#my hand slipped while working on another piece-

[mellowsadistic]

The Flower Girl - Part 2

As Grace stared at Jessica, angry and confused, she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her.

“What are you doing?” she mumbled. “What’s going…”

But Jessica’s presence suddenly seemed magnified tenfold. It was as if Grace was looking up at someone much bigger than her, even though she and Jessica were the same height. There was a strange tingling in her brain, a rush of sudden vertigo. She imagined she might fall over, right onto her bottom. She giggled. That would be silly! She shook her head vigorously from side to side, trying to clear it.

“Not your… Not your big day,” said Grace, frowning. “I’m the bride.”

Jessica let out another one of her tinkling laughs. “Silly baby, you’re not the bride! Rob can’t get married to a silly little girl like you. This is my wedding, but I’m being very generous and letting you be the flower girl. Aren’t you lucky?”

Grace felt her head nodding enthusiastically. “Fank you!” she heard herself lisp. What the hell was happening?! The flower girl? Her head was clearing, but it felt as though she couldn’t control herself, like she was nothing but a passenger in her own body!

“Look what I got for you to wear, sweetie,” said Jessica, and she held up the dress she’d been carrying.

It was silly, frilly, and very small. The sleeves were puffy, the short skirt looked more like a tutu than anything else, and it had a large bow on the back.

Grace felt sick at the sight of it. No self-respecting woman would ever wear something so childish, something clearly meant for the youngest of children. But her body seemed to think differently. She heard herself gasp with excitement, and she thrust out her arms and made grabby hands at the ridiculous thing.

“Awww!” Olivia and Caroline cooed.

What was going on?! What was happening to her?! Her head was fully clear now, but Grace’s body still was completely out of her control. Why were Olivia and Caroline acting like nothing was wrong?!

“Alright, Gracie,” Jessica laughed. “Let’s get you changed. Olivia, Caroline, could you help her out of my dress?”

The two women hurried forwards and got to work. Grace could only stand there obediently, smiling vapidly and crying on the inside while her bridesmaids worked together to strip off various pieces of her attire and lift the beautiful dress back up over her head, leaving her in nothing but her underwear – and she didn’t get to keep those for long either.

“I can’t believe we ever thought you were an adult,” Olivia said, unclasping Grace’s bra and letting her large breasts spill out. She tittered at the sight of Grace’s tits wobbling on her chest. “Isn’t it funny how such a silly little girl has such big boobies? These massive knockers must have been how you tricked Rob into thinking you were a grown-up.”

To Grace’s horror, she started giggling and jumping up and down on the spot, making her bare boobs jiggle about madly.

Everyone laughed at her, and Olivia said, “I thought so! You’re just a naughty little brat, aren’t you sweetie? Just like Jessica said. I’m so glad you’ve come to your senses, Gracie. Jessica is clearly the one who’s meant to marry Rob, not you.”

Olivia would never say those kind of things to her! Grace was sure of that. Jessica must have done something to her, and Caroline as well!

Once Grace was standing in nothing but her undies, Olivia went over to Jessica with her wedding dress and started to help her change into it. Meanwhile, Caroline took the flower girl dress and held it up again for Grace to see.

“You’re going to look just like a princess, Gracie!” she said brightly.

Just like before, Grace couldn’t take her eyes off the mirror in front of her. But this time, her transformation was very different. Caroline slipped the tiny little flower girl dress over Grace’s head and started making adjustments to it, brushing down the skirts and squeezing Grace’s tits into the bodice.

Grace winced. It was so tight across the chest that it was painful. Her breasts bulged out obscenely through the fabric, and the puffy, frilly, tutu-like skirt barely reached past her bottom.

“There we go!” Caroline said. “Don’t you look pretty?”

Grace looked at herself in the mirror. She wanted to rip the ridiculous dress off her body and scream at everyone until someone told her what the fuck was going on. She wanted to smack Jessica hard across the face and throw her out of the venue. Instead she smiled stupidly. “Uh-hu!”

“Don’t forget to do her hair,” Jessica smirked, and Caroline nodded.

Grace could only stand there with a dumb grin on her face while her bridesmaid tied her sleek blonde hair into ridiculous pigtails sticking out from either side of her head.

There was a knock on the door and Annie, her third bridesmaid, finally came back into the room.

“Hi girls!” she said.

Grace prayed that maybe, this time, someone was going to come to her rescue. But then she saw that Annie was carrying something. Something large and white and rectangular.

When she realised what it was, Grace felt as though her heart had dropped into her stomach. Even the stupid little girl in charge of her body didn’t like it.

“Don’t need dat!” she heard herself whine as Annie came towards her, unfolding the crinkly, adult-sized disposable diaper as she went.

“Oh yes you do!” said Jessica loudly, and Grace looked over at her, her bottom lip trembling. “Toilets are a thing of the past for you, Gracie,” she said, a malicious look in her eyes. “Stupid little girls like you go potty in their pants, and that means you need a nappy on.”

Annie lifted up Grace’s flower girl dress, slipped a finger into the waistband of her underwear, and started sliding them down.

Grace looked on in horror, a stupid little pout still on her face, as her lacy white lingerie, a sexy surprise for Rob on their wedding night, was tugged down her legs. No, she thought, watching as Annie tossed them aside, come back!

But Annie was already slipping the bulky diaper between Grace’s legs, holding it up while she taped it into place. Grace could feel the soft, thirsty padding pressing against her pussy, ready to soak up all the pee-pee accidents she might have. This couldn’t be happening to her!

“There we go!” Annie cooed. “This suits you much better than that little lacy number. Your undies need to be designed in terms of how many potty accidents they can hold, not sex appeal.”

Once Grace’s nappy was on, Caroline stepped forwards again and, in case there was any doubt about Grace’s new position, placed a flower crown on top of her head.

“There’s just one more thing she needs,” Jessica said, walking over to her old clothes and fishing in the pockets. “Here we go!” She came back over and shoved a bright pink pacifier into Grace’s mouth, where it immediately started bobbing between her lips. “Perfect,” Jessica purred, drinking in Grace’s appearance like she couldn’t get enough of it. “We’ll be ready to go very soon.”

While her bridesmaids made the finishing touches to Jessica’s outfit, Grace toddled around impatiently, her thick diaper rustling noisily between her legs.

Then, without warning, she felt a sudden pressure in her bladder. She clutched her hands to her crotch, but the urge to go had become uncontrollable almost the moment it had appeared. Grace felt pee rushing into her pants, drenching the thick padding between her legs. The front of her Pampers discoloured, sagging until the yellow-tinged padding peaked out below the hem of her dress.

“Uh-oh,” she said softly, wrinkling her nose as the sharp smell of piss reached it. Inside her head, Grace was shrieking in horror. She wanted to throw up. She’d never been so disgusted in her life! It was awful, the feeling of her pee sloshing around in her pants, the sopping wet padding pressed against her nether regions. Someone had to save her! They had to!

At last, Jessica was done. She smirked down at Grace in her ridiculous little flower girl dress, dummy in her mouth, her hair in ludicrous pigtails. “I think someone had better check the baby’s nappy,” she said.

Caroline stepped forward, lifted up Grace’s dress, and probed the front of her diaper.

“She’s done a wee-wee,” Caroline announced. “Should I change her?”

“Is she about to leak?” asked Jessica.

“No, I think it can take a bit more,” Caroline replied, as Grace fidgeted in place like an impatient little girl, praying desperately that her bridesmaids would come to their senses, that someone would rescue her.

“Leave her for now,” Jessica instructed, a note of delight just detectable in her voice. “We don’t want to waste nappies.”

“You’re in charge,” said Caroline, and she actually did a little curtsey.

“That’s right,” said Jessica, her smile widening. “I am. It’s my big day, after all.”

[fuckyeahisawthat]

I've been obsessed with @demon-of-the-ancient-world's post about Paul bandaging his own wounds after the duel with Feyd ever since I saw it. Partially because I am pretty sure he would not be physically able to do it, but he sure would try. So have a little thing.

Eventually, he is able to stop giving orders and having them fervently obeyed long enough to limp over to the hallway leading out of the war room. With every step, he is figuring out how to better hide the limp. His side still fucking hurts.

Close to the relief of the cool dark hallway, he spots a familiar face. Mari, the medic from his old band of fedaykin. Her gaze falters as he approaches.

"Bandages," he requests. At least his voice is still coming out steady.

She fishes in her pack and pulls out a roll. Holds it out to him like an offering, her fingers retreating as soon as he takes it.

She'd once held him down with a knee on his back while she pulled a piece of shrapnel out of his shoulder. Now she is afraid to touch him.

"More," he rasps.

She produces another roll. That should be enough.

There's a little anteroom just off the main chamber. A few Fremen trail after him as he heads there.

"Guard the door," he says to no one in particular. "No one enters." He shuts them all out.

He doesn't remember what this room was used for, in the brief time that he had lived here. It's empty now, save for a stone platform that runs along one wall at waist height. He drops the rolls of bandages on the platform and sags against it.

As soon as he lets the control slip, a wave of nausea washes over him. His head is pounding, blood drying tacky and itchy on his face, and with every breath it feels like both knives are still inside him.

Focus. He hears it in his mother's voice. She taught him this, how to reach inside himself and master pain. Attention stretching inward, finding the nerve endings that are screaming and shutting them down. He'd practiced with an embroidery needle pricking his finger. This is a bit more than that.

He concentrates until everything still hurts, but not so much that he's going to pass out. Probably. Then he starts working the fastenings of his stillsuit loose.

He gets the shoulder straps released and the moisture seal broken at the main seam, but then he's stuck. Pulling the suit off his left shoulder requires raising his right arm, and that comes with a spike of pain and an abrupt tilt of the floor underneath him. He grabs the edge of the platform and has to spend some more time working on not passing out. Starting with his right shoulder proves no better; twisting his torso in that direction makes his vision gray at the edges.

He's leaning heavily against the stone platform trying to figure out what to do when there's a commotion at the door. He hauls himself into standing up straight just as a young man, wide-eyed and with blood all down the front of his stillsuit, gets shoved into the room. "Forgive me, Lisan al-Gaib," the man says. "The scarfless warmaster insists on entering."

It takes him a minute to realize who he is talking about. "Let him in."

The man retreats, and Gurney steps into the room. "My lord." His gaze takes in the bandages, the pathetic progress he's made on removing his stillsuit. He closes the door behind him. "If I may."

Paul nods.

As soon as Gurney peels the stillsuit back from his injured shoulder, he realizes he never could've done it alone. It's a two-handed job, easing his arm out of the garment, and he needs his one free hand to bite down on to keep from making noise.

Gurney helps him slide the suit down to his waist. His torso is painted with blood but there's nothing to clean it with now. Best to focus on keeping any more from coming out.

Together they bandage his side, then his shoulder. Gurney's hands are not unkind but they are pragmatic, efficient, not flinching away from his wounds but not lingering either. There is no talking save Paul telling him to wrap the bandage tighter.

He remembers a time, long ago. Sitting on a storage chest in the staging room of the parade grounds below Castle Caladan, watching Gurney help his father put his armor on.

There had been a surrender--of whom, he can't remember. He could not have been more than five or six at the time. Generals of the army they'd just defeated coming to sign the armistice agreement, but with enough resentment about it that everyone was nervous, and his father was wearing armor to declare peace.

There had been no talking then, either. Just Gurney moving practically around his father, an extra pair of hands for pauldrons and breastplate and greaves, while his father practiced the speech he was going to give under his breath, making subtle adjustments to tone and emphasis along the way. He doesn't remember the speech, only the feeling, Gurney preparing his father's body while his father prepared himself in other ways.

That is what is happening now.

Once they get his shoulder wrapped as tight as they can, Gurney helps him ease the stillsuit back on. Gurney still needs some direction to get it laced properly, the Fremen way, but having another pair of hands to pull the straps tight over his shoulders means he only has to grit his teeth, not spend time waiting for the room for stop spinning.

He takes a few test steps across the room. The bandage around his ribs restricts his breathing a little, but it makes walking slightly less painful. That will do.

He pulls himself up to his full height, straight-backed, head held high. The posture of an emperor. Ready for battle.

[hypostatic-oath]

HG HE JEBE HIHIHI IM SOOO OBSESSED WITH THE OVERSEER CONTENT ITS SO NEW TO ME AAAAAAAAAAA I LOVE IT

ahem ahem NORMAL!!!

anyways do you have any thoughts on how coop works in this version of sagau?? is it like delving into a different timeline of characters or is it like the known existence of multiple overseers?? very interested in this whole overseer plot i can’t wait to see how it goes!!!

AAAAAAA IM SO HAPPY TYSM

As for this ask, coop was actually something I thought about wayyyy back when crafting my own little interpretation of sagau lore.

Essentially, Overseer!Lore accepts every single Teyvat as a canon teyvat. Think like, parallel universes, wherein the only variable is which Overseer (aka which player) is steering the proverbial boat. I would say that the level of awareness regarding those "mirror Teyvats" depends heavily on how often the player of one specific world uses co-op.

Some characters - those whose players love co-op - are more than used to seeing doubles walking around. I would say that Childe for example would definitely not mind seeing a double (and by that I mean he would throw hands ON SIGHT, and both versions of him would be 100% down). However, for characters whose overseers rarely if ever play on co-op... well, their Teyvats are more of a closed ecosystem, and introducing an outside element would turn a few heads.

Then, of course - the characters who, while in co-op, get a chance to chat to their counterparts, and compare the differences in their respective worlds. No Teyvat is the same, after all, and neither are Overseers all alike. Not to mention, the various Teyvats are working on their own isolated timeframe. Let's just say that if a post-archon quest world Neuvillette met a pre-archon quest world Furina, there WOULD be tears. And most likely the hug that poor girl needs. At least Neuvillette is sensible enough not to let slip anything about the events that unfolded in his homeworld. (There is also the matter of Scaramouche... and Rhukkadevata. How would Teyvat handle the influx of forbidden knowledge? I headcanon that the Traveler would have to pull the gaslight of the century and attribute the differences in lore to the different Overseers in charge.)

One thing that would be extremely bittersweet, though? The one important choice players can make is the choice regarding the twin. The Traveler seeing their twin in co-op would undoubtedly shake them. A mirror version of their sibling, thrust into the same unexplicable situation as they were - convinced that the other has abandoned them, or that they are lost. The shared loneliness, the mutual understanding, all with the fact that they both look like each other's missing piece while not being the right fit at all. They can find a modicum of comfort in one another, but at the end of the day, both of them know that that's not their family. The loneliness seems even more crushing.

[aulerean]

Scarlet Pearl is like evil red riding hood. To me.

[gyuwoncheol]

Sir, Please.

Pair: Wonwoo x f.reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut. 18+ only (MDNI).

Summary: Wonwoo doesn’t mind keeping you at the edge if it means watching you fall apart.

Warnings: Dom!Wonwoo, Sir! kink, edging, cockwarming, unprotected sex (stay safe, children), squirting, clitoral stimulation, lots of making out, creampie, pussy slapping (like once), overstimulation, dacryphilia, breast play, wrist pinning, dirty talk, use of pet names (Sir, good girl, darling, love, baby, sweetie), glorious aftercare (Wonu is the best), fluff. Please let me know if i missed something. Not proofread, might come back to fix up errors.

WC: 3k

Author’s note: First smut piece for Wonwoo my love. This was only supposed to be post-sex cuddles fluff but thought it was the right time to finally write smut for my favorite boy. As is the plot of this piece, good things come to those who wait 😏 Enjoy!

Tagging fellow Wonu lovers @multi-kpop-fanfics @playmetheclassics for the chaos.

“What’re you doing?” Your boyfriend quizzed, your bare body still on top of his, a cheek resting against his bare chest.

“Doodling,” you mumbled casually as your finger continued to draw lazy patterns on his side.

“Darling, it tickles.”

“I don’t see you flinching.”

“You’re on top of me. If I flinch, you might fall.” He stated matter-of-factly.

You craned your neck to look up at him, flashing a wide grin momentarily, “then suffer.”

You shook along with Wonwoo as he laughed at your reply, a strong arm secured tightly around your torso, while his free hand cradled the back of your head.

A large smile was permanently etched on Wonwoo’s face as you both laid in comfortable silence. When he had collapsed onto you just minutes ago after reaching his climax, he had asked so nicely if he could stay inside a little longer and who were you to complain? You’ve craved for this kind of intimacy with him for awhile now after being both so busy with work.

“You’re lucky i love you,” Wonwoo declared as he kissed the top of your head.

You hummed in response, trailing your fingers again on his side, nails lightly scratching on his skin, “did you just write ‘i love you too’ on my ribs?” He laughs, and you nod an affirmative.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and snuggling more into your boyfriend’s chest. Now would be a good time for time to stand still. The setting sun casted warm hues of light inside your bedroom and while the airconditioning was cold, Wonwoo was radiating just the right amount of heat to keep you from shivering.

“I’ve missed you,” you blurted out.

“I know, sweetheart. I’ve missed you too. I’ve missed this,” another kiss was placed on top of your head, “i’m sorry i’ve been so busy.”

“I’m sorry too,” you sighed, resting your chin on his pecs to face him. “I wish i had more time to visit you in practice, or even just see you for lunch.”

“That’s okay, darling. We’re both just in our busy season. It will be over soon, yeah?” This time, Wonwoo’s palm was rubbing circular motions on the small of your back. “I was thinking we should go on a vacation when this all boils over.”

Your eyes grew wide, excited at your boyfriend’s suggestion, “really?”

“Yeah, maybe the countryside? Or out of the country? Where do you want?”

A blush crept up your cheeks at Wonwoo’s gesture of letting you choose, but honestly, you could’ve just stayed at your home and it would be okay. The last time you had a vacation, he made you choose the place too but this time, you didn’t really have a shortlist of destinations. You craned your neck to kiss his lips shortly, “surprise me?” You smiled shyly, “maybe somewhere peaceful and with fresh air? Anywhere as long as it’s with you is all I want, darling.”

“Okay, i’ll plan it out.” He confirmed before rolling you both over so his body hovered above yours

“Where are you going?” You pouted when he made a move to slip out of you.

“I need to clean you up, sweetie.”

You hooked a leg around his waist in retaliation, not at all ready to feel empty just yet. You attempted the most doe eyes you could muster, looking up at your boyfriend through your lashes and clenching your pussy as you did so, “Don’t you wanna fuck me one more time?”

Wonwoo scoffed at your question, the corner of his lips pulling into a devious smile at your sweet tone, “can’t get enough, darling?” His voice was lower by a few octaves, enough to send a shiver through your spine and a gush of wetness in your cunt.

“N-no, sir.”

Wonwoo smirked at the nickname before doing an experimental thrust. When your eyes rolled to the back of your head, he simply chuckled before dragging his cock out slowly and then swiftly burying himself to the hilt, rendering you even more speechless than you were. He could feel the rhythmic spasming of your walls, causing him to grow harder and harder.

You cupped his face to bring it closer to yours, kissing him and sucking at his lower lip. Wonwoo smiles in the kiss, amused at your neediness especially when he feels you lift your hips and roll them on his.

“Eager are we?”

“Wonuuu,” you whined pathetically, clawing at his back.

“Wonu?” he questioned with a glare, pinning you to the mattress agressively, “that’s not what you called me minutes ago, darlin’”

“Well, I don’t know where he went. Maybe if you give me what I want then I’ll start calling you it again,” you smirked, dragging your nails a little more harshly on his skin making him hiss.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, only to dive into your right breast and suck harshly at the bud, eliciting a loud moan from you. He snakes his hand in between you both, thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in circles, immediately feeling you clench around his dick again.He mutters something about you being responsive but it flies over your head as he picks up his pace. The slide is much easier given your mixed cum and your new arousal so it takes him record time to hit your sweet spot. Every ridge and vein on his cock drags against your walls in a way that’s more delicious than awhile ago.

“S-sir, pl-pleaasee,” you shake, the pit of your stomach tightening as you arch your back.

“Does my darling want to cum?” The nickname sounds sickly sweet as it rolls off his tongue and it only helps you get closer to the edge.

You nod your head repetitively, chants of ‘yes’s’ and ‘oh’s’ spilling from your lips, but then Wonwoo withdraws his hand from your sensitive bud and stills inside of you, a vice grip around your body as he licks the shell of your ear, “you don’t get to cum until I say so.” The words were loud, clear and firm, in a tone you knew all too well.

“But Won—“ you cry out loud, tears forming in your eyes as you feel your climax painfully float away.

“Nuh uh,” two harsh thrusts are delivered straight to your gspot as your boyfriend hooks one of your legs on his shoulder, “Call me wrong again and I will not let you cum at all.”

“Fuuuuck,” you mewl from the way his cock rams into you with the new angle, following it up with whines at the thought of getting no release, “S-sorry, sir! ‘M sorry!”

“There it is. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Wonwoo mocks, “now be my good girl and hold it out for me, yeah?”

You’re a incoherent mess as you try to obey him, but it isn’t so easy when his large cock is abusing your sore, sloppy cunt. Words of filth pair each one of his powerful thrusts.

“My dirty little whore”

“So fuckin’ needy for my cock.”

“Can’t get enough of this pussy.”

“Your pussy is mine.”

“All made for me.”

You were letting out moans of pleasure as Wonwoo pounded into you mercilessly, the knot in your stomach making itself felt again.

“Fu– ah! Fuck, s-sir! Please!” You asked, but it only fell on deaf ears. Both your wrists were tightly pinned with just one of your boyfriend’s large hand above your head and his blown out pupils were looking right at you.

“Make me cum, make me cum, make me cum, please!!!” you begged shamelessly, voice shaking and legs closing in as you teetered on the edge of your orgasm.

“Not. Yet.” Wonwoo withdrew fully from your hole and you shrieked at the loss, your hips lifting to chase after his dick only to have it slammed down by his free hand.

“Sir!!!” You scowled, eyebrows scrunching and eyes wide, anger and pain washing away yet another failed orgasm.

A proud, lopsided smirk appeared on your boyfriend’s face. He licked his bottom lip, enjoying the torture he beset on you despite his painfully hard cock.

“What?”

It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking, you knew that much.

“Nothing,” you cowered and blinked back your tears, erasing the anger in your face much to your dismay.

“Good girl.”

You swallowed thickly, squirming once more when Wonwoo tapped his heavy length on your pussy, coating himself with your slippery wetness— not that he needed any more of it— before purposely slapping your swollen clit with his angry red tip. The stimulation from that alone already had your toes curling and it took every fibre of your being to not just unravel right there.

You should’ve known calling him ‘sir’ would lead to this, but behind the tearful denials, you knew immense pleasure awaits.

“Siirrr, p-please! I n-need it.”

“Shhh. Patience, darling. We’ve got lots of time.” The demonic chuckle Wonwoo let out had you whimpering pitifully, your hands fighting to break free from his hold.

It seemed your boyfriend was hell bent on prolonging your agony when he simply continues to endlessly tap his shaft on your clit as he pumps himself.

Wonwoo was not usually loud in bed, save for his occasional grunts and broken groans when he falls into bliss. However, he’s decided now would be the perfect time to make matters all the more worse for you. He was being loud about it all, no holds barred. The squelching noises of his dick against your wet lips is now easily drowned out by the guttural moans Wonwoo has let slip past his mouth. You thought his dirty talk is music? Well, this was a symphony.

You had thought you wouldn’t get close this time around since he wasn’t inside you but the relentless knocks on your clit and the obnoxiously loud moans of your boyfriend have proved you wrong. Your hands balled into fists and you squeezed your eyes shut, mentally fighting off the ball of pleasure in your lower abdomen.

“Look at you, fighting so hard,” Wonwoo snickers, pressing down the tip of his cock to your clit in slow circular motions, “show me how good you are yeah?”

“Yes yes yes! ‘M good! Your good girl, promise!” You were so far gone, pliant to each one of your boyfriend’s requests.

“So wet, you’re soiling the bed,” he points out the obvious, “what a fuckin’ mess.” Wonwoo saw another shiver run through you, indicating you were seconds away from release. So for the third time that day, he denies you of the very thing you crave for, letting go of your wrists and then landing a sharp smack to your pussy before completely backing away to watch you spasm and curl up into a ball of needy tears and pathetic whines.

Your head was spinning and your senses were more than heightened. The slippery feeling of your arousal between your thighs were making it harder for you to squeeze them shut and stay still. Wonwoo simply loomed over you, giving you enough time to stabilize your breathing and let your failed orgasm ebb away. He knew that if he’d put so much just as one finger on your skin, you’d cum right away. Contrary to his actions, he wanted you to cum, but that didn’t mean he wanted to see you cry for it first.

“S-sirr,” you sobbed.

A gentle touch carefully landed on your calf and when you didn’t flinch away, Wonwoo let out a sigh of relief, “Yes, baby?”

“Please,” your voice barely above a whisper, “n-need you…”

Whatever other words you had planned were swallowed by Wonwoo in a searing kiss. It was sloppy and messy, his skillful tongue darting to yours, teeth biting at your lips. You both moaned in unison when he impaled you on his cock once more.

“So big,” you groaned, initially amused at the delicious stretch until you realised, he’s had to hold off his own orgasm too.

Wonwoo gives it his all, jackhammering into you like it would be the last time. The sound of moans and skin slapping skin reverberate around the room. And then, there it is again, a coil so tight on your stomach, you fear you’re going delirious to the point of no return.

“Wo— Sir!” You quickly correct yourself, losing the least bit of dignity you had, tears drenching your cheeks, “i’m b-begging, p-please…”

The gentle kiss on your nose set a stark contrast from how his cock abused your sopping cunt, but relief finally took over you at the words whispered in your ear, “so good for me. Let go, baby. I got you.”

A strangled cry ripped out of your throat, your orgasm gloriously hitting you like a tidal wave. Wonwoo continued to talk you through it while holding down your convulsing body and slamming his hips into you, the sight of your pussy creaming his cock eventually producing broken moans from him.

“B-babe, too– ah! Too m-much!” More tears fell on your face as Wonwoo did deep snaps, his pelvic bone grinding on your clit.

“C’mon baby, m’ close. S-so close!”

Incomprehensible noises tumbled out of you when your boyfriend buried himself deep, pushing onto your sweetest spot and stilling there. Between his guttural groans, the perfect ‘O’ shape of his mouth and the thick loads of hot white cum that flooded your velvety walls, another coil snapped within you, a new round of arousal seeping out of your spent hole, except this time, much wetter and hitting you like a ton of bricks.

“Fuuuck, darling,” Wonwoo trembled as the last of his nectar oozed out, “did I just make you squirt?”

“Fuck off,” you scowled, wishing you had more energy to wipe the smug look plastered on your boyfriend’s face.

“So I did?” Wonwoo pursed his lips and scrunched his nose, a look you very much love but absolutely hate right now.

You let your bottom lip jut out in a pout, your brows drawing to the center of your face, “how could I not when you edged me like that!”

“You’re cute,” was his only response, very slowly slipping his softening cock out of you. Your sweet boyfriend peppered kisses all over your face, replacing your frown with a smile. “Did I make you feel good, darling?” He asked genuinely, not wanting to ever subject you to something which you didn’t enjoy doing.

You gave him a shy nod, pulling him closer by his neck to close the gap between your mouths and share a loving kiss, much like how it was way earlier. It didn’t take long for you to part, your lungs still recharging to full capacity after having all the air knocked out of you.

Wonwoo gave you more time to recover, resting his head on the crook of your neck to leave soft kisses on your skin, especially on the blooming bruises he left in his wake.

“Darling, you can’t sleep yet,” he shook you gently when he noticed your prolonged stillness.

A small whine escaped your lips, “but Woo… i’m tired.”

“I know, i know,” he hushed softly, “but we need to get you cleaned up and also, change the sheets. I’ll make it quick.”

You had no time nor energy to protest. You were simply being carried bridal style into the bathroom, your boyfriend making sure you peed before he went on to wash up yours and his sweaty body with warm water. He was so so tender with his touch, especially in all parts between your legs. He’d keep an observant eye to every reaction your face made, careful not to cause any pain.

“Can… can you be mine?” you squeaked, and Wonwoo giggled at the drunken look of love on your face. Every time you think nothing can top sex with your boyfriend in your own little list of World’s Most Wonderful Things, you’re reminded that aftercare by him exists.

“Darling, i’m already yours,” Wonwoo chuckles.

You noded with a grin, brain really starting to drift off into slumber, “I like that.”

He fixes his glasses by the bridge of his nose after giving you a once-over, now dressed in cotton panties and one of his large navy blue shirts which hung mid-thigh on you.

Wonwoo lifts you up to sit on the bathroom counter before cupping your cheeks to meet your eyes, “baby, can you sit here and wait for me for about 10 to 15 minutes, please? I need to change our sheets.”

He had expected you to whine and retaliate, knowing you were always extra clingy after sex, but you simply nodded and smiled. You think you felt his lips on your forehead but you aren’t too sure.

The moment Wonwoo slips out of the bathroom, you’re fighting not to fall asleep, but 15 minutes is long, and maybe you can just lean your head a bit on the cold marble tile—

“Let’s get you to bed, love,” the tall man chuckles as he lifts you in his arms. You swore it hadn’t been fifteen minutes, not even ten! But then he walks past your bed and out of your shared bedroom. The light of the hallway enough to stir your brain awake.

“Where are we going?” You ask, nuzzling your face on the crook of his neck as he cradles you into another room.

Wonwoo laughs at your question, “We have to take the guest bedroom for the night, darling. You’ve soaked through our mattress.”

[triptuckers]

I've got you - percy jackson

Request: yeah! "percy x fem!reader are on an unofficial quest together just before the big titan war (so set just before last olympian). idk what the quest is but basically reader gets injured during a fight w a bunch of monsters and percy goes a little crazy and does everything he can to protect her and once all the monsters are dead he’s super gentle and sweet w her??" Pairing:  Percy Jackson x reader Summary:  you're busy battling a handful of monsters when for a second it looks as if it might be your last fight. luckily, percy is there Warnings:  fighting, mentions of blood, injuries, swearing, angst Word count:  1K A/N: the show creators need to add grover's song from ep3 to spotify because it's been stuck in my head since wednesday. thanks for your request, enjoy!

gods forbid you're ever on a quiet quest.

you can't wait to get this over with so you can go back to camp and actually get a decent amount of undisturbed sleep.

the other kids at camp are probably spending their afternoon relaxing, or polishing their weapons, or sitting by the lake, or literally anything that's peaceful. not you and percy.

you're busy getting rid of at least half a dozen monsters.

percy's is in the distance, fighting his way through a couple of monsters. he's a blur of movement and you occasionally hear him curse or make a sound.

you know percy can handle himself. but it doesn't stop you from looking over your shoulder every once in a while, to check on him.

the second time you try to catch a glimpse of percy, it's a mistake.

you feel something sharp sink into your side.

with one swing of your sword you decapitate the monster, but not before his fang breaks off, still stuck in your leg.

'oh fuck.' you mutter as you see blood start to gush out of the wound around the fang.

but there's no time to rest. another monster lashes out at you, raking his claws through your shoulder.

you yell out in pain, getting percy's attention.

you drive your sword through the monster just as percy starts running toward you.

'fuck.' you mutter, looking at your leg.

well, that doesn't look good. you know demigods don't live long. but you would have liked some more time with percy. preferably when you don't have to fight monsters.

'y/n!' yells percy, who has nearly reached you.

'percy...' you say as he catches you before you fall to the ground.

'shit, hold on.' says percy. he carefully lowers you to the ground in his arms. there's a panicked look in his eyes as he looks at your leg.

he quickly reaches down and tears off a piece of his shirt.

'percy!' you yell, looking at a monster that's running towards the two of you at full speed.

with one swift motion, percy slices through the monster with his sword, then he drops it and turns back to you.

he pulls you towards him and wraps the piece of his shirt around your thigh, above your wound.

'how many behind me?' he says.

you look over his shoulder, quickly counting the monsters that are making their way to you. it doesn't look good. 'seven.'

'sorry.'

'wait, for what-'

you're cut off as percy pulls the knot tight, sending a sharp pain through your leg.

'fuck! percy!' you curse.

'I said sorry. stay here do not pull that out.' says percy, pointing at the fang that's still stuck in your leg. he presses a quick kiss to your forehead before turning around and charging the monsters.

you knew percy could fight but holy shit.

it's like he moves with unnatural speed as he works his way through the monsters, making sure none of them slip past him to you.

even more so, he makes it look easy. almost god-like.

when you overheard someone from your cabin say that he's the most powerful demigod of your generation, you thought "sure he's a poseidon kid, it makes sense". you hadn't really thought much of it.

to you percy had always been, well, percy.

he always makes you laugh with bad jokes and saves you a spot at the campfire. he'll walk with you to your cabin if it's raining so you wouldn't get soaked. he prefers to sleep with you next to him, claiming it's so he won't get nightmares, but you know it's because he just wants to use you as his pillow.

but as you see him fighting off the monsters, lashing out and stabbing them like it's nothing, you realise what others see when they look at him.

suddenly percy is in front of you again, brushing monster dust off of his shoulder like it's no big deal.

'you okay?' he says, kneeling in front of you. he reaches out to gently cup your face.

you're silent as you look at him.

'y/n?' he says, looking you in your eyes, brows furrowed.

'did I mention I'm like, really really in love with you?' you say.

percy smiles briefly. 'yeah you've mentioned it.' he says. 'how are you feeling?'

'lucky to have you on my side.'

'I meant your leg, y/n.' he says, moving so he can inspect your leg.

'still hurts.'

'that shoulder also looks bad.' says percy. 'listen, I'll pull the fang out and give you nectar but it will still hurt, okay? then we'll look at your shoulder.'

'alright, make it quick.'

percy nods, then hands you some nectar.

'want me to count down?' he asks.

you nod, reaching out to take one of his hands in yours.

percy wraps his free hand around the fang.

you take a deep breath and nod at percy.

percy looks you in the eye and gives you an encouraging smile. 'sorry in advance. 3... 2... 1!'

with one swift motion he pulls the fang out. blood gushes out of the wound and the pain is unbearable. you close your eyes and feel how percy gently pushes the nectar to you and you take a sip.

it tastes like the drink sally made for you when you visited percy's home for the first time.

you keep your eyes closed as you wait for the pain to go away. you can feel percy rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb, comforting you.

'it's already helping.' says percy softly.

you reach out and wrap your arms around percy.

'it's okay. I've got you.' says percy, holding you close. 'we can sit here for a while, but then we have to keep moving, okay?'

'okay.' you say, feeling percy press a kiss to your forehead.

you're really glad percy's here with you. if it weren't for him, you're not sure you would have made it back to camp in one piece, or at all.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rulesHere’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit/Max

[obsessedwithceleste]

All’s Fair in Love and Quidditch

Theodore Nott x Ravenclaw Reader

Summary: All’s fair in love and quidditch. At least until Matteo’s poorly aimed bludger knocks you off of your broom.

word count: 3.7k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

“Get your wand. Out of my face.” You growl between clenched teeth, glaring up at the tall boy in front of you whose wand was dangerously close to the tip of your nose.

Theodore Nott. You’d first met the boy in third year on the quidditch pitch after his team had beat yours. It had been a long and grueling match and the only reason they’d won is because of that bloody snitch. Ravenclaw had been up in points the entire match. You remember the boy smirking at you as you lowered your broom to the ground.

“Better luck next time principessa.” He’d said.

You’d taken that personally, and the very next week, you’d stolen the position of top of the class in potions from him. This had apparently acted as a declaration of war as the two of you began constantly finding ways to outdo one another.

You seethed with hatred for the boy. Constantly challenging you in classes, on the pitch, even at prefects meetings. You two simply could not see eye to eye; which he constantly reminded you was likely because he was well over half a foot taller than you. Bloody bastard. It didn’t help that the boy was aggravatingly handsome. A detail you couldn’t help but appreciate as he loomed above you. Still, you glare on.

Despite the immediate threat of peril, you remained surprisingly calm knowing that, while you and Theodore may be intense rivals, he’d never actually harm you. At least you hoped. You’d seen his knuckles bloodied plenty of times before, but he’d never harmed so much as a hair on your head. Yet.

Theo’s words shake you back into the present.

“Then get off the bloody pitch. Like we said, we have the pitch booked until 7.”

“No, we booked it starting at 6. We have a signed slip from Flitwick,” You retort.

You watch Theodore’s eyes flick over to the piece of paper Cho was now brandishing smugly before whipping around to his teammates behind him.

“What the hell Malfoy. You were supposed to have Snape reserve the field!” He shouts.

You roll your eyes at the bickering boys. This is one of the many reasons you disliked the male population of Slytherin house. Wildly disorganized, yet still expecting to have everything handed to them.

“I did! They must’ve bloody double booked it!” Draco replies, glaring at the paper.

“Well then it looks like either you all leave, or we’re sharing,” you say decidedly, much to the grumbling of your teammates.

Theo scowls at you. “We gathered as much thanks- we’re not idiots.”

You give the boy a sugary sweet smile. “You’re doing an awfully good impression of it then.” You reply, hoping that if you annoyed him enough, he’d leave already.

You watch the boy’s jaw and fists clench tightly as his scowl deepens before he turns and stalks off.

“C’mon. I’m not dealing with that bloody witch today.” He snaps at his teammates who follow hesitantly, but not before shooting some nasty looks over their shoulders.

Once they’re out of earshot, you hear your teammates burst into laughter.

“That was bloody brilliant!” One of your beaters calls out, leaning on his broom as he shakes with laughter.

“Oh y/n, he so likes you,” Cho snickers as she pushes past you onto the field.

Your jaw drops open at that and you rush after the girl.

“Excuse you, you can’t just walk off after dropping something so wildly ridiculous on me like that,” you protest, mirroring your friend as she hops on her broom and takes off into the air.

“Oh please. I could cut the sexual tension between you two with a well placed diffindo charm. And he’d never give in to anyone else that easily. Now heads up or your head will be taken off by that bludger,” she responds easily, dodging out of the path of the ball hurtling towards you.

You quickly follow, barely managing to side sweep the bludger before turning back to your friend. Before you’re able to further probe her however, she’s taken off in search of the elusive snitch.

You try to shake off her words as you continue to fly through practice, joining your fellow chasers as they go head to head with your keeper, trying to make a shot through one of the hoops.

“Nice shot, y/n! Better keep that aim up for the game this weekend. I wanna beat those snakes so bad,” the keeper shouts as you make throw past him.

“Not a chance in hell those slithering bastards are taking the cup again,” you reply with a grin.

“Excited to see your little witch today?” Matteo asks, plopping himself into his seat next to Theo.

Theo glares at his curly haired friend, snapping his textbook closed with a grunt.

“She’s not my witch Mattheo. I can’t stand her,” Theo mumbles back.

“Right, right. It’s just y/n this, y/n that. Did you see y/n helping Cormac with charms the other day? He’s such a bloody wanker. Blah, blah, blah.” Enzo says, joining the two boys at the desk next to them.

Theo scowls at his so called friends. So what if he happened to notice you a bit too often? They knew full well that the two of you had a sort of rivalry going on and that he had to keep tabs on you to make sure you didn’t sneak something by him. Constant vigilance and what not.

Before he could defend himself however, you burst through the doors of the potions classroom with a group of your fellow Ravenclaws, coming to take your spot at the desk directly in front of him.

“Hey, thanks for giving us the pitch last night Theodore. Stomping off the field like that, was really such a testament to you being the bigger person.” You say, turning to give the boy an innocent smile as you slide into your seat.

“What can I say, I just know your team will need all the help they can get to try and beat us tomorrow,” Theo replied easily, eyes falling as he notices the hem of your skirt ride up a bit higher than normal as you sit down.

“Aw, that’s so considerate coming from someone whose shooting percentage is barely over 50%.”

Theo’s eyes snap up at this.

You hear Enzo snicker at that before he quickly attempts to cover it up with a loud cough.

“Yeah? It’s so interesting that you know my stats off the top of your head.” Theo retorts.

“They really help build my ego when I feel like I’m playing poorly.”

“So always?”

You glare at the boy, but before you’re able to respond, the professor clears their throat, forcing you to turn in your seat.

As the professor begins droning on about whatever potion it was that you were to be making that day, Theo’s eyes couldn’t help but wander to the pretty witch in front of him. For such a pain in his side, you sure were easy on the eyes. Before he knows it, he feels Mattheo’s elbow digging into his rib cage.

“C’mon lover boy, neither of us are going to pass if you don’t start focusing less on y/n and more on this potion, cause I was not paying attention.” Mattheo grunts, pulling him off his seat and over to the stock of potion ingredients along the back wall.

“I wasn’t even looking at her,” Theo protests, glaring at his friend as he begins pulling ingredients haphazardly off the shelves.

“Right. Because if you were, you’d have noticed that the white ribbon in her hair was crooked. Bothered me the entire time we were sitting there.” Mattheo replies, leaning lazily against the counter.

Theo shoots a nasty look at his friend realizing his eyes had once again wandered over to the witch in question.

“The ribbon in her hair is navy blue you dolt. And it’s not crooked.”

Mattheo gives him a victorious smirk.

“Too true. So glad we cleared up the fact that you were only staring enough to remember the exact color of her hair ribbon and whether or not it was crooked.”

With another smug look over his shoulder, Mattheo saunters back over to their shared desk, leaving Theo to finish collecting ingredients in agitated silence.

Glancing back down at his list, Theo quickly collected the rest of their ingredients, tossing the anjelica, bitter root, and daisy root essence into his basket, careful to not steal any more obvious glances at you.

As he went to return to his seat, the soft petals of the flower assortments sitting neatly in their assigned jars once again caught Theo’s eyes and a small smile grew as a masterful plan began to form.

“That BLOODY, FUCKING SNAKE!” you shriek as you open your quidditch locker to find a stunning bouquet of bright daises and velvet roses propped up against your broom.

Hearing the commotion, Cho rushes over to find you glaring menacingly at the offending flowers, a look of exasperation overtaking her face.

“For Rowena’s sake, not flowers. How dare he. The nerve,” she says dryly.

“Aww. How romantic. That’s so sweet. Are they from Theodore?” One of the other chasers adds, coming to see what all the noise was about.

Your glare shifts to your teammates as they peak into your locker to get a glimpse of the flowers.

“I’m allergic.” You grit out. As if to emphasize your point, you let out a loud sneeze, feeling the pollen reach your nose.

Your teammates’ faces fall slightly at your statement and you go to extract the flowers from your locker.

“Well- I suppose there’s something to be said about the fact that he knows exactly which flowers you’re allergic to, and how he went out of his way to buy them for you?” Cho offers as you toss the flowers onto the bench behind you.

A note flutters to the floor.

“Yes. It can be said that he’s a psychotic wanker with too much free time,” you say, bending down to snatch the note off the ground.

Good luck Principessa, hope you play similarly to how the flowers make you feel xxTheodore

“He literally tried to kill me so I wouldn’t be able to play,” you announce dramatically, thrusting the note card towards Cho who rolls her eyes as she shakes her head at you.

“Alright, we need to focus. Y/n, get rid of those flowers, we don’t need you sniffling all match. Everyone on the pitch in 15!” Cho yells, pulling the team together.

Shaking the thoughts of that damn Slytherin from your mind, you unceremoniously dump the large bouquet into the trash before quickly changing into your robes.

“Everyone remember the new offensive formations? We need to take them by surprise. They’ve gotten way too comfortable running the same defense against every team. Remember. If you can’t see Mattheo or Blaise, they’ve flanked you and there’s already a bludger aimed at the back of your head. Theo and Enzo stick together, third chaser is on their own. Flint is a lefty, if you can, always go for the right hoop. Prioritize y/n, when going for the goal posts unless you think they’ve picked up on it. Don’t worry about me and Draco, focus on gaining a lead. Everyone clear?”

You blink once, soaking in Cho’s words.

“Alright. Let’s get out there and stomp on some snakes.”

Your teammates let out loud whoops as you make your way out to the field, adrenaline beginning to course through your body. The breeze blows gently through your hair and the sun shines softly behind a thin layer of clouds. The perfect day for quidditch.

As you grow closer to the pitch, you can hear the loud cheers and hollers coming from the stands, the faces of your fellow Ravenclaws grinning down at you.

“Coin toss is on you, y/n. Try not to let him rile you up too much, yeah?” Cho says, mounting her broom with the rest of the team.

You nod as they take off and make your way down to the center of the pitch where Hooch is already waiting.

“Ah, y/n! Beautiful day for a match yeah?” She greets as you approach.

You offer a tight smile and nod as you see Theodore approach, cocky smile in place.

“Alright, you two know the drill. Snitch or broomsticks, Ravenclaw, your call, on three,” Hooch says, holding a large gold coin out on her palm.

You feel Theodore’s eyes on you as Hooch tosses the coin into the air.

“Broomsticks.”

The three of you watch as the coin hits the ground, three gleaming broomsticks shining in the sunlight.

Theo’s lips tighten, but he doesn’t say anything.

“We’ll take the ball first then,” you say with a tight lipped smile.

“Very well, go on then, shake hands.”

Swallowing your displeasure, you tentatively extend your hand.

With a lop sided grin, Theo grasps your hand.

“Like your flowers Principessa?”

“They were lovely. Really spruced up the trash can.”

Without another word, the two of you returned to your respective sides of the field, joining your teams in the air.

“We got ball,” you shout, once you’re within earshot of your teammates. The boys let out a whoop of excitement.

“Let’s make this a nice, clean match today, yeah?” Hooch shouts from her place on the field. Without waiting for a response, she points her wand at the chest, waiting below and the lid flies open, releasing the balls within.

Your eyes immediately lock onto the quaffle as it makes its way into the air, diving down and snatching it, a chaser on either side of you. You slip easily into your rhythm of dodging and weaving around your opponents, passing the quaffle around as you make your way to the opposing goal posts.

As the ball is being passed back to you however, Enzo pushes past, intercepting. Cursing under your breath, you whip around, close on his tail.

As if seeing your need, a bludger whizzes straight at Enzo, forcing him to drop the ball into your waiting arms.

This time, you’re able to make it to the opposite side, but with Theo and Enzo close on your tail, you’re forced to surrender the ball to your teammate who narrowly misses.

“Next time!” You shout in encouragement.

This back and forth goes on for what seems like ages, with neither team managing to score a point.

Finally, the ball is back in your arms as you speed towards Flint.

“Don’t choke now, Principessa,” you hear Theodore shout from beside you on the right.

“Please. Save your breath. You’ll probably need it to blow up your next play,” you retort.

“You know your ass is probably jealous of all the shit that comes out of your mouth.” Theo snaps.

“Yeah? You’d love to see my jealous ass wouldn’t you?”

Theo jolts in shock, and that moment is all you need to take a dive to the right, securing the first goal of the match.

It all falls into place after that and soon enough, your team is up 80 points. A comfortable lead, but not enough.

“C’mon guys! C’mon! Keep it up, this one’s ours!” You hear your keeper shout as they toss the quaffle to you.

You nearly fumble the catch as a bludger soars past your broom.

“Stay on her and keep those damn bludgers away!” You vaguely hear Cho call out to one of your beaters as you again make your way to the opposite end of the field.

After scoring two more goals, the Slytherin team finally gets the idea to begin putting more pressure and focus on you, with at least one chaser always guarding you.

“For Rowena’s sake, I don’t even have room to breathe!” you shout as you pass Cho briefly.

As the match continues with no end in sight, Mattheo and Blaise begin to grow bolder, narrowly missing a few heads. Their own teammates’ included.

“Watch it you bloody wanker!” You hear Enzo call out after Blaise nearly takes out the end of his broom.

With a sharp turn, you’re able to break away from his steady pursuit just long enough to safely secure the quaffle once more.

“Dammit Enz,” Theo grunts as he flies up beside you.

You ignore their bickering, eyes taking in the field and your surroundings. You spot your other two chasers gliding below you, gearing up to be positioned for a clear pass. Your beaters are no where in sight, and only Rowena knew where Cho was flying off to.

You make several attempts to lose the two green robed Slytherins on either side of you, but they remain stuck to your side.

Suddenly, you see Enzo’s broom dip. Thinking this is your chance, you turn quickly, trying to see if you have a clear pass to one of your teammates.

“Y/n!” Theo shouts.

But it’s too late.

The last thing you remember is the feeling of falling and strong arms wrapping around you before everything goes black.

When your eyes finally flutter open, the first thing you notice is the sky and how dark it is. What time was it? Slowly, you begin to sit up, a distinct pounding in the back of your head causing you to wince slightly. Looking about, you realize you were in the hospital wing and still in your quidditch robes. Ew.

The next thing you notice, is the mop of soft brown hair lying face down on the hospital bed beside you. As your eyes follow the body down to the chair it’s slumped on, you take in the familiar green robes that distinguish the boy as a Slytherin.

The hairs on your neck prickle as you recognize the boy. How could you not?

“Theodore,” you whisper, giving the boy a poke.

No sign of life.

“Theodore,” you say, a bit louder this time, shaking him gently.

“Shove off Matt. You and Toria can find another place to shag for the night,” he grumbles, shifting further into the coarse hospital bed blanket.

You let out a snort.

“Seriously Theodore, wake up,” you say, growing frustrated.

Finally the boy sits up groggily before appearing to remember where he was.

“Oh. Mornin principessa,” he drawls, smiling lazily at you, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“What happened? And why on earth are you here of all people?” You ask, ignoring the pet name that you seemingly couldn’t shake as a yawn escapes you.

“That’s really no way to treat your knight in shining armor.” Theo tsks, stretching his arms out and leaning back in his chair. “I’m the one who caught you after Matt knocked you off your broom after all. Bludger to the head is no joke.”

You grimace. No wonder your head was throbbing.

“What a fucking git,” you grumble, falling back onto the bed.

Theo shrugs, not seeming to disagree.

Stupid Mattheo and his stupid bloody aim. Utter shit. And of course it had to be bloody Theodore of all people who saved you. Though you weren’t entirely sure you minded, closing your eyes briefly, an image of Theo in his quidditch uniform flashing through your mind.

“You never answered the second question.” You say after a moment of silence.

Theo looks at you, his head cocked to the side.

“Why are you here?”

“You’re hurt,” he says simply, as if it made all the sense in the world.

Your frown doesn’t quite reach the tips of your mouth as you look over at the brunette boy staring back at you.

No matter how many times you told yourself that you utterly detested the boy, you were never quite able to say it with your full chest. And for Rowena’s sake, it was not fair for someone to look this good at this time of night, in sweaty quidditch robes.

“You don’t like me.” You say quietly, not quite sure how true that statement truly was as the boy’s eyes had yet to stray away from you.

“Oh I can’t stand you.” Theodore replies, suddenly much closer than you remember.

“You’re the absolute worst person on earth,” you say, feeling yourself magnetize towards the boy beside you.

“I despise you with every bone in my being,” he responds before slowly, tentatively closing the gap.

His lips are fire against yours, not burning, but consuming. You feel yourself getting lost in the sensation of his lips moving hungrily against yours as his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you in closer. You would definitely be blaming this lapse in judgement on the fact that you’d taken a bludger to the head earlier. Or maybe not, you think hazily as a soft moan escapes your lips.

“Easy there principessa,” Theo murmurs, pulling away and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Let’s not hurt that pretty little head of yours.”

With a silent nod, you lean back, mind still reeling a bit given the night’s events.

Hesitantly, as if not wanting to spook you, Theo edges his way onto the bed beside you. Realizing his intent, you scoot over a bit, allowing yourself to be tucked carefully into his arms.

“If it makes you feel any better about being knocked out, Ravenclaw did end up winning. And your team visited after the match was over.” Theo says as you rest your head on his chest.

You smile at that.

“Good. Slytherin is shit.” You reply.

“You take that back.”

“Make me.”

Theo’s lips find yours once more, and you feel him grin against your lips.

“I’m still mad about those flowers you sent by the way,” you say once he pulls away.

A smirk overtakes Theo’s face as he looks down at you.

“I’m sorry principessa.”

“No you aren’t,” you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“No I’m not. That was one of my better bits I’d say.”

“It was pretty good.”

Another yawn escapes your lips, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by the boy holding you in his arms.

“Sleep now, principessa,” he says, fingers stroking gently through your hair.

You didn’t have to be told twice.

Not a single person was surprised when the Slytherin and Ravenclaw quidditch teams walked into the infirmary the next morning to find the two of you wrapped in each other’s embrace.

“Bloody took them long enough,” Mattheo says, finally breaking the silence.

Cho can’t help but nod in agreement.

The rivals to lovers quidditch fic that no one asked for, but I wrote anyways 🤗

[userlando]

cherry wine — lando norris

lando norris x fem!reader [6.8k] summary: this is what you got for humouring him. lando was bored during the break and needed something to latch onto, it was just unfortunate timing that he’d become weirdly obsessed with your journey to… climax. warnings: 18+ best friends to lovers, explicit smut, experimental masturbation, sex toys, public sex, oral sex (f receiving), inexperienced reader a/n: okay so HEAVILY requested and it was a lot of fun to write this so i hope you find this equally enjoyable to read it!! thank you for all your love lately, it makes my heart sososo happy. as always, don't be a ghost reader, i'd love to hear your thoughts :) ily enjoy

You walked quickly, one foot in front of the other to put some space between you and the restaurant you’d just been spending the past godforsaken hour in. The shoes you were wearing pinched your toes uncomfortably and you willed yourself to hold out for just a few more moments as your phone vibrated in your hand.

I see you, the text read and you looked around the dark street before landing on the McLaren parked by the curb on the other side of the street. It wasn’t hard to miss, given how incredibly flashy and shiny it looked under the street lamp.

You hurried over, like the guy was going to come out of the restaurant and chase you, opening the door and taking a seat with an exaggerated sigh, happy that the night was over and you were in a safe space again. You reached over and slipped your shoes off with a grumble, sitting upright and finally looking over at your best friend behind the wheel.

Lando was giving you a half-amused look, eyebrows raised with one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding his phone. His jaw was working incessantly on the piece of gum, and it was annoying you how it seemed to add to the smugness he was radiating. You gritted your teeth and gestured with your hand to the wheel.

“Couldn’t you have picked another car?” You asked, referring to the over the top McLaren you were currently sitting in.

“You say that as if I have more cars to choose from.” Lando turned the key in the ignition. “Besides, you’re the one who hates the Jolly.”

You grimaced because he was right, it was a humours looking thing and though your friend drove for a living, it was the most unsafe you’d felt while sitting in it. The car didn’t even have seatbelts or doors.

“Can we get smoothies on the way home?” You asked, changing the subject and it didn’t go unnoticed by Lando who threw you a sideways glance as he pulled out of the parking spot. “I’m dying for something cold.”

“Sure.” He nodded slowly and you knew what he was waiting for but you weren’t in the mood to indulge him just yet.

The date had been a disaster, as had all the other four previous dates. You’d let him choose the place, not expecting the extravagant restaurant with the overpriced menu but you’d brushed it off because you - quite frankly - refused to have another failed date. The night hadn’t gone better though.

“So, are you gonna make me beg?” Lando broke the drawn out silence, shooting you a half smile. “What was wrong with him this time?”

“He claimed to have forgotten his wallet.” You sucked your teeth in mild irritation. “We only had drinks before he was shamelessly staring at the waitresses arses and making them feel uncomfortable.”

Lando made a sound in his throat that sounded a lot like sympathy and you were grateful for it. He had a habit of poking fun at your disastrous dates and sometimes you allowed it because they were comically bad. But he could also recognise when the time wasn’t right and it definitely wasn’t, this time.

“He sounds like a twat.” He took a turn into your favourite convenience store and shot you a searching glance. “Don’t tell me you paid for him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course not, I paid for my part and then hid in the restrooms to call you.”

Not to mention the fact that the man had become so pissed that he wasn’t even there when you’d gotten out of the restrooms, not even bothering to stay around to hear your well rehearsed excuse. They had started to flow so naturally, with how many times you’ve had to use them.

Something about that made you very bitter and also hopeless.

“Good girl.” Lando reached over to pat your thigh. “Don’t let fuckheads like him walk all over you.”

You huffed out a humourless laugh, swatting his hand away and watching him unbuckle his seatbelt before reaching for his wallet between you. Lando paused and glanced up at you.

“The usual?” He asked, rather uselessly because you never picked anything else than mango flavoured smoothies.

But you still humoured him with a nod and watched him climb out and head for the store. You watched him in silence, tearing your eyes away when they started drifting down and scolding yourself for checking your best friend out. What the hell was wrong with you?

You told yourself it was because of the long line of failed dates. Monaco was full of twats and rich snobs who couldn’t see past their noses. It was hard to not take it personally though and you were starting to enter the dangerous territory of self doubt. Maybe you were the one who was too picky, or boring or even too inexperienced to know what to do with men who showed an ounce of interest in you.

Adulthood was truly a rude awakening.

The scuffle of shoes against pavement drew you out of your thoughts and you looked to your side just in time for Lando to open the door and climb inside. He was juggling two cups and a inconspicuous plastic bag so you hurried to grab the cups from him before he ruined the beautiful and expensive interior.

“What’s that?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you, nodding at the plastic bag as you took a sip of your drink.

There was something in Lando’s face that unnerved you a bit, making you frown when he plucked his cup from your hands and thrust the bag into it instead. Whatever was in the bag was a little heavy, but your interest was piqued enough to set the cup in the holder and peer inside.

It took a second for you to realise what you were looking at, feeling your body go up in flames when your eyes finally registered what was sitting in front of you.

“Lando!” You yelped, letting go of the bag like it had burnt you. “Why — What —“ You scrunched your nose as your friend cackled, rather amused by your reaction. “Did you get that from the store?”

He nodded with the straw between his lips, looking all kinds of cheeky and you reached over to slap at his arm.

“I didn’t even know they sold things like these in there.” You looked down at your lap where the bag was resting, frowning a little dubiously at it like it was gonna come alive and bite you.

“They do.” He said, rather unhelpfully. “I won’t be able to look Mr. Lorenzi in the eyes after that but it was worth it.”

You let out a small laugh at the thought before you went quiet, separating the flaps of the bag and reaching inside.

Bullet vibrator, discover a happy you.

The slogan made you snort unattractively, waving the packaging in your hand and hearing it rattle as you gave the curly haired man a bemused stare.

“Why would you buy this?” You asked, letting him grab the offending thing from your hand when he reached for it.

He turned it in his hand, looking all too happy about it that it made something weird swirl in your stomach. You busied yourself with taking a sip of your smoothie, but it tasted like ashes in your mouth all of a sudden.

“It’s for you.” He said and you rolled your eyes. “What? It’s a neat looking thing. It’s in coral and it’s got… Twenty functions! Fuck me.”

His voice went up in slight wonder and the whole situation felt so bizarre that you couldn’t even find the right words to use.

“Why would you buy that for me?” You asked, a little irked and Lando must’ve sensed the shift of tone in your voice because he glanced up from where he’d been reading from the packaging, eyes a little wide in the darkness.

“You’ve told me about your problem.” He said, slowly like he was choosing his words carefully. “This might help you along a bit.”

“You promised not to throw that in my face!” You squeaked, feeling your face warm up and Lando jumped when you shot your hand out to slap him.

“I’m not!” He loudly protested. “I’m not making fun of you, I’m just saying. This will make you come.”

You slapped your hands to your face, not even caring about the makeup you’d spent hours putting on, and groaned loudly in hopes to make him shut up. It wasn’t like this was the first time you talked openly about sex, but you didn’t really like it when your masturbation habits were the topic. It was odd.

“I’ll never drink again.” You promised but you both knew it was a lie.

It had been a small moment of vulnerability, one that you barely remembered but you could recount the embarrassing parts and that’s what made you feel a little sick to your stomach. You’d come home after a late night of drinking and the both of you had sat face to face on his couch and talked about anything between the heavens and earth. You didn’t even know how it came up in conversation, but Lando wasn’t gonna stop you as you confided in him about your issues.

Okay, so maybe you had a hard time making yourself finish. Maybe you were more inexperienced than the average twenty something year old, but you weren’t ashamed of it. You were well and truly aware that everyone were in different stages of their lives but it still made you a little sad sometimes.

Especially when your dates turned out to be pits.

“Just take it, bug.” Lando slipped the package into the plastic bag and placed it in your lap. He started the engine and you took some comfort in the rumble of it. “Let me know how it goes.”

* * * *

it’s a 2/10

You fired off the text before you could overthink it, letting your phone fall to your stomach as you glanced at the offending phallic shape on your bed. Maybe you weren’t in the right headspace, or maybe it was just wrong for you. But it definitely didn’t feel right and you’d given up after twenty minutes of nothing but frustration.

The vibration of your phone made you jump slightly and you picked it up.

nooooo

did you give it a real try though?

of course I did, you melt

it’s just not working

The next time you saw Lando, was when Max had invited your group of friends for a pub crawl. Max had already ordered a round when you came stumbling in, a little late and warm from having hurried all the way over from your apartment. You went around to greet everyone with kisses and pats to the shoulders before taking a seat in the booth beside Lando.

He draped an arm over the backrest and poked you in the shoulder, prompting you to look up at him.

“I have something for you.” He said and you frowned at the smile on his face, shaking your head when recognition struck you.

You glanced around the table to make sure no one was listening in before leaning into him. Lando’s eyes flitted to your mouth when you got close and you did your best to ignore it and the flicker of heat in your belly.

Christ, you really needed to get laid. There was no way that you were finding your best friend hot. The very same best friend who’d burp in your face after having fizzy drinks and pee with the bathroom door open because he knew the sound of the stream made your skin crawl.

“Not again.” You whispered, a little sternly because you weren’t going to be put through that again.

But you figured that this is what you got for humouring him. Lando was bored during the race break and needed something to latch onto, it was just unfortunate timing that he’d become weirdly obsessed with your journey to… climax.

“This one’s supposed to be better.” He said, like that’d help you change your mind. “It’s a… stimulator.”

“Do I even wanna know what it’s supposed to stimulate?” You asked quietly, like your cheeks weren’t already fifteen degrees hotter.

It was clear that Lando was enjoying this way more than you were, smile too cheeky and happy and his cheeks were flushed. It could’ve been from the alcohol he’d consumed, judging by his breath but you knew that he wasn’t a lightweight.

Lando glanced down at you and your eyes widened at the smirk playing on his lips, placing both your hands over your crotch.

“I think you know.” He whispered, giggling a little when you pushed at him.

That’s how you found yourself staring at the new packaging on your bed, eyebrows knitted together in contemplation. You didn’t really know how something called a clit sucker was supposed to get you there and you really didn’t want to know where Lando had gotten it from.

You knew that if he kept this up, you’d end up with a nightstand drawer full of sex toys that did absolute fuckall to do their job. Maybe the few drinks you’d had earlier would help you relax a bit.

So with that in mind, you yanked your pants off and laid back on your bed, legs a little spread and eyes fastened on the ceiling. You tried to ignore the dread filling your stomach as you brought the toy between your legs, holding the button with the pad of your finger until it buzzed to life.

“Shit.” You swore quietly as you directed it between your legs, kind of enjoying the buzzing as you moved it around.

The moment it touched your clit, you jumped and moved your hand away. That hadn’t felt as good as you’d hoped, and you sighed in slight irritation.

It was like the universe was in on some kind of sick joke to make your life a living hell, because your phone vibrated on your nightstand and you glanced over to see Lando’s name on your screen. You ignored it, turning yourself around and laying down on your stomach to give it a second try.

The toy was still buzzing, making a sound that was a little bit distracting but also easy enough to ignore as you went under your panties this time. You knew that you should’ve probably worked yourself up or even invested in lube because you were everything but turned on at the moment. And not to mention how the dry silicone only made it all the more unpleasant.

Your phone vibrated again, another incoming text and you buried your head into your pillow to groan out loud before tossing the toy away. You watched it roll over the edge of the bed, landing on the floor with a clatter that made you grimace.

you tried it yet? ;)

I’m guessing by the silence that you have

It took a great amount of control to not roll your eyes at the winky face. You also refused to smile at how you could’ve easily imagined his face right now.

you’re taking an awful lot of interest in my sex life, it’s creeping me out

I’m guessing you didn’t….

???

get yourself all the way over there

Jesus. The amount of embarrassment you felt could probably be seen all over your face and you were suddenly grateful that this wasn’t a face to face talk. You sat up and leaned against the headboard with an exhale.

How were you supposed to say no, I didn’t fucking come, without actually typing the words? Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

1/10

The reply was immediate, like he’d been sitting with the text conversation open and waiting for your reply.

oh what?! disappointing! we’ll do better next time

You pulled a pillow into your lap and hid a smile in it.

The next time, turned out to be five days later when he’d managed to pull you out of another horrendous date. The date itself had been fine, but the guy was everything but aware of his personal hygiene and it made you grit your teeth every time he smiled and flashed those murky chompers at you from across the table.

Lando laughed until he cried on the way home when you recalled the date, and you had to calm him down before he veered you both off the road. He’d only just gotten his car and you weren’t too keen to see it in a ditch.

“I’m swearing off of men.” You said when he turned into your street, making Lando snort. “What? I am. I’m convinced all the good guys are taken.”

Lando reached a hand out without taking his eyes off the road, pinching you in the side and making you squeak in indignation.

“Thanks for that.” He said sarcastically, referring to himself and his very available relationship status. “And you’re not swearing off of guys, are you mad? You just need to have patience.”

“I’ve already had plenty of patience, thank you. I don’t have any more in me to spare.” You rooted around in your bag for a hair tie, huffing when you found one to tie your hair up and out of the way. “I already put up with your stupid arse.”

“Hey!” He pouted and you smiled in apology. “You love me. And you’ll love me even more when you see what I got—“

He paused to reach into the backseat, and you watched with a slight bemused smile as he dug around until he made a sound of delight, sitting back in his seat. Your eyes zeroed in on the package in his hand, shaking your head before he even said anything.

“Not again.” You said in a whine, pushing the cardboard package away when he went to hand it to you. “We’re not doing this.”

Lando blew out a breath, pushing it more insistently until you relented and grabbed it from his hold. It was surprisingly heavy for such a small box.

“I’ve read that this is a game changer.” He said, looking a little too proud and it made you grin despite yourself. “Look, it’s even shaped like a rose, how cool is that?”

“Mate, you’ve got way too much spare time on your hands.” You giggled when he narrowed his eyes at you. “Fine. But you have to promise to let it go if this doesn’t work out.”

Lando opened his mouth to protest, shutting it quickly at your stern look and nodding once. It didn’t look believable in the slightest.

“Okay. Yeah, promise.” He said and you nodded, reaching over the console to press a quick kiss to his stubbled cheek in thanks for saving you yet again.

You climbed out of the car and closed the door, waiting until he’d rolled the window down all way. There was mischief written all over his face and somehow you knew he was gonna say something obnoxious as parting words.

“I expect updates tonight.” He said, wagging his eyebrows and you smiled, turning around before he could see how absolutely flustered you became.

“Don’t hold your breath.” You shouted over your shoulder, walking up to your apartment complex.

Once you were inside, you grabbed a quick shower to wash the night away and poured yourself a sad looking bowl of cereal before getting into bed with your laptop in your hands. It was still early, too early to sleep so you figured a few episodes of a show wouldn’t ruin your sleep too much.

It proved to be too boring for your overactive mind. You’d devoured the cereal and was now laying, sunken down in bed with your mind wandering and attention not at all on what was happening on the screen. You hit the space bar button to pause, eyes drifting to your nightstand where the newest toy sat, innocently but so mocking.

You narrowed your eyes at it, staring for a minute before you reached for it and pushed the laptop off to the side.

“Fucking Lando.” You cursed him quietly, ripping the package open and fishing the innocent looking rose out.

It was pink, on the verge of red and it looked very pretty to be a vibrator. You located the button, holding it down until it came to life and your eyes climbed to your forehead as you pressed on the button again; cycling through the different powers and rhythms.

It felt like clockwork, sinking down into bed and closing your eyes with a deep breath. A frown etched itself on your face when you reached into your sweats and underwear with it, feeling it buzz away until you located your clit and the strength of the vibrations made you gasp.

It wasn’t too much too soon, but kind of perfect and a spark of hope flared in your chest as you thought that, maybe this was it. Maybe you’d found the toy that would bring you high enough and tip you over the edge.

A little moan left your lips as you closed your eyes, letting the toy do its work and you couldn’t help but smile slightly at the pleasant feeling. You’d never really gotten the joys of female masturbation when your friends talked about it, but you were starting to.

Your newfound hope didn’t blossom into anything bigger though, because it took about ten minutes before you realised that you wouldn’t be taken much further than you already were. It felt good, but it wasn’t mind blowing. And frustration started to seep into your pores before you angrily yanked your hand out and tossed the toy away after switching it off.

You reached for your phone, teeth gritted because you wouldn’t cry out of frustration. You wouldn’t.

maybe a life of celibacy is healthier for me

The response came in a minute later.

don’t be stupid

was it that bad?

it was… fine. but it wasn’t enough

There was no reply after that, and you chewed your lip. Maybe you’d gone too far with discussing your masturbation and lack of orgasms with Lando. You’d been best friends for so long that the lines were starting to blur. You’d never known any boundaries between the two of you, and that’s how you both liked it. But there was something different about this whole thing. It felt different.

Your phone vibrated once again and you glanced down.

I’ll do more research

The text made you smile despite yourself.

we won’t give up

A week later, you found yourself up in the mountains overlooking Monaco. Lando was sitting beside you, dressed nicely in a suit that he’d definitely ruined by sitting on the grass and you were in a dress that looked pretty but was a little stifling to wear. There had been a gala earlier tonight and Lando had begged you to come with him, even though the both of you despised anything that had to do with overpriced champagne and snooty people.

You’d had a good time despite yourselves, bumping into a few friends from the grid and dancing the night away before it was time to call it a night. Lando hadn’t been ready to go home just yet though, so you’d driven out to your favourite spot in the city.

The lights from the houses and the marina was glittering, the water so mesmerising that you couldn’t tear your eyes away. It was a beautiful night, not too hot but pleasantly nice.

“I have another date on Wednesday.” You told Lando, breaking the comfortable silence.

The man in question turned his head to look at you, and you saw his eyebrows furrow in mild intrigue.

“Another loser?” He joked, but his tone felt a little too flat and it made something weird turn in your stomach.

Usually he was way more interested and would fire off multiple questions before asking to see pictures. You chalked it up to him being tired from a long evening and hummed, scooting closer to him to rest your head on his shoulder.

He immediately turned his head and pressed his lips against the top of your skull, like he was on autopilot. It was something he often did, but it still managed to make your heart jump a little.

“He seems nice.” You told him truthfully. “Probably not a relationship type, but he seems like a good time.”

Your hair ruffled when Lando huffed out a humourless laugh and there was something so off about it that it made you pick your head up from his shoulder and look at him in confusion.

“What?” You asked, feeling a little defensive all of a sudden. “I’m trying to think positive.”

“Why don’t you hold off a bit on the dating? Let the guys come to you instead.” He suggested, glancing away from your probing eyes.

You could read him too well and it unnerved Lando beyond belief.

“I’ve tried that, it doesn’t work. I either get someone who doesn’t know what basic hygiene is, or someone who flirts with other people in front of me, a guy who snaps at waiters and not to mention the men who find out I’m friends with the Lando Norris and will go above and beyond to have a chance to meet you.”

“Don’t say that.” He grimaced and you pulled back a bit, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Don’t say what?”

“My name like it’s something inconvenient for you.” He took in your pinched facial expression and softened his tone a bit. “I’m just saying you deserve way better than what these tossers can offer you.”

You stayed quiet, opting to lay down on your back with a sigh instead. He was right, but you weren’t about to say it out loud.

Lando wouldn’t have that though, laying down on his side and propping his elbow on the grass to stare at you. You tried to hold back the smile threatening to spill, because he was hovering over you and looking adorable that it was impossible to stay annoyed.

“Are you mad at me?” He asked, smiling like he knew the answer was in the negative because he was well aware that you could never stay angry with him. “You can’t stay mad at me, I’m too cute.”

You placed your palm against his face and pushed at it, hearing and feeling him laugh against your hand until he reached to grab and yank it away from his face.

He turned your hand and pressed a kiss to your palm, the gesture all too intimate for it to be between two best friends and it took everything in your power to not read into his small gesture. You held your breath when he turned your hand over and gazed at it, face contemplative; Lips downturned in thought and brows knitted together.

“Have you used your hands before?” He asked and you smiled in slight confusion, not expecting the odd question.

“No, I use my feet.”

Lando pinched the thin skin of your wrist in retaliation and you squeaked out a laugh.

“I meant for… Your experiments.” He grimaced at the words and you knew he used that to lessen the embarrassment from your part. It didn’t do much though, not with the way he was staring at you like he was looking into your soul.

You held your breath, staring at his face and you knew that yours was heating up faster than you could blink. But it was hard to look away from the way his pupils were starting to expand, trapping his bottom lip with his teeth in what you knew was a nervous tick.

“I wouldn’t know how.” You told him truthfully after a long stretch of silence. There was no way for you to correctly use your fingers on yourself when a toy couldn't give you an orgasm.

"Do you want me to show you how?" He asked, voice quiet and you could feel your eyes widen before you could stop them.

There was a moment where you thought you'd heard wrong, that your sanity had finally gone out the window but Lando was looking at you like he was waiting for a response and there was some conflict in his eyes that you were sure that your eyes were reflecting.

What did this mean for your friendship? Would this ruin everything? What if he just wanted to satisfy his own fucked up needs and then pretend like nothing happened? Those were questions that you wanted to ask, but it wasn't what came out of your mouth when you opened it.

"Yes."

Lando looked as surprised as you felt, like he hadn't expected you to agree to his insane proposition but it didn’t mean that he felt immense relief. He hadn’t really thought of how he’d react or what to even say if you had turned him down. All he really knew was that this had been playing in his mind ever since that damned night when you’d confessed to him. He couldn’t get the image of him between your legs since then.

He hadn’t expected to feel a surge of jealousy when you started going on your dates, but he’d hated every minute of it. It had only lessened the sting a bit when he realised that they were all essentially going nowhere and that Lando was the one who got to pick you up at the end of the night. Minus the fact that he hated how down you were after the dates. But he had the opportunity to be there and cheer you up whenever you needed it, so he counted that as a win. Anything that involved your smile that he was the reason for, was a win.

They were new feelings, but Lando suspected that they’d been laying dormant since your teenage years. They’d only ever surfaced when you talked to potential boyfriends, but he always managed to squash those feelings before they grew into something ugly and act like nothing was bothering him.

That’s probably why Lando’s hand was shaking a bit when it found a home on your thigh, slowly pushing up the silk of your dress and he couldn’t bring himself to look away from your face; caught in your stare. He could see how nervous you were, bottom lip caught between your teeth and chest moving with every quick breath you took.

Lando stopped momentarily because maybe you didn’t really want this. You looked almost scared, and that was enough for him to withdraw. What he didn’t expect was for your hand to find a place on the back of his head, messing up his perfectly styled curls and bringing him closer to your face.

It didn’t take much to get him where you wanted, and he found himself so close to your face that he could feel your breath against his lips. Lando was convinced that nothing was as intoxicating as that.

“This is mad.” You whispered, lip touching his as you spoke and Lando struggled to not groan out loud at that one brush.

“Definitely.” He nodded in agreement, watching your lips curl up into an enticing smile that calmed his nerves down. “Do you still want this?”

Your eyes flickered between his, like you were trying to gauge his reaction when you nodded.

“Do you?” You asked and Lando couldn’t dig deep enough to find the words, so he did the next best thing.

The small whimper you let out against his lips rattled something in Lando’s chest, pressing his mouth against yours in a kiss that had your toes curling and your hands grabbing desperately at his hair. The slight sting in his scalp made him open up under your lips, and he swore he must’ve died and gone to heaven when your tongue brushed his. It was like his skin was cracking open and you were touching his exposed nerves, feelings so on edge when you hadn’t even done anything but kiss him.

You were so into the kiss that you almost forgot where you were, thighs tensing a bit when your dress was pushed up and cool air hit your naked thighs. Lando pulled back enough to look at you, giving you an encouraging smile as his hand travelled up your inner thigh.

It was a struggle to keep your eyes open and on him when his fingers brushed over your clothed pussy, but it was worth it to see his mouth hang open when he felt the lace. You were warm against his skin, and he had half a mind to say fuck it and bury himself deep inside your warmth.

But he had to remind himself to slow down, take a breath and focus on you because you may have relaxed a bit; But Lando had known you for so long that he could read your body.

“This feels nice.” He commented, running his fingers over the material and you couldn’t help but laugh. “What colour are they?”

You knew it was his way of breaking the tension and hopefully relieve the anxiety blooming in your chest, and it surprisingly worked when you tilted your head up to give him a kiss that he was eager to respond to.

“Why don’t you find out?” You murmured and Lando’s eyebrow jumped, cheeky and excited as he placed his other arm on the other side of your body to straddle you.

He probably should’ve cared that his fancy dress pants were rubbing against the grass when he knee-walked down your body, but he was too preoccupied with staring at you. Your chest was heaving, and he could almost see the pebbles of your nipples against the satin material of your dress. He wondered if you wore a matching, lacy bra or if you’d opted to go without, eager to find out later.

Lando was a man on a mission, pushing your dress up to your abdomen and kneeling between your legs. He glanced down, heat flaring up in his body when he got a peek at the cherry red lace, hiding so much but so little.

He stroked a finger down between where he presumed your lips were, hearing you take a shuddering breath above at the sensation. You were looking at him, feeling turned on beyond belief and the feeling was so new that you didn’t know what to do with it.

The feeling only intensified when his finger located your clit, caressing the sensitive nub in small circles until your legs were shaking, thighs tensing.

Lando was like hypnotised, taking in every hitch in your breath and every jerk of your body until he felt like he’d burst if he didn’t get his mouth on you. He probably should’ve warned you beforehand, but he took a little pride in the surprised squeal you let out when he opened his mouth and slotted it over your pussy, sucking until he tasted your slick through the lace.

“Lando!” Your voice was breathy, scandalised and you put a hand over your eyes when you looked down and saw him staring at you.

He looked… depraved. And it did something funny to your stomach. You'd never seen him like that and you didn't really think you'd ever get to experience it.

You'd thought about it, even allowed yourself a night to fantasise about the way he'd look and what he'd say if you were ever in this position, but those were thoughts you didn't let yourself drift into too often. It was a dangerous thing to imagine having sex with your best friend, yet here you were - experiencing it. Outside, nonetheless.

"Oh, fuck." You stuttered out when he hooked his fingers into the crotch of your panties and pulled them to the side, the cool air hitting the very slick center.

The unexpected feeling had you squirming, bucking your hips up and huffing out a laugh when Lando glanced up at you, feeling a little embarrassed to be so needy.

"You're so sensitive." He pondered, sounding a little amazed before he stuck his tongue out in a crude fashion and licked up your pussy. "You're gorgeous, bug. Those guys are missing out on something great."

That got an eye roll from you, but it didn't stop the zip of heat from racing up your back at his words. You could feel him flattening his tongue to lick every part of you, like he couldn't get enough of your taste before he got your clit into his mouth and sucked.

He tried not to feel too smug when you moaned, head tilted back and facing the sky, like you were praying to whatever was up there. The stretch of your neck was gorgeous, so spotless that he had the sudden urge to sit up and mark the sensitive skin of it with his mouth and teeth. But he sat put, focusing on eating you out with an eagerness he'd never really felt before.

It didn't take you long to really become vocal, and it honestly surprised Lando because he'd always pegged you for a quiet one. Not that he complained; the sounds you were making had his pants feeling tight.

"It feels—" You trailed off into a stuttered moan that made Lando reach down and squeeze himself through his trousers, moaning into your pussy at the slight relief he felt. "Lando, fuck, I'm gonna..."

You didn't finish your sentence, too lost in the multiple sensations you'd never felt before but Lando could guess what you were trying to communicate. He kept at it, watching your face as it scrunched up and your mouth dropped open, groaning out your climax as it washed over you.

It felt better than you'd imagined, stomach clenching up and toes curling as you shut your eyes so tightly that you saw stars behind your eyelids. You weren't sure how long you were out of it, or how your hands had managed to find their way to your best friend's hair. Lando laved his tongue over your center, steering clear of your sensitive clit but he couldn't help but bump against it a few times just to hear your breath hitch.

The third time he did it, you pushed him away with an exhausted grumble, hearing him laugh as he stretched up to kiss below your navel. The pecks were so tender and sweet, a stark contrast to how he'd ate you out like a depraved man just minutes ago, and it filled your belly with so much warmth you didn't know what to do with it.

You made a confused sound in your throat when he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and drew them down your legs, bunching them up in his hands.

"These are mine now." He said casually, cheek deepening into a dimple and you raised your eyebrows.

"No..." You dragged out the word, reaching out your hands to grab the flimsy material from his grip but he was quick to turn away, batting your hands away with small, teasing tuts. "Those are my fancy pair, you twit."

Lando shoved the underwear into the pocket of his trousers, ignoring your protests and silencing them rather quickly by leaning over to kiss you. And shut you up it did, because that was the last thing you expected but it wasn't necessarily unwelcomed.

He opened up his mouth under yours, kissing you deeply and allowing you to taste yourself and something about that made your legs tighten up around his body where they'd been previously splayed out.

"I'll buy you more underwear." He promised after pulling away slightly, giving you a smirk that made your head spin. "Only if I'm the only one allowed to see them from now on."

You huffed out a laugh, pushing his face away with your hand. He rolled over and laid down beside you, and you sat up with the help of your shaky arms.

"You're a walking cliché." You said, shaking your head slightly. "But I won't say no to free stuff.”

He reached a hand out to pluck a leaf off your hair, flicking it away before turning his attention to you.

You suddenly became aware of what you’d done, nerves humming just under your skin and your conflicting emotions must’ve shown on your face because Lando scooted closer to you and grabbed your hand.

“We’re okay?” You asked quietly, staring down at your intertwined hands and how his thumb brushed across the back of your hand. The way he always did when your anxiety was acting up.

“Of course we are.” He assured you, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to your naked shoulder.

You knew that you’d have to have a longer talk about what this meant for the both of you in the future. But you pushed it to the back of your mind for tonight, snuggling up to your best friend’s side and laying your head on his chest.

You did believe him though. No matter what, the both of you would be okay.

[meiieiri]

𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 [gojo satoru]

HC: GOJO JUST CAN’T SEEM TO GET HIS SERVANT GIRL OUT OF HIS HEAD.

WARNINGS: fluff! sickening blegh blegh fluff. maybe some undertones of misogyny but that’s only because i lowkey have a thing for naoya zenin please don’t judge me, please don’t. and i know, i know, i’m sorry for the late updates, but i’m working on the new chapter of WE as fast as i can, hahaha. just feeling so demotivated lately so i decided to write something new for a bit.

╰┈➤ gojo satoru who falls harder and harder for you everyday as you dutifully help him with his kimono, prepare his bath, and plan out his meals. one day, i’ll marry her, satoru vows silently as he watches you brew his hōjicha just the way he likes it.

╰┈➤ gojo satoru who waits for you at every blind corridor in the gojo estate, hoping to steal a kiss from you while you’re working. “satoru—!” what was he thinking, pulling you into a searing kiss while you carried a laundry basket full of his clothes? he finds it cute how you instinctively melted in the feeling of his luscious lips, clumsily dropping the laundry basket on the hardwood floor. “is my little servant distracted? tsk, tsk. we can’t have that, can we?” he grins against your lips but before he could lean in for another kiss, he takes a step back. “get back to work, (y/n)-chan~” he waves to you as he struts down the hall.

╰┈➤ gojo satoru is a bold man when it comes to sashaying around his clan’s vast banquet hall, purposefully keeping you within ten feet of him as he speaks to the other clan heads, indirectly showing you off in the new yukata he got for you. though his only concern about the yukata is how troublesome it’ll be to take it off of you and he really doesn’t want to rip another piece from your wardrobe. as you pour him another cup of sake, he wonders if he should’ve just bought you a lingerie set instead.

╰┈➤ gojo satoru has gotten used to his mother nagging him about getting married soon. his family has been growing impatient since the day he turned twenty-six for satoru to find an upstanding lady from another one of the big three clans of jujutsu. he’s seen countless women, been forced to kiss the backs of their hands, and he’d pull through outstandingly - charming one bridal candidate after another who’ve no idea that the entire time, satoru is thinking of the little lady he keeps back home in the gojo estate.

╰┈➤ gojo satoru who takes your hand one day and says: “follow me.” he leads you into the tea room, and finally reveals what the two of you have in front of his elders as he slips an engagement ring, a family heirloom, onto your finger unbothered that the elders whispered among themselves about how shameful it would be for the greatest sorcerer of this generation were to get married to some nobody. “i’d sooner drop dead than see our clan head getting married to this whore!” one of his elders snarls at you, instinctively causing satoru to shield you from them. his face hardens as he speaks his next homicide-coded words. “that could be arranged, auntie.”

╰┈➤ gojo satoru who purposefully chooses a rainy day for your wedding date, so no one could see the joyful tears streaming down his cheeks as he finally makes you irrevocably his.

[pinkanonwrites]

"Oh! That's What That Does?!"

All art by @archie-sunshine

G1 Rumble/ Mechanic Reader - 2400+ Words NSFW, Valveplug, Plug 'N Play, Mild Sparkplay, Accidental Stimulation, Edging, Human Reader, GN Pronouns

Ahh, the inherent eroticism of repairing your machine.~ I've had this one cooking for a while, so I hope you all enjoy! I've also gotten pretty attached to this mechanic Reader, so they'll likely pop up again with other cassettes (and maybe even some other Decepticons!)

NSFW WRITING AND IMAGERY BELOW THE CUT!

“Ey… EY! Careful wit’ dat! It’s touchy!”

“Rumble,” You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You're making this way more difficult than it needs to be.”

“I wouldn't be complainin’ if you'd stop touchin’ all up on bits that don't gotta be touched! Rootin’ around in there like I'm one’a your crappy organic machines!”

Removing your hands from Rumble’s open chest, you tossed them roughly into the air. “Y'know what? Fine. Do it yourself. Better yet, get Frenzy to pull the shrapnel out of your chest. That'll go great.”

You would have slid off of Rumble’s lap and stormed off, if not for his massive servos closing around your wrists with an unexpected delicacy. Your efforts to remove your hands only reinforced his grip, using just enough force to keep you from leaving without crushing your wrists entirely.

“H-Hey, no need ta be so hasty! Look, I’m just steamed cause'a the battle, dat’s all. Frenz’ can't do dis, it's gotta be someone more… dainty. Y’know. Little human hands and all dat.” The harsh glow of his visor had dulled slightly as his gaze cast down to your hands. You rolled your eyes, wrists finally slipping from his grip as you settled back in. 

Dangling wires and sparking shrapnel dotted his open chest cavity, illuminated by the light of his spark chamber. Rumble had staggered off-balance into your workshop whining about the prodding pieces of broken metal keeping him from transforming properly, yet you’d barely managed to get two wires back in place before he started squirming and whingeing and slinging verbal abuse at you.

 Not that you weren't used to it, any interactions with Rumble and Frenzy usually involved some level of bullying. Fortunately, the two cassettes are also incredibly predictable. As soon as you would threaten to take away or withhold what they're asking for, they’d start falling all over themselves with apologies and placations. After all, you may not have been the only mechanic in the area, but you were certainly their favorite.

“Are you going to actually let me work? Or are you going to start yelling at me again?”

“Yellin’? Who's yellin’? Yer the mechanic here, my spark is in your squishy little hands. Do your magic, doc.” He sat back again, servos clutching the edges of your workbench in a show of effort, a genuine attempt to keep them still (or however genuine any show of rule-following from Rumble could be.)

“That's what I thought. Now let me actually fix a few things before you start whining again.” Your gloved hands dipped back into his chest cavity, skirting the edges of his spark chamber to pick away at the bits of loose shrapnel stuck in some of the wires. His frame shuddered, a hiss of steam escaping through his dentae as your knuckles brushed the underside of the spark casing.

“C-Careful,” He said again, with significantly less bite to his tone.

“Does it hurt?”

“Somethin’ like dat.”

“I'll be careful, so let me know if it gets to be too much.” You smoothed a palm down the armor covering his stomach, flinching back when you heard another sharp hiss of steam.

“I’m fine! It's fine! Just… do ya gotta be all on top’a me like dis?”

“I can't reach properly if you're laying down. If you're standing you might keel over on me, and I really don't feel like being squished to death today.” He let out a low grumble as you jacked another cable back into its proper port. “I'll try to be quick, that way you won't have to worry about my ‘human germs’ and you can get outta here. Deal?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just-”

“Be careful. I know.”

And with that you went to work, separating and organizing cables, taping off leaky tubing and removing pieces of scrap metal as gently as you could. Every once in a while Rumble would jerk or twitch beneath your touch, letting out a muffled curse or huff but sparing you from his usual complaints. It was… uncharacteristically quiet, for sure. This was the most extensive repair you'd ever done on him, though, so maybe he was just having surgery jitters.

“Okay, I've gotten most of the shrapnel out. But there's a piece right behind your spark casing.”

“Well? Get it outta there!”

“I'm going to, but I need to get my whole hand in there. I'm warning you now because it's going to be bumping up against your spark casing a lot. I'm going to do my best but you have to tell me if it hurts too much.”

Rumble let out a long, pathetic groan. “Actually doc, maybe you can just leave dat one in there? F-For funsies?”

“Eh?! Rumble, I’m not gonna just ‘leave it in there’! It's gotta come out.”

“Something's gonna come out if you keep proddin’ around in there like dat…”

“What was that?”

“Gh! Nothin’! Don't worry ‘bout it!”

“...Okay. I’m gonna start now. Are you ready?” Rumble only responded with gritted dentae and a tense nod. Working your gloved hand under his spark chamber, you could feel the ambient energy making the hairs on your arm stand on end as you felt for the jagged edge of broken metal. Your glove blocked your view entirely, so you were left blindly groping your way up the metal surface, feeling for anything bent or out of place. When your fingers could no longer reach any further while still avoiding the casing, you slid forward and ducked slightly into Rumble’s open chest, the back of your hand pressing up against the underside of his spark chamber.

CLANG!

You jumped, and if it weren't for Rumble’s arm wrapping around you and almost crushing you into his open chest you may have jostled the sensitive chamber even further. You slid your hand back again, easing off of the reinforced glass, and his grip receded.

“What the hell was that? And what was that clang?”

“I said don't worry ‘bout it!” He hissed, voice glitchy with static. “Everythin’s totally normal, I dunno why you're getting all jumpy ‘bout- MMNGH?!” You moved your hand up again into the same position, and Rumble let out an embarrassingly high whimper. You glanced up at his face, a flush of pink behind the usual grey and beading with coolant… and something clicked.

“Oh my God are you getting off on this?”

“N-No!”

Behind you you heard a sharp snikt, and the sound of pressurizing hydraulics.

“...Maybe?”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“H-Hey, don't go gettin’ a big head or nothin’! A bot’s spark chamber is sensitive! Don't go thinkin’ this is cause of your squishy frame or your soft little digits or nothin’!” He seemed to almost shrink in on himself, face plate practically glowing as his shoulders pulled up around his helm. You'd never say it to his face, but he looked surprisingly… small, at this moment. You heaved an exhausted sigh.

“Okay. Okay. I'm going to get this last piece out, alright? It's the last one. And whatever happens while I'm doing that..? It just happens. We won't bring it up again, no need to be embarrassed. Deal?”

“‘Deal?!?’” He squawked, positively scandalized. “How do I know yer not gonna gossip with Frenz’ the next time he's in for a tune-up?”

“Well Frenzy usually never lets me get a word in edgewise, first of all.” You huffed. This was way more than you'd signed up for. “I'm not going to make fun of you, Rumble. Let’s just get you patched up, then you can head home. Okay?”

His mouth was pulled into a tight, wobbly frown as he glanced down at you, choking out a single word. “...Promise?”

“I promise.”

“...Slag. alright, let's get dis over with.” He lolled his head back against the table with a clank, resigning himself to his fate. This time, when your knuckles brushed his spark casing, he couldn’t stifle his soft moan. Your fingers felt further and further up, until almost your entire hand was behind the glass bubble containing his pulsing spark. Finally, you could feel the jagged piece of metal. You wrapped your fingers around it and gave it an experimental tug. It stuck fast, and your hand bumping against Rumble's spark only pulled another surprised moan from him.

“W-Watch it!” He yelped, sounding too fucked-out to come across as actually threatening.

“It's really stuck in there. I'm going to start working it out, so let me know if you need me to stop.”

“Wh… workin’ it out? Whadda ya- ohhh…~” 

With your thumb and forefinger gripping the edge of the broken metal, you began to wiggle it gently back and forth to ease it from the plating and wires around it. Each time you moved the back of your hand rubbed up against the far side of his spark chamber, warmth radiating through your glove as Rumble started to vent more harshly.

“Slag… slag! Don't think it's ever been touched back there before. Feels… feels crazy.” He moaned. The metal of your work table shrieked and crumpled like cardboard under his iron grip, desperate to keep his servos off of himself or, Primus forbid, you. The piece stuck firm, and as you braced your other hand against the outside paneling of his chest to readjust your balance he let out a sharp, staticky yelp. “S-STOP!”

You froze immediately. “Are you okay? What's wrong?”

A few shuddering vents were your only response for a moment, Rumble’s visor lights flickering frantically as he tried to steady himself. “Whooo… Almost blew my top for a second there.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey! Yer the one that told me to tell ya if I need ya to stop! I'll be slagged to the Pit before I let some ‘squishy’ run my charge like dat.”

“...Can I start again? I’m making some progress here.”

“...Y-Yeah. Yeah. Yer good.”

You let out another soft sigh, trying to focus on the rhythmic sktch sktch sktch of metal on metal rather than Rumble’s shivering whines. His vocalizer pitched and warbled with static, attempts to stifle his own words slowly giving way to a deluge of fucked-out babbles.

“Ah! Gh! Ohh, mmnh, stupid little hands feelin’ all- nnh!~ Jus’ get it outta there! Please?”

I’m working on it. You’re doing good, just hang in there.” Your placations only resulted in another desperate moan. After what couldn’t have been more than another thirty seconds or so, he blurted out again.

“Ah! Stop!”

You retracted your hand for a moment, letting Rumble gasp for breath above you in a futile attempt to cool his core. You rubbed at his chest paneling as he shivered beneath you hard enough that you thought bolts were going to start coming undone. Even the paneling you were seated upon was burning up, heat seeping through the fabric of your coveralls. His glowing face plate was slick with coolant. Without thinking, you reached up and swept away a bead of it with your thumb, making him jump.

“H-Hey, quit dat…” He groaned, all bite lost from his tone.

“Rumble… The more you keep stopping me the longer this is going to take.”

“You think I don’t know dat?!” One of his arms draped dramatically over his face. “I’m tryin’! But you just keep pokin’ around in there and it’s all touchy and it’s makin’ me feel like my spike’s gonna burst and I can’t take it anymore!” He sniffled. Could Cybertronians even sniffle? You weren’t sure, but he sounded close to tears.

“Rumble… Have you ever actually edged yourself before?”

“Whu- Whuh? How’s dat any of yer business?”

“I’m just thinking…” You ran a placating hand down his shivering plating. “If you haven’t it can be really overwhelming, and-”

“I can handle it! I-I can!”

“Let me finish. It can be really overwhelming, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself further. Just… take a deep breath for me, okay?” You took a slow, steadying breath, and after a second he mimicked it. “Good. Just think about letting go, okay? I’m not going to judge you. Just think about it.”

He let out a low, pitying grumble, peeking at you from behind his arm plating. “...You can start again.”

Once again, your hands dipped into his chest cavity. Only this time you slid both hands up behind his spark casing, gripping as much of the broken metal as you could reach. As you rocked it back and forth Rumble’s moans returned with a fervor, one servo finally flying to cup your lower back.

“Ah! Ah! Slag, oh slag please! Please don’t stop I’m so fraggin’ close.” He fisted the back of your uniform, crumpling the cheap fabric between his digits. “C’mon, c’mon c’mon c’mon I need it!”

“Shh, I’ve got you baby. Just let it happen.”

With a metallic shriek and a gush of brackish oil the shrapnel popped free, the force enough to send you sprawling if not for Rumble’s servo in the small of your back. Of course, said unexpected force also slammed the backs of both your hands right into the underside of his spark chamber, and Rumble’s voice box screeched into a wail of radio static. Something hot and sticky splattered up the back of your coveralls; said something you decidedly were not going to look at until later. His frame rattled and shivered beneath you, steam venting and joints glitching and spark pulsating a near-blinding glow.  Finally, after a burst of noise and sparks and twitching, he went slack beneath you, helm clanking against the workbench as his optics flickered.

As delicately as you could, you removed the oil-slick shrapnel and let it clatter onto the floor before shedding your gloves and dabbing at his face plate with the cuff of your sleeve. With the whir of an old monitor blipping back to life, his visor blinked back up to its standard brightness.

“Whuh… Wheh?” He garbled.

“How you feeling, hun?”

“Like I got struck by lightnin’... but in like a nasty way.”

You choked back a snort. “Well, I’ve got all the worst of it over with. Feel free to rest for a while if you need it. I’m gonna go change my jumpsuit.” 

He let you slide off his lap without a fight, not even commenting until you’d turned around to make your way over to your office. Only then did he let out a low, salacious whistle when he’d finally caught sight of the back of your uniform.

“Comm me next time yer free, doc. Then I can repay da favor.”

[melbatron5000]

It's a 2-man Con

Listen, I think I know a thing.

When Aziraphale comes back from talking to the Metatron and is telling Crowley about being an angel, we've all heard the theory that he's speaking code, trying to ask for help. The more I look at that scene, the more that theory tracks.

Maybe less well-known is the theory that Crowley didn't miss a damn thing, he's answering in his own code. And again, the more I look at that scene, the more this also tracks.

(When my husband, annoyingly observant beloved partner that he is, saw the second season for the first time, he said, "That whole thing was a show for the Metatron. They have a plan. Crowley slipped something to Aziraphale when he kissed him." And I said, "Nah." But now I think he's right, and damn if he isn't smug.)

I'm gonna try to break down what I think they're saying here, because it takes just a hot minute to piece it together. I've been thinking this over for a couple of months now. I think I have most of it. I just don't know when Crowley puts whatever he's handing to Aziraphale in his own mouth. I need more eagle-y eyes, it seems.

First, Aziraphale comes back from his talk. He's pensive as he crosses the road, and anxious when he starts talking, and mouths "I need help!" as he's talking. He's acting like he does when he lies to the other angels, and once it's seen "I need help!" is pretty clear.

He does the whole thing about telling Crowley he could appoint him as an angel, like old times, but even nicer. It's all very uptight and not positive at all. My interpretation? "The Metatron is here, I think he knows we're up to something, we have to go to Heaven right now and put things right before he really does something awful to one or both of us. The time to spring the plan is NOW."

Crowley stares at him. At first it seems like he's staring in disbelief, but if you really look at his face, he's listening, hard, and interpreting as fast as he can:

He asks Aziraphale if he told the Metatron where he could stick it, then. My interpretation? "The plan has changed. I can't go with you to Heaven. You'll have to go alone."

Then Crowley starts his confession -- "We've spent our existence pretending we aren't."

Aziraphale looks at him -- not with shock, or surprise, or love, or hope, but with a "Why are you doing this now?" face. Not "Why did you wait til now to tell me, you love me, oh, I love you too!" But "Why are you telling me SOMETHING I ALREADY KNOW while our ENEMY IS LISTENING??" :

He's confused, but also listening and interpreting. What I'm hearing/seeing: I don't think this is a love confession from our demon. I think they are both well aware they love one another. They can't say it in so many words, and it's a secret from Heaven and Hell, but it's not a secret between them. I'm hearing Crowley set the scene. "The Metatron either wants us together in Heaven under control, or separated. I have things I have to do here or the plan won't work, so we'll have to separate. We need to make it look good. I do love you."

I don't think Aziraphale likes this change of plan. And Crowley can't detail why the plan has changed, not with the Metatron listening. So Aziraphale insists, come with me. The plan we had will work. Do it my way. Crowley says, "You can't leave this book shop." It's easy to interpret that as "You can't leave me," but I don't think it's that. He's saying something about the book shop being safe, or even that he can't leave without whatever they've hidden in the book shop. (I THINK THEY HID SOMETHING IN THE BOOK SHOP!) Aziraphale says, "Nothing lasts forever." I hear him saying the book shop is no longer safe, and they have to move/take whatever they've hidden and they can't speak freely there anymore.

Crowley replies, "No I suppose it doesn't. Good luck." He's gotten that much, but he is still set on his "We need to fake a break up because I can't go with you."

Aziraphale still doesn't like that. "Come back! I need you!" He's scared. Whatever he has to do in Heaven is big, and scary, and he needs and wants Crowley with him. He does not want to go into the mouth of danger alone.

This is when we get, "No nightingales." What I'm hearing? ESPECIALLY since if you listen, you can hear a LARK sing as Crowley goes out the door? It's the line from Romeo and Juliet, by Shakespeare, whose plays they both enjoy, though Crowley prefers the funny ones. "It's too late, that's a lark singing the dawn, not a nightingale singing to the night, we have to part. Our happy ending isn't yet."

Then the kiss. I do not believe this is their first kiss. I don't believe they've allowed themselves many, maybe not even more than one, but I do think they've kissed before. I'm not sure when, but I suspect 1941. (Season 3, come ON!!)

And when they part, Aziraphale stops himself from saying "I love you," and instead says, "I forgive you." I'm hearing so many things in that "I forgive you." I forgive you for leaving me on my own, I forgive you for hurting my feelings like this, I forgive you for changing the plan without telling me, I forgive you because you are forgivable whatever anyone else says, I forgive you because that's what I said when we split up at the bandstand and everything was okay in the end and I hope hope hope that everything will be okay in the end this time too.

Crowley says, "Don't bother." I'm hearing, "yeah, I hope it's all okay, too. Wish me fuckin luck. My part will be hard, too."

And as Crowley leaves, Aziraphale mouths, "No." And we hear a lark sing. A lark, singing to the dawn, and so fair Romeo must away.

Just because the break up is a ruse, doesn't mean it doesn't hurt and isn't hard. It has to look real, and so it's going to feel real, too. Ouch. :'(

And then Aziraphale touches his lips. Not once, but twice. My bad, he only touches his lips once. The first long second is pure emotion. "Why now, I hate this, I want that so badly and I can't have it."

After that, though --

After he pulls himself together a bit, he has a bulge in his cheek. He shifts his jaw to move whatever he has in his mouth to his lips, and then his first two fingers go stiff for a moment as he palms something right before he takes his hand away.

And then, this.

Edit to add: someone on Facebook asked me why a kiss to pass whatever Crowley gave to Aziraphale, why not palm it or drop it in his pocket?

My answers: 1. The kiss is a message. "We're still good, I still love you, I still want this." 2. The item is too important to be dropped in a pocket and hopefully found later. 3. The Metatron is paying WAY too close attention, and will definitely see them touch hands. Seeing a kiss and the angel rejecting the demon, though? Well, the demon forced that kiss on him, the angel didn't want it. Clearly the demon thinks this relationship is different than it is. It's a bigger gesture that sells the ruse. 4. Houdini's wife used to pass him the keys to his cuffs with a kiss before the show. This is a message that magic-loving Aziraphale WILL understand: here are the keys to your cuffs, sneaked to you by your beloved in plain sight.

That's it. That's what I got so far. I still have questions.

What did Crowley pass to Aziraphale? What's the plan? Why did it change? What does Crowley need to do that he can't go to Heaven again?

[hazelfoureyes]

Besties get Banged

Angel Dust x FemReader Smut

➽─❥Angel Dust x MaleReader Smut version

You didn’t think Angel liked you the way you did him, how could you? While sharing a profession, he was nothing like you. He was the star in every room he entered. After being booked on a shoot together, you find maybe Angel wasn’t so ignorant to your existence.

Warning/Promises: Angel x Reader do not fuck but they do get banged, Val is going to ruin shit but I ain’t writing that part, Foursome but no one cares, handjob, cum countdown 💦, masturbation, making out, porno, vaguely threatening ending from Val

minors dni (👁️👄👁️🔪)

When Angel Dust slipped into the dressing room of Val’s ‘sex dungeon’, you struggled to keep your smile down. You’d never actually worked together. The two of you had attended the same awards shows, frequented the same clubs, danced the same stages. But never graced the same screen. Every encounter left you more and more enthralled. Always the life of the party, but when the crowds would die down Angel would become so sweet, talking with an emotional intelligence many sinners seemed to have lacked or intentionally abandoned at death.

Angel threw himself at many people, sometimes jokingly, sometimes not. But you’d be lying to say it didn’t sting he’d never propositioned you.

“Mornin’,” he plopped into the make-up chair beside you, hand lazily combing through his bedhead.

Angel hoped you hadn’t seen him pause when he saw you. He didn’t get butterflies often, but you always managed to make his stomach flutter. He felt so silly, a kid with a crush.

You knew Val wasn’t going to let it be just the two of you. He enjoyed watching you both get fucked too much. ‘Besties get Banged’ was written on the clapperboard. Angel gave you a wink, “Ooh besties! Is this work or just another Friday night?” His elbow hit a soft spot in your ribs, making you laugh.

“Stop— st-stop that. Get on the bed.” Val used all four arms to separate you, “Bitch number 1 on the left side, Bitch number 2 on the right.” He sat in his chair, arm angrily motioning for the large demons to enter the set already.

It was a standard enough shoot, until you and Angel found yourselves both on your knees, eye to eye from across the pink heart shaped bed. One yellow and one black eye looking back at you, hazy with pleasure as he was fucked dumb by some piece of muscle with a dick attached.

He looked so beautiful when he felt good. You reached out your hand to him, then the other. Fingers laced together, you both moaned into the space between yourselves. Angel’s eyebrows rose up, tongue coming out. His face was so flushed, cheeks pink. You weren’t sure it was an invitation, but you pulled yourself to him and ran your tongue over his. The demon behind you followed your body, trying to maintain contact.

Angel’s eyes rolled closed, tongue pushing into your mouth. The kiss interrupted again and again as the repeated pounding into your holes pulled your lips apart, your entire bodies moving in rhythm.

“Hey!,” Val yelled, “What the fuck are you doing?”

Angel smiled at you, “Whats the matter Val?” He strained forward, capturing your mouth again.

“Stop kissing! You’re ruining it!”

“You never kissed a bestie? Awww,” Angel kept his lips near yours. “Val’s never had a real good friend before.”

Val’s antennae bristled, “Pull em apart, they’re making googly eyes at each other. Killing my fucking hard on. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

Your bodies were slid away, fingertips still reaching out to each other. You were flipped onto your back, pacing brutal as if making up for lost time.

Angel watched you, mouth lonely. His cock leaking from just a kiss. Reaching down, he began to stroke himself while enjoying his own personal show. Your body bouncing with the thrusts, eyes watery. He arched his back, looking across to where your body connected with the other demon. You looked so wet, so inviting.

“Angel!” Val seethed.

Angel’s closed his eyes, imagining you around his cock and not his fingers. His eyes shot open when he felt hands on his face. His fear dissolved into relief as he saw you had scooted back towards him, pulling him down for an upside-down kiss. Breath hot, he moaned into your mouth.

“Uh Boss, should we stop em again? It’s kinda hot.” The shark demon behind Angel slowed.

Your fingers slipped through his hair, bringing him deeper into your kiss. There was nothing else in the room anymore but you and Angel. Tongue rolling over tongue, breathy moans exhaled and inhaled.

Val shook his head, “Let the little sluts kiss. If they wanna ruin my shoot so badly, be my guests.” His eyes aglow, Valentino exhaled his toxic smoke throughout the studio, sinister grin spreading across his face.

The demons continued as directed, you and Angel not having noticed the interruption you had caused. Angel’s mouth left yours, head resting on the mattress.

“Val’s going to kill us,” you tried to remember the name of the wolf demon pounding into you, knowing you had some sort of lines.

Angel’s teeth nipped your ear lobe, “He’s gonna do that anyway.”

You moaned, “Feels good when you do that.”

“Yeah?” The wolf asked. You wanted to kick him in the neck.

“Uuh, yeah. You… fuck me so good, Daniel.”

“Donny.” He corrected.

Angel got back on his elbows, “Literally no one cares, David.” Whispering now, “Roll over and come ‘ere.”

Douglas didn’t seem bothered, you using your feet to stop him and twisting around his cock to get back on your knees. The demons whose names neither of you cared to learn followed you again. Angel was pressed into you, two arms holding you against his body, one arm on your cheek, a fourth finding its way to your clit.

You gasped, Angel licking up your neck and chin as his hand expertly rubbed you. Regaining some bit of your brain, you reached down a hand to his cock. It was slapping against this stomach in time with the thrusts. Your hand only need to grip him, the other actor basically fucking him into your grasp.

Angel’s head craned down, sucking bruises into your collar bone, “I wanna fuck you so bad, it hurts.” Another whisper into your skin.

“I thought you didn’t like me,” your words faded in and out, volume jumping as your pussy took hit after hit. Angel’s hand electrifying every part of your body.

Angel pulled you as close as he could, bringing your hand from his cock to hold in his. Now him and his pre-cum were rubbing along your stomachs, pressed together tightly. “Wrong. So wro-uh.” Eyes rolling back, Angel’s words fell apart.

“You close?”

He nodded.

“Want me to count you down?”

A more frantic nod.

“Five”

You leaned in to kiss at his neck.

“Four”

A long drag of your tongue up to his ear.

“Three”

A kiss to his cheek.

“Two”

You bit at his lip, pulling it with you before letting it go.

“One”

Angel clenched his eyes, grip on you tightening as he came across your stomach, thick and hot. You heard the other actor moan, Angel’s ass tightening with his release.

You took the chance to kiss Angel again, lips soft and swollen from the long shoot. His cum dripped down your stomach and found its way to his hand, adding more lubrication to your wet pussy. Angel’s fingers eagerly used his seed to slip and slide over your clit.

The feeling pushed you into your orgasm, legs shaking as you tried to stay up. “For fuck’s sake,” Val could be heard shouting just past the studio lights.

Drawing him in for another kiss, less deeply now, lips sometimes on lips, and sometimes the chin and the cheek.

You stayed, holding each other, through the shoot. The other actors finishing their parts, cumming and making some puns about bosom buddies. When everyone else left the scene, and you two broke apart your hungry mouths to consider getting cleaned up and dressed, the air grew thick around you. Heads swimming now, a horny haze fell on set.

“Bravo, bitches. You ruined my shoot, only fair I get to ruin something now.” You both turned to see the lights gleaming off Val’s glasses. “Where should I start?”

༻Masterlist༺

My general tag list is called the Horny Little Deer Cult! To be tagged, you are more than welcome to ask to join

[hongthoven]

one-shot 𖹭 3k w

pairing 𖹭 kim hongjoong (ateez) x fem reader

tags 𖹭 fluff, smut, established relationship, idol!hongjoong, family trip, you know he'll be having you in that hot tub at some point

✏️ okay so this wasn't planned but Bumjoong's vlog got me spiraling into some ⊹ ࣪ ˖ thoughts ⊹ ࣪ ˖ and I couldn't stop thinking about joining Hongjoong on that family trip -- and may I add, that hotspring? You know I had to.

pls reblog & comment if you like it 𖹭

© hongthoven

When Hongjoong had asked you to join him and his family on a trip to Sapporo, your first instinct was to panic— This would be your first time meeting his parents and only your second encounter with Bumjoong ever since your boyfriend’s last tour. Back then, even the idea of having lunch with Hongjoong and his older brother was already nerve-wrecking enough. Lucky for you, Bumjoong was the most welcoming human and had worked extra hard to make you feel comfortable by sharing some precious childhood memories including his younger brother pulling a tantrum over an ice-cream and how he would always crash his football games with his friends when he wasn’t much bigger than the ball itself. 

Now this was different. Meeting his parents, spending days with his whole circle and living under the same roof seemed like a commitment your anxiety couldn’t seem to handle peacefully. Of course you were more than happy and flattered he would even consider bringing you along with him— any signs of this man committing to you more than enough to have you kicking your feet and screaming into a void. Hongjoong was a busy man and dating Ateez’s captain wasn’t always easy when it came to matching your schedules so you could spend quality time together. When he wasn’t spending the night at his studio, your man was either busy promoting his music, writing for other artists, working on his next photography exhibition or flying to Paris’ Fashion Week. 

Still— every single one of his accomplishments felt like yours and Hongjoong always made sure to include you in every single step towards another successful experience. So when your lovely boyfriend had kindly suggested for you to take a couple days off from work so you could fly to Japan with his family, there wasn’t much left for you but to agree as Hongjoong did his best to reassure you when you immediately told him about your worries: his parents not liking you, embarrassing yourself, crashing their family time when you weren't even part of it— to which Hongjoong was quick to reply with the most unexpected piece of informations, sending you spiraling into thoughts of a future you were too afraid to dream about.

“Y/N— you’re part of my family already…” That was the validation you needed from him. The thought of him talking about you with his parents, letting them know about meaningful details of your relationship, made your heart grow twice its size. And while you were still nervous to meet them, you knew nothing could possibly go wrong when Hongjoong was by your side. 

By the end of your first day, you already felt like part of the family. After hours spent walking in the snow, taking pictures, gazing at the gorgeous landscape and tasting some local delicacies, you were practically tight by the hip with Hongjoong’s mother as you walked back to the beautiful accommodation your boyfriend had rented for the entire family. 

“My mom is kind of obsessed with you” Hongjoong growled as you finally caught some time to yourselves, spread out over the bed with your boyfriend resting on top of you, the coldness of his palms sending shivers all over your stomach as he slipped his hands under your sweater with a content sigh. “I’m a bit jealous actually— she’s keeping you all to herself” he almost whined, his lips reaching for your neck, forcing a soft giggle out of your lips “can’t even hold my girl’s hand or anything— such a thief” he added, biting your skin while the tip of his tongue collected your scent, reaching for your earlobe.

“Joongie— your family’s right next door” you huffed, trying to wiggle out of his embrace as he looked up to lock his beautiful yet sleepy eyes with yours. It had been a long day, following a long week of a packed schedule and you could definitely tell he was a minute from passing out from intense fatigue— but he still looked breathtaking with his blonde streaks covering half of his face and his pink lips, tempting as candy, desperately reaching for yours, only to melt into the softest kiss as he eventually complied. Closing his eyes for a minute, Hongjoong made himself comfortable with his face buried into your neck and his hands still resting under your sweater, framing you with his entire body. 

It wasn’t long until you heard his breathing slowing down, its delicate sound mixing with some slight snoring from being completely burned out. Happy to see him resting at last, your hands found their way into his hair and at the back of his neck, kneading his skin tenderly as you watched the beautiful winter scenery getting darker by the end of the afternoon. 

A knock on the door made you flinch into your slumber and your first instinct was to look down and make sure Hongjoong was still fast asleep— when he failed to react, your eyes found Bumjoong standing in the doorway, trying to make himself as discreet as possible, his palm covering his eyes.

“Are you guys decent?” he asked with a nervous chuckle as you immediately cleared the scene with a soft tone, the sight of his passed out brother making the older one smile endearingly. 

“I think we’ll pass on dinner, can you excuse us to your parents? I think he needs this…” You whispered with one hand still locked into your boyfriend’s hair, scratching his scalp softly. Without a word, Bumjoong gave you an understanding nod as an answer and closed the door behind him, leaving you with nothing but the peaceful quietness of the bedroom as company. 

After a while, you figured Hongjoong was gone for the night and decided not to rot in bed any longer— your body was getting pins and needles from staying in the same position for hours, keeping your boyfriend locked into your embrace as he snored peacefully against your chest. Though you were slightly reluctant to let go of him, the warmth of his skin as a reminder of how long it had been since you two were in the same bed, you eventually managed to roll Hongjoong over to his side, stealing a muffled complaint out of him as he called out your name in his sleep, to which you replied with a tender kiss at the crook of his neck before rolling out of bed and escaping the bedroom as quietly as possible. 

The hotspring was practically calling your name as you walked into the private patio on the second floor, ready to dive into your book and enjoy some snacks while bathing in hot water— now this looked like a holiday. Everything around was quiet, peaceful if not for a couple of birds still chirping into the night. You were thankful for Hongjoong asking you to take a bathing suit although you were left a little puzzled at his odd request for a snowy weekend away— but you also couldn’t miss the little evil smirk on your boyfriend’s face when giving you a house tour, his hand palming the small of your back as he made sure to let you know just how much he expected to have you there, in this bath, as soon as his family would be gone. He would find an excuse, book a table at some fancy restaurant, pretend to have some work emergency and keep you around for support, only to bend you over the tiles and make you scream his name over and over again.

Unable to focus on your book as you kept reading the same page until it made some sort of sense, you tried to remember the last time you and Hongjoong were able to share that type of intimacy, your thighs instantly clenching at the sudden memory of his last concert in Saitama. You typically tried not to ever miss a concert whenever you could travel along but this tour you wouldn’t miss for anything— for months, you had seen Hongjoong practice his guitar skills, lessons after lessons, massaging his calloused fingers every time he took it too far — almost every day, so when it was time to witness your boyfriend in all his glory as he stood on stage ready to wreck an entire Dome, you were actually thankful to be seating alone, your entire body radiating with lust and  the absolute urge to kneel in front of him to swallow his junk entirely. 

Which you did, precisely 2 hours later, as soon as you were left alone with him backstage. Hongjoong had practically kicked the other members out without any effort to hide his intentions. You could actually hear Wooyoung snickering behind the door and making some crude comment to Mingi about how their captain was about to ‘get some’, which you both decided to ignore. Without any sort of ceremony, Hongjoong was quick to spit into your open mouth and guide himself between your lips, both his hands pushing at the back of your head until you could feel the familiar taste of precum spilling off his slit and into the back of your throat. You could never get enough of the way he seemed to melt against your tongue as you traced every single vein along his cock with just the tip like he was your favorite flavor. 

When it came to being vocal, Hongjoong knew how to drive you past the edge of insanity with little whimpers and the nastiest words wrapped into the delicacy of his voice, like the melted chocolate heart of your favorite cake. You would never get rid of the way he often crossed the line, way past his usual cute pet names, only to call you his ‘little slut’ as he rutted himself into your mouth, stealing air out of your lungs as his hands started to tremble into your untamed hair. 

The water was getting too hot, suddenly— the simple thought of Hongjoong slowly pushing your lips open with his tip making you foam at the mouth. Without realizing, your thighs had started to press against one another, rolling up and down slightly, just to give you enough friction for a quick relief. You could tell your entire body was now getting worked up over your fantasies, your back arching naturally as you eventually pushed your book to the side, suddenly uninterested in any sort of Literature. Wrapped into a cloud of steam, your body was craving a touch— yours, but mostly Hongjoong’s, and as you slowly slid your hand along your chest, brushing your erected nipple on your way down, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous at the thought of being caught. What would your in-laws think? What would Hongjoong say if he heard about his parents walking on his girlfriend touching herself in the hot tub? 

All these thoughts were quickly gone as soon as your hand found its nest between your thighs, three of your fingers pressed against your core as a soft moan escaped your lips, echoing into the empty patio. Or so you thought. 

“Baby?” Though you immediately recognized Hongjoong’s voice, you were quick to stiffen back into the corner of the tub, red at the cheeks as you turned around to face your boyfriend’s mixed expression. He was definitely confused— but also quite obviously aroused. Not to mention half naked now that his sweater was gone, leaving him in a pair of sweatpants, his hair now a chaotic blond mess from sleeping for too long and his bare chest already coated with steam from the temperature of the room. He looked like an absolute snack you couldn’t wait to devour. 

“You should have woken me up if you needed it so bad?” Hongjoong smirked, peeling himself off his sweatpants only to leave you gasping at the sight of his exposed, already semi-erected cock for a second before he dived into the bath. 

“You looked like you needed some good sleep” you half-pouted as soon as he pulled you against him, forcing you to sit on his lap with one leg on each side of his frame. 

“I need you more” without any sort of warning, Hongjoong reached for your throat, wrapping all five of his fingers around it as his lips found yours, tongue teasing until you caved and deepened the kiss, soft moans dying into his mouth as you started to grind over his lap while his stiffening member threatened to push your bikini bottom to the side with each thrust from your aching hips. 

“Fuck— I’ve missed you so much baby— fucking insane—” his words were coming out a little sharpier, halfway between a confession and a command while his lips traveled down to your neck, sucking a soft, pink bite out of your skin with one hand already pulling at your bikini top. You couldn’t help but feel extremely exposed as one of your tit disappeared into Hongjoong’s palm, the other already settled between his lips as he sucked desperately at your flesh like a starving newborn.

“You gonna let me fuck you here?” he asked, his tone the opposite of innocent as you clenched over nothing, pushing your core against his groin until you couldn’t take it anymore. Nothing else mattered now. The glass windows surrounded you, making you both vulnerable and exposed— the idea of his family coming home any minute, only to find you there with their youngest son balls deep into your cunt. All you could think about was to be filled and to reach climax as soon as possible. It had been weeks since you had last felt Hongjoong’s body so close to yours and a treat was overdue. 

“Please” you almost weeped, using your fingers as a hook to push your bikini to the side until you felt his tip pushing against your entrance, thicker than ever. 

“Oh you’re gonna beg, love?” you couldn’t say a thing— not a word— as you nodded almost hysterically, your bottom lip tucked between your teeth like a misbehaving child ready to be grounded. Though his words were tempting and his gaze wrapped into that cocky frown you knew too well, Hongjoong’s hands were nothing but tender over your skin, his love pouring out of him in the shape of his palms stroking your arms, shoulders and the back of your neck like you were nothing but glass, about to shatter against his chest. 

“You’re so fucking pretty— can’t believe you’re mine” his words took you by surprise, his thumb brushing your bottom lip while you felt him aligning himself perfectly against your aching core. His eyes were locked on the way your mouth instantly wrapped around his digit, sucking at the tip like the ghost of that part of him you were now craving. 

“Go ahead and beg” he added, more demanding this time, your body going limp against him as you struggled to even breathe from the absolute urge to be consumed entirely by the love of your life. 

“Hongjoong— please?” you finally begged, lips turned into a pout while your hand reached for his cock, ready to wrap around it. You had never felt emptier. 

“What do you think you’re doing, love?” Hongjoong smirked, his own hand wrapping around yours but never truly stopping you.

“Need you” you were a blurbing mess by now, lids heavy and hips almost jolting against him as you felt him stretching you out a little with his tip only, both your hands still tightly wrapped around his shaft. You could feel every inch of him— into your palm, pushing against your walls, everywhere, always amazed at the way his cock seemed to be exclusively crafted for your cunt. 

Once he was settled, balls deep into you, Hongjoong reached for the small of your back, pulling you closer to his chest as you instinctively rolled your hips against him, collecting the sweetest sound out of his throat as your boyfriend tilted his head back, hitting the tile with his wet hair while thrusting painfully slow into you. The room was filled with soft, muffled moans and the sound of water splashing over the rim, soaking the floor with each, deeper thrust. Everything felt and sounded like absolute bliss— the roughness of his chest against your palms, the way his fingers dug into the flesh of your ass cheeks everytime he pulled you harder, bottoming out only to rocket his hips back into you— nothing could beat this feeling, this fullness, the sincere love you could see in his eyes as his lips turned into an ‘o’ every time your eyes met. 

Reaching for your neck, Hongjoong pulled you closer to melt his lips into yours, his kiss more eager this time as his tongue battled with yours while his hand kept you still with a soft grip around your throat. Lost into his embrace, it took you a minute to realize he was now completely still inside of you. 

“Could stay like this forever” he smiled, his palm cupping water on the surface only to pour it over your chest, his eyes following every drop as it raced over your breast like the most beautiful piece of Art. While still tightly clenched between your folds, the way he gazed at you, his fingers tracing some invisible forms over your chest, was the most intimate thing you had ever experienced with anyone. Something in his eyes made you feel safe and vulnerable at the same time, like you were precisely where you belonged. 

It only took a few more thrusts for you to bite a moan into his shoulder, your entire body stiffening with bliss as Hongjoong chased you to the top, his entire face buried into your chest as he lifted himself just enough to rocket back into you harder until his cries echoed into the quietness of the night while your walls locked around his load, turning him into absolute shambles as Hongjoong started to shake slightly into your arms from a hint of overstimulation. 

Red at the cheeks, blonde streaks pushed back, Hongjoong tried to compose himself, his breathing gone to absolute chaos as he kept his arms locked around your figure, unwilling to let go just yet. 

“Think I’m gonna marry you” he blurted out, his forehead pressed to yours— leaving you once again, completely speechless. 

[2kmps]

vampire x reader one-shot | 16.1k

story summary; you're a crime scene cleaner who happens across an advertisement for a mansion housekeeper in exchange for room and board. it's close to work, close to your university, and an easy job. the ultimate package. right away, you notice the owner's beauty as well as his eccentricities, but decide to commit to it. the spiral into depravity and debauchery begins when you're tasked with cleaning the site of a savage murder, solidifying you as a irreplaceable treasure.

story warnings; bloodplay, extreme dubcon, explicit noncon, cigarette burns, wounds inflicted on mc, implied masochism, extreme sexual sadism, hypnotism, graphic violence, gun violence, body gore, graphic details, heavy prose, unreliable narrator, religious themes, exploration of morality, obsessive + possessive behaviors, implied stalking, choking, murder, graphic depictions of crime scenes, manipulation/emotional manipulation, this entire oneshot is an allegory.

read the warnings! mdni under any circumstances! the events within this one-shot are not indicative of my personal viewpoints

thank you, @ceruleansol for the excellent proofreading.

this is a repost from my deleted blog, cardeneiv. please reblog/interact with this piece!

Another internet search bore fruit.

The image bouncing back at you from your phone had been hastily taken with a tremble in your hand, all the while launching a few too many cautious looks across your shoulder to either end of the dim, long hallway making up part of the second floor. There wasn't any particular rationale for your apprehension and busy eyes but the belief the mansion owner wouldn't be too pleased to see you taking pictures of his valuables rather than cleaning them.

That fear hadn't stopped you from reverse image searching a good couple of curiosities over the widening gap of time you had been living there.

Tonight was a Chalmette table vase displayed on a pedestal in the hall; brassy gold gilding cradled a somewhat drab white bloom that reached high and sprouted open to a hollow inside. Similar surviving articles went for thousands.

You totaled the prices of everything so far as enough to outright buy a house on the more modest side of town.

There was a daring thought that loomed in the back of your mind, an ugly little thing that told you one or two missing antiques wasn't any big deal. He wouldn't miss them, let alone even notice they were gone, because he was the strangest man you had ever met.

Four months ago, he had only ever introduced himself by the name Montague, letting an anticipatory stillness hang in the air while you waited for him to finish. He never did, handsome features lifting as his dark eyes thinned and smile inched higher. He had you in a tight handshake.

"I enjoyed reading the resume you sent in with your response to my advertisement." He had traces of an accent intact but had cleverly adapted to one more common to the area. "You're the first person I've come across wanting the room who's done that. It really stood out to me. A crime scene cleaner? Must be a difficult job."

"I know it was probably overkill, but I think this will be perfect for me." You were led to a suede armchair, his hand anchoring onto your shoulder to lower you into the seat. He sat across from you in something similar, one leg crossing. "I recently had to move out of my other place, and the university will be about an hour closer. My work won't be as far of a drive, either. I—I, uh, clean some gross stuff, so taking care of your house won't be anything."

Even after that spiel, Montague never let his smile slip. Rather, it seemed to widen as though delighted by your oversharing. He looked like a man basking in glee over a rare find, an offer he couldn't possibly turn away.

"All amenities in the house are yours." This was after he showed you to one of the rooms on the second floor: a capacious, well-dressed space behind a red door at the end of the hall. "As long as you listen to a few rules and keep things clean, we should have a very amicable... cohabitation."

You thought it was an odd choice of wording. "Okay. Well, what do I need to know?"

"No guests." It was immediate, his tone suddenly a touch edgy, razored, unyielding. "Not unless I give you explicit permission beforehand. I keep many important valuables; they're very dear to me. Also, do not invite anyone in unless I am there."

Again, odd, but it was his house.

"Sure," you said agreeably, having half the thought to write down these peculiarities of his. "What next?"

He was set on your shoulder, reaching out to pull a thin, frayed thread off of your jumper. "The downstairs—as in, the basement—is my personal space. If I need you down there, I will ask you for you to go down. You can go anywhere else in the house, on the property. None of it concerns me."

"Why the basement, though?" It felt damaging to press a question like that so early on, but you figured it was innocent enough. "This house is so big that we could be on the same floor and hardly see each other."

The muscles around his mouth twitched slightly, only once. You still noticed it. Noted: he didn't like to be questioned. "Sorry, I'm not trying to-"

"It's cold downstairs." he injected, shifting to look around the room as though taking in the newness of it as well. "I make sure it stays comfortable all year, all throughout the house, but the cold suits me best."

With how downright frosty his skin felt in that handshake earlier—on a mild day in mid-spring—you thought that explanation checked out. He must have only just come up to greet you at the front entrance.

You tried to forget the feeling. "Alright. Next?"

"Oh," he restrained an unseemly laugh, using one hand to crowd into a pocket on his dark blazer, "there is nothing else, at least nothing pertinent. It's my understanding that we're both quite busy, so this would be the current arrangement unless something changes."

What changes? You wanted to ask, thwarted to silence when he revealed some sort of silver thing pinched between his fingers with a thick handkerchief. It was a dainty-seeming contraption with chains linking several old skeleton keys at the end. The fabric he used to hold the clip concealed all of the elegant tracery that made up its shape.

"Traditionally, this is called a chatelaine. It’s something I’ve modified for you to get around the house. It’ll be easier to clean." Montague said, fast to force the mess of cold silver and chains into your palm, rubbing down his fingers with the handkerchief afterward. "The smallest key is to your room. The largest one opens the doors to go outside, so don't lose that. One of them is meant for doors in the basement—can't recall which."

He could see the wariness behind your eyes, a worrying crease forming in your brow. "This house has been around for a long time. I've just never gotten around to modernizing the locks."

Other questions came to you, but he hardly acted interested in entertaining them. You let him swivel on black soles, stopping him just as he reached the doorway.

"Why haven't other housekeepers worked out?"

Montague let his fingers rest on glazed woodwork framing the threshold, drumming out a soothing rhythm while considering an answer for all of two seconds. "In short? They couldn't follow the rules. Now, let me show you to the yard."

Afterward, the so-called cohabitation had become a seamless blend for you both. You had learned right away that Montague wasn't one for idle chatter and niceties without purpose. He had deviated from it once, on move-in day, to reassure you that the mysterious nature of your life schedule and odd hours you were called to a clean scene wouldn’t be a source of concern.

Shortly after settling your things around the house, the reason for his amenable attitude was a little more apparent. Several times a month, you would be pulled from your forensics projects to the landing at the end of the hall, piqued by fresh voices always indistinguishable at first, and folded your waist over the railing to see down.

The top of his head, hair short, impeccably styled, and ash-brown, was the first thing you noticed, followed by someone on his arm. Sometimes a woman, sometimes a man—always conventionally attractive, always utterly enraptured by him. It struck a nerve with you once or twice, finding your thoughts swimming bitterly: Of course a man who looked like him would go for types like that!

Why did he act so much differently with them than you?

He wasn't nearly as friendly and affable as he was making himself out to be.

You stopped peeking down on him after an instance where his eyes shot straight up, pinning you where you stood. He simpered at you before leading his companion away to the basement, and that was it. You never saw them leave and never bothered to ask.

Tonight was different, however, both in the way you nearly toppled the two-figure Chalmette vase off its pedestal with flighty fingers and a duster, and the echo of a scream piercing the hollow halls to you. It stayed in one spot on the first floor, luring you down the center staircase with your duster clutched to you like a sword. At that point, your heart bursting in your ears was louder than the agonized cries resonating around the corner.

You looked around, spine wrapped in dread as another scream, weak, garbled, and wet, came from the basement, and then nothing at all. It was soundless in the house. Distantly, one of the clocks mounted in the kitchen archway toned onward. You followed its beat with the shuffle of your feet.

Hello, hello? Those words clung tightly in your throat, yet you were too afraid to announce yourself like that. Still, nothing came as you slowly pulled at the basement doorknob, brass and freezing and unlocked. The stairway plunging down inside was filled with inky black, so dark you couldn't get your eyes to adjust to it.

Is everything okay down there? Hello? Hello? You ran the imaginary chatter through your mind, lips sealed but trembling during your slow descent, the path now illuminated by white glow from your phone. At the bottom, the stone stairs turned into seamless gray marble and red wetness crawling toward the soles of your slippers.

"What–" You gasped, taking a step back while flicking the flashlight higher, deeper into the basement. The vivid red puddle glistened in your light, widening around a motionless figure with pale skin—a blonde woman you didn't know. Her face pointed up at the ceiling, twisted in terror, black tracks of mascara curving along her cheeks.

She was naked on the floor, surrounded by her own blood, something you didn't have to look at twice. Your breaths grew harsh, taking in the sight of her neck, or lack thereof; there wasn't much left of it. Only a few stringy bits of sinew and muscle kept it from a full decapitation, and blood still pulsed out in spurts from mangled arteries and veins.

A motion nearby made your nape prickle. It was like feet padding across wet pavement after a fresh rain, except this smell carried the malodor of rust and something sour under your nose.

You settled a pillar of light on the source, capturing the view of Montague standing amid the bloodbath, sickly skin bare and saturated in rich crimson.

Something was wrong with him, came an instantaneous, instinctual reaction the moment his head spun toward you, catching pale eyeshine in the white light.

The bones in his jaw cracked as the length of it began to recede into the semblance of something more man to you, rows of jagged teeth retracting into the depths of his throat until only a pair of long incisors remained.

Montague skimmed the tip of his tongue along his lower lip, smiling at you affectedly, saying as though it were some trife thing, "She started screaming."

You were gone and out of the basement after that, clearing the woman's body and kicking away the slippers on your feet when they squelched with blood. Montague said something after you when shrieks ripped out of your lungs and reverberated through the house. You winced as the basement door let out a hollow rattle when he collided with it, heart matching the rhythm of the skin on your feet slapping against old marble, thoughts disarrayed, frantic the closer you got to the front door.

Almost there. Almost there. Almost there. Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! You were panting in unison with the vicious chants.

The doorknob was in your hand. The door was open—and it was thrown shut with the force of your body thrust against it, fingers wrenched off of the handle and enveloped in Montague's cold fingers as he pushed himself flush into you.

You felt his palm clamp around your mouth, whittling your screams into panicked whimpers, nostrils flaring with your ragged breaths.

"Ah, no, no." He had to stoop his neck to talk into your ears. "Shh, shh, shhh. Far too loud. I don't like screaming. Shh, shh, shhhh."

Tears seared red behind your eyes, making you think you could follow the warmth down your face as they filled the crevices in his hand. "It's really, truly a pity. She was a pretty one but far too smart. I'm usually decent at picking out the ones who wouldn't suspect anything or, at least, catching them before they try to scream.

"You'll have to forgive me. I swear to you I'm not ordinarily that messy. I prefer to keep everything tidy, especially so you don't have to go down there. After all, you're already so busy. You're already doing so much. I can't recall when I last saw you relax."

The weight of his palm softened, a wordless agreement that you honored with continued silence as he used that arm to lean against the door. His voice shifted around your head to your other ear. "That's it. Just wonderful. There's no need for screaming, is there? It's only the two of us."

"Are—are..." You couldn't get it out, lips and throat suddenly sucked dry. "Don't kill me, please. Please. Please."

His chest quaked while a subdued, eerily delighted laugh hissed through his lips. "Kill you? Oh, no, no, no. Never. How could I ever kill you when you're so remarkable? My home has never looked so beautiful and lived in. I'm enjoying how it looks with you in it."

You wilted away from his lips sinking to a spot below your ear, now taking far too much notice of his erection curving up along your lower back. It felt disgustingly wrong to wonder whether the violence and blood turned him on, or it was you and your fear. The man wasn't even human; that much was clear.

"What are you?" There was no shortage of daring questions in your arsenal. Montague was beginning to find the charm in them.

"That's quite difficult for me to answer." He let his chin lay on your shoulder. "I've been called many things over the centuries. I suppose the closest anyone has ever gotten is vampire, but even that's not quite right. You're free to guess as much as you'd like, though."

He was satisfied when you didn't, freeing the weight off of his arm to slide his hand under the hem of your shirt, fingertips still slick with that woman's blood as he explored your navel. You were too aware of the roundness of his fingernails stepping across your flesh, sometimes pressing deep, and other times a light touch you needed to scratch. His throat vibrated against your shoulder.

"What are you thinking? I'd love to hear it." He wanted to devour your fear in more ways than just feeling you wince. "Well? Tell me."

"I want to go." Go? Where could you possibly go that he couldn’t find you? If he ripped out the side of a woman's neck, he could track you down.

He leaned his cheek into your ear again, relishing the warmth that spread into him. "Where would you go? Who would you tell? Humor me, where is the first place you'd go?"

"The police," you said.

Montague let out a pleased hum. "Of course. It only makes sense to report a terrible scene such as that to them. Forensics and the police play together often, don't they?"

Your nod was weak.

"I know how hard you've been studying, how much stress you're under to commit to your degree, your work—to me." His hand crept along to your stomach, fingers splaying wide across the protective layer of skin and fat. "Let's say they were to find something I left behind. Who becomes a suspect in their eyes when they learn that I have someone who tidies up after me? Who knows the dirty insides of cleaning up anything and everything?"

You were starting to panic, fitfully struggling against his body. It's like he was made of stone. "They wouldn't accuse me of murdering anyone."

"Haven't you seen the news lately? Are you so sure?" he said derisively. "No, perhaps you're right. Maybe you'd be fortunate, and they wouldn't have your head for murder, but they would certainly try to peg you with something else. As an accomplice, maybe? And that's assuming that I don't disappear and let rip you apart.

"Can you imagine it? Can you feel your heart break at the very thought of losing it all? Your degree? Your job? Safety? The world is cruel, darling. You'd never have another moment of peace or anonymity. Anywhere you'd go, you'd be found, every alias sullied with your sins. All because you decided to speak up about it."

You knew he meant to send you downstairs to do something about the mess, spend hours scrubbing and mopping until what had once been there was a secret that thickened your tongue and made it hard to swallow.

No one would ever find out, but you would carry it in every waking thought until, one morning, the cute barista on Market Street had an eerie semblance to that dead woman, and the light roast in your hand suddenly looked so red.

"Thump. Thump. Thump." Montague mocked the heavy thrum of your heart behind your ribs, his cold fingers skimming your nipples before resting over your sternum. "You can go if you'd like, but I'll find you. I'll hear your little heart until it bursts and drag you right back here. You're mine."

The push of his body gradually faded away, giving your chest the room to expand, leaving you to gulp quivering, greedy breaths that didn't stop even as the pads of his feet grew distant.

He called back to you, "Give me ten minutes or so, and then come down."

You were already partway through the front door with your car keys to pop the trunk when, floating like a spectre's moans in still night air, his voice reached out once more, "You may want to clean up yourself first. You have blood all over your face."

༺ ♰ ༻

A damp towel came before your descent back into the basement. In tow on your shoulders were three bags of absorbent, the fancy stuff hospitals liked to use to throw on puke and piss and anything else they just lazily wanted to sweep around. It worked for blood in smaller quantities, blood that was still wet, anyway.

The woman hadn't been dead long enough for her body fluids to dry, so you didn't anticipate needing anything except the basics stowed in your car trunk.

You weren't sure what you expected to see down there, noticing the lights were turned on high, fully illuminating the gray marble, the furthest reaches of the blood puddle with your slippers saturated dark red and ruined. What came as a shock was the woman's dead eyes and shredded neck being nowhere in sight.

Montague had moved her body but to where?

For some reason, you were drawn to ridiculous spots like the walls, ceiling, and tiny cramped corners that he could have feasibly stuffed her in. There was no sickly trail of blood leading any which way, droplets only reaching as far as the stairs and first landing where you had been pursued—nothing else.

Where did he take her?

Part of you was ready to turn a blind eye to all of this because you knew you would have to in order to keep everything. If you kept your head low and groveled a little bit, maybe he'd get bored and leave you alone, biding you the time you needed to finish your degree. But, that'd be two years of this.

You weren't sure you could stomach it.

As you moved granules of absorbent through blood with coarse bristles from the kitchen broomstick—shifting the puddle more than the actual absorbent—you wondered if he could hear your heart now from wherever he was.

You thought about a lot of things while letting your eyes roam the space. It was enormous, taking up the entire underside of the house, outfitted impressively with mahogany accents, sprawling bookshelves, armchairs, and loveseats pulled tight in leather and velvet. Across the room was a disheveled bed, creamy sateen sheets in a luscious heap but otherwise undisturbed.

To the adjacent end of this expanse were two doors you didn't notice at first, one a little taller than yourself in height, about as wide as any normal arm span, and looked old, so old that everything else was too new. Even from where you stood, you knew it'd take a skeleton key. The other door was more coherent with the rest of the basement, cleaner but certainly still part of the house's original construction.

By the time Montague had returned, you already had much of the ordeal pitched into a biohazard bag with some trace remnants putting you on your knees to scrub away. You hadn't realized he was even there until the tips of his shoes—brown leather loafers with a scalloped tassel near the toes—appeared in your peripheral, sending you launching back onto your hocks.

"This work is spectacular. I knew I had a good feeling giving that room to you." he said with a beguiling smile. All of the blood was gone; he was clean in a dark dressing robe with black trousers, a look you hated that you saw as alluring. "Don't forget to clean the floors upstairs. We made quite a mess there as well."

"What happened to that woman?" You were asking your pesky questions again. Montague wasn't so sure he found them as charming now, but you were still a prize.

You leaned away as he crouched in front of you, nearly risking the soles of his shoes in the blood and hydrogen peroxide. For the first time since meeting, you kept eye contact and saw that his reached a depth you didn't think could be possible for a human. He wasn't touching you, yet it felt like he had you caged, trapped in a vise that held you tight.

He did touch you then, grazing the side of your face with a thumb. Suddenly, he brought it to his lips and licked it as he rose to full height.

"You still had some blood just there on your cheek." There was an armchair a few feet away that he dropped into, withdrawing a gold compact from a chest pocket on his way down. "Don't worry. I wouldn't ask you to carry away the bodies. I'm not that Roman."

"That's not what I asked." you rejoined.

Montague tucked a cigarette between his lips, igniting it with a match he kept inside the compact. His first few puffs looked like they calmed him as he crossed a leg and settled deeper into the leather. "You shouldn’t expect answers to things you don’t need to know—or want to.”

But he humored you with a slight lean of his head towards the old door far away. "The original owner of this house was ingenious and built tunnels that were used to shuffle people in and out. Mistresses. Servants. More unsavory things—you must remember the era. At any rate, it stretches beyond the house and some ways off. I do not recommend ever going inside."

You understood now why you never saw any of the dates he brought home leave. And you believed every bit of his warning.

It inspired you to move away from the grim reality dwelling beyond that old door. You hovered over the same spot, drenching the floor with more of the disinfectant, grasping for a distraction. "I didn't know vampires could smoke. Isn't blood enough for you?”

Montague flicked his cigarette over an ashtray beside his chair. "Well, we all have our vices. Mine just happens to be five or six of these a day. Keeps enough of the edge off so you get to sleep at night."

Something about that comment made the entire stretch of the basement feel so confining—claustrophobic, even. Your back was wide open to it, to his ravening gaze and leather toe turning fluid circles as though to pace himself before lunging.

"I have class in six hours." You finished the job by tying off the bag. "I'd like to get the upstairs done and take a shower."

"Of course. Try to get some sleep, you've had quite a night." He didn't move to see you out. "Oh, and leave the bag. I'll dispose of it."

༺ ♰ ༻

Meredith Nimu died approximately twenty-three days ago after a stroke left her immobilized in her favorite armchair. Her body wasn't peeled away from the murky-green polyester until day twenty-four, following enough neighbor complaints about a bunch of rats dying in the vents.

Getting rid of the chair was half the battle in this case, something that Meredith's overzealous, recently divorced daughter spouted off as sacrilegious. She insisted that the carpet cleaner she used for her obese dogs with raw patches on their legs could do it all. Your supervisor had been inflectionless when telling her it didn't work like that.

One of your teammates, a middle-aged black man affectionately nicknamed “Hoss” had unceremoniously slammed the apartment door shut and flipped the lock so the daughter's rancorous eruptions were somewhat contained outside. The other half of the duo responsible for pitching the chair, T.J., a white man who could never tan, wheezed out a laugh as he labored a hard bristle brush through the gunk left behind from Meredith's decay.

"Boss ain't gonna be happy about that." T.J. couldn't commit to the act of a brownnoser even if he wanted to. A couple more chortles rattled through his respirator. They were infectious, ridiculous sounds that coaxed similar from Hoss when he rejoined the effort to get the job done and over with.

You could still hear the daughter on the other side of the door, never once allowing your supervisor a word in edgewise. A part of you wanted to pity her, perhaps conjure up a shred of empathy for someone so completely enmeshed in the throes of grief and anger. She was clearly spiraling, her entire life yanked out from under her—and she was free-falling with nothing to catch her, no thin wire she could snag in the bend of her fingers and watch as the velocity of that cruelly, cleanly severed white tendon and bone.

Where would she fall after that? You didn't know. You didn't care. She could regain control over her life even without fingers, but what about you? No one understood how disconcerting it was to know that your survival depended on a vampire's good mood.

An old woman was meant to expire, but you were young and had aspirations—yet that could be stolen from you just as quickly as a clot could kill the brain.

It wasn't fucking fair.

Hoss had called out to you repeatedly until the hard brushes stopped scratching the floor, and he and T.J. were settled back on their heels, staring at you. You were used to leveraging your commitments in life as a means to get them off your case, but even they could tell this was different.

"You've been real spacey lately." It was enough to gently reel you back to the moment, eyes unstuck from remnants of putrid matter hidden under a deluge of chemicals and soap. Now you were thinking that the landlord would probably have to replace this entire spot in the flooring. It would be an expensive fix.

"Everything okay at home?" Hoss tried again, emulating fatherly concern in his tone and sidelong stare. It was something he couldn't help since you were so similar in age to his adult kids. "I don't think I've seen you eat today. We oughta finish up here up and grab somethin' quick on the way back.”

"Sorry, yeah, it's just the usual things." They didn't know what that meant to you, but readily accepted with dour expressions masked by their respirators. "I think I saw a gyro truck down the street."

As many times as you had regurgitated the same thing when they pried into your well-being, you were surprised they still asked at all. That made it hard to wave after them as you pulled the lever to the trunk, waiting to be left alone once the job was done to stack half your weight in absorbent until the back bowed to it.

It was just past two in the morning when you were locking the front door of Montague's sprawling estate behind you. Every time you did, a part of you hesitated to seal it the whole way, as though if you did, your final traces of freedom would be stripped away entirely.

"Welcome home!" Montague came out from prowling somewhere in the shadows, seeming to materialize from the darkest parts your eyes couldn't adapt to. He was in a dressing robe again, this one forest green with gold embroidery and a burgundy handkerchief tucked away nicely in his breast pocket.

He already had a cigarette lit between his knuckles, fussing with the little stick as he went to an open window, sucked in, and expelled pungent gray smoke. "I apologize. There's a bit of a mess for you tonight. It's unlike me to be so untidy, but it shouldn't take you too long—oh, darling, don't make that face."

"Why can't you get blood from other sources, like a blood bank?" It's been on your mind for a while, but Montague had a habit of turning petulant if you asked him too much.

He was in good shape tonight, though, despite still puffing away antsily. "Where's the satisfaction in simply being given what I want? Blood banks are a finite supply, but out there"—he gestured through the open window—"there is an infinite supply from any walk of life that I so choose. Did you know that not all blood is equal?"

You sensed him at your back, awash with that same vulnerability as the night on your knees in the basement. He strolled along with you while you collected your things, examined his leftovers, which fortunately wasn't as sensational as before. It looked like a Rorschach inkblot almost, purple-red and pristine, obviously untouched for some time.

Just like that dead blonde woman, there was nothing left behind of the victim except what Montague was too careless to handle himself.

"The worst blood is what you find in hospitals or on the streets. It doesn't matter their type; it all tastes like shit." he continued, even while you worked. Just like before, he sat himself nearby and observed your process with gross fascination. "In a pinch, though, I do what I must. It doesn't matter if a man is homeless or a woman is looking for a night out. When I hear their hearts dance, that thump, thump, thump—oh, I have to have it. I can taste them through their skin, even before I sink my teeth in.

"The fear in their eyes. The ragged breaths I see in their chests, watching their bellies pulse. I like to think in those moments they know exactly what's going to happen, like little flies in a spider's web."

Montague let more smoke slither out from his lips in skinny, swirling wisps that dissipated once it touched the air. The haze of it remained, just traceable to your eye. "I always find it interesting that they all struggle, even as they're writhing in their own blood. Sometimes I'll count how long it takes for them to die."

These weren't confessions of a madman because that would imply he was human. He was treating you akin to the way an old man recounted the fondness of his flawed, flickering memories. There were sensations of joy and affection in the work he did, a true love and visceral desire for carnage and suffering that made it hard for you to stomach.

A few times throughout his soliloquy, you needed to bear your weight on the kitchen broom to keep yourself from toppling from nausea.

You shouldn't have been curious. "Has anyone ever survived?"

The surrounding space grew darker, not from loss of light but from the way his lower face sunk behind the hand wielding the cigarette. You saw his smile widen through sickly appendages and faint smoke.

His response pierced straight through you. "I'm looking right at it."

Suddenly, the urge to run rushed forefront in your mind, an instinctual reaction that you had trouble wrestling over with logic. The broomstick was easily pulled from your fingers and discarded onto the floor with a reverberating clatter that made your spine race with cold needles as Montague stepped into your proximity.

You shivered against the hands slowly climbing your neck to the underside of your jaw, cradling your face as he lifted it to meet his eyes. Something was so wrong with how black they were; you didn't see a pupil, nor did your reflection stare back at you in them. It's almost as though there was nothing there at all, the dark of them growing into an abysmal chasm that made your vision cross and blur, eyelids weighing like lead when you felt him kiss you.

His lips were the same kind of cold as the rest of him but full and unrelenting, never granting you the chance to mold the kiss in any other way. Surprisingly, the taste of stale smoke on his breath was just slight, a mediocre vexation you overlooked the moment his hands started groping you under your clothes.

And you didn't think much of it when your back settled into the clean linens on your bed, skin flushed with the crisp evening air and lips mapping their way south across your stomach and navel, delving lower to your core. It was too dark in your room to see down your body at the top of Montague's head, but you felt him with your fingers, coiling pieces of his ash-brown hair to your knuckles while he pushed your thighs wide open for him.

An anxious patter swelled in your chest, a vague understanding that something was horrible about this, but you were too wrapped up in a dreamy fog to think about it. More than the resounding boom of your heart, you heard your own breaths dissolve into lewd moans and slurred pleas for him to do more, more, more.

It didn't sound like you.

It didn't feel like you despite knowing that build-up in your abdomen better than most things in your body.

The hands in his hair, the back bending off of the mattress like an archway, the shaking limbs, and the cries begging for more were someone else entirely up until the very moment rapture fluttered behind your eyes in searing white, body deluged in hot release that left your scalp tingling and toes curling and spend on your sheets.

"Give me more." You tasted him again, his tongue pushing hard into your mouth where those salty notes of yourself lingered on your cheeks. His silhouette melded with the rest of the room, tangible only in the way he roamed every surface of you.

Montague had shucked the clothes from both your bodies earlier, preferring to lean into the flush of heat you radiated. Everything was only skin-deep away from him; he could feel your pulse throb on his lips when he teased himself against your carotid, your radial, trailing all the way to the powerful beat of your femoral nestled there in your groin.

His teeth came close many times to piercing you, allowing him a sliver of a taste like a parched king waiting for a drop of golden wine. But half the thrill of having you around was denying himself of you, knowing well that if he were to start, then he'd never be able to stop, and he'd fully hamper your dreams of escaping.

The air smelled like you now, heavy and like damp skin and your fluids soaking into the linens. He watched your face bunch and fall apart when he split you open with his cock, hips colliding, your skin sure to bruise as his thrusts turned savage. There wasn't much left in his heart anymore. Most of it had atrophied over the centuries, and yet the sound of yours spurred him on.

He could follow the path of your blood through your body, an extensive subject he had studied and dissected at length in his lifetime. The most vulnerable spots were gorged and worked the hardest, almost glowing red through your skin for him. When he thrust a little bit harder, a little bit faster, and felt your fingertips pushing against his chest, he heard your heart be the loudest it ever had been.

"That's it. That's it. That's it." His own breaths were ragged now. The sheer exhilaration of pushing his lips deeper, hot sweat leaving a slick layer on them, and that one big artery in your neck pounding out was doing everything for him.

Your frantic pants were a close second. He could feel you unraveling, tightening around his cock until you were soundlessly writhing on the mattress, clutching anything you could bunch together. The final few thrusts he made were purposeful; they were forceful and jolted your body, a show to make sure you wouldn't forget the feeling of him inside of you.

The clean linens were sodden with cum, some still dripping out of you while you lay there, legs splayed enough so you wouldn't feel it stick to your thighs. Whatever haze had been hanging over your eyes before lifted away, leaving you ruined and exhausted on the sheets but not alone.

"You've got class in a few hours, don't you?" Montague said from above, shoulders nestled in your headboard while one leg hung off the side of the bed. He was smoking again, acting the calmest you had witnessed him. "I don't really think you're in any shape for that. Why don't you stay home today?"

You were too spent to respond to him, somehow using the occasional breaths he blew out into the vast room to lull you into a dreamless sleep.

༺ ♰ ༻

Shin Nakamura had been a selfish man in life. Mid-fifties, thinning hair, and twice divorced from women who knew better—his tenants did not. He had built a reputation on the north side of town for hidden costs and faulty appliances that were never fixed. Once or twice in the past four years you had cleaned up scenes, they came out of Nakamura's buildings in the summertime, stuck to the floor and infested with maggots and flies in different orifices.

Everyone had asked at one point, yourself included, how he was able to get away with that level of blatant cruelty and disregard—and the answer was as simultaneously simple, complex, and terrible as poverty. The north end was an area notorious for local crime and violence, but more than that, it was forgotten in favor of gentrifying other areas of the city—pretty little boutiques that'd make a splash on social media and a couple of upscale dining spots, all of those meant to change the online scales deeming an area's walkability, and therefore, profitability.

The blind eye most city commissioners turned to the north end made it an easy life for Shin to do as he pleased without many consequences despite living in the area himself. Most of everyone found it an odd sort of justice when he was discovered in his office, unrecognizable from how badly the dozens of stab wounds had disfigured his face and body. One look was enough to know that it was personal, a tenant who had received their condemnation via a neon-pink eviction letter hastily taped to an off-white door.

Only, this time, Shin chose a person backed into a corner at their breaking point. There wasn't much left to lose, yet Shin had ultimately lost it all. Rumor had it that no one sold out the tenant who committed the crime, something even the more moralistic part of yourself could fathom.

These were the cases that painted a grim picture of your future in forensics and often speared to the front of your mind at the worst of times—could you really be part of the reason why a person shattered by the powers of society goes to jail?

Shin Nakamura was a terrible man, but were his crimes punishable by that sort of torture? What about the tenants who probably heard Shin screaming for help, crying in agony—were they any better than murderers themselves?

What did that mean for you? An accomplice who quietly scrubbed clean murders at a monster's behest, you allowed those people to be swallowed up by Montague under a guise of fear, or was it selfishness?

That discomfort lasted you your entire shift, like an incredibly nauseating pill with a bad smell that sat in your nose for hours. You couldn't wipe away the thoughts like you could dried blood on smoke-stained walls or lumps of serrated flesh and fat wedged between slabs of wood on the floor.

"Man, he coulda been cleaner about this." T.J. had his feet planted solidly on the middle step of a ladder, well at work with a long-handled brush pushed flat to the ceiling. The splatter had gone that far, earning a few awestruck coos from him and Hoss earlier. "It would've made our lives easier."

It was a normal joke.

You'd laughed at the exact same one many times before, even finessed your own commentary in there on occasion because the dead can't sue, and a murderer had no rights—but now, you thought it'd taste bad on your tongue.

The two hulking men noticed, far sharper than you gave them credit for. Or maybe you were just worse at hiding things than you thought. They didn't allude to anything until everyone was packed up in the van, dried from the sweaty protective suits and summer heat by the AC.

"Listen, it ain't my business, and I swear I've been trying my best not to ask." There was a furtive look linked between Hoss and T.J.; it was something they had talked about when you weren't around. "That guy you're living with. He isn't doing anything to you, right? You used to talk about him all the time in the beginning. Haven’t heard a peep about him in ages. God, you're not living in your car, are you?"

From the outside in, you weren't doing much to try to embellish fancy stories and reasons onto your drastic change over the months. You simply let it be and navigated every day with the hope you'd remember where you were going with your head down. It probably didn't look too good to a paternal man like Hoss, and to T.J., who had several younger siblings.

"No, it's not him—" But, of course, it really was and everything surrounding his cruelty, everything he made you do, and what you never refuted. "I'm just perpetually exhausted. I'm sure you've heard that from Sylvie and Deshaun while they've been in uni."

"All the damn time." Hoss beamed, chest perked a little higher with the mention of his children. It wasn't enough to diffuse the tension lingering in the van, however. "Just know, I'd do for you what I'd do for my babies—put the fear of God in that man. If he puts a finger on you, you let me know."

T.J. gave an agreeable hum, fingers sticking to the steering wheel as he moved them around, making a turn down some street. "We'll catch him by surprise and everything. I'll call in a couple favors, grab a few shovels and bags of cement from my dad's place. It's all good."

For some reason, their entire spiel only spiked your uneasiness, and suddenly you were far too aware of your bladder. It was enough initiative for T.J. to floor the gas and get back to headquarters, giving you the chance to break away and race the remnants of daylight all the way home.

༺ ♰ ༻

It had never happened before, but you managed to catch Montague by surprise when he walked through the front door to find you standing there in the foyer. The kitchen broom wrapped in your hands was a nasty ploy, along with the look you cast between him and a young man not any older than yourself.

Again, just like all the others, you didn't recognize him. Montague's victims were fast, fleeting fixations for him, none worthy of names or an identity in his eyes. You suspected this guy was much the same.

Montague's bewilderment was swept away by a smile and laxing posture. He had settled back into his element. "You're home early today. I didn't expect to see you until much later. Not much to the scene, I assume?"

"It was pretty bad." A certain stiffness trailed on the end of your words, letting them echo through the hall and hang in the cool evening air.

The young man was fast to perceive that tension: the tightness in your shoulders, fingers subtly wringing against the cracked wooden broom. Montague's anticipative smile climbed higher the longer he looked at you.

Would it be such a bad thing to turn around and pretend you had never seen him come home with that other man? You considered doing it, hiding upstairs and using your headphones until everything seeping through turned into an amalgamation of ambient noise that meant nothing to you, and you willed away the guilt like you'd always done.

In that moment, you thought about Meredith Nimu's apoplectic daughter, a woman so embittered by her own suffering that she was foul and relentless to anyone she crossed paths with. You thought about Shin Nakamura, a greedy, pitiless man who'd rather let coroners scrape up his tenant's remains rather than grant them mercy while they were alive and had been left in pieces because of it.

You thought of them and all their wickedness and edged your gaze towards the young man still standing in the doorway with his hand holding it ajar, clean fingernails picking at chipping paint, just steps from outside. "I think you should leave."

Run! Run! You'd better run away as fast as you can! Nothing would stop Montague from keeping his prey there, if that's what he chose to do.

He did the opposite of that, and that was, simply, nothing at all. No pretty blandishments, nor a mouthful of teeth. Rather, now, he was particularly piqued by what you were trying to do.

To the young man, he had meddled into something rather egregious, probably convinced it was extramarital. You battled a surge of pride blooming inside you, shifting your chest a little higher, anchoring your spine back into your body.

"Don't come back here." You didn't need to say anything else. He was gone after pinching out a look of disgust towards Montague, tutting at him with his upper teeth showing through a curled lip.

Nothing happened for a while, not until the front door was secured after his departure. You were left to that responsibility, triple-checking the lock, while Montague ambled deeper into the house, but not too far away as you could follow the leisurely path by his heel strike. There was a rhythm in how he moved. It was deliberate, as though mimicking something.

It took you five paces to figure out he was miming your heartbeat, and he only stopped once it quickened in your chest. He appeared from around the corner, still taking his time reaching you, toying with some trinkets displayed on shelves built into alcoves throughout the lower floor.

You couldn't explain what you were feeling at that moment. Of the thousands—maybe millions—of victims Montague had taken in the previous times, you had just deprived him of one. That man would continue living, and he would tell his friends tomorrow about the weird night he had, and he would never have to be grateful that you saved him from a hellish death.

Yes, oh yes. Even as Montague approached you, carried by his deft gait with both halves of his gold compact open in his palm, you couldn't help but be in complete awe of yourself.

A life continued outside of this mausoleum, and it was all because of you. You were entirely different from Meredith Nimu's daughter and Shin Nakamura, and, for once, your hands weren't sullied by bleach, blood, and body matter.

All that heaviness you had been carrying was suddenly so much lighter, and you felt like your chest could open up as wide as the room where you stood. The breaths you took were dry and cold in your throat, yet fresh as though you were walking outside in wintertime.

Montague must've seen something he didn't like on your face because he sucked down on his cigarette for a while, winding his wrist with it at his side once he was adequately calm.

"Did it feel good? I've only seen you this happy while I was fucking your brains out." It was jarring to hear him talk like that. He took another quick drag and let it out slowly as he rounded you. "Truthfully, darling, I didn't think you were the type to break the rules—on purpose, anyway. But I suppose we all get a little wound up every now and then, right? I've already forgiven you."

And then, you watched him drop the cigarette to the marble and snuff it underfoot until the weak ember was turned to soot. A black smear was left behind when he took his foot away. His stare into you was unwavering.

"Clean it up."

You figured this was how a frightened animal felt when it wanted something within reach of an observant predator because you were trying to think of all the ways to get close without getting too close. It was a pitiful, humorous sight to him, seeing your steps forward so light and on the verge of bolting. But he showed no intention of doing anything more.

Still with the broom in hand, your knuckles turned stark around the handle while sweeping the remains towards you. It would take more elbow grease to get up that smudge, and he knew that just as well.

He reached for the broom and snapped it to a halt, making you jump, jaw clenching. A noiseless gasp lurched in your throat, his fingers wound tight into the hair at your crown as he yanked your head back to show all the fleshiness of your neck.

"What will you do about it, darling?" His lips were already cold and flush to the artery dancing in the curvature built of skin, muscle, and tendon.

Your teeth chattered as the wetness of his tongue followed that intricate, breathtaking network inside of you as far as the neckline of your shirt would let him.

"A man has to eat. Have you ever seen it? A man near starvation and the sorts of things he'll do to survive? Why, I've heard stories of desperate, little men eating their own lovers—their children—themselves just to claw around for a little longer. It's inspiring, I think."

He dragged you away then, up the stairs and through the hallway on the second floor to your bedroom, fingers still nested your hair until the moment you were shoved down onto fresh linens. There wasn't anywhere for you to go once he joined you on the mattress, feeling it bend towards his weight.

"Don't be afraid." he said this with all the fond familiarity of a lover, blunt fingernails digging crescents into your thigh through your clothes. In the waning moonlight that filtered through the dusty window over your bed, his pale eyeshine snared you like roots bursting from somewhere within your busy sheets to keep you there—keep you tame. "That's right. Come to me. Come to me."

There was a new drowsiness behind your eyes, one you couldn't stave by blinking. Montague's face was closer now, and you were struck with just how beautiful he actually was. The longer your gaze lasted, tips of your fingers exploring every shape and edge of his exquisite features, the less you were convinced he was a threat to you—that he couldn't have possibly been all that you'd feared up until now.

"I want you." His lips inched up like he expected you to say it. He felt your hands rest on the sides of his face, guiding him down into a soft kiss that he returned, that he kept clean and let you command until he was bored with it. You chased after him, lower lip pulled between both of yours and eventually out of reach. "Don't you want me too?"

"I wish you could understand just how much I do." He rummaged his pocket for the gold compact, losing it somewhere in the sheets, and then busied himself with stripping himself and you of clothes.

Each piece discarded showed a greater expanse of your skin, a delight in his eyes because he could see that gorgeous webbing of arteries and veins throughout you, even in the darkness, through every defense your body created to protect you from every bacteria, virus, infection—from him.

He didn't need the breath, but he took one and held it anyway.

You withered against his touch, those freezing, lithe fingertips traveling down all the areas where he wished his teeth could be, clear down to your groin. His smile stretched, feeling you search eagerly for a fistful of his hair with his lips smoothing across your inner thigh and then going higher.

There was warmth between your legs, a colorless glisten that leaked out onto the thin sheets, darkening a spot on them that tempted his tongue out for a taste. He came close to entertaining the notion of giving you that glimpse of heaven, allured by your hips leaping off the mattress and against his face.

"You really do think this is all about you." Montague kept you still by pressing down into your abdomen as he rose onto his knees, erection fitting tight between your bodies in the moments before he guided himself lower and hitched up into you.

The sharp motion knocked a startled gasp out of your throat, where it quickly dissolved into a slew of filth and breathy panting. Your nails clawed into your palms, a sight he thought to make worse by digging himself deeper into you.

Montague had no issues biding his time this way, looming over the sprawl of your body beneath him, manipulating parts of you until he saw your face flinch and the first moans of discomfort shake all the way from your chest, up, and through your teeth. They matched the pace of his hard thrusts, smothered by sharp slaps of skin that carried in the inky air.

Indeed, I can wait. That thought of his unsatiated hunger melted in the back of his mind with the precedence of arranging the course of blood in your body. The drum of your heartbeat was deafening to him, but it wasn't enough.

It wasn't loud enough.

He wanted to be able to envision the arteries and veins bursting in his teeth, saturating the sheets and walls and both your bodies in hot red. He wanted it to paint his skin while he fucked you to absolution.

"It really, truly, is all about you in the end, isn't it?" He could still speak clearly, despite you being unable to utter noise beyond the air being forced out of your lungs. "You really are magnificent. How could I ever think to let you go? Not after everything you've done for me, how beautiful you look next to all of my things."

His hand shifted away from your abdomen at last, tracking across the soft span of your stomach and the muscles spasming there under his fingertips.

All he would have to do is dig through you a little bit, and he could bury himself in those twitching fibers and insides. But he continued on his path to your pert nipples that he rolled against his palm a few times, higher still to fold his fingers together against your sternum where he felt your heart thundering there against your ribs.

"Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump," came his mocking chant that cracked into raspy moans as he lingered there. It had been a long time since something had made him feel this good. He had forgotten what bliss was truly like.

He reached your neck before long, trapping the underside of your jaw against his knuckles, forcing you to see him as his weight bore down on your throat. You both heard the cartilage and muscle in your neck shift, a subtle crack that sent your limbs flailing. You were thrown out of the rhythm of his thrusts in an attempt to grab at him.

"You really are despicable, aren't you?" He let out a gleeful laugh, letting your fingers turn ashen while you wrung his wrist. You weren't able to do much with your legs except use them to plant your heels into the mattress, vaulting your hips in the air to try to wrench yourself free. His cock slipped out of you, but he was hardly bothered by that.

"Does it feel good that you chased off my guest? I could get him back, you know. You're aware of this. I know you are. But righteousness just feels so… rewarding, doesn't it? You couldn't resist. Desperation must've been eating you alive."

Strings of saliva glistened in your mouth, breaking apart the further your jaws spread. You were convinced, in that moment, that you would die like that in a silent scream. None of the words that Montague spoke truly reached you, not as your chest quivered and lungs burned as though swallowed in an inferno.

"Every misdeed in life vastly outweighs the good, you know? The scales have never been leaned in our favor—not I, and especially not for you. If that's the sort of thing you believe in. Isn't that what you're taught? Goodness for the sake of salvation at the end of a short life of inhibitions? How miserable." Montague took his hand off of you and let you breathe.

You sucked in crisp air, gasping from your side through wet coughs and the sourness of vomit spat out on the floor.

Your respite was brief, weight on the mattress shifting as the hair on your scalp was used to lever you to your knees, body suspended upright only by his fingers tangled at your roots.

"This is all I can see." Montague loosened his hand from your head, moving south along your spine to your ass. He kneaded the bruised parts of your hips for a while after, lips ghosting their way along your neck up to the ear. "All I can see is what's right in front of me. And how it tastes. All that matters is that I have my fill—and that I feel good."

He smeared slick into the heel of his palm, rolling the head of his cock in that mess as he instructed you with every bit of lewdness how he wanted you to bend against the headboard, how far apart for you to spread your legs for him.

Every bit of it was humiliating for you, while he wished he could memorialize that moment of sinking back inside of you as your breaths broke into stifled sobs, face warped by anguish.

"Does it hurt? Tell me, I have to know, what does it feel like?" He enjoyed the suspense of not receiving an answer, listening as your fingernails dug tracks into the wood headboard and the dark room filled with obscene wetness that grew louder as his thrusts turned wild.

"Mmm—" He hinged forward, bracing his weight on top of your hands with his own. You shied from the surge of coolness that came with his cheek pressing yours. "You and I aren't so different. It makes me wonder if you actually like this. Isn't there something so freeing about it?"

"Mer—mercy, please." It was a coarse whisper from your dry throat, so much of your time having been spent with your mouth agape. The idea of having you that way was as tantalizing as all the others he thought up. "Montague, please—mercy."

Oh, now you were begging.

This was more than what he deserved. He managed a few more thrusts, spilling over into you by the third with a moan that he felt no shame to leave ringing in your ear. "Every part of you, every single part—I'll burn myself into your skin and your bones. You'll feel me in your veins, your blood. I'll make for certain that I'm all you remember—forever."

The vastness of your bedroom had grown warmer, permeated with the thickness of sweat and salt that left your palms slick against the headboard. You let your body slump against it, skin sticking to the wood. It didn't offer you the relief you wanted at that moment: a glass of ice water, all the tenderness of a soft bed to lull you into a blank dream—you just wanted to rest.

Montague knew this just as well, fishing his compact out from a muddled heap of linens and clothes. He checked inside to grab one of the two cigarettes left, making a mental note he'd need to replenish again tomorrow before lighting it and savoring it. At this rate, he anticipated he'd be empty before the end of the night.

For a while, he sat there cushioned on his haunches, admiring the way the smoke coiled towards the ceiling in dainty wisps and mingled with the stench of sex.

"It's not enough." he said, barely eliciting more than a glance from you. His current cigarette was already burnt to the filter, forcing him to pull the last and light that one too. "This is my last one. Such a shame."

You smelled the smoke strongly now, just seconds passing before you were yanked across the bed onto your back, the soreness in your scalp near excruciating as you yelped. Montague made a place for himself between your thighs again, leering down the length of his nose at you.

If he wanted to, he could trace the dread etched in your features with a finger, feeling all along your hot skin, into all the cavernous lines he wished he could preserve—right there, just like that. There had never been a more gorgeous visage than the one you wore right now. Only your gleaming, glowing, pink insides were more beautiful.

He watched your lips twitch while he teased a fistful of his hard cock against your sorest spot. You were swollen and bruised, and he could only imagine what it felt like when he bottomed out in you again.

The curve of your spine arched off the mattress, fingers frantically raking the air at him, reaching for any part you could sink into to get him out. Even your body seemed determined for the same, wonderfully stimulating walls squeezing around him.

It made a shiver roll all along his spine to his tailbone, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling, with his first thrusts feeling positively divine. Especially when you jolted, an almost exaggerated response amplified by jagged cries and wet gasps you couldn't seem to swallow back down into your chest.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" You sputtered around the mucus piled in your throat. "Montague, I'm sorry. Please, stop."

He had burned away half of his last cigarette when he leaned over you, his body eclipsing what poor light had managed to illuminate the room for you. You could only follow the dainty mesmerizing glow that worked away from his mouth—his exhale barely masking a moan that he blew away with the smoke—and towards you.

"Keep doing it." His other hand was crawling up your neck, forcing you to suck in a hard breath. "Beg me again. Keep doing it."

All sound but the steady pulse of the headboard striking the wall had deadened, lasting well until the moment the cigarette touched your skin—and you screamed. Your throat vibrated, suddenly stopping when his palm closed around you again, silencing all your noise, his thrusts sloppy and rough while you thrashed under him.

This time, he kept you pinned by his chest, letting your feet dig for traction and slip and slide on the sheets. The bright smolder turned dark as he twisted it into your neck, taking all the remnants of restraint he had not to drill into you as far as it could go. He curled his tongue behind his jaws, keeping them tight.

Montague let go of your throat to allow you the grace of a stifled wail before that same hand sealed your lips. "Ah, ah. You know better than to scream. Shh, shhh, shhh. It's such an ugly sound."

He rubbed the cigarette into your skin until it crumpled, leaving him to lament for a moment once flicking it away to the floor. For him, it left behind a beautiful burn: raw, mad, red, and enticing. As his hand fell off of your mouth, daring you to do more than whimper and cry, his tongue was already flat against your wound.

"Oh, God," you wheezed, voice hoarse and jarring with the force of his hips knocking into you. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! Stop, stop, stop! I swear I'll never do it again! I swear. I swear!"

Montague caught the wrist you swung at his head, giving the taste of your seared flesh time to settle on his palate before turning towards the pulse in your thumb. He tried to match how he was fucking you out to how it throbbed on his lips.

"Oh, I'm well aware that you won't do it again. That much is a given." His strokes into you were suddenly languid and intentional, so achingly deep that your eyes rolled back. "I've already said that you're forgiven, haven't I?"

You could barely speak over the depth he reached. It didn't feel right. "Th-then, why?"

A smile flourished across his face, but your eyes couldn't pierce that dark veil to see it. You could feel the damp path he left on your wrist, how the muscle writhed all around the sprawl of your veins, going as far as to wind your fingertips before it receded back behind his lips.

"Because I'm enjoying myself." There was a weight of finality to those words before his mouth engulfed the side of your wrist, away from your fragile network of bluish-purplish channels. And when he bit into you, it was the incisors that sank through.

You didn't know what it was. A clamp seized you by the neck like his fist, steeling itself there and robbing you of a scream. The pain was unlike anything else—paralyzing and deep, like a pair of sharpened, narrow skewers made of molten fire piercing you with such an agonizing ache that you could do nothing but lay there.

But you still felt everything he was doing.

His thrusts had grown truly vicious, chasing a high that came as the warmth of your blood seeped from a pair of punctures he had created. The steady flow he fed from was something he lapped on at his leisure. Enough of it streaked the length of your arm and dripped onto your bedding, onto your naked, warm skin when he guided the fall over your neck and chest, south to your stomach and abdomen. He let it fill and pool the seams of his fingers while smearing it with the fluids between your bodies.

At last, breaking the trance to speak, feebly, in between intermittent pockets of pain and numbness rolling through you, you asked with some hopefulness, "Are you going to kill me?"

"You? Kill you?" Montague dropped your wrist. It felt like a limp, dead thing that didn't belong to you. He dove at your neck for those drops he teased himself with, nudging your chin high with his nose to reach it all. "Death would mean letting you go. You're all mine, darling. Whatever other existence waits beyond death will never have you."

His tongue wet a trail to your chin, collecting a watery essence of blood and spit that he pushed into your mouth. Your lips were sealed by his ravenous kiss, relenting to the thickness of his tongue swirling the taste into your cheeks and down your throat, a nauseating intermix of iron and stale smoke that lingered and made you pucker.

And then, you heard him back in your ear, craning his neck only as far as to aggravate the cigarette burn with his breath. It gave several angry throbs. The weight of his body was almost flush on you, spreading the blood around as though your skin together was a single canvas.

To his eyes, it bloomed breathtakingly, seeping into every crevice, pore, and scratch that made up your design, an impermanent stain that he could saturate you in again and again and again. The things he whispered in your ear were vile and wicked, all on unlabored breaths while his strokes turned sluggish and stayed seated deep inside you until the final hitch of his hips left you full of him.

"I don't think you should go to work today."

You were only scarcely coherent of him—or anything for that matter—eyes unmoving from the black void above and unfeeling of how he chose to manipulate your body, still, hours later. All you could think about was the flutter of your lashes weighing down heavily over your eyes and how this world only survived on suffering such as yours.

༺ ♰ ༻

A small pile of things was arranged fussily in a duffle bag Hoss had given the day you returned to work after an impromptu leave of absence. It had only lasted three days, just enough time to acclimate to the pain that seemed to synchronize to every part of your body, throbbing everywhere, all at once, and at times with sharpness so great it toppled you to the ground. You could only lay there—wherever you dropped, on whatever cold slab of marble or concrete until it dissipated, unfurling from your limbs and organs to a rapturous wave of relief that melted the tension out of you.

It had only happened once while at work on a scene amidst a balmy summer night and came out of nowhere like an electric shock surging to your fingertips and toes, a hammer landing on your bones and leveling you on the sidewalk leading back to the company van. And that was all it took to incur a ruinous sort of anger in the two hulking men.

"You're going to take this bag, pack some shit, and you're leaving. Tonight." Hoss had to shake out the dust on the old duffle bag he pulled from somewhere in his car. "You ain't gonna tell me the reason, but I know he did something to you. T.J.'s calling in a favor."

"No. Don't—don't do anything. Don't try to come to the house—" There was a bandage around your wrist that you couldn't stop fiddling with. "I don't know what'll happen if you do. Just fucking don't."

"Nah, not us." T.J. slapped his phone back into the clip on his belt loop, eyeing the motions of your fingers on your wrist uneasily. "One of my old buddies—name's Roscoe—said he wants to handle it. Apparently, he and your guy have a history of some kind. He says to be ready to go by three."

The meaning behind what he said was left nebulous and concerning to you, even after you returned home with the duffle bag and started pulling things from your closet. Some ways across your room, high up on the wall and out of your reach was a clock. Its monotonous ticking brought your eyes over to it.

It was just after one-thirty, still enough time to change your mind if you wanted to. There was something so effortlessly easy about following along to the whims of other people. It felt safe, reassuring—their confidence was infallible. Not once in four years had T.J. or Hoss given you a reason to doubt their intentions, but right now, it boiled over in your mind.

But where will I go? What am I going to do? He'll find me. He'll find me. Montague would find you, but he wouldn't stop you from leaving. You could see it with clarity—him perched on the armrest of a chair, watching you walk through the door. He'd give you a headstart, a few days, maybe a few weeks.

You weren't sure you knew what to do without him. There was nowhere else in the world you could go, no one you could confide in that wouldn't be destroyed. He would keep your heart beating all the while breaking you apart until he had his fill, reminding you that this was how it was meant to be. This was how he showed you how you belonged.

And you—silly little you with your consciousness floating on the fringes of inscrutable ecstasy and some personal purgatory built on agony in your bones and blood—would believe him.

"Going on a trip?" His voice drifted to you from the doorway, far sweeter than it usually was. "I wish you would've told me. I can't imagine what it'll be like without you here in this house. You breathe life into it."

He was lured over by your silence, fitting his fingers between your shoulder blades to push along your spine, easing away the discomfort that had settled there. It was hard not to lean into that relief, a misstep that shattered any lasting hold of willpower when he stooped his neck to sweep you into a kiss.

"Why don't you stay instead?" He knew you wouldn't be coming back, not without dragging you back himself. "Stay with me instead. Right here. In this bed."

"Montague, stop—" He pressed down harder on your lips so those words withered into guttural frustration in your throat.

The duffle bag was flung far away, opening space on your bed for him to lay you out and begin to unravel the bandages around your wrist. Once he had access, his mouth was already full against the two puncture sites.

"Stay." He wasn't playing coy now. "I'll take care of you. It wasn't enough before. I can see that now. What can I do? It'd be too easy to break your legs. What if I chained you to this bed? What if I locked you up in this room? I wouldn't mind keeping you downstairs with me, but it would be too cold for you, I think."

"I want to leave." you said, mustering your composure through tight lips while he teased the infected purple holes with his flatter teeth. "Let me go."

He smiled derisively. "I don't think you know what you want."

"I—" You balked at him, reiterating with a stumble, "I—I just want to leave. Get off."

"How will you ever survive without me?" You didn't know if you'd be able to. "You'll be all alone, all alone in a world that's just ready to tear you open and spit you back out. I've told you before: Society doesn't reward virtue over vice—only those who play along. You won't last, not after you've known and tasted me."

You couldn't bring yourself to say anything, whereas he swelled like a man who had salvaged a victory, lying himself down to kiss you again—

And then, the doorbell rang with an immense melancholic echo that you could feel vibrate up your arms and legs. Nearly a year later, you were hearing it for the first time and grasping onto the lapels of his suit vest, keeping him still when you remembered T.J.'s promise.

"Ignore it." you said.

"We have a guest—" Something in his tone made your stomach clench. "It's not polite to leave them waiting, especially at this hour."

Montague had untangled himself from you and was gone before you could stop him. Another wave of pain put you on the floor when you moved. Drool piled from your mouth. An ache so unreal pounded in the wrist he had played with. The crawl to your duffle bag was far, arduous in that every inch felt like carrying stones on your back.

I'm going to die. I might as well already be dead. You didn't have any more time to wait, so you slung the strap over your shoulder and used the wall to guide you along the quiet hallway, bumping into every pedestal and display where Montague's most treasured things had stayed undisturbed.

You were one of them, something he could keep on the second floor with the rest of his stuff, but unlike brittle porcelain and fraying embroidery—he could break you as much as he wanted, again and again and again, and fit you back whole. He could do it forever while you wasted, longing for an end he would never give you.

But as you crept along the bleak wallpaper and all of his curios, you were so gentle with them, steadying any wobbling base or piece as you went. The central staircase was close, voices at the bottom of it faint and unintelligible, drifting alongside you as though part of the house—

The air exploded.

Just once.

A single gunshot brought back all the alertness to your body, neck and shoulders at full length, pain dulled to where you could shuffle faster and look off the bannister at the landing below.

Montague was staring back up at you from the floor, entirely still and soundless. His jaw was unhinged, askew, frozen in a position that should've been impossible. A black hole gaped between his eyes, but didn't bleed.

"If you're not ready, that's going to be bad news." Another man stood nearby sheathing a gun, unfamiliar and yet with sameness in the way his gaze felt hollow and reached through you. "I'm repaying my debts. I'd like to make good on this one."

You were slow descending the stairs, even slower while you rounded Montague's body and denied yourself the chance to stop. Something invisible wanted to pull you to him, plow your knees into hard marble and weep over his chest. However, your insides bending in disgust and twinges in your bones kept you onward.

This man, Roscoe, was just as sickly-seeming and gray as the other, every slot of space on his arms and neck filled with images of religious iconography and portraits of saints—Mary being the only one you recognized with just a glance. It was tempting to touch him, something he noticed and stepped out of your reach.

"Is there another way out of here?" He made a weak motion towards the front door just ajar, but his eyes were stuck on the wrist wounded and unusable to you now. "We need to go. Now."

You were racking your brain for an answer, turning half-circles in place before pointing to the archway with a clock. "There's a backdoor, but the yard is fenced in and there's nothing but forest for three miles. There's also—"

Roscoe waited expectantly, ushering you to continue when he went for the gun in its holster. "Start moving, we'll figure it out." He unloaded another round into Montague's head, a near indecipherable twitch in the fingers made the hair on your neck shoot straight out. "Silver only keeps him down. It won't kill him. Go!"

"Th—there's, there's the basement." You smacked your lips, trying to swallow around a bulge in your throat. "There's an old door. He said there are tunnels, but I don't know where they go. I don't know if he was telling the truth. I don't—"

He threw a hand into your back, thrusting you forward at least three feet. You almost didn't catch your footing. "Then that's where we're going."

"Not a friend of yours then, I assume, darling?" Montague's voice from the floor was as much of a relief as it was terrible. The silent gaps of air all around were disturbed by sharp snaps and cracking bones as his jaw moved back into place and he sat upright over his thighs. You were transfixed by the silver bullets being sucked into his skull, holes shrinking until they closed completely. "I'm not surprised you're still fraternizing with the wrong crowds, Roscoe. You and that entire Society have always been a fucking eyesore."

Roscoe readied his aim. "Parasite."

Montague laughed all the way to his feet, tugging at the edge of his vest to make it neat again. He opened his mouth just enough to let his tongue roll out, shards of silver bullets tinkling as they hit marble underfoot. "You can't take what's mine."

He looked to you, stepping closer every time Roscoe moved you back with his arm. "Come here. Come back to me, darling. This is where you belong. This is your home. You belong here with me, here with everything that you know."

"He doesn't mean that."

Another gunshot snapped you to attention, blinking out of a stupor you hadn't realized you were in.

The bullet landed in Montague's forehead, teetering his balance in such a way that his back curved towards the floor, arms hanging like useless instruments, yet he still somehow kept his soles planted. "Time to go. Get to the basement."

Roscoe didn't fail to reach you this time, running tight on your heels through the house to the basement floor. He stopped partway to the old door to help you scour the duffle bag for a key—one attached to the chatelaine Montague had given you the day you accepted to move in.

Your breaths were ragged, heart ablaze and beating against your ribs. In that moment, as you flipped through the assortment of keys with an unsteady, slippery grip, you wondered if Montague heard your blood racing in your veins, if he could follow the suffocating drumbeat your heart made in your ears.

Just above, fast approaching the locked basement door, came a thunderous roar so inhuman and reverberating that it scared the clip of keys out of your hands into a clattering heap on the floor. Time was up.

"Move!" Roscoe shoved you aside, illuminated by the hectic flare of your phone as he fit his fingers through a gap in the door and ripped the entire thing off its hinges. He pulled you by the scruff of your shirt and heaved you inside the tunnel. "Go! Go! Go!"

The first thing to hit you was a putrid smell intimately known but always through protective equipment and a respirator. And as you went deeper into the tunnel, led by a single route and the light off your phone, the dirt packed under your feet turned soft, sinking to the tops of your shoes.

And then, you saw bodies.

Numerous—countless corpses in varying stages of decay with twisted faces reflected your terror and pain right back at you. Most were intact with missing limbs or dark red chasms in their abdomens that had been scraped hollow and dry under the white light.

A few had been fully decapitated, briefly reminding you of the dead blonde woman from that night, but most of what lay stacked against the tunnel walls were emaciated figures with skin pulled so taut to their bones you could still make out their faces.

You were doubled over your knees, sucking in fetid mouthfuls of air and retching them back out on the ground. It burned in your throat, in your nostrils, and behind your eyes, but stifled your sobs as Roscoe dragged you alongside him.

"What did he do? What did he do?" You were crying, wheezing out those words on every shallow breath you took all the way to an end just ahead.

The more you thought about it, the more you smelled the rot, tasted the bitterness of your own vomit, the more came out. "I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"

Roscoe had to let you rest in the grass once you both surfaced. One of the exits turned out to be near the house, less than half a mile. But the tunnels kept going and so did the bodies. You suspected that there wouldn't be any reach of that underground labyrinth that didn't have some form of decay along it.

The thought brought the tears back, but now you could relish the sticky summer night humidity and touch dewy tendrils of grass under your hands.

"Can you drive?" Roscoe had a pair of keys hanging from his index finger, giving you a long moment to take them. He saw confusion in your watery stare. "I'll tell you where to go, just drive."

That's how it had been for hours at this point. You kept your hands locked around the steering wheel, one stronger than the other, gnawing the inside of your cheek while ruminating everything—tonight, the night Montague had bitten you, every other night before that, and your decision to have ever trusted him.

"How long ago did he bite you?" Roscoe had the seat reclined, arms over his eyes to shield them from oncoming headlights. "It doesn't look good."

You tested your grip on the steering wheel, but you couldn't do much without a sharp sting in your wrist. "I don't know—a couple weeks ago? I've tried everything short of going to the emergency room."

"That won't help," he said. "Modern medicine can fix a dog bite, antibiotics can kill an infection, a vaccine can protect you from a virus. Those aren't going to do any good."

Solemnly, you asked, "Am I going to die?"

Roscoe didn't sit up but had your wrist in his hands, turning it in little ways that didn't aggravate you. Besides the occasional glare from passing vehicles, there was no light in the car, and the holes in your skin were hardly distinguishable, though they had gotten darker. You weren't able to move it with any ease now.

"What you need to know right now is that he's never going to stop following you." He put your hand back on the steering wheel, careful as he enclosed your fingers around it. "It doesn't matter how long it takes, what you do, where you go—a parasite finds a host, and it latches on. And it doesn't let go."

You glanced between him and the road several times, tongue wetting the dry parts of your lips. "He's a vampire—you're a vampire. There's got to be something—"

Roscoe finally sat up in his seat, now cramped sideways with his shoulders flat to the window. The car veered a bit into the other lane. "You need to understand something. What you're saying would imply he ever had any humanity. Vampires are created." He paused for a beat, waiting for the realization to strike you. "Montague was never created."

"What—what the hell is he, then?" A horn abruptly blared by, prompting you to yank the car back onto the correct side. "He drinks blood. He has teeth. He—he hunts. He doesn't like silver. His eyes are the same as yours."

Roscoe lowered his gaze, but remained in that uncomfortable position. "There's a story I heard about him once. I don't remember the details except for one: ‘If the devil exists, they're one in the same.’"

You kept your eyes on the road, counting every car that flitted on past. They were probably going to work at this hour—green numbers on the dashboard showed it just after four—and they'd be able to have a place to return to at the end of the day. Now, you didn't belong anywhere, and twenty-four hours from now you still wouldn't.

The town where you had lived with Montague for a year was long behind you, backtracking would take hours, and you wouldn't know how to get back from the direction that Roscoe had told you to go. Dim streetlamps and cozy houses with spruced yards had morphed into an endless network of concrete, signs, and off-ramps to places you'd never heard of.

It was scary how everything could change in one night, and how it did. The only semblance of normalcy to you right now were the aches throughout your body, which had returned the moment you fully comprehended that you had escaped that house.

"Why…" Roscoe looked up at you, seeing your lips shake and eyes turn red. "Why do I want to go back to him?"

He fixed himself right in the seat, tousling a hand through his hair while looking out through the windshield. "You shouldn't do that. But you'll never be able to stop running."

You never saw Roscoe again once the car ride ended several thousands of miles later, mentioning something about how he repaid his debt to T.J. and had disappeared from a restaurant you both walked into. When that happened, you sat paralyzed at your little table for most of the day with a soul-crushing realization that you were truly alone with nobody in the world—

Just like Montague said you would be.

And, for the sake of others, you'd never be able to have anyone else in your world.

It stayed that way for close to two years. The hardest part hadn't been the homelessness or constant vigilance, not the door revolving each person to come into your life since, but the fact that you still yearned for what you once had. Everything so awful about what you experienced sometimes looked like heaven when you thought about it, like soft, cloudy nostalgia from a time where the throes of agony were all you had ever known.

You were capable of thinking soberly as well, and with that came the understanding that a part of you would always want that time back—want him back. He had left you with a permanent scar and neurological damage that could never be corrected. It was anticipated you'd lose that wrist at some point in the future, but for now, you could still hold a cup and brush your teeth with enough conscious effort.

The pain never went away either, but you refused to let it impede your work in the field. And your two roommates were a couple of engineering geniuses who'd managed to make the flat more accommodating to your needs. They'd been patient with you during every step of your transition into a new life, calling you an enigma because you had nothing to your name except a dusty duffle bag and a "strange-looking dog bite" on your wrist when you first met them.

Sometimes, especially on the weekends after clinking together enough shot glasses, they tried to probe your brain for some clue as to who you were, who you had been historically. You had decided it was better that they—that no one—knew about it or what actually existed out there in the world.

And when you returned home from the lab late that Saturday night, you were surprised to find the lights off and the flat immersed in the kind of soundlessness that made your ears feel clogged with cotton.

You were slow in lowering your backpack to the floor, keeping the front door slightly ajar so a slither of light from the residential corridor slipped inside. "Jordan? Felix?"

No answer. You didn't hear anything from their bedrooms upstairs either.

"Jordan?" The nearest light switch didn't work, neither did the one after that, or any others you hunted down with the diffused beam from your phone screen. "Jordan? Felix? Are you guys home?"

It was possible they had gone out somewhere for the night and just hadn't mentioned anything to you, as unsound as that logic actually was, considering it simply wasn't their personality. But as you wandered through different rooms checking the switches, you knew you were rationalizing to keep yourself in check.

The light from the hallway still piled inside like a narrow pillar, raising all the hairs on your neck and arms, knowing that it wasn't a building-wide outage. They had never left you in a situation like this before. Something was wrong.

"Jordan! Felix! Whe—" Your foot nearly shot out from under you when you slid through something slick on the laminate. After a moment to fix yourself, bracing the edge of the countertop with a clammy palm, you steadied the white glow of your phone at the floor.

There, glistening back at you, was the vast richness of blood in a tall puddle that spread like long winding tendrils through grout in the flooring. It looked almost black under your light at a certain angle, estimating it had been there for several hours—untouched.

You held in a breath and grit your jaws together as the more you moved, the more you saw. And when the top of a head came into view, silky hair shining like fine thread before clumping together at the base where the blood had pooled the most, it was everything you could to keep yourself from hitting the floor.

Both of them were there, perfectly out of sight of the front door and completely unrecognizable. Their bodies had been left in one piece, though where their faces had once been were cavernous holes with pale, pink ribbons of flesh and fat left behind. The roundness of their skulls let blood fill inside it like a vessel. What little pieces of brain matter remained had floated to the surface.

You staggered back from them, phone loosening from your weak hand and returning them to the maw of darkness, while groping the wall behind you as far as your arm could reach. This wasn't a result of crude knife work or even bludgeoning; no, it was a slow kill, one meant to steep someone in torment so immense that you prayed to whatever was out there that they succumbed immediately.

"Help…" Your voice was trapped in your throat, barely registering as a whisper even to yourself as you sidled along the wall. "Someone—anyone, please help."

The patter of your heartbeat was torturous. Your every step back to the entrance was leaden with fear. You couldn't get your legs to move fast enough, and the light reaching in through the gap seemed to stretch on forever—further, further, and further still.

You thought back to that day you met Montague and shook his hand, noting how unnaturally cold it had been despite it being a nice day in spring. You remembered the dead blonde woman with mascara tears, and the bodies he used to decorate the tunnels, and the young man who was able to walk away that night believing it was all some shallow quarrel—never knowing he had sealed your fate.

You regretted all of it.

The door was in your reach now, and you could get out, call for help, and go back to running. This time, you wouldn't be tricked into false satiety or let anyone too close. You would see mountains and forests and oceans a thousand times over before you stopped again.

Two years hadn't been enough time for you to accumulate many things, you thought. It wouldn't be hard to leave most of it behind, just like you had before. You would unpack that old duffle bag from the back of your closet, fill it to the brink, and that would be enough.

You had your hand over smooth metal, but that cold reached greater depths in you as the door was pushed shut from behind, light shrinking away through the slot until you were swallowed whole in the dark.

"Hello, darling. I've missed you." He sounded the same against your ear. For a split second, you felt relieved. "Don't worry about cleaning up. We're not staying long."

He clamped damp fingers over your mouth before you could scream.

a/n; I hope this scratched some awful itch for you. onto the story notes:

on montague: what he is exactly is open to interpretation. tell me your theories! his character has been around in my arsenal for a very long time, but as a human cannibal in those days. he's been resurrected into something worse imo. he exists in my vampire universe more as a side-character, and, surprisingly, is not the central antagonist. he is meant to more or less be the embodiment of depravity and the consequence of a being without internal moral compass.

on mc: represents the fallacy of man and how unreliable the narrative of morality actually is, and how we as people have tendencies to twist and turn the meaning of it for our own benefit. mc in this story is not meant to be a good person, but did they deserve condemnation to a personal purgatory?

so, while this is a monster story, I wanted to parallel the treatment mc endures + mindset to the horrors of trying to escape abuse. I wanted to explore this through the lens of a monster story, though. if you suspect you are in an abusive relationship, please reach out to people to help get you out.

what's funny is that this story was originally supposed to be a dark comedy that moved towards something a little darker, and eventually turned into this. montague was initially going to just be a nuisance to mc by inserting himself into friend hangouts because "it's my house".

divider by; @/anlian-aishang

dc divider by; @/benkei-bear

if you read and enjoyed it, please share your thoughts and reblog!!

[bittersw33t-lotus]

Great Timing

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem! Reader

Cw: minor violence, profanity, bodily harm, attempted assault, blood, whump, creepy dude

Summary: Reader gets off work late and encounters a man who follows her home with malicious intent until your neighbor comes home early from deployment.

A/N: THIS IS MY FIRST GHOST FIC DONT JUDGE ME 🔫🔫🔫

You sighed in exhaustion as you walk out the doors of your work, instering the key into the lock securing the place, you head straight to your car. It was another nightly overtime stay at work, this has been going on for four days now but luckily your boss gave you a few days off as a token of appreciation which made you just as eager to get home and into the comfort of your bed.

Reaching your apartment complex you mind began to grow fuzzy and blurred with sleep slowly taking place. You got out of the car and began heading to the door entrance of the complex, completely unaware of the lingering figure hiding in the distance eyeing you like prey. You unlocked the complex entrance, using the key card the owner provided you with, you walk in entering the lobby, completely oblivious the figure that slipped through the door before it could close and lock, while you make your way to the elevator.

Pressing the button to the elevator, the doors soon opened as you stepped in, your eyelids so droopy that you almost missed the number ‘4’ button to your floor number. You take your your phone out and examine the screen as it turns on as the doors began to close, ‘3:26,’ you read on your Lock Screen before unlocking the device. You got out earlier than you usually did, these past few nights you wouldn’t leave work till nearly five in the morning.

A dull thud spooked you out of your thoughts, shedding the drowsiness you had felt earlier, your head snapped up at the elevator doors to see a hand between the metal opening forcing the doors to open back up revealing a man in his late 40’s. You didn’t want to assume but the man seemed to be homeless with how dirty and ragged his clothing were, he also had the stench of alcohol lingering off him. You knew some thing was wrong the minute you laid eyes on him, making eye contact you was the way he eyed you, like some piece of meat. Your stomach churned in discomfort and a need to run.

He loomed over you which made you feel even more uncomfortable. You wondered where he even came from since the lobby seemed completely empty, especially since it was 3 in the morning, until a thought occurred. Could he have snuck when you opened the door, you questioned in your mind causing you to tense up, the thought alone seemed to trigger your fight or flight response a little as the need to sleep was shoved into the back of your mind. That was the least of your worries.

You didn’t want to show your panic so you gave him a quick weary smile chucking awkwardly. “Oh, sorry I didn’t see you coming…” you muttered as you curled in on yourself, the man said nothing for the next couple of seconds and just stood there eyeing your figure up and down making you inwardly wince in disgust.

After what felt like minuets he finally moved into the elevator, you shimmied to the very back corner as he stepped in and leaned up against the back wall a little too close for your liking. You scooted over the the side wall of the elevator nearing the controls and doors, as they finally closed. You tried to ignore his staring as you turned to look at the elevators controls. “Uhh… which floor are you going to?” You look at his trying to seem calm to the best of your ability but you already knew you were failing.

He gave a quick glance at the controls before looking back at you causing you to look at his feet. “Four.” He said in a raspy voice, you hummed as you looked back to stare at the floor. The voice in the back of your head was beginning to scream louder to make a run for it but you had no idea what you could do. You’re sure everyone was asleep and definitely wouldn’t answer the door at this hour of the night, but you also couldn’t risk him finding out where exactly you lived. If you tried to make a run back to your car and he followed you’d not only make it obvious but it’d also be dangerous.

A plan came to mind, it was your best chance, “oh looks like I already pressed your floor on accident,” you laugh nervously pressing the third floor button as a way to get closer to the lobby.

He seemed displeased as he responded with a small, “oh.” The digits on the small screen above the doors showed each floor going up. You needed to take the stair cases since the elevator was no good, hopefully he isn’t ballsy enough to follow you as you get off.

The ding of the elevator chimed as you reached the third floor, you’re quick to walk off hearing the doors begin to close, sigh in relief but your breath stills as you hear another set of feet softly pad behind you. You glance over your shoulder and all senses in your body go on high alert. He’s trailing behind and smiling in a way that send a chill up your spine. The voice in your head screams so loud you can no longer ignore it, “RUN!” You wasted no time and began to dash for the stairs. The man chuckles following in pursuit.

He grasps your shirt and yanks you back giving you whiplash as you make harsh contact with the floor. You grunt as you try to get up but your arms are soon pinned and a weight is forced upon you. The man is on top of you as he laughs. “Relax honey I just wanna have fun.” He chuckles, you’re legs thrash around not being pinned causing your knee to make hard contact with his groin causing to shout in pain, his grip looses and you take the chance to kick him off you, he goes back and is flown to the wall, a loud thud coming for it. You quickly rise to your feet and run for the stairs, you contemplate for running up stairs to your floor or to the lobby but decided for the lobby. You defend down one flight before you hear the door slam open, you knew it was the man so your begin to skip a couple of steps to decedent down the stairs faster. “Come back you bitch!” He shouts out.

Relief comes once you reach the end of the stairs and see the lobby door. You swing it open not bothering to close it as you ran across to the entrance, the man quick and hot on your tail you fear you might not even make it to your car. You snag your car keys from your pocket and walk right out the door and make a b-line to your car, parked a few feet away.

The man soon come out the door and looks around to before his eyes land on you, your car not to far from you. Both of your were too focused on one thing, you both failed to notice certain tall bulking figure dress in all black with a black balaclava.

Simon had just barely arrived home, his deployment was expected to take longer but due to the his great performance along with the 141 they were able to go home a week early. He had just gotten out of his truck and heading to the back to grab his duffel bag when he was suddenly alerted by the sudden occurrence, the complexes front door swinging open by you as you ran out, you seemed to run with urgency and by the look on your face it was something bad and it seemed to have terrified you, but from what? His question was answered when the door was slammed open again and out came a man in his late 30’s or 40’s, he clearly was a homeless guy and possibly a drug addict, he stopped look around, he completely overlooked Simon, probably due to his dark clothing the the parking lot poorly lit, the guy scanned the area searching for something until his sight was set on you and wasted no time in following you in pursuit.

This set alarms off for Simon, the man was obvious chasing you with malicious intent, he quickly began to run after you two, he reached down to his upper thigh toward his handgun that was strapped to his thigh, he gripped the weapon and pulled it out of its holster. Simons mind screaming at him to get the guy and protect you before he could lay a finger on you.

You were only a couple of feet away until the man lunged and tackled you to the solid rough ground. Pain eachted though you as some areas of your bare skin scrapped against to ground, your pants ripping and exposing your skin and scaling it as well. Blood beginning to seep out from the wounds. “Get off!” You screamed out, you body pinned down, your legs pinned by his, you wrists helps down with one hand and hair violently pulled with his other hand causing you to cry out.

Before the man could speak he was suddenly jerked off you. In a flash he was on the ground, Simon pinning him to the floor. The man tried to shout until a cold metal was shoved into his mouth, which he soon found out was Simons gun. “You fucking bastard.” Was all Simon shouted before he pulled the gun away and angled the butt of the gun to the man and swung it down to his face over and over.

You had turned on back to see a hooded man in all black on top of the homeless guy and beating the shit out of him with something I his hand but you couldn’t tell with how fast he kept swinging his arm. You watched in shock hearing the homeless guy cry out begging for mercy and even apologizing which unknowingly made you smile and feel a little better. After a few good hits the hooded man stopped, which gave you the chance to look at what was in his hand, it was gun. Was this your neighbor, you wondered, you’ve seen him around once in awhile and only really greeted each other, you converse aged rarely but one time he told you his name was Ghost, which you found odd but didn’t really mind, you knew he worked in the military with him gear and uniform especially with his cargo pants that had his gun strapped to his thigh, seeming the strap you just thought of confined that this guy definitely was your neighbor.

The homeless man lied on the ground limply, groaning and slight cries of pain coming from his now bloodied face, you had a feeling his had a few facial fractures, you swore you heard a few bones cracking from him every time Ghost made contact with his face. You wiped away some tears you didn’t know you had as Ghost loomed over the guy, breathing heavily, your sniffing was what broke him from his trance as he glanced over his shoulder to look at you. He was able to get a good look at you to realize you were his neighbor too, he let out a few breathes of relief too see only a few scratches on you.

“You alright yn?” He asked, his voice deep and out of breath.

You let out a shaken breath you didn’t know you were holding as you nodded. “Thank god you were here.” You whispered staring at the homeless guy who knocked out a few second ago. Ghost really did a number on him, you thought examining his bloodied face, his nose looked broken and bent.

Simon sighed agreeing with you. “You’re lucky I just barely arrived, had I arrived later or earlier…” he pauses, the possibilities that the man could’ve done to you spooked him more than he’d like to admit.

Simon didn’t finish his sentence and opted to staying silent a long with you, you sat on the ground catching your breathes until Simon moved to place his gun back in his holster with the butt still bloodied along with his hand. He rises to his feet walking over to you and held out his gloved one. You grasp it, it felt warm even through the material of the glove, he grasps your hand softy but secured enough to help you up as he lifts you up to your feet like nothing.

He called the cops so you two waited with Simon standing by the man watching him like a hawk ready to ounce at the slightest movement. He tried his best to distract you with some conversations, when the police finally arrived, they had an ambulance to come and take the man, they got your information and asked for details of what happened, they soon wrapped everything up and took off.

“Cmon, let’s get you cleaned up.” He says leading you back inside the apartment. You completely forgot about your injuries till Ghost mentioned them. You almost told him that you could take care of yourself but ultimately decided to just let it happen. It was silence on the way up, the elevator was a little awkward but once you two finally arrived on your floor Simon finally broke the silence. “I have a first aid kit in my place if your ok with that?” You nodded the adrenaline finally subsiding and the aches and stings start coming through.

Simon noticed a slight limp in your walk, some blood soaking around your injures, and some blood still seeping on the injuries from your bottom lip and forehead. As if you could read his mind you spoke before he could voice his concern. “I’m fine I just feel a little sore is all, maybe I pulled my leg but it’s fine.” You mumbled seeing your door and Simons door in view turning into the hall.

Stopping at his door he pulls out his keys, unlocking the door to his flay you follow him in as he stands to the side allowing you to walk in before closing the door behind you. “Make your self comfortable on the couch I’ll be back with the kit. With some aspirin and water. ” He says turning on the light to reveal the living space as he walks down the hall.

You plop yourself on the couch with a sigh until a wave of pain crashed through you, a groan left your lips, you leg burned as you look down at it. You soon realized the blood beginning to seep through the fabric of your clothes leaving a tiny blotch of a deep crimson. Carefully lifting up the fabric of your pants the wound fully came into view. It was ugly, your leg was dripping a lot of blood for such a minor injury which worried you fearing you could possibly need stitches.

“You didn’t tell me you were bleeding.” Simon spoke, the sudden noise of his deep voice spooked you not even hearing his footsteps and seeing him walk over to the side of the couch.

“Jesus Simon, you’re like a damn ninja creeping around so quiet.” you mutter, rolling up the material. Simon kneeled in front of you placing the kit on the coffee table. Opening the box, he fished out a gauze pad, alcohol pads, and bandages. He took his gloves off revealing his bare hands, you watched his movements but even the feeling of his warm skin against your leg startled you.

Simon ignored your comment as he remained silent, you worried you might've soured his mood especially since he practically saved your life and brought you inside his house to take the time to attend to your wounds but you’re thoughts were cut short when he handed you the bottle of aspirin and water.

“Thanks.” You muttered taking the bottles, taking out two pills you drop them into your mouth before opening the water bottle. You take a swig before swapping the liquid and pills. Ghost prepped the stuff as you did so waiting for you to finish.

"Brace yourself," he spoken breaking the silence and your thoughts. Before you could process what was happening, Simon brought the alcohol-soaked gauze pad to your wound. you hissed in pain, the hot searing pain outnumbered out the cold wetness of the pad. your leg was kept still by Simon's hand gripping your calf to be still, you were were too busy with the pain to think much about how impressively strong his grip on your leg was.

As Simon was close to finishing up, you kept your eyes on him, you didn’t want to stare and seem rude or make Simon uncomfortable but this was the first time you really got to look at what the mask didn’t hide. You took in the little scar of his right cheek that disappeared down into the mask, the hairs on his blond eyelashes that were beautiful and long and what most entranced you were his eyes. They were a beautiful hazel, the color vary based on the different lighting. With the light shining on half of his face one eye shined like a diamond reveal a beautiful honey brown color while his other eye was dark like an abyss.

Unfortunately his eyes were to enticing that you failed to process the movement of his head turning up to you, his eyes boring right back into yours and the movement of his covered mouth, “You gonna keep gawking at me or are you gonna answer my question?” His gruff voice broke you out of your trace as realization hit your mind, you face began to burn as your mind screamed at you in embarrassment.

“Uhhh- I- I… What…. What was the question?” You muttered nervously, avoiding looking at Simon feeling shame from being caught.

“Are you okay to walk or do you need help?” He repeated still kneeling down beside you causing him to look up at you.

You didn’t wanna admit it but your legs couldn’t keep you up anymore. As nice as it would sound to have Simon help you and be up against his body, you saved him the trouble. “I’ll be fine. Thanks again Si.” You thank him before you ‘try’ to pull yourself up to your feet only to pathetically look like an elderly person due to the couch being close to the ground. Your face burned in embarrassment as you plopped back down on the couch and looked at the floor in defeat as Simon still stood there in silence just watching you. “I need help…” you muttered.

You heard Simon snort as he steps to you and sets your arm over his shoulder and slipping his hands beneath your back and knees and lifting you up bridal style. You gasped and wrapped your arms around Simon tightly. “Simon?!” You called out but he didn’t bother and began to walk towards his door.

“Welcome.” Was all he said taking his hand beneath your back to his door knob, twisting the knob and opening the door, not worried about you falling with the death grip you had on him. The trip only took a few steps until Simon reached your front door. Slowly he lowered you down as you eased your grip and stood on your feet. You could feel the cold begin to replaces Simons warmth which made you shiver. “Got your Keys?” He asked, you nod before fishing out your house keys from your pocket.

As you finally unlock the door, you began to limp your way into your home until Simon gently grasped your left arm and swing it over his shoulder lifting most of your weight off your injured leg. You were going to protest but decided against it and savor the help and warmth he provided you.

“Where to?” He asked, silence for a second until you bobbed your head towards the hallway.

“My bedroom, last door at the end of the hall.” You say, making your way towards your door you turn the knob and make your way in. Simon helps you settle onto your bed, sitting at the edge of your mattress. As soon as you got settled Simon began to make his exit muttering an awkward ‘goodnight’ until you spoke. “Simon,” you call out making him stop at your doorway. He turned around and eyes you, “Thank you, really, you saved me. I don’t know what the hell I would’ve done if you hadn’t arrived at the right time. I don’t even know what would’ve happen to me had you not been there…”

That thought seemed to haunt not only you but Simon as well. The mere thought of seeing you in a gruesome way triggered memories he wish he could burn out of his mind. He sighed and walked back up to you, setting a hand on your shoulder, he could see the thought was troubling you the most. “Me too, ‘m glad your not too beat up. And there’s no need to thank me.”

“We’ll I mean you took me to your place and took the time to help deal with this mess so, and in a way I should be thanking you.” You mumbled shifting your legs to examine the bandages.

“‘S fine, jus’ wanted to make sure you’re alright. You should get some rest though, ya look like shite.” He chuckled.

You laughed out an “ass,” before nodding. “Can’t deny that though, I’ll clean up and head to bed then. You get some rest I’m sure you need the extra sleep coming back from deployment and then having to deal with all the fiasco.”

“You sure you should do that?” He asks.

“Yeah, I’m sure, the aspirin should be kicking in here in a few, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Stop worrying and get to sleep.” You joke.

Simon nods gives you a small pat on your back before making his way out of your room. “Alright, I’ll see you around,” he says,

“Good night Simon.” You smile.

Simon grabs your doorknob and began to close the door before looking at you once more you could see his eyes slightly wrinkle, he was smiling. “Good night (y/n).”

~~~~~~~~~

Just as you suspected the aspirin finally kicked in a few minutes after Simon left. You did what you needed to do, shower and avoid getting your bandages wet. After dressing in your sleep wear, you walked to the kitchen for a drink when you noticed a paper on your table. Picking it up you examined the numbers written on there with a note below it.

‘Here’s my number If you contact me, also lock the top lock on your door. -Simon’

You smiled at the note before taking your drink, setting the cup down with the note still in hand you make your way to your front door seeing the bottom lock already locked, you lock the top one before heading back to your room.

You sit on your bed and grab your phone before putting in Simons number into your contacts.

You: Got your note. top is locked, thanks 👍🏼

It didn’t take long till you got a text back.

Simon💀: No problem, stay safe and be more aware of your surroundings love, I won’t always be around to save your arse.

You laughed trying to ignore the nickname as you finally settle into your covers.

You: Yes Sir 👍🏼

Simon💀: Good girl.

[bluebeary-jay]

Be still my foolish heart (don't ruin this on me)

Neighbor!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: you and Joel have been neighbors for a while but despite your mutual interest in one another, you never crossed this line. until, after one tense situation, Joel slips up (based on this wonderful request!)

Tags: friends to lovers, love confessions, fluff and angst, Joel is your sexy neighbor you shamelessly drool over, also his toolbelt is an important character in the fic (don't judge me)

Warnings: angst, 'nice guy' alert 🙄, attempted assault (stopped by Joel), some nsfw content but not actual smut (yar girl is gettin there 😌)

Word count: 6.2K

A/N: hiiii my darlings!! sorry for the wait, i know it's been a long time but life was crazy. here's sth i've been workin for a looong time and honestly i stared at it for so long i no longer know if i'm proud of it or not 🙈 anyway, i really hope you guys will like it and as always, happy reading!! 💕

“I really don’t know how to thank you, Joel. This is incredible.”

Joel watched, slightly embarrassed, as you walked around the table with a wide, bright smile. You gripped one of the legs – the one that was previously crookedly attached and broke down when you put something heavier on the counter – and tested its stability. After a successful inspection you looked up at him.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Nah, nothin’ of the sort.” He waved his hand, feeling a big lump in his throat when you directed that pretty smile of yours at him. “M’just glad I could help.”

“You didn’t have to fix this, too, though.” You brushed the edge of the table which Joel sanded so you wouldn’t get a splinter from the rough surface. His eyes followed your fingertips before he coughed.

“Didn’t want you to hurt yourself. This side was practically smashed up, after all…”

“Still, I didn’t even need to ask you.” You shook your head in thoughts before glancing at him with gratitude. “Thanks again.”

“You really gotta stop thankin’ me.” Joel started to gather his things into the toolbox and wiped his palms on his pants (certainly not because they were slick with sweat). “It was a piece of cake.”

“But, you know.” You tilted your head to the left and right, scrunching your nose playfully, and it was so fucking adorable that Joel thought his heart was going to give out. “You already fixed the sink in my kitchen, that hole in the wall, my door, and now my table… Are you sure I’m not leeching off your generosity?”

A half-smile found its place on Joel’s face, and he shook his head with a chuckle. “M’sure. It’s only fair since we’re neighbors, sweet girl.”

Sweet girl.

Joel never knew if he wasn’t crossing the line by calling you that. You never gave any sign of discomfort or disgust when he did, but he also recognized that regardless of your reaction, he should stop. He couldn’t deny that his old heart harbored an embarrassingly big crush on you – after all, you were the most beautiful girl he had ever laid his eyes on – but it wasn’t right to think about you in that way.

If he only knew that every time he let those words of endearment slip, your heart started to do crazy somersaults.

Joel Miller was an extremely handsome man, there was no denying that. And with his deep drawl, the salt-and-pepper hair, the warm, brown eyes and that dangerous smirk he sometimes sent in your direction… it was no wonder you fell for him.

It also didn’t help that he was so kind, always ready and eager to help you with the smallest inconvenience. Sometimes it made you want to smash something in your house yourself, just to have an excuse for him to come over again and for you to be able to watch him work.

But you weren’t that desperate, yet. Yet.

Your daydreaming was rudely interrupted by a series of knocks on your front door. Both your heads snapped in the direction of the sound, but when you recognized the familiar pattern of it, your mood dampened in an instant.

Joel noticed the change in your expression, of course, and immediately stood up, leaving the toolbox on the floor.

“What is it?” he asked with a hint of alert in his gruff voice, but you shook your head.

“It’s nothing. Don’t go yet, okay? I’ll be right back.”

You exited the room before he could ask another question, and Joel furrowed his brows. He stayed rooted in spot, listening to your heavy step as you walked to the door and opened it. And then… he heard a male voice that started to say something to you.

Joel couldn’t help but grind his teeth as he finished gathering his stuff, ready to go back home. It was the second time that some man came to visit you while you had him over, and the bitterness he felt in his mouth was even more noticeable than on the previous occasion.

He knew you were quite popular in Jackson, especially with boys your age. There was always someone offering to buy you a drink or dance whenever you went out with your friends, and once Joel had to even step in when two drunk guys kept pestering you. But as much as it pained him, some of those men who showed genuine interest in you were quite nice. And good-looking.

And a lot younger than him.

He knew very well that he was too old for you. He knew that he shouldn’t fantasize about sharing a life with you, and that thinking of any form of intimacy between you and him was making him a big old creep, but no matter how many times he swore to himself it’ll be the last, he could not stop. You were just so beautiful, so sweet and so nice…

He saw your smiling face when he went to bed late at night, and imagined your body beside him when he woke up early in the morning. He looked at your house on his way to work and wondered if you were eating breakfast already, taking a shower or still sleeping peacefully amidst the many blankets he saw once on your bed. He felt a rush of energy and endorphins every time you knocked on his door, asking him to help you with something, and it only enhanced his already existent protectiveness toward you.

Suddenly, Joel heard a raised male voice from the porch, which instantly got his guard up. He quickly followed the sound, and upon rounding the corner he saw you trying to close the door on Jack, a boy he recognized but never talked to. He saw him a couple of times at the bar, though he wasn’t one of those bothering you and never seemed to give anyone any trouble.

Still, you looked really uncomfortable, so when your and Joel’s eyes met, he nodded reassuringly and took his place in front of you.

“Is somethin’ the matter?” he asked dryly. The sight of him took Jack aback and he opened his mouth, looking lost for a good moment. Joel raised his eyebrows, and the young man cleared his throat.

“Nothing at all. We were just chattin’.” Then Jack looked over Joel’s shoulder at you, completely ignoring the other man. “What the fuck is Miller doing in your house, anyway?”

You stammered, but Joel kept his cool, leaning against the doorframe casually. Jack was tall and well-built, but still smaller than Joel, and he made use of this fact to intimidate the boy to the extreme.

“Mr Miller is helpin’ her with the sink that needs fixin’,” Joel answered instead with a pang of irritation. “And you’re kinda interruptin’.” Jack didn’t move, and Joel clenched his jaw. “Scurry. Now.”

The boy huffed, murmuring something under his breath before he bid you a grudging adieu. Joel shut the door behind him with more force than he intended and took a second to calm his breathing before turning back to you.

“Sorry if that was too harsh–”

“No, don’t apologize.” You sighed tiredly and went to the living room, plopping down on the couch. “It’s okay. Maybe he’ll back off a little.”

Joel bit the inside of his cheek, wondering if he should ask the question that was gnawing at him mercilessly.

“Are…” he started, and you lifted your head. “I mean, are you two…”

“No!” you quickly answered, blushing a little to Joel’s surprise. “No, no, nothing of the sort. He asked me out and I told him I’m not interested, but he still tries to…” You waved your arm in the direction when he saw the youngster last. “I don’t know, convince me?”

Joel sat down next to you, clasping his hands together. “Well… if he ever gives you any trouble, you lemme know, alrigh’?”

A small smile spread across your face when you tilted your head to look at him.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Then a playful glint appeared in your eyes, and your smile turned mischievous. “...Mr Miller.”

A breathless laugh escaped Joel, and he dragged his hand over his face, praying that he managed to stifle a groan wanting to escape his chest. He shook his head to regain some clarity, but could still feel all the blood in his body rushing down. It didn’t help that your couch was too small, and your knees were touching – though Joel couldn’t tell if it happened when he sat down or a little bit later.

Fuck.

“Shut up,” he just murmured, not looking at you in fear you’ll see what your words did to him. “I tried to make him leave quicker.”

“And he did. And I think you deserve a reward for your help.”

You stood up and for a second Joel panicked. A reward, you said.

He couldn’t help the images that flooded his brain in that moment – of you on your knees in front of him, or bent over the table he just fixed. His eyes went to your thighs, and his own flexed involuntary when he envisioned how you’d feel underneath him, what sweet sounds he could coax out of you, how soft your skin would be in those places you kept covered…

But then you walked past him, and he snapped out of the naughty daydreams.

“Wh-where are you goin’?” he asked, his voice strained, and you looked over your shoulder with an oblivious smile.

“I made a cake this morning. I’m gonna bring you a piece, yeah?”

You didn’t wait for an answer, and just left the room with pep in your step.

Joel groaned and let his head fall back, covering the redness of his cheeks with his hands.

Idiot.

Almost two weeks have passed since the last time you asked for his help with something, and surprisingly, Joel was okay with that. After that embarrassment he experienced in his own mind, he told himself that it would be prudent to distance himself from you for a little bit. At least until he could act normally around you.

He still thought about you constantly, that he couldn’t help. Every time he saw you in town he instantly felt lighter, but so very often you were accompanied by another man – and no matter if you seemed comfortable with the attention or not, Joel always had this urge to come over and protect you from any unwanted suitors.

He was being ridiculous, he knew that. You didn’t like him the way he liked you, and even if he somehow grew a pair and told you about his feelings, a pretty and young girl like you would never be interested in someone who could be her father’s age.

The thought of you thinking of him as a father figure churned up his guts, making him feel sick. Jesus Christ.

But it still did nothing to weaken his infatuation, and when you finally knocked on his door again, asking if he could fix the rack in your room, he didn’t even hesitate before agreeing.

So here you both were. Joel, looking at the problem at hand, and you, looking at (none-the-wiser) Joel.

“S’nothin’ big,” he finally said after some examination. “I’ll replace the shelf and reaffix it to the wall better. Shouldn’t take long.”

You nodded, but truthfully you were only half-listening. The sight of Joel in your bedroom was far too distracting.

It’s been so long since Joel was a guest in your house – well, only a couple of weeks tops – but you missed seeing him in your private space. Though one could say, he never truly left with how often you thought about him.

So maybe that’s why you were so shameless with your staring.

His broad shoulders were to die for, and you bit your lip absentmindedly as your eyes wandered across his muscular back and forearms, usually hidden under the sleeves. You knew you shouldn’t be ogling your neighbor who was nice enough to lend you a helping hand whenever you needed, but… well, a little admiring wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?

And there was a lot to admire.

“You listenin’ to me?”

The brutal wake-up call of his voice pulled you out of your thoughts, making you blush wildly and your body hot with embarrassment at being caught staring.

Okay, maybe it would hurt someone.

“Y-yeah,” you stuttered, feeling your whole neck heating up rapidly. “Uh-huh. I understand.”

Joel’s lips stretched into a lopsided smile, and he turned to face you fully.

“I asked if you have some nails in the house,” he repeated, not breaking eye contact. If you allowed yourself to be delusional, you’d say his voice sounded almost… flirtatious. But that was probably only your head telling you what you wanted to hear.

“Yeah…” you breathed distractedly, but then shook your head quickly. “I mean, no. No, I don’t.”

Joel smirked, stepping closer to you and making you swallow heavily. Your gaze once again dropped to his strong arms, down to his big hands and… fuck. He had his thumbs hooked in his tool belt, already hanging low on his waist, and it made him look so ridiculously hot.

Lord have mercy.

“What got ya so distracted, sweet girl?”

Have fuckin’ mercy.

“Nothing!” you said, a bit louder than you intended, crossing your arms over your chest to do something with this splitting tension in your body. “I was just looking at… the shelf.”

Joel’s eyebrows shot upright. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he didn’t believe you. “The shelf,” he repeated blankly, and you nodded, trying to appear calm despite feeling like you were going to burst into flames if he kept looking at you like that. But then Joel chuckled, and his eyes turned as warm as always. “M’only teasin’. Stop lookin’ so scared.”

“I’m not–” you started, but your lips also spread into a grin when you saw his genuine smile. “God, you’re insufferable. Will you fix it or not?”

“So demandin’,” Joel mused, shaking his head and walking out of the room. “I’m gonna go get the nails from my house. Be right back.”

You whispered under your breath something he didn’t hear, but it made him smile to himself nonetheless.

It was so easy to slip back into this playful banter with you, Joel thought as he made his way back home. Maybe things between you two won’t be as awkward anymore (though he was aware all this awkwardness was his fault), and he could go back to being your friend.

No matter that he wished he could be something more. No, it wasn’t right to think that way. What you two had was enough.

Still, as he looked for those damn nails, he couldn’t get out of his mind the way that adorable blush spread across your face. And how your eyes lingered on his figure when he looked at you. But no, surely he was only imagining things.

…right?

Joel sighed, closing the door behind him and going back toward your house, his thoughts already on the best way to fix that shelf of yours and maybe stabilize it a bit more, because by the look of how it hung on the wall, it was only a matter of time until he’ll have to visit again.

Or maybe he’ll leave it be. Only to have an extra excuse to see you sooner rather than later.

He rolled his eyes at his own musings, but the train of his thoughts abruptly stopped when he saw your front door slightly opened. He slowed down, wondering if you went after him… but no, there was no sign of you anywhere, and he was pretty sure he closed it on his way out.

And then he heard a faint sound of glass shattering.

Joel’s mind went completely blank. In a blink of an eye he stormed into the house, his survival instincts formed over the last twenty years kicking in and screaming for him to find you, to make sure you’re safe and unharmed.

But your bedroom was empty and when Jeol yelled your name, no one answered him. You were within the safe walls of Jackson, and there was no way the infected or raiders could ambush you, but still Joel felt an icy wave of panic washing over him, his mind providing him with terrible scenarios that would explain the open door and your silence.

Then a small thud reverberated from the other room, and Joel’s legs carried him there without a second thought.

He slammed the door open, and his eyes immediately locked on the man holding you against the wall. Your assaulter – that fucking kid, Jack – had one hand covering your mouth, the other forearm pinning your shoulders to the wall. His knee was between your legs and Joel could see you standing on your tippy toes, trying to pull away as far as possible.

Joel’s hands were itching to get rid of the threat that guy was for you, but first his gaze involuntarily shifted to your face – and his heart clenched painfully when he noticed your terrified expression and tears streaming down your cheeks.

The blinding rage in Joel’s veins almost charred him from the inside out and he felt like he was about to explode from the fury seething inside of him. In two long strides he ran towards Jack and all but threw him off of you, stepping to the side to act as a shield between you and him.

“You just signed your death sentence, kid,” he growled and punched the other man in the face when he tried to get up. You screamed behind him, but Joel ignored it, the need to beat the living daylights out of this little shit almost overwhelming his senses.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” Jack yelled from the floor, holding a hand in front of his face. “You broke me fucking nose, man!”

It was true, the blood was flowing freely from the already swelling nose, but it didn’t feel like enough. Joel had to utilize every fiber of his willpower to keep himself from venting his wrath on this kid. He knew damn well it wouldn’t end well for either of them – Jackson had hard laws when it came to violence.

“You deserve a lot worse,” Joel gritted his teeth and motioned with his head towards the exit. “Now get out.”

“She wanted it!” Jack shouted, as if he hoped that his explanations would make the situation any better. He wiped the blood flowing from his nose, glaring at you angrily. “Stupid bitch,” he snarled, “can’t make up her mind. Didn’t I do enough for you?! I was nice, always helped you–”

“Get the fuck out of here before I break your jaw,” Joel cut in, clenching his fists and taking a step forward. The young fucker seemed to size him up for a couple of seconds, probably wondering if starting a fight was worth it, but eventually spluttered contemptuously.

“Fine,” he snarled, and then looked below Joel’s arm at you. “I wouldn’t want to catch somethin’ from you, either way, if you’re already fucking this old geezer.”

Your face, and also Joel’s, grew hot – but while yours was red from embarrassment and shame, his was burning from barely concealed rage.

“OUT!!” he shouted, his thundering and powerful voice making both you and Jack flinch. His face was twisted in fury and the other man must’ve realized that staying here longer would only mean worse for him, because he scrambled to his feet and ran out without another word.

The front door slammed shut behind him, and for a few seconds a heavy silence hung in the air.

Joel took a steadying breath, trying to restore his cool, but he felt himself shaking from rage. If he didn’t come back in time… if he was a minute late, he didn’t want to think what that bastard would’ve done to you.

Trying to shut down the intrusive thoughts, Joel turned around and knelt by where you were still seated on the ground. He couldn’t will the tension in his body to lessen, and his muscles and tendons were so taut that he thought they were going to snap. But he forced his hands to unclench before he gently cupped your face.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked quietly, his brows knitted in worry. You shook your head, but your eyes were filled with tears, and it felt like something was ripping Joel’s chest apart.

“He pushed me. And I… the glass.”

You lifted your hand and Joel winced when he saw a shard of green glass – from the flower vase which previously stood on the table – embedded in your palm. A trickle of blood was running down your wrist, but he presumed there would be much more once he took it out.

“It’s alright, sweet girl. I’ll take care of it.” I’ll take care of you. “Let’s go to the kitchen so I can patch you up, ‘kay?”

You nodded, letting him pull you to your feet.

Once you made your way there and you instructed him on where some bandages and disinfectant were, Joel gently grabbed your waist and hoisted you up onto the table, seemingly without any problem at all. You blushed when you felt his touch, for a moment forgetting about the pain piercing your palm, but the gravity of what you just experienced crept up on you again soon enough.

Joel noticed your silence as he carefully removed the shard and bandaged your hand. He didn’t want to imagine what exactly happened when he was gone, but it was obvious it shook you quite strongly. So when he saw tears welling in your eyes, he threw all caution to the wind and wrapped his arms tightly around you.

Not one ounce of regret had time to haze his mind over, because you instantly clung to him, too, letting out a shaky exhale. Joel hugged you tightly, letting go of all the tension and fear in his body. He was never this close to you before, and he allowed himself to indulge in the warmth of your body and the feeling of your arms around him, reminding him that you’re okay, that you’re with him now. He breathed in your scent, hiding his nose in the crown of your head and pressing his lips to your hair, hoping to calm you down.

“It’s alright, baby. I’m here, you’re safe now.”

You tensed, but Joel just held you closer, not realizing he said something wrong. He planted a soft kiss on your hairline, sighing when you started moving your hands up and down his back soothingly. Despite standing up, Joel felt relaxed like never before, like he could fall asleep right here and now.

That is, until you spoke up.

“What did you say?”

…shit.

Joel opened his mouth, then closed it almost immediately. His eyes raced wildly across the room, trying to think of what to say, but he didn’t let go of you. There might’ve been a selfish reason behind his inaction, but mostly he didn’t want you to see his flustered face.

“Nothin’,” he answered after a pregnant and rather uncomfortable pause, and cleared his throat. “You don’t wanna… t’was nothin’ important.”

Maybe you really didn’t hear him. It would have saved him a lot of trouble and embarrassment, and probably another two weeks of his life of avoiding you. But judging by the silence in the room, he wasn’t so lucky.

“Did you…” You swallowed before finishing softly, “call me ‘baby’?”

Joel cringed, closing his eyes tightly, and prayed for some higher power to smite him off the surface of the Earth. But again – luck wasn’t on his side.

The silence prolonged, and you finally grew impatient. You pulled away, looking up to scan his face. “Joel?”

“I’m sorry, it… slipped out,” he mumbled, all red and not meeting your eyes. That was a shame, because if he did find the courage to look at you, he would notice a small smile forming on your face as you regarded him.

“So I heard you correctly?” you asked again, and he sighed heavily, running his hand over his face and rubbing his eyes.

“Yes, yes you did. M’really sorry, I wasn’t thinkin’. I just tried to comfort you and– fuck,” he whispered to himself, lowering his hand but still not looking in your direction. “I, I don’t want ya to feel uncomfortable. I’m sorry, I can go…”

“No.” Your uninjured hand shot out and grabbed his shirt before you could process what you were doing. Joel glanced down at your fist clutching the material, and then back up into your wide eyes. “Please, no. Stay.”

His lips parted slightly at your request and unexplained (at least from his perspective) hope filling your gaze. He looked so adorable that you had never wanted to kiss him more than right now.

“Come closer,” you pleaded, barely louder than a whisper.

Joel obliged, letting your hand guide him. You gently pulled him to you, so that he was almost standing between your legs, and your fingers loosened their hold, now smoothing over the material of his shirt.

You took a deep breath and leaned forward, bracing your weight on his chest. Joel looked puzzled by your behavior, but when he realized what you were doing, he stopped you gently by putting his own hand on your shoulder.

“No,” he whispered, his voice full of pain, but steady. “Don’t do that. You… you’re in a state of shock.”

“I know what I want,” you spoke equally quietly, staring at him with nothing but pure genuineness and need in your eyes. “And I want you, Joel.”

“Please, ba–” he cut himself off before he could finish this word. It pained him deeply to reject you, but he knew that if he let you kiss him, you’d regret it later. And that he wouldn’t be able to survive. “I’m sorry, sweet girl, but it wouldn’t be right. I don’t wanna be takin’ advantage of you.”

Your face fell in confusion and disappointment, but you didn’t let him go even when he put a light pressure on your hand.

“You never..” you gulped, searching his face, “thought about it? About… me, in that way?”

Christ, what was he supposed to say to that? He wouldn’t be able to lie to you, not if you kept looking at him with those innocent and full of desire eyes of yours.

“Don’t ask me.” Joel closed his eyes, the muscle in his cheek pulsing when he felt your touch on the side of his face. “Please, don’t ask me.”

“Because I have,” you continued in a sudden rush of courage. “I think about you constantly, and about us. Every time I invite you over or see you in the town working... And I’m only saying all that, because I thought maybe… maybe you felt it, too. I think you do.” Joel didn’t answer, and you looked up at him with determination you didn’t really feel. “Tell me.”

Joel clenched his jaw, exhaling heavily, but didn’t pull away. He weighed the options in his mind while you waited patiently, and finally, his resolve cracked under your hopeful gaze.

“I think about you,” he began slowly, earnestly, “every night. Every fuckin’ night and day, sweetheart.” His voice was raspy, but that drawl of his so soft and delicious to your ears. “But I shouldn’t. You and I both know that.”

He still hasn’t looked your way. You tried to lean to the side to fit in his field of vision, but Joel turned away even more, attempting to take a step back. You grabbed his shirt again before he could do that, and he didn’t fight you.

“Why not?” you whispered, transfixed on his handsome features.

“‘Cause you deserve better. I’m way too old for you,” he answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, like you should know it already. “You have so many admirers who are probably much more fit for you, and it would be… it is so wrong that I’m lettin’ those thoughts linger.”

“I don’t want any of them, though.” Joel finally locked eyes with you, but still seemed conflicted. You slowly let go of his clothes and reached for his hands, then guided them to your cheeks. You saw his throat bob nervously when you placed them there and brushed his knuckles with your thumbs. “Look, it’s hard for me to open up, but… I really like you. Really.”

Joel swallowed heavily, his face contorted in pain – as if your words were wounding not only his soul, but his very flesh. Then the pressure on your cheeks became a little stronger, and he tentatively swiped his thumbs under your eyes in a loving manner. Your heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings as he slowly scanned your face for any sign of hesitancy, then let his eyelids drop and pressed his forehead to yours. You lifted your chin slightly, nudging his nose with the tip of yours.

“Call me that again,” you whispered pleadingly. His wooden, earthly scent was enveloping all your senses, making you feel so very calm and safe. You’d gladly lose yourself in him. “Please.”

Joel instantly knew what you meant. His resolve was wavering and his body giving in, but the doubt was still there in his mind. The fear that he was somehow reading you wrong.

“Don’t beg me, sweet girl.” His breath was on your lips, beckoning you even closer. “M’too weak for that.”

“Please,” you repeated more urgently, and when he didn’t move, you turned your head and pressed your lips to the inside of his wrist tenderly. “Joel.”

He cursed softly. It appeared that the tension between you both was getting to him, too, and Joel was losing the battle he fought with himself. He lowered his lips to the edge of your jaw, his pupils blown wide and eyelids heavy, almost as if he was under a spell. You whimpered when he withdrew one of his hands on your cheeks, but the loss was quickly replaced by relief when he moved it to the small of your back, pulling you closer and flush against his body.

“You sure about this?” he murmured lowly, making you shiver against him. His nose traveled along your jaw and the column of your neck, then back up until his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “I don’t want ya to regret it.”

“I won’t,” you promised. “Please, baby.”

Your plea sent a shiver down his spine. Joel couldn’t hold back anymore, didn’t want to. It was clear you wanted him, and he never was a strong enough man to deny you anything.

Your eyes met, and Joel took a second to get his heart under control. You were so beautiful, and your skin so soft under his touch… He tilted your chin up, barely able to comprehend that all of it was really happening, that it was you who put his hands on yourself. And you wanted him to kiss you.

For fuck’s sake, you begged him to.

All the remaining traces of his self-control evaporated in a heartbeat, and he pulled you in, pressing your body closer before bringing his lips to yours, locking them in a soft kiss.

His mouth molded perfectly to yours, causing you to sigh with relief at the gentle caress. You felt heat pooling in your stomach, and you were glad for sitting down because your weak knees would surely buckle under you in different circumstances. The intensity of the kiss gradually grew until it became so heated that you had to grab a fistful of Joel’s hair on the nape of his neck for support.

At one point, Joel pried your lips away, searching your eyes with concern. You worried that he was having second thoughts, but the longer he looked at you, the more his own irises darkened with lust and insatiable hunger, making your face burn like it was on fire. His clear want and the knowledge that you were the cause of it made you feel powerful, but somehow at the same time completely naked under his gaze.

Without any warning, he dived back in, his wide palm enveloping one side of your face while he tangled the other hand in your hair. He tugged on it, probably a little rougher than he intended, eliciting a needy moan from your chest. You instantly felt embarrassed about your response, but when you tried to pull away, Joel practically growled, not letting you turn away.

“S’alright, baby,” he rasped, trailing hot kisses down your neck, making your breath hitch in your throat. “Keep makin’ those pretty sounds for me.”

You felt dizzy. Like he could make you melt from the tone of his voice alone.

Having his lips on yours felt better than you have ever imagined, and so perfect that you never wanted this moment to end. But one thought kept nagging at you, making it harder and harder to focus, and finally after some time Joel softly drew away. He sent you a soft, almost shy smile.

“What is it, sweetheart? Not havin’ second thoughts, I hope?”

It hit you in that moment that it wasn’t the first time he looked at you with so much warmth and affection in his eyes. You just never noticed before that he always looked at you this way.

“No, no,” you hurried to reassure him. “Just something… Something I wanted to do for a while.”

He raised his eyebrows playfully. “Somethin’ other than kissin’ your handsome neighbor?”

You clicked your tongue at his unexpected cockiness.

“Not exactly.” Your answer only made him more intrigued, and you grinned. “Indulge me and take a step back.”

Joel squinted suspiciously, but eventually humored you. You bit your lip, feeling giddy at finally having a chance to do something you thought about every time this infuriatingly handsome man was in your house.

His eyes followed the tip of your tongue when it ran across your bottom lip… and you took this moment to hook your thumbs on his tool belt and yank him forward.

Your lips connected again, though it was far from perfect – your teeth clashed together and your noses collided, causing you both to yelp in small pain and discomfort, but you didn’t let go of him. Your joy from this silliness lasted only a couple of seconds, though, because before long Joel started to laugh uncontrollably.

You huffed and tried to kiss him again, but he withdrew out of your reach, wrapping his arms around your waist with a big, goofy smile.

“Get back here.”

“What the hell was that, sweetheart?”

His eyes crinkled in amusement and you felt a bit foolish from what you just did. You turned your gaze down, but Joel lifted your chin with his fingertip, and you couldn’t help but smile, too, when you saw how happy he looked.

“It looked more romantic in my head,” you murmured with an awkward chuckle. “I actually wanted to do it the first time I saw you with that belt on.”

“S’that so?” Joel asked and kissed you briefly again, this time with a hint of hunger he was keeping at bay until now. “You like seein’ me in it?”

“I really, really do,” you whispered, hiding your face in his chest. “I don’t know why, but it look so fucking hot on you…”

“My dirty baby,” Joel purred into your hair. The bright grin on his face only grew when he heard you groaning in embarrassment. “Gimme a kiss.”

You didn’t move, not wanting to face him, so Joel opted to nuzzle the sensitive skin of your neck with his nose. “You’re adorable, y’know that? Don’t get all shy on me now, babygirl.”

A deep sigh escaped your chest and the tension in your shoulders lessened. Joel smirked into the crook of your neck, still planting soft kisses on your skin. His lower back was starting to ache from the position, but there wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be.

And then all the discomfort in his body was put in the shade when you moaned quietly, pressing yourself against him more and wrapping your arms around Joel’s neck.

“Do you wanna get back to my room?” you asked after a while, and Joel hummed into your skin, now littered with love bites his lips and teeth left in their wake.

“You want me to fix that shelf of yours?” he teased back, making you snort.

“Just wanna cuddle with you. If that’s okay.” You nuzzled into his neck, and added quietly. “I can still feel his touch on me. And I only wanna feel you.”

Though Joel would be more than okay with that, by the sounds you were making and the look you were giving him, he doubted that’s all you’ll be doing. Still, his back hurt like hell and he almost let out a relieved groan at the thought of laying down.

“If you want me, baby. If you want me, then I’m all yours.”

Not a week has passed, and Joel had to get his toolbox out again – this time to fix your broken bed.

Though now he knew exactly what caused the damage.