#to support one another. and to admit when you need support.

[roselensedeyes]

The Prophecy - Chapter One

Hello everyone!

I'm so excited to share the first chapter in my elriel meets spyxfamily fic, titled The Prophecy! 💫

This is an AU, so I've taken some creative license for both series.

I hope you enjoy!! Likes, comments and reblogs are MUCH appreciated!!

Pairing: elriel, elain x azriel

Word count: 2.3k

CW: Descriptions of violence

AO3 Link

“I must admit, Azriel, I knew the situation was dire, but this is…” Rhysand trailed off, the words failing him.

Azriel, his brother, could do nothing but give him a grim nod. “We must act immediately.” There was no other choice. Life on Prythian depended on it.

Rhys sighed, rubbing both of his hands over his face. His shoulders hunched, another deep sigh leaving his lips. Azriel looked away.

Not even half a year ago, his brother and High Lord had welcomed a son, Nyx, with his mate, Feyre. Azriel hadn’t been able to see his nephew many times as his job required him to be away for months at times, but he recalled the exact hue of black—a black so deep it resembled the midnight sky— of the baby’s hair, his eyes, blue-gray like his mother’s. The baby’s toothless smiles, his contagious laugh when someone rubbed his belly. The tiny flutters of his wings, begging to fly but too small to support Nyx’s weight yet. 

Nyx was surrounded by love and warmth, by cuddles and kisses, by whispered words of love and loud laughter. Azriel may not be close to him to earn the title of Uncle—no matter what Rhys claimed—but he’d known from the first time he held him in his arms that he would do anything to ensure that Nyx wouldn’t be robbed of the world as he knew it.

Rhys let his hands fall from his face. Azriel could see the exhaustion caused by worry on his brother’s face; it was in the purple bruises under his eyes, the red and glossy veil over his eyes, the marked lines around his mouth. Azriel felt a stab of guilt for telling him the recent intel, but he knew it couldn’t be delayed.

“What do you recommend the course of action to be?” The High Lord asked him.

This was why Azriel had chosen to work for Rhys. Not out of a sense of obligation toward Rhys’ mother, but because he didn’t presume he knew everything simply because he was the ruler. Unlike his predecessors—Rhys’ father—he listened to his opinions, acknowledged Azriel’s areas of expertise gained by centuries of being a spy. 

Meeting his High Lord’s violet eyes, he says, “We need someone to track him down.”

Rhys shook his head. “I can’t ask you to go on another mission. You’ve just returned from your last one!”

“You’re not asking me, I’m doing it out of my own volition,” Azriel said steadily. “Look, you need someone you know you can rely on for this job. That Koschei left his seat at his lake to settle in one of the many villages of Rask is concerning enough. That he only brought a couple of his servants with him, only adds to that concern. If he’s found the Cauldron…”

He left the rest unspoken. They both knew the dangerous threat that hypothetical posed.

Rhysand gave a reluctant nod. “We need to find a way for you to get there.”

“I’ve already thought of a way.”

Rhys’ eyebrows were high on his forehead after Azriel was done explaining his idea. The stars twinkling in the sky behind him shone as brightly as the one in his eyes. Az knew, at once, that his brother was amused by his plan.

He crossed his arms. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

The High Lord’s lips twitched. “I’m just picturing you, pretending to be a stranded merchant, beseeching help from the people of Rask.” He shook his head, a few strands of hair falling across his forehead. A grin spread on his tanned skin. “Whose idea was this? The twins’? Yours?”

Azriel scowled. “I fail to see why that matters.”

“None, none at all,” Rhys said, though his amusement remained. 

Annoyance surged within him, but watching his brother’s eyes light up with delight eased it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen such open joy on his face. That alone was reason enough to allow himself to be Rhysand’s object of mirth.

“So, the plan sees you assuming an alias, going to the Rask village and pretending to be a merchant, who was stranded months before on a remote island and finally found his way back home. Once there, you will work them to your favor until you gain access to Koschei. Once you’ve established what he’s been scheming, we’re going to take him, ensuring he will not destroy the Cauldron and effectively ending life on Prythian.”

Azriel gave a single nod.

Rhys stared at him. “You have wings.”

He shrugged. “I can hide them.” It was true. He learned he could when he was a child, stuck in his Father’s dungeons.

“You will have to actually talk with people,” his High Lord went on.

“And?”

“You’ll have to hold long conversations, crack jokes, make them like you.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I know.” When Rhys didn’t say anything, he added, “I will. It’s not hard.”

Rhys didn’t look at all convinced. “If you’re sure,” he said, his tone indicating he wasn’t.

The full-bloodied Illyrian took some offense to that. “Are you implying I can’t?”

“When was the last time you spent some time with us, your family, Az, and actually enjoyed it?” His brother challenged.

“I always enjoy it,” he protested. 

“I know you do, Cassian, too, but the people who don’t know you don’t. It took Feyre three years to understand you liked being in her company. We can’t afford to wait that long for you to persuade these people you’re one to be trusted,” Rhys retorted.

Azriel couldn’t deny the truth held in his words. He held his chin high. “What do you suggest?” He could tell Rhys was scheming, could see it in his violet eyes.

The other male grimaced. “Well, I’m not entirely sure you’ll like this.”

-

Elain Archeron took a deep, steadying breath, and began writing down what she’d seen a mere minutes ago, her hands slightly shaking.

It was far from being the first time she received visions concerning a middle aged woman. A queen, if the crown atop her head was of any indication. The thought made her hands shake harder.

This was the first time she’d been paralyzed by what her sight had shown her. She wrote faster. She needed to reach Feyre immediately.

It was an usual hot Spring day, and she opted not to wear any additional layers—her chiffon and satin dress was enough. Sprinting down the streets of Velaris, Elain ignored the many looks thrown her way. Not that she could blame them—a young Fae female huffing and puffing, clutching her skirts to prevent from tripping on them, her skin flushed from exertion was sure to attract people’s attention. 

Feyre was in her garden, showing a wide-eyed Nyx the colorful flowers that Elain had planted a couple of months ago. 

“Feyre,” she called.

Her sister jumped, whirling toward her. She brought the arm that wasn’t holding Nyx close to her chest. “Mother bless you, Elain, I didn’t hear you.”

Elain smiled. She took it as a compliment. It had taken months of stealth lessons to be able to sneak up on the Fae. Their enhanced hearing made it near impossible. 

Her nephew babbled, trying to capture her attention. She tickled his soft belly, earning a giggle from him. She pressed a soft kiss on his dark head, before turning back to Feyre.

Her smile slipped as she began recounting her vision. “She’s in one of the villages in Rask.” 

Feyre went still. “Are you certain?” Her grip on her son tightened.

“Yes.” She hesitated before adding, her voice tremulous, “She’s… She’s found it.”

Color bleached from Feyre’s cheeks. She took a seat on a nearby chair, Elain taking the other. Tense, worried silence settled between them, the only sound being Nyx’s babbling. Finally, Elain broke it. “I’m going to Rask.”

“Absolutely not,” Feyre replied immediately. 

The brown-eyed sister suppressed an irritated sigh. Even after all these years, her sisters had troubles allowing her to make her own decisions. No matter how many times she proved herself, they still saw her as a little girl in dire need of guidance. “I am,” she said firmly. “I may not be a good fighter like you and Nesta, but I know how to defend myself. You know the closer I am to her, the more detailed and the more frequent the visions will be.” It was how her visions worked. 

Yet Feyre shook her head. “I can’t let you—”

“You don’t have to let me do anything, actually.” Her sister flinched. Realizing how harsh her tone had been, Elain said gently, “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry. But Feyre, I know what I am doing. I know what I’m going against. I can’t sit here and do nothing, when the Mortal Queen has the Cauldron and I could find a way to stop her.” She let the words sink in, before going for the killing blow. “I couldn’t live with myself, knowing I could have stopped her and didn’t simply because I abhor violence. I want Nyx to grow up in a better world than we did.”

She deserved Feyre’s glare. She didn’t shy away from it, instead met her sister’s eyes. Worry and surrender battled in the blue-gray of her eyes,

At last, the High Lady of the Night Court, sighed. “There’s nothing I can say to change your mind, is there?”

Elain simply shook her head. 

“Even if I warned you Nesta won’t be alright with your decision?”

Again, the brown-eyed of the two sisters gave a curt shake of her head.

Her sister just let out another sigh. “Tell me your plan.”

Hiding her smile at this small victory, Elain explained, “I was thinking I could pretend to be a young widow, seeking shelter in the small Rask village. No one would suspect an heartbroken, innocent woman in need—”

“Wait,” Feyre interrupted her. “The old Mortal Queen is in a village in Rask?”

“Yes,” Elain answered, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“I may have another solution,” the High Lady said, enigmatically.

-

Sitting at Feyre and Rhysand’s dining room table, Azriel couldn’t help but pick up on how on edge everyone seemed to be. Next to him was Rhys, who was busy staring at his mate, sitting right across him on the other couch. Doubtless, they were having some mind-to-mind conversation, thanks to their daemati abilities.

Unfortunately, it meant the other two people in the room with them were left in an awkward silence. Azriel looked up at Elain, attempting at subtlety, just to find her staring at him unabashed.

This was the first time they met. He’d heard plenty of Feyre’s older sister, but he never would have imagined how beautiful she was. Her golden brown hair was done nicely in a waterfall braid. The sunlight made her brown eyes shine like warm honey. 

She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

And she was going to be his pretend wife.

That was Feyre and Rhys’ plan. For Azriel and Elain to go to the Rask village together, as husband and wife. 

He met her eyes. She glanced away, a soft blush spreading on her cheeks. Azriel cocked his head. What was she thinking? Why had she agreed to do this?

Rhys cleared his throat. “Well,” he began, before stopping. He looked at his mate, who rolled her eyes and spoke instead.

“So, Elain, this is Azriel. Azriel, this is Elain, my sister,” she introduced them. “We all know why we’re here, so let’s get straight to the point. You both need to go to this village in Rask. I don’t feel comfortable letting a young woman—my sister—travel alone by herself.” Azriel noticed Elain’s lips tightened. “And Azriel, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you need a cover to make people less frightened of you.” Feyre inadvertently glanced at his scarred hands. It was hard not to hide them from sight. He didn’t look to see if Elain was studying them, too. He didn’t know what he would say or do if she was. “Rhys and I believe you can help each other out. You can pretend you’re a newly married couple, looking to settle down in this village. You can figure out the details as you go.”

Silence blanketed the room. 

“I’ll do it,” Elain announced. They all turned to look at her. Color bloomed on her cheeks at the sudden attention. Looking at Azriel, she said, “If you’re fine with it, of course.” She bit her lower lip.

Azriel found himself nodding without really thinking about it. 

Feyre and Rhys both seemed to let out a relieved sigh. “Perfect. You’re leaving in two weeks, the passage has already been taken care of.” 

“You’ll need rings, of course. Azriel, can you take care of that?” Feyre addressed him.

Rings. Elain will need a ring, he thought. Again, he nodded without saying anything. He threw a quick glance toward Elain. She was staring at her hand, where a finger should—<i>will</i>—be. He tucked away his puzzlement. Later, when he was alone, he’d have all the time in the world to go over his first meeting with her.

-

One, two, three.

Four, five, six.

seven, eight, nine.

Her small hands closed tightly over her ears, Tesni kept counting numbers, mumbling them to try to block out the screams in the background.

She was squeezed back against the wall of her mother’s dresser. She could see her chest rise quickly, beads of sweat crowning her forehead. Little, frantic sobs burst out of her mouth. She clamped her mouth shut, bringing her hands over it.

She heard everything clearly now. Her mother’s pleas, her father’s shouts as he tried to protect his mate.

Tesni kept counting, over and over again, long after her parents ceased crying and silence reigned once more. Long after the first rays of sunshine bathed the room with light.

A sharp metallic tang had built for a few hours now, overwhelming her sensitive nose.

When her neighbors found her, Tesni was lying on the dresser floor, still mumbling numbers. As they carried away from the carnage, wondering how she had survived for so long by herself, three words were ringing in her head, a last gift from her parents.

Remember the prophecy. 

[thezombieprostitute]

Constant Change

A/N: Reader is AFAB. No other descriptors used.

Warnings: Pregnancy, Smut. Please let me know if I missed any!

You’re finally home for the day and you’re still in daze after the phone call from the doctor. Everything feels surreal as you unlock the door. The surrealness isn’t helped by seeing Nick on one knee in the living room, holding a ring box. 

You freeze at the sight and he shyly rubs the back of his neck, “I know it’s kinda quick but I also know you’re the one. If you’ll have me.” He looks back at you with those puppy dog eyes you can never say no to.

All you can say is, “I’m pregnant.” Nick’s eyes go wide and he’s immediately on his feet and moving to hold you. You practically collapse into his arms and he sits you down on the couch with him. 

“The doctor appointment,” he asks. “To see why you’ve been sick?”

“Yup,” you quietly reply. 

“I, uh, I guess we weren’t being as safe as we thought.”

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper.

Nick kisses you, “it’s not your fault. It takes two to make this kind of thing happen.”

“You’re a lot more calm about this than I expected,” you admit. “I…part of me was scared you’d be angry and want to leave me.”

“Not a chance,” he affirms. “I can understand why it didn’t register but I was just down on one knee asking you to marry me. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“You were proposing on the idea that we weren’t having a kid, Nick.”

“So you want to keep it?”

“I’m…” you hesitate. It’s something you long ago gave up any hope on. Another way you disappointed your parents. You’ve been so mentally ready to never have a child that this has entirely shaken your worldview. “I don’t know,” you confess.

“You don’t have to decide today,” Nick reassures. He gently moves your chin, making you look into his eyes. “Whatever you choose, I’m with you.”

“Do you want a kid?”

“I’ll admit, it’s something I thought was never going to happen for me,” he says. “But it’s not me who’s going to have to carry the baby. I’m not the one whose body is going to have to take everything.”

“Yeah, pregnancy ain’t a fairytale like they portray in the stories.”

“Which is why it’s your decision, that I will fully support, when you make it.”

“I have to ask, are you still interested in getting married?”

“Of course.”

You scan Nick’s face, looking for any of the telltale signs of hesitancy but you don’t find them. 

“Then let me make sure that ring fits,” you ask with a smile. 

“Nick,” you moan as his fingers expertly play with your nipples and his lips leave marks along your neck. “Nick, we should get some breakfast.”

“Can’t let you go this morning,” Nick states. “I’ll just have to have you for breakfast.”

While you haven’t been together long you’ve learned that when he gets in a mood he needs to follow through. The few times you’ve turned down his advances he acquiesced but it made him all the more needy when he did get you in bed. Those were the times you couldn’t walk the next day because of how thoroughly he’d fucked you silly.

“You didn’t get enough last night?”

“Can never get enough of you,” he growls. He almost seemed insulted at the very idea. “You look so good with that ring on. How could I possibly get enough?”

“Lucky you I don’t have to go into work today,” you smile. He gently pinches your nipples, making you moan. “Lucky me, as well.”

He chuckles at that as he kisses his way down your front, leaving marks where no one else will be able to see them. You try to use your hands to move him where you need him but he stops and glares at you. “Hands on the headboard,” he orders.

“Or else what,” you snicker.

“Or else I show you some of the immobilization techniques I learned in the CIA.”

You raise an eyebrow but decide not to test him. Not this early in the morning anyways. You put your hands above you, leaning your arms against the headboard and he smirks. You really enjoy giving him control in the bedroom and he loves that you trust him enough to do so. He’s very open to rewarding you for obeying his request and he shows it by finally kissing his way to your needy pussy.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who didn’t get enough last night,” he gently snarks as he sticks a finger into your already wet core. Without thinking you spread your legs wider, a silent plea for more.

Nick spends the next hour hitting all of your favorite spots, his eyes dark as he watches you fall apart, first on his fingers, then his cock.

Early on you told him your concerns about him not getting as much out of sex as you. He assured you that “your pleasure is mine, Lady. Every time I can make you come, make you call out my name, or whimper for me, it’s better than any orgasm for me.”

By the time he's done you're barely able to remember your own name. He's gently kissing you, massaging your legs, praising you.

“I should be thanking you,” you murmur, gently kissing back. “Best sex I've ever had. Most attentive partner I've ever been with. Makes me happy to give you everything I've got and then some.”

Nick's expression changes from happy to loving. Those puppy dog eyes that own your heart. “You're so good to me,” he says softly before pulling you in for cuddles.

As you start eating breakfast, you remind Nick that the two of you still need to talk about the pregnancy. While Nick has given you full control over the decision, you still want to talk things out with him, regarding his wants and concerns.

“My biggest fear is bringing work home with me,” Nick confesses. “But I'm already afraid of that with you. I don't know if a baby would add to that fear.”

“It's not like you're the bigger target here. I'm the one he came after. I'm the one who had to move in with you because my place wasn't safe.”

“So we agree, we live pretty dangerous lives,” Nick nods. “Definitely a factor.”

“At least money isn't so much of a factor,” you comment. We're not ‘higher echelon’ rich but we're pretty secure. Even if I quit my job.”

“Is that something you want?”

You sigh, “if we keep the baby I'll want to give them all the care and attention they need. That means no more job. I enjoy my work and my coworkers but there's been a lot of…tension ever since the incident with Clark.”

“Everyone wants the juicy details?”

“That and the fact that, as a city employee, a lot of my higher ups rely on campaign support from rich people like him. They're not happy with a potential threat to their funds.”

“I could always convince them to change their minds,” Nick offers, eyebrow raised.

You chuckle, “I'm not asking that of you. But I do love your willingness to hurt others for my sake. It really helps with my fear about us accidentally bringing danger home.” Sighing, you rub your belly, “then there are the health dangers. It's definitely a high risk pregnancy.”

Nick nods, his eyes never leaving your stomach. “But we can afford to get you all the medical care you might need. Might have to call in a few favors with the Boss’s doctors but it's doable.”

“And that's without my income, right?”

“Right,” he nods.

“I think I want to try to keep it,” you whisper.

Nick kneels in front of you, gently gripping your chin to make you look him in the eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He searches for signs of second guessing, signs you might be doing this for anything other than you. Seeing your eyes filled with worry but hopeful determination he smiles, “then let's have a baby.”

Tag List: @alicedopey ; @icefrozendeadlyqueen ; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory ; @rebekahdawkins ; @terry2227 ; @texmexdarling

I've tagged everyone who had asked to be tagged in Changing Minds. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the list!

[wholoveseggs]

I am begging you can you please make a Damon and Elijah fic? I didn't know this ship even existed but I'm so fuckin invested in it. You can make up the story line and everything, the only thing I ask is that Elijah is the dominant one and that Elena doesn't support their relationship but they simply don't care what she thinks anymore?

Thank you thank you thank you🫶🫶🫶

Respect

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Elijah puts Damon in his place, and demands he show him a little more than respect.

♡♡ Thanks for the request anon! I was giggling like crazy writing this (its my fav Elijah ship) Unfortunately I didn't include Elena, but we all know she would be jealous as fuck... (of who? well... that's up to you...) ♡♡

2.9k words - Warnings: smut, this is just a alternate version of the iconic pencil scene, Elijah in his middle part menace era, dom!elijah, sub!damon, blowjobs, face-fucking, Damon being an Elijah simp...

At first, Damon just saw Elijah as the enemy, simple, straightforward, an asshole that just had to go.

He was a threat and Damon was an expert on handling threats, especially when it came to the safety of those he cared about. He wasn't afraid to throw punches, not afraid to pull out the stops and go all out.

But then things changed.

Things changed and he realized that maybe he and Elijah had more in common than he thought, the man was cunning and calculating, he could be dangerous when he needed to be, and Damon would be lying if he said that it didn't scare the hell out of him.

Elijah was a mystery that he wanted to solve, he wanted to figure out just how deep his intelligence went, how far his knowledge spanned. He was curious about him, he wanted to learn every little detail and find out what made him tick.

Damon knew what he was to woman, he would wield his good looks like a weapon, his charm was another weapon, his wit was one too.

But now he truly understood what it was like to be on the receiving end of such charisma, it was addicting, and he was hooked.

Elijah's power and dominance was something that drew him in and held him there. He wanted nothing more than to submit to him, to surrender and let him do as he pleased. It was a foreign feeling, one he wasn't exactly comfortable with… but he couldn't resist him.

The way Elijah was able to command his attention and keep it was intoxicating, his presence alone demanded respect, but when he opened his mouth, the words that came out were pure elegance, and Damon found himself captivated by his smooth tone, his articulation was flawless.

He was a true gentleman.

He was everything Damon was not.

So what did Damon do? He took all these new and uncomfortable feelings and did what he always did. Antagonize.

He would try his best to push Elijah's buttons, hoping for a reaction, an emotion, anything to give him a clue on what was going through his mind. But to his dismay, the man would not budge, and it just left Damon wanting more.

He knew he needed to get his attention, and Damon still was determined to protect Elena at all costs, so he decided to take it further, the more dangerous the stunt, the better.

Damon sauntered into the Lockwood mansion, his signature smirk firmly in place. Today was a simple fact finding mission. All he wanted to do was suss out Elijah's weaknesses, find out if he could be manipulated, maybe find a way to control him.

That's all. He told himself, making his way deeper into the house, looking for the original.

It wasn't long until he spotted the older vampire, who was chatting away with Carol. He watched him, noticing how his body language screamed regal and refined.

Damon didn't want to admit it, but he was nervous, this was the first time they were officially meeting. The last time Elijah ripped out the hearts of two vampires right in front of him and the time before that Damon drove a coat hanger through Elijah's heart. Not the best first impression.

He could feel his heart beat quicken, and he knew he needed to calm down, otherwise the vampire would notice. So he took a deep breath and plastered his smirk back on, striding confidently toward the pair.

"Damon," Carol gave him a welcoming smile, happy to see him. "What a surprise," she greeted, reaching forward and shaking his hand.

"Carol," he returned, nodding at her.

"Elijah, I want you to meet Damon Salvatore. His family is one of Mystic Falls' founding families." Carol introduced.

"Mmm," Damon looked at Elijah, whose expression was impassive, his eyes scanning him briefly. "Such a pleasure to meet you."

"No. Pleasure's mine," Elijah replied, taking Damon's hand and squeezing tightly, just a tad bit too tight, causing the younger vampire to wince slightly.

"Excuse me," Carol interjected. "I should probably attend to my other guests," she smiled, giving them both a nod before leaving the pair alone.

Damon could feel Elijah's eyes almost burning holes into him, the older vampire seemed to be sizing him up, as if trying to decide whether or not he was worth his time.

"So," Damon drawled, his smirk still present, he motioned towards a private study off to the side, the door slightly ajar. "Shall we?" he suggested, his tone dripping with honey.

Elijah followed behind him, watching as he made his way inside. This young vampire was going to be quite the handful, but that was okay. He had dealt with others far worse.

Once they were both in the room, Elijah closed the door, grazing his fingertips along the leather sofa, not even bothering to look Damons way.

"What can I do for you, Damon?" he inquired, his voice low, but smooth and controlled.

"I was hoping we could have a word," Damon replied, his tone slightly less confident than before, the way Elijah spoke and held himself was unnerving.

"Where's Elena?" Elijah questioned, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

Damon didn't like the way Elijah asked after her, like he had some sort of claim over her, and he didn't like the way he said her name either.

"Safe with Stefan. They're laying low, you know, bit of a werewolf problem," Damon explained, his tone nonchalant.

"Oh, yeah, I heard about that," Elijah responded, finally looking at Damon, his expression stoic, almost unreadable.

"I'm sure you did since it was your witch that saved the day." Damon couldn't hide the bite in his tone, he didn't like the way Elijah seemed all knowing, as if he was privy to everything that went on in Mystic Falls.

Elijah finally looked at him, and it sent a shiver down his spine. His eyes were cold and calculating, and it made him uneasy and a little aroused.

"You are welcome," he replied with a smug grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Damon leaned against the nearby desk, trying his best to stay casual. "Which adds to my confusion on exactly why you're here?" he questioned, hoping his voice didn't betray the nerves he was currently feeling.

Elijah was bored by this conversation, the infamous Salvatore was not worth his time. "Why don't you just stay focused on keeping Elena safe and leave the rest to me." He replied, looking away from Damon and smiling softly, he then turned and headed for the door.

But Damon wasn't going to let him get away so easily, he was determined to get his attention, so he sped to the door, blocking Elijah's way.

"Not good enough," Damon stated, his voice firm.

The look on Elijah's face could of melted steel, it was cold, his eyes were hard and his jaw clenched tightly.

Before Damon could blink, Elijah's hand was around his throat, lifting him off the ground and slamming him into the wall, his grip was like a vice. Damon couldn't breathe, he struggled against the original, clawing at his hand, gasping for air.

He grabbed Elijah's throat, trying to choke him in return, but it was no use. He was strong, and the fact that the older vampire could effortlessly hold him there, only turned him on even more.

Elijah peeled Damon's hand off his throat, crushing the bones in his fingers, and causing the younger vampire to cry out in pain. Damon was shocked at how strong Elijah really was, how easily he was able to handle him.

"You young vampires, so arrogant." He growled, pushing Damon's hand away with ease. "How dare you come in here and challenge me?'' His voice was full of venom, his tone menacing.

"You can't kill me, man. It's not part of the deal." Damon managed to wheeze out, his words slightly slurred from the lack of oxygen.

Elijah was amused by his statement, his face contorting into a gentle smile, his eyes dancing with mirth. "Silence," he whispered, his tone dangerously low.

Damon's mouth snapped shut, and his heart was pounding in his chest. He was in a compromising position, and he wasn't sure if it was the adrenaline, or the fact that he was literally at the mercy of an Original, but his body was buzzing with anticipation.

Elijah could hear Damon's heartbeat racing, the blood pumping through his veins. He knew what the young vampire was feeling, the fear, the arousal.

Elijah grabbed a pencil and jammed it into Damon's neck. He needed to teach this vampire a lesson. He was a mere child compared to him, and it was time he learned his place.

Damon cried out in agony, the pencil lodged deep in his neck. He was utterly helpless, and Elijah could tell.

He dropped Damon, letting him pull the pencil out of his neck and stumble forwards, he clutched at his throat, groaning in pain.

Elijah smiled slightly, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping the blood off his hands, "I'm an Original. Show a little respect," he ordered.

Damon could feel his pants getting tighter, the bulge in his jeans growing with every passing second. Elijah's dominance was a major turn on, and he couldn't stop the arousal coursing through his body.

Elijah handed him the handkerchief, their fingers brushing, causing Damon to shiver. He took the cloth, wiping away the excess blood.

Damon wanted to be angry, he should be furious, but instead he was excited. His blood was pumping, his adrenaline was high, and he couldn't hide the fact that Elijah made him feel things he never thought possible.

When their eyes met, Elijah knew that he was in for a fun time. He could see the desire swimming in those bright blue eyes. He smirked and stepped closer, invading his personal space, causing the younger vampire to swallow nervously.

"On your knees," Elijah commanded, his tone deep and seductive.

Damon felt a jolt of pleasure go straight to his dick, his mind was screaming for him to leave, but his body was already sinking down to the floor.

Once on his knees, he looked up at Elijah, his heart hammering in his chest, his breath coming out in shallow pants.

"You know what to do." Elijah encouraged, his eyes full of lust.

Damon hesitated, his hands trembling slightly as he reached up and began undoing the belt and button on Elijah's dress pants. He was a bit nervous, not because he had never been with a man before, he had, plenty of times, but this was an original, and he wasn't exactly sure how far he was willing to go.

"Do you require a written invitation?" Elijah questioned with a teasing grin.

Damon frowned and swallowed thickly, pulling the zipper down slowly, and carefully removing Elijah's cock from his pants. It was so hard, so thick, and Damon couldn't deny that he was intimidated by its size.

Elijah grunted slightly, looking down at Damon with hooded eyes, his gaze filled with dark lust. He didn't usually have his enemies submit in this way, only when he was in a charitable mood, but Damon was an exception.

Elijah ran his fingers through Damon's dark hair, tugging gently at the strands, causing the younger vampire to wince, it wasn't rough enough to hurt, but it was enough to pull a reaction.

Damon leaned in closer, his hot breath ghosting across the sensitive skin. Elijah smelled like pine and leather and a hint of cologne, he was pure man, and it made his head spin.

So Damon, using all his experience from previous encounters, ran his tongue over the tip, earning a small groan of approval.

Encouraged by Elijah's moan, he started to slide his mouth along his shaft. Giving him gentle licks and wet kisses, tasting the bitter flavor of the pre cum seeping out.

The pace was slow at first, Damon running his tongue down to the base and back up to the tip, swirling his tongue around the head of the shaft, eliciting more beautiful sounds from Elijah.

Elijah dug his fingernails into Damon's scalp, gripping his head, and guiding him down further, moaning softly as he hit the back of his throat.

Damon gagged a little, causing Elijah to chuckle. "Hmph, there we go," he grunted, looking down at Damon's face and meeting his heated gaze.

He then forced his cock deep into his mouth, holding his head in place and listening to him gag, spit dripping out and down his chin.

"Ah...good boy, that's better," Elijah cooed, easing his grip slightly and allowing Damon to adjust. "Just like that." He praised.

Damon closed his eyes and relaxed his throat, letting Elijah use him the way he wanted, the way he desired.

As soon as the noises stopped, Elijah removed his dick, giving Damon the opportunity to breathe. Damon gasped for air, coughing, his throat was raw, he hadn't let someone treat him in this way for decades, he was completely and totally dominated.

But it was so hot, so arousing, and he loved every minute of it. His own erection pressing painfully against the seam of his pants, he wanted more.

He swallowed heavily, looking up at Elijah who was stroking himself, enjoying the sight before him.

"Mmm, very good, such a pretty face, a perfect mouth for my cock," Elijah growled. "Now suck," he ordered.

Damon surged forward, his mouth wrapping around his shaft once more, but this time he pushed himself all the way to the base, swallowing around him, letting him feel the tight squeeze of his throat.

Elijah thrust his hips, and Damon could tell he was close to the edge, he wanted to taste his cum, wanted to feel the power and authority of him.

"Fuck, yes," Elijah muttered, holding Damon's head and slamming his hips into his mouth. "Just a little bit more," he groaned, his words broken by ragged moans.

Damon's jaw was aching, his entire body was shaking, and he could barely breathe, but the pressure building between his legs made the pain all worth it.

Elijah grunted, slamming his hips forward one final time, spilling his load down Damon's throat. The vampire eagerly swallowed down the warm thick fluid, breathing deeply, and trying to regain his composure.

When the spasms subsided, he pulled out, and Damon collapsed, his body trembling, his cock painfully hard, his breath coming out in sharp gasps.

Elijah smiled down at him, his cock glistening with the young vampires spit. He tucked himself away, straightening his suit and clearing his throat.

"Now, get cleaned up," he commanded, tossing his handkerchief at him.

Damon scrambled to wipe himself off, he didn't even have the decency to ask if Damon needed help getting off. The thought didn't even cross his mind.

Elijah fixed his hair in the mirror, making sure his appearance was perfect, that his part was just right. When he was satisfied with his look, he gave Damon one last glance and left the room without a word.

Damon sat there, stunned and aching. He had never experienced anything like that before, and it left him wanting more. He couldn't believe what had just happened, how easily Elijah had put him in his place, how willingly he had submitted.

He was a vampire, a strong, powerful vampire, and yet he was completely at the mercy of another. And that scared and thrilled him.

He shook his head and stood up, his legs shaking. He quickly composed himself, adjusting his clothes, wiping away the stray tear.

He wondered what Elena would think, or Stefan or even Alaric. Would they understand? He didn't even understand it himself.

He sighed and walked out of the study, heading towards the bar. He needed a drink. A stiff one.

Elijah was leaning against the bar, a glass of scotch in his hand, his expression unreadable. Damon could feel the tension between them, but he ignored it, instead focusing on pouring himself a glass.

"Enjoyed yourself?" Elijah inquired, his voice laced with amusement.

For once Damon was at a loss for words, his mouth opening and closing, no sound coming out. He didn't know how to respond.

"The moment you cease to be of use to me, you're dead, so you should do what I say. Keep Elena safe." Elijah continued, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips.

Damon somehow found his voice again and his snarky side made an appearance. "Well, thank you for being so gracious," he quipped, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Elijah chuckled, shaking his head, he took a sip of his drink, savoring the taste.

"I like this town, there are so many interesting people," he commented, his eyes locking with Damon's, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Interesting?" Damon repeated, arching his brow.

"Indeed," Elijah replied, his gaze lingering on the younger vampire for a moment longer before he stood and set his glass on the counter.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against Damon's ear, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin, "it was nice meeting you Damon Salvatore, I'm sure our paths will cross again,"

Damon watched him walk away, his heart racing, his mouth dry. He wasn't sure what had just happened, but he knew one thing, he wanted more.

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[sgt-scottymoreau]

Rogue Soldier

Summary: Scotty dissapear after a previous mission went south. For months, no one can't figure out where she is, till one day.

Warning: Violence, description of injuries/pain

Words: 4k // Masterlist

A/N: Another cheesy fic slightly inspired by the Winter Soldier idea. I wrote that like over a year ago and only post it now because I'm running low in Canon content lol Enjoy!

Every night for the last months, he woke up in cold sweat, dreaming again and again about the same failure he did. Price told him over and over that it wasn't his fault, so did Soap and Gaz. They all tried to support him, but it happened under his watch. He was supposed to protect her. He pushed the blanket, heading to the bathroom to wash up his face. He closed the tap, his eyes lifted to the mirror in front. Ghost saw how tired and horrible he looked. Worse than usual. He could hear her saying so and a small smile drew on his lips. Which then was followed again by her screaming out his name. His knuckles tighten around the towel. 

During a mission, Scotty had been kidnapped. They tried their best, pulled every string from all their connections without avail. Laswell didn't find anything, neither did Nikolai or Farah. Even Alenjandro and his Vaqueros had no intel. The 141 kept this secret for a month, before the day he dreaded happened. Without any news on her whereabouts, she had to be declared M.I.A and the news had to be brought to her family. Ghost was glad he was not the one who explained them, Price had the obligation as her captain to do it. Nonetheless he was there when the news was spoken. It felt like once again he let down his family. Another failure on his part. Scotty's dad remained clear headed the whole time, her mother wasn't hysterical but no amount of reassurance would calm her. Gabrielle was also there and she was speechless, but her face spoke of the pain. She was in shock. None of them promised the family they would find her again, but they would never stop looking. 

Despite all of this everyone refused to believe Scotty was dead. They had no body to prove she was dead. So maybe there were still small hopes. Hopes who were slowly dimming away as more weeks passed by. He returned to bed. A bed that felt so empty now. That's why he never wanted to get attached because in their line of work you never knew when one wouldn't not come back home. Ghost turned around in the bedsheet, gazing at the ceiling, watching the clock, trying to sleep. He was restless. He thought that mindless scrolling on his phone would help. It did till, for whatever reasons, Ghost went to check the pictures. Not that he had taken much of her; it was in fact the other way around. Scotty was always taking pictures of them and would send them to him. He simply saved them. He looked at her smile or that one silly picture she sent or the one he took of her sleeping on the couch in the most uncomfortable position, yet looked beautiful to his eyes. His heart ached. 

Ghost would never admit but he was thankful to his friends to be there for him. It was hard for everyone, but they knew how it was harder for him. She meant everything to him. So they kept taking turns to keep his mind off the darkness, not leave him alone too much even if it was all he said he wanted. Soap remembered one day he went to Ghost's place, only to find him looking more miserable than usual. Like he hadn't showered or eaten in days. He really felt bad for him. After some encouragement, the Scotsman finally made him dress up and they went out for a drink. Ghost needed some fresh air according to him. 

They enjoyed some snacks and drinks at the local pub. Ghost was still brooding, but Soap terrible attempts at jokes did drag a smile out of him here and there. He was fidgeting with his drink when two girls showed up at their tables. He did not even bother lifting his head to face them. "Come here often, handsome?" One of them advanced to Soap. 

"Sorry ladies, not interested tonight." He shut them down quickly. 

"What about your friend here?" One lady asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. Ghost tensed up and shifted away. "Jeez no need to be so rude. Not with an attitude like this and this… mask that you gonna get a girl." 

The glare he gave her made the girl move five steps back. "I suggest you leave." He let out coldly. The two girls didn't try to argue. Ghost sipped on his drink. If only they had known how this mask and attitude indeed got him a girl…

Missions felt different. Not too much, they were used to missions where she wasn't there. But her snarky comments, her goofing around with Soap and Gaz, her accidental flirting with Ghost, all were missing. Just like today. Soap was complaining on the com. Till Gaz replied. "Pretty sure Captain, don't want someone to go full clean everywhere."

"I know my tactics are brute force sometimes, but do I really need to be overwatch?"

"A little focus, lads." Price intervened. 

Despite her absence, Soap and Ghost both heard her. Her remark every time Price would say this. And girl. Obviously their coms never sparked her chuckles. Soap looked at his friend who focused himself on his scope. He had a visual on Price, Gaz and Stevenson. Someone who had worked with them before and was again paired up for this mission. 

"I got a visual on the target. He's talking with someone." Ghost said. "Garrick, he is only a few meters away from you."

"Any hostiles that might be with him?" Price asked. 

"I see nothing sir." Soap replied while scouting with the binocular. 

Ghost watched through the small crowd. "Hold that thought…" He noticed something off. Someone who was trying to blend in the crowd. However, said person did not look to be part of their current target affiliation. He adjusted his snipe. His blood went cold when the person turned around. "Johnny!" He shouted louder than expected, making him jump. "Check the person with the black hood, near the restaurant, there!"

Soap wasn't sure why. Ghost wouldn't be vague like this for no reason, he was always direct. His gaze followed the instruction and his own heart skipped a beat. "It's her!" He exclaimed. The two men looked at each other; they had to focus on the mission but how did she just reappear out of nowhere. "Captain! We have a visual on Scotty!" Soap radioed quickly. 

Price, who was sitting on a bench, tried to look for the position they pointed him to. He couldn't make up her face, but he did see the woman with the hood. Gaz, who was also nearby, lost focus for a moment and searched for her. Being closer, he saw her features. "I would say you guys are crazy, but no it is her." He confirmed. 

"I saw her too." Stevenson came in. "Keep your eyes on the main target, I'll make contact with her.”

From their spot, Ghost told Soap to keep watch on target, he will keep eyes on Scotty. He lost her once, he won't lose her a second time. Through his scope, he watched Stevenson approach with a friendly embrace. But something was off. She didn't seem to remember him? Ghost kept watching. They had worked with the man not long before she was kidnapped. For sure she would know his face. Ghost gestured at Soap to also watch, confirming that it wasn't his mind playing tricks. Her stance was stern and cold. They both saw Stevenson only at arm length. He seemed like he said something. Her course of action took their breath away. Scotty grabbed the man's arm, swiftly flipped him around, forced him on his knee and plunged a knife in his neck. The crowd scattered in fear, causing chaos to their main mission. 

"What the fuck happened?" Price yelled getting up ready to jump in the action. 

Ghost's words almost got caught in his throat. "It's Scotty… she is… hostile." 

Soap turned to him with confusion on his face. Price was also stunned by this realization but kept his head straight. With the crowd panicking, their target could get away easily. He ordered Gaz to capture him before he could ask. The sergeant agreed and swiftly made his way through the crowd. From their higher ground, Ghost and Soap didn't let go of both, giving updates on their movements. Gaz was about to intercept the target, when Ghost saw it.

"Garrick! Watch your back!" He yelled in the radio quickly.

Gaz turned around to see Scotty about to knock him out. He ducked in the time and slipped to the side. The woman placed herself between the two men, almost as she was protecting him. The target smiled. "Do you like my new pet? She turned out to be quite an asset once we were done." He explained. 

Ghost's hands gripped his sniper so hard, his knuckles hurted. He did not like the way he was talking about her. "What did you do to her?" Gaz asked, taking a defensive stance.

"Isn't it obvious? She is here to protect me… and kill all of you. Isn't that right, love? It's the 141 after all." With this, Gaz saw her pull a gun out and aim at him. He dodged quickly before trying to find cover.

"She has a gun. We can't let her be in the middle of this chaos, going around shooting!" Gaz radioed to be sure everyone would hear. Price was already by his side by then. He had to think quickly of a solution, while he could see the gun being pointed in his direction. It wouldn't take long for local authorities to also show up. She had to be drawn somewhere else without any civilians being able to point out the direction. However one detail made no sense to him. If Scotty was indeed the target's protection, why would she keep her face out in the open? Anyone would be able to identify her. Unless this was part of their enemy's plan. But for what? Price pushed Gaz behind cover with him. By reflex, they both grab their weapon, fully aware that none of them wished to arm her. 

Ghost followed the exchange with a caution eye. He wasn't the type of man to lose his cool during a mission or a high stake moment. But right now, he felt his body being tense; his breathing was heavy, his grip was strong and his mind racing. Price hadn't ordered anything yet, which gave him the idea that he was probably in the same mindset as him. Finding a solution that would not result in more blood. The crowd cleared from their position. This gave Ghost an opportunity to test something. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, before pulling the trigger. The bullet hit the ground right behind her. By her surprised reaction, his guess was right. She was not aware of their position. 

Price and Gaz took advantage of this distraction to jump on the woman. With not much success. Gaz had sparred with her in the past, he knew how she danced. Now, it felt like he was fighting someone else. She easily got the upper hand. A pressure on his shoulder followed by a loud bang made him realize much. A stinging pain and warmth overwhelmed this part. Another sniper shot was fired and Scotty jumped back again. Price tempted another attempt at getting a hold of her. Despite the confusion, Scotty was able to get him first. With a quick move, Scotty spinned him around, his back against her, his arm above her shoulder and pulled on it. A loud crack and pain jolted through his elbow to his shoulder. If it wasn't for a third snipe shot, Price would have probably received a gunshot wound after the broken arm.

Ghost saw that he finally had her full attention to the building when she dropped Price and scouted their direction. Soap had a better idea to help. He stood at the window, waving. "Hey! Over here!" He shouted. As expected, they watched her rush toward their position. 

"What do we do now? It's not like we can shoot her…" Soap groaned. "We don't even know why she's acting like that!"

"I have an idea why…" An idea that made him sick and enraged. "We need to stop her without any harm." 

Soap agreed. The two men took position for ambush. They waited…waited…and waited. Ghost glanced by the window. Price was taking care of Gaz, but no Scotty in sight. What was she doing? The lieutenant gestured to Soap to slowly move from his position to check out. He did so, crouching to reach the door. He pushed it with his gun. No riposte. Was she in the building or not? Soap tempted a check; his head picking just a little to see the hallway. Nothing. "Negative on…" He was interrupted by the door slamming on his face violently. Soap stumbled back, broken nose. He lost balance, fell flat on his back and a foot stopped on his chest pinning him down. Scotty was above him, ready to shoot. The sergeant grabbed her leg and pulled as hard as he could to destabilize her. It worked, although in her fall she did pull the trigger. The bullet grazed his arm. Ghost sent a warning shot to get her attention. He saw enough friends being hurt. 

‘‘Drop the gun!’’ He ordered, doing the same. ‘‘We are not gonna hurt, but if you force our hands.’’ Scotty did not move a muscle, always aiming at him. At the moment he was the treat. Ghost’s brain was working overclock to make sense of what was going on. Try to piece together what was happening to her, with his own experience. Disappearing for months, reappearing as a changed person, ready to kill in cold blood… He gritted his teeth. Soap took the opportunity of their silent exchange to push back one more time. He pushed himself on his feet despite the pain and disarmed her. Not without struggle, but he was able to get the gun out of her grip. He had forgotten about the knife though. Something he was reminded of when he avoided it just by an inch, his cheek being cut in the process still. 

It was a game of distraction and action. Ghost took Soap’s distraction to his advantage this time, jumping on her, holding her as much as he could. Scotty squirmed to get out of his grip, kicking him. Her head hit his own. Thanks to the mask, he did not get anything broken but the shock was enough for him to lose his grip. Which was all she needed to slip away. The rogue soldier spinned around with the knife about to dig in Ghost’s tight. He avoided it just on time. She riposted by swiftly going for a slice up. All she managed was to graze his bulletproof vest. Ghost could have gone for his own knife or gun or anything to stop her, but he couldn’t get himself to hurt her. The last time he had to face someone in the same situation it had been so easy to kill him. No second thoughts. However this time, it wasn’t so easy. He dodged every single of her attempts to kill him. ‘‘Come Scotty! Don’t you recognize us? Me?’’

‘‘You are 141, you need to be killed!’’ These were not the words he expected to hear from her after months. But at least it made everything clear. It did clear up that this wouldn’t finish with either them dead or her knock out. Ghost will apologize for it later, for now he has to protect his team. Just like Gaz, he noticed her different fightstyle and had to adapt to it. He had to give it to her, she was still able to get him a few times. Knife cutting through his clothes dragging blood. Despite hating this, he did succeed one or two hits on her too. A bleeding lip, bruised cheeks, kick in the shin. Yet, she was still standing, always coming back at him with the same energy. Whatever the enemy used to brainwash her, they really worked her resolve into not giving up till they were dead. Even if it killed her. On the outside, sirens from ambulances and police flooded the place. Even if they made it out alive, it would be hard for extraction. This had to finish now.

He saw the opening and went for it. Ghost rolled under her leg, pushing her up with his shoulder. Before she even tried to regain her balance in the fall, he slammed her against the floor. The shock knocked the air out of her lungs. He had only a fraction of a second to get her and knock her out. She kicked and tried to punch him before she went limp. Ghost let go quickly before it would kill her. Out of breath, Soap and him looked at each other now that the heat had cooled off. It was time to leave without attracting attention.

****

When she finally came back to herself, she was at the base’s infirmary. Her head was aching like the worst hangover she ever had. With a grunt, Scotty tried to lift her hand to massage her temples but restraints held her down. She was confused for a moment. While would she need these? The same for her ankles. ‘‘What the fuck.’’ Scotty breathed. She tried to put the pieces back together, thinking of what happened before she found herself here. But everything was a blur. Did she really drink that much and this was some sort of joke? Soap was probably behind this. Incapable of moving more than her head, she looked around. She was plugged to a bunch of wires, a beeping machine and a half asleep Soap in the chair, with his feet resting on the bed, next to her. 

‘‘Hey McTavish!’’ She called him out, making him jump. He looked terrible. Left over of a broken nose, healing bruises on his face. ‘‘What happened to you, you look like shit.’’ 

‘‘You happened.’’ He shifted in his seat stretching his muscles. ‘‘You think we can remove the restraint or you will jump on me again?’’

‘‘The fuck are you talking about?’’ 

‘‘Let me get the captain. I think we have a lot to explain…’’ He left her to her wondering. She must have missed a good one. Five minutes later, Soap came back with Price and the other two. They all looked like hell. Ghost much less than the other, but when was the last time he had some good sleep? Both Price and Gaz had splints.

‘‘How are you doing, lass?’’ The captain asked to take a seat. 

‘‘Like I have the worst headache and everything is fuzzy in the brain. Still it seems like I’m doing better than all of you.’’ They all chuckled at her remark.

‘‘You have been in and out for a week now. I know it might be hard but I need you to tell me what happened three months ago. Do you remember anything?’’

Scotty took a moment to think. ‘‘We were in Germany, trying to take down someone… Then…I think something went wrong… and…’’ The memories hit back hard. They were more flashes, but enough that she could recall what happened after the enemies got their hands on her. A cold cell, sleepless night, needles, burning sensation in her body… Bright light… Electric shock… Pain. Then nothing. Till now. Her skin itched at the ghostly sensation of the needles and the shocks, maybe her brain was blocking the memory but her muscles hadn’t forgotten. ‘‘I remember people talking, like they are giving me instruction…’’

‘‘Like kill the… 141?’’ Gaz said. She noticed them tense up at the word. Scotty watched them confused. A wave of relief took them when they saw how calm she remained. Price allowed the restraints to be removed. The captain took the time to explain all that happened a few days ago, not chewing his words when it came to what she did to them. Scotty sunk in the bed. She was the one responsible for their state. She almost killed them all… because she had been told to do so. 

‘‘We figured out that you might have been brainwashed, with a trigger. It seems like 141 was it.’’ Price explained. ‘‘Glad to see it seems to not be the case. I still want you to see a psychologist when you are out. I don’t want to take the risk.’’

‘‘Sure captain.’’ She fidgeted with the sheet. Tears blurring her vision. ‘‘Guys, I’m so sorry! I hurted you so bad, tried to kill you and…’’ Any more words got lost in sobs. 

‘‘We’re good Scotty. Don’t worry, mate.’’ Soap reassured her. ‘‘Gaz gets some days off and needs physical rehabilitation, but at least he lives. Cap is also alive with a painful shoulder nothing different than his old bones and I just get a re-facing, I’ll be pretty in no long. Don’t sweat it.’’ Between sobs, she laughed at his casual description of everything, but she still felt guilty. The only one who still hadn’t talked since was Ghost. He actually kept himself a bit aside from the small crowd. Price knew why and after a quick wrap up, he gestured to the two other sergeants to leave the room. Gaz closed the door behind him, allowing some privacy. 

Scotty was whipping her tears while Ghost sat on the bed. They remained silent for a minute. ‘‘Looks like you are the one with the least damage.’’ She smiled. ‘‘I really feel bad for Gaz; he is the one I hurt the most.’’

Ghost kept silent. He didn’t know where to even begin. ‘‘Don’t worry about us. You should take care of yourself. I know too well how brainwash can leave damage.’’ He didn’t have to explain more on what he meant, nor that she would have to explain to him in detail what she had been through. He knew first hand. Her hand slided towards him and her fingers wrapped around his hand. His shoulders fell down. Ghost had been holding a lot of tension and this small touch made it melt away. To hell with being professional, there was no one in the room. He wrapped his arms around her, hugged her so tight she could barely breathe. 

‘‘I thought you were dead. I was sure I would never see you again, that I lost you forever.’’ He wasn’t quite crying, but every word was punctuated with emotions. Scotty slowly raised her arm, gripped on his back and buried her face in the crock of his neck. 

‘‘You are the reason why it took them a while to break me and even then. As much as they wanted me to, I can’t kill my friend and I definitely can’t kill you.’’ Their hug lasted a few minutes, letting go only because their muscles were sore. Ghost didn’t take off his mask, but lifted it enough to have his lips free and kiss her. God he missed that. To feel her against him, to have his anchor to sanity and the world, his love. 

‘‘I’m sorry I was not able to protect you back when they got you. I should have been able to stop them.’’ He said, his forehead against hers. ‘‘Don’t say it’s not my fault, it was.’’

‘‘I don’t want to think about who’s fault it was or not. I’m just glad to be home.’’ She would never blame him for this. It was a risk she was aware of. No amount of preps could have prevented something that was supposed to happen. But for now, she was back home and it was time to heal. And make up for the trouble she caused. Ghost was happy that he wouldn’t sleep alone after so long. 

[underratedgrapeju1ce]

Day 1: First Kiss (Scourclipse)

@sonicrarepairweek2024

---------

"Green Mobian!"

Scourge jolted at the sudden voice, nearly dropping his cigarette off the balcony. Craning his neck over his shoulder, he saw the taller alien, standing tensely and wringing his tail. The hedgehog turned fully around, leaning back onto the railing and taking a short drag of his cigarette.

"Fuckin' 'ell, Clip, you tryna scare the life out of me?"

Twilight was coating the sky in purple now, the lights of the city below beginning to glow to life. Scourge ignored that Eclipses void black eyes reflected it all.

"I am conducting a very important experiment." Eclipse attempted to speak confidently.

"Yer not injectin' me with nothin', so don't ask."

"I am not going to--!"

Eclipse stomped childishly and groaned.

"I am attempting to," he paused, glancing at the floor, "familiarize myself with Mobian customs."

Scourge cocked an eyebrow, taking another drag of his cigarette and exhaling the smoke slowly. It was odd seeing the normally cocky and theatrical alien almost flustered.

"Whaddaya need me for?" Scourge looked him up and down. He noted that Eclipse's blush matched his own fur.

"Overlanders and Mobians who are involved with one another in a symbiotic relationship often express affection with one another," Eclipse continued, "I wish to experience this in order to collect data."

"...Are ya asking me to kiss you-?"

"For acquiring data on Mobian customs!" Eclipse spoke so fast his words strung together.

Scourge chuckled and shook his head, taking a final drag of his cigarette before dropping it to the cement and crushing it under his heel. He gave Eclipse an amused look as the sky began to blacken with the night.

"Well, we ain't exactly in a 'symbiotic relationship'," he teased.

A soft breeze blew past them, the chill making Scourge's quills stand up.

"...There is no one else I trust to perform this experiment."

He was standing straight as a soldier now, shoulders squared, but his eyes were still on the floor. Scourge was silent for a moment, looking the alien up and down. He had a good few inches on Scourge, height-wise, he honestly could pass as a normal Mobian. If not for his eyes. They drew the hedgehog back in, reflecting this city lights even brighter in the darkness. The glowing irises cast a soft golden glow.

...Eh, what the hell.

Scourge sighed and stepped closer, hands in his jacket pockets. Eclipse looked up, muscles stiffening, as if he didn't expect Scourge to agree. The hedgehog couldn't help but laugh.

"Is the prince of the Black Arms embarrassed?"

Eclipse pouted and folded his arms, finally meeting Scourge's gaze.

"Let's just get this over with."

Scourge would never admit that he had to stand on the tips of his toes (Only a little bit. Not that much.) to be eye-to-eye with the alien.

"So ya just gotta relax, try an' copy what I do.

Scourge wasn't the type for feelings, or emotional attachment in general. His previous relationships were mostly shallow, often ending because of his complete apathy and narcissism. So he wasn't really sure why his stomach was twisting as he leaned in closer.

Their lips met delicately, as if they saw each other as precious breakable artifacts. Eclipse's eyes slowly closed when he saw that Scourge's had done so. It was chaste, careful.

When Eclipse's clawed hand landed on Scourge's clothed upper arm, instinctually looking for support, the hedgehog ignored that his throat burned cold and the star in his ribcage flared.

He pulled away then, in an effort to not take things too far, and to swallow the growing lump in his throat. A bit too late, he realized he'd practically jerked away.

The alien's eyes blinked open, a gentle shock, like a kid seeing a butterfly for the first time: pleasant fascination. Scourge turned away from his eyes to look down at the city below.

"That's sorta the gist," he said distractedly, "I ain't too good at it."

"I believe it was...adequate data for my research."

Scourge swallowed at how quiet the alien's voice was, as if his mind was somewhere else. He grimaced. Clumsily, he pulled the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and fumbled with the busted up lighter.

"...Thank you, Scourge."

It was the first time he'd called the hedgehog by his name since he crashed. Scourge dug his fangs into his tongue.

"Don't mention it," he replied, "Especially not to Stripes, he'll flip his lid."

He chuckled despite himself. Wouldn't that be a hell of a conversation.

Eclipse simply nodded and stepped back into the apartment, taking one last look at the sky, dotted with pinpricks of stars, dimmed by the buzzing neon below. He slid the door shut behind him.

[vickyvicarious]

seeing ppl go "lol jonathan why are you admitting you found them hot what will mina think of you when she reads it!!!" has me go "*shakes you* you are going against the thesis of the book!!!"

I know some of why is dependent on knowledge of future events, and so people new to Dracula Daily won't be aware of it. But to be honest, Jonathan admitting his attraction to the vampire ladies is so, so important to me. On several different character levels, even outside of the entire book proving over and over again that sharing knowledge is absolutely vital (and is also an expression of deep love/trust/support).

Let's just stick the quote in here for reference:

There was something about them that made me uneasy, some longing and at the same time some deadly fear. I felt in my heart a wicked, burning desire that they would kiss me with those red lips. It is not good to note this down, lest some day it should meet Mina's eyes and cause her pain; but it is the truth.

Firstly - he needs to keep an accurate record. This is his only place to speak freely, his only opportunity to be precise about what he is going through. It is vitally important for him to keep his sanity intact that he be clear and try to remain logical in this diary. We see him fact-checking again and again. We can extrapolate from other statements that he doesn't always mention everything he suspects unless he feels it relevant or possible to prove. For example, repeatedly noting Dracula himself doing things before ever getting around to voicing the theory that the Count has no servants (he collected evidence first, didn't speak his suspicions until they were proven). Or putting the crucifix above his bed and taking the opportunity to sleep elsewhere, thus pointing to feeling unsafe and possibly experiencing bad dreams in his own room (he mentioned what he does about it, but not the feeling on its own or whatever nightmares he may be having). Jonathan works very hard to keep his diary focused on a few things above all: what the Count/ladies are, what everyone does, what Jonathan observes or learns, his actionable plans. He of course expresses his fears and emotions at times in his diary, more than he can out loud, but never going all the way down the rabbithole of fear, hopelessness, etc. He tries to calm himself by sticking to facts (all the harder when something strange is happening), which is in itself a soothing process for him so that's helpful too. His goal is to make this diary useful to himself and to others, if he ever gets the chance to share it. There is a goal here.

And what that means, is that the things Jonathan writes in great detail are things that feel relevant to him. The entire encounter with the vampire ladies was extremely important. It revealed a ton of new information to him, as well as being a truly horrifying and traumatic thing to go through. Jonathan's feelings are as relevant as his observations/actions here, because both are directly affected by the presence of the vampire women. Jonathan can't move. He feels dreamy. He feels attracted to them. He cannot resist and in the moment a large part of him didn't even want to. These are all effects they are causing, at least to some extent. I know mileage can vary a lot on how much of Jonathan's attraction is just coming from him, but honestly, I can't agree with any version that doesn't have a natural attraction at the very least being exacerbated by supernatural vampire abilities somehow. If not caused or called forth by them in the first place. The way he narrates, with so much obvious fear and revulsion mixed in with the desire, makes that clear to me. He sounds like he doesn't fully understand his own feelings at the time, at least where they all came from or why they were so strong. It goes along with all the other symptoms he is experiencing, and the other abilities they demonstrate. And so, to keep his record accurate - it has to go in. He cannot leave it out. It might become very relevant later.

Secondly - Jonathan is honest with Mina, specifically. I love this about their relationship. I don't think it's so much 'I noticed they were attractive' that he fears might hurt her, because Mina isn't particularly shy herself about noticing both women and men as good-looking, and even admiring their looks while on a date with Jonathan (poor Pretty Girl in Piccadilly). He also called local women pretty in his first entry as well (though he did say "except when you got near them" so it felt a bit backhanded to me), so again it's not the noticing that's an issue either way. It's more that he felt actual desire to act on an attraction, or rather for them to act. This is unusual, this is a separate matter from noticing people are hot, this is something that comes much closer to cheating or at least wanting to, and he feels very guilty about it. There's no real sense that he is worried Mina will be angry at him, and there's no sense that he will ever outside of that one moment ever want to act on any attraction he feels for someone other than Mina (or someone Mina also approves of, varying depending on your polycula headcanons). I personally do kind of tend to view Jonathan as some form of demisexual so how much he even tends to feel attraction to other people is often a little wibbly to me, but that's kind of irrelevant for the point of this. We can also set aside the shared language of "kiss" between Jonathan and the vampire ladies, and how this may point to a desire to become available for being drunk from, rather than necessarily sexual desire specifically, even if that's the type of language used. With regards to Mina: he's not worried about being caught, because he is choosing not to hide. He feels bad talking about the attraction because it might hurt her feelings, but he'll admit to it regardless because it's more important to him to be honest with her. Jonathan hates hiding things from Mina. This actually becomes plot-relevant later on. Even when she herself expressly forbids him from telling her stuff, he feels anguished about it and is certain to ensure that records are kept which she can read later. He trusts her completely. Embarrassment, shame, bad behavior, or whatever else - he will still share that with her. The only times he doesn't confide in Mina are when he's trying to repress everything because he thinks he was crazy (and possibly may even have some PTSD-related memory loss as well), or when he and the other men are trying to make sure she isn't exposed to danger (which is wrong in several ways but this post isn't about that so I won't get into it), and of course when she tells him not to. Every single time he feels upset about it. So yeah, he's going to regret that she may feel hurt, but deliberately hiding things from her would be worse.

Thirdly - Jonathan admitting his attraction here is a huge comfort to Mina later on. I truly believe this. I've talked about it before actually, but let me try to rephrase a bit to keep it on the same post. By being open about his own attraction and experience with nearly being drunk from, he provides precedent for Mina's October 3rd trauma. It makes it easier (though obviously still not easy) for her to admit to the same kind of desire:

"I was bewildered, and, strangely enough, I did not want to hinder him. I suppose it is a part of the horrible curse that such is, when his touch is on his victim."

Mina never blamed Jonathan for expressing such thoughts. She wasn't concerned about the issue being another woman when she came to him in the hospital, and when she read his diary she never mentioned any hesitations or misgivings about this scene at all. But even if she had secretly felt upset before (I personally don't see her thinking that way at all, but for the sake of argument), I think that experiencing something similar would make her grateful for Jonathan's candor. In a moment when she's already feeling deeply unclean and complicit, Jonathan's earlier honesty here relieves her from a little bit of the guilt she is feeling. It lets her recognize her own lack of desire to stop Dracula as something he did to her, just like Jonathan experienced with the vampire ladies when he couldn't/didn't want to move away. It's possible even that Mina felt more explicit desire for Dracula's 'red lips to kiss her' but didn't feel comfortable saying quite that much - even if so, again Jonathan's account would be a comfort.

And having that account written down long ago means she has already internalized this. If Jonathan had kept it hidden only to try and ease her mind later, well... first off, Mina too might have kept her reaction hidden out of guilt. And even if she didn't or he told her then, a confession at that time wouldn't mean nearly as much or carry the same kind of weight, I don't think. It would feel like he's making excuses for her, like he didn't trust her enough to tell her earlier, just... bad stuff mixed in, which are all avoided by having Jonathan be truthful from the start.

[presiding]

genuinely admire those who were optimistic for dishonored 3 but in this videogame industry climate and [insert a 4hr video essay about arkane's recent history here], honestly, not getting dh3 is good news

[thefallofruins]

He is going to get bored of you, Sukuna was of that belief.

No one had lasted for as long as you had in holding the amusement of the king of curses. It often ended messily when Sukuna grew bored of someone. But he can’t, with you. Not when you…

“This is so pretty…!” You twirl around a bit to admire the back of the kimono, the beautiful colours and patterns only enhancing your beauty. Sukuna had no business with clothing— let alone clothing for women, but when the kimono displayed had caught his eye, the first thought in his mind was you.

“And you got this for me?” The question strikes a nerve in him, of course he did…but he cannot comprehend why.

“You were in dire need of proper clothing,” he responds, eyes studying just how beautiful his brat could possibly get. You pout in response. It was classic Sukuna behaviour, you couldn’t possibly get him to admit the intent behind his actions.

“But it does suit you well.” The words cause a smile to light up on your face, as you take a few steps towards him, hands finding his.

“Kuna?” You tiptoe, holding onto his strong hands for support, allowing you to press a kiss to his jaw. “Thank you.”

His lips twitch in response, slightly unsatisfied with the show of affection, he pulls you closer by your waist, growling softly, “Least you can do is thank me properly.”

Your giggle sends another wave of this unknown yet warm feeling within him, as you reach up to him on your tippy toes, pressing a soft kiss on his lips. “Thank you, my love.”

My love. My love…he wishes to hear those words again and again, a sweet, honeyed voice so filled with love calling him that. His lips form into a small smile as you return to admire yourself in the mirror once again.

Unfortunately for him, he’s far from bored. Eyes lingering onto your form and taking in every reaction of yours.

And you? Don’t act surprised if you will be showered with pretty silks regularly in the following days.

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Y'know, there's this gripe I've had for years that really frustrates me, and it has to do with Love, Simon and people joking about it and calling it too-pg and designed-for-straight-people and all the like. (A similar thing has happened to Heartstopper, but that's another conversation.)

I saw Love, Simon in theaters when it came out my senior year in high school. I saw it three times, once with my friends/parents on opening night, once with my brother over spring break, and once with my grandparents.

On opening night, the air in the room was electric. It was palpable. Half the heads in there were dyed various colors. Queer kids were holding hands. We were all crying and laughing and cheering as a group. My friends grabbed my hands at the part where Simon was outed and didn't let go until his parents were saying that they accepted him. My friend came out to me as non-binary. Another person in our group admitted that she had feelings for girls. It was incredible. I left shaking. This was the first mainstream queer romance movie that had ever been produced by one of the main five studios, and I know that sounds like another "first queer character from Disney" bit but you have to understand that even in 2018 this was groundbreaking. Getting to have a sweet queer rom-com where the main character was told that he got "to breathe now" after coming out meant so much to me and my friends.

But also, from a designed-for-straight-people POV (which, to be frank, it was written by a bisexual author and directed by a gay man, this was not designed for straight audiences), why is it a bad thing that it appealed to the widest possible audience? That it could make my parents and grandparents see things in a new light? My stepdad wasn't at all interested in rom-coms but he saw it with me because it was something I cared about and he hugged me when we came out of the theater. My very Catholic grandparents watched it with me and though my grandpa said he still didn't quite understand the whole 'gay thing,' all he wanted was for me to be happy and to have a happy ending like Simon did. My Nana actually cried when Simon came out and squeeze my hand when his mother told him he could breathe.

And when Martin blackmailed Simon, my mom, badass ally that she is, literally hissed "Dropkick him. Dropkick him in the balls" leading to multiple queer kids in the audience to laugh or smile. Having my parents there- the only parents, by the way, out of my group of queer and questioning friends- made multiple people realize that supportive adults were out there. That parents like those in Love, Simon do exist in real life.

When people complain about Heartstopper not being realistic or Love, Simon being too cutesy, I remember seeing Love, Simon on opening night. I remember my friend coming out and my stepdad hugging me and my mom defending us through this character. I remember the cheers that went through the audience when Bram and Simon kissed and the chatter in the foyer after the movie was over and the way that this movie made me understand that happy endings do exist.

Queer kids need happy endings. Straight people need entry points to becoming allies. Both of these things can come together in beautiful ways. They can find out about more queer culture later, but for now, let them have this. Let them all have a glimpse at a better, happier world. Let them have queer joy.

[luveline]

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem

cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky. 

You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely. 

Total quiet. 

“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?” 

“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?” 

“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?” 

“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…” 

“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?” 

“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.” 

“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.” 

He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh. 

“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated. 

Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry. 

“Spencer?” you ask quietly. 

“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?” 

“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?” 

“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups. 

“Where are you?” 

After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him. 

He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.” 

Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?” 

“Where was I?” 

“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed. 

“Still where?” 

“Did you hit your head?” 

“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.” 

“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk. 

“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.” 

“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.” 

“…What?” 

You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.” 

“I annoy people.” 

“You don’t annoy me.” 

You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here. 

You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?” 

“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection. 

“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?” 

“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly. 

“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.” 

“Am I in trouble?” 

“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?” 

“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.” 

“Hi Milly,” a new voice says. 

You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room. 

Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark. 

You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly. 

“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!” 

His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer. 

“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask. 

You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again. 

“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.” 

He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath. 

“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers. 

“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger. 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year. 

He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.” 

“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.” 

You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!” 

You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.

Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity. 

“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.” 

You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly. 

“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says. 

“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway. 

“I don’t want to be alone forever.” 

“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates? 

In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess. 

You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”

His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.” 

“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol. 

“She kind of looked like you.” 

You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.” 

“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I know,” he says. 

“Do you?” 

“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.” 

“Is that why you make all your jokes?” 

“What jokes, babe?” 

“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.” 

You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?” 

“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.” 

“Spencer, you remember everything.” 

He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.” 

You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him. 

You’re happy to. 

“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”

“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled. 

“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse. 

“You look so cute,” he says mournfully. 

You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally. 

“Can I come home with you?” he asks. 

That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.” 

— — 

Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.” 

“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.” 

“So you want three?” 

He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.” 

Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time. 

You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?” 

He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him. 

You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory. 

He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that. 

The avocado is making him feel sick. 

“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?” 

“I think I'm gonna throw up.” 

“You’re okay.”

“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes. 

You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button. 

“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.” 

“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.” 

Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”

“But it’s you.” 

“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”

“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now. 

You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.

But you’re perfect, he’d said. 

To you. And you’re perfect to me.

“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say. 

You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again. 

You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.” 

He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. 

The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…

“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask. 

Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.” 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️

[sexbot300]

‧˚₊•୨୧ Ya know, just crushing on your friends older dad (toji pls corrupt me) quick messy drabble of his fine ass

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

It just started off as tiny thoughts… Broad ass shoulders, thick thighs, huge arms that can put you in a chokehold… You can go ON. You couldn’t even bring yourself to admit the way this man could absolutely degrade you and you would smile in the entirety of it.

‘Sleepovers are so fun’ another one of your thoughts. Not only do you get to stay over with your friends but there is eye candy to admire every once in a while. You just so happened to be wearing your shortest black spandex shorts that accentuate every curvature of your ass and a cream-colored cropped tank top that spills out half of your cleavage. I mean! What if it gets stuffy and sickly hot when you sleep? Completely innocent!!

This leaves you in a predicament. Megumi asked of you to get a snack downstairs, but poor you! Too short to reach the top cabinet :(

You huff and puff while standing on your tippy toes, sleek cabinet opened, one hand gripped at the edge of the granite countertop for support. Your other arm outstretched, nails lightly grazing the colorful box of candy your dear friend wanted. With every muscular push from your calf muscles, you bounce a little and recoil the exposed parts of your body.

Sneakily, unaware, a presence loomed behind you, enjoying the pathetic little effort of what you decided to call “clothes.”

A musky scent engulfed your senses as a chiseled body pressed up against you. Before you had time to process what was going on, the body proceeded to press slightly more against you, adding on pressure. Your hand that was once extended to grab the box, soon had a veiny, stronger, and massive hand gripping onto your wrist.

What you can make out to be a pelvis, pressed against the own fat of your ass, paired with another hand clutching the indent of your waist aided in lifting you up. Soon your feet were completely off the ground and you couldn’t help but feel something, hard, press against you. You quickly understood that this was him offering a helping hand, as the thicker hand stretched your own to grab the box. By the grace of God, you managed to grip the object that got you in this dilemma without dropping it.

“There you go, you got it.” A rumbling occurred against your back as his chest released the deep voice that almost felt taunting. The voice that spoke was smooth, laced with a grin.

Slowly looking up you realized he hasn’t dropped you yet. Ass still pressed against his dick, feet in the air. Did he notice your light blush scattered across your face? No, play innocent. Staring, you found his emerald eyes that showed every hint of amusement, his scarred lip that curved up a bit and his raven hair that fell across his face. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to die right then and there or leave every bit of dignity behind. He looked down at you like prey, you decided to play in.

“See? Wasn’t so bad.” He spoke in a silky voice, never losing his smirk. You only gave him a look of pure innocence; brows furrowed, rosy lips puckered out, and big doe-like eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Fushiguro. I really appreciate it.” His cock twitched. “But, can you please put me down now?” Lacing every word you say with the most saccharine voice you can muster.

His face only softened up. “Of course.” As he let go of the tight embrace on your wrist, he still held a firm position of his pelvis against your ass. Your toes slowly touched the ground but clumsy you, you dropped the box onto the counter! Still maintaining eye contact with the man that looked like he wanted to dig his teeth into you, you let out a tiny, “oops!”

Proceeding to fully touch the ground you quickly look down onto the countertop to grab the contents. But oh, no, no, no. You just had to be a brat. Slowly arching over, you wiggled your ass against the older mans hard on. Eliciting friction to your cunt that needs to be touched so desperately wasn’t the smartest idea. But the other man found himself even further amused by this, his clothed dick loosely making out the indents of your folds. You finally grabbed the box you ‘dropped.’

You blinked looking at him, feigning innocence while his grin deepened. “I can go now Mr. Fushiguro.” Quickly, he slender fingers dug into your hip bones making you pathetically let out a gasp. Forcing your ass almost impossibly close against his dick, even with the barrier of clothes. He slowly, rocked himself up and down, creating lewd noises you choke back.

“Go ahead… give it to them upstairs. I can then accidentally “drop” your panties on the ground as well.”

You blankly stared, mouth agape suppressing any noise, while he still rocked you back and forth on him. “What’s with the blank mind now princess? We’re still playing fair aren’t we? It’s about time you got dick from the man you practically eye fuck.”

He let out a chuckle, “Sick girl. Don’t worry. You won’t need to dress like a slut in my house any further. I’ll take real good care of you, if you can just shut up and take it.”

You pulled your bottom lip in slightly sucking it, testing your luck, knowing that this day will finally come. “Okay, Daddy.”

An even wider grin appeared on his face, “Looks like you came already trained for me? Good girl. Hope that little cunt of yours can take the abuse your mouth should be getting instead. Go, now.”

Your eyes widened and you quickly jumped out of his embrace throwing the candy at Megumi, Nobara, and Itadori leaving them in a confused state. Muttering some excuse of having to need to use the restroom… for the rest of the night oddly.

:(((( poor little cunt, couldn’t sit down properly for days straight. He made sure to ruin your hole so no one else got to :(

[confessedlyfannish]

DP x DC Prompt #6

Phantom is sitting at the Batcomputer, kicking his legs back and forth. With the seat last set for Batman's height, his feet barely skim the ground. He's propped his head up with one hand, examining something he is holding between his thumb and forefinger in the other.

He is very casual for someone who has never been told the location of the Batcave.

"Phantom," Batman grunts. Phantom doesn't glance his way, likely having heard the Batmobile pulling in.

"Hi Bruce," he says. "I had a nightmare last night."

It's important to note that The Justice League does not know Phantom's true age, although there are several theories:

Theory One: he is a ghost dating back to several thousand BCE. The proof of this is sparse but present, through written record of beings with white hair and green eyes and uncanny likenesses found in artifacts proven to be authentic. Could these truly be Phantom? Yes. However, there is

Theory Two: he is a teenager, as his visual presence suggests. This could be true even if his existence is thousands of years old, as his mentality might not have advanced beyond that of a child aged fourteen to sixteen when they died. This is supported by his general behavior and advanced knowledge of memes. The few times he and Red Robin have interacted, Bruce did not understand a word of it without extensive googling. But worse, of course, there is

Theory Three: Phantom is the age of his first recorded appearance in modern times, only a few years ago. Phantom's recorded appearances in the past were sparse compared to his consistent existence in this century, which could hint at a timestream accident similar to Bruce's own, if they are real. And ultimately, this would not be the first time a two year old presented as a teenager in form.

Two out of three options propose Phantom is a child, and so Batman's tone is gentle when he says,

"Did you?"

"Yeah," Phantom says, words almost a sigh. Whatever is in his hand catches in the lamp light, shining green.

It's kryptonite. Phantom is holding a shard of kryptonite.

"Sorry." Phantom twirls his chair around to face Bruce. He holds the shard out in his palm. "I called you Bruce, didn't I? I know you hadn't told me yet."

"That's okay," Bruce says. He takes the shard calmly, his suit's layered biometrics disguising the fact his heart is racing. He recognizes this chunk from his stores, kept in the secure, deepest, impenetrable section of the cave coded to his DNA alone.

He's been aware Phantom's powers include invisibility and intangibility, but the ghost has been benevolent, honorable, and heroic since introduced and he had allowed his guard to slip. All it would've taken is being tailed one time, and now he must rely on that benevolence.

"And I'm sorry about that," Phantom says, nodding at the belt Batman has tucked the kryptonite inside. It will do nothing to stop Phantom should he decide to pluck it away again, but kept out of sight in a lead-lined pouch still feels safer than out in the open.

"I needed to make a point." Phantom says. The words are threatening but his tone is not.

"Oh?" Bruce asks, wary nonetheless.

"I'm really strong," Phantom says. "I can walk through walls. I can disappear. I can fly. I can blast and freeze stuff. I don't need to breathe. Traditional weapons don't really work on me."

"I can duplicate," a voice says from behind Bruce. He whirls around, batarang in hand, to see another Phantom rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "That duplicate will have all the same powers," the doppelganger says, apologetically. He floats back over to the Phantom sitting on the chair and the two merge.

"I have bad powers too, ones I don't like to use. I can scream at things until they fall apart, even buildings. I can...I can possess people, and make them do things," he admits, unable to look Batman in the eye. "It's not that all ghosts are like this, pretty much all of them aren't, it's just that I'm one of the stronger ones, and I'm only going to get stronger, and the stronger I get, the more powers I might get, and the less weapons even made especially to fight ghosts will work on me."

None of this is phrased as a threat, but rather a confession.

"Why are you telling me this?" Batman asks.

"I had a nightmare," Phantom repeats weakly. He reaches under the computer table and pulls out a purple JanSport backpack, cotton dirty and frayed with use. He unzips the front pocket and pulls out a small plastic baggy. He offers the baggy to Batman, his hand shaking.

Batman takes the baggy, examining the contents. Inside are six tiny little dots. They look like poppy seeds, but held up to the light are a deep purple in color.

"Phantom, what are these?"

"Hemo Prunus," Danny says, eyes stuck on the baggy. He's paler than usual. "Colloquially: blood blossoms. At the time they were grown it was believed they required drops of blood to grow, but a friend of mine who likes plants thinks it's more likely they actually just like a higher quantity of iron in their soil. You know, truths found in witch's tales and stuff like that. I don't know much about their care beyond that but I do know they were grown previously in Salem in the late 1600s, early 1700s during their summer seasons with some amount of success so perhaps you can mimic that environment and go from there. From what I've gathered they're incredibly difficult to grow, but I figure if anyone can do it it's you."

"I'm not exactly the gardening type," Batman says dryly.

Phantom laughs faintly. He looks like he's about to pass out, which should be impossible and is not the correct reaction to gifting someone a rare piece of flora.

"Phantom," Batman says again, slowly. "What are these?"

"They're my kryptonite."

Bruce closes his fist over the bag immediately, taking several steps back to put distance between himself and Phantom. "Are you alright?" he asks sharply.

"I'm fine," Phantom says, waving a hand. "As seeds they just sting a little, like nettles."

That's not the reaction of someone being lightly stung, Bruce thinks. Phantom looks like he needs the chair he's sitting in just to stay upright.

Then the rest of his words click together.

"You're giving me these," Bruce says.

"Yes," Phantom says. "For safekeeping."

"To grow."

Phantom's smile fades. "For safekeeping," he says, looking at Bruce's belt. Where he has stored the kryptonite.

The enormity of what Phantom is entrusting him with hits Bruce like a ton of bricks, and he finally realizes that Phantom is not sick but terrified. He is quietly, deeply, terrified. Bruce also realizes that a reaction like that is not born out of fear of the unknown but is the reaction of someone who has felt the sting of the bee and felt their throat close up. At some point Phantom has felt the blood blossom flower, and the sheer memory of it is enough to make the ghost go almost catatonic with terror.

And he has still handed over the one weapon that can hurt him to the Batman, and told him all he knows on how to make more.

I had a nightmare.

"Is this all of it?" Bruce asks, the question coming out brusquer than intended. Phantom blinks.

"Yes, I'm sorry, that's all I could--yes that's all," he stammers.

Bruce shakes his head. "I mean, does anyone else have access to it? Is anyone else growing this that we should be aware of?"

Phantom can't mask a sudden shudder, his reactions always woefully transparent (pun not intended). "No, that's the last of it. No. No. I don't think," his eyes grow wider, "I don't think so," he whispers, to himself, an attempt at comfort.

Way to go, Bruce, a familiar voice whispers, you just scared the kid harder. Bruce drops the packet on a table beside him and strides forward to put a firm hand on Phantom's shoulder.

"I'll make sure of it," he says. He'll pull Kal in and together they'll make sure, the same way they raided every GiW base across the United States four months prior. Phantom looks up at him the same way he did then, with complete and utter trust.

"Thank you," he says quietly. "But if you do...if you do find any more, promise me you won't destroy it. Promise me you'll keep it, the same way you keep the kryptonite. Please, Bruce."

He's not just asking him to keep it. Another weight finds its place, settling on the Bat's shoulders like the cape he wears. Another contingency for a hero he fears will one day be a dear friend.

"I promise, Phantom."

"Danny," Phantom says, "My name is Danny. A name for a name, right?"

"Danny," Bruce says, heart growing ever heavier. "I promise."

[scoutswritingcorner]

Can I request Hazbin Hotel characters reacting to an artist!reader that draws a lot but never shows anyone their work but one day accidentally left it out and their partner finds it and sees several sketches and finished drawings of them? Sorry if it’s an odd ask, I’m an artist and I thought it would be a cute idea I don’t see nearly enough, it’s okay if you can’t. Thank you either way!!!

Artist Rendition

Hazbin Gang x GN!Reader

TW:A little flirty with Angel’s reaction. Other than that none!

A/N: Not an odd request at all, Friend! For Angel’s part I did write for a male Reader and Fem Reader for Vaggie! KINDA SHORT I APOLOGIZE FRIEND!

-🦌Alastor🦌-

-🦌 Alastor was very curious to see you carry a sketchbook around all the time. He wanted to pry so badly.

-🦌 But he didn’t, he simply ignored the book and only ever asked about it if you were near him. You always get flustered and hide the book even further. Oh now he’s wondering what kind of dark secrets you have in there~

-🦌 But to his surprise when he finds it open and on a page, he sees drawings of him, he carefully flips the page and sees a half down sketch of him sitting in front of the fireplace.

-🦌 Oh boy you just made his ego inflate and his undead heart soar to new heights. His tail starts wagging and that’s the only way someone can catch how happy he is.

-🦌 Now? He’s going to poke a little fun at you, “My Dear, if you had to pick anyone in the hotel to be your muse who would it be?” 

-🦌 Silly deer man loves you and your abilities, he often tells you that your work needs to be displayed in a museum.

-🍎Lucifer🍎-

-🍎 Oh boy- when he finds out you can draw? Oh he gets super excited and asks if you can draw him a duck- even if it’s a little doodle! He doesn’t care!

-He doesn’t really ask or pry into your hobby much but he will admit he does want to see what you draw.

-When he does see that you drew him of all people he gets all flustered and he’s prideful cause his partner?? His darling little angel drew him?!?

-He will volunteer to pose for you, he’s used to sitting still for hours on end! 

-He will even pose naked if you want him to! Just say the word and he’ll drop his clothes right there.

-🎰Husk🎰-

-🎰 He watched you sit at the bar and draw to your heart's content and never really commented on it.

-🎰 When he does peek into your sketchbook it’s to pull behind the bar into a safe place so nothing ruins your work.

-🎰That’s when he notices the drawings and doodles of him and his tail curls happily. The way you captured him doing menial tasks sends his heart into overdrive.

-🎰 You were too good for him, damn it. The next time you find it? It has a little sticky note on the cover of your sketchbook and it has a little drawing of you with a small message, “Had to go out with Alastor. Love you, Dollface.” 

-🕷️ Angel Dust 🩷-

-🕷️ Oh this man- he loves it! You’re an artist and he’s also like an artist! But of a very very different genre.

-🩷 He also doesn’t pry much as he understands privacy. He wants to give you that as much as he can since he doesn’t get much of it.

-🕷️ Once he finds out you draw him? He’s over the fucking moon cause his man? His precious boyfriend draws him! 

-🩷Expect him to start flirting more and more but with art related flirts. “Come on, Suga’~ Draw me like one of your french girls~” im sorry. He’s very supportive!

-👑Charlie👑-

-👑 oh this baby girl..she’s been so busy lately that if she did notice it completely slipped her mind!

-👑 But when she finds your sketchbook? She gets super excited cause you draw this good?? She’s so proud that she immediately goes to find you!

-👑 She is another who fully supports you! You need anything, don't hesitate to ask!

-👑 Will try to convince you to start painting for the hotel! You can say no it won’t offend her.

-🎀Vaggie🎀-

-🎀 Much like Husk she won’t point it out or comment on it.

-🎀Will find out you draw her when she sees it when cleaning up and gets all blushy cause this is how you see her?

-🎀 Comes clean immediately about seeing your drawings and tells you how amazing they are.

-🎀 Shyly asks if she can pose for you next time, how could you say no to her?

[folkwhoredoll]

yacht escapades - rafe cameron x fem!reader

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

synopsis: sneaking away with your boyfriend leads to a salacious session under the moonlight

word count: 2k

warnings/tags: smut! (unprotected sex, f and m oral, fingering, brief cockwarming), sweet boyfriend!rafe

a/n: hi everyone! thank you so so much for everyone's support on my recent works. seeing all your hearts and reblogs always makes my day :3 i've always wanted to write a smutfic for rafe so here it is. i hope you'll like this one. happy reading!

masterlist

⍣ ೋ˚

“Relax, baby. This is literally my family’s yacht. Technically, it’s mine too so don’t worry.” Rafe assured you for the hundredth time, rotating the helm of the boat to move farther away from the dock.

Your boyfriend has always been unpredictable, so when he slowly woke you up half an hour ago because he couldn’t sleep, you had no idea that you two would end up sneaking away his parents’ yacht at three in the morning. A part of you was nervous, knowing that Ward tends to get pissed over the littlest things that Rafe did. But another voice was lulling you to just enjoy the night breeze.

“I know, I know. But what if—” You blabbed.

“Stop, sweetheart. We won’t even go that far.”

You sighed, walking over behind Rafe to wrap your arms around his waist while he continued to maneuver the boat far enough to isolate the two of you from the island.

“See? Isn’t this nice?” He smiled proudly, holding your hand to take you to the couch, easily pulling you to his lap.

Your breathing was quiet, hands firm on top of Rafe’s wrapped arms on your waist. He was occasionally giving you some soft kisses on the forehead and cheeks when you broke the silence. “So how exactly is this going to help you sleep?”

“It probably won’t.” He answered bluntly.

You chuckled, watching over the soft ripples on the surface of the lake.

You were on the verge of falling asleep on Rafe’s lap when you felt one of his hands move from your waist to your right thigh, thumb softly rubbing the skin. You didn’t think much of it and let out a small yawn, but he moved his hand further up, making you roll your eyes.

“Hey.”

“What?” Rafe replied innocently, pressing a soft kiss on the side of your neck.

“I know what you’re doing.” You huffed. Sitting up straight but still not leaving his lap. “Did you just bring me here for sex?”

Rafe let out a fake gasp, but his eyes shone with mischief. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You know, we could’ve just done it in your bedroom.”

“Where’s the thrill in that?”

“So you admit! You just want sex.” You raised your brow.

“Well, yes and no. I really couldn’t sleep but now you just look so pretty and we’re all alone here.” He said, tugging the bottom of your shirt.

You groaned, not that you were annoyed with him. You’re annoyed with yourself for liking the idea. It is no secret that you and Rafe have always been sexually active, always trying out new things that one of you may be curious about. Your sex drive matches with his, and it is one of the things that you two love about each other. So the thought of giving yourself to your boyfriend in the middle of the night underneath the stars tempted you so much. And you shamelessly fell for it.

You looked down at his groin, already noticing the bulge through his khaki shorts despite the slight darkness. You pressed your hands against him and gave it a hard squeeze, surprising Rafe.

“Fuck, baby.” He gasped, hips raising upwards slightly.

“You want me, Rafey?” You whispered, giving him the most innocent look you can muster. But Rafe can see right through you, knowing that your question was all he needed as a signal to make a move.

Rafe didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed the back of your neck and pulled your face towards him, kissing you roughly. His tongue glided over your lower lip, making you open your mouth to let him in. Without breaking contact, you fully turned your body to face his, grinding slightly while tangling your fingers in his hair.

He put both of his hands on your hips, heavy breaths occasionally leaving his lips but never breaking the kiss. It was you who pulled away first after a while, gasping for air but wasting no time unbuttoning his shorts.

“Eager, are we?” He smirked, lips red from kissing you.

“Shut up.” You replied, hurrying to pull out his huge manhood as you positioned yourself from his lap to kneel on the floor.

“Go ahead, baby. Suck my cock off like a good girl.” He cooed, stroking the top of your head.

You gave him a sweet smile before giving his tip a lick, making sure to never break eye contact. Rafe threw his head back, whispering a curse under his breath. You grinned at his reaction, ego growing higher as you wrapped your lips around his head.

Rafe almost thanked the sky above for your mouth. He has always been proud of having you. A smart, rich, and polite girl; a literal angel, as others have said. But they don’t know what kind of a freak you are behind those innocent dresses and wide eyes. None of them know except Rafe, and he intends to keep it that way.

You kept sucking him off, pushing yourself to take in as much as you can even as tears brimmed your eyes. You wrapped your slender fingers around the area that you couldn’t take, loving the way he tasted.

Rafe’s head was pulled backward, his chest rising and falling heavily while he muttered praises and curses. He was on the verge of his release when he suddenly put both of his hands on your shoulder.

“No, I want to cum in your pussy.” He panted, pulling you up by the arms. He gently pushed you against the couch so that you were now the one sitting. He stood up and hurriedly removed his clothes, your eyes in awe while watching him. “Like what you see, baby?”

You grinned, pulling your shirt upwards, and expertly removed the clasp of your bra. Rafe’s eyes were trained on your breasts as soon as you freed them, but he wasted no time removing your shorts and panties at the same time.

“Fuck. There’s my pretty pussy.” His eyes were steadily trained on your cunt as he leaned down at eye level. It was as if he was hypnotized as he brought one hand to your folds, gliding his forefinger up and down. He smirked when he noticed the thin sheer wetness in the middle.

“Rafey…” You whined.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“Fuck me already.”

“You’re a bossy girl, aren’t you?” Rafe chuckled amusedly. “Patience, darling. ‘Gotta prepare you nicely first.”

He continued to tease you, never touching your clit or pushing a finger inside of you. With each moment that you grow irritated, the wetness of your womanhood increases. When Rafe sensed that you were about to curse him off, he suddenly inserted two fingers in, making you gasp.

“Shit.” You breathed, soft moans leaving your lips as he curled his fingers before pumping faster.

Rafe placed his thumb on your clit, making you squeal in both surprise and pleasure. You swore you almost saw stars when he did so, one hand reaching downwards in an attempt to grab onto the couch for support while the other reached for his wrist.

He ticked his tongue at the action, using his free hand to pull your hand away.

Rafe lowered his head until your legs were leveled with his face, inhaling your scent while still fingering you. He brought his lips closer until you could feel his breath near your folds, making you shiver.

“Rafe, please fuck me… fuck.” You pleaded.

“I will, darling. But I have to taste this pussy first.” Without warning, he removed his thumb from your clit, replacing it with his lips. You screamed at the contact, suddenly thankful that no one could hear you.

Rafe continued to play with your clit, tugging the small nub with his teeth while pushing his tongue inside you. You were almost crying from pleasure, the overwhelming feeling of your boyfriend’s mouth and fingers in the same area was almost too much.

You were loudly moaning his name, hips lifting on their own as you pushed yourself closer to Rafe’s mouth. Your boyfriend grinned against you, his pride increasing with the knowledge that only he can make you feel this way.

You almost screamed in frustration when Rafe abruptly pulled away, licking his lips to savor your juices. “Ready, baby?”

“Yes, Rafe, fuck me please.”

“Always so polite.” He snickered, loving the way that your eyes turned hazy from all the pleasure. “Who am I to turn down my baby’s request, hm?”

With a swift move, Rafe quickly positioned his cock to align with your cunt before pushing himself in with one go. You gasp at the intrusion, shock, and ecstasy filling your body. Having sex with Rafe so many times has made you familiar with his size, but you still weren’t prepared for the amount of stretching that your womanhood would have to make to accommodate him.

He wasted no time and began thrusting, slowly at first to let you adjust.

“Shit. Your cunt is hugging me perfectly.” He gasped, building up his tempo.

You were too speechless to reply, the only thing that you could do was moan and grab his chest. Rafe placed one hand on your hip, and the other grabbed both your wrists to pull your hands above your head.

Sweats, gasps, and whines were the only sounds heard. Rafe’s hips collided with yours with strength, making you scream out his name. He admired the beads of sweat on your forehead, your skin illuminated by the moonlight. He always believed that you were the prettiest girl on this planet. And seeing you at this moment, naked and dewy with your face twisted in enjoyment, he knew he was right.

“Come on, darling. Give it to me.” He praised, knowing that you were close with how tightly you were squeezing him.

You mumbled his name over and over again, legs shaking as you wrapped them around his hips to pull him closer. Rafe cursed after seeing your action, thrusting harder and faster to chase both of your highs.

You were a crying mess underneath him, pleasure surging through all parts of your body. You opened your eyes slightly, admiring Rafe’s face before feeling the pressure on your lower abdomen.

“Fuck, Rafe. I’m gonna cum.”

“Go ahead, sweet girl. Cum for me. I want to feel you around my cock.” He urged, never breaking the pattern of his thrusts.

You screamed after a few more pushes, your vision blurring slightly as you squirted around him. Rafe came after you, gasping as he felt his warm liquid mix with your own inside your pussy.

You two were panting against each other, Rafe still inside you as he caught his breath. “You alright?” He asked, pushing a strand of hair away from your face.

You couldn’t reply, still breathing heavily but nodded instead. Rafe started to slowly pull out of you, making you whine.

“No, Rafey. Stay.” You pouted.

He smiled sweetly, lifting you so that he could sit on the couch without separating from you.

The two of you lay there, soft breaths coming out of your mouths while Rafe hugged you against his chest as you keep him warm in your cunt.

“Tired, baby?” He asked you after a while, noticing your droopy eyes.

You nodded, feeling warm against his body despite being exposed to cool air.

“Get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Rafe whispered, kissing you softly on the forehead.

Before closing your eyes, you vowed to sneak out with his yacht more open.

[devotedlystrangewizard]

i think the most fun part about writing is exploiting ur character's flaws to create unique & interesting interpersonal relationships like yes what this character is doing is nearly objectively wrong but to them its just another tuesday. im projecting my parents' issues onto my oc & his kid is what im saying

[seungkw1]

mine — jww

♡ pairing: boyfriend!wonwoo x afab!reader ♡ theme: fluff, smut [18+ mdni], non-idol au ♡ wc: 2.6k ♡ warnings: swearing, size kink, oral (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), unprotected piv sex (stay safe y’all), creampie, dacryphilia, petnames (m. & f. receiving - babe, baby), reader is gender neutral but referred to as girlfriend once, gr8 aftercare ofc ♡ a/n: this is a part two to so fucking pretty but you don’t have to read that one first :)

‧₊˚✩彡 moodboard by @myhimbomingi ‧₊˚✩彡

You wouldn’t consider yourself a very romantic person, but your boyfriend’s Valentine’s Day surprise might just change your mind about that.

You’ve never given a single shit about Valentine’s Day. It’s not so much that you hate it or anything, but rather indifference - you simply couldn’t care less. Just another capitalistic holiday for companies to profit off of, right? Plus, red and pink is simply a godawful color combination. So yeah, you’ve never given a shit. 

That is - until you met Wonwoo. 

You’ve dated here and there over the years, but nothing ever too serious - all of your partners either turned out to be lousy or the relationships were just bland. So, all of them ended, and you were never too upset about it. 

But with Wonwoo, everything is different. You’ve only been dating for three months, but your relationship is the complete opposite of lousy or bland. Wonwoo is warm and loving - squeezing you in his arms and giving you kisses every chance he gets. He is caring and kind - listening to you talk no matter whether you needed to vent or just wanted to infodump about your interests. He is sweet and gentle - leaving you cute notes and surprising you with little gifts just because.

He is also incredibly fucking hot, and an absolute god in the bedroom.

You fucked him on the first date, which is very unlike you, but your chemistry was undeniable and it just happened naturally. That was the best sex you’ve ever had in your life - and every time since then has also been the best sex you’ve ever had in your life. You’d be an absolute fool not to stick around.

And so, Wonwoo became your boyfriend. You’ve always found that term to be a bit juvenile, so historically you’ve just referred to your significant other as your partner. But every time you think about Wonwoo you feel the urge to giggle and kick your feet in the air, so the term boyfriend simply feels right. You’re practically head over heels for the man. 

“Ooooo you’re so in love with him,” your best friend teased as you were gushing about your boyfriend for the nth time. 

“Oh shut up,” you rolled your eyes as you replied. Maybe you’re a bit jaded from your mediocre past relationships, but the phrase in love is not one you throw around lightly. 

But deep down, you know it’s true. You’re in love with Wonwoo.

But you’re not ready to admit that to anybody. So you keep it to yourself. You’ll cross that bridge when you get there.

That day arrives much sooner than you anticipate.

—

February rolls around. It’s the dead of winter, arguably the most boring time of year. Your mind is preoccupied with the job interview you have coming up, and you’ve been a bit stressed about it. Wonwoo has been nothing but supportive and helpful - giving you advice, offering to help you practice, cleaning your apartment for you of his own free will - and you are more than grateful to have him around. 

One particularly cold Saturday morning, you wake up to a text from Wonwoo. 

Good morning beautiful! Text me when you’re awake 😊

You smile sleepily as you reply. 

Good morning babe 💖 I’m awake!

The chat bubble pops up as he begins to reply immediately. 

Great! Can you be ready by 11am? I have a surprise for you 😁

A surprise?

Y/N: Oooh, what kind of surprise? WW: It’s a secret 😉 Y/N: Hmm 🤔 Okay... What should I wear though?  WW: Wear whatever you want, you look cute in everything! Y/N: Hehe okayyyy WW: Perfect, I’ll pick you up at 11! See you soon 😊

You hop out of bed and start to get ready, practically dancing around your apartment. You open your closet and stare at your clothes, trying to decide what to wear - which proves to be hard when you don’t know where you’re going. You end up grabbing the cozy light blue sweater Wonwoo complimented you on when you wore it a couple weeks ago, and a cute pair of jeans to match. You’re putting on your heeled boots when you hear the knockknockknock of somebody at the door. You open the door to see your boyfriend, looking incredibly handsome in his dark coat and black-rimmed glasses. He extends to you a bouquet of a dozen red roses.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he says with a soft smile. 

As you take the bouquet Wonwoo pulls you in for a kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist. As your lips part you look at him, an inquisitive look on your face.

“But it’s not Valentine’s Day yet,” you tell him.

“I know,” he replies as he gives you a little kiss on your nose. “But I couldn’t wait.”

You feel a huge smile color your face. 

“So, where are we going?” 

—

The waitress sets a massive plate of the fanciest waffles you’ve ever seen in front of you. You start to salivate at the sight of the fresh berries and cream heaping on top.

A few weeks ago you had casually mentioned the bougie brunch place you’ve always wanted to try, but it was expensive and the wait was always way too long. Turns out Wonwoo immediately called and made a reservation for you two.

You go to dig into your waffles when you notice your boyfriend holding his phone up, taking photos of you.

“Hey! Stop that,” you say as you playfully try to grab his phone.

“What?” he asks innocently. “You just look so pretty.”

He looks at you adoringly. You pout, feigning annoyance, and he snaps another picture - making you laugh. There’s no way you can be mad at him, he’s simply too sweet.

After the decadent meal Wonwoo walks you back to his car, holding your hand, and insists upon opening the car door for you - even helping you take off your coat. It’s silly, but it still makes you feel warm and fuzzy.

Wonwoo starts driving, but in the opposite direction of your home.

“Where are we going now?” you inquire.

“Remember how you said you’ve never been ice skating?”

“Oh god,” you groan. “Can’t wait to make a complete fool of myself.”

“You won’t,” he insists. “You can hold onto me.”

“But you’ve never been ice skating either,” you point out. “How do you know you’re not gonna fall too?”

Wonwoo smiles. “Then we’ll fall together.”

You scoff playfully, but a grin also appears on your face.

Ice skating ends up being a disaster. Neither one of you can stop falling (it doesn’t help that you refuse to stop holding hands, so when one of you falls both of you go down), but you also can’t stop laughing - to the point where your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. You haven’t had fun like this in ages.

You look over at your boyfriend. He is extraordinarily cute right now, his cheeks rosy from the cold air. Wonwoo catches you looking at him and leans over to plant a kiss on your cheek - he then immediately runs into the wall. You let out a giggle - he looks back at you sheepishly.

“Maybe you should pay attention to where you’re going,” you tease as you nudge him with your elbow.

“Hard to do so when my beautiful girlfriend is right next to me, distracting me.” His tone mirrors your playfulness, but the way he’s looking at you - you can tell he means it.

You roll your eyes, but a huge smile lights up your face as you wrap your arm around his, squeezing him tightly. 

On the drive back Wonwoo suggests you go to his place, to which you happily agree. Before you enter, he tells you to close your eyes.

“No peeking!” he insists.

“I won’t!” you swear, placing your hands over your eyes. 

You walk through the front door and wait in the entryway, resisting peeking as promised. You hear Wonwoo fiddling with things for a minute, and then you hear the opening notes of your favorite album - the sound emanating from his record player.

“Okay, you can look now,” he tells you as he once again is standing right next to you. You remove your hands, opening your eyes to the sight of Wonwoo’s dim apartment - illuminated only by the dozen of freshly-lit candles placed around the living room. In his hands are the biggest box of chocolates you’ve ever seen, and a cute fuzzy teddy bear that’s holding a heart with Be mine embroidered on it.

“Oh my god, you really went all out,” you remark, smiling from ear to ear as your heart practically flutters in your chest.

“Only the best for you, babe.”

He sets down the chocolates and the bear, stopping to help you out of your coat before drawing you into his embrace, kissing you softly and slowly. He then takes your hands in his, pulling you toward the hallway.

“There’s one more surprise,” he tells you.

Before you can ask him what more he could possibly surprise you with, you see the trail of rose petals down the hallway, leading into his bedroom.

“You did NOT,” you exclaim as you laugh, truly bewildered at the sight of it.

You follow the trail as he pulls you into his room, where even more petals lay on the bed, perfectly forming the shape of a heart.

“It’s so beautiful I almost don’t want to ruin it,” you proclaim.

Wonwoo raises his eyebrow at you.

“Hey, I said almost.”

Without a word he smiles, pulling you in so he can grab the hem of your sweater, gently pulling it over your head to reveal the lacy bra you had chosen to wear today.

“So pretty,” he remarks as he runs his hands over your breasts, before reaching around your back to undo the clasp. “But even prettier without.”

He tosses the bra aside, taking your tits in his hands. You begin to undo his shirt buttons, revealing his incredibly toned body that still turns you on so much every time you see it. His shirt gone, you move to his belt. You unbuckle it and pull it off, throwing it to the floor as you take the bulge in his pants in your palm. He lets out a soft groan as you caress him, his erection quickly growing. You go to unfasten his pants, the taut fabric giving way as you undo the zipper, his cock now bulging through his underwear, begging to escape. 

Wonwoo suddenly grabs you by the hips, twirling you around and pushing you onto the bed. 

“Get comfy, babe.”

As you recline into the soft pillows, he removes his pants and then begins to take off yours, pulling them off of you in one go. He gently pushes your inner thighs open and situates himself right in between your legs, the only barrier between his face and your cunt being the thin lacy underwear that do nothing to hide how wet you are right now. He softly kisses your clit a few times, then licks a stripe over the sheer fabric. You run your hand through his hair as he starts kissing your clit again, this time more intensely. You begin to squirm slightly against his face - silently begging for more. Wonwoo gazes up at you, giving you a little smirk as his lips hover right above you - so close that you feel breath against your core.

“Stop teasing meeee,” you whine.

You feel his finger slide under the fabric, pulling it aside to reveal your soaked center. You feel the sharpness of the cool air hitting you, followed by the warmth of Wonwoo’s mouth against your cunt. You mewl softly as his tongue traces against your folds, lapping up your juices but only making you wetter in the process. You continue to stroke his hair as he goes down on you, enjoying the view. You love the way his nose brushes against your clit as he alternates between sucking on the bud and fucking you with his tongue. 

Eventually you feel his fingers delicately graze your entrance - he inserts only one finger at first, but it still feels so good. 

“More,” you beg. “Please.”

Wonwoo slides a second finger into your cunt. He knows how to curve them perfectly, hitting you in just the right spot to drive you insane. He fucks you as he continues licking your clit - you become a moaning mess as your orgasm draws closer and closer. Your hips begin to buck involuntarily, grinding your cunt against his face - overwhelmed with pleasure. Wonwoo wraps his arms around your thighs, holding you down against the bed as he devours you. 

“Fuck, baby - I’m cumming,” you cry out. Your legs shake as the incredible sensation takes over your entire body, the white-hot flashes of pleasure flowing through you as your pussy throbs against your boyfriend’s tongue. 

As you come down, Wonwoo gives you soft little kitten licks. You sink into the pillows, your whole body relaxed in bliss. He kisses your stomach before crawling up, his body weight laying against you cozily as he presses his nose against yours. He kisses you, his lips and chin covered in your juices. You begin to make out, his tongue moving against yours, his bulge pressing against your core. You reach down, slipping your hand through the band of his underwear, and pull his cock out. You’ve fucked your boyfriend countless times by now, but every time you’re still in awe of his size. You wrap your hand around his thickness and stroke him a few times, causing precum to leak out. You guide his tip to your entrance - you moan as it easily slips in, his size stretching you out so perfectly. He slides his entire length into you, letting out a groan as he bottoms out. 

“Your pussy’s so perfect for me, babe,” he says in a low voice. He begins to fuck you, slowly pushing his cock in and out, letting your walls adjust to his size. 

“So good baby, fuck,” he says, practically growling. “Your pussy’s all mine.”

You moan as he picks up speed, thrusting his huge cock into you further and further. His lips meet yours again - your mouths and tongues dancing against each other as he fucks you, more passionately than ever before. 

“All mine, you’re all mine.”

“Oh my god,” you cry, tears forming in your eyes from the intense pleasure. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“I’m close baby - wanna cum in you,” he groans. 

“Please,” you beg. 

Wonwoo’s rhythm picks up speed - tears are fully running down your face as you let out cries of pleasure. You feel his cock pulsate against your walls as he releases, groaning as he thrusts into you, filling you up with his cum. 

As he comes down from his high, his warm body melts into yours - he’s squishing you, but you’ve never been more comfortable. His cock still inside you, he plays with your hair as he kisses you slowly. 

You lay there together for a while. Eventually, Wonwoo slowly pulls out of you, giving you a kiss on the cheek before he gets up to grab a warm towel. After he cleans you up he plops back into bed, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in, squeezing you so tightly it makes you giggle. 

You draw your head back just enough so you can look your boyfriend in the eyes. He’s so hot, so cute, gazing at you so lovingly - you truly don’t think you’ve ever been happier than you are in this moment. 

“I love you,” you tell him - for the first time. 

You didn’t plan on saying it, it just came out naturally. Because it’s true - you love him, more than you’ve ever loved anyone. 

Wonwoo smiles, caressing you softly as he holds you warmly against him. 

“I love you too.”

[end]