#reader has a phone

[holder-of-saturn]

Alastor x modern day reader

summary: reader who has a phone and uses it. what Alastor is like if he knew someone who has a phone.

word count: 814

You decided to go the hotel for who knows what, weirdly you took attachment to Alastor. He took a while to get used to you on the other hand. He didn't understand why you were obsessed with that—box of noise and all that, of course he was playing dumb, he knows it's a phone.

you don't know why you were attached to him, maybe his style, how he acted, who knows really. He does know why he is interested in you though! He finds it interesting what people of todays time are like of course

he's met with other sinners of more recent times, but never had one at his disposal, right at the hotel. So he finds it fun to check in on you at times, aka coming up behind you randomly. He has asked about the phone you have, and you did explain a bit to him. Why people use them, what makes them so fun, how they work, all that jazz. He did ask if you could play jazz, but said it could never compare to real jazz on the radio.

Always just comes to check what you're doing on it, sometimes even stays in the room to read or do something else. Not if you're playing videos or music, because usually those are inappropriate and not his style at all. You try not to torture him too much.. try

If y'all are even more involved with one another, he starts to question about how much you're on that thing. He asked you one time and you had to check the settings, let's just say it's been more than you think. He kept asking you that, so now you just have it where you can see it easier on your home screen.

He sets a time limit for you, and you have to follow it. If you don't he will break your phone, he's done it to Angel before. You have a time limit of 5-6 hours a day, he would like it to be 4 but, you argued it wasn't enough and he accepted it. He often tells you to read a book.

it also cannot take up too much of your attention, if he's talking to you, he expects you to look at him, at least acknowledge him. probably the same reason he broke Angels phone if you don't he'll most likely just hit it out of your hands or, if he's feeling nice, call you out on it. Then maybe if you still don't listen he'll break it or something of the sorts.

He won't ever, ever, buy a phone or use one, or any technology. He will let you take photos he's in the background of, don't post them though. He's always static-y in them anyways, he can't allow himself to be seen like that, as if he wants to be. But that's only if you're really fond of him, and he finds you acceptable. He will not at all let people he doesn't like take any kind of photo of him. He also prefers those old cameras and stuff like that

He will not touch it at all with his hands or his own body. Do not even try to get him to, he's very persistent about it. But will always make sure the camera isn't facing toward him if possible, and for your safety, and the hotels, pointed away from everything/everyone. So put it in your pocket or something so nothing can be seen.

Often thinks that Vox is listening and can just come into the hotel out of your phone, using his magical teleporting powers (he didn't word it like that lmao) and reminds you of this fact, telling you about it, do you ever really listen? no, you still don't care.

He asked if you bought it from Vox (Voxtech) and if you've ever meant him. so basically he skeptical of Vox, and if Vox does ever try and do something like that, he'll just gloat to you about how he was right. That fuels his pride

To get this a bit straight, he's not scared of Vox. He just kinda thinks it's annoying, because if Vox does try and of something he'll have to deal with it. And while sometimes it can be quite fun to mess with him, other times he has work he needs to get done. If Vox does ever try something he'll be able to handle it

so inclusion, he's interested, entertained and skeptical of it a bit. If y'all are close he will make sure you're not always on the thing, and he will break it/get it out of your hands when needed; he isn't interested in doing anything with one of course, but he doesn't mind you using it. as long as he still gets the attention he wants. and also he thinks vox is annoying.

⟪First post!!!⟫ (kinda)

somehow I made this more about Vox then I was going to lmao, I still like it. also this seems like more then 814 words but whatever

[shotmrmiller]

i need simon to be the one neighbor with a generator when the light's been out for days and when you shakily ask him if he can let you at least charge your phone he just drags you into his home and tells you that you can stay if you pull your weight ie. feed him and wash his ripe work clothes.

sure. you don't know how to cook but he eats it like gordon ramsey made it, doesn't even leave crumbs on the table.

you mix colors with whites, dark with light, but luckily for you, all he wears is black. (not like it matters. if you stained a wife beater pink, he'd blame it on his girl mixing her red thready knickers in with his own clothes)

it works, you suppose, but then he tells you that yall are about to have company so make plenty of food. it's 3 others but they all eat like a family of four.

and this is where things take a turn. where he always left you alone before, his hands are on your shoulders. waist. hips. curling around your ankle, thumb digging into your foot beneath the table. the scottish one notices and tells you both to keep it PG. ye're in decent company, he grumbles.

he helps pick up the dishes once everyone's happy and full of whatever you threw in the oven. stands so close he's pining you against the sink, counter digging painfully into your skin.

"they like ya," he says. well yes, you rather noticed when they kept complimenting the science experiment you called dinner. you also noticed that they called you missus. or maybe you misheard. their accents are pretty thick.

after a nightcap, he sends them on their merry way. "the missus is tired. off with ya." so you hadn't misheard.

you aren't sure how one thing led to another. how you'd been aimlessly drying dishes with a rag to having his head between your thighs, tongue dragging between your folds, fingers pressed into you up to the knuckle.

what do you know is that where he bit your neck as you came still aches. he'd been talking filth that would have even a sailor apple cheeked as he used his spit slick thumb to rub your stiff pearl in tight little circles, feeling you felt your peak approaching at a speed that almost frightened you when he sunk his crooked teeth into the junction of your neck. hard.

enough to feel a bit of a stinging tearing of skin.

ouch. you'd ask if this is also a part of pulling your weight but he's doing it for you as he drags you toward his bedroom.

[gazspookiebear]

Mmm, thinking about Ghost going on a date with reader after not having been in a proper relationship in years

He was never one for hookups, and he could never keep long-term relationships. Most lasted about a month at most before he backed out.

Fast forward to now, he's been invited out by you. He figures it'll be like most other dates, a quick dinner at a noisy restaurant before he gets overwhelmed and leaves.

To his surprise, it isn't. You kept his comfort in mind and suggested a walk by the bay instead.

When he walks beside you in silence, you don't seem to take offense. In fact, you don't seem to mind at all. You fill in his silence with easy conversation, keeping it focused on you and not trying to pry into his personal life.

You don't hesitate when he responds with one word answers, instead taking the opportunity to discuss an interest of your own. By the time it's long past dark out, you offer to take him home, apologizing for not acknowledging the time sooner. He didn't want to stop listening to your voice

When he declines your offer, you smile. You tell him to stay safe, to rest well, and to text you when he gets home.

At his apartment, he can't stop thinking about you. About how polite and kind you were. About how you actually cared about his feelings, how you weren't off put by him.

He glances at his phone.

You receive a text at 1 in the morning. A simple 'Back safe.'

[meowpupp]

owner!price trying to teach puppy!soap restraint but he can’t stop humping puppy!reader all hours of the day :( <3

tw://hybrid smut, denial, noncon(?), electrostimulation, edited by someone with dyslexia

ghost who goes on deployment, forcing him to leave pup!soap with price. he has no other choice, after all, soap is known to be rather.... energetic.

the other hybrid practically sends you into an early heat. every opportunity he gets, johnny pushes you down, rutting his leaky cock against your ass.

he can't help it! johnny's never been exposed to something like you. you're so soft, sweet and submissive. he's never been allowed to bully something so pretty. it's not his fault that your cunt is always drooling for him, or that your back arches so pretty when he bites your neck.

he's relentless, always shoving his big hands under your shirt. if he's not grinding against your ass, he's groping your tits. face buried in your chest as he sucks and bites your nipples. he makes you cry and whine, trying desperately to escape while he holds you still. he won't stop until you cum just from him mouthing your tits.

price doesn't mind at first. he enjoys the way you become even more sensitive. how you whine and cry in his lap after johnny's been particularly rough. but that changes once he slips his fingers in your abused cunt, finding the other mutts cum stuffed deep inside.

it's the following morning that he calls simon, speaking lowly on the phone. not even two hours later, and johnny's sporting a brand new collar.

now each time he touches your pretty body, a jolt of electricity runs up his spine. it's painful. and what's even worse is that it leaves his poor cock flushed and red, pre leaking. all he wants is your pretty cunt wrapped around him, whimpering and whining at your feet.

but price isn't known for being merciful. he doesn't take the collar off, nor does he give the pup any toys. johnny ends up spending days trying to get off. rutting against his hands, the couch, your panties. but nothing helps.

and to make it worse, price fucks you hard each night. not even letting johnny see how your pretty cunt gets all swollen and flushed when price forces his cock in you, or how your tits bounce with each harsh thrust.

poor johnny can only listen as you whine and cry, the wet smacks from price hips slamming against your ass. all while he whimper on the other side of the door, rutting his neglected cock against one of your pillows.

[peachsayshi]

Nanami kento - who rarely ever uses his phone for pictures or videos (he’s a more live in the moment kind of guy) comes home to find you wearing his his oversized white shirt, your black lacy set on full display because the fabric is so worn, and dancing up a storm.

it’s the sexiest, cutest thing he’s seen all day. he’s got his knuckle between his teeth to make sure he doesn’t chuckle, and his phone out hitting record.

he managed to film two full minutes before you catch him.

[jadeddaydream]

Miss You So

Pairing: Jill Valentine x Reader

CW: AFAB reader w/ Fem pronouns, nudes, showering w/ no sex (not yet at least), cunnilingus, fingering, dirty talk, praise, scissoring, overstimulation, begging, teasing.

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: Post DI!Jill (I love older women too much sorry), proofread, love you guys and ty for all the love on my last post!!

It was a rainy night, water dripping down your windows and the temperature low. The cold engulfed you from all angles, no matter how many comforters you cover yourself in. All you could think about is your wife. How she was, what she was doing, how long she was to do it. You knew her work was important to her and that she didn’t like to be disturbed, but how you missed her so. All you wanted was her attention and for her to be home in your arms.

Feeling mischievous and needy, you tried a shower to calm your nerves. Running some hot water you placed your phone on the bathroom counter. You just wanted her home, by any means. A lightbulb went off in your head, you grinning at the sight of your phone. You stepped inside the shower, engulfing yourself under the warm water.

Jill took another sip of her coffee which was quickly growing cold. Chewing on her pen, attempting to finish the report in front of her that was urgent. Her phone on silent mode, vibrated. She wondered who was texting her at this time of night; usually, you were in bed by this time, asleep. She clicked on the message, opening her phone. She hoped it wasn’t an emergency or anything like that.

To her relief, it wasn’t. It was a picture of you in the shower, soapy breasts coming into view. She could see your nipples, hard and perky. Your hand on your collarbone, another message at the bottom. This time it was text, captioned;

‘I miss youuuuu.’

Before she could even reply she was hounded by another goddamn pic, this time it was your hand cupped over your cunt; fingers inside yourself.

Captioned with, “What time will you be home? I don’t think I’ll be able to wait.” With a kissy face emoji completing the sentence. Jill hastily closed her phone, with no reply and began packing up whatever she was working on. She hated to be distracted from her work and you were in for it. She’ll finish the damned reports tomorrow morning. Tossing her bag over her shoulder, she left her office heading towards the parking lot.

The drive home was fast and blurred. Rain poured down on her windshield, she sped through the streets. Jill may have ran a few red lights on the way there, but no one was around anyway. She wondered what you were doing at home, imagining you with a hand between your legs, touching yourself with a fever under the warm water of the shower, covered in nothing but soap. Maybe you moaned her name a couple of times, maybe you were close; holding from finishing yourself off before she got home.

She entered the gate code and drove through the neighborhood, making a couple of turns before pulling up in the driveway. She got out of the car and grabbed her bag before walking up to the front door and pushing her keys inside the lock, twisting them, and opening the door. She kicked her boots off, placing them on the shelf next to the door along with her bag, which she placed on her desk in a room separate from the living room. She walked upstairs, silence following her throughout the house. You wouldn’t even know that she was coming.

Jill made her way up the stairs, anticipation of seeing you. No matter how many times she saw you, it always made her feel something deep, her stomach twisting into knots each time. She walked down the hall and inside your bedroom, seeing the trail of clothes you purposely left to lead her to the bathroom. Jill chuckled at your display of desperation, happy that you desired her as much as she did you. She knew her workaholic tendencies weren’t exactly ideal, and sometimes she just needed a push towards release. She undressed, tossing her clothes in a basket before walking towards your shared bathroom.

You were washing your body with a sensual touch in your movements that isn’t common. But you knew you were going to have company so you continued. Wanting to be witnessed, lust being the only drive behind your actions. You moved the loofah through your breasts, lathering the soap; having drip down your chest and body. You smiled salaciously when you heard the creak of the bathroom door, continuing your previous actions. The door having an issue with the hinges, giving her away.

Jill stepped inside the shower, water spreading across her skin. Your backside, coming into view. She watched as you continued to groom yourself, feeling like a voyeur at the way her eyes scanned your body. She pulled against you against her waist, before speaking.

“Hmm…mind to tell me what the photoshoot was for?” She snuck up behind you, pushing your hair to the side to whisper in your ear.

“I missed you.” You shivered as you felt her hands on your waist, warm breath still on your ear. Her hands came up slowly, now cupping and slowly kneading your breasts. “Missed you too.” She nipped at your neck, watching as you cried out when she pinched your nipple. She pulled away to your surprise, leaving you holding your breath.

“Let’s finish this and I’ll give you all my attention, okay?” She kissed your neck softly, hands returning to your waist as you mumbled out a ‘yes’, still sexually frustrated.

You both washed up, you being playful at times. Blowing bubbles at Jill; who laughed at way foamy bubbles passed through the air towards her. Exchanging kisses here and there and finally finishing with you washing her hair, relishing at the way she hummed when you massaged her scalp. You both stepped out and dried off, Jill staring at you wrapped in nothing but a towel.

“I can see you staring.” You giggled, Jill breaking her aggressive eye contact from your form and returning it to your eyes. “Not like I was trying to hide it.” She grinned, wringing a towel through her hair. You dropped it, wrapping your arms around her neck. Eyes trailing up and down, you bit your lip. God, you drove her crazy.

Jill crashed her lips into yours, before grabbing your arm and having you move to the bedroom. She pushed you on the bed, your body moving upwards to accommodate her. She moves towards you with the intention of devouring you, attaching her lips to yours before moving to your neck. Massaging your breasts while leaving hickeys on your neck. You moaned out, body hot and ready.

She teased you, nipping on the underside of your breast. “Tell me how much you missed me.” She whispered against your skin. You spread your legs, “So much, couldn’t help but think about you all day.” Your body responds to her touch with an uncontrollable ardor. “Yeah, that’s why you sent me those slutty photos; couldn’t take your mind off me?” She loved the distress in your voice, knowing that you were bound to explode if she didn’t touch you where you needed it soon.

But, how she loved to torture you.

Your eyes met hers as she rose to kiss you once again. You looked at her with a gaze that was laced with sin. Your body subconsciously arched into hers, wanting nothing more but her touch, her scent, her mouth, her everything. You watched as she moved lower, her hands coming to grab the underside of your thighs.

“Wow, you’ve made such a mess and we just got out the shower.” Jill chuckled, her breath making contact with your cunt, Jill spreading you; watching you leak onto the expensive sheets. “Dirty girl,” She rasped, biting at your thigh. You let out a sigh of distress and desire, wanting nothing more but to have her please you. But first, she had to get her fill of watching you crumble.

“Please, I want you so bad,” You whispered, moaning at Jill sucking hickeys into your thighs. It was a show really, watching your swollen cunt clench around nothing and your stomach cave in along with your face in an emotion nothing short of pure want. “Jill.” Your voice taking her out of her own head, filled with nothing but scenarios of making your scream.

She bit you once more, before finally moving down onto your swollen bud; teasing it a bit with a couple slow licks and moving to sucking, hard. You cried out, hand reaching behind you to grab a pillow to keep your sanity. Your shaky and breathless moans were reminiscent of paradise, Jill willing to do anything to receive the key. She snuck two fingers towards your entrance, pressing them inside. She watched as you howled, your voice shaky and winded.

“Yes!” Your eyes rolled back as you felt her fingers move upwards, her mouth still stimulating your clit. Your hips bucking up involuntarily, Jill pressing down on your stomach to keep you in place. “Stay still.” She growled in your cunt, face sticky and covered in your fluids. You tried your best to follow her command, body trembling from time to time. She raised her head for a moment, fingers still inside and abusing your g-spot.

Then she spat.

Watching your pussy clench around her fingers and hearing you moan so loud that it could be heard throughout the house drove her insane. “Fuck that’s it.” Jill watched intently, her drool moving like sap down your puffy clit and onto the crevices of her fingers. You wailed her name, legs tense and in the air. She could tell that you were on the peak, back arched and voice high and needy.

“Jill, Jill, Jill, Jillll!” You drawled out, the heat blossoming in your stomach; the force knocking the wind out of your body. You heaved, Jill relishing in your filthy noises. She leaned back in as she felt you clench around her fingers, hard. Sucking on your clit, she finished you off; you letting out a squeal. Crying out her name in a compilation of gibberish, you whined as she slowed her pace; letting you ride out your orgasm.

How she wished she could do this all day.

“Shh, it’s alright.” She moved upwards, wiping her face with the back of her hand before kissing you softly. She cupped your cheek with her free hand. “My good girl.” She smiled lovingly at your facial expression, eyes low and irises blown. “You’re not too tired are you?” She asked with a soft voice, one that she only used with you.

You shook your head. “Good.” She raised her leg over yours, placing her wetness on top of yours. She spent a moment still, giving you a moment to recover before adjusting her hips to align her pussy with yours. You both moaned in unison as her hips began to move. “Fuck baby, you’re soaked,” Jill whined, hissing as she maintained a steady rhythm. She grinded on you hard, making you cry out due to the intense sensation.

The sodden feel of your fluids melding spread to your thighs. You reached out a hand, placing it on Jill’s breast and gently rubbing her nipple. She groaned, hips rocking back and forth against you. You moaned out, reaching forward to kiss Jill. Her tongue conquered your mouth, growling in your mouth as she conquered your body as well.

“Shit you drive me insane, don’t you know that?” She pulled away from your lips, hers damp and swollen. “Sending me those pictures while I’m writing reports, begging for me to fuck you senseless.” “You happy now?” Jill asked out of breath and the most you could do is nod in a fucked out daze, eyes rolling back when she ground a bit harder into you.

Above you was a goddess, using you as she pleased. Her bottom lip caught under her teeth, a small bead of sweat sliding down her temple. A strong arm holding your leg up, you entranced by her muscles and the way they protruded as she held you in place. You watched as her hips rolled over yours, Jill shuddering at the delicious pleasure she felt due to the friction of you both. Loud groans, grunts, and whimpers were all that was heard between you two.

“Fuck baby, I’m so close.” The sound of your cunts grinding against one another becoming louder and louder by each passing second. “Don’t stop.” You responded in a whimper. “I would even dream of it, oh my God.” Jill said, closing her eyes as pleasure coursed through her veins, moaning out when she reached her peak. “Fuck!” She yelled out as she gushed on top of you, still keeping her hips moving as she did before.

You followed shortly after, the second orgasm groundbreaking and potent. You smashed your lips against Jill’s and cried into her mouth. A hand wrapped around her bicep, the firm muscle under your fingertips. Whispering her name once you both pull apart, Jill slows her hips to help you ride out your orgasms. Leaning forward and kissing you more softly this time, she held your face in her hand; humming as you wrapped your arms around her. She pulled away, landing on her side.

“You’re so beautiful.” She said, wrapping you in her arms. You were still in a daze, eyes low and body limp. You both spent a moment in each other's embrace. Your blinks became heavier over time, Jill taking notice.“Don’t fall asleep yet, we gotta get cleaned up.” You mumbled, “I’m not sleepy.” Your eyes threatened to close on you.

“Yes you are, you’re doing that thing with your eyes.” She teased, poking your nose to awaken you. You rolled your eyes, laughing as she did it again. “I’m going to get a towel.” She grinned, before sliding out of bed and walking towards the bathroom. You whistled and propped your head up, Jill laughing as you ogled her. She came back with damp and warm towels.

She cleaned you and herself, passing you some water. You drank, yawning. She discarded the towels, moving to the edge of the bed. Jill slid back in bed next to you, wrapping her arms around you again and pulling the comforter over you.

“What do you want for breakfast tomorrow?” You asked, Jill stroking your face while you did so.

“French toast.” She replied with a quickness, a blush present on her face to her neck.

“Done.” You gave a peck to her lips, happy to have her by your side.

[galacticjonah]

Bad news: still burnt out af

Good news: Reading Murderbot Diaries and absolutely zoned in on that freaky little bot and its friends. like omfg!!!!! just finished #4.5 and taking a quick breather - mostly to prevent myself from finishing it all in one go and then being devastated that I have to wait for more lmaoo.

also yes as soon as I can figure my shit out I am SO gonna draw some art. I'm sorry for my fantasy girlies, I love Sci-Fi as well and this thing is hitting all the buttons!!!!!!!!!!

[girl-named-matty]

HL characters react to you getting flowers from someone else - Modern AU

Receiving flowers that weren't from them. Tags: Fluff, hints at jealousy, girlfriend is used to refer to the reader twice (can be swapped out for "lover" to make it gn), y/n is used once. Parings: Sebastian x reader, Ominis x reader, Garreth x reader, Leander x reader, Amit x reader, Natty x reader, Imelda x reader, Poppy x reader ...

Hellooo everyone 👀. As you can probably tell, I am getting into some new content. with this modern texting AU! Lmk what you guy's think of this and if you would like to see more content like this!! ..

I hope you all enjoyed ❤️

[toxycodone]

Did you ever see such a beautiful man that you just want to ruin him? That's my thoughts about Kabru. I want to fuck him stupid and ride that pretty face of his.

Kabru is still such an enigma to me but I’m gonna do my best to do right by you anon so. Hear me out. Let me know what you think.

Kabru is a people pleaser but also like. He’s basically playing The Sims 5D chess in his mind like. All the time. You may have something he wants. Or you’re just particularly interesting (don’t think too hard about this because like. I think everyone will pique his interest at least a little eventually).

So he lingers close to you. You guys get friendly. But you have your own intentions with this man he’s not privy to.

And eventually you get this man in your bed and he’s. Hooked.

He’s not sure if he’s like. Falling in love or if he’s becoming addicted to the feeling of his mind FINALLY being quiet for once. He’s no thoughts brain empty every time you make him cum.

But it’s so cute because his face is all warm, his curly bangs stick to his forehead due to the sweat, he’s breathing hard but he still tries to give you a handsome smile afterwards

instead he looks giddy and fucked out but that’s even better

[efingcod]

Cold Mornings

Have a, well, it's more than a drabble, but it's still short. Have a whatever this is.

John "Soap" MacTavish x Reader

You wrap a blanket around your shoulders as you step out of the bedroom. It’s a freezing cold morning. All you can think about is coffee until you see him, John, sitting there on a bar stool at the table, shirtless, reading something on his phone.

You’d say something, but he’d probably give you a line about Scotsmen being made of tougher stuff. So you walk to the kitchen, your blanket dragging behind you on the floor. You could have sworn you heard a low, amused chuckle coming from John’s direction, but he doesn’t follow it with his usual teasing, so you ignore it. 

As you take a few sips of your coffee, you study John. As you watch him, he shifts in his chair, subtle movements that manage to completely change the topography of his back. You feel the urge to be close to him.

You shuffle over to where he’s sitting and reach around him to set your mug down on the table before pressing your chest into his back.

Even without a shirt, he’s still warm. How is that possible?

You make a soft sound and bury the tip of your freezing-cold nose into his shoulder.

“Cold there?” He asks, a tone of humor in his voice.

“Maybe,” You say as you drape your arms and the blanket over his shoulders.

“Should get you back to bed then.”

He rises then, and you automatically let go and take a step back. In a swift movement, he dips down, bracing one arm on your back and the other at the bend in your knees. You’re lifted into the air like you’re nothing as he gathers you and the blanket into his arms and takes you back to the bedroom.

[pure-oddity]

Fast foodies know the deal

Ghost x reader

(not proof read, this is just fluff straight from the source

Warnings: none, ovulation mention maybe? Its brought up a single time.)

The craving hits around 3 in the morning, it's ovulation week so the idea of not getting chicken nuggets from the drive through makes you want to cry.

You turn towards the sleeping lug beside you. He's on his back, breaths deep and even. Still as a grave but at your movement he takes the arm you had been using as a pillow to drag you further into his side.

Your Simon, took you forever just to get the man to admit he did more than tolerate you. even longer to admit he cared for you. It took you almost using his toothbrush to realize that the man might actually (gasp) like you. That one you didn't push, figured he'd come to terms with it on his own.

As you look at how peaceful he seems you try to fight the urge, you really do, but as you prop yourself up on your elbows and move closer to Simon's ear you resign to begging his forgiveness later.

"Simon, my baby? You sleeping?"

You wouldn't have known he was a awake had it not been for the lone eye opening to check on you

"Was, love. I was. Whats wrong, bad dream? Y' Can turn on the telly to that duck cartoon or the robots - won't bother me none." He rubs a comforting hand up and down your back, he's being so sweet you really do start to feel bad.

"I want chicken nuggets."

Silence.

Both eyes are open now.

The silence continues.

You smile sheepishly.

Wordlessly simon extracts his arm and turns so his back is to you.

"Nnooooooo! Simon pleeeaase. Pretty please? I want chicken nuggets so bad!"

"Go ahead. keys are on the rack, tanks full."

"Nooo you have to take me! come on baby please, for me?"

"My love. Sunshine. Light of my life. If you're hungry i made a perfecly good roast last night. Heat that up and let a man rest."

"I dont want a perfectly good roast! I want chicken nuggets. And a burger. And fries - oh maybe a shake?" You lean over him, hair purposely hung over into his face. He turns quickly and you're nose to nose

"So youre gonna have me get up at 3 fucking a.m. to get you a greasey, artey clogging, cholesterol raising gastrointestinal disaster of a meal - when we have a perfectly good home made dinner in the fridge."

"....please?"

Silence.

A deep suffering sigh.

An ecstatic squee

"Just get your fuckin shoes on"

------

You lean back over into the passenger seat, simon grumpy faced as you insisted that you should be the one to order.

You pat your thighs in glee as he pulls up to the window, gives you a dirty look , and hands the cashier his card.

The second window delivers your meal and drink quickly, you dig in like a starved animal. You're mid chew when he gives a grunt. A snooty sounding eh hem.

You grin and giggle, slowly airplaning him a nugget.

"Give me the chicken or i'll take the whole box"

You squeak and shove it to his lips quickly. His jaws snap around the nugget and it's gone within a single bite - you retract your fingers, still intact but wet with spit.

You give an 'eeeech' and look for somewhere to wipe your hand.

"Any of this ends up in or on my interior and it'll be your arse."

You roll your eyes and reach in the bag for a napkin, knocking the fries over in the process.

Silence.

The car drifts slowly to the left and is parked along the side of the road.

Not a word spoken.

You try to shove as many back into the carton as possible.

He stares at you.

You smile sweetly at him before leaning over the center console and kissing him. You meet his lips, they're stretched into a dangerous grin.

"Love" kiss "did you" kiss "spill salt" kiss "in my truck?"

You might not know a lot, but you know that voice means you're in trouble, which means it's distraction time.

You continue your sweet onslaught of kisses.

"Thank you for taking me baby, I love you so much. ", another smooch

is delivered.

"Youre my person, my favorite guy, love of my life."

He bites at your lip and you barely manage to slip it from his teeth

"Wanna spend the rest of my life with you, grow old with you"

He grips the back of your head and maneuvers your ear to his mouth, in a deep rumble he asks

"Are there fries on my floor, love?"

The dangerous smile still present.

"No of course not baby! i cleaned those up."

"So my truck is fry free?"

"Well - no didn't say that. there's a, a few under the seat"

He's grappling you into his lap now, the man looks a hint deranged.

"And why, my love, are you telling me about them instead getting them?"

he presses.

"'Cause I - hehe - I can't reach!" You giggle out as his hands slink towards your sides.

He pokes and prods at you, growling not unlike a bear while you squeal and squeak out little laughs.

"Gets a man up at ass o'clock-"

"Oh please, you get up early anyway!"

"makes him drive to get congealed grease-"

"you had a nugget too!"

"Then trashes his truck."

"Oh please it's like a handful of fries, I'll get them, i'll get them!"

He frees you with a huff and you dive back over to your side of the car. You pop open your door and hop outside to get a better angle at the underside of the seat. He gets impatient as you fish around for the last few fries, giving a little hurrah as the last one is snatched.

Clambering back into the truck you grin at him, happy as can be. He hums a short laugh, and you're off to home again.

He makes a beeline for the bedroom and you trot over to the counter to finish your meal, most of it having been shared and eaten in the truck. You sit back a moment to enjoy the feeling of fullness when you see Simon emerge again.

"Bed. Now. Kept me up long enough" he's already on you before you can think of a reply, slung over his shoulder. He makes quick work of getting you both situated in your proper spots.

You're snuggled into his side for the night, full and content. He breathes in deep and exhales slowly. you draw nonsensical patterns on his bare chest, playing with the hair there. As sleep overtakes you, your palm flattens over the spot where his heart resides; and you feel him relax just a smidgen more.

[ivymarquis]

Blind Date

Me: “why the fuck is this fic taking so long to finish?”

The fic: *is the longest singular piece I’ve ever written for one chapter*

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| M Word Count| 8.4k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Drinking (everyone is clear headed), run ins with a shitty ex, mentions of abuse from prior relationship, these two are incredibly down bad for each other, oral (m! and f!receiving), protected piv, squirting

There is a certain catharsis in lamenting your dating horror stories with men to a married lesbian who’s over a decade older than you. Kate is always willing to lend an ear, and you’re positive that she gets a kick out of your misadventures in the way so many married people did while listening to their single friends.

“I swear I’m this close to just giving up all together and embracing spinsterhood,” you grouse with a drink in your hand after the work day had concluded.

You like to think your standards aren’t unreasonable. Someone kind, with their head on straight. It felt like finding a man who respects you as a person is becoming too big an ask and you very simply would rather be alone than deal with the endless hoard of men who seem hell bent on destroying any confidence you have in yourself.

“What about the guy you went out with yesterday?” Kate inquires with her head tilted. Must be fun, listening to your ramblings with a devoted partner at home.

“Oh did I not tell you? He was engaged!”

Kate pulls a face like her drink soured on her, matching how you’d felt at the time.

“Even better- guess how I found out he’s engaged.”

“She showed up at the restaurant?” Kate hits the nail on the head on the first try.

“Bingo,” you raise your glass in a gesture of affirmation before finishing it off. “Somehow I ended up being the one getting yelled at in that situation. Un-friggin-believable.”

You don’t abuse your work privileges to creep on people you meet in your personal life, but public record could have spared you if he’d been married. Harder to find out about an engagement from a total stranger who was determined to not let you find out about it and didn’t have social media.

“There’s always the other side,” Kate teases.

“Women scare me too much, I get all nervous.” You could appreciate an attractive woman as much as the next gal but good God you just could not help yourself when it came to men. The subtle way their breathing would change before they made their move, that low timber growling in your ear. The sheer weight of one on top of you as he manhandled you into the bedding-

Dear Lord, you need to get laid. Maybe you’re fixating on it too much because you’ve had an over 2 year dry spell. That tends to happen after a baby though. Especially with a pain in the ass ex who thinks he can pick and choose when to be around (and becomes absolutely incensed each time you remind him he could be consistent or he could stay home).

Kate is thoughtful for a moment, clearly kicking around an idea she hasn’t fully committed to in one direction or another. You can see the moment she decides to proceed with the thought. “Depending on what exactly you’re looking for, I might know someone.”

—

And here you are on a Saturday night, nerves clawing at your belly like a rabid dog.

Most (well, all) of the men you’ve dated you met online. There’s almost additional butterflies beyond the first-meet jitters knowing that the date is set up by a mutual friend.

There’s more at stake, even if the stakes are relatively low pressure. If the guys you met online did something incredibly out of pocket you never had to see them again, and held no qualms divulging the events to friends. Your romantic life has been full of misadventures but has given you a handful of stories, and as strangers you never have to consider any possible fallout in telling those stories.

Your son is with your mother for the night, allowing you the opportunity to focus solely on yourself this evening. No concern about keeping an eye on him while getting ready, worrying about what possible trouble he’ll get into when your back is turned.

It is hard at times- striking that balance between wanting to be a good mom and also wanting to be acknowledged as a desirable woman who has needs. A lot of men are shitty about it. You’d grilled Kate for every detail of his reaction when being informed of your young son. You don’t need another ambush regarding your disinterest in making it work with your son’s father.

She’d soothed your nerves- he hadn’t batted an eye, was about as worried about your reaction to how often his job pulled him away as you were about him having a poor reaction to being a single mom. You both have responsibilities that have to be placed above a relationship, now go play nice and have fun.

You tell yourself you can have one drink while waiting at the bar of the restaurant you’d agreed to meet at.

White wine ends up being your pick- not quite so easy to suck down as a tasty cocktail full of liquor, but gives you something to occupy yourself with.

You’ve only had the drink a handful of minutes before hearing someone clear their throat slightly behind you, and then your name.

Kate has shown you a photo of what he looks like so you’re not caught off guard when you turn around.

He’s handsome. You expect that but it’s different seeing him opposed to just the photo. Kind eyes, a warm smile on his face as he takes you in.

At least you both seem pleased with the big reveal.

“I’ve got a table waiting for us if you’re ready, love.”

He holds out a hand to let you balance yourself as you dismount from the bar seating, allowing you to steady yourself in your heels.

His hand is warm on your waist as he guides you and you’re already smitten by the time the pair of you sit down.

You’re fifteen minutes into dinner when you decide that so long as he a) is willing and b) doesn’t say or do anything completely deranged, you are going to ride Captain John Price like a mechanical bull at a shitty dive bar at the end of the night.

Perhaps the bar is in hell but either way you have been utterly deprived the past few years and he is checking plenty of boxes for you.

“So you work with Kate?” Starting off on the easy footing- the common ground that leads you both here.

“I do. Not directly- I work more on the tech side. I’m an independent contractor, I basically built the entire system she runs off of.”

“Beauty and brains,” his praise warms you, an impressed expression on his face. “Would explain how we’ve never crossed paths if you were hiding in a backroom surrounded by monitors,” he teases.

“You’re actually not that far off the mark,” not that you hide persay, but keeping that contract keeps a roof over your head and food in your child’s mouth. That keeps you busy. The fewer people who know how to work your program, the harder you are to get rid of.

You may or may not have hidden a few kill switches. Job security you call it. Though it’s not exactly first date material to talk about how you’ve got a government agency in a mutual understanding- keep extending your contract, and the program continues to work.

Either way, you don’t have much contact with the soldiers. Maybe you have passed each other in the halls but probably not- you’re certain a face like that wouldn’t have escaped your notice, introduction via a mutual friend or no. But you decide to utilize that mutual friend to shift the conversation. He’s hedged around talking about his work- on his end, sees that as the thing that might be a deal breaker for you. Probably wants to delay that until you've at least gotten your entrees.

So you go from business to hobbies. And it’s probably not entirely fair, but you’re about to see what his sense of humor is.

“Kate mentioned you’re a big soccer fan?” You make sure your expression is wide and doe eyed as you ask the question.

His eyebrow twitches- caught, no doubt, between wanting to leave a good first impression and biting back it’s football over here, love.

You crack far quicker than you initially plan, the wide grin on your face as you let him off the hook he’s good naturedly trying not to bite.

“Beauty, brains, and a comedian, lucky me.”

“I’m sorry, I had to. In fact, it was in her terms for this,” you make a vague gesture with your hand.

“Trust Kate to wheel and deal just to get my blood pressure up,” he muses as he takes a sip from his drink.

The conversation rolls easily enough- an ebb and flow as one of you poses a question, the other answering before allowing the first to say their contribution to the subject and moving on.

He’s charming, attentive, and a good storyteller. The way he carries himself screams military without being overbearing. He’s relaxed back into his chair and something about the scene in front of you makes you want to climb into his lap like a domesticated house cat.

Being the field captain to a specialized task force it’s no shock that he’s in incredible shape and you find yourself slightly distracted on more than one occasion by his hands and forearms.

The food is wonderful though the company is better- you end up moving back to the bar for fresh drinks and to free up the table for the server.

You spend a good length of time just talking with him at the bar.

John’s attention is on you but it’s clear he’s proverbially chewing on something the further on you go.

“That is the look of someone with a question they’re not entirely positive they want an answer to,” you’ve got a habit of being a touch direct at times. Amazing how it streamlines a conversation though.

“Observant one, aren’t you?” He pauses, takes another sip of his drink. “It’s probably none of my business, but ah- is your son’s father in the picture at all?”

It was your turn to take a drink. This was always such a fun topic of conversation. Frankly the number of men who took your ex’s side when the whole custody arrangement gets brought up alarms you.

But he has a right to his son.

Fuck that.

Your child is not property and you do not give a singular shit about your ex’s feelings- especially if it comes at the expense of your son’s safety. But it saves you a substantial amount of time not wasting energy on someone who could not understand the reason for your decisions.

“The short answer to the question is no. I had already left him by the time I found out I was pregnant, and given I left because he’s a raging alcoholic- with the emphasis on the rage-,” what a nice, polite way to say he is an abusive asshole. Your gaze shifts down towards the bartop, missing the way John’s expression softens as he reads between the lines of what you say. They’re not pleasant memories, but you’re not a wounded bird anymore- you’ve tended to your clipped wings and grown new feathers. “I didn’t want him involved.”

“He ended up finding out from a mutual acquaintance, and while he claims he wants to be around, he hasn’t done much other than blow my phone up at midnight trying to throw his weight around every time he gets a new girlfriend. So I get to be the cold blooded harpy that he gets to cry about- which is fine by me. On paper he says he wants to be involved, but he’s made absolutely no effort to arrange plans or anything while sober. I haven’t seen him in over 2 years. I can’t trust him to be a safe parent, and since he’s not on any official records I get final say unless he wants to go to court over it.”

Your whole little house of cards hinges on the fact that your ex wants everyone to bend over backwards for him while doing nothing for anyone else. All it would take would be one subpoena for a paternity test and your hands would be tied. He is an incredibly functional alcoholic, so there isn’t a criminal record or anything you can do to prove he would be unfit. There’s no proof of the abuse he inflicted on you.

Which means, if push comes to shove, you would be forced to relinquish sole custody and hand your child over for unsupervised visitation.

But that requires effort on his part. And that effort is the only thing keeping your little house of cards afloat.

“Sorry that’s probably way more information than you wanted-“ good job. Everything was going great until you laid out your drama.

“No apology necessary; I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

And there’s no lecture about how you should give your ex a chance, that the opportunity to raise his son could make him change for the better. No dissertation on how you owe it to your son to do whatever it took to make things work with his father (that had been a weird way to end a date, and the only reason you hadn’t gotten up sooner and left was because it was such a bizarre conversation you’d half convinced yourself the whole thing had to be a bad dream).

You’re not a wounded bird and on the one hand it’s a good thing to get everything laid out on the table, but on the other you don’t want to sit and mope about your personal troubles. You’re actually enjoying John Price’s company, and don’t want to think about your problems.

And yes you are enjoying the time for what it is but part of you can’t help but also keep an eye out for… any opportunities for a transition.

As hot under the collar as you are, John’s gaze makes warmth coil in your gut in a way that has nothing to do with the wine- he’s being a gentleman.

It’s sweet. He’s being polite and respectful and showing sexual discipline while making it clear he’s interested.

And for all your bemoaning of prior dates with other men who aren’t captains of specialized task forces about how they were too pushy and too presumptuous and a nice dinner paired with drinks doesn’t entitle them to you dropping your panties—

Yet here you sit, hours into a conversation when you’d decided 15 minutes in you want to jump his bones. And you have to be patient otherwise you’re a total hypocrite.

You’re not entirely subtle. The pair of you are perched on barstools again, much closer than the table allowed you to be with the two of you angled towards each other.

Your dress looks good on you. A jewel toned blue that compliments your skin beautifully, the hemline stopping above your knees and loose enough to bounce tantalizingly when you hit your stride walking.

It’s not exactly an olive branch, but it is an offering of sorts when you carefully take the leg closest to John and cross it over the other. The hemline of your skirt slips up your thigh, exposing more of your leg. It stops just shy of exposing the top of your stockings and the clip to your garter. It does show just a hint of the darker border to your stockings, the lace peeking ever so slightly before transitioning to the sheer material that covers the rest of your legs.

You’re incredibly pleased with yourself when his eyes flick down for a split second and linger before snapping back to your face. Got you. He tries to hide behind being caught with a sheepish clearing of his throat. It’s adorable, really.

Your cheeks are starting to get sore from all the smiling and laughing that’s occurred over the past few hours. But he’s pleasant company so it’s a discomfort you’re happy to deal with.

You look past him for a split second- nothing in particular catching your attention but just taking in the scenery of the restaurant behind you. Your eyes are back on him in a moment only for your brain to process what it saw after a delay.

There’s no fucking way-

Yes. Yes there is. Your ex is mingling in the background, and you don’t even realize the smile on your face has fallen to a flat line like all the previous giddiness is draining out of you and pooling on the floor below.

It would not take a captain of an antiterrorism task force to see your sharp shift in disposition, so John notices immediately.

“Everything alright, love?”

Maybe he won’t see you. Maybe, if there is a God and he is merciful, your ex won’t look in your direction, won’t see you, and you can continue your cheerful plan of trying to seduce your date.

And whether there is not a God or he is just not merciful- either option remains with you having the same shit result. He turns his head and makes direct eye contact. God damn it.

You look back to John. You’d hoped you could move past talking about your ex for the evening. “Remember how I said I haven’t seen my ex in over 2 years?”

There’s a twinge of relief on his face- the look of a man grateful to not be the cause of your displeasure.

“Let me guess- he’s right behind me?”

“Not quite “right behind”, but yes. Hopefully he’ll just-“ a short huff off agitation leaves you as you cut yourself off.

So much for hoping he’d simply mind his business and stay with his group. He’s making his way towards the pair of you at the bar, and you can tell he’s had a good number of drinks in his system just looking at him.

You’d become extremely proficient at gauging how drunk your ex is at a glance. A skill you developed while still with him and one that doesn’t seem to have faded.

This is, you know without question, going to end up being absolutely humiliating for you. You just know it.

“I am going to go ahead and apologize now for whatever is going to come out of his mouth,” you inform John.

His hand finds your knee, giving a light, reassuring squeeze. “It’ll be alright, love.”

“Well what do we have here?” is the warning shot letting you know he’s not going to show any form of civility.

“Hello, Michael,” you greet cooly, mind spinning a hundred miles an hour trying to figure out how to end this conversation as quickly as possible.

“You don’t have time to answer my texts but you’ve got time to go out. That’s good. Good to know you’ve got your priorities in order,” he starts.

“Answering your texts isn’t even remotely on my priority list, you know that.” You’re trying incredibly hard to keep yourself from being outright nasty but a whole lot of old wounds float up to the surface at the sight of your ex.

Maybe your new feathers aren’t as filled out as you’d initially thought. You feel raw and exposed and it’s difficult to think. You know what you should do, how you should handle it- and there’s still that one little part in your brain that is keeping tabs on John and his response to all of this.

“Your priority should be my son-“ he starts,

“-who is with his perfectly capable grandmother for the evening, thank you,” you finish for him, jaw set tightly. “Why are you here?”

The direct question is aggressive but you know the cycle with him too well to allow him to steer the conversation. He’ll run you in circle after circle until you’re so frazzled you can’t discern left from right.

“Can’t say hello and introduce myself to your new fella? Come on now, where’s your manners?”

Your eyes widen as Michael reaches a hand out- there is no way this asshole is about to grab you in public.

Quick as a snake, John runs interference and drapes his arm across the back of your chair, his fingers holding the shoulder furthest from him lightly.

The entire length of your back and shoulders are blocked by the SAS captain, forcing Michael’s hand back as there was no easy place for it to land that wouldn’t also be touching John.

Up until now, John has been quiet and assessing the situation. Not bowing up or trying to assert himself- letting you deal with your ex and navigate the situation for yourself.

The look on his face is downright unpleasant to put lightly. This is the man in charge of an elite task force, who barks orders at soldiers who drop everything at once because he told them to-

-and you don’t feel so exposed anymore. You find yourself sitting up a bit straighter only for John to gently stroke his knuckles against your shoulder in a soothing gesture. The gesture isn’t a miraculously grand one, but one that makes you realize you’re not alone in this situation even as disorienting as it is. And if you’re being honest with yourself, the upright posture and shifting of your thighs isn’t so much a stress response to your ex as you keying in on John’s response to the whole situation.

“John, Michael- Michael, John. There, now you’re introduced.” Go away now please.

Your ex is too drunk and too full of himself to see the writing on the wall, and continues to poke the bear. “Well, since she doesn’t seem to want to give a proper introduction-“ he sticks an arm out, and you can’t help but notice how the simple gesture causes him to need to correct his balance. Good lord it was barely dark out and he’s already-

Well. Not your problem. Not anymore, at any rate.

John is sitting to your left, his right arm the one that’s draped across the back of your chair. The pair of you flash a quick look to each other, John lifting his arm from your chair to take Michael’s hand and-

God.

Damn.

It.

The exchange is actually as hilarious as it is embarrassing (You can’t quite decide if it’s all the second hand cringe variety, or first hand because Look, John! Here’s the father of my child! I sure know how to pick a partner! Is still coiling in the depths of your stomach). You’d prefer if it simply never occurred at all.

You can see your ex’s forearm flexing as he shakes John’s hand. The microexpression that flicks across your date’s face confirms your suspicion- Michael is (for some reason) trying to use an overexaggerated grip to establish some sort of dominance in the situation.

The quick really? that reads on John’s face rapidly turns to a bemused and subtle if that’s how you want to play then, a barely noticeable shift in his own grip resulting in Michael wincing.

“Captain John Price,” his tone is easy, betraying none of the pissing contest your ex instigated and is failing miserably to get one over on John.

Your ex mumbles his full name, clearly realizing that whatever his brilliant little plan is a) isn’t so brilliant to begin with b) he might just be alert enough to acknowledge the fact that he clearly has no true plan. He came over with the intention of being an asshole and has been flying blind the entire time.

There’s one woman from the group your ex split off from who is watching the three of you keenly. If you were to guess, she is probably his new girlfriend.

You can’t help but wonder- does she know enough to know that this is routine behavior for him? That he throws himself headfirst into a situation he hasn’t planned out- isn’t sober enough to plan out? Situations that don’t need to occur just so he can throw his weight around? Too petty to give a genuine “Hello, how are you? It’s been a while. I want to talk to you about Sam when we’ve both got some free time?”

Everything is vindictive. Constantly worrying about not being undermined and being respected to the point he gets in his own way. Actively sabotages his own opportunities. In dire need of therapy to work through his issues because you know the alcohol is how he copes and you’d sympathized at first but the reasons became excuses and then he’d started blaming you and-

-John places his arm on the back of your chair again and you pull yourself out of your mental spiral.

“I think your date is waiting for you, Michael. Best not to keep the lady waiting.” John observes, his tone neutral despite being a clear dismissal.

“You’ll be hearing from me later. I want to see my son.” Michael’s ignoring John’s presence but taking the hint.

You don’t fling a final barb at him. The venom has been drained out of you and you just want the interaction over and done with. Let him have the last word. You just want him gone.

You merely cast a look over at the woman who is Michael’s date for the evening and hope she’s got better sense than you did- that she leaves before he sinks his claws in her too.

The weight that settled in your stomach upon first seeing him is finally lightening up on you. You know you’ll wake up tomorrow to a barrage of phone calls and text messages that you won’t answer. It’s probably not good you’re so desensitized to the idea that it barely registers as a problem. Merely one of life’s many inconveniences.

“You alright, love?” John’s voice helps you shake the last of the tendrils that cling to you.

“Yes. Sorry. Wasn’t expecting to run into him of all people tonight, is all.”

“Never fun being ambushed, is it?”

You take a bit of a risk- you know enough about his job but he’s steered the conversation away from it every time the topic would naturally shift that direction. You know how Kate’s work can go and you assume his is very similar. “Well you’d certainly know more about that than I would.”

It works. The two of you break out in grins, and you find yourself no longer worrying about Michael and your focus readily settling back on John where it belongs.

At some point- long after the single cube in John’s drink has melted, and the condensation of your wine glass has soaked the bev nap underneath it, and more importantly long enough that you don’t feel that you’re fleeing the restaurant- the suggestion is made to go back to John’s. “No more surprises, hm?”

You gladly follow him. You’d taken an Uber to get to the restaurant, anticipating drinking and hoping to go home with him, so you have no worries about your own car.

You can easily see him being the type to give you a quick, chaste kiss on the doorstep after safely dropping you at home. In another universe you’d appreciate the restraint, enjoy fleeting touches over the course of a few dates that get more intense each time before finally finding yourself in his bed.

In this universe however, you don’t have to wait. Don’t want to, either. You get to indulge your earlier impulse of crawling into his lap, knees spread wide on either side of his waist. Lowering your hips allows you to feel him and what exactly he’s packing between his own legs. Your hips cant in short motions and heat coils heavy in your gut.

From the feel of things he’s proportional and John is not a small man. There’s a brief flicker that runs through your mind that you might be in over your head with him. The pent up lust and desire stifles that flicker. You’re more than game to see what a night with him ends up being like.

His hands are warm against your skin- one cupping the back of your head and keeping you close as the pair of you make out, the other settles on your hip and keeps you steady as you grind down on him.

You are possessed with the desire to get his cock in your mouth.

It’s cute how his face follows yours as you pull away from him.

“Help me with my dress?” Your question is perfectly innocent as you turn your back to him, presenting the zipper that runs down the length of your back.

His pleased laugh warms you, a shiver of desire and anticipation running down your spine as his breath fans across the back of your neck.

You’ve got a surprise waiting for him underneath your dress, partially revealed as one of his hands holds the top of the dress steady while the other draws the zipper down.

You gave him the hint you were wearing stockings when you’d baited him back at the restaurant, letting the heavy fabric of the dress fall to a heap around you before kicking it off to one side.

Turning back to face him, John seems quite enraptured with his surprise.

The lingerie set is a matching shade as your jewel toned dress, the garter belt clipping to the sheer black thigh high stockings.

There’s always that split second hesitation when revealing yourself to someone- the anxiety of if they’ll be pleased with what’s presented to them.

John is the first person you’ve been with since you’ve had your child, and the slight anxiety quells quickly at the look on his face.

John looks like he wants to eat you alive. Any insecurity is knocked firmly aside by desire quickly ramping back up.

Placing one hand on his thigh to steady yourself as you lift a leg to take your shoe off, John is quick to stop you. “Leave them on for now, love.”

It’s a request but it’s not. Really that doesn’t surprise you- he is someone who is likely used to having his whims accommodated to. You find yourself having no urge to defy him, nodding in compliance. If John wants your heels to stay on, then they’ll stay.

He guides you between his legs, enough space between his knees for you to slot yourself in. With him sitting on the bed he’s shorter than you standing straight up in your heels. Bending down to give a quick, teasing kiss you let yourself drop to your own knees.

“You don’t have to-“

“I want to,” you assure him with doe eyes and are rewarded with him settling into the bed as your hands go to work on his belt.

Unable to resist teasing him, you mouth at his bulge through the thick fabric of his pants. You’re rewarded with a soft cant of his hips, having his belt undone and working on the button and zip of his pants in record time.

Your earlier suspicions are correct. John is a big boy in more ways than one. You want him in your mouth- now.

While you’re occupying yourself with getting his pants off, John shucks his shirt and shoes.

He is, simply put, delicious to look at. From the broad muscling to the thick dark hair running from his chest down his abdomen. He doesn’t have the hard chiseled abs of a man who lives in the gym but the sturdy build that comes from having useful, functional muscle that’s put to work.

And that’s incredibly hot. He’s girthy as hell in your hand as you give a few strokes before putting your mouth on him.

You’re not entirely certain if deep throating him is going to be an option, but by God you’re going to try.

“Bloody hell, love.” John grunts while you bob your head up and down the length of him. You’re gauging just how much of him you can get in your mouth- where your threshold is before your gag reflex wants to kick in.

He’s petting you. Doubtless trying to fight the urge to fist your hair, his hips struggling to stay still on the bed.

You want him to. You feel feral, all the pent up sexual energy you’ve been storing for God-knows-how-long welling up all at once. You want this man carnally and your brain presently thinks having your hair held in place and your throat fucked is a fantastic idea.

John clearly has other plans, restraining himself and letting you work at your own pace. That low, deep breathing paired with his soft grunts and voiced encouragements stoke the flames of your arousal hotter.

Eventually you do need air, pulling off of him for a moment. Your hand works his shaft and teases the tip of him as you lean forward to run your tongue up and down the length of him, dropping a bit lower to lave at his heavy sac. He jolts which only encourages you to do it again.

You know your eyes are one of your better features- you’ve heard the compliment enough times both in and out of the bedroom, holding John’s gaze as you lick him back up the length of his shaft and circle the head once before having caught your breath enough to wrap your lips around him once more.

The second time around you’re able to get a bit more of him down your throat, but not all the way. What you can’t reach you stroke with one hand, the other resting on his thigh to help balance yourself as you work. You can feel the tension building in his thigh as he gets closer, pleased with yourself.

It’s a heady feeling. You don’t know exactly all the dirty details of his job but understand enough to know you’ve got a powerful man at your whim right now and that scratches a deep seated itch in you.

“Good girl,” his praise washes over you, warm and welcoming. “Just like that-“

You’re intent on sucking the soul out of him, all doe eyes and hollowed cheeks with those painted red lips. Eventually he gives into the urge to grab a fistful of your hair. He doesn’t do anything to interrupt the rhythm you’ve settled into, letting you move as you see fit.

He bites out your name and you feel the muscles in his leg drawn tight. “I’m getting close, love.”

It’s not quite a question. You give your not-answer by doubling down on him. You’re so close to having him in your mouth all the way to the base. You don’t want to back off. What you do want is for him to finish down your throat.

You get your wish. John’s fist tightens and you let out a grunt as his thrusting results in your nose pressed against his public bone.

The taste of him doesn’t really register as he spills inside your mouth, your focus on breathing through your nose and keeping your gag reflex down.

He’s petting your hair again, praises falling freely from him and soft apologizes. “Lost myself for a moment there, love. You alright?”

You keep your mouth hilted on him for a moment to prove a point- you’re fine, he didn’t push you past threshold- before finally releasing his softening cock.

He’s pulling you up to him after that, an open mouthed kiss that flusters you considering he just came in your mouth. “You’re just a treasure,” his voice purrs in your ear. “Only fair I return the favor, hm?”

He guides you to lay on the bed, knees hanging over the edge before he turns to settle between your legs.

He starts at your neck. You’re ticklish at one spot his lips, squirming in his hold with a giggle. “Sensitive, hm?”

You nod out a “mhm,” that breaks into a breathy moan as he works his way down your chest. Rather than removing your bra his hands work to pull your breasts free from the cups before paying particular attention to your nipples.

His hands are warm as they roam your ribcage, the heat of his body seeping through the lace of your outfit as his fingers trail across your skin and the delicate material.

“You’re so soft, love,” you don’t quite know how to respond to the compliment, mewling wordlessly in pleasure at the attention.

That seems to appease him as he kisses his way down your sternum and to your belly, the expanse of most of it covered by the fabric of the garter belt.

His eyes flick up to your own as his lips travel closer to the apex of your thighs. Where you’ve been lying patient and pliant in his grasp, the eye contact draws something tight in your core and you squirm again.

The next thing you feel is teeth as he nips you. “Be a good girl for me,” he tells you, soothing the soft throb of his bite with his tongue.

You force yourself to still as he moves lower, lower, lower- taking his time and having you thoroughly worked up before moving to the next patch of skin.

When he’s down far enough he slides one of your thighs over his shoulder, that arm looping under your arm and banding across your abdomen.

It’s his turn now to mouth at your clothed sex.

He pulls the gusset of your thong aside after a moment of teasing, his lips descending on you.

“Oh,” your hand immediately finds purchase in his hair, a pleased whimper escaping you at the feel of John’s tongue.

John feasts on you. There’s not much else that can be done to describe it. It’s lewd and wet as he laps at you, the flesh of his tongue doing little to soothe the burning ache inside you and only ramping it up.

Those eyes are wicked as he gazes up at you from between your thighs. The hand resting on your lower stomach is pressing ever so lightly, like John wants the pressure there but not too much yet and you’re once again struck with the idea you might be in over your head with him.

“John, please,” you beg. It feels good but you need more, lust clouding your brain as your hips rock against his face.

“You need to be patient, love. I’ll take care of you. Just relax, hm?”

It dawns on you that he’s probably running down the clock until his refractory period is up. That he doesn’t want to get you going too quick and then be stuck not quite ready to perform.

It’s an assumption, and you’re not 100% sure that you’re correct, but it’s a solid enough option that you move forward with that in mind.

The thought almost makes it easier to relax into the bed- the idea that John is going to pleasure you with his mouth until enough time has passed and he can get it up again. That he’s not just mindlessly toying with you with no end goal in mind.

It feels good you’re just stuck being greedy and wanting more stimulation despite knowing that won’t happen until John decides he’s ready to give you more.

You almost jump when the fingers you’ve been waiting for make their presence known. His mouth moves to focus on your clit, lips making a seal and sucking on it. You cry out, hips canting as his fingers gently rub at your labia.

He starts with one, gently sliding it in and out of you. Your back arches in satisfaction of having something to clench on and rub against. It’s more satisfying than just one of your own- that was for sure.

“That’s it love,” John praises you while easing a second one into you.

The second finger is what you were looking for, stimulation wise. John pets and strokes you, thumb gently working over your clit in soft circles before putting his mouth back on you.

He doesn’t just find your g-spot. John’s fingers are placed so they hone in on that spongy bit of tissue tucked inside you. He doesn’t let up on it, tongue working on your clit as you arch your back helplessly and moan.

That pressure is back on your abdomen, the hand not currently stroking you to nirvana pressing down on your belly.

You moan and buck against his hold. Your orgasm is creeping up on you and it’s like he’s determined to make you squirt.

“You keep that up and I’m gonna make a mess,” you warn him- not entirely certain how he’ll respond to the prospect of you squirting on his face.

John looks delighted and you realize that yes, you are in over your head with him.

There’s a mischievous glint in his eye as he pulls back from you, “You promise, love? Don’t tease me.”

Oh dear God- Next thing you know he’s reaching over you to pull a pillow from the top of the bed, wedging it underneath your hips before returning to his place between your thighs.

You’re flustered at how eager he is to see you squirt. His mouth is back on you, sucking on your clit and making your legs shake as two fingers go right back to abusing your g-spot, his free hand pressing on your belly increasing the pressure that is mounting by the second.

There’s nothing else for you to do but grab a fistful of his hair and hang on. “Please- oh! J-John! Right there,” at your encouragement he locks in on the spot that’s got you arching your back and your thighs trembling.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Show me,” he’s moaning encourments against your skin and you feel like a bow drawn tight and ready to snap. You’re so, so close.

The sounds he draws out of you- both from your mouth and between your legs- are filthy and vulgar and you don’t care at all as he gets you teetering just on the edge.

You’re practically gasping for breath, eyes screwing shut as the hand not buried in John’s hair fists the sheets next to you. You babble his name, chants of John all your brain can muster.

All that pressure coiling in you snaps and gushes out, literally and metaphorically.

“Good girl, making such a mess for me,” John’s praise has you flushing hot while his fingers work you like he’s making sure he can wring out every single last drop.

He stops when you have nothing left to give him, a trembling mess shivering in his hold.

Your brain at some point made the windows shut down noise, needing a moment to settle as you process what John just did to you.

This is the hardest you’ve cum in ages, certainly better than the orgasms you’ve given yourself during your little dry spell.

You return to the land of the living with his lips on yours, tasting yourself as he soothingly strokes your side. “You back with me?” He asks, eliciting a nod from you.

“Please tell me you have a condom,” your tone is pleading. You still want to ride him but you’ve learned your lesson about practicing safe sex. Once was, in fact, all it took for things to go off the rail.

“I do,” he stands, moving to the nightstand and opening a drawer.

Now that your legs feel somewhat compliant you sit yourself back up.

No sooner than John’s got the condom on then you’re guiding him back down, having him lay on the edge of the bed.

It takes a bit of maneuvering, getting yourself situated so your heels don’t catch on his sheets, but you’re straddling him with the leg closest to the edge of the bed hanging over the side as the opposite leg folds underneath you. You hover over him while getting everything lined up. The position of your legs allows you to alternate which one is supporting the brunt of your weight, a factor that is going to be fairly important once you’ve hilted yourself on John.

Even with how pliant your body is it takes a moment for the head of him to breach you.

“Oh,” you let out a breath as you sink down on him. You’re not able to get all the way to the base of him on the first go, getting your weight underneath yourself and lifting almost completely off of him before dropping down again. You get a little further this time, a moan escaping you.

“That’s it, love. Nice and easy,” his voice coos in your ear, that low timber having you liable to melt.

He’s thick. Not in a way that’s insurmountable to manage, but you have absolutely no complaints with how he fills you and anticipate being pleasantly sore in the morning.

Two more slow bounces have you sinking low enough to hilt yourself on him, taking a moment to enjoy the sensation of sitting fully on his lap.

One of his hands braces on your hip, the other his thumb circles your clit. You squirm at the stimuli, relishing in the feel of him before getting to work.

This is what you’ve been drooling over all night. Your reward is very well earned in your opinion. Moaning lowly as you bounce up and down, your movements are initially slow and languid but pick up speed as you get your bearings. John’s heavy exhales and grunts when you clench only serve to wind you tighter.

“You feel good, pretty girl? Hm? You like bouncing on my cock?”

You flush- a ridiculous notion given how you’re quite literally hilted on his dick-, face hot from the dirty talk.

The hand on your hip helps guide you to a pace that’s pleasurable for the both of you, eyes rolling as he thrusts his hips in a way that makes you see stars. “Yes! John- yes! Oh it feels so good,” your voice a low purr as he delivers on every fantasy you’ve had this evening.

The stretch of him in you feels absolutely incredible, knocking the air out of you on each bounce. It doesn’t take long until that knot begins to form again, growing steadily as you rise and fall in his lap. The press of his finger circling your clit draws staggered moans, bracing on him for support.

“Been thinking about this all night,” John grits out. “Wanted to flip you over the bar top and have my way with you right there on the dining room floor.”

You moan at the confession, feeling less like a rabid dog with no impulse control now you know you’re not alone in the intense desire that had struck once you’d laid eyes on him.

“Probably wouldn’t have- ah! st-stopped you,” you tell him. The grip on your hip tightens at that, another moan escaping you as you bounce on him.

Your eyes roll in pleasure, cunt practically fluttering from the way he keeps getting you to clench. The thickness of his girth doesn’t just let him keep hitting that spot in you with lift of your hips so much as the mushroom tipped head of his cock drags across it.

“Aren’t you just a fucking treasure,” he praises.

Your thighs are burning, eased by the position of your legs and John’s grip helping you but becoming more present with each wet clap of your sex against his lap. It almost helps you tip closer to another climax.

Your eyes squeeze shut, a staggered breath escaping you.

“Eyes on me,” he tells you and you comply immediately.

“John, please I’m so close,” your thighs are shaking again, threatening your already precarious balance.

“You need more, pretty girl?”

You shake your head. “No-no. Just don’t stop. Please don’t stop!”

And bless him, he doesn’t do anything to fuck up your rhythm. The fingers circling your clit keep the same tempo and pressure perfectly, his free hand still helping guide you up and out of his lap before sitting you back down.

You know you’re about to come but are caught off guard by how sharp it is as you squirt for a second time.

The sight of you spurting across his abdomen nearly severs any control John has left. The next thing you know John’s abandoned your overstimulated clit in favor of rolling you onto your back, your heels clattering to the floor from the motion. Your legs go instinctively to clamp around his waist for security- only one of them does, the other stopped by wet fingers gripping your thigh by your knee as he spreads you open. His weight is held on the forearm bracing next to your head by the time you process the shift in position.

“You alright, pretty girl?”

You can’t quite get your words out but manage a nod. “Ye-yeah,” you eventually stagger out as he waits for a verbal confirmation.

With the comfort that you were fine, that gives John the assurance he needs to seek his own pleasure.

More than satisfied with your two climaxes, you lay limp and pliant in his grasp while he chases his own end.

The wet squelch of his cock splitting you open with each thrust was loud and obscene although you were too far gone in the blissed out pleasure to care. Your whole body feels delightfully tingly, your head swimming pleasantly.

You clench down on him a few times, more for his benefit than anything else. You’re spent but more than willing to help him across the finish line as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, muttering praises that are punctured with short, sharp thrusts before he stiffens as his own climax hits.

The two of you have both broken into a light sheen of sweat by the end of things. After a moment to recuperate John stands with a “I’ll be right back.” (And you unabashedly enjoy the view of his ass while he retreats to the bathroom.)

True to his word he returns shortly, evidently having disposed of the condom with a towel in hand for you.

The pair of you get yourselves clean and sorted. Before you can decide how you want to ask, John seems to already know what the question is.

“You don’t need to leave, do you?”

Again it’s not entirely a question, but still gives you an out if you want to take it.

You don't want to take the out.

[hypers-omniac]

Dragon!Reader came to me in a dream I’m not even kidding. Maybe it’s my subconscious telling me I need to post smth LOL.

It's been stuck in drafts for a couple days, but im posting in a self-celebration of one of my favorite creators ever following me !!

Anyways here’s wonderwall.

CW: maybe a little suggestive at the end, a tad of angst. BUT NOT MUCH I PROMISE (maybe later)

Can’t stop thinking about dragon!reader- mean and covered in scales, something the forest itself seems to fear as the leaves quiver in the trees. Huffing smoke through your nostrils like the grumpy thing you are, hunted for a reward by many who’ve failed. The waxy glare of the sunlight bouncing off the trees and onto your scales as you sunbathe- gathering the warmth you need and taking a moment to yourself.

Your legend. A bedtime story parents tell their kin about in bedtime stories to stray them away from the forest. Your crudely drawn face posted to the walls of nearby taverns, waiting for the next fool who might take up the challenge and never return. Your claws bear blood, both metaphorical and literal, in a way that haunts you at night during private hours.

It’s your first instinct to be defensive, to be mean and harsh to all that enter your forest it’s all you’ve ever been taught, all you’ve ever known is violence and hatred for what you are. It’s not any different when a rather.. boisterous knight steps into your domain, the crackling of dead and dried leaves alerting you to his presence. You’re all bared teeth and slit eyes- smoke puffing out of your nose at the Invader, readying yourself emotionally to have to spill his blood.

But.. he never attacks. A rookie knight, certainly, with how amazed he seems. You must be the first thing he was sent out to hunt. His blue eyes follow your defensive movements and curled tail, even when you snap your teeth at him. He wears a stupid mohawk that only comes from men his age. Your growls do not deter him, but you can’t bring yourself to attack first when his weapon is not even drawn, the steel not a threat to your scales, just yet.

So you huff once more, the smoke making him cough and splutter, his eyes burning and tearing up. And then you walk away indignantly. Careful to never turn your back as you go about your daily task. Much to your chagrin, he follows you around, asking you questions you refuse to answer- “It’s rather rude to ask a lady her age, knight.”- he’s like a puppy, tail wagging as he follows you around.

Johnny, you learn his name soon enough. Because he comes back the next day, repeating the process. It’s annoying, having a fly buzzing around your ears constantly. But it’s hard to be mad at the little thing when he’s just curious- “No, Knight. I do not lay eggs.”- even if his curiosity wanders occasionally. He called you bonnie, and you can’t bring yourself to reject the title. It’s endearing.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to let your guard down around the man. With every huffing laugh he manages to squeeze from you, your eyes are always drawn back to his sheathed sword attached to his belt. A constant aching reminder of what you can never have, and exactly why. Your tail curls around yourself protectively at the thoughts, the same way it always does around him. It’s so exhausting having to worry about your safety all the time, but what can you do?

Johnny? Oh, he’s just happy to be around a Bonnie lass like you. Trying to be as charming as possible. He just wants you to use them, reader. Pin him down and take what you need until the two of you can get along. Maybe you’ll stop being so grumpy towards him if you take his frustration out on him? A man can dream.

Bloody hell, he’s not even a real knight. But they won’t let anyone into the forest unless they’re authorized. Johnny is just lucky one of his friends is a knight, letting him borrow the armor after a short ramble from the Scot about your picture- the damn drunkard having seen it at his favorite tavern. “Bonnie lass, Kyle. Gotta lemme see her, yeah? Jus’ gotta try- jus’ for a bit, jus’ so they’ll let me in?” Mans WHIPPED.

(He never even brings his sword. It’s an empty sheath and a fake handle, just so he can keep going into the forest in search for you without blowing his cover. What a guy)

[jokeringcutio]

"Almost Kidnapped" - BLACK PHONE & FNAF CROSSOVER - READER INSERT (GRABBER X READER (and implied your boss William Afton having an eye on you) [ 2/?]

AN: Enjoy your Sunday 🥳 As I am known to do, I might just start a few drabbles in this setting because I love it. Might follow up on this [ This is a nice job ].

Summary: You have a narrow escape. ( 'You're working at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza Place for William Afton and Mr. Henry, and Albert Shaw (aka the infamous kidnapper known as The Grabber) regularly performs as a magician at parties').

Fandoms: Five Nights at Freddy's, The Black Phone | Rating: Mature?  Warnings: Talk about arousal (but quite politely), Reader almost gets kidnapped. Older man/younger woman, Only implied William Afton x Reader & Grabber(Albert Shaw) x Reader, Flirting with murderers? Not betaread. [ Support x ]

"Five minutes, no more," Erica's voice cut through the cacophony of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza Place. “I’ll cover for you.”

Gratefully, you nodded, muscles uncoiling as you slipped out the back door, hoping your boss wouldn’t notice your short absence. But it had been such a hectic day. The pizza place was stuffy and crowded, with multiple parties held at once. And Freddy’s was short of staff, leaving you with Justin and Erica. Lucy was ill, Jax was abroad, and Mike and El were at a wedding. Thank goodness you had Erica by your side or you wouldn’t survive the day at all.

Especially with the way your boss, Mr. Afton, kept looking in your direction with that stern gaze. As if he saw something that disturbed him. You had checked your uniform several times, made sure there was nothing stuck between your teeth, and all of that. Whatever made him look at you that way, it was unnerving you and you needed a breather.

The second you stepped outside and the hot summer air brushed past your cheeks, you realized you were not alone. A black van was parked in the parking lot in front of you. Its owner was busy loading the van. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Today’s performer hadn’t left the premises yet, it seemed.

Not many people came around the back; only staff or suppliers. Well, both staff and supplier then, you thought amused.

You curiously watched as Albert Shaw tried to stack cardboard boxes inside the van. He was still dressed in his magician’s clothes. Black flared pants clung to his legs, a top hat perched atop a head with a face painted ghostly white. Red peeked from beneath his black shirt, a silent scream against the somber attire.

He looked pretty hot… for an old man.

Okay, you had to shake that thought away. You knew you and Mr. Shaw had some kind of flirty thing going on – although granted, it could just be mostly in your head. Something along the lines of wishful thinking and so on… But having such thoughts about him would only make things awkward. You needed to clear your mind before you approached him. Will those dirty thoughts away.

Which was pretty hard as you watched him bent forward and caught a good glimpse of the tight fabric stretching around his thighs and... You quickly glanced away and swallowed. Hard.

This was ridiculous. You were already incredibly itching down below, but who could blame you? You’d been focusing on little details like this the entire afternoon. You’d last seen him only half an hour ago or so, when he was giving his last show. He’d been performing all afternoon. The way he captivated the room and made children smile had something magical. Perhaps it was only fitting that he performed as a magician. But still… There was something about this man.

You just couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. Your gaze traveled to see how he lifted one of the boxes. His unclad forearms tensed, his muscles and veins showed, and you bit your lip. Yep, definitely appealing. The man looked like he was a lot stronger than anyone would give him credit for. You wondered if he worked out.

But what was he stacking in there? You knew he had been the entertainer this afternoon, but Mr. Afton and Mr. Henry bought a lot of their party supplies from him too. Was he taking empty boxes back with him? They shouldn’t be heavy. So what was he doing?

You curiously peeked around the average-sized man, catching a glimpse of stacked boxes and brown paper bags now that the backdoors were open and the interior of the van was exposed. Then he shifted until he blocked your view.

Albert Shaw bent forward a little, clearly putting some of his magical equipment inside the van before he straightened his spine and turned around. When he saw you, he flashed you a smile.

“If I had known I had an audience I would have put on a better show,” he greeted you in that low and gravelly voice of his. Did he smoke, you wondered? You’d never seen him do it. But how else could he sound this animalistic, this raw?

The white makeup cracked as his smile broadened. Sunglasses hid his grey eyes, leaving you to guess the expression that lay within them. Your pulse quickened.

“I’m just here to catch some fresh air,” you truthfully replied. And did you just stammer? You didn’t, right?

“Getting a little heated, sweetheart?” he murmured, and by the gods… that did things to you. It was almost as if he knew how he affected you.

“Trying to escape the chaos for a moment,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. You tilted your head, eyes tracing the contours of his frame, the sinewy strength of his arms. "Your performance earlier today was... mesmerizing."

He chuckled, a sound that rumbled from deep within his chest. "I try to please my… audience," the way he said that last word sounded sinful, as if he implied something erotic.

You bit your lip. "Well, you're very good at what you do," you said, stepping closer, the gravel crunching beneath your shoes.

"Need a hand unloading?" The words slipped out before you could stop them, an offer to linger in his presence, to be closer to him. Something about him was attracting you like a magnet.

"Already done," Shaw said, gesturing towards the back of his van. The doors stood open like dark wings, and you peered inside, drawn by curiosity. You saw the boxes he’d placed inside, the brown paper bags. The sight of several black helium balloons bobbing against the roof of the van caught your attention.

"Black ballons?" You asked curiously, a smile playing on your lips. He usually supplied colorful ones to Afton and Henry.

"Part of the act," Shaw replied, a hint of pride in his voice.

You smiled at him before looking inside once more, admiring the balloons when something metallic clattered to the ground from his grasp.

"Oops," he muttered, a clumsy interlude to his usual grace.

Instinctively, you bent to retrieve it, your fingers brushing the cool metal. It was a silver bracelet, engraved with arcane symbols. His bracelet, you recognized with a start. He always seemed to wear it, just like the rings on his fingers – which you hadn’t studied to see if he was married or not… of course not.

You were weighing the bracelet in your hand when something tickled your senses; a prickling warning that made the hairs on your neck stand.

In a swift motion, you turned back to him, thrusting the bracelet at him with both hands and surprising yourself when you noticed this simple gesture seemed to increase the space between you. It made him take a step back. You hadn’t felt him coming.

“Oh, I forgot,” you started, exclaiming it a little too happily to cover your fear.

Albert Shaw stood momentarily frozen, a canister in his grip, aimed at you. You could see the way his jaw twitched, as if you had caught him during something sinister. Your heart thudded against your ribs, each beat screaming for you to flee, to scream. But no. Surely, you must be mistaken. You’d play this the clever way, distract him, puzzle him. Surely you were misinterpreting things. He was just loading his van. The canister must have fallen out or something.

“Your card,” you said, scrambling your brain for words. You searched for his gaze behind the glasses, your breath steady, betraying none of the terror that surged through your veins. He was close enough that you could see the faintest quiver in his hands and smell the sharp tang of chemicals coming from the canister.

"I’m so sorry, Mr. Shaw," you said. You tilted your head, feigning innocence.

Albert Shaw's composure cracked, the corners of his lips started to tremble as he tried to maintain a small smile. The canister disappeared behind him, his arm hooked as he hid the item behind his back as casually as he could muster. But you had seen it, and you had felt the danger. The fact that he hid the item now only raised your suspicion even more. What had he wanted to do with that thing? Drug you?

"I seem to have lost your business card and I was wondering…” you bit your lip, faking shyness. You wanted to take a step back but didn’t dare to move. The air between you was thick with tension, as if one wrong move could mean the end – of what, you didn’t know. Surely you were just paranoid. Surely, the man hired to perform at kids parties wouldn’t try and hurt you.

But still… it felt off.

Putting your hands behind your back, you looked at him through your lashes as you murmured gently if he could perhaps give you another card. Yeah, that’s it. Fake ignorance. Flatter him. Flirt a little. What harm could it do?

It seemed to work as his breath hitched in his throat, his chest rising as his lips parted in a stuttered yet silent sigh. You thought you could see his nostrils flare as he tried to compose himself.

"Of course," he said, a low murmur that sounded bittersweet. He reached into his van, movements deliberate – but you still caught sight of how he placed the canister out of view, in a corner behind the door. Now you could no longer see it and attempt to read the label. You could only guess what it had been filled with.

He fumbled with his bracelet, putting it back on smoothly before he pulled out a card with his name and number on it. Then he offered it to you with a hand that trembled ever so slightly. Calloused fingertips brushed gently past yours as he pressed the card into your hands. A current of electricity snapping between you, dangerous and undeniable.

"Thanks, Mr. Shaw," you said, pocketing the card without looking, your eyes never leaving the abyss of his sunglasses. You deliberately mentioned his name, hoping it would disarm him and put any nefarious thoughts out of his head.

Well, depending on the nature of those nefarious thoughts.

He stood close to you. So close that you could feel the heat of his body, a wall of warmth as he leaned in close to point at the details on the card.

“In case you ever need me to liven up a party,” he murmured, voice dark and deep. His breath skimmed your ear as he murmured instructions on how to reach him, voice low and rough, like dragging stones across velvet. "Call anytime."

"Will do." You pocketed the lie along with the card, stepping back, distance a frail shield.

"I think more than five minutes have passed,” you said, hesitating. You tried to search his eyes through the glasses but they remained hidden from you. All you saw was Shaw’s crooked smile.

"I’m afraid it has,” he agreed, warmth bleeding through his tone, a contrast to the chill that had crawled into your bones when you’d been on your knees to retrieve his bracelet for him. A bracelet that seemed to be clasped quite securely around his forearm, you noticed. How had he lost it anyway?

"Got to head back," you said, stepping away and flashing a small smile to signal you were ending the conversation. Get out of here, your mind screamed. Don’t be silly, another voice inside your head whispered. Why would Mr. Shaw harm you? Everyone knew who he was. He was a well-known face around Freddy’s. “Break's over."

You turned to leave but then froze when you felt a hand upon the small of your back. He touched you. He actually touched you. A gentle but firm touch, and for a moment you thought you would die. That this was it. That he would drag you into his van and slam the door closed, taking you away from your job and the life you had once known.

But nothing like that happened. His touch was heavy but gentle. Not in a harmful way. Not in a way to pull you aside. It was a guiding touch, protective almost, leading you to the safety of the backdoor.

He walked with you. The sound of his footsteps on the gravel first and then on the pavement as you neared the threshold kept you distracted. Up this close, you could smell his heady scent, a mixture of cologne and sweat. You heard his breathing, low and ragged. You felt his touch searing through the fabric of your uniform.

His hand tightened against your spine, fingers pressing deep enough to claim. A silent message carved into your skin.

Your lips parted, astonished, confused.

Then he released you, as if surrendering something precious.

"Until next time.”

The words were a whispered promise, a low grumble heavy with implications and sentiment – but loud enough for you to hear.

“Bye, Mr. Shaw,” you said, hesitating. You didn’t want to give him a promise of meeting him again, although you were certain you would see him more often as he regularly performed here.

But what nonsense were you thinking?

You halted at the door, flashing him a final smile while you watched him take a step back into the sunlight and out of the shadow of the building. The paint on his face was a blinding white and you had to squint your eyes a little when you studied him.

He seemed harmless. Yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling you had when you picked up his bracelet and handed it back to him. The feeling that something really bad was going to happen.

You closed the door.

Had you averted danger? Or had your senses been wrong?

AN: Well? Have you averted danger? Let me know.

[astranauticus]

tried filling out the jomeimei twitter yhk art alignment charts and was so surprised at how much i managed to fill that im just posting them here too (???)

[lifeof-pink]

when i first learned about how the fourth wall worked (making him view reality as a novel) the first thing i said was “…so he’s mentally ill. duh.”

because like????? “everything is awful and i am in terrible physical and mental anguish. i know how to make this better!” *enters derealization but like. magical*