#ye I'm back for prowl too

[themultifanshipper]

🔴 with Webber!reader x Jenson x Sebastian.

Living with your brother had it's perks, him living in a penthouse and all.

But it had it's downsides too. Like when you had to sneak your hookups out without him knowing. It didn't help that they were his friends and colleagues.

To be honest it was only a matter of time before he caught you.

Warnings: disgusting smut, crying, dacryphilia, sub reader, sub sebastian, dom jenson (hear me out), overstimulation, forced sex?, use of the colour system, PinV sex, Oral, cum, facials you know the drill, Jenson being mean af

requested from my prompt list

He finally caught you the day after his win in Monaco 2012.

He'd gone out partying all night so you had the place to yourself and you decided to invite a couple of friends over.

Those friends happened to be Sebastian Vettel and Jenson Button. No biggie.

They both knew about your situationship with the other, and you didn't get to see them that often, so you had planned that while they were both in Monaco you'd have a bit of fun with them both.

And it's not like they didn't mess around on their own either.

Sebastian arrived first, having rushed through his duties in his impatience to join you.

Before you'd even shut the door he had you up against the wall, whispering about all the things he wanted to do to you, feeling frustrated after your brother ‘stole his win’ (his words not mine).

Fucking his biggest rival's little sister was certainly a great way to let out his frustration, and you were happy to take everything he had to give.

He undressed you slowly, making sure to tease you as much as possible while he peeled your clothes off your body.

He was halfway through getting you to your second orgasm using his fingers, when Jenson barged in.

The bastard didn't even knock, he just opened the door, gasped in fake surprise at the sight of you getting ravaged on the couch and closed the door behind him.

“God, look at the state of you two, couldn't even wait for me” he tutted as he prowled towards you like a predator.

Seb hadn't stopped his ministrations and you were currently hurtling towards your peak. Jenson chuckled at you barely being able to keep your eyes open with the pleasure.

“Aw babygirl are you going to come on Seb's fingers?”

You nodded as the pleasure overcame you and you clamped down on Seb's fingers as you rode your high.

Once you had finished, Jenson dragged him away from your weeping cunt and sat him on the couch next to you.

“Let's give her a break and take care of this mess, hmm?”

Seb gasped as Jenson lowered his head and licked up the underside of his leaking cock.

He wasted no time sinking down completely, making Seb choke on his spit.

You had no idea Jenson was so proficient at blowjobs, but the sight of him swallowing around Seb's cock really did something to you.

“Fuck Jenson-” Seb moaned “don't stop”

Jenson pulled off for a second to answer “Don't worry baby, I'm not going to stop until you're crying”

Seb whimpered and Jenson sank back down to the base, deepthroating him expertly.

It took Seb an embarrasingly short amount of time to come after that, and he pulled Jenson off him by the hair.

Jenson himself was flushed but he sat up and looked at the two of you mischievously.

“Now then, given that you two brats decided to be greedy and start without me, you're going to fuck, and I'm going to watch. And if you stop before I say so, I will tie you both up and tease you all night and leave you here for Mark to find, understood?”

You and Seb looked at each other with a twinkle in your eyes.

“Yes Daddy”

You were just goading him at this point, you knew it would drive Jenson mad, and it did. He groaned and rubbed his face.

“Right, come on then.” He sighed, slapping your thigh “Any position you want, get to it.”

You decided to ride Seb, and it was wonderful. He was so thick, grazing all the right places inside you, that this didn't feel like much of a punishment at all.

You came for the third time just as you thighs were starting to burn from the effort, so as you came down, Seb pulled out and you changed position, now laying on the couch with Seb above you as Jenson watched on.

Seb fucked you hard immediately, slightly overstimulating you, and his hands wandered over your flesh, squeezing and pinching as they went.

The real punishment started when Seb came inside you and stopped his thrusts to pull out gently.

“Ah ah! What do you think you're doing?” Jenson said, looking up from his phone “keep fucking her Seb”

You both froze.

“But-“ Seb started but Jenson interrupted him

“This is your punishment for being impatient little fuckers, so get back inside her while you're still hard and take it like a man”

Seb blushed and reluctantly pushed back into you.

You were both so sensitive it sent shocks through your systems.

“Fuck” Seb muttered as he put some of his weight on you in favour of grinding his hips into yours.

“Feel so fucking good around me schatz”

You whined “It's too much Jense, m'gonna come”

Jenson just laughed.

“Is it too much or are you going to come baby? It can't be both”

Jenson talking down at you shouldn't have been as hot as it was, but you were clenching around Seb as you got closer to another orgasm.

“Gonna come” you gasped out.

“Then come baby, I'm not stopping you”

And you did, your fourth orgasm washed over you but Seb kept going as per Jenson's instructions and he himself came again not long after that.

Jenson sensed he was going to pull out so he grabbed Seb's hips and pushed him flush with you.

“Don't you dare pull out, Sebby. Keep going. It's what you get for being greedy little sluts”

He guided Sebs hips back and forth, using Seb to fuck you, not giving his dick time to get soft again as you both felt tears of overstimulation cloud your vision.

“Can't Jenson” Seb gasped, he was shaking like a leaf “It's too much, I can't keep going”

You shared the sentiment, you weren't sure you'd be able to come again, the pleasure bordering on pain.

Jenson pushed on Seb's hips particularly hard and he let out a sob into the crook of your neck.

“Yes you can” Jenson said tenderly “I know you can, Sebby”

Seb let out a wanton moan and Jenson asked “Colour?”

Seb's shaky voice replied, muffled by your skin “green”.

Jenson looked at your tear stained cheeks and you also gasped out ‘green’.

“There you go, you can both give me one more then”

Seb's hips slapped into yours with renewed vigour, he was determined to see this to the end, his impressive stamina coming in handy in this situation.

Jenson decided to help you along and give you a hand, literally.

One of his hands went to Seb's hair, yanking his head back and licking into his mouth as he panted like an animal, and the other slithered down you body and started rubbing circles onto your clit.

The touch sent a jolt of electricity through you and you found yourself right on the edge again, and the pleasure was too much for you as you sobbed your way through your orgasm.

Seb’s hyper sensitive cock didn't survive you clamping down on him and he also came with a wretched sound, muffled by Jenson's mouth on his.

Jenson helped Seb to pull out carefully, and he slumped down to a kneeling position on the floor.

He instructed you to do the same and got his painfully hard cock out of his pants to finally get the relief he'd been denying himself.

The sight of you and Seb on your knees for him, his two favourite brats, tears staining your cheeks, eyes wet and lips puffy, was enough to get him off in record time as he groaned out a curse and spurted streaks of white over both of your faces.

“My perfect whores, fuck- so good for me, you did so well”

He stroked your heads as he waited for his head to stop spinning.

You all got washed up and went to bed very late, after a nice (takeaway) meal and a couple of drinks to wind down.

The next morning you woke up with Seb, Jenson being a heavy (and late!!) sleeper, and decided to get up and get some breakfast.

What you didn't expect was for Mark to be in the living room, holding your discarded clothes and a Redbull shirt.

You froze in the doorway and you stared at each other, your eyes full of fear and his full of anger.

“So you're sleeping with a Redbull driver, huh?” he cocked his head “Last I heard, there's only two of those. And it's definitely not me. So tell me, who is in your room right now?”

“Well I should hope you're not sleeping with your own sister” Seb's voice resounded from behind you, and you cursed the man internally.

“Ah! Nice of you to join us, Seb! What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?” Mark's eyes flashed with anger.

Seb just chuckled and wrapped an arm around you “I was invited by your lovely sister, do you want a play by play of everything we did on your couch?”

Mark's eyes widened and he looked at the couch with disgust.

“Also that is my shirt you're holding, so I will let you make your own conclusions”

He walked towards a livid looking Mark and ripped his own shirt from his grasp, before going to sit down in the kitchen.

“You coming schatz? I thought you wanted to make breakfast?” he called from the other room.

You gave an apologetic look to your brother before following Seb's path.

Mark took a second to regain his composure before doing the same.

“How long has this been going on?”

You sighed, of course now he was going to be nosy.

“A few months… maybe a year”

Mark would have been outraged except… he just frowned, he definitely heard you with someone a few weeks ago, and it definitely wasn't Seb.

In fact he was pretty sure he recognised the accent he’d heard through the wall.

“But what about…” he looked at Seb quickly before deciding he actually didn't care about possibly hurting his feelings and blurted out “Jenson!”

You stared at him blankly. “What about Jenson?”

He narrowed his eyes at you “Well I know you fucked him… recently”

“And why would you think I'm fucking Jenson?”

And because your luck always ran out at the very worst of times, Jenson himself strutted through the door, shirtless, and sporting a smug grin.

“Someone mention my name?”

He walked towards you, pecked you on the cheek and sat down on the other side of Sebastian.

Marks eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his skull, and you could see the cogs turning in his mind.

“You… you're fucking BOTH OF THEM?!”

You could barely contain your smirk as you answered.

“Yeah? This is what the young people are doing these days, Mark. You should give it a go, it might help you unwind!”

He didn't even dignify that with a response, turning on his heel and stomping out of the room.

You, Seb and Jenson looked at each other and burst out laughing.

You were definitely inviting them over more often.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Coming Out

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: some explicit language, mention of an unsub hurting Emily 😱, vague insinuations of homophobia, mostly fluff on fluff, feat. loyal himbo Derek Morgan Word Count: 2k

Summary: Emily gets injured on the job, and all she really wants is you, her girlfriend. But she's not out to the rest of the team yet. Can she be vulnerable enough to share that part of herself with the team? Can she be vulnerable enough to let you take care of her? Takes place at the end of S3.E2.

Emily dabbed at her head and winced, checking her watch to see if it had been long enough to take more pain medication. But despite getting clocked with a plank of wood, she was glad to be on the jet, glad to be back with her team because they really were starting to feel like her team. Who was she kidding? She loved her job.

According to the pilot, the team would be landing at Quantico in a little over an hour. Emily grabbed her phone, discreetly shoving it into her pocket, before heading to the back of the plane. She needed to call you, but the rest of the team didn't know about you yet. Hell, the rest of the team didn't even know she was gay. It felt too personal, and she'd been hurt by people's reactions–people she loved and trusted deeply–too many times. She played her relationships and her sexuality close to the vest.

Reid tapped Emily's arm as she passed by.

"Oh! Are you going all the way to the back?"

Emily tensed. "Yep."

"Could you bring me a Sprite?"

She felt her shoulders relax, and she patted Reid on the arm. "Sure."

After knocking on the bathroom door to make sure that truly no one was around, she called you, her voice hushed as she rifled through tiny airplane soda cans, looking for Reid's Sprite.

"Hey, Em," you said, your voice bright.

"Hey," she said, a goofy smile spreading across her face. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing much. Saw a street rat earlier. I named him Guillermo. I think he's on the prowl for a girlfriend."

Emily laughed, covering her mouth.

"How was Milwaukee?" you asked.

"Good. Really good. We got the guy. We're on the plane now."

She could nearly hear how smug you were through the phone.

"You're glad you went back," you snickered, relishing in being right. She'd sworn that it wasn't a big deal, that it'd be easy to get another good job, but you knew her heart was with the BAU.

Emily sighed. "I am. You were right."

"You're gonna stay?"

"Looks that way."

"I knew it!" you crowed. "I'm glad. You're too good at your job to quit it."

"Thanks, love. Listen, Y/N, can I ask you a favor?"

"Of course! Anything."

Emily winced, touching the swollen bump on her head. "We land in about an hour. Can you pick me up and stay at my place tonight?"

"Wow." You drew out the vowel, milking the fact that Emily needed you for once. "You missed me that much, huh?"

"Well, yes, of course, but... I, uh... I kind of have a concussion?"

Your tone shifted immediately from smug to concerned. "What?! Why?! What happened!?"

"Unsub hit me with a plank of wood," she admitted reluctantly.

"Jesus Christ, Em! Are you okay!?"

"I'm fine, baby, I promise," she reassured you. "I just got a little banged up, that's all. But I'll need you to wake me up every few hours and make sure I'm cognizant."

"I think I have some soup in the freezer," you observed, your voice far away. You'd put her on speakerphone to rifle through the cabinets. "And I have a thermometer. I don't know, do concussions cause fevers? I've never had one."

Emily shook her head, smiling. She loved that your first response, always, was to take care of her. Emily was not used to being taken care of, and she didn't let many people do it. She certainly wouldn't let many people see it either. But she let you.

"No thermometers needed. Just you and your car and more you when we get home."

"You got it. When did you say you land?"

"In about an hour."

"Okay. I'll leave in a few."

"Oh," Emily added quickly. "And you're cleared to drive into Quantico. They know the car you drive and they've got your ID on file. Just show it to them at the gate."

You paused. "Well, that's a little Big Brother of them."

"I gave it to them a few months ago. Just in case you ever needed to come by. Sorry, I should've told you."

"It's okay," you decided, pulling on a jacket and a beanie. "It feels kind of badass to be on Quantico's list."

Emily laughed, almost excited to have a concussion because it meant you'd be snuggled right up to next to her for however long it took to get better. 48 hours at least.

"Alright, baby," she finished, Reid's Sprite in hand. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Bye, love."

Emily wiped the grin off her face before returning to the cabin with Reid's Sprite–it'd look suspicious if she was too happy coming back.

An hour later, the team was going their separate ways in the parking lot, waving goodbyes and slamming car doors under the buzzing lights.

Emily leaned on the wall outside the building entrance, relishing the crisp night air.

"You need a ride, Prentiss?" Morgan asked as he walked out, used go-bag slung over his shoulder. "You shouldn't be driving" He pointed to her head.

"No, that's okay," Emily waved him off. "I've got– uh... someone's... picking me up."

Fuck, she thought. The concussion was not helping her ability to lie well.

Morgan stared at her suspiciously.

"What?" Emily laughed, trying to act normal.

"Why are you acting shifty?"

"I'm not!" she protested.

Morgan smirked and waggled his eyebrows. "Do you have a secret boyfriend?"

"What?" Emily said, laughing a little too forcefully. "No!"

He crossed his arms and waited. "You're seriously not gonna tell me?"

Emily leaned against the brick wall, rubbing her forehead. On the one hand, she was tired of keeping you–and herself–a secret. And if anyone was going to be supportive of someone on the team getting laid, it would be Morgan. But on the other, did she really know that much about him? She didn't know his religious background. Sure, he'd defend a gay victim, but that was his job. This was personal.

Emily sighed before replying. "I have... I have a secret girlfriend."

The silence felt like it lasted hours, stretching between them until Emily was sure the chasm would never close again, and that with just a few words, just by being herself, she'd ruined any chance of a friendship with Derek Morgan. It wouldn't be the first time. It probably wouldn't be the last.

Morgan seemed to think deeply before leaning against the wall next to Emily, turning to look her in the eye.

"Prentiss, why didn't you tell us you were gay?"

Emily was afraid to look at him, but when she did, her heart soared. He looked at her with nothing but love and respect and appreciation, no hint of hatred or disgust. If anything, he looked sad that she'd waited so long to tell him.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I don't always get a good reaction."

"Well, you know nobody on this team would have a problem with that, right? Hell, Garcia'd probably hang pride flags everywhere."

"I know," Emily nodded. "I just... I don't think I'm ready yet. For everyone to know. Soon, though."

Morgan nodded, then thought for a few minutes before asking, "Is it serious?"

Emily chuckled. "Being gay? Yeah, I'd say so."

Morgan shoved her shoulder gently, mindful of the day's injuries. "No! The girl! How long have you been seeing her?"

"A little over six months."

"So, it's serious."

Emily grinned. She was glad to have someone to talk to about this. She'd held it so close for so long. She wasn't used to having anyone to tell about you. Maybe Morgan could be that person.

"Promise not to tell the others?"

Morgan put his hand over his heart. "Promise."

"I'd marry her tomorrow if she'd let me."

"Wow." Morgan raised his eyebrows, smiling lightly. "Prentiss is in love," he said, teasing her.

Emily fought a wide smile, but lost in the end. "Oh, shut up. And don't tell anyone. Especially her."

"Your secret's safe with me," Morgan reassured her. And she could tell he meant it. Emily trusted him, she realized. She trusted him to be a good friend, to keep her secrets. She trusted him not to out her to the rest of the team. He'd let her go at her own pace when it came to telling the others.

"She better be amazing," Morgan added. "I don't know how anyone could be good enough for you."

Just at that moment, a pair of headlights crept slowly into the parking lot, hesitant and unsure. It had to be you. Emily stepped forward and waved a bit, then turned to Morgan.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow?" she said.

"Not with that head, you won't," Morgan observed.

You put the car in park next to the curb and leapt out of the driver's seat, hurrying over to Emily.

"Oh my god!" you exclaimed, anger and concern washing over you. "I thought you you said you were fine!"

You gingerly touched Emily's face and pulled her head down to examine the butterfly bandage above her eyebrow.

"Look at this," you grumbled, more to yourself than anyone else. "It's already bruising." You glared at the butterfly bandage. "Did a doctor do this or you? If it was you, I think we should clean it with rubbing alcohol at home."

Morgan looked absolutely delighted, both because you seemed like a delightful person and because Emily was beet red at being observed with you.

"Y/N, I'm fine," Emily said firmly, grasping your fingers in hers and removing them from her face. "This is my colleague Derek Morgan. Morgan, my girlfriend, Y/N."

You looked Morgan over and immediately decided you liked him. Mostly because you could tell that he really cared about Emily. But also because he looked mischievous, like he'd tease her. And if there was anything you loved, it was teasing Emily. You shook his hand enthusiastically. "It's really nice to meet you," you said. And you meant it.

But you didn't have time to chat with Morgan tonight. You were too worried about Emily.

"You don't look fine," you argued, looking to Morgan for backup. "Does she look fine to you?"

Morgan grinned at Emily, raising his eyebrows. "She definitely looks like she could use some TLC."

"Oh, and she'll get it alright," you assured him, opening the passenger door for Emily. "Shall we?"

Emily bent gingerly to get into the car, and you were careful to guard her head from the ceiling.

"Derek, it was really nice to meet you," you said, shaking his hand one more time for good measure as Emily rolled down the window, staring bullets at Morgan.

"You too, Y/N," he said, looking over your shoulder at Emily. "I hope you all have a very marry evening."

Emily pointed at him aggressively behind your back, mouthing, "SHUT. UP."

"See you, Prentiss," he called as you pulled away. He laughed and called out, "I hope it's a real honeymoon from work!"

Emily's hand shot out the window, flipping him off.

Later that night, your alarm buzzed and you blinked awake. You forgot for a moment that you were at Emily's, but her strong arms wrapped protectively around your waist were enough to remind you where you were.

You turned slowly to face a sleeping Emily, brushing her hair out of her face.

"Em. Hey. You gotta wake up, honey."

She groaned, placing a hand on her head.

"Sorry," you grimaced. "Gotta make sure your brain's alright."

"My brain is fine," she growled.

"Oh, yeah?" you joked, checking the time before shaking a few pills into your hand from the pill bottle on the nightstand. "Who am I, then?"

"The love of my life, Whitney Houston."

You laughed, which made Emily laugh, too. But she quickly doubled over in pain, groaning.

"Here, take these," you said gently, handing her the pills and a glass of water. "It'll help."

She took the pills obediently and lay back down.

"You know," you said, pulling up the blankets to make sure they covered Emily's shoulders. "I may not be Whitney Houston..." You wrapped your arms around her and drew her to you, and she burrowed her head into the space between your neck and your collarbone.

"But I think I'm a close second," you finished, running your fingers rhythmically through Emily's hair.

She sighed contentedly, pressing into you, then moving one of your arms to wrap it more tightly around her.

"Why are you so good to me?" she asked, quiet. You couldn't quite tell if it was a joke or serious, but you'd reply the same either way.

"Because I love you, you nerd."

She leaned up, planting a kiss underneath your chin. "I love you, too."

Within minutes she was conked out again, and you were setting another alarm, ready to do it all over again in a few hours.

[whatwooshkai]

"put this guy in earthspark" "put that guy in earthspark" I think you are all correct but I've been thinking about it so here's who I would love to see in earthspark and why:

-sunstreaker and sideswipe (this show is all about family when was the last time the twins were on screen together huh. they are speedster twins twitch and thrash would love them)

-ironhide (would be plotting megatron's demise the second he saw him. like optimus' scary dog who barks every time megatron gets too close "he don't bite" "YES HE DO")

-jazz and prowl (I think they should show up together. I think prowl needs someone to handle people for him because if he showed up by himself it would not end well. also I love jazz and find their dynamic fun, plus jazz would love the terrans)

-ratchet and deadlock (specifically deadlock. it would be so funny. imagine ratchet comes into camp and they're like "holy shit thank god finally an actual medic who can help us" but look he's got the cybtertronian equivalent of a feral attack dog following him that adores him and hates everyone else and he's not doing anything about it)

-thundercracker and buster (GIVE HIM HIS DOG!! bonus points if skywarp and starscream are like "oh we don't know about thundercracker. we lost him years ago. we hope one day to find him and welcome him with open arms" and this whole time he's had a dog and been writing screenplays like "oh they know I'm fine" [they don't])

-first aid (I love ratchet but bro's been dominating the medical field. put first aid in. or literally any other medic actually. put fucking pharma in and let him go wild. that would be fun. but back to first aid I love his character and I think his "I'm a medic, but..." attitude would fit perfectly, and he'd love the terrans)

-pharma

-whirl (do it you fucking cowards. and don't do it like cyberverse. make him unhinged. he would be such a bad influence it would be great)

[targaryen-dynasty]

THE DEVIL'S ADVOCATE.

Antichrist!Aemond Targaryen x female Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MINORS DNI; dub con, p in v, fingering (with gloves 😮‍💨), dacryphilia, choking, degrading, unprotected sex, power imbalance, female reader

WORDS: 4.7 K

NOTES: Yes, this is based on American Horror Story Apocalypse. Michael Langdon is just so *phew* that I had to adapt it to Aemond. This is so self indulgent, I'm not even sorry. @kaelabear you're getting the special taglist. @arcielee thank you for beta reading this! <3

You have lost track of how many days, months, or even years have passed since your arrival in Outpost 3, and gods, you’d give it all right away to be back in one of the holding cells the government had put you in around the time the bombs rained down over King’s Landing. 

Even though you received the status as a purple upon your arrival, therefore placing you to the upper-class elites specifically selected for survival, you couldn’t be worse off. At least there you’ve been allowed to do your own thing – as far as the confines allowed you to. 

The nutritional cubes they serve you are rationed, with Ms. Misery announcing they’ll have to ration them even further in the next days, and on top of being hungry and bored, you haven’t had a good fuck in quite the while. 

Sexual contact, or any kind of copulation, is strictly forbidden, and you’ve witnessed firsthand what it means to break Miserys’ rules – not that you’d make any moves on the other residents occupying the former exclusive boys school anyways. 

It’s only been you and your hand, sometimes even your pillow, from the very beginning on until now, and truth be told? You’re sick of it. 

At some point you’ve stopped getting yourself off, only because your body longed for physical contact, for someone else’s body on your own. 

And what certainly doesn’t help with your misery is the mysterious man that arrived just a few days ago. 

When he introduced himself as Targaryen, you knew his arrival was something that came partnered with power. As much as you would have liked to focus on his speech to campaign himself, you found it was far too difficult to care about humanity being on the brink of failure when the man telling you about it was so, so damn easy on the eyes.

Just the sight of his sharp features, regardless of a part of them being concealed by a black eyepatch, has been enough to make your mouth water. And when your eyes traveled lower, taking in the way his black slacks all but hugged his toned thighs, all was lost for you. 

You’ve been grateful that Laenor pounced on him to be interviewed first, wanting to see if he'd be worthy enough to be relocated to the so-called sanctuary, because you certainly would have jumped Targaryens’ bones right then and there. 

His alluring aura, the dominance radiating off of him – it all are factors that drive your aching body to insanity. and the nights that followed you found your relief more than once with the image of him flashing right before your eyes. 

Some time has passed in which you’ve barely seen him around, only hearing of him through the stories of the other residents that have been interviewed by him; now it’s your turn to warm the large chair standing in front of the imposing Mahogany desk. 

It’s the door behind you sliding open that lets your heart drop into the pit of your stomach, and you fidget with your fingers to stop yourself from turning around. You don’t want to be caught staring in the first few seconds already. 

You hear your name fall past his lips so smoothly it sends a shiver down your spine. You give in to the temptation and watch him step inside with an air of mellow gratification, prowling around the desk until he eventually sits down in the empty seat across from you.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” he purrs, a glint of mischief dancing in his eye. 

There comes no reply from you, instead you continue to fumble with your fingers, looking at what you assume to be your file splayed out on the desk in front of him. 

It’s the dismissive hum that rumbles in his chest that finally piques your interest, and when your gaze settles on him again, you spot him touch his chin thoughtfully as his eye skimps over the pages, seeming as if he’s reading it for the first time. 

The red gloves he wears stand in stark contrast to the otherwise colorless rest of his outfit, your gaze drawn to them like a moth to a flame. He has worn them upon his arrival already; the smooth leather shining in the dim light of the candles makes your mind wander to more indecent things. 

He tilts his head up again to meet your gaze, his smooth and calming voice ringing out. “Your genetic profile would appear to be favorable, so you can say that this interview is solely conducted as a… precaution.” Though it’s meant to be reassuring, the deliberate pause he makes doesn’t seem convincing. 

His words make you frown. “What for?” you ask, and you curse yourself for how blunt and bold your voice sounds. “Aren’t you in need of relocating the last few people that pass on good genes, now that this is the last outpost standing?” 

The genuine laugh he offers you prompts you to lean back in your seat, juxtaposing the way he leans forwards in his. Something in the arrogance that radiates off of him, and the smug smirk he has on his lips, feeds your irritation. 

“Doesn’t seem like you can afford to be picky,” you snap back at him. 

He licks his lips, and although it’s not longer than a second, your mind immediately drifts off to think about how it would feel between your legs, how he would feel between them. You try to be subtle as you shift in your seat, barely moving enough to soothe the aching that blooms at the apex of them. 

“We’re making the selections as carefully as possible,” he counters. The paper of your file is pinched between his index and thumb, rubbing it between the pads of his fingers. “We need to ensure the survival of humanity, and I’m sure you understand that we have to look for a certain level of ambition in the people we choose.”

Even though his explanation is vague, and doesn’t make much sense to you, it is strangely appealing. The word ambition is such a broad term that could mean anything from career-minded to cutthroat, yet you still have to figure out exactly what he means. 

The tension grows thicker and thicker with each passing second of silence, and you feel a warm sensation spreading inside of you from his intense gaze – which is perhaps also due to the hint of desire that gleams in his eye as he regards you. 

You try your best to ignore the way your heart races, wanting to diminish the warmth inside of you. But to no avail. 

When he rises from his seat, your heart drops into your stomach again, and your eyes grow wide with curiosity and intrigue. 

It’s a brief flicker of your eyes down his body that has you squeezing your thighs together, far too distracted by how tall he is than to notice the smug smirk that tugs at the corners of his lips. 

“Would you say that you’ve… settled here?” he asks, his voice carrying a hint of something you find difficult to decipher.  

He slowly stalks around the desk, the tips of his leather-clad fingers smoothly gliding over the dark wood. His eye lingers on your face, taking you in and assessing your reaction. His expression holds the same edge of darkness his voice does, though he isn’t hiding it as effectively as he thinks he is this time. 

Your eyes never leave his frame when he comes to stand next to you, leaning back against the desk. He’s gripping the edge of it, and even in the dim light of the candles, you notice that it’s rather tightly, almost as if he’s suppressing the urge to touch you. 

“Well, I suppose I’ve managed to adjust,” you reply. 

For a brief moment, neither of you says anything. He just stares at you with this cold precision – until you catch his eye flitting lower, trailing over your form. 

The purple gown you wear isn’t revealing at all, not that Ms. Misery would allow you to wear anything of that sort anyways. The neckline is squared with raised yet off-the-shoulder structured shoulders that leave little to the imagination – but only if you’ve been touch deprived for long enough.

And, judging by the way his jaw clenches as his eye meets yours again, you can tell it’s also been a while for him. 

The thought of it makes your blood run hot, the warmth now spreading to your cheeks. Your gaze falls to your lap, watching your fingers fumble with each other while you feel his bore into your frame. 

There’s a hum rumbling in his chest once again, but this time it sounds more like a purr, as if he finds satisfaction in your nervousness. “Are you normally this flustered in front of men… or is it just me?”

A sudden rush of excitement and embarrassment floods your veins as your mind processes his words; your head snaps back up to look at him, and you’re greeted by a teasing grin. 

“I’m not flustered,” you reply, your voice only wavering slightly, yet you know that it’s clear to him that you’re not being very honest. He’s well aware of the effect he’s having on you. 

He tsks, a dangerous glint in his eye. “I mean, I can see you,” he says, gesturing to you with his hand. “You’re licking your lips, you can’t meet my eyes for more than a few seconds, your cheeks are flushed – it’s clear your body yearns to be touched…” he trails off, smirking to himself as he briefly glances to the ground. “... by me.”

His statement catches you off-guard. A quick exhale from your nose leaves you feeling winded with the sensations of butterflies wreaking havoc within your body. 

The silence between you lingers, heavy and thick as you ponder over his words, and you decide to go all in. You glance at him sideways, before speaking. “Is that so?”

His eye darkens at your coy demeanor, and with the corners of his quirking up into a sly smirk, he reveals just a glimpse of the devil that lurks beneath the angelic exterior. “Oh, it is,” he replies with a mocking tone. “I know you’re getting off to the thoughts of me at night, sweet thing. And even right now, you’re dripping for me. It’s almost pathetic.”

He almost seems relieved as he finally reaches to trace a gentle line over your exposed shoulder, starting at the crook of your neck. His light touch and the coldness of his gloves cause you to shiver involuntarily, and makes your breathing heavy. 

As if he’s searching for something within yours, his eye narrows, and your mind races with the possibility of what such a look might signify. 

“Look at you,” he purrs, licking his pouty lips. “You’re sitting here, just waiting for me to take things a step further – all the while I could smell that sweet pussy of yours ever since I’ve stepped into the room.”

Your mouth goes dry at his words, making it difficult to swallow, and you feel yourself clench around nothing; the urge to squirm in your seat is nearly overwhelming. 

“That sweet scent of yours…” he trails off. Mesmerized by his words and confidence, you almost flinch when he pushes himself off the desk, slowly kneeling down to be on a level with you, hovering close to you like a predator pretending to pounce. 

Your breath is heavy, and with your body still facing the desk, you’re forced to turn your head to the side to meet his gaze. There are mere inches between your faces now, and you feel his minty breath fan over your lips, swollen from how often you've licked them at this point. 

He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, and heat follows where the cold leather of his gloves ghosted over your skin. “So desperate to be touched… to be filled,” he hums. While embarrassment blossoms inside of you, there’s no amusement laced within his silky voice. It’s as if he’s just stating facts. “Or am I mistaken?” Your name topples past his lips with so much ease, it makes you imagine how it would sound moaned by him.

Your head begins to swim. His scent, his domineering aura, the warmth emanating off of him – it’s all too much and not enough. 

Meekly shaking your head, the ‘no’ you reply comes out not louder than a whisper. 

He takes in a quick breath of air, relishing in his victory. The way you submit to him, to his power and dominance, feeds something within him; a hunger that’s been growing more and more demanding from the moment he stepped into the room with you. 

“Good girl,” he purrs, slowly rising to his full height, stretching his fingers as he keeps his eye locked on you. A flush spreads over your cheeks at his praise, the subconscious urge to make him proud sending a shiver of excitement through your veins, feeding right into your desire to please him. 

He’s standing again, letting his eye drift over your sitting frame for a moment too long, trailing down your neck, over the curves of your breasts, and settling in your lap. A gloved hand comes forward to pinch the skirts of your gown between his fingers, an almost disgusted look on his features. 

“Take it off.”

“W-What?” 

“W-w-what?” he mocks, the scoff he releases filling you with shame. “Take it off,” he repeats. “Or else I will take it off of you, and that won’t be any more pleasant.”

The thought of him undressing you seems tempting. A small part of you wants to protest, to say something along the lines of ‘you can’t just demand something like this’ but the other part craves this. It feels as if it’s quintessential for your body to survive, not able to go one day longer without being touched at all. 

Rising to your feet, you smooth out the skirts of your dress before craning your neck to look up at him. He’s towering over you, hardly stepping back far enough to create any space for you to undress. 

Having always been a bit of a pain to put on, getting out of the dress was even worse. The tight fit and squared neckline leaves you with very limited mobility, meaning you’re always relying on a servant to help you get out of it. And facing these difficulties, the thought of removing it all by yourself, especially in front of him, seems almost sacrilegious. 

A thought pops into your mind, and your body is quick enough to get through with it before you can even think about it properly. 

“Care to help me?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at him. Before he can refuse, you brush your hair over one shoulder and turn around, presenting him with your back and the tightly laced corset. 

Much to your surprise, he doesn’t refuse, and you say nothing as his fingers find the lacing of your corset, gloves brushing your skin as he slowly undos the laces. 

It’s a slow process, one that builds anticipation within you, and has you squeezing your thighs together yet again. 

His caresses are light and careful at first, but they grow increasingly firm and forceful. Each tug and pull draws you closer to him, and only when you hear the same dismissive hum rumbling in his chest do you dare to glimpse at him from over your shoulder, seeing him staring at your back with his jaw set with a new purpose. 

The fabric is still pinched between his fingers when they suddenly change course, gripping the purple fabric around the lace with a bit more force than necessary. He rips open the corset in a single, harsh motion in a clear display of his impatience, the torn fabric hitting the ground with a thud, and your gown quickly follows suit. 

For a moment, you feel relief at being freed from its confines. But it’s fleeting, your skin immediately prickling as you become aware of how much of your body is exposed to him now. 

It’s weird to think that this thin layer of modesty has been enough to keep your fluttering nerves at bay, and now it’s peeled away with you knowing he’s gazing at you as if he’s been served his first meal in months. 

Easing your trembling legs, you hold onto the desk for support. It feels like an eternity as you crouch forward slightly to steady your uneven breathing, the moment only breaking as he advances towards you, his body leaning against yours and pressing you up against the desk. It’s the only thing keeping you upright, and the moment you feel his hot breath caress your neck, your legs feel like they are about to give in. 

His thigh slips between yours, but you can’t feel his hands on your body, assuming he’s clasped them behind his back or kept them at his sides. You can tell that his chest isn’t the only firm thing that presses against your body, his cock rock hard and all but straining against your lower back, clearly finding as much pleasure in the situation as you do.

His proximity is all you’ve thought of for the past days, yet it’s not enough. You need his hands, him, to feel thoroughly satisfied. The urge to whine scratches in your throat, but you manage to swallow it at the last moment. 

“Beg for me to touch you,” he drawls, voice laced with a mixture of excitement and hunger. 

Exhaling a strained breath, you close your eyes. “P-Please,” you whimper, barely loud enough for him to hear. “Please… touch me. It’s been so long.”

“Hm.” You hear it loud and clear, the amusement, the satisfaction, causing your skin to heat up. “That’s all you’ve got?”

You tip your head back in frustration, meeting with his shoulder, a loud huff slipping past your lips. But you’re so close to getting what you want, there’s no way you’re giving up already. 

“Please, please touch me… Mr. Targaryen.” His name is spoken with a bit of hesitation. “I-I- please, fuck, need it so, so bad. Please.” That you’re not stomping your feet on the ground like an insolent child is everything, knowing it would push your chance for relief further away. 

But it seems to do the trick, because one gloved hand settles on your hip without him saying anything, while the other clasps around the outside of your thigh, his thumb brushing smooth patterns over your hot skin. 

He drags his nose along the side of your face, his breath tickling your skin, and you slightly turn your head to lean into it. “Where else do you want me to touch, mh?”

Feeling him on every inch of your body has you far too aroused to be frustrated by his on-going teasing and stalling. “Right…” you pant, peeling his hand from your hip to bring it down between your legs, “... here.”

A quiet whine slips past your lips as his fingers make contact with your sensitive clit, the cold leather of his gloves against your hot skin striking you as a welcome surprise and sending a shiver down your spine. It feels foreign, but nice nevertheless.  

You’ve fully anticipated him to pull back again, to leave you high and dry, but he surprises you again, when he drags his fingers through your swollen folds. 

“Right here, mh?” he purrs into your ear with a husky voice. 

It’s a grazing touch that alone is enough to make your mind hazy, merely humming in return. 

He’s not doing more than rubbing your clit and brushing his digits through your folds, but you’re wet enough already for it to be audible. The squelching sounds coming from between your legs are embarrassing, clearly highlighting your desperation for him, and it only gets worse when he slips a finger inside of you. 

Taking in a sharp breath, you hold onto the desk again. “God, fuck,” you whine. 

His finger is thick enough to be accompanied with a slight burning stretch, intensifying the moment he adds another. You can’t resist the urge to grind against his hand, the base of it applying just enough pressure to your clit to numb any discomfort. 

“You like that, mh?” he rasps. “So fucking wet and desperate for my fingers, dripping all over my glove.”

A string of whiny yesses leaves your lips as the pace of his fingers increases, making it incredibly difficult for your hips to maintain the rhythm. 

Heavy breaths and pants fan over your flushed skin, spurring you on and bringing you closer to the sweet relief you’ve craved for so long. He seems to sense your impending orgasm, and works you just a moment longer, before he withdraws his fingers from you, making sure the loss would make it even worse. 

But there’s no time to whine. 

“Look at the mess you’ve made,” he teases, acting as if he’s completely oblivious to the torture he puts you through, and brings his gloved hand up to your face. 

The red leather is covered in your arousal, sticky and glistening even in the dim light. As he spreads the two fingers, a few strings of it connect the leather, and you bite your bottom lip, knowing all too well what might follow. 

“Open your mouth, pet,” he commands in a stern voice. “Clean up your mess.” 

And you comply, parting your lips and eagerly embracing him pushing them inside. Your tongue swirls around the digits, the leather tasting and feeling completely different on your tongue. 

You hardly notice that his other hand has left your thigh, and even less that he’s undoing the zipper of his slacks, pulling out his hard cock. Only when you feel the pressure against your entrance do your eyes widen, and you whine around his fingers as he pushes inside. 

Even though you are stretched from his digits, it can not compare to his cock. 

He’s filling you to the brim in one, swift thrust, and with you being gagged by his gloved fingers, you can’t do more than mewl and moan. “Fuck, tight cunt taking my cock, hm? That’s it, such a good, little pet.”

Not giving you the chance to adjust to his size, he sets up a reckless pace from the very start, his impatience running thin with the way your tightness embraces him. He fucks you as if it’s a one time thing, as if you won’t make the cut, but something inside of you tells you this is merely the beginning. 

Saliva trickles down your chin as his cock drives deeper and deeper, forcing moan after moan past your lips and his gloved fingers. It’s the sounds of skin slapping against skin, his strained grunts and your muffled whines filling the room, and if Ms. Misery were to find out, you would be tortured or killed even before the next day arrived. 

Maybe it’s the risk of being caught that drives him to his next step, but he withdraws his fingers from your mouth, gloved hand coming down to rest around your throat instead. He applies just a bit of pressure, merely meaning to hold you upright and steady to make it easier for him to use you to his liking.

You scramble for hold, sweaty palms planted flatly on the wooden surface in front of you, supporting yourself as the man behind you all but fucked every coherent thought out of your brain. 

“Look at you,” he grunts, pounding into your needy cunt. The tip of his cock brushes your sweet spot, pushing high enough to knock the air out of your lungs and make you lose yourself. “All you’ve been thinking about was my cock. So desperate to be fucked by me, huh?”

You are so full with him, his scent, his warmth, everything, that breathy whines and yesses are the only things slipping past your lips. 

He drags his nose along the side of your face, clearly relishing in the way he’s fucked you dumb with so little effort already, and you almost feel yourself come on spot the moment he presses his lips to your earlobe. 

Pushing his hips all the way into yours, he stills them for a moment, bringing up a gloved hand to spit on his fingers and before dragging them harshly over your sensitive clit, and putting you straight into a frenzy. 

The tears that were brimming in your eyes now spill and run down your flushed cheeks, hitting the desk he has you hunched over. 

“No need to cry, pet,” the man behind you drawls, a satisfaction weaved in his husky voice. “You wanted this, didn't you? Wanted my cock to fuck you stupid? Or do you want me to stop?”

Your blank mind barely processes his words, but just hearing the word stop has you finding your voice again. “N-no,” you whine, arching your back and pressing your ass back against him. “Don’t-don’t stop, Sir. ‘M so, so close.”

“Close, mh? Then fucking come for me.”

With his hand now applying a good bit of pressure to your throat and his fingers strumming your clit in a reckless pattern, you feel yourself getting lightheaded as your release hits you suddenly. 

His strained groans are hushed against your neck as you spasm around him, sucking him in hungrily. He works you through it, fucking you as you quiver and shake. Grinding against him, you ride your high out in rhythm with his thrusts, gasping each time his cock pistones inside of you. 

His hips falter slightly for a moment, caught off guard by how tightly your walls are squeezing him, but he regains his composure and sets up a brutal pace again. You’re swollen and raw by now, but he doesn't stop. 

“That’s it, fuck, I’m gonna get this pathetic cunt stuffed with my cum,” he grunts, pulling his hand from your clit to plant it on your hip. 

Each rut of his hips makes your eyes journey to the ceiling, the tears on your cheeks now dry. There are hiccuped breaths spilling from your mouth, and you can’t do more than to hold onto the desk, bracing yourself for his relentless pounding. 

With a stutter of his hips and a raspy groan escaping his throat, his cock eventually spills deep inside of you, coating your walls. He fucks it into you with deliberately slow thrusts, the last spurts of his warm release filling you to the brim.

A strained groan is audible as he pulls out, tucking himself back in his slacks, and assumes the cold demeanor he’s had before. The only courtesy he grants you is picking up your dress and underwear he’s torn off you before, holding it out for you to take. 

You get the cue, and dress yourself on trembling legs. The blonde watches curiously, leaning back against the desk again. The red gloves now lay on the desk, and you catch a glimpse of his long, ring-clad fingers. 

With flushed cheeks, you briefly look at the ground before presenting him your back again. “Do you mind?” 

He nods and steps towards you, silently lacing up your corset, and whenever his skin brushes yours, a shiver runs down your spine. His skin is soft, smooth even, and the warmth emanating from them is far more pleasant than the cold leather.

But the moment is fleeting as he quickly moves to sit down behind his desk again, a new file already pinched between his fingers. You smoothen out the skirt of your dress, merely bowing your head once, and make a beeline for the door. 

It’s his voice ringing out that stops you in your tracks, though you don’t dare to turn around. 

“I expect you to come back for your second interview tomorrow. See it as an opportunity for me to gauge whether or not you truly have the right… ambition.”

“Thank you, Mr. Targaryen,” you mumble in return, a strange sense of satisfaction and anticipation already coursing through your veins. 

Hearing your name once again, you turn your head to look at him. “There’s no need to be formal when it’s just us. You can call me Aemond.”

Taglist: @heimtathurs @croatianprincess @nina2697 @malfoytargaryen @thetaygaryen @wintrr13 @winter-soldier-101 @kyuupidwrites @boofy1998 @thekinslayersswordhand @sagelovesreading @jiminie-08 @doublesparrows @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @recorddust @tsujifreya @melsunshine @drwstarkeyy @kazuyatokue @moonlightfoxx @bbgmonsay @thatmysteriousblog @ashovertheriver @black-dread @watercolorskyy @nothingqueens @urmomsgirlfriend1 @lovelykhaleesiii @hypocritic-trash-baby @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowystark @connorsui @valeskafics

[paradiseprincesss]

forever, not maybe | jonathan crane

hello hello! sorry i haven't been posting as much i've been busyyy and a little burnt out if i'm being honestttt but enough about me. when i say "catwoman mask" in this fic - i was thinking of the lace one ariana grande wore for tbim music video lol anyway...i had "off to the races" on repeat while writing this <3

summary: you have a secret life as catwoman that you've been keeping away from your boyfriend, jonathan crane. however, it seems he has a secret life of his own, too...

warnings: smut, p in v, fingering, choking, kissing, swearing, MDNI 18+ ONLY

word count: 3.6k

masterlist

“i’m working late tonight,” jonathan said over the phone with a sigh.

“again?” you asked your boyfriend, trying to feign the sadness in your voice.

jonathan had been working late night shifts at the asylum for the last few months; so often that you swore he saw his patients more than he did you. naturally, you missed him. all you wanted was to be in his arms again, laid up in bed as he held you and told you how much he loved you.

but the extra time away from him gave you more time for your…hobbies.

of course you felt guilty lying to your boyfriend about your whereabouts or what you were doing — but you couldn’t risk him finding out about you being catwoman.

every time you told him you were going to sleep, you’d really be getting ready to commit a heist, or worse, find batman and reign chaos in the city just to spite him. you’d always tell jonathan the reason you were so tired all the time was because you were having trouble sleeping when he wasn’t there — but alas, it was because you were out on crime sprees until five in the morning.

“i’m sorry, darling. i wish i could be at home with you right now,” jonathan said softly, his voice tinged with guilt.

“i know, jon. it’s okay — i think i'm gonna go to bed now. it’s late,” you replied, trying to sound exhausted as you yawned. “see you in the morning, baby.”

“see you then, darling,” jonathan said softly, “i love you.”

“i love you too,” you sighed, hanging up the phone.

as soon as you hung up the phone, you jumped out of bed and rushed to put on your catsuit. after you threw on your fitted outfit along with the matching mask, you were sneaking out your window in mere seconds, creeping off into the dark, crime-filled city that was gotham.

tonight, you were on the prowl for a certain villain though — the scarecrow.

the two of you had had a mutual distaste for each other. he’d once told you that you were “too morally ambiguous,” as sometimes you’d be robbing banks and committing heists, whereas other times you’d aid batman in the saving of gotham city. you thought he was full of shit, and you made sure to remind him that his plan to poison the entirety of gotham city with his fear toxin would never work every chance you got. 

the two of you had a strange dynamic — always messing with one another's plans and such, but last week, things seemed to have changed between you and him. 

it all started when he came to pay you a visit after you’d robbed two men at gunpoint, stealing their cards and some cash out of pure boredom. you heard footsteps behind you as you were counting stacks of cash, and once you glanced back, you saw the scarecrow himself approaching you in the quiet parkade you stood in.

the two of you never stopped to talk very much, as usually each interaction lasted no more than a few minutes, but tonight, neither of you were in a rush to leave. the scarecrow looked at you through the eye holes of his burlap mask, and for a moment, you felt oddly comforted by his presence. 

“catwoman,” he said, looking down at the cash in your hands, “we meet again.” 

“we meet all the time,” you retaliated, hearing his distorted voice through his mask. 

“we do, yes,” he replied casually, “but i’ve never gotten the chance to speak to you alone like this.” 

“that’s because you’re always interrupting me when i'm busy,” you teased, looking up at him with a small smile. 

you noticed he stopped talking to look closely at you, almost as if he was analyzing you. picking you apart detail by detail, his blue eyes trailing over every single inch of you. his eyes darted over the lace covering your eyes before he narrowed them, inhaling sharply. 

“...has anyone told you that you have a pretty smile?” he asked quietly, and you almost had to get him to repeat himself out of disbelief. 

“did i hear you correctly?” you asked, attempting to clarify what exactly he was trying to get at. “did you just compliment me?”

“it would appear that way,” he said with amusement.

you stood there staring at him for a few seconds, unsure of what to say before you scoffed, waving his compliment off.

“i have a boyfriend,” you huffed.

“a boyfriend?” he teased, his blue eyes widening under his mask. “is that so?”

you hummed in agreement, flipping through the dollar bills in your hands. “i love him. a lot.”

“i see,” he said once more, “i forgot to mention that i saw you last week, by the way.” 

“did you?” you asked nonchalantly. 

“sneaking out of your apartment window at midnight — i wonder if your boyfriend knows what you do when he’s not home.” he teased, causing you to stop what you were doing as your heart raced.

“you know where i live?” you tilted your head to the side to emphasize your confusion, causing him to chuckle softly.

“that i do,” he shrugged, “and dare i say, you really are quite the beauty when you don’t have this lacy little mask covering your face.” 

he gestured to your mask, causing you to roll your eyes which were partially hidden by the lace. “i told you i have a boyfriend,” you said harshly. 

“i can’t help but wonder what he would think if he saw you like this — stealing from the innocent people of gotham city.” you could almost hear him smirking through his mask by the way he talked. “hm?” 

“well — i don’t plan on telling him,” you sneered, causing the scarecrow to chuckle.

“so feisty,” he purred. “tell me about this ‘boyfriend’ of yours.” 

you crossed your arms, still holding the cash in your hand as you let out an annoyed sigh. “he’s a doctor,” you said, not-so-subtly bragging, “and…as much as i wish i could tell him about what i do, i don’t think he’d approve.”

he nodded, taking in everything you were saying. 

“but you don’t need to know the intimate details of my love life — quit asking.” you said, shaking your head as you shook the thought of jonathan out of your mind for the time being.

the scarecrow looked at you with intrigue, taking a step closer to you. as you took in all the details of his suit, you couldn’t help but notice how oddly familiar it looked — you’d sworn that you had seen this exact suit before. 

“you must really love him, don’t you?” he asked casually with a shrug. “well, maybe he knows more than he’s letting on.” 

“i highly doubt that,” you sighed, realizing it was time to head home since jonathan would be back soon. “i have to go.” 

he nodded, looking at you with those strikingly blue eyes before turning around and disappearing into the shadows. you stood there for a few moments quietly, struggling to understand why he felt so familiar yet so distant to you at the same time — it almost felt like you’d known him for ages. 

once you got home, you quietly reached for your front door before realizing it was locked. you’d made your way out tonight through the window, but when you looked up at it, you realized that there was no way you would be able to climb that high and get through it from the outside. 

“need some assistance?” a familiar voice called from the bottom of your porch stairs. once you quickly turned around in a panic, you saw a certain scarecrow peering up at you.

“what are you doing here?” you asked in a hushed whisper. “my boyfriend is going to see you. he’s supposed to be home from work any second!” 

“relax,” he commented, making his way up the porch stairs. reaching into his suit pocket, he pulls out a shiny piece of metal — a key. “i just want to help you, is that so wrong?” 

as he unlocked the front door and swung it open, you harshly grabbed his wrist, pulling him closer to you. 

“and why do you have a key to my boyfriend's house?” you asked with irritation. 

“because,” he said, his voice no longer distorted, “i live here.”

your grip remained on his wrist as he spoke softly to you, and your eyes met with his brilliantly blue ones — you only knew one person who had eyes that striking. you almost felt silly for not realizing sooner, but to be fair, he’d only come to realize who you really were just last week. 

it all made sense now  — the “late” shifts at arkham, the way he’d sometimes come home bruised and bloodied (which he said was because of his “violent” patients), and the way he’d always avoided talking about work with you every time you’d asked.

he shut the door behind the both of you as you gently let go of his wrist, looking at him in awe as he turned back around to face you. you still had your catwoman mask on, and he was still wearing his scarecrow one. you stared at him in silence, almost at a loss for words before you finally spoke up quietly, your eyes still locked with his blue ones. 

“you’re…” you trailed off, reaching up to tug at his mask, wanting nothing more than to take it off. “you’re the scarecrow…”

“and you’re catwoman,” he teased as your fingers ghosted the edge of his mask.

“shut up,” you blushed, “and take this off.” 

you gestured to his mask, but he shook his head as he stared at you through the eye holes. “i have an idea,” he suggested, “why don’t you make your way to the bedroom and wait for me, if you’re not too tired.“

“you cannot possibly be suggesting what i think you’re suggesting—”

“i am,” he said lowly. “...if you want to.”

without another word, you bit your lip and nodded, making your way to your shared bedroom excitedly. it was almost thrilling, the way he was commanding you and telling you to behave. it’s not that jonathan wasn’t bossy during sex (or in general if we’re really being honest here), but the added excitement of knowing your smart, calm, doctor boyfriend had a not-so-innocent side made it so much better.  

you sat obediently on the edge of the bed waiting for him. he eventually joined you, still in his scarecrow mask and suit, eyeing you down. 

“i’m sorry i didn’t make it clear,” he stated, “but i wanted you waiting with nothing on.” 

“but you’re—“ you tried to protest, as he was still fully clothed. 

“be quiet,” he growled, grabbing you by the throat, “unless you want a taste of my fear toxin, hm?” 

you swallowed, nodding as the grip around your neck made you dizzy, and you did as you were told to do. he watched you closely, looking at you through those eerie eye holes of his mask as you undressed hastily.

“slower,” he said, “give me a little show, won’t you sweetheart?”

you almost choked on your words when he spoke — you were enjoying it, though. something about your usually calm, collected, gentle boyfriend acting like this was triggering something primal in you. 

as you stripped down into nothing but your bra and underwear — which were matching, by the way — his pupils went wide at the sight. you sat back on the bed in your lacy undergarments, and he took a few steps closer, not yet getting on the bed with you.

“you really are perfect, you know?” he spoke softly, even though he looked rather intimidating, but it had you rubbing your thighs together.

“light of my life,” you breathed. “that’s what you are.” 

“is that right, my darling?” he asked, his voice giving away that although he was acting tough and composed — he was crumbling because of you. “are you forever mine?”

“forever yours,” you replied with no hesitation. 

jonathan made his way over to you, grabbing your face gently as he stood at the edge of the bed.

“i love you,” you whispered, and his grip on your face softened. 

“darling,” he rasped, “lay back on the bed for me.” 

you do as you’re told, laying back on the bed as he joins you, his hands immediately snaking behind your back to unclasp your lacy bra. 

“angelic,” he breathed, speaking softly. “how are you real?” 

his last words were so quiet, you barely heard him through the burlap mask covering his head. you were sprawled out on the bed, back resting on the pillows as his hands reached to tweak your nipples softly, causing you to moan quietly. he was hovering above you, propped up on his arms and studying your every reaction as he took in the way your body responded to his touch. 

suddenly, his hand brushed up against the lace of your panties, teasingly dragging his fingers across your skin. you let out a soft whine, shifting your hips slightly out of habit. “please,” you whispered, “touch me — scarecrow.”

as the words left your mouth, he was tearing your underwear clean off of you, causing you to get incredibly turned on — as if you weren’t soaking through your panties already. 

jonathan brushed his fingers against your sticky folds before slowly inserting one of his fingers into your tight hole, causing you to let out a vulgar moan as he toyed with your cunt. 

he continued to stare down at you as your back was pressed into the pillows, giving him a perfect view of your face as he watched from above. you let out a mewl as he started to pump a single digit in and out of your dripping cunt, your cheeks flushed a pretty pink shade.

“m-mm, oh my god—!” you moaned, feeling him curl his finger in a way that made your back arch. he let out a low hum before inserting a second digit, causing you to gasp. 

“jon,” you breathed, “f-fuck, yes—“

“i know, darling,” he cooed, watching you as he pumped two digits in and out of your tight, warm hole. “it’s a lot for your tight little cunt to take. i know, but don’t worry — i'll get you nice and stretched out before i bury my cock inside of you.” 

his filthy words caused you to tighten up around his fingers, making him let out a low chuckle from behind his burlap mask. “someone likes it dirty, hm?” he teased, and you let out a breathless moan. 

“c-close,” you managed to choke out. 

“who owns you?” he asked, fucking you with his fingers as he rubbed that spongy spot inside of you. 

“you!” you whimpered, “fuck, you do—“

your release hit you, hard and fast, as you clenched around his fingers. your vision was clouded with stars, pure ecstasy running through your veins. jonathan watched you like a predator watches its prey, his eyes running all over your body as he studied you through the eyeholes of his mask. 

you lay on the bed breathless, your cheeks flushed still, as he looked down at you sprawled out against the soft pillows. you could hear him breathing heavily from behind his mask — it almost gave him a power trip to see you like this; fucked out and submissive to him as he was dressed up as scarecrow. 

you let out a huff, closing your eyes for just one moment before they shot open again to the sound of his belt being unbuckled. you rubbed your thighs together and whined softly, causing jonathan to let out a low groan as his cock sprung free against his stomach, hitting the white button down shirt he wore.

he gave himself a few strokes before lining himself up with your dripping entrance. 

“how badly do you want it, baby?” he teased, rubbing his cock up against your slit slowly. 

“so bad,” you whined desperately, “please, jonathan—”

“try again.” 

“fuck, please! please, scarecrow…” you begged, hoping you’d get what you were wanting after fixing your mistake. 

it seemed to work because before you could whine anymore, you were letting out a filthy moan as he rammed himself into you, breaching your tight hole. even though you’d just taken his fingers, you hadn’t been able to fuck him for a few weeks, due to work and all — so you were taking a little longer than usual to adjust to his size. 

“m-my god, s-slow down—” you breathlessly gasped, feeling his cock pounding your cunt mercilessly as he set a fast pace.

“you can take it,” he assured you, still fucking you harshly as his hands come to grip at your throat. “keep squeezing my cock. fuck — like that.” 

you could feel him stretch out your drooling hole as you mewled, unable to form any proper sentences or get any real words out from the way he was fucking you. jonathan kept a firm vice around your neck, causing you to struggle for air slightly as his normally bright blue eyes turned about fifty shades darker. 

you didn’t know what was turning you on more — the fact that he was still dressed as scarecrow, mask and all, or how roughly he was drilling into your sopping cunt right now. 

“o-oh my god—” you whined, looking up at him breathlessly as he continued to squeeze the sides of your neck. “i-i can’t…”

jonathan was for sure having an ego trip right now — the way you were completely at his mercy as his cock pounded against your cervix, creating the perfect mix of pleasure and pain. the way you looked at him like he was your entire world — because he was — even while he was fucking you stupid. just everything about you had jonathan tripping out on ecstasy, pleasure, and dare i say love?

“what is it, my darling?” he cooed mockingly, cutting off your air supply once more with a harsh squeeze to your neck while he was balls deep in your cunt. “use your words, darling — you can do it.”

“c-can’t breathe,” you managed to rasp, your hands clawing at his, “let— go—”

satisfied with your begging, jonathan let go of your throat and placed his hands harshly onto your hips. his fingers dug into your sides as he continued to plow your pussy with no intention of stopping until you were ruined.

he could see the fear in your eyes — even if it was mixed with arousal — and it brought him closer and closer to the edge with every thrust. you, along with jonathan, were close to coming undone as well, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as pleasure consumed you.

“come,” he growled, “show me who owns this tight fucking cunt.” 

you let out a choked moan as he rammed his cock into you so deeply that you stopped breathing momentarily, before letting yourself tip over the edge. your release winded you, causing you to scream his name so loud that your neighbours would definitely know who was fucking you right. 

“jonathan! f-fuck!” you squeaked out, creaming on his thick cock. 

“scream my fucking name,” he said lowly, “that’s right — god, you feel so good.” 

he let out a low groan as he felt your walls tighten up around him, and he watched your every move as your orgasm washed over you. you looked so beautifully fucked out and mindless with every fleeting moment — it was perfection. 

it didn’t take long for jonathan to come after seeing you like this for him, and he let out a low groan, giving you a few more harsh, deep thrusts before filling you up completely with his sticky cum. he looked down at you quietly as he propped himself up above you on his arms one more, taking off his burlap mask and tossing it to the side. 

you gave your boyfriend a soft smile, letting out a huff of air as you rested your head on the satin pillows behind you.

“wow…” you said, trailing off into a soft chuckle. 

“i love seeing you all ruined for me,” he told you, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “you’re something else, you know that?”

he helped you get cleaned up afterwards, making sure to be extremely gentle and caring towards you despite almost breaking you in two just minutes prior. after he had you tucked into bed, he placed a kiss on the top of your head as you snuggled into the covers.

“i’m going to go shower,” he said casually, “go to bed, sweetheart. you’ve had a long night.”

“mm,” you mumbled sleepily, “come to bed afterwards.”

“i will,” he assured you, placing one more kiss on your head, and another softly on your lips. “...i love you.” 

“i love you too,” you said softly, yawning as you found comfort in the sheets. “goodnight, scarecrow.” 

your sleepy words caused him to let out a quiet chuckle as he admired you. the light from the moon illuminated your face dimly as it casted down on you through the bedroom window. 

jonathan sighed to himself happily. 

you may have been catwoman to the outside world — sneaky and conniving — but to jonathan, you were just…you. those so-called claws of yours were nowhere to be seen as you slept peacefully in your shared bed, dozing off under the moonlight as you waited for him to come back to bed with you. 

“goodnight, sweetheart,” he said softly.

but you were already fast asleep — dreaming of him like always.

taglist: @girlinterrupted505 @ciriceimpera @jordyn-yeager @thevelvetvampyre @galactict3a

@xanaxiii @nocturnest @psylrd @bloodandglitter207 @humbuginmybones 

@oceanstem @futurefamousdeadmusician @jonathancraneslittlepet @esotericdoe

@kpopgirlbtssvt 

@ll4n4 @ilovetoxicfictionalmen @the-buddy-things @ellebelleshelby @wiseyouthinfluencer 

@abprill @minedofmoria @strangeobsessed @5tud10-54r4h @franzine-xii 

@stsrfujid @psylrd @eyraaaaaae @nyxxie-pooh @momoewn

@fauxcongenialite @ceruleanrainblues @o0laura

[holybibly]

i’m literally so obsessed with your work 😭

could you possibly do some sort of shiburi/toy play with san?

i would literally die if you did 😩

Bunnies, I haven't been as active lately as I'd like to be, but today I'm here and Unholy Hours are back on the air.

Hmm, I haven't tried shibari yet, but San is too attractive for me to give up the idea.

"Tied up like that, you look so divine. I can't take my eyes off you, my angel; the way the ropes leave marks on your delicate skin is driving me insane." San practically purrs into your neck before he pulls away from you. No matter how tempting you look at the moment, he is going to have to be patient. He has the whole of the night in front of him, and you are completely in his power.

The soft rope whispers and snakes across your bare skin, hot as sin, each intricate loop pressing tightly against your body, leaving exquisite marks. Through the soft lace of your blindfold, you couldn't see the pattern that San was creating today, but you could imagine each intricate knot being wrapped around your body, all of them evenly spaced and perfectly tied.

In San's eyes, you were nothing less than a work of art.

San left your hands free, but you didn't dare move them. You knew that if you started to squirm or tried to rub your throbbing clit, the slow glide of the rope over your skin would stop immediately. San didn't like it when his princess was disobedient, especially when he was making her beautiful for himself. Of all the dolls he so desperately wanted to play with, you were the most beautiful.

You could feel the rope sliding down just below your chest and then tightening around your rib cage. The slight tension of the rope around you makes your breathing harder and more labored, and heat begins to build in your lower abdomen as you feel the rope digging into your skin. It starts to get wet between the folds of your pussy and you know that soon you are going to start dripping.

The tension of the ropes is perfect; there is nothing to put you in any danger. San always knew how to treat you properly.

"Black is your color, my angel." San purred again, but this time his voice was a little more husky and sultry, like that of a big, contented cat. "But you already had that knowledge, didn't you?"

"Yes, I know that, Daddy."

"This is my angel, all mine." He circles around you like a predator on the prowl.

You smile shyly at his praise as he gently runs his fingers over your round, flushed cheek and then leans down to give you a kiss. You lift your face to meet San's soft lips halfway.

You can hardly remember how it all started. You just woke up one day with the thought that you had to have him, even if you had to hide all the delicious marks on your body that San kindly left on your skin after each 'game'. It's so stupid, such a terrible cliché, like in the most naive of romantic films: a rich, gloomy boy and an innocent nerd who was supposed to be his tutor, but instead San ended up being the one who taught you.

And if San wanted to get you tied up and exposed in the most vulgar of ways tonight, you'd obey whatever he wanted. He would be able to throw you down on the floor and fuck you into the parquet, and you would be grateful to him for it.

San pulls away from your lips, leaving you wanting more, and you lean forward as if in pursuit of his love. He just chuckles at you and holds your cheeks as he straightens up. His feline eyes are soft, but they hide a dark desire.

"You're so in need of me, angel." He coos in a loving way. "Do you want my lips, my fingers, or my cock so badly, little princess?" San muses and uses his thumb to smear some saliva over your plump lower lip. He lifts your head up again, and you give him a kiss on the thumb.

"I'll take anything you give me, Daddy." You whimper softly.

"Such a good girl." San senses how much you need to be touched, worshipped, and played with, and he is more than happy to satisfy your needs.

His warm hands begin to slide down the length of your body. San runs his fingers along the textured rope, just feeling and enjoying the sensations, gently rubbing against your skin under the tight tangle of ropes, leaving ghostly warm marks where they touch your skin.

Your skin tingles where the hot texture snakes into a pattern, and you feel another loop begin to slide across your body. You still can't make out what kind of pattern San is tying around you, but you can tell he's creating something like a corset. Each loop of rope lies directly under the previous one, with the knots neatly tied in the center of your torso. Each knot is more intricate than the one before it, and it probably frames your body in the most beautiful way possible.

There will be a brief tug on the rope before the pressure is released and the next knot is tied around you.

San's hot breath kisses the skin of your bare shoulder, and you moan softly, rubbing your thighs lightly against each other in the hope that it will ease your excitement.

"You are so beautiful, my angel." He whispers in your ear in a low voice. "I love seeing you like this—all bound up and just for me. You were made for this—to be adorned and decorated by my hands. You are my very own little masterpiece, Princess."

The praise licks over your body like fire and pools in a liquid, viscous warmth between your thighs. You have the feeling you're even wetter, if that's even possible. Your breathing is getting harder; the thought of how beautiful you look to San turns you on, and perhaps it might not last as long as you'd like, but right now you're perfect for him, and that's all that matters. These thoughts cause you to rub your thighs against each other again, desperate for any kind of friction that might help you ease the aching excitement in your cunt.

San digs his hands into the soft flesh of your thighs and spreads them apart with a growl. He doesn't want you to cum too soon; you've just started playing. His strong, slightly rough hands slide over your thick thighs and then brush lightly against the wet, slippery folds of your pussy, allowing you to enjoy some pressure where you need it so much, your hips rocking as you ride his palm. Excitement drips from your hole like a waterfall and spreads over San's palm.

You whine pitifully as his hand leaves you and San goes back to tying knots on your body, and you stay like that—horny to the max and in need of some relief.

"Shhh, angel, it's okay. You are a good little princess, and Daddy will give you anything you want. Now sit still and let me make you beautiful. Let me make you so perfect for me, my angel."

You obediently freeze in place, the world around you blurring as you melt under his praise. San's voice is so deep and calm, but you hear those hot, dark notes in it that tell you he is just as horny as you are. In his arms, you always feel like sex personified, as San does whatever he wants to your body, molding it to suit his own desires and kinks.

You feel the last loop around your waist before the remaining rope runs down your soft belly, the slightly rough texture rubbing nicely against your skin. The tightness of the rope prevents you from thinking; all thoughts fade as you let the fuzzy sensation in your stomach from being bound spread through your mind. Your fall into subspace is slow and gradual, and your breathing is deepening as if you were on the verge of sleep. San is skilled at luring you deeper and deeper into a web of lust and depravity.

San's hot hands squeeze your thigh, lightly scratching it with his nails before he wraps the rope around it. It's so hard for you to maintain any kind of coherence, so far down, especially when you hear the quiet whisper of a hoarse, purring voice: "my beautiful angel" and "sugar bunny" on your thighs, along with wet kisses and long, slow licks, which literally make your pussy literally dripping with arousal.

San pulls another length of rope through the center of your makeshift corset. You're not quite sure what to expect from him when he slips the loose end of the rope between your legs as they are spread apart. He moves around you and kneels down behind you, pressing his hot body against your back. San was wearing nothing but a pair of ripped black jeans and a leather belt with a heavy metal buckle. He preferred to feel the coolness of the room against his skin, and he refused to wear a shirt or t-shirt. It's wonderful to feel the warmth of his smooth, golden skin and the pulsing muscles that stretch and contract as he moves. His hard, massive cock presses against the softness of your plump ass, rubbing lightly against you, trying to ease the painful arousal. You can't bear to look at him with the lace blindfold that is tightly fastened over your eyes, but it makes you feel good to know you've had such an effect on him.

San stretches the rope between your beras, and you shiver a little as the rough texture of it slides between your labia. His fingers part your wet folds so he can place the rope where he wants it. San gently pulls the rope upwards, watching as the knot rubs directly against your clit, causing a burst of stars to explode from behind your closed eyelids as you finally get the stimulation that you so desperately need.

As San attaches the end of the rope to the back of your exquisitely woven corset, taking his time tightening it to tease you while keeping you safe, the intricate knot continues to rub against your swollen clit in the most delicious way.

He finally finishes tying you up and makes sure all the loose ends are securely tied to the back of the corset. San rises to his feet again, and you feel a chill run down your spine as his hot body moves away from you. He walks around you in a circle, like a graceful cat of prey, admiring the work he has done.

"Do you have any idea how bloody perfect you look, my angel? A perfect little toy for me to play with. I want you to see yourself, Princess." San helps you to your feet and guides you closer to the mirror. Then, in one swift motion, he unties the lace blindfold over your eyes, allowing you to see how beautiful you are right now.

As soon as you caught sight of your reflection in the mirror, you let out a long, drawn-out moan. You looked much more beautiful than you could have imagined, the black silk rope wrapping around your body like a smooth snake, contrasting perfectly with the soft pale tone of your skin and leaving bright scarlet marks on the most sensitive and delicate areas.

You were right—the pattern San had created on your body did indeed resemble a corset—the rope, tied in exquisite loops, ran from your chest to your waist. The tightness of the knit made your breasts look astonishingly voluptuous and lifted them up in the most seductive way possible. The rope goes down to make it look like you're wearing sexy lingerie, wrapping around your hips like a garter belt. Another piece of rope is placed between the labia of your pussy. The tight knot of the rope presses perfectly against your clitor and stimulates it with your slightest movement.

You look and feel absolutely beautiful and safe with the black silk rope tied around you and the warmth of San's large body behind you. His handsome, sculpted face is rubbing on your shoulders and neck like a contented cat, and he is purring admiringly in your ear. You were truly his perfect little plaything—the sweet plaything of a big, feline predator.

San's hands trace the intricate pattern of the rope, enjoying how it feels to wrap around your body, sometimes gently squeezing your sides.

"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever owned, my little angel. You look like a beautiful fallen angel, but that won't stop me from destroying you." San whispers in your ear like velvet. You turn your head to look at San and fall into the dark, magnetic trap of his eyes in an instant. Never before in your life have you seen someone who looked so much like a real cat in the form of a human.

Everything about him—from his mesmerizingly sharp eyes, high cheekbones, and chiselled jawline to his purring voice, sensual personality, and elegant movements—was the embodiment of a little predator. And you—you were his little mouse, the one he could play with whenever he felt like it.

San grabbed your chin with his fingers and turned your head back towards the mirror. With his other hand, he pulled on the rope between your wet folds, the tight knot rubbing against your swollen clit. You almost choked at the sudden pull of the rope as its thick texture slid over your sensitive cunt.

San moves away from you and sits down on the bed in an elegant manner, leaving you standing alone in front of the mirror. At the moment you are so confused that you don't understand at all why he has left you standing there - tied up and excited. You look over your shoulder and see San sitting on the bed, legs spread wide, stroking his thick, hard cock lazily as he watches you. He enjoys the way your body looks wrapped in his ropey silk masterpiece.

You moaned loudly, you were so excited, you want to cum right now, and San's hot, dark eyes sliding over your skin didn't make it any easier. You knew that you weren't allowed to use your hands to ease the tension between your thighs until San gave you permission to do so.

A seductive smile spreads across San's soft, plump lips as he watches you from where he sits on the bed. He slows the movement of his hand on his cock, running the pad of his thumb over the wet head. His eyes roll back in his head, and his mouth opens in a soft, sweet moan.

He nods gently in the direction of the mirror behind you, indicating that you should turn to face the mirror once more. You obediently follow his silent instructions and turn to face your reflection. You look at yourself once more and feel your pussy throbbing with desire. It only seems to increase the intensity of the stimulation as the juices flowing from you are absorbed by the rope stretched between your labia.

You feel so empty and so desperate to want San to use you, for him to sit you on his cock, to pull the ropes around your body as he fucks you deep and slow. From these thoughts, your hands begin to slide down your thighs in an unconscious way, and even this light touch makes you let out a sigh of pleasure.

"Don't you dare touch what is mine." San hisses. "If my little rope bunny wants to come, it'll be from the rope between those thick, juicy thighs or nothing at all."

You're moaning at his words, both enjoying his praise and completely disappointed that he didn't let you touch yourself. But you know San better than anyone else, and you are not going to try to awaken his dark side. You begin to squeeze your thighs together, and thick muscles tense with the effort, causing the rope to stretch tightly between the soft folds of your wet cunt. Your hips begin to rock seductively, the tight knot of rope clinging deliciously to your clit with each successive movement of your hips. Completely overwhelmed by the sensation, you throw your head back in ecstasy and let out loud and long moans. You can feel the viscosity of the moisture starting to flow out of your hole.

"Look at yourself in the mirror, angel, as you try to cum. Don't you want to see the rope sliding down your sweet little cunt while you are desperately humping it like a needy little whore?"

San is absolutely right—you do look like one. On the silver surface of the mirror, your reflection is completely depraved. Your hair is dishevelled, and your eyes are clouded with lust. Your skin is red from the tension of the ropes that are tied around your body, and it glistens with sweat. All in all, it can feel as if you've been fucked for hours on end, but San hasn't even touched you the way you'd like him to.

You begin to rub harder and harder against the rope between your legs, your face contorting in pleasure every time the knot of the rope presses against your clit, the rough texture sliding over your sensitive folds. A particularly strong movement and a tight squeeze on your thighs brings you to your climax.

"Oh God, San…" You moan loudly as you literally fall forward onto the mirror, your hands shooting up into the air as you grab hold of the massive frame to keep yourself on your feet as your whole body shakes with orgasm. Your juices flow copiously down your thighs and drip onto the floor, some being absorbed by the rope still pressed tightly against your pussy.

You barely have time to catch your breath before you are pushed forward by San's rough touch, causing you to literally press your chest against the mirror. The coldness of the reflective surface on your nipples makes them harden in an instant, making them more sensitive to any kind of touch.

"My pretty Angel..." San's voice is silky as he whispers into your ear when he presses his naked chest against your back, trapping you between the mirror and his hot body. "It was so hard for me to stop myself from cum while I was watching you enjoy yourself, but there is a better place for my load of sperm, isn't there, angel?" San emphasises his words by stimulating your clit, still throbbing from the previous orgasm, with a sharp tug on the rope between your labia. You let out a loud cry and squeezed your fingers together on the heavy frame of the mirror until your hands were white.

His tongue begins to slide slowly down the length of your neck, pressing lightly on your pulse point, which is why he can feel how fast your heart is beating at the moment. San leaves hot, wet kisses on your skin, gradually turning into dark hickeys as he continues to stimulate your pussy with a rope, sometimes pulling hard, then releasing. You feel San rubbing his big, thick dick against your buttocks, smearing pre-cum all over the tender, plump flesh, and you want to get down on your knees in front of him and lick that bittersweet wetness off his hard length. You want to hear him moan, and you want to enjoy his beautiful face as it is contorted with pleasure.

But right now you're desperate for him to fill that void inside you, and the thought of him stretching you and stuffing you with his thick cock until you can see the bulge of his length against your belly makes your pussy throb and contract, spouting fluid. The textured knot of the rope continues to press against your kitor every time San pulls on the rope, but even this delicious sensation is not enough to satisfy you. You need him to fuck you so hard. Fiercely.

You're on the verge of another orgasm when San pulls back and unties the rope from your corset. He presses you harder against the mirror with his body, biting the skin on the back of your neck, and you feel the swollen head of his dick slide between your wet folds until it is pressed against your quivering hole.

San enters you in one smooth motion, his pelvis touching your ass as his whole thick, hot length ends up inside of you. He lets out a low moan as he feels the rope garter belt around your hips, brushing against his hips with every move he makes. He loves fucking you like this—bound, helpless, completely controlled by him. San immediately picks up the pace and starts fucking you hard and fast—just the way you want him to do it.

He grabs hold of the back of your rope corset and uses it as leverage to fuck you even harder. You look at yourself in the mirror once more and lock eyes with San as he fucks you from the back. His eyes are too dark for you to understand the emotion that is hidden behind the black, gleaming irises, but you are sure that it is something deeper and more dangerous than just ordinary lust.

Your breasts bounce with each hard thrust, and your breathing becomes heavy as San's hand clasps your throat, cutting off some oxygen. This action only serves to push you even closer to your orgasm.

You can feel San's hot length pulsating inside of you as it rubs against your sensitive, smooth walls with every powerful thrust of his hips. The sound that fills the room is sickeningly wet and loud, intertwined with your screams and moans and San's deep, purring groans. It sounds like fucking porn.

The tension inside you is growing with each passing second, and the walls of your pussy are beginning to shrink as you try to hold his dick in and make it harder for him to move. Every time you squeeze his cock, bringing him closer to his own orgasm, San hisses behind you. For a second, you're completely lost in what's happening. San's hand is squeezing your throat so tightly that black spots start to dance in front of your eyes - while the head of his cock hits your G-spot every time he enters you. Tears begin to flow from your eyes, and your mouth opens slightly, either to catch your breath or to try and moan his name. You're so close to cum.

San tightens the rope loops of your corset even further and pulls you against his body before his teeth sink into your shoulder, and he pushes into you with a rough, powerful thrust. He growls like a cat as he clenches his teeth on your skin, making it bleed as he fills you with his thick, warm cum. Such an animal act of power pushes you over the edge, and you come on his cock, your eyes rolling back in and choking on your moans.

San watches your orgasmic expression through the mirror, lazily licking the bleeding wounds of his teeth on your skin. Your sensitive walls tremble with stimulation as he continues to thrust weakly into you. Some of his cum, mixed with your juices, begins to leak from your used cunt and drip onto the floor.

You remain in this position for a few more minutes as you catch your breath from the intense orgasm you have just experienced. San pulls out of you, and this causes even more of his cum to flow out of your hole. He turns you over so that you are facing him, tangles his fingers in your hair, and tilts your head back so that you are looking into his eyes.

"You're absolutely beautiful, my angel." His lips are soft and too tender as he plants a kiss on you. This is the kind of kiss that can make you fall in love, and falling in love with San is as dangerous as a voluntary refusal of oxygen. Fatal. When he leaves your lips, the look in his eyes is dark and utterly evil, and you don't know what else to call him if he's not the devil himself. "You still look too pure and sweet for me; it seems I'm going to need to work harder to get you destroyed, my princess."

[the-modern-typewriter]

could you write something about a vampire intentionally scaring a human? any reason works! your vampires are so fun to read 🥰

"I know you've been trying to scare me!"

"Oh?"

"It's n-not working!"

"Oh?" The vampire's eyes, in the dark and the moonlight, had the bone white gleam of a cat's. "Your heart is racing."

The protagonist swallowed. They jutted up their chin, no matter how foolish it was to further bare their throat to a vampire, even when that vampire was their older brother. "You're not going to hurt me. You'd never hurt me!"

The vampire's fangs slid out. "You really think so?"

He hopped down, off the windowsill and through the open window into the bedroom. It reminded them of all the times, growing up, that their brother had snuck back into the house through their bedroom window.

This somehow didn't feel quite the same as that, nor did the protagonist feel as unshakably safe as they had expected.

They'd always felt safe around Nick before, but it was like their brother's face had completely changed from what they recognised. His eyes burned with a cold and inhuman thirst, features too sharp and too weirdly lovely.

The protagonist took a step back, bumping into the edge of the bed behind them. "You're trying to drive me off to protect me! To get me to keep my distance."

"Am I?" The vampire straightened. He seemed to loom, despite casting no shadow, no reflection in the bedroom mirror.

The protagonist edged around the bed, keeping their attention locked on the vampire. "Uhuh."

"And yet you haven't run."

"You're my brother."

"You're an idiot."

"Runs in the family."

"Mm. How...delicious."

The protagonist's breath hitched. "Mum and dad will be furious if you hurt me."

"Mum and dad are just thrilled to have me back, have me home. Don't you know that I'm a miracle?"

The protagonist scrambled back, nearly tripping up over their gym bag on the floor.

The vampire didn't laugh, as the protagonist had half expected him to.

It was true that their parents had been - well. They definitely didn't want to hear all the reasons why it was impossible for Nick to be totally okay. All the reasons he wasn't quite like the Nick they knew. That was just going away to uni, right? Growing up! Nick was fine and all of the family's prayers had been answered.

Their older brother had always been the perfect one, so what did it matter now if he looked a little too perfect? If he moved with a little too much grace and speed?

"Don't you know," the vampire continued, "that they won't do a thing to protect you from me? They don't want me to kill you, of course not...but if there's a blood source in the family....I mean, that's convenient, right? No need to create gossip. I have to eat."

"So you are trying to scare me into leaving!"

"I'm telling you the truth about your intended purpose in this family."

"You won't hurt me, though."

"So you keep saying." The vampire prowled closer. "You must have really loved me when I was still alive."

The protagonist clenched their jaw, glaring, because it was better than flinching. "You're being stupid. Stop it."

"You're being stupid, stop it," the vampire mimicked. It always used to piss them off when their brother mocked them like that - but the voice was too accurate, too good a copy now. He didn't do that thing of making it unrealistically high pitched. His voice was too smooth. Too Not-Nick's.

Screw it.

The protagonist whirled for the bedroom door.

They'd barely turned before the vampire was there, blocking the way, leaning against the threshold. Casual.

The protagonist's heart lurched.

"Scared yet?" the vampire asked.

"No," the protagonist lied.

"Mm." The vampire was in front of them in the next blink, tilting the protagonist's head back to their expose their throat.

"W-wait!"

"Yes?"

"I'm scared." Their voice was small, pathetically so. The same voice as when they'd woken their brother up down the hall because there was a storm, or got a bad grade on a test and didn't want to bring it home to their parents and their brother found them crying. Nick had always covered for them. Always done their best to make the scary stuff go away.

It wasn't right.

"Yes," the vampire said, softly. His other hand rose, cupping the protagonist's face, giving an almost reassuring squeeze. His smile, sharp-toothed as it was, was not remotely reassuring. "I know."

Then, before the protagonist could say anything else, they bit.

The protagonist ran that night.

[chrolloluvr]

Hi, happy to see you back❤. I remember in one of your previous works, you mentioned Mammon possibly would babytrap reader. May you please write something on this topic?

♡ Toxic!Mammon: Babytrapping Hcs ♡

Note: Ty! Also she is referring to this post. THANK YOU FOR ALL THE REQUESTS!!! KEEP THEM COMING POOKIES! ALSO IK I HAVENT MADE AN ACTUAL POST IN A WHILE SO HERE YALL GO

Female!reader, AFAB

Warnings: NSFW, toxic themes, creampie, future child, exploiting

He will babytrap you, 100%

As I have said before, Mammon likes the idea of having complete control over you, your life, and everything you do. And what better of a way to do that than making you bear his child?

He gets this magical, invasive idea when talking to one of his work buddies. He was talking about how annoying you were, even though he cannot live without you, when his co-worker mentions how much responsibility and care a woman has for her children. And the idea hits him. If you are just going to sit around lazily all day like a spoiled brat, why not add a child into the mix?

So he will have you prowled up against his chest, his cock basically stuffing you full, as he pistons in and out of your already sore pussy. Seemingly out of nowhere, telling you

"You'd be such a good mother, wouldn't you babe."

"'Wanna see you swoll with my kids, wouldn't that be somethin'-"

Which makes you feel physically ill. Raising a child with Mamm would be basically impossible. You would never raise a child with this man. Would he support you? Would he genuinley care for your baby? Oh Satan, would he even care-

Your thoughts are abrupted as Mammon stuffs you with his seed, finishing inside yours walls and painting them with a loud groan. He gives your ass a harsh slap, as he watches his cum spilling out of you. He looks you in the eyes, and gives you a daunty chuckle. He forces you to look up at him with your tired, exhausted eyes, as he tells you ohoho babe, we aren't finished until i'm done, alright?.

And he keeps that promise, with the goal of getting you pregnant. He knows the public would go feral. The King of Greed? With a child? It gives him a publicity boost, which in turn, is good for his business, and his image.

Once you find out you are pregnant, you have to eventually tell Mammon, to your dismay. Every day, he makes you take an on brand pregnancy test as he watches. He will hold the test while you pee. Yes you heard me right. So when the test says positive one day, he is over the moon. Not at the fact that he is going to be a father, but at the fact that he is now in complete control over you, and that he can use another part of you as a pawn in his twisted fantasy.

The paparazzi have a field day over this news, because he ends up almost immediately making an announcement. There are headlines, candid photos of you going forcefully outside by mammon, etc. Its like a never ending nightmare. And dont be mistaken, he would never let you out of his sights, or get an abortion. He thinks this is too good of an opportunity.

Behind closed doors, he will actually treat you very well. Feeding you, paying attention to your every need, and not letting you lift a finger. He may even go out of his way to find some stuff by himself at the store. He'll will make you go outside with him. But at times he has to do a meeting, or host an event, he will have his goons escort you places, making sure you go public routes, to get a really good look at your swollen belly.

Brings you to meetings during this time, and picking your outfits carefully. He cant have his darling wearing any disgusting maternity clothes. So he will have you perches on his lap while he sits in his seat, embarrassment eating you whole as you see the sins/overlords snickering and bickering presumably at you. He has one hand rubbing your round belly, and one hand rubbing your shoulders as Mammon discusses his newest buisness plan.

He would create a Mammon Baby Care line. He knows he will profit off your pregnancy

"Alright fellas, so i was thinking for the ladys, a Mammon breast pump, hm? Its great right? Oh! And Mammon themed bibs, ha! Sure to make me a bunch, right babes?"

People think, how could you let Mammon knock you up? Of course, millions of girls idolize Mammon, and would want to be with him. But sometimes it feels like you are the only one who is infatuated with him. So you will try to look past the fact that he got you pregnant. You'll just try to be hopeful. But it is literally impossible with the way he keeps sweet talking you, as you snap back into the sad reality that you will be having Mammons child, and raising it. No questions to be asked.

He will lead you to subconsciously feel insecure about you and your body. He will squeeze your newly chubby cheeks, glaze his fingers over your stretch marks newly littering your body, etc. And he definitely does that on purpose.

As you reach up to the half full Nutella jar in the high cabinet in the kitchen, you hear a pair of loud footsteps coming behind you. Its Mammon. You try your best to ignore him, but you cant help but feel uneasy when you feel a pair of familiar eyes on you. It is currently 1:30 AM, and he is in a really tired mood.

"You need help sweets?"

He said with a suckle voice, knowing its affects on you are vast. He looks you up and down, admiring your perfect body in his mind. Your curves, belly, and the look your giving him. It makes him want to just bend you over and fuck your brains out likes theres no tomorrow. But he cant, he just has to be extra agile with you.

"Mamm..."

"Yeah?"

"Do I look fat?"

Ohhh boy. The question you always ask when you feel like he's eyeing you up. he hates when you ask that, because then he has to make up some half assed excuse to why he's looking at you a certain way. When your pregnant, he basically has to walk on eggshells around you.

"You... look like your carrying my child, and I like the sight of that."

"Okay, do you love me?"

He pauses. One wrong answer, and you'll refuse to talk to him for weeks. You two, as of your relationship, are in a really good spot right now. You will basically do anything for him. But you are really sensitive emotionally and physically, due to your hormones.

As he walks up behind you, he lifts you up by your waist, and hold you up to the cabinet, letting you reach.

"Y/N."

He says in a low, gruff voice.

"Yeah Mamm?"

"What the hell kind of question is that. Of course I love you."

He says as you look at him, face to face. You watch his eyes never leave yours, which makes you break off eye contact in a flustered state. You then realize that he is holding you, which makes you feel insecure.

"Okay, I love you too Mamm"

"Alright, now get your sweet treat, and get the fuck to bed, and hurry up. We've got a busy day tomorrow sweets."

He sets you down, and leaves the kitchen, leaving you with yourself, your Nutella and a spoon in hand. You look down at yourself, and your huge stomach. You wonder how you got yourself into this twisted predicament. You mostly worry about your baby's future as Mammons child. Because you are aware that Mammon will only use them for his own monetary gain. You cannot escape this man, even if you try. But you can always pretend you have your own free will, and you could always just eat your silly thoughts away, as Mammon always told you.

[golbrocklovely]

complicated // sam golbach

A/N: had an idea like this for quite sometime, and i was finally able to finish this fic. just so everyone's aware, there WILL be a part two. but it might not be in the way you think lol hope you enjoy this fic and lmk what you think :)

prompt: you and sam needed a stress relief, and if you couldn't get it from who you really wanted it from, second best was better than nothing at all. || sam golbach x fem!reader

trigger warning: SMUT, drunk sex, cursing, snc are both single in this fic, angst, finding comfort in each other, friends to lovers, kitchen sex, almost getting caught, mentions of babygirl, good girl, sam is using you and you are using sam

word count: 4020

~~~~~~~~~~~

To say my relationship with Sam and Colby was complicated was a bit of an understatement. But I had no one to blame, really, except for myself.

I had known them for years, being one of the first friends they made once they moved out to LA. We were always friendly with each other, and kept in contact over the years. Then one day, they told me about how they needed an assistant, someone that could help out behind the scenes as well as being in videos occasionally. Things fell into place perfectly, and I signed on to be their assistant. I moved out to Vegas with them, living in an apartment not too far away from their place.

God only knew why I even had my own place since I crashed at their house more often than not.

Our relationship never seemed all that complicated.... until one day. Something clicked in my head, and suddenly I became extremely aware of how attractive Colby was. His eyes, his smile, his voice. Sam, of course, was attractive too. But he always had Kat, so it was never appropriate for me to like him. But Colby... he was basically an eternal bachelor. So, it made total sense for me to like him.

And our friendship was a bit strange to begin with. We were both naturally flirty people, constantly hitting on one another whether sober or drunk; but especially when we were drunk. There were some close encounters with us, especially once we started opening up to one another. I could count on two hands how many times we had kissed, and on one how many times we had almost gone farther than that. But we never finished what we started.

The problem with Colby is I could never tell where we stood entirely. Sometimes, it seemed like I was all he wanted to pay attention to. Other times, he was with someone else, and wouldn't even glance my way. It was strange. He was always close, but somehow an arm's length away.

And some nights, I couldn't stand him. The back and forth, the cat and mouse game... It was exhausting, to say the least. Sometimes I just wanted to know how he felt. Exactly. With no add ons or extra shit. But with Colby, it was never that simple.

This was normal for us. But things changed once Sam became single, and both of the boys were out on the prowl. It was like their auras changed, and suddenly I was seeing them through different eyes.

I had no one to blame except myself. But at the same time, I didn't feel guilty.

If he can have fun, so can I.

~~~~

“But did you see him? He was basically humping the air!” Colby laughed, kicking his shoes off.

I followed him and Sam into the kitchen area, our usual hang out spot. “Oh my God, yes! It was almost like your old Vine.”

He groaned, “Please don't bring that-”

“Baby grinnnnndd oooon meeeeeee!” I sang dramatically, completely offkey.

He deadpanned, “I hate you so much.”

I faux gasped, clutching my nonexistent pearls. “Wha? How could you say that? I'm one of your best friends!”

“And you're about to be unemployed if you keep it up.” Colby crossed his arms defiantly. 

I narrowed my eyes. “You wouldn't.”

He smirked, “Try me.”

I turned away from him, yelling to my other best friend, “Sam! Tell Colby he can't just fire me because I'm making fun of him.”

Sam looked up from his phone, “Uh? I wasn't paying attention to what either of you were saying.”

“What are you doing?” I asked, dropping the topic.

He stared at me innocently, “...Trying to order Taco Bell.”

“Oh my God, Taco Bell.” Colby moaned, closing his eyes, “Oh, fuck.”

I grimaced, “Damn Colby, try not to come in your pants. It's just Taco Bell.”

“I'm sorry, I just get hard for Taco Bell.” Colby admitted casually.

Sam chimed in, “Dude, I get hard for Taco Bell too.”

I scrunched my face, “You guys are weird.”

Colby smiled playfully, walking away, “I'm gonna go change, order my regular?”

“Gotchu, brother.” Sam nodded.

I sighed, leaning against the island. I watched Sam scroll through his phone, clicking away at options for food.

“What do you want?” He asked.

I shrugged, “I don't know. Can I see your phone?”

“Come over here. I don't want to throw my phone.” He commented.

I huffed jokingly, walking over to him, taking it from his hand. "Well, someone's in a shitty mood."

“I'm not in a shitty mood. I'm tired, I'm drunk, and I'm very hungry. And I wish I ordered Taco Bell in the Uber home.” Sam replied, exacerbated.

“So... a shitty mood?” I repeated.

He grumbled, “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

“Is something the matter?” I questioned, still looking at the Taco Bell menu.

He paused, then finally spoke. “It's been a year.”

I glanced up, “A year?” 

“Since we... broke up.” He finally finished.

My eyes widened, putting his phone down on the counter. "Oh shit, I'm sorry Sam."

He exhaled, swatting at me, “It's okay.”

“No, we shouldn't have.... gone out tonight.” I half-heartedly argued.

“Why? So I could sulk at home over my failed relationship? I don't think that would have been any better.” He quipped.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” I placed my hand on his shoulder.

“I don't know.” He leaned back, rubbing his eyes tirelessly, “It just feels weird, you know? I never thought I would be single again, so all of this just feels... off.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, you're not the only one struggling in the love department.” I remarked.

“What? You and your secret pining for Colby not working out for you?” Sam sassed.

I glared, sucking my teeth, You know, sometimes you can be a real ass.”

“What? Because I can see you like Colby and he's just... blind, to it?” He smirked.

“Why don't you tell him that and not me?” I jeered.

“I'm not getting involved with whatever the two of you got going on. I swore off helping his dating life long ago.” He chuckled, putting his hands up defensively.

I scoffed, “You were literally his wingman tonight as he flirted with the waitress!

“And you wouldn't have noticed that if you weren't watching him like a hawk.” He mentioned.

I rolled my eyes, my hands resting on my hips. “Trust me, I wanted to look away. But it was like watching a train crash.”

Sam laughed, “A train crash that ended in him getting her number.”

I exhaled. “Again, the whole 'you're an ass' comment stands.”

“Why don't you just tell him how you feel?” He rebutted.

“He knows,” I winced, shrugging. “He... has to know. He just pretends it's not real. When there's no one else, that's when he comes to me.”

“And how does that make you feel?” He inquired.

“Like shit. I hate being a second choice.” I muttered.

He hummed, “I know the feeling.” 

“Yeah, well at least you got to be first. I don't think that's ever gonna happen with me and him.” I sighed, ignoring my heart dropping at my own words.

Sam, always the optimist, replied, “Maybe that's better in the long run. Maybe you work better as friends.” 

“Maybe.... But what about you?” I stared up at him.

“What about me?” He chuckled.

“You really do have a knack for just changing up the conversation so you don't gotta talk about yourself.” I pointed at him, pushing my finger into his chest.

“What do you wanna know?” He asked.

I questioned, looking into his eyes. “How are you feeling? Genuinely.” 

“Genuinely... I'm…” He was hesitant, but spoke, “a bit lonely.”

“Have you tried to be with other girls since your break up?” I queried.

Sam nodded, “Yeah. But none of them seemed right. I've realized I don't like being alone.”

“Not many truly do.” I added.

“It just feels odd not having someone there, you know? You wake up for years with the same person over and over again, but once they're gone it's like... something's missing.” He exhaled, his head falling back.

“Well, someone is.” I murmured, leaning against him. 

He groaned, rubbing his eyes, “I kinda feel like a teenager again, but in the worst way.”

I turned to him, puzzled. “Really?”

“I can't tell how I feel anymore. Or what I want.” He flipped his hands over, weighing the options, “Am I lonely or just alone? Do I miss her or just the comfort that having her brought?”

I jokingly mimicked him, “Am I finally into someone new or am I just horny?”

“Yeah…” He gave me a strange look, but laughed, “What a weird way to put it, but yeah.”

I pffted, “Oh, I'm sorry. You two just said you get hard for Taco Bell, but I can't say I get horny sometimes?”

“Well you are my employee.” He smiled sarcastically.

“And you're my employer. So it's even worse.” I glared, “I should report you to HR.”

“We don't have HR.” Sam deadpanned.

“HR will have to hear about this... once they exist.” I declared.

He rolled his eyes at me, “Are you really horny that often?”

I inhaled, “Bro, honestly.... it's really bad sometimes.”

“Really? Like how bad?” He pushed.

“The other night I almost called up an ex just to see if he would fuck me.” I admitted, uncomfortable by the memory.

He whistled, “Ooof, that's pretty bad.”

“What about you? How horny do you get?” I asked, almost confused why I was.

He thought for a second, then stated, “Mmm, maybe every couple days.”

I snickered, “Oh that's not too bad. Aren't guys notorious for being constant horn dogs?”

“I guess so, but you already know I'm not like most guys.” He winked.

I shook my head at him, “How unique of you.”

Sam stared at me, his gaze a mix of annoyance and... something else I couldn't place. His voice came out low, almost husky. "Are you horny now?"

Butterflies erupted in my stomach, and I did my best to play them off. "Maybe a little. What about you?"

He raised his eyebrows, noting my statement, "Maybe just a little."

I nodded softly, my eyes taking in his face. He was really handsome. He always was, even if most of my feelings were for Colby. His eyes were blue, but very different compared to Colby's. Icy and intense in nature. They stared into mine, his eyes flickering down my face to my lips. I mirrored him, looking at his. 

They looked awfully nice....

I don't know how, but we must have gotten closer and closer to one another. And suddenly, his lips were on mine. His arm wrapped around my lower back, pulling me towards him. My hands rested on his shoulders, catching my balance. His kiss was soft, but fierce. Our tongues met in a matter of seconds, a gasp falling from my lips when his entered my mouth. He pressed his body into mine, our hips meeting and grazing each other sexually.

Holy shit, I was kissing Sam. And not only that, I was liking it.

Sam must have also came to this realization, that he too was kissing me, because he pulled back abruptly. Shock was written all over his face. “Woah…”

I breathed, leaning back against the island. “W-What was that?”

“I don't know. Wow, um…” He sputtered, taking a step back.

I cleared my throat, “Yeah that was... surprising.” 

“You can say that.” Sam rubbed the back of his neck.

I exhaled, looking at him. "Guess we are really horny."

He agreed, letting out a light laugh.

We stood there in awkward silence, trying to get our bearings. My heart fluttered in my chest as I realized how turned on I had become just making out with him.

I really was in dire need to be fucked. And Sam... seemed willing enough. At least, for a moment there.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the loneliness. But something came over the both of us in that moment. We locked eyes, and it became apparent that things were changing. The awkward silence turned erotic, like one of us was waiting to make the next move. I wanted to, but what if I was wrong?

Fuck, I just... needed him.

Sam bit his lip, his eyes tracing my form. Once they landed back on my face, a look came over him. It was intense, his pupils blown wide. He looked eager, determined... hungry.

“Come here.” He mumbled lowly.

That's all I needed to hear.

I rushed up to him, our bodies slamming into one another. Our mouths met hastily, jumping right back into what we had been doing just minutes before. He wrapped his arms around me, his hands resting low on my hips. He spun us until my back hit the counter in the far corner of the kitchen. His hand slid down to my knee, raising it up so it rested around his hip.

He pulled away quickly, putting some space between us. Are you okay with this?”

I tried catching my breath, “W-wha?” 

“Are you okay with this? Do you really want this?” Sam questioned, repeating himself.

“Yeah I do. Why would you ask?” I furrowed my brow.

He scoffed, “Come on, Y/N. We just spent ten minutes talking about how you wanted Colby.”

“Yeah, and you spent the better half of that talking about how you miss your ex.” I retorted. “Obviously, we aren't each other’s.... first choices. But that doesn't mean we can't have fun. Let's just enjoy this, and not make this a big deal.” I snaked my arms around him, pulling him back into me.

“Fine with me.”

He lowered his face to my neck, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive skin. I lulled my head back, allowing him as much access as he wanted. He pressed his hips into mine, sparks shooting up through my core into my entire body. I whimpered unexpectedly, Sam smiling into my neck at the sound.

I tugged lightly on his hair, pulling his head back. Our lips met again, my hand roaming his chest. I found the first button of his shirt, undoing it. I slowly followed suit with the others, my fingers tracing down his torso as I did.

He grabbed my wrists, stopping my motions. “Shouldn't we go back to my room and do this? Do you wanna get caught by Colby?”

“How about we stop bringing him up? I don't want to be thinking about him right now,” I smiled bitterly. “And anyway, you know as well as I do that man is probably knocked out asleep on his bed. So we'll be good til morning.”

“I don’t think I'm gonna make it that long. Maybe three rounds max.” He joked.

“Oh wow, three rounds?” I gazed up and down at his body, “I'll settle for one right now.”

“Same here.” He kissed me quickly, pulling back for a moment, "but just in case he's not totally asleep, let's not get fully naked."

“Lame. But fine, I guess.” I huffed.

“Trust me, I would love to see all of you, but not now. Not here.” He whispered sweetly.

I giggled, his face and lips pressing into my chest as he lowered my top more. His tongue dragged across my skin, and I felt like I was on fire. 

Maybe all of that tequila was a good call, after all. Because God... the feeling between my legs was just growing hotter and wetter by the second. All I wanted was Sam.

Was there a part of me that also wanted Colby? Yes. But that part would have to shut it for now. Because he wasn't here. He didn't choose me. Sam did. And I was going to enjoy every second of it.

Our kisses became harsher, more passionate, as our hips grinded together harder. I could feel him against me, his bulge pressing right against my core. I grazed my hand down his torso, finally resting it on his belt. I undid with my one hand, trying my best.

He laughed, pulling back from me. “I'll get it.”

“Do you have a condom?” I breathed.

“Yeah, in my wallet.” He grabbed it out of his pocket, placing it on the counter. 

As he undid his belt, I took the condom out, ripping the package with my teeth. I gazed down at his dick; it strained against his underwear, begging to be touched. I reached out, cupping him softly.

“O-oh, fuck, Y/N.” He choked out a moan, his eyes closing at the feeling.

“Does that feel good, Sammy?” I whispered, biting my lip.

He glared, a smirk on his lips, "You know I hate when you call me that."

I bit back a smile, “But I enjoy it so much.”

He hummed, “And I guess I'll enjoy this.”

Sam closed the space between us, his eyes never leaving mine. His hand slid underneath my skirt, palming my sex instantly. I gasped as my wet panties pressed into my aching clit. I shuddered against him, a dark chuckle leaving his lips.

“That's it, babygirl. You're so wet for me, aren't you?” His voice was raspy as he spoke.

“I told you I was horny.” I rubbed my palm harder into his cock as he did the same to my clit.

“Yeah, but only a little bit. If this is only you a little horny, I can't imagine what you're like completely turned on.” He pressed into me more, kissing up my neck.

My breath hitched, “Get inside me and you'll find out.”

“Ain't gotta tell me twice.” Sam lowered his pants and underwear down enough for his cock to spring free. He took the condom from my hand, rolling it down his shaft. I watched in anticipation, direly needing him inside of me.

I yanked my panties down, kicking them off my heels. Sam lined up with my entrance, our eyes meeting again.

His tip teased me, “You ready?”

I nodded, “Please Sam, just-”

He inched his way in, filling me slowly. We both moaned in unison, the sensation hitting us hard. I was so wet and slick, he was able to push all the way in easily. Once our hips met, his hand cupped my face.

I opened my eyes, and his searched mine. I should have felt weird in this moment. Here I was, in my employers' and best friends' kitchen being fucked by one of them while the other was just a room or two away. We could get caught, we could be seen or heard at any moment. I shouldn't have wanted this. Sam was my friend, and not the one I really wanted in my heart.

But my feelings be damned if I wasn't gonna enjoy every second of this. Plus, it's not like I was the only one getting something out of this. I was his second choice, and he was mine.

Sam started bucking his hips, building up to a good rhythm. My hands slid up his back, resting on his shoulder blades. He leaned his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. He was concentrating on his movements, of going deeper into me. His one hand rested on my ass, cupping and gripping it as he thrusted. The other was in my hair, burying deeper into my locks.

“You feel so good, Y/N. So fucking wet.” He uttered, his voice shaking.

“I need more, Sam. Pleaseeee.” I whined.

“I gotchu, babygirl.” He lowered his hips, hitting my sex deeper, “Just like this?”

“Oh my- Fuck! Yes, just like that!” I cursed loudly.

He hushed me, snickering, “Shh, you can't be too loud. You might wake him. Unless that's what you want…”

“What?” I raised an eyebrow, pulling back slightly.

He slowed his movements down, tracing my jaw with his thumb.“You wanna get caught, don't you?” 

I hated that the idea did excite me. The thoughts swirled in my head; would Colby be upset? Would Sam? The what ifs made my mind wonder.

Sam grabbed my face suddenly, a little rougher than I expected him to be. “Look at me.”

I blinked, staring into his eyes.

“Don't look away from me, okay? I want all of your attention on me and what I'm doing to you. Got it?” He commanded.

His tone was sexy, my body jolting from the sound. “Okay.”

He pecked my lips, “Good girl.”

I gasped as his hand slid down to my clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. My body clenched at the sensation, my hips speeding up.

“You need more?” Sam growled.

I hummed, only able to nod. My nails dug into his back as he sped up his movements. He began fucking me harder against the counter. He held me steady, going deeper as he did.

I shuttered, “Fuuuck Sam. You make me feel so full.”

“Yeah? Feel fucking amazing, Y/N.” Sam grunted, “God, if you squeeze around me one more time, I'm gonna-

I smirked against his neck, squeezing his cock inside of me. He halted his hips, raising his head to look at me.

He pushed his dick all the way in, filling me completely. His fingers started rubbing my clit faster and faster. My mouth fell open, my body shaking with pleasure..

Sam glared into my eyes, watching me as I almost came undone. I gripped him hard, panting. I could feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge, and all he was doing was using his fingers.

“You right there for me?” He hissed.

I whimpered, pleading, “Please let me come.”

“Stay right there for me. Don't come yet.” He demanded.

He picked up his speed again, fucking me faster than he had before. His cock pounded into me repeatedly, adding more to the pleasure of his fingers on my clit. I could feel my wetness leak down my thighs. I was so close, unable to hold on for much longer.

“Sam, pleaseeee..... I'm so fucking close.” I mewled.

He groaned, closing his eyes tightly. “I'm right there, babygirl. You gonna come for me?”

“Fuck, yes, yes! Please Sam!” I cried, begging.

He slammed his hand down on my mouth, letting out a small laugh. “Don't fucking scream.”

My response was muffled, but he could tell what I said.

He lowered his mouth to my ear, whispering aggressively, “Squeeze around me. Do it, Y/N. Come for me.”

I bucked my hips with abandonment, my head falling back as my cries were silenced by his hand. Sam grunted lowly as he came, his fingers pressing into my clit while he was deep inside of me. My body spasmed, my orgasm hitting me in waves.

Sam fell against me, his hands sliding and wrapping around me in a soft embrace. We stood there for a moment, catching our breaths.

The silence was cut suddenly.... by the sound of Colby's door shutting.

We pulled away from one another, glancing at each other with wide eyes. We hastily pulled our clothes back on, fixing ourselves as best we could before Colby appeared.

I turned my back towards the boys, a noticeable blush on my face. I ran my fingers through my hair, adjusting it the best I could.

“Hey did you guys order Taco Bell yet?” Colby called, his voice coming from the other side of the kitchen island.

“Um, uh. N-no. Not yet.” Sam stammered out, clearing his throat.

Colby sighed dramatically. “Can you hurry up and do it? I'm fucking starving.”

I turned around, finally feeling relaxed enough to join in. “Yeah Sam, hurry up. I'm hungry.”

“I thought you said you were full.” He stared at me with a playful glint in his eye.

“Well,” I jested, cursing him out in my head, “I guess I have a bigger appetite than I thought.”

I gave Colby a quick once over, realizing he was shirtless and in sweatpants, like usual.

Definitely a bigger appetite…

|| part two >>

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

☈ your bones singing into mine [interlude]

one - two

nikto x f!bio-weapons engineer reader (no use of y/n) NSFW A/N: had to write my own damn porn, but thank you, my beautiful envoys and beacon lighters. this is porn without plot and not canon to the main YBSIM storyline. reader is referred to with afab genitalia. as usual, shit's not proofread.

Nikto is a possessive, handsy, and handsome drunk.

Sometimes, he'll downgrade the mask to a balaclava, then tip bottles back to his lips with the fabric between. Always necks the bottle, but he'll only sip at a glass in your company. And, then, he's throwing drinks back like a shot.

Everything about him is violent, sudden, and sharp.

You're of his caliber—together you laugh darkly and call it decisive.

He is decisive when he's been drinking, his cock aching from straining against his zipper, and he snaps an arm around your waist like a shepherd's hook to force you into his lap. There's an armchair in the master suite of one of the hideaway homes he's made for you. It's across from a full-length mirror, and it's perfect for him—he gets to feel and see you squirm yourself comfortable in his lap.

"Pauk," he groans against your neck, humid and needful. His hand drops between your legs, using his grip over your cunt to haul you deeper into his lap. "Our Pauk—soft and warm," he rumbles, burying his face against your neck, breathing your scent hard. You can feel the jutting bone where his nose had been carved off his face, taking all the cartilage and skin.

"Talking about me like I'm a kitten-cat or a down-clothed bird," you snort, arching back against him, planting your feet on his knees. He starts to rub circles over your cunt with his hard, callused, cold hand; in the mirror, you watch his gloved fingers press against the fabric, in a spot you know they'd be teasing your entrance if you were bare.

"Mm. Nyet," he hums, all arousal-rampant thought. "We wouldn't say that. You've got too many sharp corners." He drops the mostly empty bottle in his other hand on the floor, too low in volume to spill out of the neck, and he brings both hands to the waistband of your pants. "Lift your hips. Want you to cum before we get our cock out."

You do as he asks, helping him slide your sleep pants down your hips, past your knees, off and onto the floor over the discarded bottle, but you ask, "Why not fuck, Andryu? Can feel the way you throb against my ass."

The moment you settle back in his lap, he has a hand lifted before your mouth, and you use your teeth to bite down on the fingertip, dragging the garment off.

"Because we'd rather make you cum than fucking breathe."

It's said with the tone of a smirk, and he plunges his middle and ring finger into your wet pussy, finger-fucking you like it's more exciting than every Christmas and first of the month that he's ever lived through. The heel of his hand claps against your cunt with every pump of his fingers, faster and faster, targeting your clit with every landing.

"Lyubimaya, talk. We want you to talk," he growls, shoving his free hand under your shirt to toy with your nipples, pinching and tugging them, making you snarl and buck against his hand, nails digging into the armrests of the seat.

You're not good at talking. Not ever. Especially not when you're getting fucked to within an inch of your purposefully darkened life. But, for him? You try. For him, you always try.

Your legs shake and try to snap shut around his hand, but they jump right back open, as if they refuse to even muffle the wet sounds coming from your body for a single moment. Dropping your head back against his shoulder, you moan, trying hard not to thrash against his body as his breathing grows ragged. And then that moan escalates, turns into a howling laugh, something silver-toothed and prowling, as you warn him, "Andryu, I'm going to squirt, you're making me cum, slow down—!"

He doesn't, of course.

"Yes, Pauk. Yes, lyubimaya, cum. That's a good girl. That's our good girl, our Paukya," he grunts, chin resting on your shoulder, watching between your legs as your pussy spasms around him, soaking his fingers, his lap, every fiber and blessed neuron and synapse of his fractured, tessellated mind.

Just because he loves to make you cum, doesn't mean he has any more patience than he does in any matter of his life. Andre Nikto is swift. He is decisive. When he wants something, he already has it crushed in his fist.

When your hips buck off him, he unzips his pants, letting his cock spring out between your legs. Smooth as reload, smooth as grenade-throw, his fingers slide out of your pussy and stroke his shaft wet, timing it perfectly for your hips to snap down and take half of his length in one motion.

"Andre!" you gasp, too dazed with pleasure to manage a full snap. How could you? Not when his hands are so needy on your hips, urging you low-low, a pretty plea to swallow him up, to blot out all the noise that runs in his head.

When you look up in the mirror, he's already staring back at you, glacier-blue eyes unblinking, rotten with desperation and pup-belly softness. Makes you crack and run like an egg. Like an overripe berry, mashed to red pulp in the hands of an eager child.

"Oh," you swallow. A moment passes, held in the suspension—you're the last two of a kind, preserved perfectly in amber, so long as your hearts can hear the echoing drumbeat of the other's—and a silent agreement is exchanged.

No. Nyet. Not an agreement—a declaration.

You love every one of him; every one of him loves you.

How simple and beautiful a thing—a concept you both can hold gentle in your flesh-rending claws for a soft, turning examination, before you consume it, as if to vaunt the flesh of a beloved death.

He thrusts up shallowly, meeting the gentle rocking of your hips. The hand once teasing the swollen walls of your pussy rests over your lower belly, pressing down heavily just over your pelvis. It makes every stroke of his cock feel tenfold more pronounced—deeper, slower, fuller, all the harder to stave off or deny.

"Can," you start, trying not to squirm too much, wanting to last as long as possible, "I touch your hair? The mask you can leave be, that I won't ask you, but I want to lover-touch the hair at the back of your skull."

He heaves a violent shudder, slamming his way deep, all the way home, and wordlessly nods. More than that, he meets your hand as it darts to the back of his head, guiding you the rest of the way, and pulling up the balaclava only enough to find the satin-slip of his shining black hair.

He holds your hand there, grunting and cutting off moans next to your ear, his head bowed into your shoulder. He prays over you. He prays for you. You are his answer. Perhaps, you have always been.

The pair of you stay in this ecstatic trance, moving together forcefully and slowly, for long, long minutes. You begin to sweat, reeking of one another. You begin to shake, your muscles burning.

His hips move in the way only a drunken, determined man's can. A bit clumsily, but massively greedy. There's a slop in the way he fucks up into you, but there is greediness, too. He can see how wet your pussy is, sucking and spasming around him. He can see how it's made his cock glisten, and how it's darkened the fabric of his pants where it's dripped. He likes it. But a man in love will like anything that comes from his lover.

"Paukyushka," he growls, eyes squeezed closed with the restraint that has always held his entire body together, "can you cum? We're. Pizdec. We're close."

"I can cum, kotik, just keep going," you breathe, fucking down harder on him, mouth curling in a pleased little grin.

He lets go of a ragged moan at that, as if you're the one tearing it from his perforated throat, fucking faster, pulling grunts and tight sighs out of your body as he ramps you up. It becomes hard to hold onto—more oddly, it becomes harder to let go, and, fuck, do you try.

It expands lie molten heat in your lower belly, pressuring your pelvis, your bladder—makes your swollen, sensitive clit throb as your walls start to spasm, clenching wildly around the length of his cock. Shit, you can feel it in your shoulders, tensing the muscles between the blades.

"Mm, fuck—shit, oh fuck," you hiss, your legs jolting and ring to snap closed.

"Pauk!" he barks. Nothing close to a warning or threat, simply a harsh plea.

"Shh! Quiet your mouths," you hiss, "I'll get it done!"

He grumbles under his breath, talking a plan over with his many facets, and acts.

His arm snaps over your rips, trap-sprung, and rucks you up his own body. It makes you squawk, head swiveling as you snake an arm around his neck for balance, and that makes him laugh, gritty as sandpaper. His cock barely manages to stay inside you, by an inch, if that. His other hand goes to the back of your thigh, pulling you open over his knee as he pants his booted foot on the seat of the chair, giving him more leverage.

This weird, tangled position gives the many demons in the both of you fits, and he's not going to last long, but that was never the intention. Two, then three hard thrusts, and you're sucking in air through your clenched teeth, cumming around his cock, digging your nails into his chest and his forearm.

With an ungodly bellow, he pulls out at the very least second, shooting his load straight over his cock, your thigh, his lap. You're both shaking, trembling, disgraced piles of flesh, and you wonder if you sit still for long enough, could you possibly melt into a mingled pile of flesh and splintered bone.

At once, the two of you slump together, though you do turn on your hips to miss a majority of the mess on his legs. He strokes your hair. You reach back to play with his.

"What a mess you've all made," you huff, panting and breathless. "Like a boy; all balls, no control."

"No babies," he says in a stern, but thin voice.

"No babies," you mimic, borrowing his drizzled tone for yourself. "No babies, yes, but my upholstery you've ruined."

"Mm. We...do not care," he finally decides, and you find glory in the smile in his tone.

"Good. I like that," you say, packing in as much dignity as you can manage before the facade crumbles. You're left laughing, stupid and free, and his answers back, a rumble that echoes through your ribs.

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Slow Dancing in Circles

Ascended Astarion || Astarion x f!Tav || ao3 || Masterlist

Rating: M , +18 Word Count: +1.4k Warnings: Ascended Astarion, abuse, mentions of sex (dub-con?, no description of sex act), mentions of death, adult themes.

And so it’s just you and him going through the same old motions, following a routine of his design—you always do, these days. Or decades. Centuries? Who knows? Not that it matters, no. You’ve been doing this for a very long time. Agreeing. Smiling. Fighting. Fucking. Dancing. Crying. Blood. So much blood. Even when this ballroom is long dead, the Gate is still bleeding red—for you, he says. Always for you. 

a/n: said I wouldn't do AA content but I talk a lot, apparently. Written in a frenzy. Another not so edited work, because I'm playing around with my writing lately and also try to chill a little. And it's 3am, make of that information what you will.

The Vampire Lord’s hand is clasping yours tightly as you dance around his empty ballroom. There’s no music accompanying you tonight—there was once, but not anymore. You can’t say when it crept in exactly, the heavy silence in this grand room. You only know that the music faded gradually, once upon a time, so slowly that you only noticed its absence when it had long fallen silent. Not that it matters, now.

The Lord of the house and you—his consort, his bride, his little love—are the only guests this room has seen in years, but you still know the steps of this dance by your cold, undead heart. You’ve gone through these same motions thousands of times before, and still, the Vampire Lord insists on guiding you through them. It’s not that he fears you’ll forget your place in time—you can’t, because he seldom wastes an opportunity reminding you.

Follow my lead, little love, he purrs into your ear. It’s not like you could do otherwise.  

And so it’s just you and him dancing through a withering ballroom, old grandeur slowly crumbling under years of silence and moonlit dust. One step forward, two steps back. Left. Right. Left. Left. Spin. Back. Back. Forward, please? Back. Left. No, pet, start again. There’s no end to this dance, unless the Vampire Lord wishes so, and he never does. 

And so it’s just you and him going through the same old motions, following a routine of his design—you always do, these days. Or decades. Centuries? Who knows? Not that it matters, no. You’ve been doing this for a very long time. Agreeing. Smiling. Fighting. Fucking. Dancing. Crying. Blood. So much blood. Even when this ballroom is long dead, the Gate is still bleeding red—for you, he says. Always for you. 

You’re hungry, little love. 

Are you? You must be, because he is. The Vampire Lord is insatiable. And so you must be, too. It’s just another step of this dance. Drinking. Sucking. Waiting. Killing. Damning. Fucking. Blood. So much blood. Love…? Once, maybe. You can’t be sure. Not anymore. Not since your fangs have grown dull. Not since you’re dancing in empty rooms. 

There is no need for you to hunt, let alone starve—not when the Vampire Lord is providing for your every need. Has he ever not done that? No, you haven’t known a night of hunger in his house. How very kind. What would you do without him?

You should be grateful, little love. 

He’s right. There’s no need for you to prowl dark alleys. No drunks, no whores, no rats to taint your pretty mouth with. Only the very best for you, pet. So the Vampire Lord brings you a handsome virgin when you’ve been good, and you always are for him. Gifts you an elf that has seen so many centuries, they’re carved into their beautiful leathery skin. Lies down a girl before you whose belly is so swollen with child that you can’t tell one heartbeat from the other. Their blood is calling to your instincts. You urge to pierce their skin with your fangs, but—  

We ask before we bite, little love.

Yes. May you have some blood, please? Of course, pet, of course! A feast just for you! Who else would it be for? Who else would matter as much as you do?

Come, eat right up, little love!

The moment your food arrives in your chambers it’s pale-faced and stupid with mortal agony. You don’t particularly like that. Their blood has an odd taste to it when the servants had to wash piss and shit off their fear-paralysed bodies right before serving them to you. They’re still alive but stink of death; it’s distasteful. Pitiful. You hate the way they look at you. But you don’t tell the Vampire Lord that. It would be ungrateful, wouldn’t it? 

I said eat, little love.

And doesn’t he feed you so lovingly, even when you reject his generosity at first? You don’t even need to use your own fangs to rip out their throats, he’s angry enough to do it for you. All you need to do is drink. Consume. Live. Please, even if you don’t want to. Listen to skin ripping and bone breaking. Screams fading into music fading into silence in the once-grand ballroom. Life fading to dust. 

The Vampire Lord knows you prefer the ones that are already half-drained of life when they’re brought to you—he knows everything about you. You like them better because they don’t move. They don’t scream. They don’t go through the same motions over and over and over again. All they need to do is die. They’re as good as gone when the Vampire Lord takes the last of their blood in his mouth, pulls you into a heady kiss. They don’t know that their essence drains from his mouth into yours, down your throat, and all you need to see are glassy eyes when the hunger you haven’t even felt has finally been sated. 

Good girl, little love, you’re so very good for me.

You wish you had been more like them, once upon a time, already gone instead of being consumed by fear. Stupid with love. Giving what wasn’t yours to give. Back then—when was it; does it even matter?—when your hands hadn’t yet been drenched in the blood of countless souls. Back then, when all you wanted was to protect the man you…No, it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. Even thinking like that is very bad of you. And yet, the Vampire Lord already knows of your wish. He knows it so well that you’ll never find the words to tell him of it yourself. He doesn’t want to hear of your wish, so silence remains. And it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.

I need you, little love.

The Vampire Lord fucks you the same way he dances with you—slow, but firmly. Holding you as close as your bodies allow, lest you vanish into one of the many empty rooms in this grand eroding house. That’s when you love him most. This body inside you is the only thing that still feels like him—the man you loved, once upon a time. Always. What was his name again? He had a silly laugh, you remember, and he was so very sad. Scared. He loved you so much.

Nothing feels as good as you do, little love.

The Vampire Lord plunging into you isn’t scared, nor is he very sad. He’s long over such mortal whims. He’s frantic, though, most of the time. He thinks he’s hiding it, but you went through the steps of this dance so many times that you can glimpse past the mask. He loves you still—his consort, his little love, his prisoner. 

Not that it matters, because it’s just him and a shadow of yourself dancing in a crowded ballroom at all times. Seven thousand damned souls are tugging at your skirts, you can feel their grasp as much as you can feel the Vampire Lord clasping your wrist, his nails digging into your skin. They’re one and the same, death and him. 

Follow my lead, little love. Follow my lead.

The Vampire Lord drags you over ash and bones and blood, so much blood that it makes your head spin. He’s a puppet master pulling the strings of all that’s dead and he won’t ever let go of you—you can tell by the smile on his face that doesn’t reach his all-seeing eyes. It never does. 

You want to hurt him. He knows.

What is it, little love?

You hate him. That man who stole your lover, once upon a time. No, you have to admit that’s not quite right. You were there, too, after all. You’d given him the dagger and then held down your lover as the Vampire Lord stripped himself of the man he was before. You two killed him so very thoroughly, except for his body there is nothing left, now.

“I love you,” is all you can say. They’re not your words, not anymore. 

I know, little love, you always will. 

Sunlight is breaking through dusty old curtains. The Vampire Lord spins you dangerously close to the soaring heat reaching for you. Why doesn’t he just let this house go up in flames? It would be no trouble. You always burned so bright, once upon a time. It would take but a moment.

But burning isn’t part of this dance. Left. Death. Back. Hatred. Back. Eternity. Spin. Tears. Right. His name started with an A. Right. Aeterna amantes. Forward, please? Lovers forever. No, pet, start again. There is little love left, but, as you’re slow dancing in circles through this tomb, you know that eternity has only just begun. 

[ddejavvu]

So I had long hair for the last two year and recently cut it too a 90s lob type thing and I was wondering if you could write one were Jake and reader have eniemes type shit and of course reader has long hair and one day Jake comes to the bar and sees this back of this girl he knows is beautiful she has short hair and he walks up too you and start to filrt with you and you turn around he just star struck on how beautiful you look

If there's one thing you can be sure Jake Seresin will tease you about, it's your hair. You've had it long for years now, and he won't let anyone forget that he was the one to give you your, quite frankly infuriating, callsign; Rapunzel.

Living in close contact with Hangman had meant that a lot of your hair wound up all over his things, stuck to his shirt, woven into his socks after a wash, somehow lining the inside of his own helmet. So he'd donned you Rapunzel as a tease, and it had stuck, much to your dismay.

Now, though, you know you'll never escape the name even though you've chopped off the hair. It had simply been a pain serving with long hair, you'd had trouble tucking it into your helmet every day and the regulation buns never stayed in tact for an entire day. So off the hair went, onto the floor of a salon and swept away into the garbage.

Good Riddance.

"You want a new drink for your new look?" Penny grins, leaning against the bar to stare you down. You won't lie, you see exactly why Maverick is so enamored by her.

"No, thanks. Just the usual," You tuck a stray, very short strand of hair behind your ears, marveling at the feeling of the ends tickling your jaw. It's going to take some getting used to, at the very least.

"Anyone know yet?" She hands you your usual order, and you sip it while shaking your head.

"Nah. Not unless you count the Admiral, I had to stop by his office today."

"Well, it looks adorable. I'm sure they'll all like it." She smiles, patting you on the shoulder as someone calls for her from behind. She leaves you to go attend to them, and you check your phone absentmindedly, careful to keep it off of the bar.

Perhaps if you'd been paying closer attention to your surroundings, you would have registered the heavy steps of Hangman's boots that you hear all day. He stomps around like an elephant, but you don't hear him approach you from behind until he's speaking.

"Well, you must be a new face around here. I'd remember such gorgeous hair."

He's behind you, and your spine stiffens at his voice. His familiar drawl ties your stomach into knots, and you don't know how to stop him before he's doubling down.

"Now, look at that! Your face is just as- ah!" He stops dead in his tracks, eyes switching from sleazy to stunned in a split second when he finally gets a glimpse of you.

"Oh, Hangman," You grumble, "Can't you flirt with someone else?"

"You're- What happened to- I didn't know it was you!" He insists, "I- you cut your hair? Like- like all of it? Just- gone?"

"No," You antagonize him, "It's in my pockets. Yes it's gone, idiot!"

His eyes widen slightly at your admission, like he'd truly believed you'd just put on a wig for the night. But he makes no move to leave, a deep breath slowly fanning out from his nose.

For the first time in your life, you're seeing Hangman speechless. He's staring at you, almost studying you in the way that his wide eyes rake over your features. You're suddenly freaked by the prolonged attention he's never given you before, and you squirm in place.

"Go find someone else to schmooze." You wave a dismissive hand at him, and it seems to break his trance. He still doesn't jump at the opportunity to prowl the bar some more; instead he jumps at the seat beside you.

"I'm alright. 'Think I'll sit tonight out." He informs you, grunting as he settles on the barstool. He pats a quick hand on the par, "Penny, anyone paying the tab tonight?"

"Not unless Y/N puts her phone on the bar," Penny eyes your device with narrowed eyes, and you stuff it into your pocket quickly.

"Damn. Tough luck," He side-eyes you with a grin, "Just a beer, then, please."

No matter how unbearably cocky he is, he's always polite to Penny, and you're sure she appreciates it. That's why she doesn't gripe at his failed flirting attempt with you, merely sending you a knowing glance as she hands him the bottle. What she knows, you're afraid to find out.

"So, just felt like having a lighter cut?" Hangman hums, adam's apple bobbing as he takes a swig of beer.

"Yeah. Tired of stuffing it into my helmet, or having to fix it during an exercise." You shrug, "I'll get used to it."

"I could, too. Looks real nice, honey." He winks, hiding his smirk with another sip of booze. You turn away, schooling your lips into a neutral expression.

"Seems like I should come up with a new name for you, now that you can't really let down your hair." Jake muses, reaching up to tug at a strand by your ear. You swat him away, muscling a grin off of your lips.

"Bob's taken," You snap, "You've done enough, 'already hate Rapunzel as it is."

"Oh, bitch all you want," Jake scoffs, nudging you with his shoulder that you wish were less broad so that you didn't have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop your mouth from falling open, "I know you like it when I call you a princess."

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Fall into the sky

Written for @astrangersummer, week 5 (shhhh, we're not talking about how this is super fucking late, it's fine!)

Prompt: Constellations

Words: 1,527 (also on AO3)

Rated: T

Relationship: Steve/Eddie

Tags: Magic AU; Thief Eddie; Guard Steve; Forbidden love; Jailbreak

Notes: Part of my Phantom Thief mini series (Previous part | Part 1)

The world is sound. The crackle of fire and the rush of wind and the thunder of crumbling stone. 

The world is color. The brilliant kaleidoscope of the sunset, stars emerging from the purple and pink backdrop of the sky. 

The world is touch. Hands in his hair and fingers on his face and warm breath tickling his skin as he is scooped into a pair of trembling arms. 

It crashes into Steve’s senses all at once, overwhelming and terrifying after the eternal white and the never-ending silence of his prison. It's too much. It's too beautiful. It can’t be real.

He's going insane.

He's been waiting to go insane for so long. 

Because if insanity is sound and color and touch and a name on his lips that he thought he'd never hear again, if this is all in his head, he never wants to leave. 

“Yes, sweetheart, it's me,” The vision murmurs, cradling his face in both hands. The gesture is comforting and soothing, and Steve realizes he's been babbling the name on repeat, an endless loop of Eddie Eddie Eddie. “I'm sorry it took so long, but I'm getting you outta here.” 

Steve laughs, high-pitched and hysterical. 

“You're-” he starts to say. His voice cracks. When he licks his lips, they taste like saltwater. “You're not really here. I've lost my mind, I'm imagining things.” 

“Don't think you are,” Eddie hums. He's covered in soot and bleeding from a hundred tiny cuts, but his smile is bright and brilliant as always. “Wouldn’t be able to do this if I wasn't real, would I?” 

His lips taste like ashes and magic. The ground shakes underneath them, and something crashes. Steve thinks that if the world broke apart around them right now, he'd happily stay in this kiss forever. 

“Don’t,” he pleads when Eddie pulls away. “Don't stop.” 

Eddie smiles, full of that grim determination that makes Steve’s stomach flutter. 

“I won't,” he says, and the constellations in the sky glint in those impossibly dark eyes of his. Another crash pierces the air, so loud that Steve can feel it in his bones. “I swear it, honey. I'll get you back down and to safety, where they can't ever find us. And then I'll never stop kissing you, for as long as we both live.” 

*

The world below the floating island is basked in dusk. Steve can see the shadows of clouds moving over the land, the sparkling bands of rivers weaving between forests and hills and cities. The ocean and the curve of the earth, far in the distance. He didn't see it when they brought him here. The view was obstructed by the giant tornado that surrounded this place, ready to tear everyone who dared approach it to shreds. 

There's no tornado now. 

Just like there are no griffins guarding the arched entryway of the fortress, no manticores prowling at the jagged edge of the island. 

“What did you do?” Steve breathes as they skid to a halt, inches from the abyss. Behind them, the pillars of the entryway crumble and collapse. “How did you-” 

“You know how they stay in power?” Eddie asks. He's ducked behind another pillar to retrieve a bundle of fabric and string, hidden out of sight. “Your family and their friends?” 

Steve blinks, floundering and disoriented by the question and the barrage of noise and colors. Eddie straightens up, strapping what looks like a giant backpack decked in wires and ropes to his back. 

“Magic,” he declares, throwing his arms out in an all-encompassing gesture. “This place, their splendid city, their fucking underwater prison, they all run on magic. Beautiful, isn't it? If it weren't for one tiny problem.” 

He pauses dramatically, like he's waiting for Steve to catch on. When he fails to do so, he throws back his head and cackles, dark curls whipping around him in a chaotic tangle.

“There’s not enough natural magic in the world to keep it all going. So what did they do, like the greedy little morons they are? They amplified it!” 

He laughs again, like it’s the best fucking joke in the entire world, grabbing Steve by the shoulders and pulling him in for a big, noisy smack on the mouth.

“Amulets and talismans and trinkets, Stevie! Dozens of them, all in the hands of the high and mighty, used to magnify their power. But take them away, and it all goes poof!” 

He throws his hands up in the air, miming an explosion, just in time for another thunderous boom to shake the island. The ground tilts, just a bit. 

“Do you know where they kept the most powerful one?” Eddie asks. This time, he doesn't wait for a reply. “Right here, Stevie. What better place than the big-ass, impenetrable, fucking sky vault to keep their biggest treasure, huh? They didn't think anyone would ever be insane enough to try and breach it. And you know what? I wouldn't have. They could've kept it, for all I fucking care, but they do not-” 

The ground trembles again, little fissures erupting from the rock under their feet like spiderwebs. Eddie pauses and swallows, and his eyes are like fire in the dusk.  

“They do not get to keep you.” 

His voice is pure, unbridled rage. Steve knows the feeling all too well. The powerless rage of knowing exactly where they have taken the man you love, and having to be patient. Having to wait for days and weeks and months until your plan finally falls into place, knowing all the while that every hour, every second in that wretched place is too much. The all-consuming want to tear through all the walls, all the chains, all the barriers they’ve put in place to keep you apart, to destroy all that might ever stand in your way again. 

Understanding comes slowly, but when it does, it punches the breath from his lungs with a hoarse wheeze. He is dizzy and his stomach swoops, but he isn't sure if it is from what he just realized or from the island breaking apart under their feet. 

“You destroyed it,” he whispers. “Eddie, you- … what did you do?” 

Eddie doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls Steve closer, slipping a leather-and-rope harness over his shoulders to tether them both together. 

“This little baby is all mechanics,” he says, not looking up from his task. His face is nothing but grim concentration as he makes sure every buckle and every rope sits correctly. “I'd have been here sooner, but it took a while to put this together and make sure it would actually work, so-” 

“What about your magic?” Steve blurts. 

“Don't worry, it'll come back once the natural equilibrium is restored.” Eddie shrugs, walking them both to the ledge. “Some of it at least. I think.”

Steve gapes at him. Eddie looks up from where he's been securing the last of the straps, sees his dumbstruck face and smiles. 

“Stevie,” he says. He's too beautiful to be real. Beautiful and wild and untamed like the wind ripping at their clothes, like the sky stretching all around them. If they jumped now, they'd fall straight into its stars and constellations and never ever touch ground again. “It doesn't matter. There's no treasure in the world I wouldn't give up for you.” 

Steve opens his mouth to argue, but another tremor interrupts him. Large chunks of rock come loose from below their feet, tumbling into the depths. 

“Do you trust me?” Eddie asks. Steve doesn’t even think about it. It's like asking if water is wet. Eddie sees him nod and beams, delighted and a little smug. “Then let's get outta here.” 

He wraps an arm around Steve’s waist, claiming his lips again. And then, without breaking the kiss, he steps over the ledge and they plummet. 

The wind rips Steve’s scream straight from his mouth. His guts twist and his limbs go light with terror, but Eddie laughs. He yanks on one of the ropes, and something unfurls from his backpack in a ripple of cloth and wire. It snaps open somewhere over their heads, and Steve’s stomach lurches, and then, suddenly, they're no longer falling. 

They're gliding. 

Above them stretches what looks like a giant sail, stitched together from dozens and dozens colorful scraps of fabric. It carries them like a bird's wings, taking them away from the crumpling island, away from walls and chains and barriers, away from all that kept them apart. 

Eddie whoops into the night sky, loud and unrestrained. It takes Steve a second or two to recognize the voice that joins in as his own. His stomach is still light, like it's filled with a million beating wings, but he realizes that it's not from vertigo.

It's happiness. 

The sheer, overwhelming exhilaration of knowing Eddie made it, that they're both free and together and never parting again. Of knowing this is real. 

They soar through the clouds, with the constellations close enough to touch, the earth spanning far below them like something from a dream. And if they never touch ground again? Steve thinks he wouldn’t mind one tiny bit. 

To be continued ...

Tag list:

@sourw0lfs @bananahoneycomb @firefly-party @whoneedscanon @steddie-island

@sidekick-hero @theheadlessphilosopher @extra-transitional @penny00dreadful @medusapelagia

@mugloversonly @0happyeverafter0 @stevesbipanic @acingthecounts @sweetheartprincess28

@starryeyedjanai @sailing-through-hawkins @original-cypher @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important

[mychlapci]

Hopping on the mommy TFA Ratchet train. (I do hate brat behavior, they deserve punishment. And Optimus deserves to get some of Ratchet's milk too.)

Optimus, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee are the youngest of the team. Sure OP acts older, but he's still much closer to Bulk and Bee's age range than Prowl. Prowl doesn't need the milk like they do, Bulkhead is getting his milk through bottles, but Bee is so damn greedy that Optimus can't get a single drop!

Optimus tries to rationalize it, "I'm a full grown bot, I don't need it", "bee and bulk need it more than me", "we have plenty of other fuel, I'm fine." But he's decidedly not fine. He gets more and more cranky, fuel tastes weird now, like something is off, he watches as Bee nurses with jealousy in his optics.

Bee is throwing a full blown temper tantrum about Ratchet preping bottles for the others when Optimus walks in. He then goes off on him instead, goading and rubbing in his face that Ratchet's milk is his and his alone. He only stops once Ratchet orders him to. That snaps Bee out of it real quick. He turns back to Optimus expecting to be scolded for talking to his leader like that only for him to feel even worse by seeing that Optimus is at the brink of tears. It wasn't just Bee's tantrum or words that caused it, his behavior triggered the reminder of how Sentinel would treat Optimus. Being selfish, arrogant, gloating about things he has and Optimus doesn't. He never expected his own teammates to act like that, especially since they know how Sentinel affects him. He walks away without a word and Bee meekly turns back around to look at Ratchet. He sits serenely on the table patting his lap, his chest plates are closed, and his field betrays the fury that his face does not.

Bee gets the punishment of a lifetime, only a little lessened if only because of the genuine regret he felt and his compliance.

Bee limps to Optimus' room an hour or so later. He's just about to knock when he hears a very harsh rumble of a powerful engine and the whine of vents from strain. He peeks inside only to see Optimus laying on his side, nearly motionless save for the tremors his engine causes, and his finials clicked back to the farthest setting. Bee realizes the strain in his vents is from him staying quiet. Their fearless leader... is crying! Bee feels guilt hit him harder than any of Ratchet's spanks, he really did screw up huh? Was he really that selfish? Taking a few minutes to steel himself, he opens the door and knocks quietly. The engine stalls quickly.

"Yes?" Primus, even Optimus' voice sounds bad.

"Ratchet wants to see you in the med-bay, Bossbot." Bee says, clearly and enunciated, but still meek and quiet.

A loud angry growl came from Optimus, and the distinct click of his battle mask engaging. He turns his helm to look at Bee, but a moment later the growl shifts to a slightly softer, more agitated than angry, pitch. "Very well, I'll be there in a few minutes. You are dismissed."

Bee only nods and absconds quickly, running off to find Bulkhead and Sari. He knows Optimus doesn't want to hear an apology right now, but they deserve one.

Optimus arrives at the med-bay 20 minutes later, after having cleaned himself up first. Ratchet has finished preping the bottles and turns to greet him.

"There you are, come here."

Optimus approaches slowly, "I'm sorry about earlier, I should have just-"

"No, don't apologize. I already handled it. I told Bee to go get you and send you to me, if anything he should be apologizing to you."

"I'm fine, Ratchet, it's really not a big deal-"

"Oh really?" He puts his hands on his hips, "not a big deal, ey? Not a big deal that you were driven to the point of tears by a toddler of a mech? Not a big deal that I've seen that look on your face when a certain Chin-the-size-of-his-ego Prime belittles you? I made sure to point that particular comparison out to Bee during his punishment, especially considering his own hatred of the mech. Really took him down a couple pegs."

"Ratchet, I'm a grown mech and there's plenty of fuel around, I can deal without-"

"What? My milk? The milk that you are so painfully craving and jealous of Bumblebee and Bulkhead over? They are grown mechs too, but the three of you are still young and growing. You're also far closer in age to each other than you are to me or Prowl. Hell, Prowl doesn't even need my milk and he's gotten more of it than you! You! Someone who actually needs it!"

Ratchet turned around and sat on the berth, "now come here, Prime," he opens his chest plates and lets his still leaky titties out. Optimus practically starts drooling. "You need this as much as the others do."

Optimus hesitantly crawls into Ratchets lap, "are you sure? I- I can have-?"

"Oh shuddup and suck."

Optimus is forcefully fed Ratchet's nossle, plush lips wrapped around it carefully as he sucked. But soon he began to relax, until his whole frame sagged against Ratchet's, greedily sucking down the milk he craved for weeks now. His engine idled at a soft and smooth purr.

"That's it, bittie, take as much as you need, you've been so sorely neglected recently, after all. Momma's gonna take good care of you."

my wet nurse propaganda is only furthered by this. young bots need their milk, there’s no helping it, it’s why Ratchet was sent with the repair crew in the first place. Optimus pretending he doesn’t need the milk is just foolish… He might be older than Bumblebee or Bulkhead, but he’s still well within the breastfeeding range… 

This is the only time Bumblebee can use his young age to his advantage, insisting that as the youngest he can drink as much milk as he wants to, and he absolutely abuses the hell out of this fact. Ratchet doesn’t actually care at first, he’s just doing his job and if Bee wants to be pushy, he can ignore it... but then... Poor Optimus… it’s all a little too much. Stuck on a foreign planet, saddled with responsibility, and not getting any milk at all? He’s really putting himself through it. He needs some care from momma...

[thatfreshi]

Not if You Collect Them Like Ex-lovers (Astarion x Reader)

Tw - couple arguing

Recommended Song: This Is Me Trying - Taylor Swift

Whenever you and Astarion fight, it gets ugly. Two extremely emotional people, two people who still aren't used to letting their guard down all the time, people with faults.

"I don't understand why it bothers you."

Usually, it starts with a misunderstanding, an attempt at love, a hand reaching out to simply ask a question.

"Because Astarion, it's my house too!"

Full names, no more sweets and doves. Throwing words around like rocks, glass bottles breaking on countertops, shards, shattering.

"Yes, our house, I thought that's what you wanted? Or was I mistaken when you pleaded with me, saying you wanted this forever."

Questions lose answers, no longer searching for love, just words to defend yourself with. When the friend becomes the enemy and your throat closes up with grief, what do you do other than fight back?

"I wanted a house that at least had some semblance of looking like a house, not just your shit everywhere!"

Wounds that run deep, that need to hold onto every little thing he finds, your home decorated with the most meaningless items, things that mean everything to him. To you they're knick-knacks, some of them even garbage, and that hoarder's mentality drives you mad. The argument was so incredibly stupid, easily solved, but it's impossible to be peaceful when you never get time apart.

"Well, why don't I just take my things and leave then?"

And there he goes, escalating when he feels cornered.

"Oh right, and go where Astarion? Go burn to a crisp in the sunlight, or maybe hide in an alleyway somewhere? I'm sure that'll be so much better than living with me!"

Poking the bear, as you do when you're stressed. You know he hates the fact that he's lost the sunlight, cursed to be in a wooden box with blackout curtains.

"I'm sure you'd love that, if I just disappeared right?"

Deflecting, but also wrapping himself in insecurity. It's a test, a trick question, a puzzle.

"At least I'd have some room in this fucking house to do anything without tripping over all your useless 'treasures.'"

From trying to understand to going on the prowl for hatred, you've reached a point of no return.

"Why do you even care Tav, I just like having things! Is that so much to ask? Are they not allowed to mean something to me?"

"Not if you collect them like ex-lovers!"

Astarion opens his mouth to say something else, but trembles. Now you've done it, gone too far. He scoffs, tears leaving his eyes.

"Well then perhaps I should have another."

It's late, the stars dotting the sky like scars from teeth, allowing the vampire to storm out of the house, slamming the door. You begin to cry as well, knowing you shouldn't have said that, knowing you didn't really mean it. You're just frustrated, the stuff scattered everywhere is overwhelming, and you just don't get why it matters.

When Astarion leaves, he knows he only has a couple of hours to cool off, to think things through. It's infuriating at times, being so chained to one place, after getting to explore the world for months on end. He wasn't allowed to have things with Cazador, not anything that was his own. After the nautiloid crash, he started grabbing everything he could get his hands on. Jewelry, pretty fabrics, anything that could possibly mean anything. Now he's stuck in one place again, but a place where he can finally store all those little finds, a nice-feeling rock, a bottle that reminds him of a night stroll the two of you took. It's a comfort in a scary transition, to be allowed to keep something, anything.

While you're thinking of where he's gone, you look around at all the things Astarion has piled up on the coffee table. A couple rolls of thread from the market, ones he hasn't even started to use, a stack of books he'll probably take forever to finally read. You go through these items forever, trying to organize all the little things he's left around the place, filling drawers with memories you didn't realize were important. After clearing out most of the things in the living room, you find a small, poorly crafted ring. It's heavily scratched, but has an inscription on the inside. Your mind floods with the magical feeling of the grove, and Astarion pocketing this ring after showing the young tiefling child a magic trick. Back then, his intentions were just to show the child that your things can get snatched up so easily, but he slowly began to believe it was lucky, just as the kid said. You meditate on the thought, realizing these items, they're all either moments or possibilities. The front door opens.

Somber steps, the sound of his dagger being placed on the nearby table. You turn around and walk towards him, wrapping your arms around each other.

"I'm sorry."

You manage to choke out.

"It's alright darling, I'm being ridiculous."

You shake your head, breaking the embrace.

"No, no you're not. I was going through all of this, all of this stuff, and you're right. It all means something."

"Stupid meanings though. It's all fear Tav, fear I'm going to forget, fear I'm going to lose everything I have."

"That's okay, it's okay to be scared."

You show him the tiefling's ring.

"But we don't have to be scared anymore. We have luck on our side, right?"

He laughs, fiddling with the silly scratched-up band.

"You remember this?"

You nod.

"Of course I remember. I still don't know how you did that trick."

"A magician never tells."

You both laugh, still crying

"Gods, I thought you were so annoying."

"Well apparently I still am if you had to take that heavy of a jab at my past."

You frown.

"I-"

"I know you didn't mean it love, but we can't just say things we don't mean to get a rise out of each other."

He's become better at being the voice of reason, growing, changing.

"It's just so overwhelming sometimes. I know you're new at this whole, living a domestic life thing, but I just want to have a say in our space. That's all."

"I know, I hear you and I respect that. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have made our space my space."

"I'm fine with all your keepsakes, but can we just organize them? Have a space for all your little treasures and such?"

"We do still have that extra room upstairs."

You push him.

"That's supposed to be another guest room!"

"Do we really need that many guest rooms?"

The two of you giggle to yourselves.

"You know if we can't host all our friends at once, they will throw a fit."

"Well, I'll find some way to give you some more space. I never wanted to make you feel suffocated."

You look into each other's eyes for a moment, seeing that spark again, finding that love bubble back up. Saying things you don't mean, meaning things you don't say, it's all so new to both of you.

"I know my love, I know."

You hold each other by the doorway for a while, mumbling about how to make this space work for the both of you, how when you start raising your voices, you need to just step away and rethink it. Learning to love, to truly love, to exist as one, it's such a struggle, but a worthwhile cause. After all, there's no one else you'd rather fight with.

[dashofmonsters]

Dreamers & Delusions- Pt. 1

Male Merman x Female Reader

You didn't like the idea of moving to another state and having to have a new life, but you hated the idea of staying even more so. There was nothing left for you but misery and you were just so tired of it.

When you moved to the west coast to live with your grandmother things seemed different. For the first few months there you felt like you could finally breathe, but that was short lived. Little by little things started to get worse.

First your grandmother kept making little snide remarks about your lack of interest in you not wearing make up. Then your job at the local diner had you working double shifts on the weekend. Your ex blasts some stupid shit about your break up all over social media and two of your close friends ghost you. Oh and then you discover a beautiful little slice of beach.

The last one wouldn't be so bad you tell yourself, if it wasn't for the same old stalking creeps who bother you at work. The only bright side was the mean mugging merman lifeguard who was built like a fucking god and had the attitude to back it up. In short, he's an asshole. But you know the difference between the good, the bad, and I'm just doing my job assholes and he's a weird mix of all three.

At first going to the beach was like free therapy for you. You could relax and get away from your judgmental grandmother and the creepy customers from the diner, it was like heaven. But just like moving here, things got worse over time. Somehow your three stalkers found your slice of heaven. Somehow you couldn't get far enough away from them. Somehow the beach became another slice of hell.

So you decided to sit as close as possible to the lifeguard when you wanted to lounge or swim out as far as possible. And that seemed to work, until today.

"Come on, I'm just asking you to have dinner with me," Kevin hovers over you, his arms crossed like an indignant child.

"For the last time man she's obviously not interested in an asshat like you. She'd rather go for drinks with me," Martin chimes in, his overly tattooed body stinking of cheap cologne and lack of deodorant.

"You two are fucked if you think she's going with either of you. She needs a real man, someone who can take care of her," Sam pushes the two aside and kneels down next two you. "Ain't that right sugar?" The accent, nickname, and bad breath nearly combined has you retching.

That response unfortunately spurred an impromptu fist fight. Kevin and Martin started wailing on Sam and then Sam the fuckboy threw punches filled with sand and Martin got punch so hard he moaned which made Sam hit him below the belt and the-

"I SAID ENOUGH!"

The scene died immediately. The nearly seven or eight foot tall merman lifeguard prowled towards the three idiots and parted them like they were curtains. Sam was the first to flee followed by Martin and Kevin who kicked up a ton of sand as the skedaddled towards the parking lot.

Mr. Asshole lifeguard stares you down hard now, his yellow eyes burning into you.

"Why is it whenever you're on my beach those three headaches are sure to follow?" he asks, very very pissed off.

You've had a similar question come up at work whenever those three would cause a ruckus on your shifts.

You roll your eyes, "Unfortunately some guys don't understand the definition of the word 'No'."

"So that means they have to follow you around like a group of parasites trying to latch at fresh meat?" he asks.

His question throws you off so much and the image it implies makes you giggle.

He's a merman from another realm who's acclimating, I should cut him some slack.

"That uh isn't too far from the truth but in all honesty, they're trying to bother me so much that I eventually have to say yes just to get them to stop bothering me," you explain.

The lifeguard crosses his arms and looks to the ground in serious contemplation before looking back up to you.

"And is this normal courting behavior," he asks.

"Unfortunately it is for some, but it's bad and wrong. For me it's annoying and I get no peace. They bothered me at work and now they bother me here when all I want to do is relax," you sigh, feeling oddly relieved to have gotten this off your chest albeit in an educational way.

"I see," he nods. "So you are not attracted to those parasites?"

"Not. At. All." you nod back.

"Noted," he grimaces and turns to walk back to the guard tower.

"Hey wait! What's your name?" you call out.

"It's Tao," he says, stilling walking towards his destination.

You smile and shout your name back to him but instead of dismissing you like you thought he would he waves back before ascending up the tower.

So it's Mr. Tao, mean mugging asshole lifeguard and crusher of parasites.

~~~~~~~~~

Things seemed calm for the first few days after Tao broke up the fight between the creeps. They didn't pop up at the diner nor at the beach but you still kept close to the guard tower. Well as close as Tao allowed it. He gave you a strong lecture that you needed to sit at least seven feet away from the tower for safety reasons.

Your grandmother even relaxed on her remarks for a little bit but moved from makeup to your weight. Something about working with food adding some extra pounds. It was a new hurt, but you'd numb to it eventually.

Getting numb was your specialty at this point.

And somehow finding new ways to bother Tao, though that was more unintentional. At first it was the sitting too close to the tower, then it was swimming without suntan lotion even though it was cloudy. Then it was not having an umbrella for shade which he oddly enough provided one for you a day later along with a lecture and a half. It would have been super annoying to anyone else but you found it oddly cute.

He'd henpeck at some of the parents over their kids running amuck or scold some of the too rowdy teenagers but no one could say that this guy didn't take his job seriously. No one got hurt or even so much as sunburnt under his watch.

Until they came back.

You had worked a long ass shift Sunday and all you wanted was to go to the beach and lounge. It was a short walk from your grandmother's house and you always enjoyed tuning the world out on that little trek.

It wasn't sunny but it wasn't too cloudy either. It was the perfect day to take a nice beach nap, watch a couple episodes of your favorite cooking shows, and maybe bother your favorite lifeguard for a bit of suntan lotion that you seem to keep forgetting.

You saunter down to the beach and lay out your favorite tie dye towel and stretch. Scanning the scene you notice that it'll be a very very calm day, that is since it's a Monday after all.

As you're about to walk over to the guard tower a familiar and annoying voice stops you.

"Hey babe, it's been a while!"

Ughhh Sam.

You ignore him and keep heading towards the tower. You hear him run towards you so you pick up the pace but are dragged back as he catches your arm.

"It's fucking rude to ignore someone talking to you," Sam spins you around and holds you in place.

"Like you'd fucking listen you fucking parasite. How many times do I have to say no or I'm not interested for you to get it through your thick fucking skull you goddamn idiot!" you yell at him, hoping Tao will hear.

Sam shakes you before jerking you around, "A pretty thing like you shouldn't be talking like that, come on and be sweet."

You start kicking your legs and land squirming violently before headbutting Sam as hard as you can right into his nose. He curses but doesn't let go so you decide to go to bite his hand until you're suddenly being ripped out of his arms.

Thinking it might be Tao you turn to smile only to be assaulted with that nasty cheap cologne smell. You grimace and try to pull away from Martin only to get yanked away by Kevin.

To his credit, Kevin doesn't hold on tight and he actually turns his back to the others before they try to continue their game of tug-a-war with you.

Sam kicks Kevin in the shin but somehow Kevin is able to stand long enough to push you in the direction of the tower. Without saying anything he turns and decks Sam in the face. You're frozen in horror for a moment then turn to run to the tower only to be met with a brick wall called Tao.

"I see the parasites are back on my beach," he seethes before looking you over. He looks furious.

Before you have a chance to say anything he stomps over and grabs Sam by his neck and hoists him in the air. Kevin and Martin fall back on their asses before scrambling to get out of the way.

"When someone says no, they mean no. It is not an invitation to continue your inappropriate courting behavior," Tao tightens his grip around Sam's neck.

"F-fffuck you fish boy. I will get you fucki-ing deported for this! I saw er first," Sam grits as he flails about, face turning all sorts of shades of red.

Tao tosses him to the ground like a ragdoll and before Sam can catch his breath, Tao holds him down by just a foot alone. He kneels down till his knee is almost digging into Sam's throat and says something that makes that asshat still.

You feel your heart still when Tao turns to you and beckons you over. Taking little steps at a time as your feet feel like lead you come to a stop next to Tao and Sam.

Sam is pale as a piece of printer paper.

"Tell her," Tao snaps at Sam.

"I-I-I am sorry. I won't bother you here or at the diner again. I promise you'll never see me again," Sam stutters and shakes like a leaf in a hurricane.

"And?" Tao presses.

"I-I'm a lowly parasite unworthy of your time and presence," he cries.

Tao nods then looks to you, "Anything you want to add?"

You're taken back by the soft look on his hard face. His eyes look worried even though his expression is still pissy offy.

You shake your head and cross your arms to hold yourself.

Tao moves off of Sam and forces him up and threatens to call the cops if he ever shows his ugly face on his beach again. Sam quickly scampers away, tripping several times as he makes his way to the parking lot.

There's a strange numbing feeling building in your chest that is suddenly washed away when Tao gently touches your shoulder.

"Come on, let me go look over those wounds," he nods towards the tower.

All you can do is follow him silently, still shocked about what just happened. You're so used to just going with the flow, dealing with whatever life gives you and fighting when you can. You've never had anyone come to your rescue. Not once.

"I have something that will clean the cuts where they got you with their fingernails and some band-aids. Unfortunately there will still be some bruising from when they were tugging at you," he says, a tinge of regret in his voice.

He leads you to the steps of the tower an has you sit down while he climbs up and grabs his first aid kit. You silently let him fuss over you as you try your best not to cry. Even though it's his job it's the first time anyone has treated you with this much kindness in a long while.

"Thank you," you mutter, finding it hard to speak.

Tao sighs and rubs some more antiseptic ointment on your arm, "I had thought my last conversation with those three would have been the last. Those males really are thick in the skull... I'm sorry."

"Don't be, you still came to my rescue," you try and smile but a stupid tear slips down.

Tao stills his hand, "Did that hurt?"

You shake your head, "No no, just uh got some sand in my eye. I'm fine."

He glares at you but sighs, "Alright then. Try and stay out of trouble and for the love of the goddesses please tell me if those parasites bother you again, in fact tell me if anyone bothers you while on my beach."

"Why?" you ask, feeling a bit strange that he'd go that far for your safety.

"Why?" he repeats, almost not sure of himself. "Because I like peace and you come here bringing chaos, more so than the kids whose parents are stuck to their devices or the teens who shoulder fight in the ocean."

"You mean chicken?" you ask, trying not to laugh.

"Whatever it's called! You humans have a major lack of self preservation and it's a wonder you've lasted this long," Tao stands, sounding frustrated as hell.

You dust yourself off and stand up too, "Well it's a good thing you're here then Mr. lifeguard... Because if it wasn't for you-"

You cut yourself off when the realization finally dawns on you. If it wasn't for Tao, things could have gotten a lot worse, you could have been hurt or dragged off the beach.

"If you weren't here, I might have been hurt a lot worse than just some bruises and cuts," you finish.

"If I got to you sooner you wouldn't be hurt at all," he replies, his face riddled with guilt.

"Yes well, what happened happened but you still saved me so stop blaming yourself for something that was out of your control dammit, " you kick some sand in his direction making him roll his eyes.

"You are too forgiving and far too kind for your own good," he shakes his head.

Too forgiving? No, he did nothing wrong. Too kind, maybe. You always hated confrontation when you could avoid it so you just smiled through things and mustered on. What was the point in getting upset when anger never solved anything.

"You might be right about the kindness thing, but forgiving," you pause to laugh. "I wouldn't say I'm forgiving at all, probably more spiteful if anything."

Yeah that felt right but not in the correct way. If you were going to prove a point it was usually in the worst way possible.

"Noted," Tao raises a jet black brow. He has such an interesting look with his tan skin and white hair with black streaks on one side. It was like if a Hollywood action star and a kpop idol had a baby or something. He has black bands on his arms that start right after his shoulders and stop right above the elbow. His hair is slicked back most of the time but right now it's messed up from his one sided fight with Sam.

"So uh, I'm just going to go back over there and do what I was going to do and relax," you give him your most nervous goofy grin.

Tao, in his ever so Taoness just nods.

~~~~~

True to his word you never saw Sam at the diner again or Martin, but Kevin did come by ever so often. Kevin was less on the creep side now, apparently very very sorry for his behavior and how he made you feel uncomfortable.

It didn't excuse what he did even though he tipped extra now to make up for it whenever he did come in.

Your grandmother though started to get worse again. From your make up, to your weight, and now your resistance to wearing booty shorts to catch a man's eye.

"I'm not going to wear it and that's final. I told you time and time again I'm not comfortable wearing shit like that," you raise your arms and try to stomp off.

"You ungrateful bitch are you afraid of looking like a slut? There are models and actresses who wear this! Are you slut shaming them," your grandmother shouts at you as she practically walks on your heals.

"God no! I just don't want to wear! Can we just drop it please," you beg her.

"I'll drop it once you try it on and walk outside in it for awhile," she tosses the shorts at you and crosses her arms.

"FUCK. NO." you crumple them up and toss them back at her feet.

"You're supposed to humor me remember? That was part of our deal for you to live here," she crinkles her face and slaps your arms.

You crumple back a bit and bite your cheek as you curse yourself for ever agreeing to live with her.

"Not at the expense of my comfort. I'm not your fucking dress up doll," you say through your teeth.

"You're insufferable, fine we'll make a trade deal. Don't humor me, but you owe rent now. two hundred a month. I believe that's more than fair," she throws up her hands and kicks the shorts to the side.

"Fine, that's fine. I can do that much," you exhale in relief. "I gotta get ready for work ok?"

"Yes yes and... I'm sorry, you know I get hot real easy. It's why I'm alone. I just don't want you to be. I just want you to be happy and well," she sighs and picks up the shorts.

"I know," you respond, the numbness starting to set in at her very stereotypical response.

"I love you," she coos as she forces you into a hug.

You give her a limp hug so she won't have something else to bitch about and tell her you love her too.

She's always like this after you two fight, so loving, so caring like she used to be when you were a little kid. She's changed to much after granpop cheated on her. No one saw it coming, they had such a great relationship but that was just what they showed everyone. In private, they both ran hot and your granpop was no saint. He cheated since the dawn of their marriage, he just didn't get caught until ten years ago.

Ever since that happened you tried to keep yourself better guarded so you wouldn't have to hurt like your grandmother. Unfortunately you're a hopeless romantic with a record of getting your heart broken very easily. That's part of the reason for the drastic move.

~~~~~

"Fuck I hate these dead shifts," you groan as you clean your section for the third time this evening.

"Enjoy it while it lasts sweetheart. Once summer hits, you'll be begging for a dead shift," Denise says as she lounges against the door to the kitchen.

"I know, I barely survived the ass end of it," you roll your eyes.

Working here was a breeze to be honest, but working under Mikey the shift manager was hell. He loves playing Russian Roulette with shifts, especially close to holidays or birthdays. Jessica bitched him out so bad in front of everyone that if he scheduled her on her birthday or her son's birthday one more time she would burn this place to the ground.

Needless to say when your ex-wife raises hell to a full diner, you listen.

You've stuck onto her like glue ever since, you needed an angel here.

"Any plans after you cut out," she asks.

Oh yeah, you have plans. Change and skip your happy ass down to visit your favorite lifeguard. You can't help but smile at the thought.

"Mmm you do have plans," she grins back and wriggles her drawn on brows.

"It's not like that," you roll your eyes.

Yes Tao is attractive but you hardly know him. He's nice and predictable. Safe and just wants things to be at peace. He's someone you respect for that for sure, but you can't see yourself crushing over him. It would ruin the faint friendship you've slowly but surely built with him.

"It really isn't it. He's like you. The only other friend I have here and I don't need more than that right now," you explain.

She gives you a sad smile and nods, "I know baby girl, you're still resetting from all that bullshit."

Jessica is the only one who really knows your situation as you spilled your heart out to her a couple weeks ago after she took you out for drinks for your birthday. She held you and patted your head as you ugly cried for a solid hour.

"How about you, anything new and exciting," you quickly change the topic and Jessica beams.

"Oh you know, just a little date with Mr. Perfect," she grins.

"This will be date number five Jes, you're really serious about him aren't you," you tease.

She crosses her arms and tosses her hip a bit and smiles, "Listen, if you asked me a few years ago if I ever saw myself dating a wild fae with a beard that would make every biker in the states jealous then I'd say you're crazy. But here I am, about to go on my fifth date with my wild man and I'm as happy as a bee in a bouquet."

She goes over her past dates with you until Mikey interrupts saying that you both need to get back to work. His interference was cut short by Jessica poking him in the chest and lecturing him about how there's no reason for the diner to be fully staffed during a dead shift and got the both of you off hours early.

"There will come a day when neither of us have to come back to this shithole ran by assholes. Just assume that if I never return that I got swept off my feet to the fae wilds to have crazy hot wild fae sex everyday," she laughs as she shimmies into her leather jacket and lights a smoke away from you.

"And if I never return, assume that I magically saved up enough to start my own restaurant," you smile back.

That's been the big dream. A small tapas style restaurant that catered to humans and the fair folk. There are so few establishments opened that cater to their palettes and it's not fair. Food brings people together and you see it as a great way to mix the fair folk into your world. Problem is, you don't know a lot of fair folk aside from Tao.

Suddenly the lightbulb in your head goes off.

"That's it," you say under your breath before hugging Jessica goodbye and running towards the beach.

I can ask him what he likes to eat and start from there. This is doable! I just hope he doesn't mind playing a million questions.

~~~~~~~~~

"Hey Tao, are you up there?" you shout as you round the tower.

Without so much as a word Tao drops with a sandy thud.

"What did you forget now? It's too dark for sunscreen and too warm for a shawl. Water perhaps?" he guesses and turns to climb back up the tower but you quickly stop him.

"No no, none of that. I uh um... What do merfolk like to eat?" you ask.

"Why do you want to know? Is a male courting you or something?" he asks back.

"What? No no. It's just that one day I want to run a restaurant that serves food for the fair folk and you're the only one I know so...," you shrug to him and he blushes.

This big ass god like brick wall just blushed?

"Ah, I see," he clears his throat. "Well in that case I can create a detailed list of ingredients and dishes that suit a saltwater diet."

"That... That would actually be amazingly helpful. Wow... Thank you!" you grin but then remember that thing about courting.

"So what was that thing you meant when you asked if I was being courted?" you raise a brow.

Tao's eyes go wide and he has this nervous look on his face that you've never seen before. "It's uh, customary for the males of my kind to present a feast to a female they are courting. Usually a female has many suiters and picks whoever has the most impressive spread the privilege to continue courting her."

"Oh, that's interesting. I haven't heard much on mer culture and traditions so this is new to me. I'm sorry if the question made you uncomfortable," you apologize.

"No, no. It's just that no one has asked or even seemed a bit interested in my people's ways. They're just interested in me," Tao waves up and down to himself.

"Well if they were truly interested in you, they'd try to get to know you," you cross your arms, upset for him.

Tao nods and you can tell he's thinking really really hard about something until he shakes his head.

"How can you tell if someone is wanting to get to know you for reasons other than trying to get me to their... uh what is the human word for nest again," he snaps his fingers trying to think.

"Bed?" you ask.

"That's it, how would I know," he repeats.

"Hmm, that can be a tough one. Some people will really put in a lot of effort to make you think that they care when they just one a night of fun. Some will check in on you everyday till they finally get you into their bed and ditch you when they're done," you explain.

Tao looks disgusted, "And this too is normal behavior?"

"For the people who just want a good time and don't give a rats ass about someone's feeling, yes," you grimace.

"Is this from your personal experience or observation," he asks.

Tao's famous curveball question hits you right in the gut. You look away from him and hold yourself for a moment as the numbness builds.

"Yes," is all you manage to say.

"I am sorry. It seems my question was insensitive," he bows.

"It's fine, you're just curious. I'd rather help you not make the same mistakes that I had to. You're like the only other friend I have here," you admit.

Tao looks shocked when you say that, like you slapped him with a wet towel.

"You consider me a friend?" he finally asks after a long moment of silence.

Shifting a bit in the sand you bite your cheek and nod, "You're the only guy friend I have. I feel safe when I'm at the beach and you don't make me feel uncomfortable at all. I just... some things are hard for me to talk about ok?"

He nods and although his expression doesn't change much, there's a brightness in his eyes you've never seen.

"Is that ok? I mean if it's against your culture I understand it can be o-"

"No, it's alright. I just didn't think a human would want to be friends with me," he run his hand through his hair and stares at the ground.

"Well, I mean you do mean mug just about everyone you talk to but I know deep down you're probably just being on your guard and it's hard to be nice sometimes," you tell him.

"I see, so not being expressive keeps people away? Hmm what could remedy this without me having to give up my uh... mean mug," Tao cocks his head and crosses his arms.

"I'm not sure. Most people tend to like it when you're more welcoming and less upset looking all the time. Is your stoicism like some cultural thing?" you ask in turn. Turns out Tao is playing a million questions with you now.

"Yes. Typically we're only expressive with close friends, family, and our mates. They're the only ones who are supposed to see your true face," he replies.

"That actually sound reasonable and nice," you smile.

"Do humans not have something like that," he settles against the tower later, full into the conversation now.

"Yes and no. Some of us rely more on friends than family and vice versa. Some will rely on their mates alone if their family or friends aren't available. It can be all sorts of combinations really," you shrugs and lean against one of the pillars holding up the tower.

Tao looks up thoughtfully before his gaze settles out towards the ocean. There's a comfortable quiet between the two of you as the sun sets behind a cluster of grey clouds.

"Looks like rain," you comment.

"It's been smelling like a set of storms all week. Probably about to usher in some cold weather," Tao sniffs the air and sighs.

"Not a fan of the cold?" you shift in the sand and turn a little more towards Tao.

He shakes his head, "I grew up in a much warmer climate. If it ever got too cold we would sleep in our clusters or migrate. I can't do either here so I've just been adding more layers to my nest with every paycheck I get and buying the warmest clothes that fit me."

"I gotchya. I like some good mild weather myself. Not too hot or cold. By the way what will you do once winter hits? Beaches are usually closed once winter hits," you ask, realizing you might have to find another safe haven of sanity during that time.

"I'm not too sure, I haven't given it much thought," he admits. "At least I have a little time to consider a winter job so I don't have to hibernate."

"Yeah that would be... wait what?"

Part. 2>