holding a light conversation about how he and the rest of the boys were doing.

“Ghost told me to let you know he appreciated the book you lent him, said he’d get it back to ya as soon as he’s able.” The Scot comments, and a hum makes its way from you as you head to the self-checkout.

“Well, that’s good. I said he would like it – the bastard’s so tight-lipped about what he enjoys it was hard to nail-down a genre.” A chortle sounds off when you gather the chilled pollock and scan it; the phone was held against your shoulder to your ear. “High Fantasy for the win, I guess.”

“I should get the man to read ‘The Way of Kings’ next time—form a little book club, y’know? Get all the boys in on it like some old ladies.” It was adorable how cute Johnny sounded, like a kid on Christmas. “Stemin’ Jesus, could you picture that, Bonnie?”

“I’d pay to see you pitch that, Dear.” A cheeky tone leaks through. “Price would laugh straight into your face.”

“Please, the old man doesn’t know how to laugh….He’d just puff cigar smoke in my face and tell me to fuck off.”

“As I said—I’d pay to see it.” Your boyfriend grumbles under his breath as you place the paper bags into your cart, the contents heavy, and grab your receipt with quick fingers. “Gaz would definitely be in for it, though.”

“I don’t doubt that. Anything beats playing cards for weeks straight, aye?” Your hand can finally grip the phone once more, and you sigh contently as the strained position of your neck finally rights itself.

You’re about to answer but slow your pace with a scrunched look of confusion as you exit.

Passing through the front doors, you suddenly get a strange sensation in the back of your mind to turn around. The hairs along your arms stand up as a breeze passes the steadily chilling dark sky, but the way the shiver ran down your spine wasn’t due to cold. Lips thinning, you spare a glance over your shoulder and look along the brightly lit grocery store as its windows leave cascading rays of light over the sun-bleached concrete. The black asphalt of the parking lot is hard under your feet.

There are a handful of other patrons at the checkouts—mothers with children and others buying quick meals for dinner—but none are out of the ordinary.

You huff and roll your shoulders.

Maybe the day’s just getting to me.

“Bonnie,” Johnny’s slightly concerned voice brings you blinking back, turning your head back to the sparsely lit parking lot and realizing you had stopped walking completely. Your hand was sweaty like you’d just run somewhere. Fixing your hold on the device, your boyfriend continues, “...Everything alright? You’ve gone all quiet over there.”

“Yeah, sorry,” you laugh dismissively, trudging forward to your car, “I just got the weirdest feeling right outside the grocery store.”

The cart makes a loud rumbling sound as it goes over loose rocks and the bumpy texture of the asphalt, the metal rattling loudly so you have to strain your ears to hear Johnny’s next words.

“What kind of feeling?” His drowned-out voice was so serious that it shocked you—you’d only ever heard him use a tone like this when he had briefly talked about nightmares that had woken him up in your shared bed.

The Scot’s words were monotone, slow, and even if the sound of the cart’s wheels was raging all around you and making your skull rattle, you’d still swear you would identify that tone over a hurricane. It made your gut churn.

“Really, it’s probably nothing,” you play off with a tense shrug he can’t see, coming to a stop at your car and reaching into your pocket for your keys. “I just got a chill.”

Your eyes look around before you open the trunk, biting into your lip at the long shadows that the tall street lamps give off. Licking over your teeth, you bink dismissively and shake your head, unlocking the vehicle and huffing as you begin loading in your purchases.

“Anyways,” you try to ignore the hard build of your spine or the way your eyes travel back to the brightly lit store. There wasn’t anyone out here but you and the dead forms of cars, trees off in the distance, and far-off lights of other buildings. You swallow and clear your throat. “I was thinking about getting us a dog.”

“You’re not gettin’ out of this that—wait, did you say dog?” Across the world in a shitty bed, Johnny’s once concerned eyes widen, jaw going slack. “No way in Christ’s Hell, Dearie.”

“Oh, come on!” You groan, placing the second to last bag into the car and tuning your back to the street, throwing out your hand. “It doesn’t have to be a big dog—just one I can go on walks with and keep me company. I know you have a bad past with them, Love, but I just want someone to help not make the house so empty when you’re gone.”

Your voice slides off near the end of the sentence, and you try not to sound so sullen. Johnny frowns as he stares into the far wall of the barracks over the heads of sleeping men, itching at the back of his neck. It was no secret that the Scot wasn’t particularly fond of canines—his encounters with them were almost never pleasant unless he knew the handler.

But…

“I’ll think it over, eh, Bonnie?” He relents, sighing, and he thinks he hears snickers from a dark form in the distant corner. The Sergeant glares over at it and continues with a pang of internal guilt about how lonely you must feel most of the time. “Promise…but you’re more likely to get a cat dressed in a suit than a mangy mutt anytime soon.”

You laugh at the attempt of a lighthearted joke, closing the trunk with a roll of your eyes. A breeze goes by and your arms erupt into shivers, clothes not enough to keep out the chill.

“I’ll take it.”

“Hm, you know,” Johnny smirks, rubbing at the sleep in his eyes and grunting out huskily, “there’s another way to make sure the house won’t be all quiet when I’m gone.”

“Keep it in your pants, MacTavish. You’re not even here yet.” Smiling through the heat of your cheeks, the skin of your cheeks glows; your body rolls with heat. “Save it for tomorrow.”

“What, am I gettin’ you all worked up over there?” He hums, and you grab your cart, pushing it into one of the specific areas where someone would grab it in the morning. “‘Cause I have no problem with waitin’, Dearie, all the more perfect when I get to be with ya.’”

“You wish, handsome.” Walking back to the slight rumbling of your car, you speak through tilted lips and completely miss the form walking up beside you. “I think that—”

“Excuse me?”

Yelping, you nearly drop your phone to the floor as it slips out of your startled grip; heart jerking at the sudden intrusion into an intimate conversation. Swiftly turning around you spot the same man as before—the one with the blue cap that had passed by quite rudely in the store. His strong face looks sheepish.

Johnny quickly calls your name through the line, and you let off a reassurance before tilting the device down.

“Holy hell, man, give a girl a warning next time, yeah?” Chuckling weakly to push back tension and the twisting of your intestines, you notice the stranger’s tall frame is covered in a heavy jacket. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yeah, actually,” He’s not outwardly alarming to look at, the man, with his loose body gestures and controlled tone. “Sorry, but I was just wondering if you could lend me a hand. I found a kitten under a van back there,” he points, and you look over to the far corner of the parking lot. Sure enough, there was a large van surrounded by two black cars. Your eyes narrow on the scene, already getting a prickly feeling. “Do you have any food that might bring it out? Or maybe you’d be willing to reach under and grab the little bastard?”

The stranger laughs and continues with a jerking of his shoulders. You watch every movement with an upticking pulse, fingers tight over the phone as Johnny listens with growing worry.

The Sergeant's dark eyebrows pull tight, and he stands like he could run out the door to you; jaw tight and muscles wound.

“Put me on speaker.” You decline silently. Better not to get a hotheaded and protective Scot involved when he was thousands of miles away.

“Sorry,” Clearing your throat, you take a step back, attempting a friendly smile. “I have to get home to my husband.” It wasn’t the first time you’d had to use the spouse card to get away from creeps, and it won't be the last. Worked better than just the boyfriend title, honestly. And there was something about this man’s eyes that didn’t sit right with you. “Work night and all, you understand?”

“He left yet?” Johnny asks, gruff as his accent gets stronger. “Else I’m callin’ the store and sending security out to you.”

“It shouldn’t take a long time,” the man begs and you take another slow step back to the car door, pupils going tiny. Breaths shallow. “You’ll be back to your…husband, in a few minutes. I’d hate to leave the poor guy all alone.”

“Sorry.” You say again, firmer. “No.”

Not wasting any time, you open the car and jump inside, wrenching it closed once more and pressing the lock. Breathing heavily, you stick the keys into the ignition, missing a couple of times, and look into the side mirrors to spy on the tall shadow that hovers like a plague.

“Sweetheart? Hey?” Johnny calls out your name as you force the car to start driving away, face tight and limbs shaking. “Hey, are you alright?”

The man has half the sense to wake up Price, but with the stirring bodies around him, there’s half a chance the Captain already knows something’s off. Johnny hadn’t bothered to check his noise level when the uncomfortableness seeped from you over to him. What kind of a man approaches a woman near dark and asks a question like that? The action didn’t sit right with the Scot.

Johnny’s body hums with energy—volatile rage keeps his heart in a tight fist with a deep seething hatred of not being with you to help force back the freaks in person. He wasn’t above getting into someone's face if the situation called for it; after a couple of outings to less-than-nice pubs, all it took was a few nervous glances from you nowadays for him to create a barrier out of his own flesh.

“I’m okay,” you whisper to him, biting at your lips and peeling back flesh. “It’s all good. I-I’m on the road already.”

A great weight falls from the man in the form of a sigh. He slowly sits back down on the mattress, lips thinning and slightly shaking his head. His free hand comes up to rub over his cheek.

“Good. That’s good…” He snaps out of his concerned stupor quickly, but the fast beating of his heart does anything but slow. “You’re okay.”

It wasn’t worded as a question, maybe more of a reassurance, but it helped you immensely. Your tension lessened at the comforting sound of Scottish drawl and deep, silver, voice. But you wanted him to wrap his arms around you; gaze into those cerulean orbs.

Tomorrow.

“Keep on the line until I get home?” You ask feebly, not able to resist looking in the mirrors as you turn out of the parking lot.

The blue-capped stranger was still standing there, and one of the black cars in the far corner had turned its headlights on. A deep dread overtakes your ribs like you’d just gotten out of something very, very, bad. A sense of a lingering morality stays in between your ribs.

“‘Course. Wouldn’t be doin’ anything else, Bonnie.” Johnny utters, glaring at the floor. “I’ll be ‘ere the whole time.”

It wasn’t fair that he was unable to be there with you—never before had the constraints from his job hit him full strength in the chest like this. If he can’t protect the ones he loves back on the home field, then what was the point of the Task Force in the first place?

By the time you get home after taking the fastest route, you quickly gather everything from the back and shuffle inside, pulse still racing. You lock the door behind you and take a deep breath, closing your eyes.

Johnny’s soft breath over the call was like a lullaby, right in your ear as if he was beside you in bed. Oh, you missed his soft snores more than anything. Your gaze goes glossy, but the tears are held back stubbornly.

As if sensing your turmoil, your boyfriend speaks lowly.

“Y’know, I bet the rest of the boys would really love it if we kept ‘em over for a drink and a bite when we all get back. I can whip up something quick on the grill and you can take a breather, eh?” He speaks so softly it almost makes the tears worse, heart palpitating.

You wetly laugh and place a hand to your mouth, standing in the dark foyer with groceries on the floor and a primal fear slowly leaving you. The familiar scents of charcoal and birch wood from the Scots hair product are stuck into the very walls of this shared dwelling, along with the scuffs on the floor from play-wrestling during movies; a light that needed to be replaced due to Johnny accidentally running straight into it at two am. He had thought an intruder had broken in, but it was just a bird that had snuck in through an open window.

The signs of a well-lived and loved home.

“But you wanted pollock,” you grumble with a hidden smile and burning ears, pushing the tip of your shoe into the front rug.

Johnny beams and goes to lie back down, putting a hand behind his head against the pillow.

“Well, now I’m makin’ burgers. Guess you’re just going to have to sit back and watch my fabulous arse from the porch, yeah, Dearie? Don’t burn a hole into them, now, they’re the only pair I’ve got, and I know how much you like ‘em.”

“Shut up.”

“I’ll even wear that apron you got me—what was it you said it did,” the cheeky Scot smirks, all teeth and crinkled eyelids, and hears your complaints get louder as your mind flies away from what had happened almost immediately. “Made me look like I should be in a porno? Hell, if you were in it with me, I’d not complain ‘bout it. Steamin’ Jesus, I’d let you do horrible things to me, Dearie.”

From somewhere in the barracks a low groan echoes out and Johnny snaps his hand down to stifle his loud laughter as you bark at him.

“MacTavish!”

Great bouts of laughter leave everyone glaring from atop pillows and from over fingers stuffed into ears; some even get up and gather blankets, leaving the barracks room entirely.

In your foyer, your body blazes with heat like you’d been set on fire, a hand placed over your eyes and a treacherous grin on your mouth.

“Keep your voice down, you absolute arsepiece!”

“Aye—! That’s what I’m tryin’ to tell ya!”

“Johnny!”

—

The second time you called him was out of pure curiosity, only a few hours before your lover was scheduled to come home and cook for you and his Task Force. Around six o'clock.

“When was our postbox all scratched up?” Your thumb runs over the black numbers of the sequence, blinking with wrinkled skin as you take a glance at the neighbors’ and frown. No one else's was like that. “I thought you said you compromised with the local kids and would give them money for sweets so they would stop messing with our stuff?”

“Little fiends were sucking me dry!” Johnny huffs, “No way the devils would pass up more sugar and do something like that. What’s it look like, then? A few stray rocks manage to dent it?”

Your lips release a sigh and you pick up your mail with an annoyed grunt, closing and locking the cubby as you reply. “No way, it looks like someone took a knife to it.” Clicking your tongue, you shake your head. “God, things have just been going wrong lately.”

Shuffling his feet over the tarmac and hearing the plane engines die down behind him, Johnny takes a glance back. Price was standing at the top of the C17 arms crossed and head tilted—the Scot could imagine the raised eyebrow almost immediately.

He grimaces and holds up a finger, walking a few more steps away as Gaz leaves the hull with his bags slung over his shoulders.

“I can’t talk any longer, Bonnie, Price’ll wring me for not helpin’ unload the gear. He’s damn near skinnin’ me already.”

You chuckle, “Tell him I said ‘hello’ and not to damage the face.”

“Oh, you’re a horror, you are, Dearie.”

Quick declarations of love and see you soons were exchanged before the connection was cut, and your feet carried you back into the house. Your phone and the mail went to sit on the tiny hallways table, shoes tossed onto the plastic mat sitting on the floor with a small thump.

Sighing, you rub over your eyes, thinking over if it was worth calling the post office or just trying to fix the scratches yourself.

“I think we have some paint in the garage…” You trail off.

Ultimately, you just pushed that to the back burner. Johnny was coming home. Your lips peeled into a large smile, and you’re rushing off to get into a nice outfit for the rest of Task Force who was coming a bit later than your boyfriend. Thoughts of finally being able to be picked up by your boyfriend's strong arms were all-consuming, being held into a broad chest and digging your nails to the dip of his spine.

Just being able to be around the mohawked-man was a blessing that you’d never take for granted.

You settled on a nice top and casual pants—you’d met the others before, so there was no need to go overboard. Smoothing your clothes down, you enter the living room and go to open the curtains, letting the light of the interior spread to the small lawn and the street. Humming under your breath, the vehicle outside doesn’t catch your attention immediately; the black metal is just another parked entity sitting still.

When you do pause, your curtains half-opened, the delayed shock makes you lose precious time as you stare slack-jawed at one of the twin cars from yesterday at the parking lot. Your fingers clench into the fabric in a sudden moment of frozen shock. As if a mythical creature had just run past your field of view, the parting of your lips is instinctual before the widening of your eyes.

A still second passes before you’re sprinting to the front door—locking it and snatching your phone. Heart pounding, you make a dash to the bedroom, dialing Johnny with fear-tight pupils.

He had told you if there was ever an emergency to call him right away, he’d get there faster than any police officer; for the record, you believed that wholeheartedly. Johnny was more loyal than a dog in a pack, once someone raised the alarm the Sergeant was locked in.

Rushing into the bedroom, you trip over the tossed covers but right yourself as the dialing tone sounds out, heavy breathing making your lungs hurt. You open the nightstand table and dig under a collection of books, hand meeting the smooth metal of an M9 pistol.

Putting the phone on speaker, you throw it onto the mattress.

Legally, you shouldn’t even have this—while Johnny had been teaching you to shoot, you didn’t have a license for it yet. But he’d insisted on leaving you behind with something to defend yourself with.

The confused voice of your lover sounds over the open space. “Jesus, Bonnie, you miss me that much? It cannae ‘ave been more than ten minutes—”

“The car from yesterday is outside the house.” You throw the books to the floor and hear them make a clatter just as you pull out a box of ammunition. Taking out the gun’s magazine, you load bullets with a violently shaking hand. Some hit the ground with a metallic ping, but you pay little attention, just blinking back anxious tears and a harsh focus on the sounds of the front door handle being jimmied.

“I…what?” Johnny’s voice gets heavier, demanding with a snarl trapped in the back of his throat.

Standing stationary in the doorway Base—about a twenty-minute drive from home, the man’s heart suddenly jumps in his breast. Did he hear you right? Behind him, Ghost slows to a stop at the now blocked opening, watching with narrowed eyes; a large rifle slung over his shoulder and a carry bag in his arm. Johnny’s shoulders wind tight, feet parted as he suddenly turns on his heels and takes off back the way he came in, the phone still at his ear where the Lieutenant knew you were on the call.

“What the fuck?!” Ghost’s skeletal head follows after and pointedly notices the Scots lack of care for how his bags hit the ground but keeps the pistol holstered at his thigh and the combat knife strapped to his upper shoulder.

“Johnny?” He calls out, but only the wind answers him. “The hell are you off to?!” The gargantuan man sends a glance over to Price who was watching just as intently, lids narrowed. Gaz cleared his throat.

“....Shouldn’t we follow him? Sounds pretty serious.”

Price sighs, taking a moment to watch Soap sprint to the main building and shove past other soldiers and staff. He grunts.

“Move light.”

The phone call was filled with heavy breathing and hurried orders.

Your boyfriend was running you down the basics of firing at a moving target as the sound of pounding at the front door became more hurried.

“It’s not like a stationary target—when someone’s runnin’ at ya, they're gonna be moving quick and you’re not going to be able to fire if you don’t mean it!”

“Okay, okay,” you mutter with a shaky inhalation, loading the M9’s magazine and clicking off the safety. “What the hell do they want with me?” The whispered question is more for you than it is for anyone else, but the answer from the sprinting Scot startles you.

At that exact moment, the pounding of a fist stops completely.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re gonna fire at the first bastard that comes down that hallway. We’ll ask the questions later.” You hear a car door opening and a yell from Johnny’s side, soon the clammer of grunting breaths an exclamation of ‘hurry the fuck up!’

“I—”

“If you need to, leave through the window and go to the neighbors. Take cover in the foliage and slip away to the back alley.” Johnny never spoke like this to you—clipped and deathly serious. But now that you think about it, as you stay frozen and barricaded in the bedroom, if he spoke any differently you’d probably break down. “Do you copy?”

This was Sergeant MacTavish, and damn him if anything came between that man and the people he cared about.

He barks your name, “Do you copy?!”

“Yeah,” the gun shakes in your grip, but nonetheless you hold it at your hip and turn your eyes to the window. It would be easier to leave, you think. You’re not trained for this! “I–I think I’m going to—”

The front door’s window is broken with a shattering of glass. You rush to the phone and turn off the speaker, afraid that the sound would immediately tell these people where you were. Loud shouts flow into the foyer and spread like venom under the crack of the thin barrier separating you and the intruders.

“Spread out and find her!”

“Yes, Sir!”

Sir? You ask, eyes snapping this way and that as Johnny is dead silent on the other side. You think you hear the slam of a foot to the pedal, but you can’t be sure. Fuck, there was so much going on, you didn’t know what to do.

“Screw this, I’m going out the fucking window.” You gasp out, lungs tight and skin sweaty, you turn on the safety on the gun and stuff it into your belt.

One-handed, you unlatch the lock and strain your ears, hearing feet getting closer. Grunting, you shove the heavy frame up and try to stop the ringing in your ears. Whoever these people in your house were—they were professionals. They had patience; studied your intellect with the trick in the parking lot and followed you home so they could mark your postbox number as a reminder of your address. What the hell was happening?

Just as you’re about to make the small drop into the flower bed, a creak echoes from behind the bedroom door. You freeze in place, one foot dangling into the backyard.

Breathing slowly, your eyes lock to the deep shadow that spreads like two distorted poles as the large feet face the very place you’d holed up. As delicately as you’re able with an award-setting tremor in your gut, you place the phone down onto the window sill; Johnny’s loud and worried voice dims as all attention moves to self-preservation. You’re just about to reach for your gun when the door busts off its hinges.

Starling, and before your hands can find purchase, you’re tumbling backward—out of the house entirely with a stifled shout of alarm. Slamming to the ground and crushing flowers in the process, you have no time to think about the pain going up your spine or at the base of your skull before you’re scrambling for the M9.

Just as someone peeks out from the window, face covered and holding an assault rifle, you’re firing three shots in rapid succession as you don’t even remember flicking off the safety.

Two shots miss entirely, but on the last and final press of the trigger, as your arms catch the recoil, it connects.

A comment is cut short as blood explodes in a great wave of velocity, coating the house upwards almost to the shingled roof. The body slumps, weight bringing it down to hang limp over the frame.

Wide-eyed, you still hold the shaking gun in the air, muzzle smoking, breathing fast through your mouth. Had you just…

Your stomach bunched, acid traveling up your throat to pool under your tongue. Perhaps you would have thrown up at that moment, the setting reality that you’d just shot someone in the head like an anvil in your pounding skull. But the barking voices from inside the house snap you back.

Gasping down the breaths you realized you hadn’t been taking, your wobbly feet dart to shove you up like a newborn deer as sprinting bodies close in on the porch’s sliding door. God, you could only imagine what Johnny was thinking.

Bolting out of your backyard fence, you remember your lover’s orders and run as fast as you’re able to the neighbor's open yard, using the darkening sky to help cover you. Cursing under your breath and thinking over all of the ways this should have already gone wrong, you wipe at the tears cascading down your cheeks.

Don’t think about it—just get away.

It wasn’t long before you were down the alleyway, feet weak and lungs burning. There was a stickiness to the back of your scalp, blood, undoubtedly, from an injury caused by the fall.

It’s a damn miracle I didn’t break anything.

What would you have done then? Just let those people take or kill you? You shiver at the idea and force yourself to go faster. Darting around a corner, your feet skid to a quick halt.

The barrel of a gun was pointed directly at your face.

“Had a feeling you’d be slippery.” It was the voice of the man from the parking lot—the man with the blue cap. Your face jerks to an imitation of confined horror and unease at the same eyes boring into you. He was dressed in gear like the rest of the men now exiting your house to hunt you down. The stranger shifts his feet and you flinch. “Drop the gun, Sweetheart.”

“Who the fuck are you?” You find your voice, hissing out. The pistol clatters to the floor as it slips from your grip and you hate how you flinch at the sound.

“Your boyfriend and his buddies are hard to track down.” Blue Cap huffs, and the tall stature of the man makes you incredibly nervous. Backing up a step instinctually, he follows and smirks. “But I figured the best way to meet him was to find his little bird first—he’d come right to me. Cliche, I know, but you can’t fault me. Works every time.”

What did this guy want with your Johnny? Gritting your teeth, your fingers shake at your sides, hips tense and ready to run.

“He’ll kill you.” You level, not keen to show this man how disgusting you felt being near him.

He shuffles up next to you, grabbing the meat of your arm. Trying to jerk away, the barrel of his weapon is shoved into your ribs; gasping, your body goes rigid.

If your heart goes any faster, it’ll break.

“Not if I threaten to kill you first.” Forcing you forward, you glare and feel the urge to spit in the man’s face. “C’mon, hun.”

“Don’t fucking call me that, freak.”

“Ooo…fangs. Can’t be surprised, you did shoot one of my men, after all. Not a bad trigger finger, but you do need decent work on your accuracy if you wanna make anything out of it.” Your eyebrows pull in as you’re corralled back out of the alleyway, barrel bruising your skin and blood dripping down your neck. The man’s grip hurts as a strangled whimper falls from your bitten lips.

Feet scraping over concrete, you’re brought out into the street as neighbors peak out of windows with drawn curtains; phones to their faces. Did these intruders not care about the police? If anything, that made you sweat more.

“Ride’s waiting.”

“I’m not getting into that.” Grunting, your eyes are stuck on the black void of the car parked in the street. A menagerie of other armed men stands all over. “Hell no—you can just shoot me now if that’s the case.”

“Don’t tempt me, I can still go after the Sergeant’s dear old mom,” your lungs chill as the man chuckles to himself, looking down at you through dark lashes. “He has a cousin, too, am I right?”

Rageful tears spark behind your lids as you blink.

No way it was going to go like this. Where’s Johnny?

The gun was taken from your ribs as you’re shoved forward.

“Get in. Now. We’re already behind schedule.” You stare into the interior and clench your fists, lips quivering but jaw clenched. Your Lover’s voice comes to you, sure of himself and laced with stubbornness.

If you’re ever in trouble, you wait for me, Dearie. I’ll be there ‘fore you know it, ready to defend your honor like the knight in shinin’ armor I am, eh? Why are you laughing…?

Turning back around with every ounce of courage you can muster, you splay your feet and cross your arms.

“No.” The gun is raised to your head, and you want to flinch back in terror but restrain yourself.

“Get in.”

“No.” How your voice wasn’t breaking was a question in and of itself, but Johnny had always said you were stubborn like him. Best time to prove him right was with a barrel to your face, apparently.

The stranger’s eyes light with anger, hands clenching over the body of the weapon as the rest of his men stare on in shock. A growl meets air.

“I’m not asking for a third time, Sweetheart—” One loud boom later and you’re ducking down with your hands over your head, ears ringing and body unsteady; a great weight hits the ground right next to you.

The sound of gunfire rattles the world all around the once quiet street, and you think that you and your Lover will have to move after this. No way the neighbors could let all this slide. Looking up, your eyes jump from the corpse spasming near you to the running men, chaos breeding in the lines between shouts and dropping bodies.

A hand latches into your waist, and you’re being lifted into strong arms moments later. Squealing, your head snaps to the size and meets cerulean blue inlaid in a strong brow line.

“I’ve got ya.” Your body loses all tension at the accent that you would know anywhere, even in death, a strong grip picking you up and keeping you close to his broad chest.

Johnny carries you away in the midst of battle as the rest of the 141 get involved, making quick work of the remaining men. Breathing in his scent, you force your face under his chin, feeling the stubble scrape as your fingers dig into flesh.

He’s here. He’s—he’s right here.

“Don’t worry, Dearie, I’m right here. It’s nearly over, now.” You try to bring him closer as he takes cover behind a wall, pressing his shoulders against the grating stone as he shields you closer to him. Sliding down to the ground.

His eyes snap back and forth, heart rapid. God, he was nearly too late. Johnny presses his nose into your hair as he breathes deeply, watching bodies fall and feeling you shake. Feeling you shiver; now finally able to let everything sink in.

“Shh,” the Scot mutters, pressing you closer as you whisper his name in a hoarse breath. “You’re alright. I’m ‘ere, Bonnie, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” His hands filter over your skin, checking for injuries and feeling over growing bumps from under-the-skin abrasions.

His teeth clench together in hate, hotheadedness taking over for a moment as part of him wants to rush out and pick a few of these bastards off himself. But it’s just not that simple.

Looking out into the street with serious eyes, the radio attached to his vest sounds off as the last of the firefight ends almost as quickly as it began.

“Clear.” It was Price. “How is she?”

Johnny sighs, looking down at you in his hold as he whispers comforting words in quick succession.

“Shaken, but alright…” The reply is muttered as you sniffle, your fingers going to wipe away tears. “She’s—she’s alright.”

Johnny beats you to it as he tries to calm down, large digits tilting your head to the side and studying intently as he swipes them away with a firm thumb and a careful frown.

“Johnny—” Your eyes stay locked on him as the Scot gets rid of any trace of fear or sadness, calluses burning your skin just as they always did. His gaze flickers to you; lips pulling tight. None of you choose to move, too content with being this close to one another and safe, even if the situation was serious. “I…”

You trail, not even knowing what to say as the wetness of your eyes blurs your vision, body hot, and the back of your skull aching. Your hands go to cup his cheeks. It’s all the words he needs.

Eyes soft, the Sergeant attempts a weak and worried smile. “I’m so proud of you, Dearie, y’know that? So damn proud.” Your lips quirk, a strained laugh echoing out. A finger pokes the side of your nose. “Hey, I’m serious now. Stop your foolin'.”

Johnny’s fingers run deep circles into your temples as you trace the lines of his cheeks.

“Shut up.” You huff, straining against a wide smile. It was easy to push all of this behind you when you were looking at him. He made everything better.

“Hm,” He moves forward and presses his lips to your forehead, quickly going to lay kisses all over your face until giggles spill out from the alleyway to the waiting three.

Gaz smiles to himself, Price grunts lightly, and Ghost gazes off.

“I’ll just have to prove to my Bonnie Little Lady that she’s a prime piece of work, then, eh? Smarter; more quick than a fuckin’ recon team,” he leans close and you have to try and shove him away playfully when he starts to squish you against him. Your laughter grows as his scratchy chin nuzzles your neck. “And don’t mind me sayin’ now, but a proper fine pair of tits and arse to go along with the brains of ya, Dearie.”

“MacTavish!” you squeal, “I should call your mother up and explain how you speak to me—that’s vulgar! I know for a fact she didn’t teach you that.”

“Teach me? Oh, now, then, no one could teach me a thing when you’re around. Cannae think a bit; better off talkin’ to a pile of stone.” You punch his solid chest and laugh so hard your face hurts, breath fanning against his neck as his roaming praise continues as if his mind was a bag of water punctured by a knife. “I’m always thinkin’ ‘bout you, my Little Bonnie.”

The last sentence is quietly muttered into your temple, a kiss pressed tight. He pulls back slightly and feels at the dried blood on your locks, fingers separating to find the scalp. Johnny’s chest rattles in a sigh, hand shaking slightly when he sees it.

He’d also seen the body on the window sill, though he knows not to mention it.

Christ, you’d had to kill someone.

The prospect of taking a life was easy to the Scot—some days he felt like he had been born and bred to do just that. It became simple. Elementary. Like his mother could memorize a recipe, he could memorize the position of arteries; what shot to take at that instant, and which to wait on based only on past missions that resonated like past lives.

But for you…

Oh, it was never supposed to happen to you.

“Are you alright?” Johnny breaths, humor gone and left with guilt.

He feels your lips on his raging pulse and lets his eyes close, content to feel you move against him as your head remains in his neck. Shifting his body into a more comfortable position, he cages you in protectively. Never again would he allow this to happen.

“I shot someone.” The man’s lips quivered, heart hurting at the blatant shock in your voice. It hadn’t hit you yet, and, hell, Johnny still remembered his first kill like it was yesterday. It wouldn’t be good when all this calmed down. He’d thrown up for two days straight, himself.

“Aye.” He breathes.

“His blood’s all over the house.”

“It is.”

“Is…is that,” you’re shivering, so he massages your spine soothingly until you find the words. “Is that a good thing?”

He should say no, tell you that the situation that you’d been put in was never supposed to happen and it was just an unfortunate reality. Death wasn’t a good thing, per se. But the man had broken into your shared home—busted down the bedroom door with the intent of using you as a bargaining chip to get to him. So, to the Scot, the answer is clear.

No one messed with his family and lived.

“Yes.” Taking down the air of a dusty alleyway as sirens wail a street over, you weren't surprised that your boyfriend had managed to get to your home far faster than the police could. He said he always would, didn’t he?

The bills for the speeding tickets and the running of red lights were going to be atrocious.

“Okay.” Your answer is muttered as you peel back, pressing a kiss to the corner of Johnny’s lips. You believed him. Always would. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” His bright teeth show off a smile as your mirror. He kisses you heavily on the lips. Whispers against your lips, a promise. A vow. “As long as you put up with me, I’ll always keep you safe.”

“Soap,” Price yells, snapping the two of you out of it. “Get on with it!”

The Scot raises a shocked brow and smirks down at you as you tilt your head and listen in happy confusion.

“Y’know, those shots weren't half bad back there. ‘Specially after takin’ a tumble into the flowers.” Your expression freezes in denial as you’re lifted bridal style into the air. Speaking over the calls of police and firemen as they come to the scene, your voice monotones as your legs swing.

“...I missed two out of the three, you dork. That’s failing.” Johnny gapes in mock surprise and you refrain from snorting at the boyish glint in his eyes.

“Jesus, is it really? Hell, you’ll be comin’ for my job in no time, won’t ya? That’s one better than me!”

You kiss him and feel the grunt through your lips.

TAGS ||

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golden-cherry · 10 months

Text

deal - cl16 (7/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Having a movie night is a good way to spend the evening with your roommate. If it were not for the wine that loosens the mouth.

Warnings: TENSION, FLIRTING (you've been warned), alcohol consumption, a Charles picture (badly edited), Cars (movie)

Word Count: 3k

series masterlist

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A/N: I'm sitting here like a fourteen year old whose crush admitted to liking her. that's how I'm feeling about this chapter. feedback is appreciated!

"You're kidding me."

"I would never."

Charles sets his wine glass on the coffee table as you clutch yours, though there's not a sip left in it. "How have you made it through life so far?"

You shrug. Charles looks at you with a look like you kicked a dog and insulted his mother. "I never got around to it."

That's only half the truth. Since you moved out of your parents' house, you'd actually had plenty of time to catch up on that sort of thing. But at some point you had decided for yourself that it was too late to get into it in your early twenties, when you should theoretically be out of it.

Apparently Charles doesn't see it that way. He reaches for the remote control and presses a few buttons until first a castle and then a bouncing lamp appear on the television in front of you. He then presses the stop button and turns back to you. "Get comfortable, because you're not getting off this couch again until we're done here." He places the bowl of popcorn between you on the couch. "And if you fall asleep, you'll have to watch the movie again."

You pour yourself some more wine and take a big gulp. As some of it runs out of the corner of your mouth, you wipe it away with the back of your hand. "Aren't we too old for this?"

Charles raises an eyebrow before pressing the play button. The screen goes black and you hear someone take a deep breath in and out before an off-screen voice says okay, here we go. focus. The grin on your roommate's face grows so wide it almost touches an ear. Speed. I am speed.

"You're never too old for Cars."

Apparently Charles not only works in the car industry, but is obsessed with cars. And even more so with this film.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see that he is silently moving his mouth to speak along with every single character while you sit next to it, eating popcorn and drinking your wine.

The beginning of the film doesn't particularly captivate you. An arrogant car with no team spirit as the protagonist. For sure he would make friends in the course of the film and appreciate them and then he wins his race. Very predictable. Even for a children's film.

All you have to do now is stand there and let me look at you, Lightning McQueen says to the Porsche and you cringe.

"Wow, that's hardly bearable." You put a piece of popcorn between your teeth and wash it down with a gulp of wine.

Charles, who has slid down a little further on the couch, looks at you. "Lightning or the whole movie?" He reaches for his glass on the table.

You spread your index finger from the glass and point it at the screen. "Lightning. That was so slimy. Like anyone would fall for that." As Sally embarrasses the hell out of the red speedster, you thrust your fist into the air enthusiastically.

Charles laughs. "So you're not into that sort of thing to seduce you?" He sips his wine, you shake your head. He props himself up on the seat with one elbow, resting his head in his hand, and stretches his legs out in your direction so that he's almost completely on the couch. He dangles the wine glass casually in his free hand. The film pauses. "How else can you be seduced?"

If you hadn't caught the phone call this lunchtime and the conversation with Joris, both of which involved a woman, you might think that Charles is flirting with you. That maybe he sees more in you than his roommate and friend. And if your ex-boyfriend hadn't spoiled your mood before - or generally not crossed your life - you'd go for it, too.

You glance at Charles. He has taken off his jumper sometime after the second glass of wine and thrown it towards the dining table chair, so that he is lying next to you in his shirt. The strands of his hair stand on end after running his hand through them several times and his cheeks are slightly flushed. His green and otherwise alert eyes seem a little misty, almost certainly due to the alcohol.

And his smile. God, his smile is so crooked and beautiful and his dimples give him something childishly cheeky that makes your heart beat a beat faster.

Is he cute?, you hear Vicky's voice in the back of your mind.

Damn cute, even.

'Definitely not like that,' you finally answer his question, lowering your gaze towards your wine glass. If your mind is already drifting like this, maybe you should stop drinking.

"How then?", Charles asks, his eyes fixed on you.

Unsure, you look at him. "Why do you want to know?" Inwardly, you command your heart to give it a rest. Just because he asks doesn't mean he needs the knowledge for himself.

"Well, maybe one day a guy will come along who doesn't know how to approach you. And then I can give him a hint, if you want," he explains with a shrug, before taking a big sip of his wine and emptying his glass.

You try not to let on how much his answer hits you. Somehow you hoped he would want to know that for himself, in case he decided to approach you at some point. But apparently you haven't been listening to Charles properly for the last few hours.

That's what friends are for, after all.

You're my friend.

For not being a good friend to you.

And friends who live together fight in between.

Inwardly you slap your forehead with your palm. The wine is definitely to blame for your thoughts.

"When you remember little things," you finally answer Charles' question and set your glass down on the table, which Charles seems to take as an invitation to top up, and before you can do anything about it he has refilled your glass.

"Little things?" Charles lies back in his comfortable position and eyes you.

You nod. "Yes. Like the fact that I think peonies are much prettier than roses, or that I prefer muffins to cupcakes. Little things like that, that define me." You shrug. "It just shows that the person has been paying attention and cared about me."

Charles nods, and you think he glances briefly at your almost empty wine bottle before reaching for the remote again. "Good to know."

The film continues and you decide that little blue Guido is your favourite character. As Lightning McQueen pulls yellow Betsy across the road and chats to Luigi and Guido, you raise your eyebrows in surprise.

"Kind of strange to hear Formula One mentioned."

You notice Charles stiffen beside you, but his gaze remains forward. "Why?"

You reach - despite your brain vehemently telling you not to - for your glass. "Well, it's an animated film and the fact that Formula One is mentioned makes it kind of real. Although it's not. You know what I mean?"

"Do you watch Formula One, then?" asks Charles a counter-question, without answering yours. By now he is looking at you, but you can't interpret the expression on his face.

As you shake your head, he seems to relax a little. For whatever reason. "No. I used to watch it with my grandfather. Back when Michael Schumacher drove for Ferrari. We watched every race and cheered for the red team." You take a sip. "I lost sight of it at some point."

"Do you think you'd still be a Ferrari fan now if you'd stuck with it?" your roommate asks. Why he's so interested in it, you don't know.

You point to the two Ferrari fans from Cars and smile. "Isn't everyone a Ferrari fan somehow? Even if they're not?" You turn back to the film and continue sipping your wine.

Which is definitely not the best idea, because it seems to cloud your thoughts and loosen your mouth, because when Lightning decides to help Radiator Springs, it just bursts out of you. "Lightning is hot."

Charles, who has just taken a sip, chokes and nearly coughs his guts out. When he has calmed down, he looks at you, distraught. "Excuse me?"

"Yeeeees." You turn a little in his direction and pull your legs to your chest. You're sitting opposite each other now, except that Charles is lying down. "Not so 'wow, I'd like to fuck him'-hot. But his vibe makes him hot."

Charles wiggles his eyebrows. "I was once told I looked like him."

You have to laugh out loud, and you reach into the popcorn bowl once and throw it at him, laughing. He's not that quick to open his mouth to catch the pieces, but he gathers them up off his shirt and puts them between his teeth, grinning.

"Why are you laughing like that? Someone actually said that once! Don't you believe me?"

You realise that the wine has gone to your head, because you can hardly stop laughing. You can hardly breathe and tears spring to your eyes, which you wipe away with the hem of your jumper. Your stomach hurts and you force yourself to breathe in and out deeply. "No, I believe you. But Lightning is just hot, and you're cute. There's a difference between the two."

Your sober self, which is napping somewhere deep in your brain, startles from its slumber and would love to slap you for it.

Charles cheeks turn even redder and somehow the hem of his shirt seems very interesting because he rubs it between his thumb and forefinger before looking at you. "So you think I'm cute?"

This time he is quicker and catches the piece of popcorn you throw in his direction with his mouth and chews on it with relish. "Oh, come on. I'm definitely not the first one to say that to you," you try to somehow talk your way out of it. "I'm probably just the first to say that without flirting with you. My statement is to be considered purely objective."

"Objective, then?" He sits up a little straighter. "What would it look like if you were flirting?"

You put your wine glass down on the table and decide to actually let it go for today. You've definitely said too much, which you'd almost certainly regret tomorrow, and just thinking about how weird things might get in the morning makes your blood rush to your ears. So you reach for the popcorn. "I'm not doing that to you."

Your roommate raises an eyebrow in confusion. "Why? Are you that bad?" he quips.

You shake your head playfully. "On the contrary. I'm so good at it, you'd fall in love with me instantly," you joke, and have to grin, but Charles doesn't return it.

"Don't worry," he replies without taking his eyes off you. "It takes more than that to make me fall head over heels in love with someone."

You'd love to ask what exactly it takes, but why should you care? You're friends, he's made that clear. And you should definitely get it through your head. In your drunken estimation, the line of friendship you're walking right now is clearly too narrow for your liking.

You purse your lips and watch the film in silence. The mood has changed, no longer as easy-going as it was a few minutes ago. You would like to say something, but you don't know what, so you sit still.

When you reach the point in the film where Lightning pushes the King across the finish line - against your expectations - to finish third in the Piston Cup, you can't stop the sob that leaves your mouth. Out of the corner of your eye you see Charles looking at you. And then all the dams break.

"How can a film about cars - about cars, Charles - make me cry like this?" You wipe away your tears. "This isn't normal. What's the point? It's a movie for kids, for fuck's sake."

Charles' smile is gentle. "No swear words, please. The film is my favourite."

"The film is first class." You try to breathe but hiccup as a result and Charles has to laugh slightly. "Oh, shit. Do kids even understand how important the message is? That it doesn't matter if you win or not as long as you do the right thing and have your friends around you?"

"There are two more parts, by the way. We can watch those too if you like," Charles suggests and he looks a little offended when you shake your head and get up from the couch.

"Let me process this movie first and then we'll see." You grab the empty wine bottles and glasses to take them to the kitchen. Charles grabs the bowls and you put the dishes in the sink. Neither of you would manage to wash them properly yet and with a single glance you silently agree to clean up the rest of the living room in the morning.

You go together to the bathroom where you get ready for bed. You are brushing your teeth when your gaze catches his in the mirror. You smile at him. "But I would love to watch the films with you. I had a lovely evening, if that wasn't clear." You spit some excess foam into the sink. "Thank you for that."

Charles sticks his thumb in the air and washes his mouth out before answering you. "Anytime." He places his toothbrush in his cup. "I haven't had this much fun watching a movie in ages." As he looks at you, his gaze goes through your skin and bones. "Thank you for forgiving me. I couldn't bear it if you were angry with me."

As he combs his hair with a brush - yours - you rinse out your mouth as well. It's so mundane the way the two of you get ready for bed next to each other, as if you've grown up together and not as if you've only known each other for exactly one day. This familiarity between you should feel strange, but you have to admit yourself that nothing has ever felt better.

"I don't think I can stay mad at you for long." You tie your hair into a braided pigtail, which takes a little longer than usual because of the wine. "I like you far too much for that."

You don't wait for his answer, but leave the bathroom, grabbing your camera and phone for a moment. "Do you have your AirDrop on?" you ask him. "So I can send you the photo."

"Oh, yeah. Hang on a sec." He rummages around among the cushions on the couch for a moment until he pulls out his phone and taps away on it. You look at your screen, and see "CL iPhone" flashing up. You press his name and the picture your camera automatically sent to the phone app is now sent to Charles. He looks at it for a moment. "I look so good."

"Don't get too carried away," you laugh and move towards the bedroom door while Charles gets his bedding from the wardrobe in the hall. You watch him for a moment as he gets his things ready. "Good night, Lightning."

His smile is so gentle you could melt. "Good night."

After closing the bedroom door behind you, you slip into your sleeping clothes and climb under your duvet. With your phone in your hand, you lie down on your side. You release the key lock and Charles' picture appears.

He is right. He does look good in it.

Just as you are about to plug your phone into the charger and put it away, a message pops up on the screen.

CL iPhone would like to share a photo

Surprised, you click on "Accept".

You giggle and think about sending a picture back, but don't. "You can sleep in your bed tomorrow," you shout across the flat and receive a "Thank you!"

Grinning, you snuggle into your pillow and force yourself not to stare at the picture he just sent you. It's almost cheeky how he can still look so good after such a long day and a bottle of wine.

You put your phone next to your pillow and turn onto your back. To cope with this situation, you have to draw clearer lines. And lock away the thoughts that are running around in your head in between.

You have a crazy ex. And there's something going on with Charles too, although you don't know what exactly. It definitely wouldn't be the right time for either of you to develop feelings for someone. And as often as he's referred to you as his friend, you want to spare yourself the shame of falling for someone who doesn't want you.

You put your forearms over your face.

You have known each other for twenty-four hours. How can someone be so etched in your mind after such a short time?

You blame your emotional state on the wine, close your eyes and try to think of something else. Of cute penguins, puppies, sheep. But the thoughts circle and circle and always find their way back, as if they only know this way.

Always back to Charles. Charles. Charles. Charles.

next part

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fluff #carlos sainz jr #charles leclerc one shot #f1 #Charles Leclerc fanfiction #Charles Leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you

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beloved-nyx · 6 months

Text

𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃

˚₊‧��ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊ SYNOPSIS - What more could a king want than you?

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊ PAIRING - Yandere!Emperor x GN!Reader

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊ FORMAT - Oneshot

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊ CW - YANDERE CONTENT, Alexi is fucking depraved, the wine is really sus, mentions of blood, illegal use of blood (?), implied noncon if you squint, implications of SA on reader (not graphic, just mentions), DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊ AUTHORS NOTE - bleh this is my first time writing Yandere sooooo but um hehe I hope this is good and um scary I guess I hope u get scaroused when reading this

You had never liked wine in the first place.

It tasted sour, left a bitter taste in your mouth that made you want to puke. Maybe It was because you only had enough money to buy the cheap bottles, the ones that nobles would probably scoff at. It’s not like you could afford the luxuries they had anyway, or the time which they wasted by throwing extravagant banquets.

But you started hating wine more when you stayed at the palace, the place you worked at. The Crown Prince was frivolous, throwing parties and balls every night, and the smell of debauchery was always present. You had no choice but serve the half-drunken nobles all night, wincing and scowling and sometimes even slapping wandering and unwelcome hands that came near you.

You hardly ever got sleep when you stayed at the palace, not when you had to partake in such parties, and definitely not when you could feel prying eyes following your every movement at the palace you begrudgingly called “home” even if it was nothing like that.

You don’t know how you caught the Crown Prince's attention. You had made sure to look down, made sure not to break the rules, and absolutely made sure not to stand out.

You knew what happened when poor servants had the affection of nobles.

Poor servants would get beheaded by jealous fiancés, maids would carry bastard children they never wanted, and the nobles would whisper and gossip and cause hell towards those weaker than them.

“You look lost in thought, beloved.”

A soft, silky voice that makes you want to claw your ears off startles you from your thoughts, and you look towards your left.

A man is seated at the front of a long banquet table, dressed in the finest clothes one could imagine. His long, black hair is messily done, and his dead, dark eyes stare into the cup he’s holding in his pale, lithe fingers. His lips, dabbed in red powder, are curled up in a smile as his eyes leave from his cup.

“Am I boring you?” He sets his cup down, and you peer at the contents. Dark, crimson wine enters your sight and you quickly look away, instead looking down at the red, lush carpets.

“Of course not, Your Imperial Majesty,” You hastily answer, your voice loud in the cold, empty room. The only light that seemed to illuminate the dark was the flimsy glow of the candles, a pathetic attempt at making this situation “romantic.”

Ever since the Crown Prince, Alexander, became Emperor, your life had become a living hell in the making. He makes a contemplative “hmm,” before tapping his finger on the table.

“Please, there's no need for such formalities.” He grins, and in that moment you want nothing better than to slap that grin off his face. “After all, we will be married soon. It’s quite uncomfortable having to hear my soon-to-be call me by such a…boring title.”

“And please, is the floor more interesting to look at than me?” You feel his cold hands lift your chin up, his eyes crinkling as he smiles again. “I missed looking at your face. Ever since I became Emperor, I hardly had the time to visit your chambers.” His fingers inch towards your cheek, before cupping your cheek.

You try to refrain from scowling.

“Alexander-”

“Alexi.” He corrects you, and you bite your tongue.

You open your mouth before he shushes you, his eyes trained on your lips, before pulling away, instead opting to hold a knife instead as he expects the sharp blade. You gulp, and he smiles at your nervousness.

“I…I think I lost my appetite, Alexi.” You try to refrain from stammering. You weren’t scared-you weren’t, you weren’t, you weren’t-

“But you haven’t even touched your food.”

His black eyes regard you coldly, and you think dully that he must be having another moodswing. That happened often, at the strangest times too. But it also happened more when he was jealous, when he was sickeningly insecure of himself that he latched onto you to try and stave off those feelings of his.

“C’mon, beloved. Why don’t you atleast have a sip of your wine?” He tilts his head, pushing a gold chalice in your hands. Your palms are clammy, and you think you're visibly sweating. You grab the chalice in your hands shakily, and he rewards you with a kiss on the cheek, even if it makes you feel disgusting and dirty inside.

“My attendants told me you’ve been talking to some of those absolutely wretched servant friends of yours.” Alexi places down his knife, instead opting to take a drink of his wine as he hums thoughtfully and your blood runs cold.

“You know that I’m easily jealous, my beloved.” The words roll off his tongue like poison, but he doesn’t look at you, instead swirling his cup around and examining the contents inside.

“I-I’m sorry. I was just lonely-”

He clicks his tongue, silencing your apologies with a wave of his hands. “To say that I’m disappointed is an understatement, my beloved. But I forgive you.” He grins, and gazes at your cup with a slight curl to his lip. “So just drink and be merry, my dear.”

Alexi looks at you intently as you gaze into the contents of your cup, the liquid reflecting your face as you gaze into it with a frown. Alexi places his head on his palm, watching you with some sort of sick glee that makes your stomach drop and makes your head spin.

You take a sip and almost throw up.

It's thick and visceral, and the taste of iron floods your mouth and clogs your senses. You throw the cup away from you, the wine–no, the blood, seeping onto the red carpets. It doesn’t make much of a difference though, and you collapse on the ground as you try to cough up the blood that you had just drank. Alexi chuckles softly, and you can hear the faint sound of screeching as he gets up from his chair and makes his way over to you, kneeling down and making his pointed, iron-heeled boots stained red.

“Oh, please don’t look at me with such a face, beloved.” Alexi blushes as you scowl at him, slapping away his hand as he tries and wipes off the blood still stained on your lips. He chuckles, black eyes filled with a sick sort of delight.

“You know I get jealous easily, my beloved. I just wanted to drill it in that sweet head of yours who you really belong to.” He grins, and you want to puke.

You never even liked wine in the first place.

#— OC: Alexander de Demarié #Yandere #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x you #yandere oc x y/n #male yandere oc #yandere royalty #Yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #Yandere imagines #yandere drabble #yandere scenarios #male yandere x reader #male yandere x you #male yandere x y/n

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sailoryooons · 7 months

Note

hali my love, for your halloween drabbles, i am in NEED of a grumpy vampire boyfriend yoongi who’s mean to everyone but u (it’s my fav trope ever, i’m a basic bitch lmfaoooo) 😭🙏 maybe add some fluff and smut ? do whatever u desire with it babe, just know i love u so so much !! 💌🦋

❀ Pairing: Vampire!Yoongi x f. reader

❀ Summary: Yoongi is none too pleased about the movie that Seokjin has selected for the weekly movie night. You know just how to cheer him up.

❀ Word Count: 2,459

❀ Genre: Supernatural, Establish Relationship, Fluff, Smut,

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Seokjin & Co. are making Yoongi’s life hell in the kitchen, mild teasing/ganging up on Yoongi as the vampire, general chaos, gruff Yoongi, explicit language, explicit sexual content, vaginal fingering, blood drinking and biting, sort of voyeurism because people are in the next room over, Yoongi is a little needy, depictions of blood, brief cum eating, and this is largely unedited besides spell check.

❀ Published: October 14, 2023

❀ A/N: MARI MARI MARI! My love I have been waiting to do this request all week. I am literally so down bad for Yoongi who is a little cranky and yelling at everyone, only to turn to an absolute puddle who just wants to bite his baby’s neck when she walks in and kicks everyone out and yells at them for being mean to him. This was the perfect request ever - I love you so much and thank you thank you thank you! I hope you enjoy our boyfriend.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment, or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

| Masterlist | Ask | Haliween Requests |

“Can I have some-”

“No,” Yoongi tuts, cracking the top of Seokjin’s knuckles with the wooden spoon in his hand. Seokjin howls and yanks his hand away, skin reddening under the quick assault of Yoongi’s reflexes. “You can have it when it’s ready.”

“I’m the host!”

Yoongi looks around the spacious kitchen where his friends are carrying on. Taehyung is wrestling Jimin over the Bluetooth speaker while Hoseok swings his legs back and forth from where he sits on the counter, delighted as he flips through songs to orchestrate their fight. Jungkook giggles with his phone out, filming the bickering pair while Namjoon stands in the doorway, trying to decide if he wants to break them up or risk walking by them with the two bottles of wine in his hand.

Namjoon risks the wine and regrets it. Taehyung bumps into Namjoon immediately, causing the bottles to slip from his hand and shatter on the ground. Hoseok yells in fright and Yoongi’s hand grips the wooden spoon hard enough that it immediately splinters in his hand.

Seokjin immediately begins yelling and throwing his hand in the air, Taehyung starts accusing Jimin of pushing him into Namjoon on purpose, and Jungkook frantically opens and closes cabinets and drawers to look for towels.

Each sound of the chaos grates against Yoongi’s sensitive hearing. The smell of sweat on their skin, the pumping adrenaline and fright from Hoseok’s momentarily startle. It becomes too much and he feels the instinct to lash out curl up inside of him like a whip.

“Everyone out!” Yoongi hisses, hackles rising.

The sound of his voice cuts through the kitchen, stopping everyone in silence. Six pairs of eyes turn to look at where he stands at the stove, steam hitting his face. His gums ache where his fangs threaten to slip through, a sign of his irritation.

“But I’m the host!” Seokjin protests again.

Yoongi points the now-ruined spoon at him. “You, are doing fuck all as host.”

“You told me you’d cook!”

“I always cook!”

“Well, you’re the best at it! You’ve been doing it for like three hundred years!”

Yoongi hears you before he sees you. Immediately he picks up the shutting of the car door, the additional heartbeat as you walk up the drive. Even from the kitchen with the wine and the smell of his friends and the cooking food, Yoongi can smell your lavender scent from where he stands.

Immediately tension bleeds out of him. You let yourself into the house and find them in the kitchen, calling out for them as you step in and freeze, scanning the room. Your mouth forms an ‘o’ at the chaos and he watches you as your eyes drag to his, taking in the ruined cooking utensil, the wine of the floor, and his twitching lip.

You clap your hands together then. “Everyone out!” you order. “Out, out, out!”

Unlike when Yoongi orders everyone to do something, they all listen to you. Hoseok scrambles off the counter and bolts toward the living room, hot on Jimin and Taehyung’s heels who both give you sheepish laughs. Namjoon rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and spins on his heel to leave, Seokjin and Jungkook on his trail.

Once they’re gone, it’s just you and Yoongi in the kitchen, pasta nearly boiling over. You point to the pot, brows raised. “You focus on that, I’ll clean all this, okay?”

Fuck Yoongi loves you. Something as simple as giving directions and just addressing the mess with a plane soothes his irritated nerves. He nods, not taking his eyes off of you as he continues the meal. Yoongi is good at multi-tasking, and his favorite thing is to watch you even when you’re not looking.

Just being in the same room as you brings him peace. Hundreds of years of existence, and Yoongi has never known balance like this. Has never found someone who steadies his too-loud world, who brings him the silence that he needs.

Until you.

Even though Yoongi can hear the boys being rowdy in the living room, it’s silent in the kitchen. You begin sweeping glass, oh so careful not to cut your fingers, and put Yoongi on edge. He’s not worried - you’ve always taken extra steps to avoid bloodletting around him and unlike Namjoon, you’re good at it.

Yoongi wants you to come over to him. He chews on his lip as he works on sauce for the pasta. His eyes dart to you often, fingers flexing as if to reach out and beckon you over to him. You’ve only been in the house for ten minutes, but he wants to feel your warm skin beneath his fingertips. The heat of you is just a moment away.

When you finish, you come around the counter to greet him properly. His heart skips in his chest - for it does still beat - and Yoongi feels his mouth twitch upward and his edges soften out as you lean up to him, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

Your mouth is warm against his, lips soft. He sighs and melts into you, pressing his mouth against yours a little harder. He feels you smile against him before you nibble his bottom lip and pull away, looking up at him. “How’s it going?”

“Hm.”

You snake an arm around his waist and pull your hips flush together. He likes the closeness, the way your skin makes his buzz. His nose fills with the scent of lavender and the undercurrent of your blood, a smell so uniquely you that he could never forget it.

“Can I taste,” you as, pointing to the steaming veggies. Yoongi nods, finding a fork and stabbing a seasoned green bean from the pan. He offers it to you. He watches, hypnotized as your mouth works over it. You hum, brightening. “Ugh, unreal.”

He leans forward and steals a kiss, taking you by surprise. He licks into your mouth, tongue tasting the butter and salt, the sweetest of your lips. When he pulls away, you’re giving him a cursory glance. “Needy, huh?”

He feels himself flush. “Maybe.”

Your fingers squeeze his hips, making his heart flip.

“Why does she get to taste?” Seokjin’s voice shatters the moment. Yoongi looks over your head and bares his fangs, his eyes flashing from black to crimson, muscles rippling. Seokjin squeals and runs out of the kitchen, screaming. “He is hissing at me!”

Slowly, Yoongi’s fangs recede. He feels the feral instinct to tear out Seokjin’s throat recede, and looks down at you, where you watch him with mild amusement, arm still snug around his hips.

“They’re annoying me,” Yoongi says, as if to answer the silent question. “He picked Dracula to watch tonight.”

You arch a brow. “Is that so?” Yoongi pouts. You press a kiss to his shoulder and pat his waist. “Finish up in here and I’ll make sure they’re all set out there.”

Hunger rolls through him, uncontrolled. He feels it swift, a dam breaking. He watches you wipe your hands on your jeans and walk toward the living room, his eyes pinned to the empty door as you vanish. He hears you when you raise your voice, immediately laying into Seokjin.

Yoongi smirks and looks back down as he starts turning off the stove. Listening to you lay into Seokjin for his funny little joke for movie night makes Yoongi preen, lifting his chin a little as Seokjin whines and throws himself on the couch, letting you lash him.

By the time Yoongi is calling everyone to make a plate, Seokjin comes in with his ears red and eyes on the floor. You return to the kitchen, nonplussed and pointing to the back of the line forming to plate food. Seokjin grumbles about him being the host again but listens.

Yoongi leans against the counter, throwing a rag over his shoulder. You make yourself a plate and set it aside before going over to the bottles of wine, pouring two glasses before coming over to him and handing him one. He thanks you quietly taking a sip.

As everyone filters back out into the living room to start the movie. Yoongi pushes off the counter to join them. You catch his wrist, signaling him to stay back. Once alone, you pull him toward you, making him cage you in against the counter.

“Hungry?” you ask, gaze darkening. His stomach flips and he nods, looking down his nose at you. You tilt your neck to the side. “Want?”

He shakes his head. “You should eat and watch the movie first.”

“You’re a little on edge. Maybe a snack first?” Yoongi goes back and forth on it. He feels his gums ache, feels the burn set into his throat. His eyes drift to the soft spot on your neck where your pulse beats, his favorite song. “Come on, baby,” you coo. “Just small bites.”

That voice. That voice. Yoongi feels his knees weaken. He leans further into you and you slide your hands around his waist, pulling him flush against you. His cock twitches and he groans, lids fluttering as you lean your head back, baring your neck for him.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Slowly, Yoongi lowers his face to your throat. He brushes his nose along the slender slope of your neck, inhaling. A shiver ripples through him and he feels the pinch of his fangs slide through. Your pulse quickens and he smells the change in you - feels the way your thighs press together.

He salivates. He can’t help it, his mouth pooling slowly with water as he brushes his open lips against your warm skin in the ghost of a kiss. Your breathing is faint and fluttering, your heart hammering in your chest. You’re not afraid, though. He’d be able to tell.

You’re excited and turned on, your fingers twisting in Yoongi’s shirt as his tongue slips gently between his fangs to taste your skin. You suck in a sharp breath and he whines a little, so in tune with your sounds. Every sound.

So, so carefully, Yoongi scraps his fangs against your skin and presses his tongue against your beating pulse, right where he wants to bite. He gives in, slowly sinking his teeth into tender flesh, his mouth filling with sweet nectar immediately.

The reaction is immediate. His eyes roll back into his head and he grinds against you, seeking friction as his mouth suckles gently, pulling warm fluid into his mouth. You’re lax in his arms, letting the endorphins of the bite wash over you.

Yoongi can smell what it does to you, one of his hands dropping from holding your side to pressing between your legs, rubbing you through your jeans. Your head knocks loudly against the counter, making him open his eyes and look up at you through his lashes, mouth still attached to your throat.

Eyes shut, mouth open, you sag against the counter. He can see every flicker of your eyes behind your lids, drifting in his bite. In him. Yoongi’s tongue presses over the wound, staying there as he swallows his last fill. He’s more interested in the way he works to open your jeans, now, uncaring that they’ve started the movie in the living room.

Yoongi is intimately focused on your reactions as he pulls down your zipper. You press your cunt toward him, asking. Seeking. Wanting. So quickly this has turned into more than small bites, and Yoongi doesn’t care. He’ll give you whatever you want, and he can sense the vibration in you, his predator senses tuned in to your desire.

Your folds are damp as he slides his fingers in, seeking your heat. The fit is tight in your jeans but you lean back for him, pulling them down a little, giving Yoongi access to pull your panties to the side and slide the pads of his fingers up and down your slit.

“Oh,” you sigh, nails digging into his hips. “Please,” you ask. “Please please please, Yoongi.”

He gives in, sliding a finger down the wet, hot seam of you and pressing in. Your walls clutch around him, sucking him in as he moans against your throat. His tongue laps back and forth over the wound on your neck, not drinking more but healing the skin, tasting your sweat.

“Just like that, baby,” you encourage. You roll your hips into his hand, grinding your swollen clit against his palm. He’s fully hard now, cock throbbing as he works his fingers into your cunt, the wet sound muted by the loud moving blaring in the living room. “Fuck. Do you want more?”

Yoongi shakes his head and hides his face between your neck and shoulder, panting as he works you. You squeeze around him wetly, your entire body shaking against him. He can tell your close, the very fibers stitching you together shaking loose as he angles his fingers, pressing against that soft spot inside of you.

He will never get tired of this. The way you walk into his life when he’s having a less-than-ideal day and put everything right again. How you pick up the pieces and put them where they need to be, how you chastise his friends when they want to pick on his vampirism, and how you just give him what he wants but won’t ask for.

So ready to give in to him.

When you come around his fingers, Yoongi makes a needy sound at the back of his throat. He loves the way you squeeze him, the way you go silent and soft. Sagging against the counter. He sucks at your neck - not for blood, but for the intimacy. Just the taste of your skin.

Slowly, you peel apart. Yoongi pulls his hands from your jeans, watching you open your eyes as he grins - perhaps the first real smile all day - and pops them into his mouth. He moans around them, the taste of you sticky on his tongue, making him ripple in pleasure again.

When he retracts his fingers, you surge forward, giving him a single, wet kiss, tasting back.

“Better?” you ask gently, kissing the corner of his mouth. His chin. His nose. He nods his head. “Do you need me to -”

He shakes his head, feeling your hand move toward his cock. “Just need ten.”

“You sure?”

“Mhmm.” He leans forward, licking a soft stripe up your neck. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“Knowing what I need. Being a momentary lapse of peace in a world that is sometimes too loud. For giving me what I need.”

Your grin is blinding. “I love you.”

“You too.” His kiss against your neck is soft and sweet. “And that was much more than just small bites.”

#yoongi smut #suga smut #min yoongi smut #suga bts smut #bts smut #yoongi fic #min yoongi fic #suga fic #bts fic #vampire yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi imagines #yoongi fluff #bts fluff #haliween

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somanyratsinthewalls · 7 months

Text

Kinktober Special Part 5

Mo’s Kinktober Special

The Crew’s Whore (Part 5) (+18)

Summary: You are the former owner of the Grand Line’s most popular brothel. Your powerful fighting abilities got the attention of the captain of the Straw Hat Pirates. He had asked you to join their crew but what would you bring to the team? Your battle skills were hardly comparable to many of the other Straw Hats… but you actually had a great skill. Your years working as a high end escort had prepared you to become the private plaything for this pirate crew. You joined the Straw Hats as their personal sex toy.

Pairing: Sanji x afab!reader x Zoro

WC: 3100 :)

TWs: Threesome, three way, anal sex, vaginal sex, blowjob, face fucking, sex toy usage, eating out, oral sex, crying, arguing during the deed, they simply can't agree. I love this one tbh. porn.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5: The Rivals

It was an average night aboard the Thousand Sunny, the crew was in good spirits and was getting ready to enjoy another lavish dinner. Zoro was napping on the upper deck, Usopp and Luffy were playing around and cackling at each other, Sanji was preparing the evening meal in the kitchen, and everyone else was off occupying their time elsewhere.

You knew you had a special date scheduled with Sanji tonight, so you thought you might visit him in the galley to tease him a bit. He was always so fun to work up.

You slinked into the galley from the deck and sidled up next to your sweet love cook who was at the sink washing his hands. The countertops were littered with small bowls of meticulously pre portioned ingredients and jars of spices. He senses your presence and turns to face you.

“Oh mon amour! Do you need anything? I can fix something for you quickly if you want, perhaps a cocktail? Your wish is my command-“ You shut him up by cupping his face in both your hands a pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. You smile at him.

“I’m just excited for tonight, Sanji. Can’t wait to feel you.” You wink at him.

“… oh love, you have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to it… you’ve prepared yourself- right? It’ll be alright if we-?” Sanji slides his hand over your ass, pressing in the center. He felt something subtle but hard resting between your plump cheeks. He could feel the plug you were keeping in your ass, to open yourself up for him later. You nod up at him. A single drop of blood escaped his nose.

“You are so perfect, y/n, you know that? I have to finish preparing dinner, but trust that I will be thinking of your tight little ass the entire time.” He grins down at you.

“See you later then.” You flash your cook a smile as you waltz excitedly out of the kitchen.

——

As per usual, dinner was excellent. You enjoyed plenty of delicious wine and treats as you shot the shit with the crew. After the meal was over, the crew began to filter out of the kitchen and head off to bed. Eventually it was just you, Zoro, and Sanji sitting in the galley. Sanji was finishing dishes and you and Zoro were finishing your drinks. You decide you want to finish the bottle so you lean off of your stool to grab it from the other end of the table.

Zoro swiftly grabs you by the belt loops of your jeans and slams you down on his his lap aggressively.

“Ooof- Zoro! Down, boy!” You giggle at him while still pulled into his lap. Zoro leans close to you and begins growling in your ear. The sake was clearly talking.

“Mmm…. Wanna take you on the deck tonight, where anyone could see us…” Zoro starts mouthing at your neck. “You’d love that shit, huh? My dirty little girl… so cute…” He reaches a hand up to grope at your breast.

“NOT TONIGHT MOSS HEAD!” A damp dishtowel was balled up and chucked full speed at the swordsman’s head on your neck.

“THE HELL DID YOU SAY?” Zoro picks you up off his lap and sets you down on your feet, getting ready to fight Sanji.

“We have a date, you barbarian. Something you’d know nothing about. She’s spending tonight with me, get in line.” Sanji explains.

“It’s true, Zoro… I am occupied tonight, I’m sorry, handsome. Tomorrow?” You tried cupping Zoro’s cheek to calm him down.

“No way, FUCK YOU shitcook! I’ll have what I want when I want it, especially before YOU do! She’d have a much better time with me anyway!” Zoro was heated, he was horny and wanted your body to relieve his stress. That’s what you were for, right? He wasn’t a fan of all the fine print this arrangement came with.

“YOU THINK YOU FUCK HER BETTER THAN ME? Don’t make me laugh, moron. You don’t know anything about a woman’s pleasure. You can barely tell your left from right.” Sanji spat back at him.

“I BET YOU’VE NEVER EVEN MADE HER SQUIRT!” Zoro was screaming cross the kitchen island.

“OF COURSE I FUCKING HAVE YOU ASS-“

“SHUT THE FUCK UP! Both of you!” You raised your voice and walked to stand in the middle of them at the end of the counter. They both shut their mouths and look at you, not used to hearing you yell.

“You guys are ridiculous. I care about both of you equally of course, there’s no need to act like toddlers fighting over a toy. You’re grown men. If you can’t figure out how to share, you’re BOTH getting NOTHING.”

“Mon amour but-“ Sanji began to speak.

“NO BUT’S. From EITHER of you. Figure it out.” Frustrated and annoyed, you storm out of the kitchen and return to your room.

——

About an hour later you were laying on your bed, your silk black robe opened and splayed around your body. You used your left hand to pull and twist your nipple, while your right hand was between your legs slowly teasing your clit with one finger. Regardless of how the night went, the plug in your ass had made you so horny all night that you couldn’t wait any longer to relieve the wet ache in your cunt. Knowing how much better your orgasms were when you had a plug in and also if you took your time to tease yourself, you decided to slowly pleasure your body. Deep sighs and airy whines left your mouth as your chest rise and fell, enjoying the feeling you were giving yourself. You felt your muscles tense around the plug in your ass and you moaned out.

*knock knock*

“I’m busy…!” You breathe out heavily. The door opens anyway. Sanji gingerly steps in. His eyes widen at your exposed body before him. You didn’t bother to stop your movements, most everyone had seen you like this by now anyway. Sanji strides towards you after a few moments of a blank stare.

“My love… moss head and I… we worked it out, I promise… may we… still have our date?” He pleads for you as he crawls onto the bed with you.

“Aww, I knew you could do it, sweet boy. Thank you so much.” You bring your wet fingers up to his lips. He sucks on them greedily. You slide your body to lay back on the bed with your head hanging out off the edge barely. You spread your legs and beckon Sanji to lay between your thighs. He knows exactly what to do. Once situated, Sanji uses both of his large palms to lift up and spread your cheeks so he could see that cute little silver butt plug. He groans at the sight combined with the gorgeous scent of your dripping cunt.

He dives in immediately. You gasp at the immediate feeling of his lips on your clit. Sanji was one of your lovers that was simply the best at eating pussy. He always did it with such fervor, such passion, that you were convinced he was doing it for him own pleasure.

Sanji hmm’d and groaned against your slick sex as he became drunk on your flavor. Your breathy moans sped up as he worked your clit and your hole towards a climax.

*WHAM*

Your door swung open, you opened your eyes as your head hung off the bed facing towards the doorway.

Zoro stood there looking you dead in the eye, upside down.

“Hmmm what a pretty sight. Can’t believe you’ve gotten her this close, curly.” Zoro coos at you before stepping inside your room and closing the door behind him.

“Zoro.. I… Thought you guys worked this… out… What-“ You choke out as Sanji doesn’t even look up and notice the swordsman’s presence. He briefly pulls away from your cunt.

“We did. I invited him.” He dives back in, sucking on your swollen clit. Sanji slips two fingers inside of you as you process this information. You cry out in pleasure but also confusion.

“Since you’ve given that shit head the honor of fucking your ass tonight… I figure this would give us the perfect opportunity to learn to share.” Zoro smirked as he strode towards your bed, slowly shedding the sash around his waist and untying his trousers.

Your pussy throbbed at the thought of having both men inside you at once.

Zoro stepped out of his pants and came to stand by your sweaty face. He stroked his half hard cock in his hand and used it to firmly tap your lips.

“Open up, Princess.”

You oblige and open your mouth and loll your tongue out for him. He shoves his dick into your mouth and thrusts softly and slowly. All of this is happening while Sanji continues his assault on your pussy with his mouth. He needed you soft and open for what was going to happen tonight.

“Make her cum, cook, I wanna feel her throat when she screams.” Zoro breaths out as he fucks your face.

“MhmmMMM-HHHMNNN” You shriek out as best you can as Zoro’s now fully erect cock barrels into your throat.

“Don’t tell me what to fucking do, asshole!” Sanji tried to protest but making you cum was exactly what he wanted, too. Sanji stood up and moved away from you briefly to remove his clothes. You whined around the dick in your mouth desperately, having your orgasm ripped away from you.

“Awww my beautiful love, don’t worry I’ll give you what you want so badly.” Sanji cooed at you as he lined his cock up with your dripping hole.

“Shut up and get inside her already!” Zoro barked at him.

Already sliding inside of you, the feeling of your warm walls sucking him in, Sanji couldn’t come up with a response other than a loud moan. You groan around Zoro, pulling back for a second to catch some air. Sanji began thrusting inside of you.

“Oh fuck-! So good Sanji I-!” You moan out as drool dribbles down your chin. Before you can finish your praise, Zoro is stuffing himself back into your mouth.

“Moss head, slow down! You’re gonna hurt her!” Sanji pants out as he pounds into your pussy.

“She’s fine just look at her, she’s about to cum!” They both look down at your shaking form, eyes slammed tightly shut, tears streaming down your face. Your legs clamped so tightly around Sanji’s torso as they trembled. It was clear you were so close.

“Gonna finish on those pretty tits, princess.” Zoro pulls out of your mouth to hover over your body and stroke his fat cock to completion. Just as the first hot rope hits your chest, your body tipped over the edge and you shrieked as you came, violently, on Sanji’s cock. Your torso jerked forward with the force of your orgasm.

“So beautiful, my love, I’ll fill you up so good, ah-“ with a final declaration, Sanji spilled his load inside your pussy, grinding his hips into yours and whining.

After a few moments of silence and heavy breathing, Sanji pulls out of you.

“Ready for round 2, little slut?” You heard Zoro whisper in your ear. The low timbre of his voice sent fireworks straight to your sensitive cunt.

“We worked out our issue. It took a lot of effort, so I think you owe us a bit more for dealing with our differences, my love.” Sanji moves out from between your legs to make room for Zoro.

“Get me hard again.” Zoro barks down at you. You sit up and start to stroke his thick cock, soggy with your spit.

“And me too, don’t forget about our date mon amour…”

You were no longer thinking for yourself, your brain had stopped working long ago. You wanted to please both of them so badly, so happy that they had learned to share you so nicely. You lean forward and put Sanji’s sensitive dick into your mouth while you stroke Zoro with your hands. Zoro’s hand was on your throat as Sanji’s hand was tangled in your hair as your bobbed up and down on his oversensitive cock. After a few moments of “good fucking girl”s and “such a cute little slut”s, both of your men were hard again and ready to ruin you. Zoro pulled away first as he laid down on his back on your bed.

“Sit on it.” Zoro commanded and you obliged. You pulled your wet mouth and tear stained face off of Sanji’s cock as you moved to sit on your swordsman’s thick length. You eagerly lined him up with your open, soaking hole.

“Stop.” Zoro stopped you. “Slow.” He grabbed your hips and guided your body onto him at a torturously slow pace. You let out a long moan as he slips you onto him inch by inch.

“That’s my good girl, taking me so well. Look at your messy little pussy…” Zoro grabs your hair and makes you look down at the milky combination of your cum and Sanji’s cum leaking out all over his balls and pubes. “See what a filthy mess you’re making on me? Huh? And you still want more cock? What a little slut…” Zoro thrusts up into you and you gasp.

“Be nice to her, moss head. She’s been such a nice play thing for us tonight. You can’t say one nice thing??” Sanji appears behind you, his chest pressed to your back as he begins to play with the plug in your ass. He slips it in and out of you, moving easily from the amount of lube you have shoved it in with earlier. You whine.

“Nnnnnn Sanjiiii- Can I have it?” You wanted to feel both of them inside you at once.

“Fine, curly, y/n has the most perfect holes I’ve ever had. So tight and warm, such a good toy.” Zoro smirked around you at his rival. Sanji ignored him. You feel the plug slip completely from your ass, you sigh at the emptiness. Briefly, Sanji spreads your cheeks as you lean forward onto Zoro’s chest. He could see where Zoro was buried deep inside your soaked cunt as well as your slightly gaping ass, lubed and open for him.

Slowly Sanji presses his leaking tip into your puckered hole.

“Sanji!” You yell out.

“Relax… I’m almost in… such a good job my love…” Sanji whispers as he leans down to kiss your shoulder. “Hey idiot, rub her clit or her suck her nipples or something, She’s gonna loosen up more or else she’s gonna choke my dick in here.”

“I don’t work for you…” Zoro grumbled as he took your left nipple between his teeth as he snaked his hand underneath you to rub at your engorged clit.

“Ohhh, FUCK Zoro that’s so good-!” You moan out loudly, feeling your muscles spasm then relax. Then you felt Sanji plunge the rest of his length into your ass.

“AAHh! FUCK!” You were so full, your head was spinning. Sanji’s thinner length buried deep in your asshole, Zoro’s thick cock bullying your g-spot inside your pussy, it was stimulation overload. Once both men were fully seated, there was some sort of unspoken communication between them and they started thrusting.

You were screaming. The feeling was so intense, your body was going limp. Zoro held your body up with his strong arms while Sanji gripped your hips tightly with his smooth hands.

“Holy.. Shit… Moss head, you.. you have to try this next time… It’s so fucking tight and hot…” Sanji desperately thrust his cock into your back hole as he chased his release, completely lost in pleasure.

Zoro was too busy drilling up into your spent pussy, eyes locked on your face. Your eyes were rolled back and your mouth was completely open and slack. He couldn’t let curly brow cum inside you and not him too… He wanted you to cum again so you could milk him dry. He holds your body above him as you as were tossed back and forth on both of their cocks.

You were being used as a fuck doll, essentially… and holy shit did it turn you on. Your body was so overstimulated but you felt the knot in your tummy begin to tighten again…

“Sanji! Zoro! Shit, I’m-“ You squirted your release all over Zoro’s abdomen. Your body fell further forward as you began whimpering when your orgasm wore off.

“Shit, it’s too tight… I’m going to-“ And with that, You felt the unique sensation of Sanji filling your ass with his hot seed.

“Me too, fuck!” Zoro jams his hips up into yours and you cry out as he hits your cervix, feeling his throbbing tip deep inside as he fills you.

You fully fell forwards towards Zoro, falling onto his face, nose pressed between your breasts. Sanji is still seated in your ass as he strokes your back and catches his breath. Eventually, your blonde pulls out, and your moss head picks you off his cock to lay you on your back in bed.

Zoro spreads your legs.

From how your hips were angled, the boys could see two loads of cum dripping our of your stretched pussy hole and one load dripping from your puckered asshole. Both men were mesmerized by the sight.

“so… is someone going to clean me up… or?” You questioned while sitting up on your elbows.

“I’LL DO IT” the two men shouted at once. They spent the next 5 minutes arguing over who was going to bath you and wash your body while you sat on the bed dripping. You flop back on the bed, realizing they’ll never get over their friendly competition. Oh well, you thought to yourself. If they fucked you like this every time they got jealous, you could get used to it.

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roosterforme · 11 months

Text

Batting Practice Part 19 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: All week long, you and Everett were enjoying some quality time with Bradley. The Tiny Eagles were still undefeated, and you were starting to think about how nice it would be if Bradley moved in with the two of you. But on Sunday, when Danny is supposed to be spending the day with Everett, you get an upsetting call.

Warnings: Smut, fluff, angst and swearing

Length: 4300 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

The further your week progressed, the more loved up you were feeling. After practice on Monday, you watched Bradley carry Ev up to the parking lot on his shoulders while they sang Take Me Out to the Ballgame.

On Tuesday, Bradley came over for dinner. He helped you cook, and then he helped Everett do his homework while you lounged on the couch with a glass of wine.

On Wednesday, you and he had a quickie on the stairs after Everett was in bed. That was something you had never done before, but also something you definitely wanted to do again.

But on Thursday, a rare thunderstorm moved in, and Bob decided to cancel practice. "Want to come over and watch a movie instead?" you asked Bradley when he called.

He scoffed and asked, "Are the Phillies the best team in baseball?"

You laughed as you looked outside at the dark sky and pouring rain. "That's definitely a yes."

"That's a hell yes, Kitten. I'll be there soon."

When he arrived, Everett opened the door for him and said, "We're going to watch Toy Story!"

Bradley tousled Everett's hair and laughed as he removed his wet baseball cap and jacket. "How did you know that's my favorite movie?"

Everett's eyes went wide. "Is it really your favorite?"

"Top ten, easily," Bradley replied, and as he made his way into your living room, he pulled you in for a kiss. His mustache was wet from the rain, and you had to reel in your need for him in front of Everett.

"I'll make popcorn," you whispered, and when you returned with it, they were both already cozy on the couch.

"Ready?" Everett asked as he held up the remote.

"Yep," you replied, eating some popcorn before you passed it to Everett where he was perched between the two of you. And you had to laugh, because apparently Bradley hadn't been lying. He had most of Toy Story memorized, and the two of them kept quoting parts together and laughing.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Bradley asked, tossing some popcorn at you. "This movie came out when I was like eleven. I was obsessed with it."

"You are adorable," you replied, catching some of the popcorn in your mouth when he threw more at you.

He just sat there looking smug for a bit, and then when the part came on that always scared Everett, Bradley let him cuddle up against his side. "It's okay. The ending is happy," Bradley murmured, and you took the empty bowl so he could rub Everett's back.

"I know," he whispered. "But getting to the end is scary."

Bradley met your eyes, and you wanted to say something while Woody was about to get blown up by dynamite. But nothing seemed adequate. Everett was going to be spending the day with Danny on Sunday while you and Molly went wine tasting a few towns away. But you just had a feeling that Everett was going to come home upset or maybe even in tears, and it hurt your heart. But you didn't know what else to do. You just wished Danny cared about Everett even just a fraction of the amount that Bradley obviously did.

"Scary parts over," Bradley whispered, and you realized that Everett had been hiding his eyes. "Almost time for the happy ending."

"That's the best part," Everett said, once again vividly interested in the movie. He sat perched on the edge of the couch with rapt attention.

You swallowed your guilt down and let yourself enjoy the rest of the movie as Bradley's hand found yours along the couch.

------------------------

Bradley carried Everett upstairs by his ankles, letting him dangle in the air while he absolutely screeched with delight. When Bradley set him down on his bed, Everett said, "That was so cool!"

"That was your reward for not getting too scared by the movie. And for helping your mom clean up all the popcorn we threw at her."

Everett laughed more before he stood to go brush his teeth. "Hey, Bradley?"

"Yeah, Kiddo?"

"I like it when you're at our house. Do you have a house?"

Bradley smiled and said, "No. I have an apartment. And it's not as good as your house, because your mom doesn't live there. And you don't live there."

Everett looked at him very seriously before he walked to the bathroom. "We have an extra bedroom. You should move in here. And you could bring the rest of your baseball cards and stuff with you."

Bradley pressed his lips together and tried not to laugh. "Something to consider, I guess."

Once Everett was in bed, Bradley went back downstairs where he had left you relaxing on the couch. "Come here, Coach," you said softly as you lifted up the end of the blanket for him. He slipped underneath it next to you, and you wrapped your arms around his neck and straddled his hips. "I was just listening to the storm."

Bradley sighed and ran his hands along your thighs to your butt as you kissed his cheek and let your fingers sink into his hair. "Thanks for inviting me over for the movie."

"Well, Everett insisted. And I had no idea you were such a Toy Story fan," you said with a giggle that made him feel a little weak.

"I used to watch it with my mom all the time. She liked it, too," he whispered as your lips found his neck. "You're a good mom, Kitten." You paused and looked at him, and Bradley was suddenly trying to figure out what he did wrong.

"Everett is spending the day with his dad on Sunday."

Bradley's eyebrows shot up. "Danny? He made Everett cry. That's all I can associate with him. The fact that he made Everett cry and he wasn't good to you."

You swallowed hard and hid your face against his shoulder. "Maybe I'm not a good mom. I keep trying to give him a chance, and he just doesn't seem to take it."

"Shhh," Bradley whispered, coaxing you to look at him with his fingers on your chin. "That's just because you care so much. You want Everett to have everything. Even if it's hard for you."

You sniffed and kissed him as you said, "I love you." Then Bradley carried you up to bed after you fell asleep.

--------------------------

The weather in San Diego was never bad for long, so Friday evening, you agreed to a date with Bradley. A date for the three of you.

"Somehow I ended up being the one left out here," you complained with a smile as Bradley held your hand and just shook his head at you. He had taken you and Everett to the flea market near the beach to look for baseball cards.

"If you stop whining, I'll buy you a three dollar burger, Kitten."

"Oh!" you said perking up and helping them look through the tables of cards. That damn burger had been delicious when he bought you one last time. "What am I looking for?"

"Phillies players," Bradley and Everett mumbled in unison, and your heart clenched. Then you pulled a card out of one of the boxes and held it up, and Bradley's eyes went wide.

"Don't set that one down," he said, kissing you hard on the lips. "I've been looking for that one."

After he had purchased a few cards, including a novelty Phanatic card for Everett, he took you both for burgers and fries. "It's getting a little late," Bradley said as he checked the time on his phone. "Think we have time for the batting cages?"

Everett gasped so loudly, and the smile on Bradley's face had your heart pounding. "Yeah," you replied. "I think we have time." Because now there was no way you could deny either of them.

Bradley took both of you back to the location of your date. That date that he insisted wasn't your first date but was instead your third date, because he counted the snack bar and park outing as real dates. Then he got you and Everett outfitted in helmets and helped you pick out bats. He took the care and time to teach Everett how everything worked, just like he had done for you.

"Safety first," Bradley said, kneeling in front of Everett. "Keep your helmet on, and don't stand directly in front of the machine. Got it?"

"Got it, Coach!" Everett nearly shouted, practically vibrating with excitement. And then you watched from the corner of the cage with amazement as Bradley started the machine. By the third pitch, Everett was hitting every ball, and some of them looked like they were hit well.

"Yes!" Bradley cheered. "Now move your right foot back a bit. Right there. Watch for the pitch."

He was good. Much better than you had been. And he only needed minimal help from Bradley. You watched your son hit dozens of pitches while you took some photos and videos. And when he turned to look at you while you were recording him, he looked absolutely delighted.

"You're up, Kitten," Bradley said, turning off the machine and reaching for you.

Everett came over and pushed you into place when you protested. "I'm not as good as the two of you!"

"You just have to practice," Bradley murmured, bending to kiss you before he handed you a bat. "Remember how to stand?''

"I think so," you replied, but his hands were already on your hips and waist, gently but firmly getting you into the proper position. He let them linger. You wanted to do this every Friday night. He squeezed you with both of his big hands, and then he turned the machine on.

You managed to hit a few of the pitches while Everett cheered for you. "Mommy! You're good!"

"Thanks, Ev," you said with a laugh. But after a dozen pitches, you said, "Come on, Coach, show us how it's done."

"Yeah! Please, Coach?"

With a soft groan, Bradley took your bat from your hands and kissed your cheek. And when you stood in the corner with Everett, you realized that this was the first time your son ever got to see Bradley batting. And it was just as impressive as the last time you were here. With the speed set to high, Bradley hit every single pitch like a pro. Dozens of pitches flew up into the mesh, but they looked like home runs to you.

You couldn't take your eyes off him, and neither could Everett. He stood in front of you with your hands on his shoulders, completely transfixed. "Wow," Everett muttered.

"He's good," you whispered as Bradley nailed another hard pitch with ease. When he turned the machine off, both of you were still gaping at him. "You better play in that summer league, Bradley."

His smile as he swung the bat over his shoulder made your insides melt.

"You have to!" Everett said, jumping up and down. "And you can pitch and Coach Bob can play in the outfield. And Mommy and I can watch and we can keep your stats if you teach us how."

When Bradley responded to your son by putting his hand gently on Everett's shoulder and guiding him out of the chainlink cage, you were prepared to beg him to play in the summer league. But then he said, "I already sent in my application, Kiddo."

"Why didn't you tell us?" you asked as he held the gate open for you.

"I haven't been selected yet. But I think they'll call me to try out."

"They'll pick you! They have to!" Everett insisted. And you could picture it so clearly: sitting on the bleachers at the Navy ballpark, you and Ev wearing matching Bradshaw shirts with Molly in a Floyd shirt. Instead of feeling embarrassed, you just wanted that more and more.

----------------------------

"I think he's asleep," you mumbled against Bradley's lips, grinding down on his thigh on the couch. Bradley had collected you into his lap to talk after Everett was in bed, but he wasn't mad about where you decided to take things instead. "But we should go out to your Bronco just in case."

Without a word, Bradley hauled you to your feet and practically dragged you out to your driveway in the darkness. "You can get a little loud out here, Kitten." He opened the back door and helped you climb in, and you were peeling your shirt off before he even had the door closed behind him. "Up here," he coaxed, rubbing his thigh, and you were on him immediately.

"You should sleep over tonight," you groaned as Bradley tossed your bra across the seat and put his mouth on your tits.

"Mmhmm," he hummed against you. "Just need to leave early before the game to go get my stuff."

"Would be easier if your stuff was here."

He paused, popping your nipple out of his mouth, but you were already so far gone, you were guiding his mouth back into place. He got you completely naked while he stayed mostly clothed, and you rode his dick nice and slow. You put on a real show for him, your hands touching yourself everywhere as your eyes went hazy.

"You're so fucking pretty," he growled when your fingers dug into his hair as you rode out your orgam with your head tipped back. "Jesus, Kitten." He sucked on your tits until your cries quieted, and then he stretched you out on the seat with your back against the soft leather.

You pulled him down for more kisses while he fucked you into the seat. When he came, it was to your voice softly telling him that you loved him. His fingers tangled up in your necklace chain as you pulled his sweaty forehead against your shoulder. "I love you, Bradley."

He kissed your collarbone and let his hand settle against your belly. "I love you. And I love your son." You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and held him tight.

When he finally got you clothed enough for you to walk back inside, Bradley set an early alarm on his phone and then took you up to your bedroom. While you got changed, he checked on Everett, lingering in the doorway while his tiny body rose and fell with each breath. Today was another perfect day.

-----------------------

After the game on Saturday, the whole team was buzzing. "One more game to go, and still undefeated!" Everett said as he hugged you afterwards. He and Piper had both scored in the last inning to win the game for the Tiny Eagles, and now you almost lost your voice from cheering.

"Her kid does well, because the coaches give her special treatment," Sandra said. But you just ignored it because not only was Everett a better player than Henry, but you were actually dating Bradley now. You didn't want to start a fuss.

When Bradley and Bob were finished talking to the other team's coaches, they both came over. "I was hoping Mo would be here today," Bob told you, still glancing up at the parking lot.

"Mo?" you asked, gaping at Bob. "That's the cutest thing I have ever heard! I think Mo stayed to work some overtime this morning."

Bob blushed a deep pink while Bradley chased Everett to try to get his clipboard back. They ran around the bleachers laughing while Bob said, "I'm going to ask her to move in with me, even though it's moving really fast. But I think she's going to say no, because of her work hours."

"There's no harm in asking," you replied, making a mental note to tell Molly she better move in with Bob or else.

He looked at the ground. "We haven't really talked about that kind of stuff yet or my deployments. Do you think... If I get deployed for six months, is she going to break up with me?"

You burst out laughing so hard, he looked like he was going to cry. Meanwhile your little sister had asked you the other day if you thought Molly Floyd sounded cute. And when you told her it sounded adorable, she said she really wanted her initials to be MF which made you both giggle.

You managed to reel in your laughter. "No, Bob. I don't think she would break up with you, even if you were gone for a year." You patted his cheek gently, and he finally looked like he believed you.

"You're too fast, Ev," Bradley called, chasing after him and panting. "Shit, I'm actually worn out. That kid is fast as hell."

"He needs to play real ball next year," said Bob as the flushed pink color started to fade from his cheeks.

"Yeah, I'm gonna work with him this summer," replied Bradley nonchalantly as Everett finally ran back over with his clipboard. And the casual way with which Bradley talked about the future made you smile.

-------------------------

"I don't want to go!"

Everett was practically in tears the next morning when you packed up some snacks and his ipad in his backpack. And honestly, you were barely holding back your own tears.

"It's just for the day, Ev. And your dad is excited to see you!"

"No, he's not," he whispered, kicking his shoes across the living room and running back upstairs.

You took a deep breath and let it out slowly as the feeling of panic rose inside you. But you were doing the right thing, weren't you? Spending time with his dad should have been beneficial to everyone. You just needed Danny to get used to this or alternately pay child support. And since there was no way he was going to be paying you anything, this would just have to do. He'd come around after a while. Maybe you'd even eventually work up to some sleepovers for Everett.

"Ev, Sweetie, I'll be back around dinner time. I promise," you called. And a second later, his head poked around the wall at the top of the stairs.

"You better," he whispered and stormed down the stairs with a scowl on his face.

When you got him in your car, he was silent for the entire drive across town to Mission Beach and Danny's townhouse. For someone who couldn't pay child support, his neighborhood was a lot nicer than yours. You sighed and looked at Everett in your rearview mirror after you parked, and he was still scowling.

"You can play on your ipad," you reminded him. "And maybe your dad will let you use some of his paints like last time."

"That was months ago," Everett mumbled. "And he got mad when I spilled some on the kitchen counter."

You pressed your lips together and thought about calling your sister to cancel the outing and going back home instead. But then Danny opened his front door and looked at you expectantly.

"Okay, there he is," you said brightly, and when you walked Everett up the sidewalk, you felt a little better.

"Hi," you called out to Danny as he opened the door wider for Everett to slink past him.

"What time will you be back?" he asked, not bothering to greet either one of you.

You just shook your head and swallowed your guilt. "Around five."

He gave you a severely annoyed look and then mumbled goodbye as you called out, "Have fun, Ev!" And then the door was closed and you walked slowly back to your car.

When you picked up Molly, she rambled on about Bob and work, and you were thankful that you didn't have to say much. The wine tasting was a treat from Bob, and since he wasn't a big drinker, he told Molly to take you.

"He's such a sweetheart, Mo," you said with a chuckle.

"He's not always sweet in bed," she replied, looking out her window with a smile.

"Oh my God, Molly," you said, smacking her arm as you headed out of the city and toward the vineyard. "Please don't elaborate. I like being able to look him in the eye."

"All I'm saying is Coach Cute Glasses has got moves. And a bit of a dirty mouth."

"Please stop," you mumbled, seriously ready to blast the radio if she kept going.

"Okay, fine. I'll stop. But just know, he's so much bigger than Casey was."

"Molly!" you screeched as she cackled. When you threatened to leave her on the side of the road, she finally changed the subject to Everett's birthday and the Padres game. And she asked you how things were going with Bradley, and you thought about mentioning the backseat sex as revenge for being told too much about Bob, but you didn't. And then you had reached the vineyard.

After a tour, the two of you tasted every wine that was offered, and then you argued for a long time while you put them in order of favorite to least favorite.

"This red one was disgusting," Molly told you, moving one that you liked to last place. "You have questionable taste."

"No, I don't!" you complained.

"Two words: Danny. Frank." She kept rearranging the wines in her preferred order while you scoffed.

"Thank you for not grouping Bradley with them."

"No. He's alright now," she said, sounding more impressed. "God, he was dumb for a bit there, but he sorted himself out. And it was fun to make him sweat about losing you and Ev."

"Fun?" you asked. "That was not fun."

She shrugged and ordered two sangrias. "It was kind of fun for me," she said apologetically. "Plus it let me know he really cares about you."

"I might ask him to move in with me and Ev soon," you blurted out. And now you were thinking about what Bob told you. And you started rambling about something that happened at work, and you realized you'd already had a lot to drink.

"Let's order food," Molly suggested. And you sat outside in the sun with your sangrias and your lunch and got very tipsy.

Molly took about a million selfies of the two of you, and when you saw one that actually looked cute, you said, "Send me that one. I want to text it to Bradley."

She rolled her eyes. "Who do you think I've been texting them to this whole time?"

"Bob?" you replied as your waiter dropped off more drinks.

"And Bradley," she said with a smirk. You took her phone from her hand and looked at the thread she had with him.

"Oh my goodness," you whispered. She had sent your boyfriend about a dozen photos of you in varying degrees of ridiculousness. "What is wrong with you?"

"Look what he said!" Molly urged, moving her phone closer to your face.

Your sister is gorgeous.

I miss her, do you know what time you're heading back?

Everett looks so much like her, what a lucky kid.

You handed the phone back to her and pretended to melt off of your chair while she laughed. "You're drunk!" she accused.

"Yeah, so what?" you asked as you laughed at her.

"I love it!" she chanted. "You never do this kind of stuff with me!"

You groaned. "Gotta always be alert for Ev," you mumbled, checking the time on your phone. You'd have to wait a bit before you could drive.

"I didn't mean it like that," Molly said. "But if Bradley moves in with you, he'd be around so we could go do fun stuff like this."

"That's true," you told her as you stared up at the passing clouds. Then your phone rang and when you reached for it, your heart sank.

You accepted the facetime call from Everett's ipad. "Ev?"

"Mommy?"

"Yeah! I'm here. Are you having fun?" Molly helped you block the afternoon sun so you could see the screen more clearly. And then you saw his face. "What's wrong?"

He looked to his right and then turned back toward the screen, his sweet little forehead scrunched with worry. "Are you coming to get me soon?"

You could feel the wine coursing through your body, and now you wanted to throw up. "Pretty soon. Is something wrong, Everett?"

"I don't know."

"Where is your dad?" you asked him, scooting to the edge of your seat.

"In his room with Tori."

Your eyes went wide. "Who is Tori?" you asked at the same time as Molly.

Everett kind of shrugged. "She got here a little while ago. She said she was his girlfriend."

"What the fuck?" Molly muttered, reaching for her water glass, and then she immediately started drinking. You were too drunk to drive, and so was she. And you weren't even in the city anyway.

"Are you okay, Ev? Can you sit on the couch and play more games? The charger should be in your backpack if you need it."

But he still looked nervous.

"Just tell me what's wrong," you prompted as your heart pounded.

"Well, it smells weird in here now. It smells gross."

You froze and looked at Molly who looked like she was going to rage. Danny was smoking pot with his presumably barely legal girlfriend while he was supposed to be spending the day with his son. Now you really were going to throw up as you stood and walked out toward the vineyard, afraid you were going to have a panic attack.

"Just sit on the couch, okay? I'll come get you as soon as I can." But that would be hours from now. Your hands started to shake as Molly ran up behind you with two glasses of water.

"I just paid for everything, but we need to sober up," she said.

You took one glass from her and sobbed as you asked for her phone. "Here, talk to Ev, okay?"

She nodded and traded phones with you and started to ask her nephew a series of riddles. When you called Bradley from Molly's phone, he answered on the third ring.

"Hey, Molly. You two having fun?"

"Bradley!"

"Kitten? What's wrong?"

You took a deep breath to keep from crying. "I need your help."

----------------------------

If Everett cries again, so help me..... Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32!

PART 20

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tsimvkas · 8 months

Text

best friends, uh? — mason mount

A/N: hello 👋🏻 here we are againnnn. please remember that english is my second language so i apologise for any mistake. and thanks to Sid for all the support on this one 🥺 ily bestie!! hope you guys enjoy it xx

word count: 15.5k (lol im sorry for this) | masterlist

content: friends to lovers, unprotected sex, fluff and mild angst.

“Bro, Manchester? That’s so far” your best friend Benjamin brought up the transfer subject, which made your other best friend, Mason, sigh deeply.

The three of you were hanging out since it’s their first day of summer vacation, and your best friends would travel somewhere else soon. It would be only for a few days, but once the league returns everything will be different.

You, Mason and Ben were best friends for a long time now. You met when both of them went to the national team for the first time and you were a journalism intern working

For some reason, they both liked you. And it was easy to like them too, with all the jokes and good energy. When Ben joined Chelsea their bond got even stronger. At that time your career had taken another direction and you were working as a band’s press officer, which allowed you to live in London.

For the last three years your trio has seen each other every week and weekend. You were always attending Chelsea home games, and your boys always came up with something on their days off.

At this point, the three of you felt like family.

Until now, with Mason’s transfer. Ben tried to talk jokingly about it, but you knew he meant it.

Otherwise, you could understand Mason’s decision since the entire last season was a hell of a nightmare to him, and now they both were discussing his last move: signing with Manchester United.

“It’s not like I had a lot of options” Mason shrugged. “I mean, Liverpool didn’t make it to the Champions League and I quite like United, Ben”

“Even Kai will be closer to us” he snorted, clearly upset.

“You’re saying this is a bad thing?” You smirked, taking a sip of your wine. Chilly and Mase were still deciding what they wanted for dinner and the only thing they were capable of ordering was your favourite white wine.

“Don’t tell him I talked about him like that” Ben grinned, finally deciding what to eat. He called the waitress, and Mason ordered both his and yours meal, knowing what you like to eat.

When she wrote everything down and left, Mount spoke again. “Well, actually you’re the only one left behind. Maybe joining City next season and we can be reunited”

“What do you mean?”

“Like the three of us, in the same city”

“Well if you want this to happen then you’ll have to come back to London” Ben frowned, realisation passing through his face seconds later. “No-“

“I haven’t made the decision yet” you cut him. “But the offer has been made, yes”

“You called her to move with you? This is unfair” he snorted.

Mason raised an eyebrow, reaching your thigh under the table and giving a gentle squeeze. “I couldn’t do it without my best friend, could I?”

“And what about me, you prick? You want me to carry that shitty team on my backs on my own? I deserve to have the presence of my best friend as well”

“Why are you so afraid, Ben?” Mason smirked. “Oh, cause you know I’m the favourite and she’s going to say yes”

You tried not to laugh. They’re definitely the most funny people you know, and to you it has always been a pleasure that they both chose you as their best friend.

“We are still talking about moving to Manny?” Ben teased his friend. “I’m the favourite, tho”

“Stop” you playfully rolled your eyes, interrupting Mason before they started an argument in the middle of the restaurant. “I don’t have a favourite. And if the pair of you don’t behave like grown men, I’ll move to… I don’t know, Merseyside”

“You would still be living closer to me than to him” Mason giggled, whispering. “Just admit I’m your favourite”

“Shut up, Mason” Chilly stuck his tongue out at his friend, just like a child.

“Why are you two even discussing? You’re already losing your best friend, no matter if I go or if I stay” you pointed, instantly realising that the reason for the little fight about you was to pretend their separation wasn’t a real thing. “Oh, I’m sorry”

“That’s ok, Y/N. We’ll have to deal with it one way or another” Ben smiled.

“But not tonight, alright? I'm already sick of this subject. Let’s have dinner and talk about nonsense stuff and you can laugh at our terrible jokes and things will stay the same. Just for tonight” Mason smiled at you. “When the announcement happens, we’ll face the truth”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding. “Just the three of us tonight, then. Me and my Chelsea boys” you smiled, raising your glass of wine.

When Mason and Ben raised theirs to toast with you, you could swear their eyes were watering.

You forced yourself not to cry.

—

When he came back from Spain after a week with Ben, he invited you to spend a couple of days at his house. It was something natural in your friendship, but this time seemed different.

Mason opened the door wearing a white shorts and a hoodie you’ve never seen before, and instantly smiled at you.

“You’re late” he kissed your forehead, picking your backpack from you and giving you space to enter his house. “But I forgive you”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I couldn’t find my favourite pyjamas” you snorted. It feels like Mason’s house it's yours too, so you feel comfortable enough to go directly to his living room.

“You left them here” he laughed at you, closing the door and following you inside.

“Right, this explains a lot”

His living room was occupied with a lot of suitcases, and you instantly remembered that this was a goodbye weekend.

“You already packed everything?” you asked, feeling your eyes watering.

“Only my favourite clothes. I’ll leave everything else, can’t take all of my stuff to a hotel room” he shrugged.

You nodded. He texted you during his vacation and told you how difficult finding a house in Manchester turned out to be. You were just wishing he could find a place soon, somewhere he could turn into a home.

“Benji is also coming?”

“I spent a lot of time with Ben last week, it’s just me and you” he smiled, but his face turned serious way too fast. “I’ll drive to Manchester Sunday night. It’s our last days together so Ben agreed to stay out”

You never told him you were staying, but you didn’t have to. Mason knew you.

“I’m so sorry, Mase” you felt that familiar lump on your throat, showing up every time you think about it.

You didn’t like the idea of being away from him, but your whole life was in London. For the past couple of weeks you’ve been thinking about it, and your only wish was that you could divide yourself in two. Or that he could stay.

Dividing yourself in two sounded more easy, to be honest.

Mason put your backpack on the couch, quickly embracing your body in his arms.

“That’s ok, sweetheart. You have a life here, Y/N. Family, friends, everything you love. I’m the one leaving” he sighed. “I just hope you understand I’m not leaving you”

You held him tightly, tucking your head in his neck and letting your cry reach you while your best friend stroked your back. After a few minutes like this, Mason pushed you away just enough to look into your eyes.

“We’re not supposed to spend this weekend crying” he smiled, wiping your tears. “Let’s make it unforgettable, okay?”

You nodded, taking a deep breath and smiling back at him when you noticed that he swallowed the lump in his throat, trying not to cry.

“Everything with you is unforgettable” you pouted, resting your chin on his chest, and Mason ran his thumb across your lower lip, staring at you. “I don’t want you to leave”

“I’ll be back soon” he smirked. You wish it was true.

“Liar” you rolled your eyes, and he laughed. “Your contract says 2028. Five fucking years”

“Language, Y/N. Manchester isn’t that far, and you’ll always be welcome at Old Trafford. At least I’m still playing in the Prem”

“Don’t you dare. Suggest something like this.” you punched his chest, staring at him in disbelief. Watching your favourite person moving to Manchester has been painful enough and the thought of Mason living in another country made your eyes burn again.

“You know I’m never leaving England, Y/N. Not as long as you’re here” he reassured you, but the smirk on his face made you roll your eyes again.

The truth is that Mason felt happiness spreading throughout his body when he realised the way you fear being away from him.

And then instantly guilt almost ate him alive. He wasn’t moving to another country, but with his agenda and how much you work, there’ll be months between one visit and another.

Trying to make these thoughts disappear, Mason grabbed both of your tights until your legs were wrapped around his torso. “Alright, this is way too sad” he whispered, taking you upstairs. “Let’s put on our pj’s, it’s movie time”

“You’ll let me choose?” you held onto his neck, just like a child.

“No” he put you down once he got in his room. “It’ll be the last Avengers. Don’t look at me like that, I know you love it just as much as I do”

“I thought the night was being sad enough? You know I’ll cry with this one”

“I can deal with that” he winked. ��I know you really like your favourite pyjamas but would you mind wearing one of my t-shirts tonight? Its’s just- I want to take something with you scent ya know? But you don’t need to- I’ll order our food” he closed his bedroom door before you could answer, his rose cheeks making you giggle.

You quickly changed into one of his black t-shirts and your pyjama shorts, texting him to join you.

Mason opened the door, tucking his head inside his room. “Hey”

You went to him, picking your backpack and tipping his nose. He grinned at the sight of you in his favourite t-shirt.

“Let’s clean this pretty face while we wait the food”

“Pretty face, uh?” he followed you into the bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror. He always loved when you called him pretty, because it was important to him that you thought he was pretty.

“What you ordered?”

“Five Guys” he smirked. To be honest, you already knew the answer, once your boy is addicted to it.

“Favourite food and favourite movie” you turned to face him. “It feels like we’re saying goodbye for months”

“Don’t think like that. I’m just trying to have a cosy weekend with you, yeah? But we’ll see each other often. I promise”

You nodded, turning around and grabbing your skin products out of the bag and putting them in the sink. Mason realised you didn’t believe what he said, so he hugged you from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder.

Your friendship with Mason and Ben has always been like that. They constantly cuddle with you, carry you up and get clingy really easily.

Mason is the touchy one, while Ben is more verbal, and you try your best to love them both in their love language so they can feel loved.

“Help me up” you asked him once you got all of your skincare products in front of you. Mason grabbed your waist when you turned to him, sitting you on the sink counter.

You spread your legs so he could get between them, which he did immediately. He always enjoyed these moments with you, and he knows he’s about to miss this a lot.

“I don’t like the scratchy one” Mason complained, identifying it on the counter and remembering the last time you used it on his face.

“Exfoliating our face sometimes is necessary, Mase. We need to remove dead skin”

“Right, cause there will be no dead skin left if you go faceless. No” he shook his head. “It’s awful”

“You’re being dramatic” you chuckled, kissing the tip of his nose. “I swear I’ll be gentle, big boy”

“You’re always gentle but…” he pouted, but your stare silenced him. “Fine. A smooth face could be useful”

You bit your lower lip, feeling your stomach churn.

“I’m sure girls in Manchester loves smooth faces”

“I was talking about rubbing my face in your neck tonight” he closed his eyes, waiting patiently while you massaged your Vichy soap. “But yeah, I bet they do”

“You’ll need someone to make skincare with you” you tried again, For some reason, you felt like testing him.

“I can FaceTime you, simply”

“But you’ll probably find a friend to do it with you, anyways. You’re really good at making friends”

You didn’t know why you were saying that. You just wanted him to reassure you that he won’t need any other friend, that he’d prefer to do skincare alone than with someone that isn’t you.

“You’re trying to get rid of me?” he said playful, tickling your waist.

“No! Stop- no, never. I’m just thinking about it” you pouted, feeling a bit sad.

“You are my best friend, Y/N. Manchester won’t change that. And absence makes the heart grow fonder” he smiled, holding your serum in front of you so you could use it on him.

“Uhm, we’re forgetting something, don’t you think?”

“I have no idea, what are you talking about?” Mason smirked.

You rolled your eyes at him, looking for your facial scrub and pouring some into your hand and despite his complaints, he let you finish.

The pair of you interspersed so he’d also cleaned, exfoliated and moisturised your face, and once you’ve both done he carried you to his living room.

“Oh you’ll make me stare at these bad girls?” you joked, pointing to his suitcases. Mason laughed, waiting for you to lay on the couch and instantly laying between your legs.

“Who knows, maybe they’ll make you come with me” Mason shrugged. He wouldn’t let you know, so you wouldn’t feel guilty, but knowing you weren't coming to his new home with him was eating him alive.

“Ugh, don’t do this. I’m almost changing my mind” you sighed. If he could ask for something, then it would be this. For you to change your mind.

Realising that you only have two days left with Mason made your stomach burn. Your best friend was always there for you, and alongside Ben you did everything together.

He is the one you call when you’re sad, and when you’re happy. Even when you’re angry or pissed off.

Mason and Ben are the ones you search for in every scenario, your boys. The only men you trust with your life.

And now you feel like you’re losing one of them. Because it’s exactly what’s happening.

“No no no, we’re not crying any more tonight” Mason looked up and caught the exact moment a tear fell from your eyes. Facing you and squeezing your tight, he gave you a reassuring smile. “You’re only allowed to cry in Tony’s scene”

You nodded, wiping your own tears and waiting for the movie to start. Mason got up when the bell rang, coming back a few minutes later with the food he ordered.

You two ate together, always touching each other with some part of your bodies. When the food ran out there was still an hour of movie left, and Mason clung to your body after cleaning the mess both of you made.

“You’re going to leave bruises on me, Mase” you pretended to complain about how tightly he was holding you, and he laughed, only tightening more.

“It’s a good idea to keep other boys away” he said.

“What are you talking about”

“Once I’m left there will be a lot of predators around you, I need to find a way to prevent it”

There it was. Your friendship with Mason was always comfortable, and sometimes the pair of you used to flirt and joke around.

But sometimes you keep yourself wanting those little flirts to mean something, and you weren’t sure about how to deal with that. Especially now that he’s about to move to another city.

Besides, Mason is a fucking footballer, and a pretty one. The kind of man who can have anyone in the world.

And you are his best friend, someone he probably sees as a sister. And you couldn’t say anything before understanding what you feel, because it would be so unfair to him.

Mason smiled, leaning to you and brushing his lips against your neck. He kissed the spot before starting sucking your skin.

“What are you doing?” you tensioned your body. Someone who sees you as a sister wouldn’t give you a hickey, right?

“Shhh, stay quiet” his wet lips brushed your neck, and you could feel his breath hitting you.

You ran out of actions, staying still until he was done.

“There it is” he faced it proudly. “Now I have about two weeks of good sleep before it fades and I need to do it again”

You didn’t know what to say, so you kept quiet. Best friends don’t mark each other like that, right? But you can’t think about it now. Mason is leaving London. And you are staying.

—

It was a sad, sad Sunday. You couldn’t believe your best friend was moving to another side of the country.

After spending the Saturday with him, eating snacks all day and cuddling in bed, you weren’t ready to say goodbye.

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to cry”

“Sorry I can’t stop” you groaned, stressed. It was such a great weekend with him and now you were forced to watch him leave.

Ben showed up when Mason was closing the house, and he helped his best friend to fill the car with all his things before hugging you.

“I’ll take you to him as often as we can, Y/N” he smiled at you.

Ben was such a sweet soul. You pouted, resting your face on his shoulder while Mase locked the last door.

“Can you please take your hands off of my best friend?” Mason rolled his eyes, standing in front of you.

Ben laughed when his mate opened his arms and you went straight to him. He knows your relationship with him is more intimate, and to Ben it's obvious what’s going on.

Mason stroked your back, smiling when you tucked your face in his neck.

“I’m gonna miss your hugs”

“This sounds like a you problem to me” Chilly smirked, knowing he’s still receiving those.

“He’s a prick, isn’t he?” Mason whispered in your ear, making you laugh between sobs.

You raised your face, trying to stare at him through your tears, and he stroked your chin patiently.

“Don’t find another best friend” you sobbed loudly. “I’ll drive to Manchester whenever I can to watch your games so we can make skincare together and we can FaceTime when you miss me but please Mount, don’t find another girl”

He smiled, feeling warmth in his chest. He wishes he could tell you not to find another boy too, but Ben would be pissed at him.

“You’re my only girl, Y/N. Don’t need to worry about that” Mason thought it was cute the way your lower lip was quivering while you pouted. “C’mon baby, I hate to see you cry. You’ll be fine? I can stay till tomorrow”

“No, I’m ok. You don’t need to change your plans” you sighed. “I’m acting like a child”

“It’s cute” he smirked, stroking your chin. “Here, I have something for you” he pulled away so we could take out the hoodie he wore all weekend. “I bought to leave it with you but I thought it would be better if I use it for some days so it would have my scent”

“I love you” you pouted, wearing it instantly before hugging him again.

“I love you more” he smiled and you closed your eyes, tightening your grip on his t-shirt when he kissed the tip of your nose.

“No, I do” you smirked, giggling when he pinched your nose.

“That’s impossible” he kissed you again, on your forehead this time, holding you against him for a few minutes. “See you soon, uhm? I swear”

You nodded, letting him go to Chilly. They both said goodbye, hugging each other with watery eyes before Mason came back to you, kissing your head and entering his car.

Ben came to hug you, and the two of you watched while Mason left the front porch line.

“Take your hands off her” Mason screamed, making you giggle. “Love you two, take care of my girl Benjamin”

“She’s my girl too, you know”

“Only in your dreams” Mason chuckled. “She knows she’s mine”

And drove off the car. You felt your heart pounding at the sight of his car disappearing at the end of his old road.

“His girl, uh?” Ben teased you as soon as you couldn’t see Mason’s car anymore.

“Shut up, Benjamin” you rolled your eyes, and he chuckled at you. “I miss him already” you started to sob again.

“Oh, fuck off” he laughed, but hugged you tightly, trying to bring you some comfort.

Later that night, Mason checked on you through Ben before reaching you out so he could try to comfort you. You felt even sadder knowing that the only day he can take care of you know is through a screen.

—

You tried to stay happy while living in London, for Ben. You really tried. But the dark hole in your chest wouldn’t let you.

Ben was the best of friends, staying at your house every time he can, taking you to different places and trying to distract you. You both spent a lot of quality time together and he knows how much you love him, but he also knows the truth.

You missed Mason so much it hurts.

You wished you could’ve gone to his debut for United, but you weren’t able to drop your work on a Monday so you went to Ben’s house to watch it with him.

It was a great game and the Red Devils happily won. You cried at the end, when the camera showed Mason, and Ben mocked you for the rest of the night.

“He is glowing” you pouted.

“I would be too, if I had a serious team” Chilly gave a choked laugh, making you chuckle.

You waved him goodnight and went to his guest room, deciding not to drive back home late at night since you lost track of time talking with Ben. He kissed your forehead and murmured goodnight too, giving you your space.

As soon as you entered the room, you changed into a pyjama you forgot there the last time you spent the night, and got under the heavy blanket, reaching out for your phone so you could send a message to your boy.

You didn’t knew but, in Ben’s room, your boys were having a conversation.

Five minutes after your last message, Mason didn’t resist and FaceTimed you.

“Goodnight Mase” you smiled at your phone. He was tucked in his sheets, cheeks smashed against his pillow. He looked so adorable, you wanted to scream.

“Oh, I miss your voice so much” Mason grinned, his voice a little bit hoarse. “Goodnight babe. Hope you enjoyed the game. Ben told me you cried, I got a bit worried”

Your blood ran to your cheeks, and you made a mental note to kick Ben’s ass later. What a traitor!

“Nothing to worry about, they focused on you at the end and I just miss you alot” you admitted shyly, even though he knows how badly you miss him. Mason smiled at your rose cheeks, feeling his heart ache with love.

“I’ll try to visit soon” he yawned, making you smile. “Ugh, I don’t want to say goodbye yet. Can we spend the night on call?”

“Yes big boy, sure we can. Want me to tell you a story?” you smiled, laughing when his cheeks turned red.

“I do, actually”

“Hmmm, alright. The story begins with a boy, a tall one, and a tiny girl. They met one day, when the tall boy hit the girl with a ball straight in her head…”

It was the best night of sleep both of you had in two weeks.

—

“I want to go to this weekend’s game” you said to Ben, after explaining to him how your best friend has been acting lately.. “At Old Trafford”

Two weeks passed since you and Mason slept on a call together, and you were feeling like something was off. He’d still answer your texts and send you good morning or good night with cute emojis, but he was avoiding your phone calls and you didn’t spend the day texting.

You felt childish at first, rationalising that he has a new job and is probably really busy, but on the third day off that he found an excuse to not call you at night, you decided you had enough.

“Alright, we’re playing on different days this weekend so I can take you. Don’t want you driving alone, we never know what might happen”

“I’m a good driver”

“I know that, bug” he smiled. “But I mean, like… we don’t know what you’re facing there. I don’t want you driving back after some misunderstandment or something like that”

You nodded, suddenly afraid that your little trip might end with you and Mason fighting.

“Only a month away and he’s acting weird” you dropped your head on the sofa. “And to think I really believed we could survive the season… or worse, the five fucking years”

“Language, bug. Don’t need to overreact, you don’t know what happened yet. Just… prepare yourself for anything, alright?”

“What do you mean? You think, like… he could be dating someone?” you shrugged.

“I wouldn’t say dating, but maybe seeing someone? He hasn't said anything like that to me” Ben tried to tranquillise you. “But it was my first thought, since one of the first things a man does when he starts dating is to push their female friends away a little bit, you know… so their girl don’t feel insecure or something like this”

“Yeah, I got it Benji, And I feel happy that my friends are this kind of man, but it would be nice if he could tell me instead of ignoring me” you snorted, pretending that the idea of Mason dating someone didn’t bother you at all. “At the same time, I can’t be sure that this is the reason, and he could be struggling with something. I just need to confirm he is okay”

“Fine, bug. I’ll take you. But if something went wrong then we’ll be back in the same minute, alright?” he brushed your hair out of your face. “I know you. It’s not like you’d be happy with him dating someone, don’t have to pretend in front of me. I just hopes he gives you sincerity at least”

—

The game was crazy. Ben tried to hide himself in a big hoodie, a cap and glasses, so both of you enjoyed it together. It was a fantastic result for United, winning three down zero at home, and you could see Mason was really happy.

Chilwell bought you an ice cream and distracted you with different subjects, giving time for Mason to get changed and go home, once he knows how crazy the locker room can get after a win like that.

An hour later, he drove you to the hotel he knows Masons at and asked the receptionist to call his buddy and say his name.

“Call me if you need anything” he murmured, kissing the top of your head. “And call me if you decide to spend the night, please”

You nodded, squeezing his hand before entering the elevator.

A half naked Mason opened the door, and you could tell he was really surprised.

“Y/N? What? What are you doing here?”

“Happy to see you too, Mase” you tried to smile.

“I’m sorry, I’m just- I didn’t expect to see you anytime soon, and she told me Ben was here so I thought it was him-”

You stared at him and the silence that came after was awkward. You turned your eyes to the floor and that’s when you saw the ring.

“Oh” you nodded, remembering Ben’s words. “Makes sense”

Mason followed your gaze, quickly taking the ring off. “It’s not what you think it is”

“Right. The same way your weird excuses for not calling me aren’t what I think they are and the fact that you didn’t even hugged me isn’t what I think it is” you grinned sarcastically

You turned around hating the way your voice crackled, and pressed the elevator button, ready to leave.

Mason ran to you, holding your arms to keep you in place. “Why haven’t you told me you were coming? You watched the game?”

“Yes”

“I’m sorry” he kissed your forehead, hugging your waist. “It was a hell of a week and I missed you so much that I thought- that maybe if we didn’t talk that much It could get easier. Sounds dumb when I say it out loud”

“Cause it’s dumb” you tried to be sharp, but Mason always gives you the best hugs in the world and you were instantly melting against him. The elevator door opened, but you both ignored it until it closed again.

“It’s Cartier” he said after a few seconds of silence, pushing you away to cup your face. “It’s just a ring”

You could see that he was trying to hide a smile and you felt so pathetic. Of course your best friend would’ve told you if he was dating someone.

“Sorry” you felt the blood rushing into your cheeks.

“What for?” Mason frowned, stroking your chin. In his opinion, you look so cute being jealous of him.

“For being a jealousy bitch” you sighed, confused. What the hell were you thinking? He’s tired after a rough game and you thought it was a great idea to show up and snap over a ring.

“You were jealous?” he raised an eyebrow at your nod. “You don’t have to. Everybody around me knows I’m yours”

Your body shivered, and Mason smiled at the sign of your red cheeks again. Kissing the tip of your nose, he held your hand and guided you inside his hotel room.

Mason couldn’t wait to cuddle with you, but you weren’t sure about spending the night with him after the scene you made.

“I should leave” you said when he closed the door. “You need to sleep”

“I’ll sleep better if you cuddle me” Mason pouted. “See what six weeks away made to us already? We were almost fighting. Now I need to spend the night with you just to be sure the tension is gone”

You rolled your eyes playfully, taking off your hoodie. Mason celebrated whispering “yes” just like a child, and promptly searched for a t-shirt to give you.

“I’ll go to the bathroom so you can get changed”

“You had dinner already?” you asked, worried that you just interrupted him.

“Hm no, but I can order some food if you’re hungry”

“I’m not, but you should eat something Mase”

“I just want to sleep, to be honest” he yawned, heading to the bathroom and giving you some privacy.

After sending Ben a message letting him know you were spending the night with Mason, you quickly changed into his t-shirt, sighing in relief for being free of your jeans and bra. Since you left your pyjamas at Ben’s hotel room, you searched for one of Mason’s shorts, but most of his things were still in his suitcases and you weren’t able to find it in the mess.

You decided to leave it that way instead of disturbing him any more and tucked yourself into his sheets before he came back, so he wouldn’t even notice.

“Alright, you can come out” you said loud enough for him to hear and he stuck his face out, making you laugh. “Hi baby boy”

“Oh finally, I was almost sleeping in the bathtub” he made his way to the bed and laid with you, looking for a comfy position.

Once you were laying on your back with his body on top of yours, Mason rested his face on your shoulder. Your hands went directly to his hair and you scratched his scalp gently, smiling at his tired groan.

“I’ll let you sleep without dinner ‘cause it was a tiring day at work, but you bet we’re having a reinforced breakfast tomorrow”

“Yes mommy, I got it” he hummed in your ear.

Mason didn’t missed the way your body shuddered and clinged against you. You held your breath when he slipped his hand under the t-shirt, squeezing your waist.

You felt like your heart would stop when he started to play with your panties strap.

“I didn’t gave you a sleep shorts, did I?” for a second you thought you were imagining the huskier tone of his voice.

“No you didn’t, but I can put it on now if you give me one”

You bit your lower lip when his finger went under the strap, stroking your skin, but you stayed quiet. It’s just your best friend, playing with the strap of your panties. It doesn’t mean anything.

“I can be dumb sometimes, but not that dumb, Y/N”

“Hm?” you thought you might have misheard him.

“Nothing” Mason chuckled. “Sweet dreams sweetheart” he whispered, kissing your collarbone.

“Good night, Mase”

You stayed awake for half an hour, hearing his cute snoring and thinking about the way you felt when you saw that ring.

When you closed your eyes, all you could think was that this couldn’t be happening. You knew better than falling for your best friend.

—

Sunday was lazy and cosy. Waking up with Mason’s arms wrapped around your waist always made you feel protected, and you missed this.

You called Ben and sent your location to him, so the three of you had breakfast in a super cute coffee, and Mason showed you both some places he liked in Manchester, taking pictures of you in his new town.

When it was time for you to go back to London, Mount turned into a big baby, pouting every time you looked at him.

Ben said he needed to go to the pharmacy before hitting the road, so he parked in front of Mason's hotel and left you both alone.

Mount helped you get in Chilly’s car and checked the seat belt, but wouldn’t get out of the car window for nothing.

“Let me know when you get home” he kissed your cheek, half of his body through the window, impeding you to close it.

“I can share my location with you if you want to” you chuckled at his concern.

“Yeah, do that. And tell Woody I said hi” he kissed your cheek again, making you laugh.

“Yes sir, anything else?”

“Hmmm, tell him I miss him” he smiled, kissing your cheek one more time.

“Jesus Mase, you’re so needy”

“I don’t want you to go” he cupped your face, whimpering. You closed your eyes, resting your face against his hand and smiling at his words.

“I’ll be back soon” you repeated what he said the other day, making him laugh.

��Liar”

You giggled, pouting at him. “Love you”

“I love you more” he kissed you again, dangerously close to your lips this time, which made you quickly open your eyes.

You stared at his eyes and found… something. They were shining, and when Mason licked his lips wet, you felt the urge to be a bit cockily brave before living.

“If you want to do it then do it properly” you rolled your eyes playfully. You never said anything like that to him, but the fact that he’s in another city now seemed to make you brave enough. You won’t need to face him if he dumps you.

But instead of laughing and saying goodbye, Mason leaned closer towards you.

“Can I?” his big brown eyes were focused on your lips, and you felt a lump in your throat.

“Well, if you want to” you tried to keep a playful tone but when he turned his eyes at you, Mason he had a serious look. “Do you?”

He stared at your lips, running his tongue between his own and pulling his face closer to yours. You weren’t sure if he was really going to kiss you or if he was just joking along with you about it, so you stayed standing in place.

When he was close enough for you to feel his breath in your lips Mason looked you in the eyes, asking for permission. You didn’t believe in yourself to speak, so nodding was your only option.

You felt butterflies in your tummy, anxiety and anticipation mixed with insecurity.

Your best friend leaned to you, and you smiled at his shaky breath. You’re not gonna lie, you imagined this happening a couple of times, but never thought that it was really possible.

“Are you nervous?” you tried to hide your smile. Realising he was just as afraid as you was something different.

“Aren’t you?” he brushed his lips against yours. “There’s any chance this could ruin what we have?”

“Only if you’re a bad kisser” you teased him and Mason chuckled, enjoying the moment.

Deciding to dive right in, he finally closed the distance between you both. His soft lips slipped against yours and you couldn’t help but sink into him.

It was a soft kiss. Slowly, as if Mason was savouring you. No one ever kissed you like this.

When both of you ran out of air, Mason pulled away. Smirking at you, he gave your lips a peck and ran to his car without saying anything.

You giggled at his shy reaction and stayed there for a few minutes, waiting for your best friend to come back, all smiley and thinking about what you just did.

Chilwell didn’t missed the way your smile was taking your entire face, or your shining eyes and every single sigh you left out during the ride.

When he left you home and kissed your forehead, he also looked you deep in the eyes.

“Be careful, bug” he stroked your chin, and you knew he knew that something was going on.

Maybe you were wrong. You don’t know better than falling for one of your best friends.

—

You came back to London way too fast, and were already missing your boy again.

You both were always texting each other, talking about your day and trying to manage how hard it was to be away from your best friend.

And despite you never talked about the kiss, things were different, in a good way.

He’d flirt with you like a teenager, making you giggle all the time, and even though the pet names were common in your friendship before, it’s the only way he calls you now.

You were so fucked up. Honestly.

Now it’s been two months since you saw him — and kissed him. You feel like the kiss strengthened your bond, but at the same time you felt so insecure about it.

Now that he’s so far away and you can’t be with him as much as you like, in your head it’s so easy for him to be interested with any other girl.

You tried to make these thoughts disappear, since you’re going out with your best friend.

Ben picked you up for dinner. He texted you earlier and told you to wear something nice, because he had a surprise for you, so you obeyed.

You chose a black dress to style it with your new high heels from YSL, and Chilly whistled from the driver's seat.

“We’re a bit late so I’m not opening the door for you, sorry bug” you rolled your eyes playfully, sitting in his passenger’s seat. “You look really really beautiful. Buddy’s having a heart attack for sure”

“Who?”

“You’ll see” he smirked, making you snort.

It was a quick ride, and you and Ben sang along to his favourite songs all the way.

When you both got to the restaurant, he took you to the receptionist to talk about his reservations and you saw a back you know really well.

“Is that-” you stuttered, and Ben looked at you in shock.

“Damn it Y/N, how could you tell from here?”

“Are you kidding? Is it really him?”

“Yes, bug. Surprise?” Chilwell smiled, shrugging.

You hugged him really, really tight. “Thank you, Benji. I love you”

“Right right, I know you do. Now go on, run to him like I know you want to” he teased you. “I’ll be there soon”

You nodded, doing your best not to fall while you ran to Mason. Your heart was in your throat and the sight of him was making you weak.

When you were close enough, you covered his eyes with your hands.

“Oh” he sighed, making you laugh. “I wonder who it could be. Probably my boy Chilly”

You took your hands away, looking him in the eyes. “Hi Mase”

“Uhm, way better than Chilly”

“Oh for fucks sake” Ben complained, rolling his eyes.

They chose one of those tables next to the wall, with sofas instead of chairs, so you could sit between them both. Great anti-jealousy choice.

You enjoyed the night with your boys, eating your favourite pasta and a glass of wine.

Ben laughed when you heard one of the waitresses saying that you had two gorgeous men when they only wanted one, and Mason kissed your cheek.

“What’s that ugly face about?”

“You think I’m ugly?” you asked with a pout, trying to hold your laugh when his eyes widened.

“I never said that”

“Oh, I think you’re in trouble Mase” Ben chuckled, falling silent with your gaze. “She heard the waitress talking about us” he murmured.

“What a jealousy baby” Mason kissed your chin, squeezing your tight under the table. “You know I’m your boy… and Chilly is your boy too” he completed with a giggle after Ben’s stare.

“If anyone could hear you now, they would think we are a throuple”

“Let them think” you shrugged, taking a sip of your wine.

“See? She’s proud of her boys” Mason cocked his head to the side.

“Yeah yeah, now which of you will order my dessert” you asked, reading the menu.

“I was thinking about being your dessert, actually”

“Behave, Mason” Ben snorted, pinching his nose.

You laughed at them, covering your face with the menu, a nice way to also hide your burning cheeks since Mason squeezed your tight again, loving to see you laughing.

When you had your bitter chocolate brownie with vanilla ice cream, Ben drove you back home. You were in the back seat while Mase sat in the passenger sit, so none of them would feel unchosen.

Chilwell parked in front of your front porch line, and you thanked him, tapping Mason’s shoulder.

“Want to spend the night with me?” You asked Mason and you didn’t need to ask twice as he quickly jumped out of Ben’s car.

“Yes mate don’t need to worry about me I’ll be fine on my own” Ben said dramatically, making you laugh. You went to the driver window, pecking his cheeks.

“Where’s my smile?” you asked him like he was a tiny kid, but it worked. Ben smiled at you, his eyes shutting. “Good night Benji”

“Good night, bug” he blew you a kiss before turning his head to Mason’s direction, who had already walked around the car and was now beside you. “Take care of her”

“I always do” Mount smirked cockily, resting an arm around your shoulders.

Ben waited for both of you to be inside of your house, leaving with a honk.

Mason entered your house in silence, knowing you have a roommate, and made his way to your room since you’re not eating or watching anything this late.

“Oh shit” Mason groaned when you closed your room’s door. “We just completely forgot that all of my stuff are at Ben’s”

“You can sleep in your boxers” you shrugged. “I don’t mind it. I’m sure there’s one of your shirts here but I don’t feel like looking for it”

Mason stared at the room floor for a minute, thinking about what you just said. You want him to sleep practically naked?

He shrugged to himself, taking off his clothes and staying only in his boxers. You were already in bed, using the hoodie he left with you months ago as a pyjama. It is big enough to cover your thighs, and you feel like you’re flowing inside it.

“It’s my hoodie?” he looked at you and you nodded.

“It’s the one you left for me in July, guess it’s mine now”

“Yeah, it is” he smiled, tucking his head into your neck. “Jesus you always smell so good”

You chuckled at his compliment, scratching his neck gently. It didn’t take long for his hand to reach your waist underneath the hoodie.

Just like the last time this happened, you held your breath when his fingers played with your panties strap.

He thought you were using pyjamas shorts. He really did, but there’s no way he’s taking his hand out now.

Mason tried not to imagine how'd it be to take it off from you. He tried really hard not to imagine how’d it be to make you moan his name.

You are his best friend and even though you always accepted his touches and cuddles and you both kissed last time you saw him, doesn’t mean he has any real chances.

But the way you were jealous of him that night… and you travelled all the way to Manchester… and that kiss was something else…

You left a shaky breath when he tightened his grip on you, and kept telling yourself that he’s tired, slightly drunk and his fingers just found the way to your waist naturally, that he’s not even totally awake. Well, at least you think he had a drink at the restaurant.

Mason was well awake, actually, and he did his best to keep the other part of him sleeping, but he couldn’t stop himself from picturing you only in his hoodie, your tights so accessible to him.

He sucked in a breath and you could feel the tension on his shoulders. You could also feel his boner when he tried to move his hips away, and your mind went blank.

He never had an erection when you guys slept together, in all these years. You didn’t know what to think or how to feel, and you were filled with a lot of conflicted emotions.

Mason was hard-on for you and this fed your pride. He thinks you’re pretty? Hot? He enjoyed that kiss the other day? He’s been thinking about it like you did?

Just in that moment you realised how bad you wanted him to want you.

When he left a small groan, you ran your hand through his hair.

“Everything is alright, Mase?” you asked gently.

“Uhm?”

“Is everything alright?”

“No, is not” he sighed. “I’m sorry”

You waited, feeling your expectations die, but still smiled at him.

“That’s alright babe, you’re a man attracted to women and I’m a woman and we are in the same bed and things like that can happen” you reassured him.

“Jesus, don’t call me babe in a moment like that” Mason groaned, making you laugh. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable”

“You didn’t. It can happen all the time, Mase. I was surprised it never happened before”

“This means that- Chilly… ?” he stuttered, raising his face to look at you.

“Oh, no” you laughed out loud. “You are the physical one, me and Chilly almost never cuddle”

“Good” he smiled, relieved.

“Good?”

“Yeah, good. I wouldn’t live much longer knowing he’s cuddling with you while I’m far away, that’s unfair”

There it was again, the reason for your doubts. In what should you believe, for fucking sake?

Is not normal for a best friend to be that territorial and jealous. At least you wished it’s not.

“You don’t need to be jealous of Ben. He’s just Ben” you kept scratching his scalp. “Wanna go to the bathroom?”

“Not really” he tucked his head into your neck and you could feel the warmth of his burning cheeks.

“You don’t need to be ashamed, Mase. I told you it’s normal and I do understand that you have no control over it”

“I shouldn’t want this to happen” he murmured, so sleepy that you could barely hear him.

“Hm? Sorry, I couldn’t hear you Mase”

“I got hard cause I was thinking about it” he whispered against your neck. “I shouldn’t want this to happen, right?”

“You shouldn’t want this because it’s me?” you asked softly, trying to understand what he wanted, how he felt about you.

“You’re my best friend, Y/N. Probably my favourite person in the world. I don’t want to fuck up our friendship” he squeezed your waist, inhaling your scent. “But God, I want to fuck you so bad”

You felt goosebumps all over your body and you were sure your panties would probably be ruined by now. This man will be the death of you.

But you think he drank tonight, you remembered yourself, just trying to keep your feet on the ground.

“You’re probably just drunk and horny, Mase. You’d feel like this with any girl laying in your bed”

“I didn’t even drink tonight, Y/N” he snorted, feeling rejected. “But nice way to dump me”

“Believe me, I’m not dumping you. I just thought you had a drink” you emphasised.

“Uhm, keep going” he ran his nose through your neck, lazy.

“You’re my favourite person too and I don’t want to screw things up” you admitted, and the way he pulled back to look at you with hopeful eyes made your entire body shiver.

“But you also feel it?”

“Yes baby, I do” you decided to be honest, even though you couldn’t know how honest he was being. “Now go to sleep, ok?”

“I don’t want to sleep” Mason kissed your neck.

You tried to take a deep breath, feeling your own body betray you. Mason didn’t missed the way your tights parted under him, which made him smile.

“Mase, you were supposed to be recovering. You really need to sleep now babe”

“Call me babe one more time and I’ll cum in my boxer” he breathed and you closed your eyes, fighting the urge to help him. “Y/N…” Mason whispered.

“We can’t, Mase” you whimpered, feeling insecure. You would have him and then what? He would go back to Manchester where he could find a lot of more attractive girls and you would stay in London.

“Why not” he pouted, nothing like the grown man asking you to have sex with him.

“I can’t risk the chance of you waking up and regretting this”

“I won’t”

“So there’s no rush if you’ll still want this other day” you tried to postpone this conversation, but he was desperate to take his chance, to create an ever stronger bond with you.

Mason doesn't know when you will see him again, so he can’t let this slip through his fingers.

“You want this?” he murmured, looking for your gaze, and you tried to ignore his eyes.

“Jesus Mase, why won’t you just sleep?” you sighed. This man is a tough one to deal with, and as soon he realised you did want him, you lost the war.

“Answer me” Mason kissed your chin, getting in between your legs. “Say you don’t and I’ll stop”

When he pressed his cock against your core, you losted it.

“Fuck, yes. I do. I want you so bad that I’m soaking” you spat the words. Lying to him now would be pointless.

Mason didn’t respond, giving your neck wet kisses instead, and you could feel his smile against your skin. He was desperate for you, and you could tell by his grip in your waist.

“If you want me then you got me” Mason whispered, moving his hand and caressing your core through your panties. “Be a good girl, uh?”

You nodded, feeling nervous. Your best friend was about to touch you like friends don’t usually do and you have no idea how to deal with that.

“Fuck, you’re really soaking” Mason groaned when his fingers touched you under the fabric, feeling how wet you were.

He slid them through your folds, trying to be quiet.

“No one can hear you” you whispered softly when you realised his effort to stay shut. “My roommate went for her boyfriends house”

“Good” he smiled, reaching your lips to a soft kiss. “I can make you scream then”

Your mouth went dry. You know Mason’s sassy and cocky side, and you love it, but you never thought you’d experienced it that way.

He rubbed your clit, gently massaging it, kissing your chin when you started to ask for more.

You couldn’t even think straight when Mason started thrusting two of his fingers in and out of you, always so gentle. You didn’t know if you wanted him to fuck you harder or to savour you like he was doing, so you just called his name, losing your mind.

“You’re feeling good?” he asked you, curling his fingers inside of you. The sight of your eyes shut and your parted lips made him want to scream. You nodded at him, scratching his neck. “And who’s making you feel good, princess?”

Mason smiled as he watched you roll your head back against the pillow. “You are, Mase”

He bit his lower lip in concentration, focused on getting you ready for him. When he couldn’t take it anymore, his dick twitching in his boxers at every soft moan of yours, he removed his fingers, smirking when you cried at the emptiness feeling.

Licking his fingers clean while looking you straight in the eyes, which made you even wetter, Mason pulled away just enough so he could take off his underwear, releasing his dick with a sigh.

Back between your legs, Mason moved your panties to the side, almost tearing them. He lined himself up with your entrance and leaned over you, teasing your hole and stimulating your clit with his tip.

He groaned when you scratched his torso, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Don’t tease baby, or there will be consequences” you hooked your fingers under his chin.

“Sorry” he smiled shyly, thrusting his hips forward to push himself inside. This somehow fed your pride with the thought of your boy submissive to you, but you had no time to think about it as Mason obeyed you, penetrating you slowly.

“Jesus Mase, you’re so big” you whimpered, feeling like you were almost tearing apart, your compliment feeding his ego.

When he was completely inside of you, Mason waited so you could get used to his size.

He started to move when you kissed his neck, trying his best to go slowly, but your soft whines in each thrust was making him crazy.

And he was good. So good. The pressure was perfect and the way he went to the bottom every single time made you wanna scream.

You had no words, only murmuring nonsense stuff and moaning his name. When his thrusts became faster and even more pleasurable, you lost your mind.

“Mase-” you choked out his name as you could feel his cock stretching you out, your walls clenching around him. “Just like that, babe-”

“Fuck, don’t call me like that” he whimpered. “I mean- please call me like that but not when I’m trying to last longer” Mason took a deep breath, trying not to cum with the feeling of you pulsating around him.

“But I don’t want you to last” you whispered, looking nothing like the girl from a few minutes ago who was scared of fucking with his best friend. “I want you to cum inside of me right now”

“Jesus, you’ll kill me” Mason groaned and you could feel him twitching inside of you, but he shook his head, thrusting his hips against you with renewed energy. “You first, princess”

You called out his name when the tip of his dick touched you in the right place, and Mason whined when you clenched around him.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. So hot damn tight” he cried out, suffering to hold his own orgasm.

He quickly took the tip of his thumb to rub your swollen clit, and you watched how his cock was disappearing in your pussy before you dropped your head back on the pillow, enjoying how good Mason is at it.

It was hot and messy and his thrusts were getting sloppier every second. You could feel your heart, tummy and cunt burning all at once and you knew you were close.

“I'm so close Mase” you whined, moaning loudly when he pinched your clit. “Fuck I’m gonna-“

“Let go for me, Y/N. You take me so good baby. It feels so good to be inside you” he whispered dirty words in your ear, coaxing you.

Your orgasm hits you with full strength.

Mason placed his forehead against your, stroking your waist and guiding you through it, his cock pulsating as he released his own orgasm inside you.

You both stayed silent for a moment, tired. After a few minutes, he kissed your lips and got up, looking for wet wipes in your bathroom.

Coming back with them, Mason cleaned you up gently, knowing you’d be too sensitive.

After tossing the wipes in the bin, he laid beside you, his arm in your waist and one of his legs over your body.

“You’re good?” he murmured in your ear, kissing your temple.

“Mm-hmm” you hummed. “It was good for you?”

“If it was good? Fuck, you drained me” he whispered, strengthless. “Yes baby, I loved to fuck you in my hoodie. Felt special”

“You’re so territorial” you chuckles, stroking his chin.

“Shouldn’t I? People are territorial over what belongs to them. So I’m territorial over you” he mumbled, and you knew he was falling asleep. “Cause you’re mine. Mine, mine and only mine. You and your cuddles and your stories and now your pussy is also mine”

You burst into laughs, his face moving with your chest.

“Good night baby boy” you kissed his forehead, smiling at his rose nose and cheeks.

“Sweet dreams, my princess” he leaned against you, trying to be as close to you as was humanly possible.

Before you fell asleep, your last thought was that It would break your heart to see him leave the next morning.

—

You and Chilly were out for lunch. After a rough week, he just needed to chat a little and you were always happy to hear him.

A venting session later, Ben squeezed your tight.

“And what about you? How you feeling, bug?” he tucked your hair behind your ear.

“Not quite sure, Benji. I miss him” you sighed. “But if I go, then I’ll miss you. And everything I have here”

“It must be hard feeling that way” he stroked your shoulder, pulling you closer to him.

“Yep… and uhm, I need to tell you something” you pinched your nose.

Ben didn’t even hesitated. “You had sex with him”

“Benjamin?!” you gasped.

“What?”

“He told you?” you were surprised that Ben knew it. Since that happened, Mason agreed not to tell your friend.

“So you HAD sex with him?” he laughed out loud. “Oh my- I knew it”

“So I just confirmed to you… great”

“Really? No one was going to tell me?“

“Sorry, I wasn’t sure about it. Like, I was always sure about him, but not about what we were”

“Oh yeah, you’re definitely something. He’s so in love with you, makes me sick of my stomach”

“He’s what?” you paralysed. “He told you that?”

“No but it’s obvious?!”

“Oh Chilly, c'mon. You scared me for a sec”

“Why? You wouldn’t want this to be true?” he took a sip of his soda, understanding your silence. “Oh shit, is the opposite”

You shrugged, not really wanting to confirm it.

“Whatever”

“I mean it, Y/N. I know he feels it”

“You can’t be sure if he never told you this”

“But he’s my best friend, I know him. And I know both of you. He’s been on you since his first Senior England game”

“Fine, even if this is the truth there’s nothing I can do if he never tells me”

“Maybe you should tell him how you feel”

“We were both very clear about how we don’t want to ruin our friendship”

“And then he fucked you. Nice way to not ruin a friendship”

“We’re good Benji, no friendships ruined”

“I’ve seen this film before, Y/N. You two should talk”

“Fine, I’ll try. I just didn’t felt comfortable bringing the subject in a week like this, you know that beating City at Old Trafford was a really big goal for him”

“You have a point, it was a stressful week for him” Ben nodded, finishing his food and trying to decide which dessert he would pick today.

When you finish yours too you reach out for your phone since you’re used to forget it exists every time you’re with Ben or Mason.

You held your breath when you entered Twitter and saw Mason’s name trending.

According to the videos, Mason was at a club last night and even though he’s a grown man and can do whatever he wants, you felt your stomach churn.

He was beautiful as ever, looking a bit tipsy and his hair was a mess in one of the photos.

A specific one made your heart ache.

Mason was holding a girl on his lap. His face was resting on her shoulder, practically laying on her boobs.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears, and Ben looked at you concerned.

“What happened, bug? You’re feeling alright? Something’s hurting?” he sounded alarmed, and you felt a bit of comfort in his concern.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, feeling your chest hurt, so you nodded at his question.

“What is it? You can’t breathe?” Ben stroked your back, worried. When you put your phone on the table and covered your face with your hands, he had a look at the screen. “Fuck, I’ll kill him”

You shook your head, ugly crying in your hands. Ben kissed your temple, never stopping the comforting stroke in your back and whispering that everything would be okay.

When your sobs became too loud he asked for the bill, paying before picking you up and taking you to his car. You didn’t say a word, accepting being taken care of.

At his house, he sent you to a hot shower. You hugged him tightly before locking his bathroom door and getting under the water.

It was a relieving shower. You cried a lot, and when you felt that there weren't any more tears you let your shoulders relax.

Leaving the bathroom, you found out that Ben had left one of his oversized t-shirts and a new boxer in his bed.

Wearing it and wrapping the towel around your hair, you left his room to find him in the kitchen.

“Hey bug, you’re feeling better?”

“Thank you Benji” you pouted, and he left the stove to get to you.

“You don’t need to thank me. You know I’d do anything for you, Y/N, you’re my little sister” he hugged you, and you tucked your face in his neck. “I love you, and I’m sorry he hurt you. He’ll have to deal with me about this one”

“I love you Chilly, but you don’t need to fight with your best mate because of it” you sighed, letting him go back to the boiling water. “We’re not dating, we just had sex. Maybe I went too far, it’s not his fault”

Ben shook his head, but concentrated on making you both a cup of tea.

Your best friend took care of you, and you both spent the rest of the day cuddling and watching movies.

Ben wasn’t the best with physical touch, but he knew you needed it so he tried his best, and this made your heart pound with gratitude.

You ignored Mason the whole day. You know he’s an adult and can do whatever he wants to, and a few weeks ago those videos wouldn’t bother you as you want him to be happy, and he seems happy, but after the last time you saw him you thought… that maybe he could be happy with you.

When the third movie ended, you yawned and turned to face Ben.

“It’s really late Benji, I should go home”

“You can spend the night here, I have training tomorrow but that’s not a problem”

“Are you sure?”

“Fuck off bug, you’re my best friend. Of course I’m sure” he ruffled your hair. “Do you want to sleep with me or do you need time alone?”

“As long as you don’t kick me out of bed in the middle of the night…”

“Hey, I already apologised for that night” Ben gave you the middle finger, turning off the tv, and you followed him upstairs.

“I need to tell you something” Ben sighed, rubbing his face. “I think I might know what happened, but I don’t want you to feel like I’m defending him — I’m not”

“Uhm, ok?” you looked at him, suspicious.

“Friday, after our game… I went to the club with some of the boys, we had a lot of drinks” he started, feeling ashamed. “And we played truth or dare. I’m sorry, bug. One of the guys thought it was a good idea to dare Enzo to send Mason a message about you”

“What kind of message?”

“That you spent a night with him or something like that. They all know how close both of you are and they were sure this would make Mason lost his shit cause apparently he’s the only one that still doesn’t know how fucking in love he is” Ben said it all in just one breath. “But this is not an excuse, he should’ve asked you instead of believing Enzo. I just think that he felt threatened, insecure that you saw another man even after what you guys had”

“Jeez Ben, this is fucked up uh? It’s not a cool thing to do. But yeah, he should’ve asked me before fucking other girl”

“You’re angry or jealous?”

“I’m angry. And jealous. He slept with her thinking I slept with another man and now even though he’ll find out I didn’t, he did” you pouted. “He’s dirty with another woman’s pussy Ben I don’t want him anymore”

Your sincerity made Chilwell burst into laughter. “Oh bug, I’m sorry. You’re just too funny”

“I mean it though, she’s all over his skin”

“I’m sorry you’re passing through this, bug. He can be so dumb sometimes” You shrugged, and Ben’s phone started to ring. “Speaking of the devil”

“The Red Devil” you joked, turning to the other side so he could text his best friend. Ben stayed silent for a few minutes, but you could feel he was angry by the way he was typing.

You sighed when he locked his phone, imagining what they talked about, but forced yourself to forget these thoughts when Ben tucked his head in your neck.

“Good night, bug”

“Good night, Benji”

—

Monday morning, Ben’s doorbell rang like crazy, waking you up. You looked at your phone to check the hour, discovering it was only half past eight.

A lot of messages from Mason caught your attention, and you read them quickly, feeling your stomach twisting.

The doorbell rang again, and you snorted. Chilwell left early for training, so whoever might be wouldn’t find him home, but you thought it would be nice of you to let them know this instead of just letting them wait forever.

You ran down the stairs in his t-shirt, rubbing your sleepy eyes and still yawning. It wasn’t the best night of sleep you ever had, to be honest.

The last thing you were expecting was to see Mason standing in front of the door, ready to start knocking.

You tried to close the door in his face, but he was quick to stop your action, using his foot to keep it open.

“We need to talk” his voice was grumpy, and he looked so cosy in his hoodie. You tried your best to not jump on him, still feeling sad about yesterday.

“I don’t really wanna talk with you”

“But we need to. You’re using Ben’s t-shirt?” he frowned, forcing his weight against the door until you gave up.

“I didn’t think I was staying so I didn’t bring anything” you shrugged, and he forced himself to swallow the jealousy lump in his throat.

“Y/N…” Mason tried to hold you, but you took a step back.

“Don’t. I’m still pissed” you snorted, closing Ben’s door and walking to the living room. “How do you even knew I was here? I’ll beat Ben’s ass”

“I went to your place and you weren't there, so it was a logical thought. He didn’t needed to tell me anything. He refuses to talk to me at all”

Your heart melted a little bit, but even though what happened seems a small thing now, you cried a lot since you saw that video, and despite Ben’s explanation before bed you weren’t letting Mason get away with this one so easily.

You sat on the sofa, and he tried to sit next to you. You shuffled to the side, putting a little distance between you, but Mason followed your movement.

When you reached the arm of the sofa and ran out of space, he smiled at you. The pair of you stayed silent until Mason reached out for your hand.

“I’m sorry sweetheart” Mason said softly and it was enough to make you cry again.

“It’s not like we’re something, right? I’m just being dramatic” you shrugged one more time.

You weren’t his girlfriend, you both never talked about your feelings, he had a night out and now you’re acting like this is the end of the world. Maybe you should see a therapist.

“No, we’re not” he sighed, your words hurting him a little bit. “But I’ve always wanted us to be”

You gave Mason a side eye, trying not to cry any more. You wished you could still be mad at him, but if you’re being honest with yourself, just the fact that he was in London on a Monday so he could explain himself to you already made your anger disappear.

“You don’t need to lie to me, Mase. We can still be best friends like nothing happened” you tried to smile like the idea wasn’t tearing you apart.

“I don’t want to be your best friend” Mason snapped, but he quickly recomposed himself. “Fuck, I don’t. Ben is your best friend, ok? He’s your big brother, whatever. I’m your boy, Y/N” he said desperately, giving your thigh a squeeze. His words sounded like they could kill you. “Look at me baby”

When you did, Mason stared into your eyes. You instantly felt the need to cry, and weren’t able to hold the tears when he started stroking your chin.

Unable to wait any longer, he brought you to his lap, his hands going straight under Ben's t-shirt, to your waist.

“It’s not your fault, or mine. We should’ve talked about how we felt” you placed your hands on his neck. “Can’t blame you for sleeping with other girl”

“I haven’t. You’re the only one I had sex with the last four months” he chewed his lower lip. “I went to the club so Rashy could record me because I knew you’d see it and then you’d feel what I felt when Enzo texted me”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me” you shook your head, but you felt good knowing that he hasn’t slept with anyone else since he had you. He’s still your untouched boy.

“I do need to. It was childish, dumb and I hurt you without even knowing the real story. The thought of you with him made me blind. I just kept thinking about you touching him like you touched me” he said shyly, avoiding your gaze. “Kissing him like we kissed. Riding him like you did to me”

You took his hair out of his face and stroked his chin. Shy Mason has ever been your favourite version of him, because you’re the only one to see him like this.

“But that wasn’t the worst part” he pouted unconsciously. “I just realised that once you both enjoyed it, he could take you on dates. And ask you to be his girlfriend. See you every week like I used to and even ask you to live with him. He could do everything I wanted to”

His lower lip quivered and the fragility made you smile.

“I haven’t even met Enzo in person, baby boy. You could just talked to me and I’d told you this”

“Chilly told me it was a truth or dare game and they chose me as the target cause it was always obvious how much I like you” he left out a shaky breath. “But I had already messed up when I found out the truth. I was so dumb, and now you’re mad at me”

“Of course I’m mad at you. Another girl was messing around with what is mine” you felt a boost of confidence knowing he wants you both to be more than best friends.

“I’m sorry babe” he pouted, and your entire body shivered.

“Being sorry isn’t enough” you ran your thumb through his lower lip, quivering when he kissed your finger.

“What can I do to make it up to you?” Mason smiled at the feeling of your thighs squeezing around him.

“Maybe if you were so afraid that Enzo could make a move, you should do it before we have the chance to accidentally met” you teased, watching your boy’s eyes go darker.

“Can we not say his name anymore?” Mason rolled his eyes, still stroking your skin.

“Does it stress you out?” you raised an eyebrow at him. “And you haven’t thought for a second that if you didn’t like the way you felt about him then I wouldn’t like the way I’m feeling about that girl right now?”

“I’m sorry” Mason whimpered, tightening his grip on your waist.

“Not enough. Not after making me think someone was touching my man. After making me think you were intimate with her or were looking at her the way you look at me”

“Your man?” Mason smirked, stopping when he saw your serious face. “I’ll never look at anyone the way I look at you. And your name is the only one I like to call”

“It won’t be that easy for you, Mr. Good With Words” you poked his chest, trying not to smile when he held your hand and kissed it.

“Fine, not words then. Let’s have dinner next week, I’ll come after my game” he smiled, pecking your neck.

You tried to hide your own smile again, but Mason tickled your waist and you failed.

“Alright” you giggled. “But I can go to Manchester. You’ll be tired”

“I don’t think so, I’m the one who needs to prove you something” he kissed your neck, and you closed your eyes, enjoying his touch before pulling out of his lap.

His confused eyes made you laugh, even harder when he pouted like a child.

“You didn't think it would be that easy, right? No kisses before my dinner” you shrugged.

“Y/N” he whimpered. “It’s like we're starting from scratch?”

“Yes”

Mason sighed, getting up and walking towards you. “Give me a last one, then”

You got closer to him, slowly. Mason licked his lips wet in anticipation, his hands ready to hold you, when you gave his cheek a peck and ran upstairs.

“Don't forget to close Chilly’s door” you screamed, making him laugh.

“I love you too, sweetheart” he shook his head, just happy that he got another chance.

Once in Ben’s room’s safety, you texted your best friend since he loves to be updated about your life like is a reality show.

—

Mason’s game Saturday afternoon was fantastic, and he even gave Rashy an assist. This would mean Ben was the moody of the moodiest, but he told you he’d be fine, not wanting to mess up with your weekend. You wrote a mental note to spend an entire afternoon with him.

When Mount left the locker room and the boys invited him, he shook his head, smiling.

“What’s about that smile?” Sancho raised an eyebrow.

“It seems like someone visited heaven” Martinez smirked, crossing his arms whilst everyone waited for Mason’s response.

Luke laughed, wearing his hoodie and walking towards Mount. “I know that look” he tapped Mason’s shoulder. “It’s Y/N, right?”

“Oh, so the video worked?” Marcus clapped his hands.

“Not exactly, but we’re good now. I’m taking her to dinner”

“That’s my big boy” Sancho jumped on his shoulders.

“He’s actually her big boy, bro” Onana giggled, messing up Mason's hair. “Happy for you, Mount. You found yourself in United, finally have your house and now you have your girl too”

“The start of the season in a new team can be really tough, but you’re going through it Mase. You’ll see, from now on it’ll only get better” Rashford completed, hugging Mason’s head. “We’re happy for you, brother”

He is happy for himself too. No self pity anymore. He’s going to show the world why he deserves his trophies, his fame and his girl.

With that in mind, he knocked at your door hours later, his shaky legs annoying him and your favourite flowers on his hand.

Ben told him your hotel and even gave his name to the receptionist. He felt like he’ll always be in debt with his friend.

Mason ran out of breath with the sight of you. Your red dress was pressing your body in all the right places, ending four fingers above your knees, and your smile was so bright. Your make up was her favourite make up style, a natural one, and your red lipstick matched the colour of your dress. Your white high heels

“Hi baby” he smiled at you, giving you the flowers. “To you”

“Mase! You didn’t need to” you pouted, running inside so you could put them in a vase. He was still smiling when you came back.

“You’re beautiful”

“You’re beautiful too baby boy” you had a look at him. Mason was wearing a white shirt, black pants and his favourite white Nike sneakers. He smiled proudly when you licked your lips wet looking at him.

When he took you to his car, you were a bit confused.

“What happened to your Rover?”

“Washing day” he shrugged, opening his Porsche’s door for you. “Do you like this one?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. Everything about tonight seemed so dazzling.

When he sat behind the wheel, you felt your legs shake a bit and you couldn't contain your gasp. “Jesus, this is hot”

“Uhm?” Mason looked at you, grinning as he started the car. “You said something, babe?”

You chewed your lower lip, knowing damn well he heard you. Mount laughed at your silence, driving to the restaurant he picked.

It wasn’t a long drive, but you spent the entire time staring at his hands. How they pressed the wheel, how he smiled every time he hit the accelerator. How he smirked when his eyes met yours.

So cocky and feeling himself.

And you like to see him like this.

When he parked in front of your favourite restaurant, you pouted at him. Of course it was the Manchester franchise, but his concern with choosing somewhere you would like in his town made you happy.

“Don’t” he closed his eyes, smirking. “I don’t want to ruin your lipstick yet”

You rolled your eyes, and couldn’t help yourself but feel giddy. “Who said you’re ruining my lipstick tonight?”

“I said” he opened his door, running to get to yours before you could open it by yourself. You always felt good around Mason, but being his best friend and being his girl were two different things.

And nothing in this world ever felt as good as being his girl.

You never thought you’d have a dinner date with Mason, but you had. And it was unreal. Everything about the restaurant was so cosy, and the way he looked at you the whole night…

“You’re sure there’s no problem if someone sees us here?”

“You need to relax, love. It’s just me, uh? Not Mason Mount, just your Mason”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble”

“I won’t. Now, white wine and cheesy pasta?” he smiled, and you nodded fervently. You both talked about how’s been settling down in Manchester, his first Manchester Derby and your visits to Stamford, avoiding talking about Enzo and Mason’s partying night.

He also asked about your work, your family, Ben and Nathan. You asked about his new teammates and if they’re already friends, Mason smiled at every answer and question, and you were so happy your belly hurts from laughing.

When you were finished with your food, Mase ordered a chocolate dessert, knowing how much you love sweets after a meal.

“Close your eyes for me, princess. I want you to guess what I ordered” he smiled, and you obeyed immediately.

“It has strawberries?”

“Hm, no”

“Mango? Grapes?”

“Wow, you’re a fruity woman. But no” you could hear his giggles.

“It’s dark chocolate?”

“Yes baby, your favourite”

“Oh, oh!! Petit gateau with the 60% cocoa ganache and cocoa powder sprinkled” you opened your eyes, looking at him instead of the table. “Did I get it?”

Mase had the most beautiful smile, his eyes shut. When he didn’t answer you, you looked at the table just to find the dessert you described – and a ring.

“What- what is this?”

“I promise” Mason started, and you felt your eyes watering. “That I’ll love you just as much as you love bitter chocolate. I do already” he giggled, and you felt like your heart was about to stop.

“Baby…”

“I think you should be my girl, Y/N”

“I’m your girl” you murmured, feeling your heart pounding with love.

“Alright, I think you should be my girlfriend then. The last week just proved that we want each other and not being sincere about our feelings will only leave space for us to get hurt. I don’t want us to get hurt”

You walked towards him sitting in his lap not really caring if other people would comment about it.

“Me neither, sweet boy. But we live in different cities-”

“We’ll manage this. We can make it work. It’s what we’ve been doing since I left, babe. But now I’ll be even more anxious to see you cause I know I’ll be able to kiss you” he chuckled, kissing your chin before brushing his lips in your ear. “And touch you in a way is reserved to me”

“Put it on my ring” you whispered to him, trying to focus. He bit his lower lip in concentration, taking the tiny box and admiring his choice, a shining silver with a red jewel.

“I was going to buy a blue one, but…”

“Red is your colour now. It fits you, and it fits me. That’s all” you reassured him, stroking his chin with one hand while he held the other, sliding the ring through your ring finger.

You cupped his face when he finished, kissing his cheeks, nose and lips. It felt pretty good to see your lipstick marks all over him.

“Want your dessert now?” he smiled sheepishly and you nodded, choosing to stay in his lap while you ate your petit gateau.

It was really yummy and you felt happiness spreading over you, realising how much he knows you for asking something you would like that much.

“You shouldn’t press yourself against my cock like that, you know?” Mason suddenly murmured, scaring you. “It would be really embarrassing for me to cum that fast”

You choked a bit, pushing the plate away. “I’m done”

“Already?” he giggled when you nodded, looking at him with pleading eyes.

He asked for the bill and paid for it before getting up with you and guiding you by your waist. When both of you got to his car, he opened your door and kissed your cheek, making you all giddy.

While he walked around the car and entered, you texted Ben.

Already locking his seatbelt Mase smirked at your giggles, imagining who you were speaking with.

Mason didn’t even ask where you wanted to go, driving his home with just one hand while the other squeezed your thigh.

It was intimate and his hand was warm and you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking how hot he looked while driving that way.

When he parked in his garage, you instantly felt nervous. It was your first time at his new house, and he could sense your tension.

“It’s just like when you used to come to my house in London” he hugged you from behind. “But we’re not in London anymore”

“And we’re not best friends anymore” you completed.

“No. We’re even better now” he kissed your neck, taking your hand and guiding you inside.

It was a big house, but comfortable at the same time. Mason was still decorating, but already seemed like his place.

It was late already, so he took you straight upstairs.

“Here’s my room, and my bathroom is right there. You can take off your makeup, I brought your makeup remover and a lot of cotton pads”

“I’ll need a t-shirt” you pouted, realising how much you two look like big babies pouting all the time. “And a boxer, it’s more comfortable”

“Yas ma’am. But first” he held your waist, pushing you against him. His other hand went to your neck, his fingers getting into your hair.

Mason leaned towards you, brushing your nose with his and pecking your lips before giving you a real kiss. His tongue sliding into your mouth the second you gave him permission.

He groaned when your nails scratched his scalp and you whined in his mouth, trying to get closer to him. Mason’s hands slid through your body, and he squeezed your bum, making your grip on him tighter.

“I told you” he said once you both broke apart looking for air, running his finger through your lower lip. “Deliciously ruined”

You pecked his lips one more time, feeling your legs a bit shaky.

“I love you”

“I love you so much more” he kissed your neck. “Now go get ready for bed, please. I don’t have strength enough to do what I want to do with you right now”

You chuckled, also feeling too tired for anything. It was a perfect night and you just wanted to finish it laying with your boyfriend, cuddling all night.

After taking off your makeup, you came back to Mase’s room and found him with the most beautiful sleepy face, holding his clothes for you. You quickly changed, letting him look at your body for a few seconds before wearing his t-shirt and boxer.

“Shit, you look so hot. And so cosy. I don’t know if I want to fuck you or cuddle you”

“Well the only thing you’re able to do right now is cuddling” you giggled, and Mason hit your ass.

He tucked you in bed, and you sighed in content. It was always so good to cuddle with him, feeling his body touching yours.

You knew both of you were horny and desperate for each other, but at the same time you were drained with the day’s surprises, and your boy had just won a game earlier. More than that, you were just happy. That you were in his arms, that he is totally yours now, that he loves you.

Happy that you’re able to sleep with his body that close to yours.

—

It’s been two months since Mason asked you to be his girlfriend and you said yes. You both were able to manage the distance, but you were broken to be that far away from him.

When you asked Chilly to meet you that Thursday night, you really thought it wouldn’t be that hard. That you would have time to talk to him before telling the news.

But just like Mason, your best friend knows you, and his soft eyes shined with unshed tears before you even opened your mouth.

You hugged him, instantly tucking your face on his neck.

“I’m moving” you tried to tell him yourself, even though he already saw this on your face. “I’ll go to Manchester, Chilly”

He kissed the top of your head, hugging you tightly. “I’ll miss you, a lot, but I’m happy you made the decision. He was making me crazy with all the texts about missing you”

“I wish I could stay- really” you tried to explain, tightening your grip on hip, but Chilly shook his head.

“I’m missing my best friend, yes. But you?” Ben shrugged. “You’re missing the entire other half of you. I understand why you need to go. I’m happy you’re going, actually. Happy for you, and for my boy that’ll now feel complete”

“I’ll miss you so much, Benji” you pulled back to look at him with big sad eyes.

“But you’ll be happier there. And this is enough for me. Just promise me we’ll text everyday and you’ll visit me on my important games”

You nodded, squeezing his waist. “I’ll visit all the time. And you can always visit too, you know” you stared at him. “I love you. I love both of you so much it hurts”

“We love you more, you know” Ben chuckled, kissing your forehead.

You were happy with your best friend's support, and after a nice lunch with him you texted your boy.

You laughed at him, so silly.

When you had all your most important things in your car hours later, you FaceTimed Mason.

“Hi my sweetie cutie pie” he answered immediately.

“Hi big boy” you smiled at him, locking your old small and pretty house, that was already on sale.

“Big, uh?” a different voice came from his phone, and you felt the blood rushing into your cheeks when Rashford appeared through your screen. “Hi cutie pie” he mocked Mason.

“Hi Rashy. Boys night out?”

“Not actually, is just me, Mase and Sanch”

“You’re coming?” Mason appeared again, and Marcus snorted.

“I’m leaving now, but it’s a long drive, you can stay with them” you assured him, entering your car.

“Wish I could pick you up” he pouted. “Be careful love”

“Join us when you arrive, baby girl” Marcus mocked again, and Mason fulmed him with his eyes.

“Don’t call her like that” your jealous boy complained.

“Ohhhh” you could hear Sancho’s voice. “He’s right Rashy, you can’t call your buddy’s girl like that even if it’s ironic”

“Sorry, sorry. Just tell her to join us”

“You want to come, babe?” he looked at you with his big brown eyes and you nodded.

“This phrase went weird bro” Sancho murmured, causing Marcus to break into laughter.

“Jesus, I can’t with you two” he snorted, causing you to smile. “I’ll send my location and you decide if you want to show or if you’re too tired, just let me know if you choose go straight home so I can come to you”

“Yes sir” you nodded again, starting the car. “See you soon” you whispered, receiving an affected smile.

“God, I can’t wait” he murmured with shining eyes, instantly being teased by his friends. “I love you baby”

“Love you more” you blow him a kiss before turning the call off, adjusting your seat belt and driving off of the porch line. Driving home. To your man and your new life.

#✧･ﾟ: *✧ tsimvkas — works #mason mount fanfic #mason mount x reader #mason mount fluffy #mason mount smut #mason mount x y/n #mason mount fics

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christinebloodwrittings · 1 month

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To hunt or be hunted #2

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader x Lucifer

Summary: Strong statements from the "feared" king of hell, deadly oversights, cute duck-shaped cupcakes and the forgotten terror that lives beneath the hotel enjoying a certain demon's broadcast.

Warnings: Self loathing, a bit of a scare, nothing else I can think of.

Taglist: open...

The crowd, and 102 notes have spoken. Funny enough, things I consider drabbles blow up, and stuff that I like and post stays forgotten, anyways that's life. Feedback is always appreciated btw.

For the ppl that voted One-shot, my request box is open if you guys want to drop something Hazbin related.

Charlie had habilitated a back door for the kitchen, heading to the street, so that groceries and the kitchen supplies that you order could arrive unnoticed and would not bother her guests. Also for you to come and go as you may see fit without drawing, as she called it, ‘Unwanted attention’.

Of course she wasn’t thinking of the swarm of questions that may come your way, but more like if they found out, she would have to break the little image she had worked on all this years, the controlled, nice and loving princess everyone knew; to show a bit of the real menace she can be. She hated exercising her authority over others because of what happened with you, it felt wrong and invasive, so she never wanted to re-enter the same void she had fell through when her mother left.

She still used a more severe tone when addressing to you and her orders, or as she calls them ‘mandatory suggestions’, orders nonetheless, and when she asks you for what you’ve heard around town. She wants to keep up with what the people say about the hotel? Not entirely, she just likes gossip.

When either Angel Dust or Husk asked Charlie where did the food come from, she either said that she ordered it, or rely on the fact that sometimes Nifty cooked, per Alastor’s suggestion, but only when he wasn’t around to bring out the fact that she was lying.

Your ears perked up at some noise coming from the renovated parlor, usually it was just Alastor messing with the king of Hell, which made your eyes roll in annoyance given his lack of battle IQ, but the stubborn stag was mildly protected by the princess’s favor, without it, his head would hang on the king’s wall, probably as a coat rack. Now, that thought brought you a smile and a small laugh.

Later at night, when most demons were fast asleep, Angel Dust tiptoe his way inside the hotel, after a long session demanded by Valentino. He tried no to groan given the fatigue, and as he stretched backwards, making his back crack.

“What the fuck?” he muttered when a candle lit up on top of the new bar table, on top of it lied a plate with a medium rare cooked stake sided with homemade mash potatoes and some sauteed vegetables, next to it a glass of wine and silverware, along with a note that read:

“You failed to attend to dinner, saved you a plate. Enjoy”

He reluctantly took a bite, but after realizing that if it were spiked with anything he would’ve already died, given that drugs in hell had a fast effect when it comes to assassination, he enjoyed every last bit of it, making small moan sounds as he did. He also complimented the selection of the wine. You enjoyed the praises as you saw him eat.

As soon as he made his way back to his room, you took the plate and various items to give them a wash. The next day, Husk earned a kiss on the cheek without knowing what he did to deserve it.

It gave you a warm feeling in your chest when the guests liked your food, even more so when they expected anxiously what would it be for the next day, as you never really published the menu for the week, only the princess knew.

Given Angel’s constant praise, you started leaving protein shakes in his night stand before he woke up, always with a ‘Drink me for strength’ note, same with Vaggie when she started working out in the mornings. Charlie took your gesture and assured that she made them out of concern, which was well received by the rest, but not so much from her towards you.

“What did we talk about laying low?” she turned a bit demonic as she whispered harshly, “If you want to starve yourself to death, be my guest, but you made me the chef of the Hotel since day one, and no one inside this walls will die of malnourishment if I can help it” you well knew of the nasty habit the princess had towards food, by sometimes (often) forgetting to eat, or drive herself to an extent of stress, that she just dismissed breakfast or launch, even both on some occasions.

“Fine. On another subject, my dad will start living here, permanently. He’s Celiac, just so you know” Gluten allergy, that caught you off guard. You made a mental note to replace flours, rice and pastas into a non-glutinous option, same as your pastries for tea time from now on.

“About time you made peace with him” she shot you a warning look but didn’t correct you, “Yeah well, I’m happy about it, it took too long” for a while she felt that it was her fault for her parent’s split, as any child of divorce would begin to feel in the first period of the breakup. That feeling diminished, but hasn’t left her system entirely, no mater how much her girlfriend reassures her of the contrary.

“Arrange his room please, I left a few things lying around, but I have a session, so, can you handle it?” you nodded, satisfied with your answer, or rather lack thereof, she turned into her cheery self. “He left to pack up a few things from the castle, he’ll be back in a few hours, please don’t let him see you” with that last bit, she left the kitchen.

The king’s room wasn’t messy, Nifty wouldn’t allow it, so there were just a few items to place around, and a massive bed to put together, piece by piece no less. It was a Belphegor’s elite brand bed, no less, it had an insane amount of screws and parts, for someone known as the queen of Sloth, it took a serious amount of effort to put up with her products.

Took you two hours to set the whole thing up. Why did it take so long to put together a bed? because when you had it perfect, you noticed that you had three leftover screws, you weren't supposed to have leftover screws, so you disassembled it piece by piece until you found a place for the damn screws. The instructions were worse written than a menu in a Cantonese restaurant when the owner is obviously not Cantonese and wrote up the whole thing in google translate.

You took a big breath, satisfied with your work only when you put on the last blanket over the foot of the bed. “Weight blanket” you muttered with the fabric in between your fingers. Right in between the bedspread and the sheet there was a fairly heavy blanket, it lead to something obvious, two, either anxiety, or the king was missing his wife to the point he needed a weighted hug over him.

Your ears caught the sound of wings, he would arrive in no time.

You only had a millisecond to think, either run to the door and risk being seen, or put on the veil, jump out the window, but you were at penthouse level, that would probably leave you quadriplegic, on the other hand you transferred your tunnel system between the walls from the old hotel to the new one, you would just have to push the fake tile behind the bathroom door.

You ran out of time.

Still in your place, like a statue, you put the veil carefully over your body, this time without your eyes being able to be seen through.

The fallen angel dropped one single portfolio, the same blowing up into a swarm, no, a tsunami of rubber ducks, pieces of clothing, all ending up scattered all over the room, giving you an opportunity to make your way behind the bathroom door.

“Oh Charlie put together my bed? That ought to be a lot of work” he ended the sentence with a singsong tone before jumping onto the mattress. ‘That’s a shit ton of baloney, I bust my ass and the little devil gets credit for it? Fucking fantastic’ you mentally growled.

“Lily, if you could see her, she looks more like you every day” his voice cracked, “I wish…I wished I knew how to help. What could I possibly offer her? Advice? Experience? On what?! falling, being a constant disappointment? She did more things than you and I did in ten thousand years”

“I feel so useless” peeking over the door you saw the tiny king, wrapping himself in his six enormous wings. ‘Majestic’ you thought, after seeing millions of demons since you died, it was the first time you saw someone so beautiful. It made sense, he was indeed the prettiest angel God ever created, the best singer too.

How can someone like that, ethereal, could be troubled by things so…earth bound?

In an instant, he jumped out of bed, brushed up his hair a little, then walked out the door with the most fake smile you had ever seen. Boy you knew about fake smiles.

Later in the afternoon, around tea time, you changed up your regular flour for almond, it was definitely a different experience in terms of texture, but in terms of flavor, it could pass for regular flour, no one was going to notice.

Three types of cupcakes: Salted caramel, red velvet with vanilla stuffing, and cookie dough cupcakes shaped as ducky ones.

Alastor wasn’t a fan of sweets, so a mildly coffee infused cake with a caramel dressing with coarse salt on top, did the trick amazingly. Paired with a nice cup of Orange Pekoe tea to send him down memory lane. When you picked his plate up, there wasn’t a single crumb left.

The rest of the Hotel fancied your pastries, and loved sweets. Red velvet was a well-received classic, but it consisted of a vanilla flavored cake, and pair it with a filling of the same flavor might over do it. Instead, you added orange juice to the mix, the citrus smell with the sweet vanilla swirl on top were the sensation in the redemption session.

The only questionable thing about the mix was the berry tea that Charlie liked to drink during her sessions.

You baked small batches of cookie dough balls only a quarter of time, then poured the gluten free vanilla cupcake batter on top of it, keeping the cookie cooking at the bottom while you prepared the chocolate icing. When still warm you used a duck shaped scraper for the cake to take shape, then use the icing to make spikes, horns and little faces on them when it had cooled down a bit.

Why were you making special things for him? Pity? Empathy? Maybe both, but you were far too busy remembering the steps to the king’s room to bother.

All the ducks seemed organized, it definitely was the same mess, but perhaps there was some sense in his insanity. The plate was placed carefully in his night stand, along with a saucer and the tea cup filled with chamomile tea.

“Stop, freeze right there” you were about to place the hand written card when the distorted voice of the king froze your nerves in place, good thing that you were wearing the veil.

“Riddle me this, I’m connected to your every step, but I’m not your shoe. What am I?” he was near but stayed right in your blind spot, as he walked towards you. “Answer” his voiced sent chills down your spine, made your teeth sharpen as well as your claws, and your ears perk up defensively.

“You’re a shadow” your answer brought in him a subtle laugh, “Even through that shield of yours, dear, you cast a shadow, I saw a glimpse of it make it’s escape through the bathroom” was it that simple? Did anyone else in the Hotel had been as perceptive as him, no they would’ve ask Charlie or Alastor about it.

“So? How long have you been lurking in the Hotel?” walking past you, he brought up the tea cup to his lips, making a grimace, “Drink it, you look either sick, or worse, anemic, you’re three tones paler than your daughter” he shrugged, apparently aware of his state.

“I believe I asked you a question” his eyes shifted colors, just like Charlie’s, “None of your beeswax” you couldn’t tell him even if you wanted to, “I’m your King” the little heavy step he did was hilarious, but laughing would’ve get you killed.

“So what?” he widened his eyes at your boldness, dismissing it entirely after a laugh, “Mm, how about you answer my question and then I might consider letting you go?” his boot was on the edge on the veil, one move and he would see you, “How about you stop being a bull on me and enjoy my cookin’?” he took a moment to actually see the cupcakes, a tender smile drawn on his face.

When he looked back at where you where, all he saw was the veil falling gracefully to the ground, likewise it dissolved into the air.

“I fucked up” your heart throbbed painfully in your ear; the rush was real.

Your room was underneath the Hotel, a system of catacombs led to different fates to those stupid enough to enter, only you and the princess knew of the correct way. The space wide consisted of black brick walls, a twin size bed placed on the corner, a wooden wardrobe, the rustic eighteen hundreds themed bathroom, and a set of seven iron candle holders screwed to the wall.

“Good afternoon Hell!” Alastor’s voice became present through the radio you kept on your night stand, “I’m in a jolly mood on this occasion, a well baked pastry would put a smile on anyone, even in the crankiest demon in hell” he laughed, then continued on topics from a simpler time, then the screams of his new victim.

You rested your tachycardia on your bed, focusing on your breathing and Alastor’s voice, to make your heart slow down to a normal pace.

“Thank you for listening, it was a pleasure to entertain you. Now, a small request from a friend in between the walls, I hope you enjoy this one, dear” he placed the dusted vinyl on the player, allowing it to roll one of your most liked songs, Cuban Moon by Carl Fenton’s Orchestra.

Slang, jazz, the demoness that haunted Alastor’s brain was definitely from his timeline, probably the same state he lived in. But what really itched his brain, was the axe. “It’s an unorthodox method to kill someone, the blade loses its edge quickly and it would require a brutal force to cut through bones…unless” he pondered over an open binder with pieces of old newspaper that fell with him, parts of the news were about him, but the front page was about someone else.

The next day, Lucifer walked fast down the stairs, grabbed Charlie by her shoulders and demanded, “Who is she? The demon living in the walls?”.

Your note for Lucifer read the following: "Someone who swore to love you through sickness and health, and still left, is not worth your tears."

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Baloney: same as nonsense or bullshit

None of your beeswax: Slang for 'none of your business'

Bull: Slang for police-man

Stay tuned ;3 Part 3

164 notes · View notes

farfromstrange · 30 days

Text

Interview With The Vampire | Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader

-> Main Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader (she/her)

Summary: You are the first journalist to interview Hell’s Kitchen’s resident vampire vigilante after he requested you personally to tell his story. He’s offering you a way out of your miserable job—to make your voice be heard. You’re desperate and curious, so you decide to take the risk. Most people only know him as Daredevil, but you are about to learn who’s really behind the mask. How hard can it possibly be? As it turns out, interviewing a vampire is a lot more complex than you expected it to be, and Matthew Michael Murdock has set his mind on ruining you for any other man to come.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), alternative universe, blood play, marking, scent kink, slight Dom!Matt, unprotected p in v, oral f!receiving, biting, vampirism, angst, religious imagery & symbolism, Catholic guilt, mentions of violence, allusions to suicidal thoughts, lots of plot, age gap

Word Count: 12.2k (this is a beast)

Other Characters: Vampire!Elektra (mentioned), Ben Urich (mentioned)

A/n: I finally got this one edited. This is a beast, y’all! I drew inspiration from Anne Rice’s Interview With The Vampire, but particularly the 2022 AMC series (I fell in love with it then and there), but it’s not based on it, so I just played around with the idea and this came out. It’s a lot, but it wasn’t enough for a full-blown series, so you’re getting a big ass One Shot instead. I used my usual Smut tag list, but since this is slightly Dead Dove Do Not Eat, heed the warnings and proceed with care! Don't read it if you don't want to. Anyway, I hope you like it!

Read Me On AO3!

The sun has long set over the Big Apple. Artificial neon, cars, and ceiling lights burning in the highrises along the riverfront cancel out the darkness that has befallen the country’s east. Noise melts into a flood that rolls over people’s senses, but most in New York City have grown numb to the city that never sleeps.

Sirens follow cacophonies of screams. Teenagers get into clubs with their fake IDs, adults get drunk in bars or go to work the night shift at their underpaid jobs, and the other half cry themselves to sleep, knowing they will have to get up in the morning and go through the same hell all over again.

Life has become a miserable existence, and it leaves human beings wondering, ‘How much longer do we have to endure this before we all finally drop dead?’

The system fails them. The law fails to protect them. All they can do is lie down and wait to die. And they will die sooner or later. That’s inevitable.

In Hell’s Kitchen, in a penthouse with a view of the Hudson through colored windows that gloss over during the day and show the city throughout the night, resides someone who most of the city only knows by an alias—Daredevil.

If anyone crosses him, he will suck them dry. It’s not a metaphor, I’m afraid; his reputation precedes him. Criminals fear the red eyes that come with fists and a sharp set of teeth that will surely run them into the ground. The rest of the city feels a little safer with him, but so far, no one has dared to question his nature.

Fear is known to work as a paralytic. And this man living in the penthouse by the Hudson is the personification of what one might consider fear-inducing. Without the fear of others, he would not be thriving.

An apex predator like him lives for the thrill of the kill. When the adrenaline spikes, it makes the prey start running and the blood taste so much sweeter. It is to a creature of his kind what a good glass of century-old red wine would be to a human being; he savors every last drop of it.

Two years out of your Master’s degree at Columbia University, you have become one of those hard-working adults who fall into bed later than they should, and you lie awake at night, wondering how much longer you have to exist before you can live.

You interned at the Bulletin; you ran the true crime and mystery column for over a year before the newspaper shut down. A billionaire from downtown Manhattan bought it to start his own magazine, and you were the only employee he didn’t fire. Instead of relying on your top-tier education and experience though, he has banned you to the lifestyle and beauty column. He’s a beast if you have ever seen one.

On a Monday in June then, after the sun has risen and is now falling again, you find an envelope on your desk. You glide your fingers over the fancy paper. The letters are written in handwriting that resembles the old letters from the 18th century you had the pleasure of using as research material for your Bachelor’s thesis.

Your heart skips a beat. Could it be…

It is no secret that vampires exist.

Over two decades ago, scientists published papers on the existence of blood-sucking creatures after years of valuable research, and now governments around the world have set out to burn the inhuman species out before they can cause any more damage. Vampirism though is older than humanity itself and unless law enforcement has evidence of homicide, vampires have the right to exist amongst humans.

They are excellent at hiding their true nature, that much is true. The lore that has been passed down since the beginning of time is only partly true. They know how to adapt and rise from the ashes like elegant phoenixes. The misconceptions surrounding their existence stem from fiction, horror, and fear, but they persist.

And a rule has been established in society ever since the truth was revealed: don’t talk about vampires!

Don’t talk about them unless it’s in a fictional context. Don’t put your research out there. Don’t fraternize with them. Don’t risk becoming prey. Don’t be fascinated by them, and God forbid, don’t you dare write articles about them for the public records. If you want to know about vampires, you have to dig, and you have to do so quietly or society will deem you crazy and a freak.

The worst thing to be is not a flying android or a super soldier with a shield; the worst thing you can be, in this day and age, is a vampire.

You were a curious child who turned into an even more curious adult. At times even a bitter one because she couldn’t get the answers she yearned for and had to do it herself. So, of course, the We Don’t Talk About Vampires rule came across as rather absurd, learning about it back when you were merely a teen.

You started researching, and you found out more than you thought you would—more than you thought you could. You wanted to cover the issue in the Bulletin back when you still worked there, but since humans were raised to fear the very mention of vampires in the real world, no longer romanticizing the concept but rather running from it, the truth shall remain hidden. Again, that seemed absurd, but you had to accept it to get ahead.

You kept researching to the point you convinced yourself you could be one of them if you tried. You felt like you understood them, but nothing could ever fully answer all of your questions to the point it felt truthful. Honest. Real.

Growing up, everyone told you dead things aren’t supposed to walk. They aren’t supposed to breathe and exist among the living. They are cruel, and vampires are killers that leave trails of bodies the government is hiding from us. Greediness exceeds common sense. The human mind tends to get sick and twisted, and those who don’t fit in hardly ever stand a chance.

Hell’s Kitchen is particularly quiet on the issue. Rumor has it that the vigilante chasing criminals at night and leaving the worst of them dry at the shore of the Hudson while, at the same time, surrendering those he deems worthy of rehabilitation to the authorities, is one of those vampires.

They call him Daredevil; the savior of innocents and the downfall of the vile. Only a handful of people know who he is. The truth is caught in a spider web of lies, unable to come out unless someone were to tell his story for the world to hear.

That Monday in June when you open the mysterious envelope on your desk, everything changes.

He addressed you personally. Your name resembles a masterpiece, the letters swirling at the edges.

You don’t know me, but I know you.

It’s strange to read your name out of the mouth of a stranger.

I must admit, Miss, I’m a big fan of your writing. And I’m not talking about the lifestyle and beauty column Mr. Doherty of the ‘Silver Lining’ has confined you to.

No, I am a big fan of the work you used to do for the New York Bulletin. I remember your name headlining many articles on crime here in Hell’s Kitchen—a column my late friend Ben Urich used to call his home.

It’s a shame that the paper was shut down. I tried to prevent it, but the disappearance of half of humanity and Wilson Fisk’s irreparable damage to the city’s foundation tied my hands.

The token female journalist reporting on unsolicited beauty advice and lifestyle choices no one is going to follow in the days of social media and fake marketing. It must be frustrating, right? Not having a story to tell. Not getting recognized for your impeccable talent. The Bulletin gave you a platform, but Mr. Doherty and his goons took that away from you.

What I’m asking myself is, are you satisfied? You were probably imagining a different future for yourself. A woman of your caliber must want to be more than a mere object used to make a bottomless magazine look better on the market.

Excuse my overstepping. I read one of your essays on the magical and the mythic—lore versus reality—the other day, and it inspired me. My life has been taking quite a few turns lately, so I required some new… let’s call it insight.

You don’t know me, but I am one of those creatures you are fascinated by. I’m the kind of creature people have been telling you not to write about because the weak minds of the public would not receive it well. The Catholics, the church, the fragile and fearful human beings that can’t imagine anything in fiction being real and want to remain the superior species—trust me, I know what it feels like to be backed into a corner. To be abandoned. To be underestimated. Not quite like you, I admit, but I have a few years of experience in and with this world to show for myself.

I imagine you’re tired of your position. I imagine you’re dissatisfied with human idiocy. You crave answers to your questions. Questions you have been asking yourself ever since college failed to answer them. My kind is being censored—partly for good reason—but that doesn’t sit right with you, does it? To live life in a monotone line with no clear way out of this boring rhythm you have had to fall into?

I can offer you a different path. A story. Answers to your questions. And the unfiltered truth of a 242-year-old man.

You are going to find a card with my address attached to this letter. I can assure you, sweetheart, we both want the same thing. I will wash your hands if you wash mine. Think about it, and come find me when you have made your decision. Preferably after the sun has set.

Yours sincerely,

The paper crumbles in your hands, but only at the corners. Your eyes are glued to the lost drops of ink, the blue blood of an old fountain pen caving under too much pressure.

He chose his words carefully. Every paragraph circles around your head. You breathe in, and it suddenly feels as though the whiff of the unknown is an inhalable drug, twisting your brain inside out.

The pull threatens to submerge you in a stormy ocean. You’re flailing your arms around helplessly, but there is nothing for you to hold onto. All buoys have drifted into oblivion, leaving a sea of utter emptiness behind, and in the midst of it, there you are, drowning.

In a moment of clarity, you fold the letter back down on the desk. It lands with a thud, and you look around frantically, checking if anyone is watching you. They aren’t.

M. That’s all he’s giving you. And the fact he is over two hundred years old proves the rumors to be true. He’s standing by it, but only to you. He wants to reveal himself to you, show you his true face for a story, but he’s a vampire.

You’re alone. You can wash his hands, but is just showing up enough for him? You don’t even know him.

You’re in trouble. This time though, you didn’t even do anything. You did your job, and he caught an interest in you. How does that work?

Your heart skips another beat. It should not, but it does. The danger is exciting. It shouldn't be exciting. You hate what your body is doing, but how can you make it stop? You can’t. You can’t do anything but take it.

This stranger has got you in a chokehold, but in his hands, you might as well surrender to your certain demise. You don’t consider vampires inherently evil, but there is a reason people warn you not to walk alone at night in Hell’s Kitchen. He’s dangerous, no matter his nature, and he is not supposed to lure you in the way he does.

But you’re a curious kitten, and he is offering you the holy grail of answers to questions you have been grappling with for years. He hit the nail right on the head. And it doesn’t even scare you how well he knows you.

This is a gold mine. Realistically speaking, telling a vampire’s story could make or break your career as a journalist. If you do it for the magazine, you’re done before you can even bring your words to print, but if you do it individually and you do it well, people will certainly eat it up. The question is just, are you going to play your entire life safe, conforming to your boss’s view of you until you get the freedom you crave, or are you going to take the risk and fly?

The answer is as clear as day, but it takes you a moment to process. It’s as though someone is in your head, steering you in the direction of whoever this M is. Daredevil. This vampire who wants you to interview him, and for what? That’s still an open question you don’t have the answer to. But you do know what to do.

You scramble for your laptop, your notepad, and the letter in the envelope. The clock strikes four. You have another two hours on the clock, but you can’t be bothered to stay.

Upon hearing the sound of your shoes hurriedly scraping against the linoleum floors, one of your colleagues turns in her chair. “Where are you going?” she asks.

“I, uh, have somewhere to be,” you tell her as you brush past her.

“What, now?”

“Yeah. I forgot I had an appointment.”

“What about Mr. Doherty?”

You stop on your way out, looking back over your shoulder. “If everything works out,” you say, glancing through the window to his office at the other end of the hall, “He’ll have my letter of resignation by the end of the week.”

She gasps softly. “You’re quitting?” her voice is barely above a whisper.

Almost sinisterly, you chuckle. “That’s the plan, yeah.”

“But—”

“Tell your daughter Happy Birthday from me. I gotta go.”

Your steps echo for minutes still, but you are long gone with the wind.

Silver linings are considered an advantage that comes from an unpleasant situation. The name has proven to be entirely unfit for the magazine that replaced a big piece of Hell’s Kitchen’s history. The Bulletin had cultural value as much as it was laden with decades of the city’s stories told to the average person.

Wilson Fisk was the dynamite that sent New York alight. The Bulletin’s destruction was mere collateral damage in the fight to get the city back on track. You have had so many reasons to leave presented to you, yet you never took them. If you had, maybe you wouldn’t be here, making bad decisions on what started as just another Monday in June.

The fact is though, you didn’t leave, and you are here now. Facts are what matter. They count. Your hypothetical past, present, and future have no place in this reality because you can’t travel back or forward in time. Vampires may exist, and the Avengers time-traveled to save the world, but things aren’t quite as easy once you look at the bigger picture. You are not a superhero, you’re just a journalist chasing the kind of story that will finally make her voice be heard.

You know that Ben Urich, at least, would be proud of you.

His address weighs heavy on the small card you pulled out of the envelope earlier that evening. You passed it on to the cab driver, and he began to navigate the dark streets of Hell’s Kitchen. The luxury condominiums in this part of the city can be counted on one hand. You know exactly when you’re there.

The sun has once again set over New York City. You’re wide awake, not quite sure though if you’re ready to face what you are walking blindly into. Even your driver refuses to take you past a certain point, and that is how you know that you’re not dreaming. This is real, and it’s supposed to be terrifying.

How come you’re not scared then?

You slip twenty dollars to the cab driver, then climb out of the backseat. The salty air from the Hudson River a few blocks down wafts around your sensitive nose. In the distance, you can hear waves crashing into the docks as the wind picks up in speed. The boats must be moving wildly by now, swaying from side to side and possibly even making the fish in the depths of the water seasick. You would be if you were them.

With every step, you grow closer to your target. On second thought, maybe you should have brought more than just a pathetic bottle of pepper spray and your precious laptop. You could have brought your grandfather’s cassette recorder, at least that would leave a mark if you hit someone over the head with it.

Do vampires get concussions? That is another question you can add to the seemingly endless list in your mind. It’s a confusing place as of late, and the weird sense that someone is playing with the controls won’t leave you alone. Either you are overthinking, or you are worse off than you originally thought.

The apartment complex the card directs you to stretches high above you. You look up, seeing not a single light on. That’s odd, you think, but then again, you are meeting with the city’s most notorious man. If he is who everyone says he is, and if the rumors are even true, that is.

As you are about to approach the entrance, your fingertips start to burn. A gasp escapes past your lips. Staring down, the cubical piece of paper goes up in flames. You are mere feet from the door, nowhere near close to an open source of fire, and the card starts to burn like a wildfire.

You pull back, your heart hammering against your ribcage. The ashes fall to the ground, but before they can hit the asphalt, they vanish.

“What the–” before you can finish, the doors before you swing open toward the inside. The lights turn on. Someone even has called the elevator for you.

Another step forward, and a voice stops you. “Fourth floor, down the hallway, first door to your right,” the voice says through the speaker. Only then do you notice the lack of a doorbell.

Everything in you is screaming for you to run, but you are rooted in the spot. He dragged you here with a mere letter, and you were more than ready to jump. Desperation was the only thing that drove you here. Your brain seems incapable of rational thought.

What if that is what he wanted all along? To get you complicit by playing on what you so desperately need, which is a story and a way out of this boring everyday life that is threatening to slowly kill you.

He’s like a siren, luring you into his deadly trap, but even knowing all of this, you still can’t find it in yourself to run.

The second you enter the building, the door shuts behind you, and your only way out is officially locked. You made the decision; you have dug your own grave, possibly quite literally, and now you have to lie in it. It’s better to die chasing a good story than dying at a desk in an office that doesn’t respect you.

You are a disgrace, you can hear your father’s voice in the back of your mind. He always warned you not to be too reckless or your bad decisions will eventually catch up with you. He always taught you not to trust strangers, and to stay the hell away from those who disgrace God, but you have never cared much about being a good girl.

Your thoughts are as morbid as your obsession with the walking undead. It is time you embrace what people are already saying about you.

The elevator ride feels like an eternity. It goes up and up and up until it finally stops on the fourth floor. The walls smell like nothing but a faint hint of bleach. It’s clean, parquette not carpet, and the walls are kept in a shade resembling a mixture between crimson and maroon, and it is blending into a sort of marble.

The metal doors slide open. Again, you hesitate. A sweet whisper echoes in your ear, dragging you toward the edge. You breach the border between the elevator and the hallway that waits behind it. The voice is distant, and it doesn’t sound human—it reminds you of a siren’s song, calling for you. He is calling for you, and a fog settles over your mind. You’re not in control anymore, he is.

You imagine him to be an old man, possibly middle-aged. Vampires stop aging when they’re turned. Their mind doesn’t. You’ve read the research plenty. They are wise beings, more intelligent than human beings could ever fathom. That makes them dangerous.

Their venom rivals the intoxicating feeling of heroin, you’ve heard, and it heightens your senses to the point all you can feel is the one who bit you. Research suggests it’s a million times stronger than an orgasm, for both the vampire and the human being.

Part of you has always wanted to try it. Part of you wants to know what it feels like to be sucked dry. You want to know what it feels like to be carried into a new dimension by someone who knows how to play the human body like a fucking piano, eliciting the sweetest melody through your very essence and the symphony of your moans.

This M—Daredevil—is inherently dangerous. He’s as mysterious as they come; a man in a mask lurking in the dark corners of Hell’s Kitchen every night, turning the fight for justice into his hunting ground.

It’s as though he curled his fingers, and you followed.

You walk the dark hallway down to the door on the right. Paintings litter the walls. Masterpieces, blotches of white, red, and color. You recognize the red marble as a decorative theme on the wallpaper. Tracing your fingers over it, the rough drywall scratches at your skin.

You reach out a shaky hand toward the golden knob. Before you can turn it though, the door already flings open. It must be witchcraft.

Red appears to be his favorite color. At least judging from the hallway, that is true. When you step into the room with a pounding heart and blood pooling in your cheeks though, the inside of the room is a lot more… human. You wouldn’t have guessed it from the gloominess surrounding you on your way there.

A leather couch and armchairs stand in the middle, facing toward the window front. Colored windows, as you have gathered from the rumors. They are see-through now though, showing the city skyline and the moon up high. The chandelier on the ceiling is the only piece of furniture you would consider old. Browns meet hues of blue and dark green, a forest at midnight, and you suck in a sharp breath. The apartment is beautiful.

You look to your left and see a bookshelf stretching the length of the wall. You can’t help but run your hand over the backs. You would have expected original editions from the 18th or 19th century, but when your fingers trace over the bindings, you are met with the bulging of Braille underneath the elegant golden writing of the titles. None of them seem to have collected dust. It surprises you to only find a mere handful of classics that haven’t been transcribed in Braille and a realization you did not expect starts to crawl its way forward.

“I stole that one from a library in Paris.”

Your racing heart stops beating. The book you’ve been holding falls to the ground, its worn-out leather cracking further around the spine. The thud is deafening. You gasp, turning around. Your shoulders fly up as the tension ripples through every last muscle in your bone. Your bones ache just from how stiff you’re standing, but you can’t move.

The man before you moves as quietly as a mouse. You didn’t hear him coming. The moonlight reflects off his dark brown hair, making it appear almost ginger. He’s wearing a simple suit without a tie, and the white of his shirt is as pristine and clean as the cut of his beard. You can see chest hair poking out from underneath the two open buttons, as dark as the locks on his head. His jawline is irresistibly sharp, leading up to a pair of plump lips he is wrapping around the brim of a crystal glass filled with rum.

Your heart remains frozen. Not a single drop of blood pumps through your veins, yet your cheeks burn brighter than a bonfire on a pitch-black night.

But his flawless appearance is not what catches your attention the most. Looking up into his eyes, wanting to know whether they are as red as those set into the devil’s mask, you find nothing but your terrified reflection staring back at you. It’s as blurry as the picture of your face in a still ocean’s water, your wide eyes staring back at yourself.

The red glasses are all you can see. Round with a black rim. Silver would have looked better on him, or maybe even gold. The black reminds you of an endless pit, a sinister embrace of vampire stereotypes, but you can’t look away from the maroon that won’t allow you even a glimpse into his eyes. They are shielding him from the world, and his eyes from curious, stupid humans like you.

He nods toward the ground. “You gonna pick that up?” he asks. His voice reminds you of rumbling gravel.

He looks like a man. He talks like a man. If you didn’t know better, you would say he is human. There seems to be blood in his cheeks and air in his lungs.

You have to pull yourself together. Clearing your throat, you bend down and pick the book back up.

“Thank you,” he utters your name. “It’s been a while since I’ve received visitors that don’t work for me.”

You put the book back on the shelf. Your lips are sewn shut; you can’t find the words. Every time you open your mouth like a fish on dry land, you close it again, and it is embarrassing to be standing in front of him with your guard down.

“Welcome to my home,” he says. You wish you could see his eyes to know if he’s mocking you. “Do you want a drink, or do you need another minute to process?”

He is mocking you. His tone is gentle, as is his voice, but he smirks like a smug motherfucker, and your anger boils to a tipping point. The candle is about to burn out.

“I–” you stammer. Internally, you curse yourself for being such a fool.

“Another minute it is then.”

You don’t need a minute though. “You’re blind,” you blurt out.

The beautiful—deadly—stranger nods. “Yeah.“

“How?”

“Accident when I was a kid.”

“But you’re…” you leave the missing part of that sentence hanging in the air like a noose.

“Say it,” he murmurs. You want to say it sounds like a growl, but you’re not sure. He isn’t asserting dominance or trying to force you into submission by scaring you away, but he is toying with you regardless.

You take a deep breath. The word, the truth, numbers your tongue and your lips with its weight. “A vampire,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, matching his.

His smirk broadens. He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek for a moment, then releases it as it darts out to wet his bottom lip. “I’m a blind vampire, yes,” he answers. “We’re rare, but we do exist.”

Blind vampires. In all of your years of fascination, that has never crossed your mind. You used to believe that they had healing abilities that far exceeded your own. You were wrong. He lost his eyesight before he got turned into a vampire. He lived as a blind human being and didn’t regain his most crucial sense when he died.

He came back to life, but he died. It is surreal to stand across from him. He’s not just letters on a piece of paper, he is very much real. And he’s blind.

“Oh, my God,” you curse.

That elicits a soft chuckle from him. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come,” he says.

“I was considering not to.”

He sees right through you with those empty glasses. “That’s a lie.”

“How would you know?” you counter.

“I can hear your heartbeat. The blood pumping in your veins…” His head tilts ever so slightly in your direction. You take a step back. It’s an instinct. “Your pulse picks up when you lie, or when you’re nervous, or both,” he states. “When you first saw me, your heart skipped a beat. It did again when you lied to me.”

Your eyes trail down to his thick thighs perfectly fitted in his tailored trousers. His thick digits pat the rhythm with his fingers on the fabric. Thud-thudthudthud-thud. You place a hand on your chest. He wasn’t wrong; your heart is racing.

His smirk turns into a smile, but only briefly again. It’s a glimpse of humanity he doesn’t want you to see. “I like that sound,” he says. “Has anyone ever told you that you smell good? Sweet, sour, and a little salty. Natural. You don’t use a lot of artificial perfume, but you like cherry chapstick.”

You swallow, taking a whiff of your arm. Besides your deodorant masking the scent of your nervous sweat, you smell nothing. How good must his nose be? His hearing? His sense of taste?

“Right now, sweat is dripping down your back, and your muscles are tense enough to strain against your bones every time you breathe. Your heart just skipped a beat again. You find it weird,” he muses. “I can’t turn it off, but I get it must be strange for you.”

“You–” The blood has collected in your head, pushing the temperature in the room to an all-time high. “Get out of my body!” you snap.

He laughs. “That’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear.”

“And I never thought you would ask for an audience with me, but here we are.”

“Here you are.”

You want nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face. He looks so smug, standing there with his drink, wearing a suit too fancy for his own home. He’s fully in his element. It’s scary how alluring he is, too. You don’t want to think that way, but as soon as your eyes gaze upon him again, your chest contracts, and you forget how to breathe.

He’s a wolf, and you’re a lonely little sheep that doesn’t know any better. That lonely little sheep just wants to be a part of something bigger, even if that means surrendering herself to the big bad wolf. He wants a taste of her, and the sheep would give him that in a heartbeat if he just asked.

You blink. There is a voice in your head, and it isn’t your own. Far from it. You don’t want to be associated with this stranger. She thinks she knows you. She thinks she knows what you want—the sheep in the eyes of her natural enemy. This voice is the most irrational you could be, and you need to stop letting her win.

And yet you—not just the voice of the lonely sheep you appear to be—would follow this man anywhere, even to hell if he asked you to.

Your eyes drill knives into his skull, but they are also full of curiosity. Can he hear your thoughts? Your heart beats in your throat. You can taste it on your tongue. If you bit your lip, you would bleed, and he would probably fall into a frenzy. Still, your teeth dig into your bottom lip. What if he can hear your thoughts—hear how fucking needy you are? You’re pathetic. What he must think of you, standing across from him, smaller than human life itself.

You want to read him, but he is far from an open book. He’s not Braille you can run your fingers over, and even if he was, you don’t know how to read it. He’s an enigma. His face is set in stone; an iron mask you can’t penetrate.

His chest heaves with another chuckle. He sets the crystal glass down on the coffee table, taking a step forward. “No, I can’t read your mind,” he says.

You flinch. “What?”

“Your breathing pattern. The way you look at me. I can sense that you’re thinking about something.” He adjusts his glasses. “It’s just… Most humans ask me if I can read their minds, you know. I can’t. Some vampires can, but my senses are the only heightened ability I have.” This time, when he chuckles, a hint of bitterness dances in his voice.

“At least you’re not in my head then,” you say.

“No.”

“Good.”

A pregnant pause follows. You clutch your bag to your chest, your fingers digging into the frame of your hidden laptop.

“Can I offer you a drink?” he asks, pointing to his empty glass.

You wave him off. That’s the last thing on your mind. “No, thank you.”

Sometimes at night, you fantasize about diving into the abyss of darkness. It looks and sounds a terrifying lot like him. You want to know him. You need to know him. When it comes to him and this—whatever this is—the lines between want and need are blurring into an unidentifiable mess. It’s an ocean of emotions with no land in sight. A total eclipse of the heart, if you will. You’re losing your mind.

“What you can do–” You straighten your shoulder, hoping it will add height to your beaten confidence. “You can tell me your name. Sir,” you say.

He nods. “I suppose it would only be fair, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would.”

“Matthew. My name’s Matthew.” The softness of his features as his lips move to the rhythm of his words takes you back anew. His eyebrows raise slightly, and you catch a glimpse of a pair of beautiful, unfocused hazel eyes that steal your breath away.

Matthew. It is a name that easily rolls off the tongue. It suits him.

You repeat his name aloud. “That’s an odd name for a 200-something-year-old man,” you point out.

Matthew scoffs. “My parents were both Catholic.”

“I suppose you’re not?”

You hit a sore spot. His head dips, fingers running over his nails and tongue tracing his teeth. “Not anymore,” he says.

God died for him a long time ago, and all churches burned down.

Your grip on your bag loosens. “Then why Daredevil?” you ask.

His lips part. “I, uh, have the Bulletin to thank for that one. After centuries of existing in this world, and being despised for no matter what I do, I’ve decided to embrace it. I am Daredevil, not even God can stop that now.”

Matt grabs his glass, turning away from you. He doesn’t use a cane to navigate from the couch to the mini bar on the other end of the room. You carefully follow his movements. One of his hands remains at his side, snapping his fingers as he navigates the familiar terrain of his home.

He uncaps a half-empty bottle of Whiskey to pour himself another glass.

“You know, Matthew,” you prompt, daring to step forward an inch, “as big as your reputation is in this part of the city, Silver Lining is not the kind of magazine that would cover your story.”

“You still came,” he says.

“I could lose my job if anyone knew I came here.”

“And yet you’re here and not where you should be.” He turns his head over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t risk losing your job if it wasn’t important to you, would you?”

You stammer, “I–” He’s got you. You’re a fish with a hook in her mouth.

“If Silver Lining Magazine won’t cover my story, why are you here?” Matt turns back to you, leaning back against the shiny Mahagoni of his minibar. It offers a beautiful contrast to his strong physique and the slight paleness of his skin. “Could it be because you’re fascinated by the mythic?” he asks, teasing. “By werewolves and witches and vampires?”

It’s your turn to scoff. “I won’t confirm or deny. My boss wouldn’t let me write a vampire vigilante exposé even if I begged him to.”

“And that’s why Mr. Doherty doesn’t deserve you.” Your body visibly recoils when he pushes forward, moving just an inch toward you. “Your curiosity is a virtue,” he purrs. The moonlight sets your reflection in his glasses alight.

“Is that why you lured me here?” you ask him. “Because my curiosity is a virtue and you consider yourself better than the people in my life?”

“I didn’t lure you here, and I think you know that. That’s not what this is.” The distance between you starts to shrink, backing you into a corner. “I believe you came here because the thought of interviewing a vampire and sharing your findings with the world on your account excites you,” he says. “You want to be heard. You want to be taken seriously as a journalist, and you want to make people happy.”

The only way for you to come out of this with your pride and dignity still intact is to put up walls before the already existent labyrinth of walls keeping your heart guarded and your soul safe. “Again,” you ask, “why me?”

“Why not you? As I stated in my letter, I’m a fan of your work.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, about that. How did you write that if you’re blind?”

“I didn’t, my secretary did.”

“Of course.” Of course, he has a secretary. “I… I just don’t get it,” you say. “You’ve been hiding for so long–”

Matt cuts you off with an urgency you didn’t expect, “Things have changed. Circumstances…” he trails off.

“Wouldn’t it be a suicide mission?”

His answer is silence. You let out an exasperated sigh. “If you want me to interview you, you have to be honest with me.”

“I’m not on the record yet.”

“Right. Maybe you can answer this though—off the record, of course—how can you be certain I didn’t call the cops or the FBI before I came here?”

His eyes crinkle. “I’m not stupid, sweetheart,” he says.

He’s amused. You’re amusing him.

“Don’t call me that,” you growl.

He’s spreading you open, holding up a mirror for you to look into. It’s your miserable self in all its glory, and he knows you better than you know yourself.

You ignore the sharp pain in your left ribcage as you pull the arrow out of your heart. “Unless someone holds up a sign that they are pro-vampirism, how would you even know I’d listen to you and not just refer you to the Journal of Psychiatry?”

“Are you telling me you don’t believe in vampires?” Matt quips.

“That’s not… Answer my question!”

The sound of your heartbeat must sound almost like the rapid firing of a machine gun, that’s how fast your pulse is racing. Your veins threaten to burst with the excess blood. It’s a heat like no other. You’re a witch at the stake, and Matt is holding the torch to your gasoline-doused body.

He clears his throat. Your face falls at the words that tumble out of his parted lips, and the rapid firing turns into a deafening silence and a monotone line on a heart monitor.

“After what I’ve learned from reading Dr. Rice’s research on the phenomena of vampirism, I can confidently say this species is no different than an animal like the great white shark or the Homo sapiens sapiens—our kind,” he recites. “Vampires are a medium of fiction and propaganda to induce fear, but they are also a widely misunderstood species that is being silenced rather than heard. Our species, the human species, likes to consider themselves superior, even when we’re in a position of being someone’s natural food source. Dr. Rice’s research is based on a comprehensible set of facts, and isn’t that what we have been relying on ever since the beginning? Our psychology makes it possible for us to change the narrative in our favor, and more often than not, we ignore the very facts deemed by humans as an intellectual importance to spread the message of an entirely different agenda. Dr. Rice’s research only proves that egotism and humans themselves will be humankind's certain downfall.”

“My investigative journalism essay,” you breathe out.

“Published by Columbia University.”

Your heart restarts with a rush of adrenaline. “How… how do you know all of this?”

“I may be blind,” Matt says, “but I know how to read between the lines.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

The alcohol in his drink seems to have little effect on him. “I know you have questions, and I’m willing to answer them if you promise to publish a detailed report somewhere other than Silver Lining Magazine.”

You look down at your bag, then back at him. “Ben Urich could have told your story in a way that would’ve made people listen,” you murmur. “I don’t have an impressive career like him.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, “but you could have easily written ‘Attack on NYC’. Ben was a good man, an even better journalist, but he could not have written your college essay. And he could never have been you.”

Your name rolls off his tongue—not a pretentious nickname that makes you want to vomit but your name, and it flicks a switch within you.

You glance around the spacious living, pulling your laptop out of its confines, and you bridge the distance between you, finally. You notice he smells of sandalwood cologne and scentless soap. “Okay,” you cave. “Where do you want me to set up?”

Session 1.

The spacebar clicks underneath the tip of your index finger. The white of your screen fills with a series of red sequences as the microphone takes in every little sound around you. Except for the two of you and the fading footsteps of one of Matthew’s assistants though, the world has fallen silent in the dead of the night. He’s sitting across from you, legs crossed, head tilted; your life is about to change.

“So, Mister Murdock,” you begin, “tell me. How long have you been dead?”

His mouth opens in a wide grin. “242 years,” he answers.

“And what happened the year you died?”

“Well, it was 1782. I was a good few years out of law school. I was a good lawyer, but I wasn’t successful. That year, I met a beautiful woman at a banquet. I wasn’t rich—trust me, I was beyond penniless—but she had been adopted into a wealthy family, and that made her one of the richest women in the room. Everyone wanted her, but when I sensed her across the hall, she only had eyes for me. And she was the first woman to not see me just because I was blind.” He chuckles sadly. “I thought she was the woman of my dreams, the love of my life, but a few weeks later, after letting her into my life, I realized that she didn’t look at me that night because she was interested. She was hunting me. El— Miss Elektra Natchios…”

The year 1782 becomes apparent before your inner eye. As he tells you about the night he met her, you can see the dark-haired beauty making her way across the ballroom. Red lips and a gown to die for. Her dark eyes were full of mischief, but the passion in them could have knocked a grown man off of his feet. And that is just what she did to poor Matthew.

“I was going to marry her,” he tells you.

He went to church regularly. His knees were bloody from praying, his senses already heightened before he died. God’s soldier, that is how he puts it. He was told that the accident that left him blind happened for a reason, and he had to fight a war that went beyond the country’s fight for independence.

That summer, Elektra drained him. He didn’t know what she was. She fooled him. He was obsessed with her. Her dark eyes he couldn’t see lured her in, and it was the venom in her blood that became his downfall after she dug her teeth into him.

Matt tried to beg his priest for forgiveness, but he didn’t even make it past the marble stairs before the doors locked. He knelt in a pool of blood—both his and that of the first human he ever sucked dry to survive as a newborn vampire—offering an eternal sacrifice to Catholicism, but God abandoned him on his doorstep.

The church walls would have been set on fire if he had touched them from the inside.

You look up from your notepad to find him now standing at the window. He’s not looking out, of course, but he seems so deep in thought, the memories that aren’t your own but his start to dissipate, and you’re brought back to the here and now.

Matt poured his heart out to you. You expected answers, but not this kind, and certainly not of this magnitude. You see him in an entirely different light. He’s vulnerable, fragile, and human. He has endured trauma that killed him, but he couldn’t die because the woman he loved made him immortal. It’s a bigger curse than growing up with the belief that an accident made you God’s soldier.

He lost everything. For centuries, he has had to live with that. It’s killing you, feeling his pain, the pure agony that radiates off him.

Your voice is quiet when you ask him, “What was it like?” You don’t have to say it out loud for him to know what you are referencing.

Matt chuckles, the sound a mere breath in the atmosphere. “Like she took my soul from my body, setting fire to my belief system and already heightened senses,” he says.

You swallow. “That sounds… overstimulating.”

“It was. Is. My heart stopped, but when that happened, something else awoke inside me. The hunger… the hunger was the worst part. It’s insatiable. One hour passes, and you feel like you’ve been starving for weeks.”

“Like you’ve been possessed by a demon?”

“Like I am the demon.”

“But you’re not.” You should stop the recording. You’re not on track; you’re incorporating your feelings into Matt’s story, but you can’t help it. The words tumble out of your mouth without a second thought, a train that cannot be stopped.

He raises his eyebrows, you can see it in his reflection in the windows. “Are you religious?” he asks.

You shake your head. “This isn’t about me.”

“Are you?”

The veins on the back of his hands bulge as he balls them to fists at his sides. Your throat is a desert, and your heartbeat resembles a storm that burns right through it, sending the sand flying in all directions of the horizon.

You adjust in your seat, crossing one leg over the other. He takes a whiff. He’s smelling you, and that doesn’t help the speed of your pulse to calm down.

Tapping your pen on your notepad, you watch the red sequences fill the white space of the recording program. It moves with the sound of your voice when you finally dare to answer. “It’s a complicated question because there is a difference between believing in God and believing in the church,” you say.

“Do you believe in God then?” Matt asks. It’s as though he’s trying not to seethe at the mere mention of someone he used to worship. You make a note of that.

“There is so much bad in this world. So much cruelty. I can’t…” You take a deep breath. “I don’t know how to believe in a God that would let the things humans do to each other happen. If God existed—if he was as merciful as Christians like to claim, he wouldn’t let this happen. And I’m so sick and tired of people using their faith, and their beliefs in God and the church as justification to be disrespectful. I don’t understand it. How can anyone? Why is someone who has to drink blood to stay alive—someone who didn’t even choose this life—worth less and the devil’s breed when humans do worse things to each other? Why would God allow us to start wars that kill innocent people? Children? It’s just not fair that we treat ourselves and others as though we are already in hell, and we’re just supposed to accept that God doesn’t care—” You stop yourself, the tears burning behind your eyes.

Matt turns back around. You can’t look away. “When I was still human,” he murmurs, “I used to believe everything that happened to me was God’s will. The accident, God’s will. Me going blind, God’s will. I went to confession, prayed until my knees were bloody and bruised. I tried convincing myself that every scream I heard from down the block, every person who lost their life or their innocence was my responsibility. God made me this way for a reason, right?” The scoff is as bitter as the liquor in his glass. “I fell apart, you know. I was a kid, so I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand what was happening to me,” he tells you.

You hold your breath. The glasses slip from his eyes as he takes them off with shaky fingers. You are met with the most beautiful pair of hazel eyes. Emotions dance a heated tango in a tornado. If you look closer, the green specks bring life to his eyes. It’s human nature in the purest sense of the word.

Your reflection stands in his irises, his unmoving pupils, and the tears glisten in his eyes. They’re as red as blood, watered-down crimson essence. You want to reach out and stroke his cheek, but that would be crossing a very big line that you can’t bring yourself up to touch.

“I studied law because I thought it would change something,” he continues. You listen. It’s the only thing you can do—listen. “It wasn’t enough. Nothing I ever did felt like it was enough. I lost my father. Jack. I didn’t know my mother until it was too late. Maggie. I had no one. No money, no prospects, just me and those voices in my head, telling me I was supposed to be God’s soldier.”

“You’re not,” you cut in.

He shakes his head. “I prayed; I crawled up the stairs of the church, and I spent hours repenting for my sins. I bled myself dry for Him. I sacrificed myself. I sacrificed my youth, my heart, and my soul, and I got nothing back. I begged for help until my voice was sore, but nothing… God, nothing was ever good enough. Until Elektra came around,” he says.

“She changed everything for you. It makes sense. She turned you into a vampire, but she also loved you.”

“She did love me, in her own twisted way.”

“It’s what you deserved,” you say.

He isn’t yours, but the pang you feel in your chest is treacherous. Your heart cracks like a porcelain vase, jealousy creeping in like a parasite of toxic waste.

In response, Matt only chuckles bitterly. “She made me believe again, then took my soul and crushed it in her hand.” The correction makes your shoulders slump. “Instead of feeling like my world ended though, I felt at peace when she sucked the blood out of my veins and fed me her venom,” he says. “It’s sick, I know. I was aware I died that night, that she turned me into a devil who could only survive if he drank the blood of others. The Catholic in me struggled to accept it, but I had no choice but to embrace what she made me.”

“And where is she now?” you ask.

“Gone.” The light in his eyes has fully disappeared now. “I stayed with her for a while until she died in my arms. She showed me what love is, and she showed me heartbreak. She made me hungry for blood, awakening the devil I’ve been trying to tame. She taught me how to feed, how to hunt, and how to chase. But she also cursed me,” he says. “I only exist for myself now. I only bleed for myself. No God, no church, and no more religion. I’m not Jesus, I’m Judas, and I retired the cross the day I was crucified.”

You have run out of questions to ask. Too overwhelming is the sight of his walls crumbling down, this stranger you now know better than any living being seems to. You no longer see money in this, or a story to chase, you only see Matthew, and the halo above his head he still believes is a pair of horns. The world broke him. His faith in God broke him. It crushed him, and he lost everything. How broken he must be.

“Not such a pretty story when I say it out loud, huh?” He scoffs.

The spacebar clicks again. The recording comes to a sudden halt. One hour and fifty-eight minutes, the first session of your interview with the vampire. You need to put a halt to it now because what you are about to say or do as you reach your hand out to brush his cold, dead skin is not something that should be found on a record. And you won’t ever tell.

Matt pulls away when your warm fingertips brush his. You’re standing across from him now, so close he can smell, hear, and feel all of you at once.

Your touch is the holy water that burns his skin, but the fire sustains him and shoots straight to his core the same way the blood rushes to yours.

“It’s not a pretty story, no,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “but it did tell me what I already knew.”

“And what’s that?” he asks.

“That you’re not evil. You’re not the Devil. You’re misunderstood. You’ve been beaten; you’ve been abandoned, hurt, and broken. That doesn’t make you a monster. Trying to make this city a better place does not make you a monster.”

“If you only knew the things I’ve done…”

“I know the rumors suggest that you were the one who fought Wilson Fisk and got this city back where it needed to be. You’ve saved countless women from the worst of fates. You are the reason the innocent people of Hell’s Kitchen feel safe. By picking up that mask, you became a hero, not a villain, and that is the story I want to tell.”

In lightspeed, he has moved you from the window to the other end of the room. Your back hits the wall.

Matt towers over you in all of his intimidating glory. His eyes spark red, but you hold his unfocused gaze. He has such beautiful eyes. This pull between you is far from human; it’s unhealthy, and it is exactly where he wanted to get you. You’re trapped, pinned underneath him like a deer caught in headlights.

Exhaling, your breath strokes his cheeks. He closes his eyes, savoring the taste of you. Every particle in the air, he inhales. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. Oh, what you wouldn’t do to suck that tongue into your mouth.

Your pheromones play his head like a puppeteer pulling the strings of his marionette. He growls. “Do you have any idea how dangerous I am?”

The moonlight catches his sparkling white teeth. This time though, you come face to face with the sharp edges of his previously concealed fangs. Your jaw drops open. He’s ethereal.

“I could snap your neck—” Matt places his hand on your neck, “I could make that heart stop beating, take the air from your lungs. I could eat you…” He traces the vein in your throat from your jaw to your collarbone. “I could bite you and suck your blood until you’re empty. I could kill you, sweetheart. My kind is your natural enemy. You shouldn’t be here.”

You shudder. His nose brushes the sensitive skin below your ear. He’s so close you can smell him. On inhale, and his scent consumes your senses. He is all you can feel now. You reach out to hold onto his arms, his muscles tensing under your teeth. He’s big and strong, and those hands have a mind of their own as they begin to wander but never where you need him most.

You shouldn’t be here, yet you came. He asked you to him, and you complied. Is this your fate now? Chasing after your big bad wolf like the helpless sheep that you are?

Your walls clench around an agonizing emptiness, your swollen clit brushing against your soaked underwear. Whatever he is doing to you, it’s the cruelest form of torture.

A strangled noise breaks out of the back of his throat, rumbling in his chest. “You have no idea how badly I want to taste you,” he breathes.

“Do it,” you beg. “Taste me.”

He utters your name again. “Stop.”

“Please.”

Your tone shatters him. When he kisses you, finally, fireworks explode in the universe around you. All the stars seem to finally align. Your heart opens, and it sucks him right into you. Your soul yearns for him. He’s so close yet so far away.

The moon stands between you, but you cross even that ocean as you push against him, forcing your tongue into his mouth. He takes like heaven and hell; he’s the apple Eve bit into and cursed her for all eternity. But he’s also the snake, the one who compelled you to take this journey of bad decisions and jump right off the cliff’s edge. You melt into him like a broken candle.

He pulls away. Those fangs are alluring, as sharp as a knife’s tip. You want to know what it would feel like gracing your skin, digging into your as he thrusts his cock into your tight cunt. The thought alone sends your mind into a spiral.

Your lips are swollen, but he has yet to draw blood. Matt looks as though he wouldn’t dare, his eyes darting around in a darkened conflict he feels might cost him more than your dignity. You are begging for it, as is your body, but he’s holding himself back. He’s the one who tied himself to an invisible pillar, keeping his hands locked behind his back. But that is not the Matt you want.

You lean your head to the side, exposing the length of his neck. All control has slipped from your fingers. It’s in his hands now—you are. He cups your head gently. A mere few inches lie between your fountain and his lips.

You press a kiss to his calloused palm—a desperate and needy kiss, tracing your tongue over the lines that tell his life’s story in a way no interview can retell—and it is then he is forever done for. He’s doomed, and you are the second woman to pull him under the pits of hell.

Saliva drips from his fangs. You hold your breath. He hisses, a weak admission of surrender; the words die miserably on your tongue when his lips close around your pulse point with all his might, and his teeth drive home.

You moan aloud. Your fingers tangle in his hair, forcing him deeper as he sucks the dark red essence out of your vein. The sensation is more than you bargained for. It’s a drug that wrecks your system. The synapses in your brain backfire with all their might, and what follows the initial explosion of pleasure shooting white hot through your being is complete and utter silence as this God of a man feeds on you.

The invisible string between you glows a bright crimson. It slings around you, tying you together like the roots of a tree. It’s an eternal sacrifice. You are giving your all to him, the very core of your existence that is now flowing into his mouth. You swear you can hear his thoughts mingle with yours. Yes, more, please. You taste so good. Your knees buckle, but you remain standing strong. He makes sure you don’t fall. Don’t slip away from me. I need you.

A tear rolls down your cheek. You could sob. It feels so good—too good to be true. In that moment, you become one. There is no telling where one begins and the other ends. The coil in your stomach tightens, and the only pain you feel is the pleasure threatening to overwhelm you. He’s taking everything as you give him everything, but it is not enough. It has never been enough.

When your body struggles to catch up with the lack of blood, he pulls away. His fangs drag out of your neck agonizingly slowly. You whimper at the sudden loss.

Matt catches you as you stumble into his arms. “You okay?” He cradles your face, brushing the hair out of your face. Your blood stains his lips. Blinking up at him, the force of your metaphysical connection slaps you awake.

You cease to exist in all solar systems but his.

He pokes the tip of his index finger with the sharp edge of one tooth, sliding it over the two holes that are pulsating with the work of your heartbeat.

“I shouldn’t have—” he begins.

“No,” you say. “You did exactly what you should have.”

“I couldn’t stop.”

“But you did.” You wipe the blood from his mouth. “And I felt you. I only felt you.”

The living room passes by you. Before you know it, your back lands on something much softer than a concrete wall. He’s not a monster, that one, but he surely is an animal.

You taste your blood on Matt’s luscious lips as he devours your tongue. It tastes of copper and a little bitter, but that is what makes him moan. That sound is the last thing you could ever grow tired of.

His palm rests on your chest. Your heart pounds against his palm. “You’re so alive,” he says.

You cradle his face in your hands. “And you’re more human than you think.”

If he wanted to pull your heart out and hold it, you would let him in a heartbeat.

He leans you back. He strips you bare. He kisses down your body like you are a fucking masterpiece for him to explore. That is how he sees you.

Your head falls back. The kisses wander from your hips to the inside of your thighs. Every kiss brings his breath closer to your center. Matt pulls them apart. He opens you up to him. Your scent clouds his senses, and he groans, but he doesn’t touch.

His fangs graze your skin. “Mine,” he growls.

You gasp. He bites into the sensitive flesh. Hard, passionately. Your legs wrap around his head, trapping him there. He sucks, and he sucks, and he drinks, and the wetness pools out of your cunt in an obscene amount. This is foreplay to him. It drives you toward the edge leading to an abyss you are afraid you might never be able to crawl back out of. There is no bottom, it is just a pit, and he’s pushing you closer and closer, and—

Your back arches, but he pulls away before the coil can snap into a million butterflies. He pries your legs away from his head, spreading them further on the mattress, as far apart as they will go.

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner have been served on a silver platter. He breathes in. The scent of your soaked pussy sticks to the hairs in his nose. It isn’t enough. He breathes in again, your arousal sweeter than fiction. You’re everything and more. He wants to taste that part of you more than anything, suck up the slick that is soaking the sheets—and you didn’t even think that was possible—but he waits because he needs to savor it. He doesn’t want it to be over too soon. neither for him nor for you.

The blood is still dripping from his tongue and his fangs, and the raw inside of your thigh. He runs his finger through it. The sting runs from the wound to your folds, then back down. Still, he doesn’t touch. He plays with the blood, sucking on his fingers until they’re clean, and then he dives back in for a taste. He doesn’t bite, he kisses and sucks, but he doesn’t push it further. He doesn’t hurt you.

You’re his saving grace; he has to worship you. Pain only has a place in pleasure.

“Matthew,” you moan.

He chuckles, kissing where his fangs left deep indentations. “No one will ever touch you again,” he purrs. “I’ll make sure of that.”

You try to protest, but the words die on your tongue when he leans in, capturing your clit with his hungry mouth. The wound on your thigh closes. The blood from his lips mixes with your juices, and you cry out at the intensity of it all.

He eats you with the ferocity of a man starved for weeks. He eats your pussy like he ate your blood, savoring every drop but still feasting for the taste to spread out in his mouth like wildfire. Sour, sweet, and copper. He sucks your sensitive clit into his mouth. His tongue drags through your folds, up and down, and then the tip slides inside, tasting your walls. He grows bolder as your moans accelerate.

Matt cradles your thighs. He forces your hips back down to the mattress, stronger than the average human man. You have to endure his beard scratching and burning, and the pace he has set.

The orgasm creeps up on you. Before you know it, he has plunged his tongue into you, and your body convulses around him. You scream into a pillow as you come.

You are each other’s forbidden fruit. No prayer in the world could keep you apart.

Faintly, you can hear him say, “Good girl.” Your legs quiver. He pulls away, then comes right back like a boomerang.

He’s warm now. He was cold before, but when he kisses you this time, he’s warm. He’s hot. You run your hands over his bare chest, the scars that lie under the dark strands of hair. You tug at it, and he moans. You can tell he is a little insecure, but by pressing your lips to one of the cuts on his shoulder, he relaxes.

What he must have endured, what he must have lived through before he died and was resurrected in the same breath, just without a beating heart—you don’t want to think about it or you will break, but you can still feel him through the crimson tie that holds you together, and you know that he has suffered enough for more than two lifetimes. You wish you could take it all away from him. You wish you could have saved him before it was too late, loved him more than the woman who turned him, but turning back time is an impossibility. You are both acutely aware of that.

“Hey.” Matt tilts your head toward him. “Where did you just go?” he asks.

“Thinking about you,” you murmur.

“Me?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to be your salvation.”

You. His salvation. He kisses you, softly this time. He pours gratitude into his lips and bleeds them out in poetry as they slide into your mouth, and you swallow every last drop.

If someone had told you a week ago where you would see yourself on that particular Monday, you would have laughed at them. And if someone had told you a week ago that you would be making love to the devil, you would have called them crazy. But it’s happening.

He thrusts into you without a warning. His thick cock fills you like nothing and no one ever has before. Your cunt has been molded to fit him, you’re sure. You take him in, and you moan at the stretch. It’s a pain so delicious you could fall apart right then and there just from the feel of him inside you.

Every thrust drags the tip of his cock along your sweet spot. Every added sensation drives you closer to your death.

Your body tingles. He explores your face with his lips rather than his fingers, moving to your neck again. You cling to him, oh-so-desperate for him. He likes you like that, and you like him like that.

“You’re fucking with my head,” he tells you. “Offering your pussy to a vampire. Letting me drink your blood. Begging me to fuck you. You’re in my head, baby. Can’t get you out of my system. Fuck.”

You are his downfall, his salvation, but he is all of those things to you as well—all of those things and more. If he could read your mind, you would tell him that. Words can’t do justice to how you feel. Not right now, maybe not ever.

“Bite me again,” you beg.

His thrusts falter. He searches your body for any sign of regret. His fangs come out, and he buries them deep in your jugular vein. The floodgates open wide. Your walls clench around his cock, your clit pulsates, and the wave crashes into you.

You come as he devours your neck and your blood. You transcend into another dimension, far away from everything and everyone but never him. Never Matthew.

The sensation of you wraps around him like a weighted blanket. His balls tighten, your blood unfolding its taste on his tongue. You are all over him, inside of him, everywhere at once. He falls head-first, dragging you down with him.

He comes with a shout that is only muffled through his teeth buried in your flesh, his cum spurting into you and filling your cunt to the brim. Your eyes roll back. You’re flying and falling all at once.

Oh, how good it feels to be consumed by him. To be fucked and sucked dry. You would have never expected this to come out of your week, let alone your life, but now that it has happened, you are floating on cloud nine.

Dizziness threatens to take over, but before you can pass out, he forces himself away, allowing your heart to catch up with the lack of blood in your system. He collapses on top of you. His cock softens, but he stays inside. You need him there. You want him there. And that is the only place he wants to rest tonight.

He heals the wounds on your neck. “You have a mark,” Matt rasps, tracing your skin with his finger.

You choke out, “Yours.”

“Yes, you are.” He kisses you there. Once, twice, even a third time. “Mine,” he says.

You’re his. He’s yours. It doesn’t get any better than this.

The minutes tick away on the obnoxious clock on the wall. Matt pulls out eventually, wrapping you up in a blanket. He coaxes you to drink, but you’re barely lucid. Only when he begins to stroke your hair you start coming back to yourself. You thought you might regret it, but as you look at him, his almost guilty eyes staring back at you, all you can do is reach out for him.

“Session two tomorrow?” you ask.

He chuckles and retorts, “Have I not scared you away?” There is some truth to it though.

He’s covered in your blood. It sticks to his lips, his hands, and his chest. It’s sickeningly intimate, in a way.

You shake your head in response. “You could not possibly.”

He listens to your heartbeat. You’re as honest as they come.

“Okay,” Matt says. “Session two tomorrow then.”

That night, you fell in love with the Devil, but he also fell in love with you, his angel in the form of a reckless journalist, and the only blood he ever wants to taste again until the end of his miserable, cursed days.

Matt Murdock (Smut) Tag List: @shouldbestudying41 @theradioactivespidergwen @cheshirecat484 @1988-fiend @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-girl-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife

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