#loosely ballroom | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aeyumicore · 1 month

Text

☾ .⭒˚ the sixth of march ♡ rafayel birthday special

☾ .⭒˚ genre: smut, porn with very little plot

⋆.˚ ☾ word count: 5.09k

☾ .⭒˚ content warning: mdni, semi-public bathroom sex, switch!raf, whiny!raf, semi-public sex, mirror sex, oral sex m!receiving, face/throat fucking, standing sex, hitting it from the back, creampies, cum swallowing, cum in panties, birthday sex, leaking cum in public, please let me know if i missed anything!

☾ .⭒˚ a/n: it’s our little fishy’s birthday! happy birthday rafayel! <3 short lil (lol 5k words short) smut for our precious raf’s birthday. idk why i always end up having raf x y/n sex be in the bathroom its purely coincidental LOL

please note that this is NOT based on his birthday event story OR the birthday event card. It might be somewhat similar but i wrote it entirely separately. If there’s any resemblance its purely coincidental, so don’t expect this fic to be accurate to the event!

as always pls enjoy :) also come interact with me on twit @/aeyumicore

⋆.˚ ☾ 18+ only ☾ .⭒˚ minors dni ⋆.˚ ☾ 18+ only ☾ .⭒˚ minors dni ⋆.˚ ☾ 18+ only ☾ .⭒˚

“bruschetta, miss?”

your head snaps to the politely smiling waiter in front of you, holding a tray of the most delicious glistening bread bites, topped with vibrant red cherry tomatoes and fresh green basil.

“no, thank you,” you decline politely, having had your fill of the endless lavish hors d'oeuvres at the birthday party you’d put together for rafayel. instead, you let your eyes wander back to the highly in-demand purple haired birthday boy across the sea of random people you didn't know, and honestly you weren’t sure rafayel knew them either.

you’d originally wanted something quaint and intimate for rafayel’s 25th birthday, but thanks to thomas it’d turned into a huge elaborate party with business partners, sponsors, and just so many important industry contacts. the guest list spun out of control so fast, until it became a full blown business event.

honestly, you felt so terrible. you knew this is not what rafayel wanted for his birthday, but he was being an incredibly good sport about it, making polite conversation with every single person that approached him. which was extremely unlike him, and that scared you even more. besides the brief embrace you’d shared when he’d arrived, you hadn't had the chance to spend any time with him tonight.

so, like you had the rest of the night, you stared at him from across the ballroom floor, admiring him from afar. he was so unfairly dashing in his white jacket adorned with a gold leafed lapel chain that matched the stars and moon that hung off his golden waist chain. his black tie hung loosely against his hard chest, contrasting beautifully against the shining white pearls on his lapel.

he’d picked out and gifted you a matching dress for you to wear, and had a driver deliver it to you this morning. it was nothing short of art itself, an extravagant golden a-line tulle evening gown with an expensive sequin and pearl applique that mirrored the starry night sky. the strapless sweetheart neckline pushed your cleavage up as the high slit exposed your bare legs, leaving you feeling beautiful and confident, something rafayel always knew how to do.

rafayel looks up from the undoubtedly very rich and important man he’d been talking to, and catches your stare from across the room. his lips don’t quirk, still caught in his conversation, but his eyes sparkle as they drink you in, the corners crinkling in their own little smile.

you grin back at him, raising the glass of champagne you’d been holding onto for the entire night, and taking a languid gulp. as you lower the glass, you purposely let a droplet drip down your chin, using your index finger to catch it and bringing it up to your tongue to lick it off.

even from yards away, you can see rafayel’s eyes darken and his neck bob with a gulp. you watch as he falters in his words, trying to steel himself back into his conversation. chuckling to yourself, you turn away from him to give a brief reprieve of your teasing.

the champagne lights your face ablaze, so you decide to run to the bathroom to touch up before your makeup starts melting off. you weave through the hordes of elegantly dressed guests, slightly in shock of how many people showed up to celebrate rafayel. or at least showed up to get in his good graces.

the banquet hall you’d booked was expensive and intricate, and the bathrooms were no different. as you slipped into the single unisex washroom you barely noticed as rafayel slipped in behind you before you could let the door shut fully.

you yelped in surprise as he followed you into the single stall bathroom, but the alarm dissipated when you realized it was him and not some random stranger.

“rafayel!” you reprimanded, pushing the door shut behind him so as to make sure no prying eyes caught the two of you, “what are you doing?!”

rafayel doesn’t respond, instead capturing you in his embrace, his hands settling around the small of your back as he pulls you tightly into his hard body.

“you shouldn’t tease me all night, it’s not very nice,” he hums, playing with a curled lock of hair against your cheek.

you feign innocence, eyes widening and head cocking to the side, “what am i doing?”

rafayel pouts, his cheeks rosy under the fluorescent bathroom lights, “it’s my birthday, you should be nicer to me.” he tucks the strand of hair he’d been playing with behind your ear.

“i haven’t gotten to see you, all night,” he sulks, his voice tinged with a sharp whine.

you can’t help but giggle at his childish behavior and tease him a bit, “but you were looking at me just earlier!”

he grumbles, thoroughly unamused, “you know that’s not what i mean.”

you sigh and let yourself melt into his hold, your arms wrapping around him in return, “i know, i’m sorry raf. this was supposed to be small, just you, me, and some friends. it got out of control so fast.”

he continues with his pouty tirade. “it’s my birthday,” he whines, burying his face deep into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, “and i don’t even get to enjoy the only thing i want.”

he pulls away so he can admire you again, this time right before his hungry and waiting eyes like he should’ve been able to. his gaze devours every inch of you, from the exposed and flushed skin to the way the dress hugs your figure in all the right ways.

“i miss you,” he complains, eyes still drinking you in and hands tight against your waist.

“m’sorry raf,” you murmur, dusting his purple locks away from his eyes, “i missed you too.”

he sighs dramatically, “i don’t want to talk to any more of those old farts. especially when you look like this right across the room.”

“it’s a beautiful dress. i didn’t have the opportunity to thank you for it yet,” you mumble bashfully, suddenly nervous under his scrutinizing stare.

“i knew you would look exquisite in it,” he grumbles, “but i thought i would be able to spend my night admiring it on you. and off you.”

and though you can tell rafayel is half joking, you can’t help but feel bad that you’re partly to blame for him having to spend his birthday like this, with people who wanted his attention for their own personal selfish reasons.

“i’m sorry babe, it’ll be over soon. i’ll make it up to you, i promise!”

sighing deeply and theatrically again, “how will you make it up to me? i only get one birthday a year, you know?”

you get a mischievous and filthy idea. your hands travel from his back to his abdomen, pushing slightly to create space between your bodies. he eyes you curiously, but lets you continue. as your hands travel further south, undoing the intricate latch of his expensive belt, his eyes widen.

“h-hey! what are you doing?!”

as you get down onto your knees, pulling his pants down with you in your descent, you look up at him through your eyelashes, batting them earnestly, “my birthday boy is unhappy, and we can’t have that can we?” though the bathroom is spotless, the tiled floor likely cleaner than your own bathroom, you’re careful to bunch the beautiful gown up and hold it above your calves, as best as you can.

“i can just give you one of your birthday gifts right now,” you murmur, “but you’ll have to wait until we’re home to unwrap the rest.”

rafayel only gulps in response, his cheeks and earlobes slowly turning crimson as he’s left standing in just his briefs. mesmerized, you watch as his erection lifts against the restraint of his underwear, grasping the base with your fingers and reveling in the way he whimpers into the brisk bathroom air.

you rest your lips against the tent in his briefs, licking at his length against the clothing. he hisses, hands finding purchase in the sink behind him to ground himself against your teasing licks. you keep your eyes glued to his, batting your eyelashes as you take his cock out. as the cold clean air of the bathroom hits him, he sucks in another sharp breath, gripping the sink almost painfully.

rafayel has to remind himself how to breathe as he watches your beautiful eyes widen as you lick at the copious amounts of pre cum dripping down his length and onto his briefs.

“h-holy shit,” he wheezes out, throwing his head back as your tongue skillfully maneuvers over his glistening bulbous head, the skin pink and angry, demanding attention. you take him fully into your mouth, moaning at the taste of his slick filling your senses. rafayel whines and twitches at the vibrations of your mouth, trying desperately to keep from busting his load into your mouth right there.

you tease him dutifully, only letting his cock enter your mouth, not taking him into your throat just yet. a mess of whimpers and moans, rafayel holds himself back from forcing his length down into your warm and waiting throat, like you’d let him so many times before. the sight of you, all done up in the beautiful golden gown he’d personally picked for you, on your knees for him, drove him insane, but he wanted to be a good boy for you.

“baby,” he whimpers, beautiful sobs breaking out from his mouth, “you feel so g-good.”

your mouth bobs up and down earnestly at his praises, and he’s being so good for you you want to reward him. but your hands are busy holding up your dress from falling to the bathroom floor which makes it difficult for you to service his entire impressive length. so instead, you use one hand to bring each of his palms into your curled hair. luckily you’d worn your hair down in tousled waves so you were able to easily thread his fingers into them, urging him to grip onto you.

you hold his hand there until he gets the message of what you’re asking him to do, or rather giving him permission to do, and he hardens further with excitement. his fingers tighten at your scalp as he begins to fuck into your mouth, eyes rolling back at the feel of your thick lips against the veins of his cock.

“hah – you’re so good to me,” he pants, pelvis fervently hitting your mouth as you do your best to relax your throat and take him as deeply as possible. he continues to babble, “f-fuck feels so good baby, i-i can’t stop.” he handles you roughly, hands tight and pace unrelenting, but you absolutely love when he’s this demanding with you.

you moan at his words, feeling yourself dampen in your panties, trying to let the vibrations hit him when he’s as deep as possible. you use your tongue to stroke the vein on the underside of his shaft, wanting to see your birthday boy come undone just for you. he bucks excitedly into your mouth, absolutely lost in the way your mouth attempts to accommodate every inch of him.

“you take me so fucking well,” he whines, still fucking vigorously into your mouth, “your mouth was made for me to fuck, my perfect girl.”

rafayel’s vision blacks as you gulp around him, your throat constricting impossibly tight against his cock. the sounds of your guttural choking drive him to the edge, and when he looks down to see tears running down your gorgeous face and drool trailing down your chin, his erection lurches with the need to release deep down your throat.

“m’gonna cum baby,” he warns, “you can take it all right? you can, you will.”

you hum in response, and the vibrations send him over the edge. with his hands intertwined in your hair, rafayel lets out a strangled moan as he absolutely explodes into your waiting mouth.

you do your best not to choke on the sheer amount of cum he releases, the sweet-salty taste blinding all your senses. you lick his cock diligently, working him through his climax, and savoring every last drop of his essence.

he twitches with overstimulation inside your mouth, but still painfully hard. you release him and gasp for air, as stray rivulets of cum streak down your chin. rafayel bends down to lift you up off your knees, mesmerized by the fucked out look on your face, even though he’d only ravished your mouth.

“that was incredible, you are incredible. i wasn’t too rough was i?” he inspects your face carefully, wiping a tear off your cheek.

“you weren’t,” you reassured with a smile, turning to the mirror and sink behind him.

“is your birthday night slightly better now?” you tease, fixing your appearance in the mirror. you wash the spit and cum from your chin, and then dab carefully at the dark smudges of makeup smeared under your eyes.

“i want my other gift now,” rafayel mumbles, coming up behind you and moving your dress to the side so that the slit parts and exposes the back of your thighs.

“h-here?” you ask in disbelief, as if you didn’t just suck him off. but your risque streak had evaporated as fast as it had come, and now you quivered at the idea of having sex in this private, but still public, bathroom, with dozens of people outside likely looking for the artist himself.

“can i please?” he pouts, and you can see his begging eyes behind you in the mirror, “it’s still my birthday for another few hours.” his hands fiddle with your dress impatiently, but still waiting for your consent nonetheless. “and i was so good tonight, talking to those people all night when all i wanted was to be with you.”

your heart squeezes at his adorable pleas. you can’t deny the way the idea of rafayel taking you in this shared public space has you leaking. the hungry longing in his eyes, masked by the adorable puppy eyes, makes you cave. you nod gently, and rafayel’s instantly on his knees, burying himself under the tulle of your dress.

you can feel rafayel pausing with his face close to your heat. “raf?” you whisper, breathless with anticipation.

“when did you buy these?” you realize he’s admiring your panties, part of a set you’d bought to surprise him for his birthday. you’d nearly forgotten you wore it under your dress, wanting him to unwrap you like a present after the party.

“happy birthday rafayel,” you giggle weakly, his breath fanning over your cunt, making you squirm. the purple haired artist is speechless under you, staring at the intricate embroidered sea stars and shells that adorned the turquoise semi sheer mesh, making it look like you were naked save for the beautiful applique.

“you’re telling me you were wearing this under the dress?” you can tell rafayel was on the edge of going feral just by admiring the little knit shells against your most delicate region. you shivered thinking about how’d he’d act when he’d see the matching bra, hopefully later tonight. his words came out strained, as he tried his best to keep himself level.

“it’s your birthday, and i wrapped myself up nicely for you,” you murmur, as you lean over the sink with your hands gripping the sides, waiting for him to finally do something. you almost want to step back and shove yourself into him, but you do your best to remain patient, letting him admire every inch of your lace clad cunt.

he swears, finally snapping out of his trance, “fuck, i will take my time with you later. right now i j-just need you.” you hiss as his fingers finally glaze over your no doubt glistening folds, the cold air nipping at your exposed and sensitive area. he pulls the intricate lace off of you, stuffing it into his pockets so as to not let them touch the floor.

you cry out when his lips find your dripping cunt, devouring you from behind. his strong fingers grip your ass, pulling your cheeks apart slightly to give him better access to his favorite dessert. like you yourself had earlier, he moans at the taste and his vibrations resonate straight to your g spot. your knees buckle at the pleasure, and you do your best to keep your moans muffled in case anyone was waiting outside the locked door.

rafayel fucks you with his tongue languidly, his hand reaching between your legs to rub at your throbbing nub. your eyes roll into your head, and you cover your mouth with the back of your hand, biting down to stop the scream from ripping out.

rafayel is unhappy with your muffled cries of ecstasy, wanting to hear you in full. he stands to his full height, leaving you whimpering at the loss of his warmth against your dripping pussy. he stands, incredibly tall behind you, leaning into your ear.

“you know i hate it when you hide your noises from me,” he whispers, lining up his hardened length against your hole, bending you over the sink.

“i-i don’t want anyone to h-hear,” you stutter, grinding yourself onto his cock, wanting to be filled.

rafayel rubs himself against you, gathering your slick and lathering it all over, “then i’ll just have to force them out of you, huh?” with that slight threat, he sheathes himself fully into you, you practically scream into your hand, except this time rafayel yanks your hand away, holding it behind your back firmly. your scream echoes against the walls of the bathroom, and you pray no one is outside the door. anyone within ten feet of the door would undoubtedly hear the lewd noises coming from inside the bathroom.

“let me hear you,” he purrs against your ear, thrusting slowly into your gummy walls. but still, you bite your lip, the idea of someone hearing you both mortifying and incredibly hot.

his thrusts are rough and demanding, making you bump into the cold surface of the sink. with rafayel’s other hand he grabs your chin between his fingers and holds it up so that your eyes level with the mirror in front of you.

“watch. watch me fuck you baby,” his voice is so charismatic you can’t help but obey him. your eyes meet his in the mirror, as you watch his face contort as he fucked into your womb. he smirks at you, hands leaving your face when he’s sure you won’t look away, to grip your waist. his large hands manhandled you so deliciously, using your body like a toy against his ravaging strokes.

watching rafayel’s cocky smile as he forced you to keep contact with his eyes through the mirror quickly drove you closer and closer to your climax, the excitement of it all unbearable. your moans echoed throughout the bathroom, the sounds of his pelvis hitting your ass deafening.

rafayel ravages you with the intent to make you absolutely lose your mind. he wants you to moan so loudly that you can’t restrain your cries of pleasure, so that anyone outside could hear exactly what he was doing to you.

“that’s my – haah –fucking girl,” he moans, hand smacking against the ripples of your ass bouncing against him. you yelp at the contact, the pain mixing deliciously with the endless ecstasy. your walls sucked him in repeatedly, squeezing every inch of his length, trying to milk him. “taking me so so well. hah – look at you, spoiling me for my birthday.”

his palm gently strikes your rear again, “i must be the luckiest damn man on this planet. in this galaxy.” he reaches to your front, rifling through all your layers of tulle to find your clit, rubbing the slick nub until tears leaked out of your eyes.

“r-raf, feels s-sooo good,” you slurred, leaning backwards so you could reach up for his hair as he gripped you from behind. your bare back slotted tightly against his chest and your fingers gripped into his soft purple hair, tugging roughly. you laid your messy hair into his chest, and he rested his chin in the crook of your shoulder and neck, and the two of you made eye contact in the mirror.

rafayel always put your pleasure above anything else, focussing on making you feel good before he even thought about himself. but your ecstasy was his pleasure. and so as he watched your face contort, eyes practically all whites, tongue lolling out of your beautiful lips, tears running down your face, his cock throbbed wanting to fill you to the absolute brim.

he was suddenly filled with the urge, the need to breed you. his woman, who’d dressed up just for him, in a set that was undoubtedly picked just to drive him insane. his love, who he spent the whole night admiring from across the room, when all he wanted for his birthday was to be with you. his girl, his everything, who’d spent weeks planning a whole night for him, even if it didn’t turn out the way he’d have wanted.

well that wasn’t entirely true. it actually did turn out exactly the way he’d wanted, with you a wet whimpering mess for him, his cock stuffed inside you while you begged for more. this was in fact exactly how he wanted to spend every second of his birthday, inside you.

“you’re – hah – all mine,” he slurred, drunk off your pussy, his thrusts becoming sloppier with each stroke, “i’m gonna cum in you tonight, ‘kay?”

you nod eagerly, watching his feral expression in the mirror. his brows crinkled adorably, with his lip gripped tightly in his teeth. “you’re gonna – fuuck – walk around the rest of the night with my cum leaking out of you, okay baby?”

you clench at his filthy words, knowing he’s dead serious. amidst the lust filled haze, you’re so fucked out that nothing sounds better than that. the idea of having to mingle with so many people while rafayel’s claim to you literally drips down your legs is just enough to have you crying out for him, completely uninhibited.there was no doubt anyone even remotely near the bathroom would’ve heard the way you wailed and moaned for him.

you catch rafayel’s satisfied smirk in the mirror as he takes you repeatedly from behind, eyes still glued to yours. the heat in his blue-purple orbs is palpable, almost threatening to devour you whole, and your grip tightens in his hair. you pull him impossibly closer, straining your neck painfully so you can turn and kiss him.

he leans in so you don’t have to bend too far backward, taking your lips passionately into his, even at this awkward angle. you slide your tongue into his mouth, wanting to take the teeniest bit of control as his cock burrowed its way into your stomach, claiming every inch of your gummy walls.

rafayel moaned at the feeling of your sweet tongue flickering against his, letting you explore his mouth. he was happy to relinquish control, even if only slightly, especially if it meant he could watch the way your face contorted at every little movement he made.

the mirror made things exponentially more erotic, the way he could see his girl blissed out in front of him, and admire every single angle and aspect of you taking him so beautifully. the way you could watch each other, watch the way your bodies made absolute art together.

as your tongues danced, your cunt clenched in anticipation, wanting desperately to release all over him.

“r-raf,” you pant, “m’so close.”

“m-me too love,” he ground into your ear, teeth gritting on the brink of pain, “gonna paint your beautiful little pussy ‘kay?”

you nod vigorously, eyes shutting as you feel the orgasm creeping up on you and igniting every nerve ending on fire. you gasp as you feel rafayel’s fingers gently grip your throat, squeezing just enough to have sparks ignite in your vision.

“watch,” he commanded forcefully, a rough demand you so rarely heard lacing his alluring musical voice, “need you to watch when i pump you full of my seed, okay love?”

you force your eyes to stay open, watching the primal expression on his face as his thrusts go deeper, harder. he forces himself into brushing harshly into your g spot, his free hand returning to rub ruthless circles onto your soaked clit.

you scream out when he touches you, every single point of contact an endless tsunami of pleasure. his eyes command yours, forcing you to watch every single thing he does to your body.

“god you’re so fucking beautiful, and you’re gonna – hah – look even more beautiful with my baby inside you.”

your eyes widen at his words, lust getting the better of your usually sound judgment as you clench uncontrollable around his throbbing cock. he hisses at the harsh squeeze.

“such a greedy girl,” he huffs breathlessly into your earlobe, nibbling down gently, “you want to be a mommy that bad? you’re trying to – hah fuck – squeeze it out of me?”

his words push you tumbling into your body numbing orgasm. you’re unable to hold back the scream that wrenches from deep in your throat, rafayel’s fingers still gripping forcefully.

“oh god, m’cumming raf, cumming so hard,” you wail, body fluttering around him uncontrollably and knees going weak. rafayel holds you steady so that you don’t crash into the floor as he continues to fuck into your body, so close to his own unraveling. he only grunts in response, losing himself in the tightness and warmth of your grip on him.

“please, please, please!” you beg, wanting him to give you everything he has. you’re still in the thick of your orgasm and you wracked with the absolute need to feel him all over your insides.

rafayel whimpers into your ear, getting wrapped up in the way you beg for him, “sh-shit y/n, if you keep s-squeezing like that i’m gonna –” he cuts himself with a torrid curse as your orgasm causes you to crush him inside of you.

“y-yes please. raf please. i need you s’bad,” you cry as he stares at you in the mirror, refusing to let go of eye contact. you’re desperate to feel him release inside you while you’re still in the midst of your own climax.

“o-okay love, anything for my needy little princess,” he groans out, before unleashing the most unholiest of swears, erection faltering inside you and trembling as it unloads completely.

rafayel grips you for dear life as he cums inside you, his load hot, thick, and unrelenting. his hand is still at your throat as he whimpers into your ear, his breath hot and warm on your skin. you watch the euphoria on his face as he continues to rock into you, his copious release already leaking out, dripping down your thighs.

you reel, feeling faint and short of breath, as you come down from your high, still leaning back into rafayel’s sturdy stature. his arms move to wrap securely around you, kissing the curve of your neck as his languid thrusts slow to a stop.

“you’re the best birthday present ever,” he murmurs, burying his face into your neck and inhaling your pheromones, absolutely drunk off of you. he removes himself from the warmth of your cunt, and you whimper as your combined release comes rushing down your thighs, your poor pussy just unable to hold the sheer amount of release rafayel had pumped into you.

you try your best to smooth your dress, grabbing some paper towels to wipe your thighs off. but rafayel stops you, his fingers gentle but firm against your wrist.

“what are you doing?” he’s smirking at you, so much mischievous light in his eyes. he fishes your panties out of his pocket and hands them to you expectantly.

“put them back on,” he grins at you, looking absolutely and devilishly handsome despite having just ravaged you thoroughly. you on the other hand looked like a mess, like you’d undoubtedly just been fucked.

you’re about to whine and complain, but you bite it back, wanting to please your birthday boy. sighing, you lift your dress, slowly slipping the panties back on. you wince as the fabric dampens, pushing the release back into your sopping cunt.

“let me see.” rafayel is on his knees in between your legs again before you know it, widening the slit of your gown. he admires you for a good ten seconds, before kissing your inner thighs and rising back to his feet.

“are you satisfied?” you tease, trying to shake off the discomfort between your legs.

“hmm…i guess you’re a little forgiven…'' he feigns being deep in thought, scratching his chin with his fingers, “i expect many more presents when i take you home tonight.”

you lean up on your tiptoes, even in your heels rafayel still towered over you, and brushed a gentle kiss to his lips. you giggle at the way even the softest kiss has his ears and cheeks turning deeply pink. “there will be many more presents for you waiting at home. of the naked variety.”

you thoroughly enjoy the way rafayel shys away from your eyes, the crimson on his face deepening. his excitement is evident by the way he has to readjust his dress pants, and he clears his throat trying to calm himself down.

“you’re going to regret that at home, sweetheart,” he grumbles.

“will i?” you can’t stop teasing him, your eyes glimmering with mischief as you whip around as gracefully as you can, slipping out of the bathroom and leaving him thoroughly frazzled behind you.

–

you spend the rest of the night trying to mingle with rafayel’s guests, and trying your best to ignore the way rafayel’s cosmic eyes track your every move. the way you feel like he can see right through your layers and layers of tulle, and see his milky white essence dripping slowly down your thighs.

he grins at you from across the room, raising his glass of champagne at you as he throws himself animatedly into conversation with his guests, with much more enthusiasm and vigor than he had previously all night. and when he did take you home that night, he absolutely did make you regret teasing him on his very own birthday, in ways that had you unable to walk the next day.

tag list: @queenashen @kttriangle @lyssa-211 @jeikeun

2K notes · View notes

spider-stark · 9 days

Text

PRECIPICE

Aegon II Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary - Forced to attend a stuffy ball, you find yourself hiding beneath a table with Aegon.

Warnings - implied targcest as always

Word Count - 4.5k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

The delicious aroma of roast mutton is wafting over you as you pass one of the many long serving tables lining the walls of the ballroom. Your gaze drags along the vast spread that has been prepared for tonight; a variety of artisan breads, cooked meats, and candied desserts are laid out upon silver serving dishes.

As you reach the end of the first table, a pile of lemon cakes snag your attention. Neatly stacked atop an ornate porcelain platter, the cakes are coated in a thin glaze that shimmers in the light. Your mouth instantly begins watering at the sight, your stomach growling in a way that would be deemed improper for a Lady.

Beside you, holding a plate that has been loaded with mashed potatoes and honeyed chicken, Jace turns his head to cock a brow at you.

“Hungry?” He asks, chuckling softly.

You suck in a deep breath before forcefully tearing your gaze from the cakes. “Extremely.”

It takes an enormous amount of will power to turn away from the serving table while still empty-handed, but you somehow manage to do just that. Having hardly even walked a few steps, though, Jace is abandoning his plate to rush after you, softly seizing your wrist to keep you from moving any further.

“If you’re hungry, then you should eat.”

His concern is obvious, not only through his tone, but his expression as well. With his furrowed brow and tight-mouthed frown, you’re fairly certain that he’s already considering the consequences of dragging you back to the table and feeding you himself if need be.

Jace had always been that way—not only with you, but with everyone. He was kind hearted and considerate to fault.

“I would,” you smile, shaking your head slightly to dismiss his concern, “but I’m afraid that if I do, I might very well pop right on out of this ridiculously tight corset.”

You wave an idle hand down to your waist, unnaturally cinched by the intricate lacing and boning of the garment beneath your evergreen gown. His eyes follow the motion, tracing along the intense curve, lingering for a moment too long.

The explanation seems to wash away much of his concern, relieved to know that discomfort was the only reason you had chosen to abstain from the treats being served. Even so, a touch of empathy remains, accompanied by the faintest hint of desire gleaming in his amber gaze.

Amber—an unusual color for a boy of Velaryon blood. His eyes were one of the many reasons that your mother, the Queen Alicent, felt so confident in labeling Princess Rhaenyra’s boys as bastards behind closed doors. And, if you were being honest with yourself, you knew that there was likely truth to her claims. Your nephews probably were bastards—but you didn’t particularly care.

Jace was nice to you, and that was all that had ever mattered to you.

He clears his throat, realizing that he had been gawking at your body for far longer than he should. “It looks uncomfortable,” the words spill out without permission, and you nearly laugh when his eyes go wide. “That didn’t come out right, nothing about it actually looks uncomfortable—it looks stunning! I mean, you look stunning! It’s just that, I don’t know, I imagine that having something squeeze you so tightly might be-”

“Jace, it’s okay! Truly,” you interrupt his rambling with a soft giggle. “You should know that I’m not so easily offended,” you playfully chide. “Besides, you’re right. It is quite uncomfortable!”

Actually, quite felt like an enormous understatement. But you didn’t figure that Jace was particularly interested in hearing about how your breasts were aching from being roughly shoved up by the tight garment.

Jace looses a breath, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Then why bother wearing them? Many noble-women go without corsets. Even my mother hardly ever wears one—she believes they’re vile things that only aid in the objectification of ladies.”

Your brows rise, agreeing with the claims of your half-sister. But then you let your attention shift to the dais, meeting the rough stare of the reason why you had been forced into the tortuous garb—your mother.

She’s already watching you when you meet her eye, her lip curled as she sends you a pointed look, silently urging you away from your nephew. It takes a great deal of effort not to shrink beneath the weight of her attention, and you’re beyond grateful for the group of women who shuffle past you towards the dance floor, giving you an excuse to break the hold she has on you.

“I wear it because my mother wishes for all of her children to look their best,” you answer, shifting your focus back onto Jace. “And who am I to disappoint the Queen?”

He notes the sudden callousness of your tone, as well as the way you clasp your hands together at your waist, fidgeting with the golden ring on your index finger. He doesn’t bother asking if you’re okay, however, knowing well enough that you were not—and already knowing why, as well.

You imagine that Jace doesn’t much like your mother; both for her part in the rumors spread about him and his brothers and for the way she has treated his mother.

It makes you upset in a strange way, a part of you always wishing to defend the Queen, no matter how abhorrent her actions. After all, she was your mother—whether you like it or not—and you knew very well that if someone were to try to hurt you or your siblings, then she would gladly lay her life on the line for you.

You were thankful for her; even if her protection hurt, even if her maternal love only exists when your life is at stake.

“Speaking of your siblings,” Jace suddenly notes, veering slightly off-subject as his own stare drifts towards the dais, “how did Aegon manage to weasel his way out of attending tonight?”

Your brows snap together before letting your head snap back towards the dais, managing to avoid your mother’s nasty stare this time by looking to her right, taking note of each of your siblings.

Aemond is sat directly by her side, his posture rigid as his eye scans across the room, alert and on-guard as usual. Next to him is Helaena, leisurely picking at her plate of food and mindlessly bobbing her head along to the symphony being played for court musicians. Daeron, who your mother insisted fly Tessarion here from Oldtown so that he might be present for tonight, is sat next to your empty chair, making idle chatter with those around him.

But Aegon’s chair, sat between yours and Helaena’s, is vacant.

A knot forms in your stomach when you look back at Aemond, his piercing violet eye catching yours, gleaming with a silent order—find our imbecile brother before he makes a fool of us all.

You give him a curt nod before looking away, head whirling as you begin searching the crowd around you for any sign of your eldest brother.

“Simple,” you huff, “he didn’t.”

Jace hums his understanding as you politely excuse yourself, turning away from him to begin shoving through the throng of people filling the room.

You decline invitations to dance and spout excuses as to why you can’t stop to chat as you push past noblemen-and-women from various Houses, trying to maintain the pleasant persona your mother favored while still moving fast enough that you might find Aegon before he finds any new ways to publicly bring shame upon the Targaryen name.

It’s exhausting work—and by the time you have shoved yourself to the other end of the room without finding him, you nearly consider giving up. Your chest hurts and your scalp is itching from being poked and prodded by a dozen or so pins, all of which had been meticulously placed by servants to arrange plaits into a fanciful half-updo.

In many ways, you look like your mother; with your elaborate hairstyle and green dress, the look is tied together by a pendant of the Seven-Pointed Star dangling from your neck.

And, in many ways, you hate it.

Much to the Queen’s dismay, you’ve never much liked the elegant styles preferred by many women at court. No, instead you spent much of your time donning mail with your hair lazily pulled back, joining Aemond for practice in the training yard.

She hated how unrefined you were, how indelicate you were; fearful for how others at court might view you for it, for how much attention you might draw to yourself.

You blow out a sigh, resisting the urge to pull all of the pins from your hair as you will yourself to keep walking, to keep looking for Aegon. A table overflowing with carafes of arbor wine and flagons of ale catches your attention, setting off alarm bells in your mind.

If Aegon were going to choose anywhere to hide at this godsforsaken ball, then it would certainly be in close proximity to the alcohol.

A cacophony of laughter and clinking goblets surrounds you as you approach, scanning over rows of bottles and skimming the faces of those nearby. Spinning your ring on your finger, you walk along the entire length of the long serving table, disappointed when you reach the end of it and find that your brother is still nowhere in sight.

Chewing on your cheek, you fight the urge to pour yourself a drink when you notice a carafe of blackberry wine. The plum colored liquid seems to call your name, singing promises of sweet oblivion, an escape from the restless feeling clawing at your chest.

You’re out of place here in court, and you always have been—you know that, and you worry that everyone around you knows, too.

Sensical enough to recognize that alcohol would likely just exacerbate your current ill-feelings, you shun the carafe and turn towards the grand entrance. Lifting your chin and squaring your shoulders, you try to appear more composed than you feel as you saunter towards the large wooden doors.

If Aegon had snuck off with one of the serving girls, then there was a good chance that he was still somewhere in the hall, either flirting or feeling up their skirts. And, if you were wrong, then at least he had provided you with an excuse to slip away from this mess of a ball.

As you pass by the last serving table, the platters and dishes atop it already thoroughly picked over, you feel someone tug at your dress. You whirl around, a fiery retort already falling off your tongue, fully intending to rip into whoever had found the audacity to touch you without permission—only to find yourself insulting the air.

There was no one there, at least not close enough to have touched you.

For a heartbeat you begin to reel, wondering if you’ve started to lose your mind before feeling the sensation again. A sharp tug at the fabric, just by your knee. Your head snaps down towards your dress, covering your mouth before a gasp can slip your lips.

An arm is peeking out from beneath one of the finely embellished tablecloths, and a well-groomed hand is clutching your skirts. You instantly recognize the hand as Aegon’s, having become intimately familiar with your brother’s touch throughout your life.

Taking a step closer to the covered table, you try to look natural as you hunch over it slightly to get closer to his level, feigning an interest in a half-eaten roast duck.

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing, Aegon?!” Your voice is hushed, not quite a whisper, but low enough so that no one other than him might hear.

Releasing his hold on your skirts, Aegon lifts the tablecloth a little higher, revealing his face. “Get under here,” he tilts his head, motioning for you to join him beneath the table.

“No!”

He swiftly presses a finger to his lips in response to your incredulous shout, shushing you. You stiffen, nervously flicking your eyes to each side, checking to ensure that no one had heard you. Fortunately, the courtiers around you appear far too invested in their conversations and drinks to notice how you appear to have shouted at a roast duck.

Aegon’s lilac eyes are wide, pleading as he shoves the tablecloth up higher, giving you more room to slip beneath it. “Would you just shut up and come?”

It’s the sheer urgency of his tone that piques your interest, although you wish that it hadn’t. You huff out an annoyed sigh, taking another look around the room before gathering up your skirts and sinking to your knees, crawling underneath the table.

Once you’ve successfully sat down beside him on the stone floor, he drops the cloth, shielding the two of you from any prying eyes. The material is thin enough that it allows some light to pass through it, very dimly illuminated Aegon’s grinning face, all urgency having suddenly vanished.

“Welcome,” he almost sounds breathless, the word airy—and utterly unnecessary.

You can faintly see the rosy coloring of his cheeks, a few messy silver waves tumbling across his face, and you’re immediately willing to bet that he’s extremely buzzed. “What are you doing, Aeg?”

Your tone is firm, but there’s a certain gentleness to it that was specially reserved for your eldest brother. While you maintain that you love all three of them equally, it’s undeniable that your relationship with Aegon has always been… different.

He reaches to his side, lifting a carafe from the ground beside him. “Having a party,” he says, raising it towards your face and playfully swirling the garnet colored liquid.

“I’m unsure if you’re aware,” you motion towards the cloth shrouding you from the bustling ballroom, “but our mother has already planned quite the celebration for tonight—and she likely does not wish for it to be ruined by her drunkard son ducking beneath tables like an imbecile!”

Aegon pokes his bottom lip out into a pout. “Why must you assume that I am drunk?”

“Because you’re you,” you drone, cocking your head at him, “and you are always drunk.”

Rolling his eyes, he sits the carafe down on the ground between you. There are only mere inches separating the two of you, both of you squeezing your limbs close to your body to avoid having a foot peek out from beneath the table. Sitting this close to him, you can smell the sweetness of the arbor red of his breath—as well as the faintest hint of sulfur, a sign that he had clearly gone riding on Sunfyre earlier and had failed at washing off the dragon’s strong scent.

You take another breath, inhaling the smell of him into your lungs. It was familiar—comfortable, urging your taut muscles to slacken in his presence.

“And what if I told you that I am sober right now?”

A snort escapes you, sparing him an incredulous look. “Then I would call you a liar,” you tell him, tapping a finger against the rim of the half-empty carafe.

His stare drops down towards it, watching as the liquid ripples when you pull your hand back. When he looks back up, he’s wearing a crooked smile that makes your heart flutter. “Mostly sober, then.”

It’s nearly impossible to stifle your laugh, clamping a hand over your mouth so that you might muffle the sound and prevent passersby from becoming suspicious. The sound only makes his smile grow wider and more genuine, an expression that he graced very few people with.

“I’ll ask again,” you say, speaking only when you're confident that no more laughter will tumble out. “Why are you down here? If mother finds out then she will be furious and-”

Aegon tosses his head back, cutting you off with a groan. “Mother will be furious no matter what,”

Disdain drips from each syllable, thickening the air around you. He didn’t like talking about her much, and you couldn’t blame him for it. Of all your siblings, Aegon had been dealt the worst hand, simply by being born first. He got the brunt of your mothers vile behavior; and you hated that, too.

“Because,” lazily rolling his neck so that he can look at you again, he answers, “I’d rather spend my night under here,” he flicks a hand up, lazily gesturing around himself, “than be forced to sit through even one more tedious speech from some ancient Lord of gods-know-where!”

You bite your tongue, holding back another laugh.

“And,” he continues, nodding in your direction, “I am now saving you from the same mundane fate. You’re welcome.”

“What makes you think that I needed your saving?” You ask, brows rising.

Aegon purses his lips, placing a finger against his chin as he feigns contemplation, studying the intricate styling of your hair, the modest long-sleeved gown, and the Star resting against your covered breasts. “Perhaps it was that our mother has you dressed up as though you’re an aspiring Septa.”

Thinking of the plain women, with their simple gowns and traditional head coverings, you nearly laugh again as you ask, “How many Septa’s do you know that wear corsets and jewelry, brother?”

“None,” he admits, shoulders lifting into an indolent shrug. “Though, if they looked more like you, then I might finally have a reason to attend prayer. Beautiful women would be more than enough to turn me into a pious man.”

A warmth creeps up your neck as blood rushes to your cheeks, unsure if his statement was meant as a compliment—was he saying that he found you beautiful? If so, it shouldn’t have been a particularly shocking revelation. After all, Aegon had complimented you before, many times.

In all fairness, however, most of those times had been when he was thoroughly besotted. He had a habit of sneaking into your rooms and practically draping himself off of you, muttering drunken nonsense about how breathtaking you were. You had never placed much truth in the statements though, assuming that Aegon likely didn’t even recognize who he was speaking to, much less whose bed he had crawled into.

But even if this was a genuine and mostly sober attempt at complimenting you, the flattery of it doesn’t last nearly long enough. Your own insecurity washes back over you far quicker than you like, reminding you of just how unlike yourself you currently feel.

“I do not believe that anything would be capable of turning you into a pious man,” you joke, trying and failing to cover up the melancholy that has settled into your bones. “Not even beautiful women.”

“You could.”

The answer comes far too quick, spilling from his tongue with an eagerness that even seems to catch him by surprise.

“Though, I must say, for as exquisite as this dress makes you look,” his hand reaches across the short expanse dividing you, mindlessly running his fingers along the fabric covering your shoulder, “I much prefer the way look in armor—sweaty skin, messy hair, sword in-hand—all of it.”

Your breath catches in your throat as his touch drifts towards the center of your chest, fingers dragging along the thin chain leading to your pendant, lifting the Star into his palm. He stares at it for a moment before yanking it roughly from your neck, grinning when you yelp. “But this,” he lifts the Seven-Pointed Star slightly, “I absolutely hate.”

With that, he tosses it from underneath the table, sending it skittering across the floor beyond the tablecloth.

Your jaw drops open, a hand pressed against the now-sore spot along the back of your neck. Despite yourself, your lips start to curve into a playful smile. You try fighting against it, try pressing them into a firm line, but fail. “Mother will not be happy about that-”

“She’s never happy,” Aegon interjects. His own expression shifts, the line on his forehead deepening as he says, “Do not let yourself bear her misery. Life is too short—and you deserve more than that.”

A palpable silence is thickening the air, and your breathing seems to synchronize as you simply stare at one another.

Slowly, nervously, you say, “I’m not sure what it is that I deserve,”

“You deserve,” he pauses, lips still parted despite the absence of speech. Then, swallowing back the words that had been building in his throat, he says, “you deserve whatever it is that you want, sister.”

Your hand falls from your neck into your lap, and you avert your gaze, watching your fingers as they fidget with your ring. “And what if I do not know what I want?”

Once, you had thought that you wanted a life like Jaces. A happy life, with a mother that knew how to love you and siblings that hadn’t been raised in fear of their half-sister ascending the throne, taught that their very existence was a threat to her power. But, suddenly, you felt as though you were no longer sure.

Aegon hesitates, watching you carefully. His lilac eyes appear as though they’re searching for something within your own—a hint of recognition, or reciprocation. If he found what he was looking for, then you were unaware. “Then you’ll figure it out,” he sighs, his smile not reaching his eyes. “You have all the time in the world to decide.”

There is something reassuring about his statement, making it resonate with you in a way that you hadn’t expected. You look up, holding his gaze for a heartbeat, then two, and you almost swear that you can see it—the silent invitation, the plea to delve deeper into his words, to decipher exactly what it was that he was promising you.

You have all the time in the world—all the time in the world to decide if he might ever be something you want.

Suddenly you find yourself dancing on the edge of a precipice, chest tightening as you grapple with the idea that, maybe, something more might exist between you and Aegon.

That, maybe, he had always known who he was complimenting and what bed he was slipping into.

That, for him, it had always been you.

“Aegon, I-”

He shakes his head, cutting you off before you have a chance to say something that he fears you may regret. Then, sliding the carafe between you to the side, he scoots closer. “If you plan on staying under my table,” he teases, clearing his throat, “then we need to do something about your hair.”

“I thought you said I looked exquisite?” You stay still as he starts toying with the strands, trying to swallow the tumult of your own emotions.

Aegon’s plucking various pins from your hair, tossing them to the ground. “Yes, but I also said that I prefer your hair when it’s messy. It’s more…” he sucks in a breath, unable to hide the admiration swelling in his chest when he finally exhales, “you.”

Your cheeks are burning hot, and you’re suddenly very thankful for the lack of light around you. On instinct, you almost tell him how your mother wouldn’t agree—but then you think better of it.

“You’re… generous.”

Something about your voice sounds foreign in your ears. You sound nervous—and you’re not used to feeling nervous around Aegon.

His fingers are combing through the plaits forming your updo, his brow drawn taut, framing his lilac eyes, shining bright with concentration. “Generous,” he snorts softly, nails raking lightly against your scalp as he shakes the strands loose, “I don’t hear that one often.”

“Well perhaps you’d hear it more if you weren’t such an ass,” you shoot back, slowly trying to slip back into your usual self.

“Me? An ass?” He’s untangled the final braid, scooting away from you slightly now as he presses a hand to his chest, feigning innocence. “Never.”

Now falling in loose waves, free of those incessant pins, you brush your hair over your shoulder. “Just earlier I heard you telling Lord Grover that if wisdom were measured in wrinkles that he would be named Grand Maester.” You point out, unable to mask your amusement while recalling the old man’s shocked expression.

“Is it not true?” Aegon smirks. “The man is nearly seventy, and his age certainly shows.”

“Lord Grover is only two-and-fifty, brother.”

His brows shoot up, gaping at you. “Tell me that you’re not serious!” When you nod, confirming that you are, he sucks his teeth. “Wow—how unfortunate. He looks positively dreadful for his age, then. I thought that he surely had one foot in the grave by now.”

“Aegon!” You rebuke through your own sputtered laughter, shaking your head at his insolence. “See? This is what I was talking about! If you weren’t so crude then you might get more compliments.”

Swinging his arm back to grab for the carafe, Aegon’s nose scrunches slightly. “Why bother?” He implores, a hint of mischief in his tone. “My crudeness is what you like most about me, is it not? Without it, dear sister, your life would be quite boring.”

Just before he brings the carafe to his lips, he inclines his head towards the tablecloth, emphasizing his words. A reminder—that, without him, you would still be out there, sitting miserably amongst your siblings and being forced to dance with Lord’s twice your age.

There was something more beneath the veil of humor and arrogance, however. A craving that had him tipping the carafe back, hoping that the stinging of the alcohol might numb his gnawing desire for validation—to hear you say that you yes, my life would be boring without you.

“I suppose you’re right,” the admission has him pausing, the carafe lingering against his bottom lip. “Truth be told, I had never put much thought into it before, but you do have a way of keeping life interesting, Aeg. So, I must agree that, without you, my life would be positively dreadful.” Staring at the ground in-between you, you smile before adding, “After all, who else would be able to convince me to risk our mother’s scorn and crawl beneath a table to drink wine and fix my hair?”

There’s a slight tremor in his voice when he speaks, trying to mask the warmth swelling in his chest, “You have yet to drink a single drop.”

“Then I suppose that is the next thing you’ll have to fix,” you say, sticking your hand out towards him, urging him to pass you the carafe. He hands it to you while biting back a grin.

“Careful,” he warns, “drink too much and you may end up like your drunkard brother.”

“I don't mind,” You mirror his expression, your own lips curving as you raise the glass upwards, the strong scent of the arbor red stinging your nostrils. “I quite like my drunkard brother.”

His gaze burns against your flesh as you tilt your head back, allowing the alcohol to slip over your tongue, and you suddenly realize that you are no longer standing on the edge of that precipice.

You’re falling.

a/n - i was honestly just thinking about jude and cardan hiding under a table in the cruel prince and ended up with this? so yeah, definitely inspired by jurdan content (but y'know... no coup d'etat lmao).

499 notes · View notes

flowersandbigteeth · 1 year

Note

What if there was a dance to find the (insert whatever monster) king's mate so they can produce a heir(and many more kids)

And a regular human reader attends for free food not believing they'll be picked from but turns out the king had a eye on reader the whole time

Ahhh! I adore this idea! Anything that has to do with food immediately has my support and any reader I write would be first in line at the buffet :D

Shadow King (Zintius) x female reader

Word Count: 2.5K

W: sfw monster fluff, kidnapping, some sfw forced stripping

You smoothed the pointy clay tips you’d glued to your ears to make you look like a pixie, before you slipped out of the bathroom and back into the ballroom.

Around you Fairyfolk were gathered dressed to the nines, all covered in sequins and feathers to attract the eye of the Shadow King. No one paid any attention to you, as a human you were much too plain to compete with these otherworldly beauties. Sirens, fairies, lovely creatures you’d never even heard of before crowded the room, subtly elbowing each other in the ribs to be the first that the King laid eyes on as he descended the stairs.

Your focus, however, was the buffet. As a human in Fairy, you were unpopular to say the least and would never be allowed in a place like this, but with a little bit of pheromone lifted off of a witch and some micah powder to make your skin glitter you’d made yourself up to pass as a pixie so you could pilfer the feast. I

t was a con you pulled often, though this was perhaps your most bold move yet. This was the King’s marriage ball. He was looking for a wife so only the richest, prettiest, and most affluent Fairyfolk in the land had gone to great expense to travel as far as the Realm of Shadow to seduce him.

It didn’t matter that he was ten feet tall and mostly smoke and big teeth. He had power and that was beautiful. The realm of Light and the realm of Twilight feared him, declaring him their greatest enemy. He was known to be brutal and imperialistic, wanting to spread his darkness as far as the other two realms would allow.

None of that concerned you, however. While their heads were all turned to watch the King descend the stairs, you were pulling a sack from underneath your stolen, stained ball gown and loading it full of croissants, cupcakes, and whatever else wasn’t too sticky to fit. It wasn’t the flashiest con, but you were just a human, you did what you could to get by and this one was easy. You got away every time and ate for a week if you rationed everything out.

When you’d gotten all you could, you shoved the sack under your fluffy dress, one you’d stolen out of the trash pile of a seamstress’ shop, and blended back into the crowd. It would be suspicious if you bolted immediately, the guards were trained to watch for thieves who would do just that, so you had to stick around for at least another hour.

You’d slip out of the back, look a little drunk if anyone stopped you, find a quiet place and put on the stable boy outfit you also had hidden in your skirt and casually walk away looking like a servant carrying out the trash.

In the meantime, your eyes drifted over the crowd, trying to figure out if you could pilfer any loose valuables while you were waiting…these rich people wouldn’t notice a few baubles missing. You didn’t even bother to look for the King, though you heard all the trumpets and fanfare announcing his arrival.

Your eye caught on a jewel encrusted fan sticking out of the back pocket of a handsome goblin. Like a cat, you honed in on your target, drifting closer and closer to the sparkling prize.

“I throw a whole ball just for you and I can’t even catch your eye,” a rumbling voice boomed just as you raised your hand to snatch the fan.

You whirled around, cheeks red, trying to look innocent, eyes widening as you took in the figure looming over you. The Shadow King looked down at you with six eyes glowing gold from the dark space that was his face.

“Um…I…Um…what?” you stammered.

A wide, white smile appeared on his face, no lips, only teeth.

“Finally, you look at me,” he said.

You instinctively took a step back, unsure what was happening. Was he confused? Was he teasing you? Surely this was some cruel joke because he’d caught you stealing, though you didn’t entirely understand it.

“Come,” he said, holding out a large hand. Whirls of black smoke drifted up off of it. The whole room was looking at you with obvious hostility, so you shakily took his hand, unsure what else to do. Your heart was hammering in your chest. The one rule of conning was commit to the bit, you had to let this play out, but what was happening?

He led you to the center of the room and music began. Your mouth fell open as he put one hand on your hip and with the other he clasped your hand and you started to dance. You had no idea how to dance, so you simply stumbled over his feet. He chuckled, revealing his white teeth again and lifted you up a bit, depositing your feet on top of his.

“Here, like this,” he said, before swinging you around the ballroom to the music. The guests blurred around you as he spun across the shiny marble floor.

His six eyes, all with different colored irises blinked down at you with utter fascination. He remembered the first time he saw you at some silly party he’d been compelled to attend. You’d done quite a good job hiding you were human only, as he’d wandered onto the terrace to get some air, he’d looked down to see you undressing. He’d watched in fascination as you’d unloaded a sack full of food and a handful of valuables, before peeling off your dress, plucking the tips from your ears and hurriedly disguising yourself like a servant boy with some pants and a low cap.

He’d snuck off, following you, curious about your life and where you were going. Humans were all but extinct in Fairy, the fact that you were alive at all was a bit remarkable. Hiding as a cloud of smoke in the shadows he watched you dangling your feet over the dock watching the boats on the river while you munched on your ill gotten gains.

It was impossible to keep his eyes off of your plump lips as you chewed and your pretty hands as you wiped crumbs from your cheeks. His heart had dropped when he’d watched you curl up in a barrel near where they dumped the trash, your head resting on your bag of pastries to sleep.

After that he’d used his own disguises to move through the nobility. It would be obnoxious if the king came to every party, but transforming himself into an unassuming orc nobleman, he eagerly waited for your arrival at every flashy party in the capital. He found your disguise rather clever and the way you slipped in and out, making yourself unseen despite how beautiful you were, very impressive.

It stunned him how well you could read your marks. You followed the cadence of the room, striking just when someone was distracted with new love or jealousy. Too wrapped up in their own drama to even care that whatever they lost was missing.

He never bothered you, afraid to disturb what seemed to be your main source of food and income. That is until he set this little trap to catch you.

“How long I’ve waited to have you in my arms,” he purred at you.

You blinked your eyes at him.

“You have?” you gasped, “are…are you sure you’re not mistaking me for someone else?”

He just shook his head, the song ending. You were aware the entire room was looking at you with a mix of disgust and envy. As the next song began and some partners filled the dance floor a plucky witch dared to shoot her shot at the King, sure she could easily pull his attention from you. You almost let out a relieved sigh when you saw her approaching. She was a perfect excuse to make your escape and pretty enough to probably succeed.

Only when she reached you he waved her away.

“I’m busy,” he growled before she could even open her mouth and your hope scurried away.

“Let’s go somewhere more private, pet,” he said, scooping you up in his arms to the dismay of you and the entire room and the two of you disappeared in a puff of smoke.

You immediately panicked when you realized where you were, struggling in his arms. They were impossibly strong for appearing to be made of nothing but black mist. He’d brought you to his bedroom. You could only assume it was his bedroom because it was the nicest one you’d ever been in. The walls were draped in glittering gold fabric and jewel encrusted weapons humming with power were mounted where they parted.

“Shhh, shhh,” he shushed you, snapping his fingers and the cold fireplace lit bathing the room in warm light.

The sudden sparks startled you still. In the glitter of firelight the shadow king’s black skin almost seemed to have a bit of a sparkle to it. Looking down on you and smiling again with his eerie Cheshire cat smile, he plucked the clay points from your ears.

“You don’t need to hide from me, little human,” he said, “you’re perfectly safe…but you must tell me…I’ve been dying to know your name.”

“Maurine,” you lied and he frowned at you, his smile inverting.

“It’s not wise to lie to me, pet,” he growled, his six eyes narrowing and the colors in them flashing.

“(Y/N),” you squeaked.

His mouth flipped again, creepily and he brushed your hair.

“There’s no reason to lie, anyway,” he assured you, depositing you into a chair in front of the fire before he crossed the room to a pitcher of water and a bowl, “whatever petty problems you may have you can rely on me to solve them.”

Wetting a rag he returned to scrub the micah from your cheeks that was giving you the pixie-like sheen. Pinching your cheeks with his shadowy fingers, he scrubbed until every bit of your disguise was off of you. From then on, Zintius wanted you to look like yourself. You’d never have to steal for a living again. He’d stuff you full of so many pastries you were plump and round.

You gasped, surprised as his large hand slipped up your skirt and fished around, brushing your bare thigh. His smile got brighter as he retrieved the sack of food and the other bag of supplies you carried on you, pulling them from under it.

Your eyes widened in horror as he tossed the bag with the food in it casually into the fireplace as if it weren’t your only source of sustenance for a week. You were almost afraid he was going to toss in your meager belongings, but he only rummaged around in them for the bottle of pheromone that apparently offended him. He was sure to toss that into the fireplace as well.

When his eyes returned to you they were laser focused on the smelly dress you’d pulled from the garbage and you started to climb over the back of the chair to escape him. He was much too fast and much too big, yanking you back down. The sound of fabric ripping filled the room as he shredded the poor thing.

“So lovely,” he gasped in his throat as he took in your body, bathed in golden light. It was so much more than when he’d imagined it. It had been impossible to see the appealing figure you’d been hiding under the ill fitting dress and boy’s clothes.

Folding himself down to you as you squealed and shrank back into the chair, he breathed in your sweet scent, underneath the annoying pheromone you were wearing. He was much too impatient to wait to scrub you, reminding himself to tell the maids to take the bedding immediately in the morning when he got around to giving you a bath. The sooner he never had to smell that stuff again the better.

Scooping you up, he hurried to the bed.

“What are you doing?!” you snarled, beating your fists against his chest, which he conveniently made smoke when you struck him so your hands slipped right through. It was not a funny joke, but he found it very amusing, smiling down at you as he climbed across the spread with you in one arm.

“I’m going to mate you,” he explained innocently.

You gasped, scandalized.

“Me!? But…but…mating is forever and I’m human! The goddess doesn’t make human mates. She hates humans!”

He snorted.

“The Goddess long ago betrayed me,” he snarled, “She cursed me to never have a Fairy mate, but I can and will have my own. You…I can feel it…perhaps the God of man blessed me just to spite her. I’ll never stop thanking him for his kindness, delivering a human angel to me. If he wants me to spend my life crusading against her creations, I will, if it means I can keep you.”

You’d prayed to Adam, the God of man so many nights as you’d slept near the dock, wondering if his reach stretched all the way to Fairy. Only what you’d prayed for was that a stray portal would open up and you’d be taken back to Earth where you’d learned the rest of the humans lived, not this…but Gods were a fickle, spiteful bunch and sticking it to Freya by undermining her curse sounded like just the sort of thing Adam would do.

The Shadow King practically purred at you, his smokey fingertips drifting over your bare skin as you cowered into the pillows.

“I can be a good lover, pet,” he promised you, “I have the power to give you whatever you like. Do you want jewels? Castles? Servants to step all over?”

You shook your head.

“I-I don’t need all that,” you stammered, “I-I just…”

You weren’t sure what you were trying to say.

His eyes narrowed on you and you saw a sliver of tooth as he smirked at you.

“Aren’t you just a little bit curious?” he asked, “don’t you want to know what it’s like not to scrabble in the dirt as you have your whole life? I’ve seen you sleeping in the cold trash, love, you never have to sleep on anything but the finest silk in front of a warm fireplace for the rest of your life. I watched the way your eyelashes fluttered as you woke, terrified of what had found you in the dark. You never have to be afraid to close your eyes again. All you have to do is give yourself to me.”

The simple lure of a warm, safe bed was enough to break you and you nodded slowly. Pleased, his smile stretched to opposite ends of his face in a terrifying grin, his six eyes eating up your body now that you'd given him permission and glowing fiery gold.

“You’ll never regret this (Y/N),” he assured you, as his fingers tore the frayed undergarments you were still wearing, “I promise you.”

#monster x girl #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #monster lover #yandere male #yandere x reader #x reader #monster x human

5K notes · View notes

untitledgf-pdf · 24 days

Text

burning desire

synopsis: you are a princess set to take the throne, fated to marry a man and continue the royal bloodline. until one fateful night you give into your desires of a beautifully mysterious stranger and your entire facade comes burning down.

cw warnings!: eventual smut, oral (r!receiving), fingering (r! receiving), makeshift strap usage (r!receiving), enemies to lovers? (kind of), light angst, no use of y/n, reader afab

3.7k words

https://www.tumblr.com/3lli3l0v3r/741070062459453440/important?source=share

https://arab.org/click-to-help/palestine/thank-you/

Loud music, sweaty bodies, tight corset poking and prodding at your delicate skin. It was nothing new. You'd been to plenty of these parties before. You had no problem putting on a fake smile and laughing politely at the endless array of insensitive jokes. Perhaps you'd reached your limit of the night. Perhaps you'd had a glass of wine too many.

Rosy cheeks, tight chest, short breaths. You fling open the back doors, rushing out of the hot, crowded ballroom. Immediately, the cool air hits you face, the gentle breeze caressing your cheeks. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath and letting the wind wash away your anxiety bubbling up inside your throat.

Pull yourself together. These people need you. The sooner you pick a man to marry, the sooner you can fulfill your duty to serve and protect the kingdom. This should be what you want. If Mom and Dad are happy, then I'll be happy. Just pick someo--

"All your many admirers too much for you to handle?"

You snaps your eyes open to meet the piercing gaze of a dark silhouette leaning against the doorframe behind you.

"The party was getting a little crowded, even for me," the woman stepped closer to her. "You okay, Princess?"

The stranger was wearing a loose white button up that leisurely hung to her slender build. It tucked lazily into her dark trousers, a pair of thin leather suspenders holding them in place. Her arms were crossed across her chest, a cocky smirk draped across her lips. The outfit was nothing remarkable, so to speak, but you couldn't help but wonder how it was possible for someone to hold themselves with such confidence with such few words. The woman's hair auburn hair was tangled into a sloppy bun, a small strand tucked behind her ear. Soft freckles grew across her nose and cheeks and those piercing green eyes bore into you.

You look down at the cobblestone and softly nod your head. "Yes, thank you. I apologize if I alarmed you."

The mysterious woman chuckled and bowed below the princess, catching her gaze.

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, you are a terrible liar."

You let out a soft laugh and straightened your composure. The stranger silently smiled, lighting a cigarette held between her long fingers. You watch as the woman wrapped her lips around it, inhaling the smoke into her lungs. She tilted her head back, letting the smoke escape into the night sky, scattering into the space between them. She reached out her arm, offering the cigarette to you.

"I promise I won't tell," the woman insisted. You shake your head.

The woman shrugged and took a long drag from the cigarette. "That's fine, you don't have to. But I still want to know what drove Her Perfectness to run away from her own party."

You let out a small laugh and turned to face the woman. "I'm not perfect."

The woman shrugged, blowing another puff of smoke into the air. "I dunno, Princess, the people never have anything bad to say about you or your family. Everyone loves you--hell, there's a whole castle filled with men that would do anything--and I mean anything--to have the chance to talk to you, let alone marry you! Yet you're out here, all alone, looking absolutely miserable."

You look up at the star freckled sky and sigh. "Maybe... this just isn't what I want."

"To rule the kingdom?" The woman pressed.

You shake your head. "No, that's not it. I love this nation, these people are my home. I would be honoured to serve over them. It's what I've been raised for. I've been working so hard to prove myself worthy. But...I just don't see why in order to do that I need to be married."

The woman blew out another puff of smoke before turning to you. "Why not?"

You chuckle and shake her head again. "Why do I need to be married in order to rule the nation? It's not like they have trained their entire lives for this. I can do it on my own, I shouldn't need someone else in order to prove I am worthy."

"Interesting," the stranger noted. "Miss Perfect Princess doesn't want to be loved."

You scoff in response. "I never said that. Of course I want to be loved. Every girl dreams of being loved. But this...I don't want this..."

You stand in shock for a moment, realizing you had just told a complete stranger your most guarded thoughts. The panic began to settle back in and you nervously fumble with her frills.

"I-I didn't mean--"

"Sure you didn't."

Your eyebrows furrow. "N-no I'm serious. There are some very fine--!"

"I'm sure there are."

You were now becoming increasingly irritated. "Excuse me, but as the future--!"

"Ah, but not current." The woman smirked, her green eyes glistening in the moonlight.

You huff. "I'll have you know, I do want to find a husband. I'll do whatever it takes to prove myself worthy."

"But not for the right reasons." The woman wobbly bowed before you yet again. "Enjoy your party, Your Majesty." She mocked.

You rolled her eyes and opened the door to return inside.

"Oh, but if you get bored again," the woman called after her, "come look for Ellie."

Slam!

You stormed inside as she heard the woman's chuckles echo in her mind.

Who the fuck does she think she is? She doesn't know me. I'm having a good time. I can find a perfectly fine suitor. Just watch me.

You were fuming with anger, but pushed it deep within, as you try to converse and get to know the many men who were interested in your hand tonight. But as you dance and laugh and chat among the crowd, your heart wasn't fully in it. And you know this. You can't submerge yourself in your last task of proving yourself because your mind was distracted. You felt like you were being watched, like your dirty little secret was not at all hidden, and everyone could see through your lies.

The night drew darker and darker, and you still could not find a man worthy of becoming your king. But that didn't stop your determination. You insisted on throwing party after party, as you was not done looking for the right one. But as each party came to an end, you felt as if she was losing more and more progress.

On the night of the sixth party, you had locked herself in your chamber, stalling your first appearance. The guests were under the impression you were still getting ready as they familiarized themselves with the beautiful decor and delicious foods. But in reality, you were pacing your room, trying to get that woman off your mind.

Her plump lips that formed into that degrading smirk. Her rebellious look and nature--at first you thought the obsession was fascination, and then jealousy. But she realized that's not what it was at all, not even in the slightest. You groaned, quickly scribbling out a note you wished you'd never have to craft.

Ellie,

You were right.

Taking a deep breath, you emerged from your room, leaving the note on one of the many refreshment tables and walked to the party, with almost a sense of relief.

Tonight, you were wearing a silky pink ballgown, with a corset that lifted your chest and hugged your curves, just as you'd hoped Ellie's greedy eyes would devour from across the ballroom.

You spent all night dancing and laughing and drinking, and you felt almost liberated. Your cheeks were tinted pink, partly from the alcohol, but partly from the fun of finally being at peace with yourself. You felt as if there was this golden aura around you, radiating warmth throughout the ballroom.

As you continued to laugh and dance, you look up on to the balcony to see the dark silhouette pressed against a pillar, arms crossed, with that familiar smirk plastered across her face.

You bite her lip and then politely excused herself from your guests, before quietly, but urgently, rushing upstairs to your room.

As if on queue, you lock the door and hear a gentle tap against the window. You slide the pane open to be met with none other than those same piercing eyes.

"Hey, Princess."

You move aside so Ellie could climb inside.

Closing the window behind her, Ellie leaned against the dresser, crossing her arms, her eyes scanning across every inch of your body.

"You sure this is what you want?" Ellie pressed, her eyes meeting yours soft, doe eyes.

You take a step forward.

"Yes."

"Because this could seriously fuck up your future, Princess. And there sure as hell isn't a capable enough leader to rule this nation. So don't go throwing all this away for nothing."

"You came for a reason," You counter. "You're right, there isn't anyone as capable as I am, so you should know damn well I am more than capable to make this decision." You took another step toward Ellie. "I'm tired of pretending to be someone I'm not. I don't want to hide who I am anymore. I think I owe it to this kingdom and myself to start being open and honest about who I am. And the truth is, no, I don't want a husband because I don't want a man. I don't want a man to love me, I want you, Ellie."

Ellie stood there in shock for a split second before her cocky smirk perked itself right back on her face. She scoops you up into her arms, pinning you against the wall behind you. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare down at her striking gaze.

"I'd love to hear you moan my name tonight." Ellie whispered right before you collided.

You wrapped her legs around Ellie’s waist as your lips crashed. You began running her fingers through Ellie’s hair, as Ellie had her hands planted firmly on your waist. She tasted sweet, like cinnamon sugar.

Your heart was pounding with adrenaline. You'd been waiting for this for so long, and couldn't contain your excitement anymore. A soft gasp pressed through your lips as Ellie began kissing down your neck.

"How about you, Princess?" Ellie questioned between kisses. "How would you like me to call you? Your Highness? Your Majesty? Queen?"

"Y-you don't know my name?" You managed to breathe out.

Ellie chuckled against your skin, causing you to tighten your legs together.

"I know your name, beautiful," Ellie gently began to suck on your soft skin, causing a quiet moan to erupt from you. "Would you like me to call you that?"

You bite your lip and nod.

Smirking again, Ellie’s kisses began to trail lower, making her way to your collarbone. Mumbling your name between kisses, she began nipping at your skin. "How beautiful and fitting for my queen..." Nimble fingers crawled their way up your corset, gently tugging at the delicate laces. "But such a mouthful..."

Ellie mouth was left agape momentarily as your dress slipped off your chest to reveal your perky breasts on display for her. Cool air bit at your nipples, hardened and on display, practically taunting Ellie.

She smirked. "Such a mouthful..." she mumbled, licking her lips. Ellie slipped a finger past your underwear and inside you, causing a gasp to release itself from your lips again.

Ellie curled her finger inside you, slowly pumping in and out. "Don't worry, baby. I'll take good care of you," she soothed, as pleasure jolted through your veins.

Ellie reconnected their lips and slowly increased her pace as you moan into her mouth. Ellie chuckled, adding another finger, causing you to start gently tugging Ellie’s hair.

"That feel good, Princess?" Ellie mumbled against her lips.

You gasped for air, break the kiss momentarily. "More," she demanded, before reconnecting the kiss.

Ellie continued to pump her fingers inside your velvety core, curling them up to scratch those insatiable needs. You slipped her tongue past Ellie’s lips, tangling them together, trying to close the distance between you two.

Ellie could feel your growing hunger and inserted another finger into you, increasing the pace again. You shake your head and break the kiss again. "Ellie. I need more."

With one swift movement, Ellie set you on the dresser. Tugging and pulling at the fabric, Ellie was left in nothing but her undergarments. She reached over to grab a mancipium, a makeshift dick. Ellie reaches for a rope before you tightly grip her wrist. She raises a sceptical eyebrow before you slide off the dresser.

Rummaging through your drawers, you retrieve strips of long silk used to adorn your hair. Sinking to your knees, you wrap the fabric across her hips, securing the toy in place. Ellie watches from above, that fucking smirk back on her lips.

"You ready, Princess?" Ellie carefully positions herself between your legs once the toy sits snuggly above her pelvis.

You nod eagerly, wrapping your legs around Ellie’s waist.

Ellie lined up the tip with your entrance, slowly sliding it in.

"I'm going to guide you through this, okay?" Ellie looked up at you, your eyes squeezed shut.

"C-can you go slow?" You plead.

Ellie gently kissed your lips. "Of course, Princess."

She began slowly pumping herself in and out of you, watching your face quickly contort from worry to pleasure, as a symphony of quiet whimpers began to fill Ellie’s ears. Ellie began to slowly increase the pace as she monitored your reactions to the adjustments she made. Your whimpers quickly turn into moans as Ellie begins to leave soft kisses on your neck.

As much as you enjoyed being spoiled, you couldn't help but feel as if something was missing. As much as you were craving her own pleasure, you were also craving Ellie’s pleasure. You open her eyes and looked to see Ellie staring at your chest, bouncing in her face, as if teasing her.

"Touch me," you less instructed, and more permitted, Ellie. Without hesitating, Ellie dropped her head, her mouth attaching to your warm breast, moaning into the skin.

"Mmm, fuck," Ellie began slowly and softly sucking on your nipple. Her mouth greedily sucked at the supple skin while her tongue moved to explore every crevice it could possibly reach, which caused your moans to get louder.

Ellie silenced you by connecting their lips. "Listen, Princess, as heavenly as your moans are, they're going to get us into trouble,"

You giggle against her lips. "Sorry," you breathed, moaning back into Ellie’s mouth.

Ellie chuckled and continued to pump the slick in and out of you. But your hunger grew stronger and stronger, and soon, you began craving more.

You pulled away from Ellie again. "Bed," you ordered. "I want to ride you."

Ellie was in no position to argue and immediately sat herself on your bed, leaning back on her forearms.

You straddled Ellie as she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to adjust to the new depth she felt within her.

Ellie immediately sat up, holding on to your waist. "You okay?" There was worry in her voice.

You nodded, holding on to Ellie’e hands. "Yeah, it's just--so deep."

Ellie chuckled and rubbed small circles on your hips. "Would you like me to help you?"

You hesitated before nodding. "Please."

Ellie slowly and gently guided you up and down on her, watching as your face began slowly relaxing and adjusting to the constant pace. You began softly moaning and slightly increased the pace you were moving on Ellie. To match your needs, Ellie began adjusting her pace accordingly.

As you began moving on her own, grinding her hips down into Ellie as if trying to scratch an itch she couldn't reach, you noticed Ellie biting her lips and staring at your bouncing chest, yet again.

You smirked and leaned down to Ellie’s ear.

"I give you permission, Ellie."

Ellie took your breast into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the nipple, as you moaned in confirmation.

"Fuck, you even taste expensive," Ellie moaned before switching to the other breast. "How lucky am I?"

You giggled and shook her head, bouncing harder up and down on Ellie. Ellie watched insatiably as you rode her up and down, becoming more and more comfortable trying to find her own pleasure.

"That's my girl," Ellie praised. You kept moaning, allowing yourself to feel every new sensation she was discovering.

"Nothing brings me more satisfaction than seeing how much pleasure Miss. Perfect Princess is experiencing from getting fucked by some troublesome woman who is no good for her," Ellie smirked, as she leaned back and watched your eyes roll back in pleasure as you used Ellie to come closer to her climax. "But I will say, part of me is still caught in this selfish desire to taste you."

You shake your head. "But you already have been."

Ellie chuckled, whispering into your ear, "I meant all of you."

Your cheeks flush bright red as you stop moving, only for Ellie to wink and begin moving you again.

Ellie continued to hit your sweet spot, causing you to erupt into an ocean of moans as she sucked on your breasts, moving you up and down at a constant pace.

"Ellie…~" Y/n moaned, over and over again, forgetting every name except of the woman who had been on your mind for weeks.

"Fuck, baby, you're going to make me wet if you keep saying my name like that." Ellie hissed, greedy hands groping the plush skin of your ass.

You throw your head back in pleasure, Ellie's repeated pace thrusting against your sweet spot.

Ellie licked her lips, kissing all over your chest. "You have no idea how crazy you drive me," she breathed, as your moans drew louder and louder.

"I mean, come on now, look at how excited you are for me," Ellie swept your hair to the side. "I wish one day to taste every last bit of you."

You leaned her head back, biting her lip. The constant penetration of that sweet spot, Ellie’s words painting delicious pictures in your mind--Your desire began to grow stronger and stronger yet again.

"What's stopping you?" You challenged.

Ellie lifted you up and gently place you on the bed, spreading your legs for her own pleasure. The sudden cold air made you gasp as those thin fingers dug into your thighs.

"Oh, baby, you're such a mess," Ellie inched her face painfully slow towards you. "Let me clean you up."

Ellie dipped her head and let her tongue swipe up your folds. You threw her head back in excitement.

"So much fucking better than I've dreamed," Ellie muttered, before reaching her tongue deep inside you.

You arched her back, drowning in pleasure. "El--oh my god!" You moaned, gently gripping Ellie’s hair.

Ellie chuckled, sending vibrations through Y/n, who erupted into even more moans. Ellie moved up to begin swirling her tongue around your excited clit, moving it up and down over it, feeling it from every possible angle, trying to get you to make every possible sound.

The more hungrily and passionately Ellie ate you out, the fuzzier your mind became. There was only one thing you could possibly focus on.

"Ellie! Oh--Ellie... Fuckkk Ellie~" You hissed, only fuelling Ellie’s desires even further.

You became increasingly loud as your moans filled the room. But you didn't care if anyone heard them. All that mattered was how fucking good you felt letting go of your worries and putting your own needs first for once. If you were to marry someone, that would be the kind of person you'd want. Someone who can help you put your own desires first every once in a while. Who can break down your walls while still making you feel safe.

Your legs began quaking as you neared your finish.

"You're close, I can feel it," Ellie mumbled, before divulging her tongue into your warm, inviting opening yet again. "Come on, baby, let me taste every last bit of you. I want you to finish all over me, darling."

Your toes curled, feeling the pit in your stomach getting tighter and tighter.

Ellie’s tongue continued reaching every hidden part of you, exploring and devouring every nook and cranny inside that royal pussy.

With one last moan, you felt herself releasing all that pent up stress and frustration all at once. As the rope snapped, Ellie moaned softly, licking up every last drop of the sticky nectar you left over her face.

You breathed heavily, ears ringing as the room spun around you. Ellie slid your underwear back up your legs and wrapped you in a blanket.

"Hey, Princess," Ellie smiled warmly, "how ya feelin'?"

You let out a breath of disbelief.

Ellie chuckled, kissing your forehead and sitting up.

You frowned and sat up in response. "Where are you going?"

"I'm sorry, Princess, but you and I both know I ought to get going."

You shook her head. "Please, stay."

Ellie frowned and shook her head. "I can't, and you know it."

"I don't want to be with anyone else." You pleaded. "Ellie, you've known it since the night we met, it's always been you. I don't care what my family says, Ellie, I want you--"

"Your Majesty," Ellie snapped, "you know we can't."

You both stared at the floor in silence. You fought against the tears pricking your eyes, the lump scratching your throat, and sinking feeling in your gut.

"Look," Ellie spoke again, "I'm glad I was able to be the one who helped you discover this part of yourself you'd buried deep inside you. Believe me, I had my fun, but this kingdom, it needs you. And you know it. We can never be together, they won't allow it. Don't throw away everyone's future for me."

You let the tears flow down your face, watching as the salty drops hit the polished floors.

"Please, say something."

You kept staring at the ground, motionless.

"Please, Princess..."

You looked up at Ellie, teary eyed. "Please just stay the night." You manage.

Ellie sighed. "You'll make a great queen. I know it." Ellie kissed your temple one last time and you watch in sorrow as Ellie turned back into a stranger from the shadows.

#tlou #tlou2 #ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams angst #ellie williams x f!reader

371 notes · View notes

mortifyingideal · 2 years

Note

Hi Mort! Are we allowed to get excited about LB again? I mean, I am also very happy just to see the art again and simply be reminded of that wonderful story. I'll take it gladly, no pressure. :)

hello lovely!

you are always allowed to get excited about LB! we have been talking about it a lot recently and how we both have much more time now than we did when we first needed to go on hiatus so CONTINUE TO WATCH THIS SPACE. KEEP DANCING ET CETERA AD NAUSEAM. just maybe don’t hold your breath i take 0 responsibility for any sort of loosely ballroom related fainting incidents

#loosely ballroom #quick quick slow burn: the fic

29 notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 5 months

Text

He'll Follow me Down Every Street, No Matter my Crime

PAIRING: John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You had an affinity for shiny objects. This time, a sting of pearls locked away in a mansion calls your name through the crowd of a party - only trouble? You have a hunch the man you help at the front door isn't all who he says he is.

WORDCOUNT: 11.9k

WARNINGS: Guns, blood, death, gore, heists, theft, suggestive mentions, mentions of sex, heavy flirting because reader's a tease, propositions of sex, drugs, the reader is loosely based on Cat Woman from DC, etc.

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

You wouldn’t call yourself a good person.

Life had given you the short end of the stick early on, taking what little you had in your grubby hands and shoving it into the ground, making you watch as they stomped on it until all that remained was a remnant of hope. Like a shard of glass, you held it even as it cut your palms open. But there was only so much that you could hold until you longed for more of it—until you wanted to take the broken bits and try and form a mosaic out of them.

It started as petty crime—the theft.

You got good at it. Very good.

You remember the first time you tried to pick a man’s pockets; aged fifteen with a switchblade in your pocket that you had never used before, bought off a man in exchange for cigarettes. When you’d been caught, the man—looking quite like Albert Einstein, mind you—had snapped your wrist so far back you heard it snap in two places. It still aches on cold days.

In that moment, a firm resolve had taken over you. A rabid understanding.

No one was ever going to do anything for you, and if you can’t rely on your skills to get you through, then you only had yourself to blame when it all went bad.

As you said, it started with petty crime. Then it got a bit more serious.

You dabbled with blackmail and multi-level schemes that involved all sorts of money and luxurious items. Extortion.

You considered yourself quite the salesperson, admittingly.

But personality-wise: arrogant, prideful, and vain. The list went on and with no near end in sight. It was life, was it not? You were finally able to live it lavishly even from the time you’d just gone past the border of the drinking age.

But the best part about it was that you were entirely alone. Alone in every sense—not even a cat or dog to your name, much less a person to care for or about. It was perfect.

Years of this went on, and you mean years. This was a job to you, and as you slipped into the hugging form of a deadly red dress, and rubbed your lips with the exact same shade—#4A0000 Oxblood—it was enough to make your pulse thump with excitement. The thrill of this made you want to never let it go; adrenaline junkie down to the jitters in your fingers when you first got the invitation.

‘On behalf of Victor Lawson, you are formally invited to his mid-autumn get-together at his estate. Enjoy such finery as a five-course dinner, open access to his ballroom and gardens, and the pleasure of the host himself who’s eager to have you over. This invitation is viable to bring a plus one. We look forward to having you. ’

It was perfect. Perfect.

Chuckling under your breath, you think of the items that Victor had in that mansion of his—the jewelry and the raw cut gems. Your particular interest was a set of pearls that his mistress wore, well, wife now. Affairs are such messy things.

Slipping into black heels and looking into the full-length mirror, you smirk slowly at yourself, glancing up and down. You were the picture of elegant perfection—like a woman born and bred into money. Your penthouse was layered with the remnants of your spoils, stories on every counter or vanity; engraved into the pieces of fine metal and stone you wear on your wrists and neck. Bleeding wealth. Everything you have you had lied for, but did lies not take more practice than truths?

You consider yourself an artist.

“Perfect,” you clip the heavy earrings to your lobes, seeing the skin droop at the weight of rubies. Brushing down your dress, you hum, clicking your tongue at the thought of how pearls would better compliment the outfit. “No,” you grumble, frowning in disgust. “Nearly perfect.”

Walking out of the fabric curtain you have to block off your room, your heels click against the marble floors, creating a large echo over the vaulted ceiling; the place had a coldness to it, really. A separation.

Not that you cared.

Grasping the modest wool dress coat from the coat rack, you slip it on with a huff and fix the collar; hand moving into the pockets to take out your silk gloves and move your fingers into them. Last was the purse—a small black leather handbag that you let hang off of its strap on your right shoulder like another limb. The invitation was kept safe inside of the wool.

One last breath to try and keep your cool and stop the constant smirk that tries to force its way onto your face, and you call the elevator to your floor before stepping into it.

“The pearls are in the office,” you say, inserting your key and pressing the button for the lobby. “His wife leaves them in the glass display case if that maid’s words are anything to go off of. And tonight,” you hum, finger grasping your phone from your purse and pressing into the front to unlock it. A social media profile pops up and you stare, eyes half narrowed in lustful pleasure. “She’ll be wearing her sapphires.”

Victor’s wife is pictured in blues and silvers, and you had to admit, it wasn’t the correct color scheme for a mid-autumn ball. But you supposed she wanted to be the center of attention anyway, so her plan if that was the case would pan out perfectly. No one wears a blue that shade this late into the season.

You drop your phone into your coat pocket and shrug, blinking slowly as the small waft of the elevator music is interrupted by the ding of the doors; that sudden lightness to your head shows that it has come to a stop. Stepping through the opening, you wave to the doorman and plaster a sickly sweet smile on your lips.

“I’ll be back soon,” you explain. “Don’t miss me too much, then.”

He grins like an idiot. “Yes, Ma’am! Here,” the man scrambles, “I’ll get the door for you.”

“Oh, lovely, thank you, Dear.” Outside is a nice chilled breeze, leaves moving over the street only a small distance of concrete away—your driver is waiting patiently outside of it, the tinted windows up and the engine already running.

Your body moves to it.

“Ma’am,” he nods.

“Hello there, Buck,” you blink slowly at him, politely reaching out an arm and squeezing. “So good to see you again—and the Misses?”

“At home resting, thanks to you.” You hum, dismissing the comment as the man pulls at the car handle and moves to the side.

“It was the least I could do. Such a horrible feeling,” your lips mutter, “getting sick. If I only have to throw some of my money to get people to listen to their patients, it’s money well thrown. Do tell her I hope she feels better soon.”

“Of course, Ma’am.”

“Wonderful.” Sitting down on the seat, you carefully tend to your dress so it won’t wrinkle, picking at loose bits of wool from your jacket and gazing at your reflection in the glass. Such a vain little creature you’d grown into. Your eyes trail down your nose, lips, down the swell of your neck, and the bones of your face; running a finger over your cheek and trying to stop itching at the makeup you already long to take off.

But beauty takes time.

You’d look better with those pearls.

Buck gets into the car and locks the doors, and soon the entire vehicle is speeding off into the darkening sky. Your skin tingles with anticipation.

You enjoyed making those who’d broken the backs of others see a bit of your power when they realized you’d won, but the instances when you could go in and leave without a trace made you feel on top of the world. A woman with such a desirable position; an unforgettable ease of mastering a conversation.

It was addictive to watch them fumble around like idiots. Go crying to authorities about things they could easily buy again and again. It makes you want to never stop talking. Your fingers twitch at it—your heart pounds.

A sly fox’s smile comes to your lips, and you hum under your breath as the car brings you into the lion's den.

—

“Well,” Johnny grumbles, voice gruff. “I don’t understand why it needs to be me. Gaz looks better in a suit and everyone knows it.”

“Damn right I do,” the man in question replies, tossing a belt the Scot’s way, to which Johnny catches with no problem, slipping it into the loops of his dress pants with a heavy hand. “Don’t forget it.”

MacTavish's throat echoes with an unimpressed grunt, side-eyeing Kyle as he smirks. Grabbing the fly of his pants, the man runs it up, moving his feet to make sure he’s not stepping on any of the fabric.

“Garrick needs to be nearby in case of trouble. He’s your oversight.” Captain Price leans against the far table of the hotel room, glancing at his watch. “Five minutes, Sergeant.”

“Five bloody minutes,” Johnny groans, blinking as he tightens his belt. “Couldn’t at least have bought a bigger dress shirt? Suffocating over here, Sir.”

Ghost glances at him from where he stares out the window, arms crossed and fingers tapping his bicep. “You can blame Laswell for that.”

“Just make sure you don’t rip it in the middle of the party,” Gaz pats his shoulder, and Johnny glares, sighing out aggressively at the pull of fabric. The fellow Sergeant is smug and amused. “Can’t go in and bring you another.”

“Ah,” the Scot grunts. “Don’t worry, it’s just a little public embarrassment. Nothing I haven’t gone through before.”

“Story for us?” Simon utters, raising a brow.

“Not one I’m willing to tell.

John interrupts the banter session easily with a sharp command. “Alright, you can trade stories all you want later, we’re short on time and the driver’ll be here any minute. Soap,” Johnny blinks over, buttoning up his waistcoat and pushing the blue tie under it. Price stares, raising a brow, but his lips pause for a minute. “...Why are you wearing a bloody blue tie, Son?”

“What?” Johnny’s face pulls in, stubble shifting the scar on his chin. The sides of his eyes crinkle in. “Why’s that matter?”

John’s eyelids close for a moment before he takes a long breath and looks to the side, shaking his head. “No time,” he utters before coming back to it. “Go through it again, Sergeant. Slowly.”

“Target is Victor Lawson’s computer—located in his office at the back of the mansion. Three rights and a left is the fastest way there, barring breaking down the walls.”

“Good,” John grunts, seeing Johnny’s smirk at his joke. The Scot goes and grabs his suit jacket. “And?”

“One gun and a knife, hidden in the back garden with a silencer near the fountain,” the man licks his lips. Gaz passes over an earpiece which he hooks into his shell, clear and nearly invisible against his skin. “M9 with only one magazine. Fifteen rounds.”

“You don’t have to use it,” Simon weighs in. “In situations like these, opt for a knife. Less mess to clean up if you do it right.”

“Don’t want to think about the types of parties you go to, Lt,” Soap sends a sly smile the Lieutenant's way. “Think I’d shit my pants if I saw you at one. Mask or no.”

“I like parties,” Ghost says blandly back, blinking at him slowly. “They don’t skimp out on the appetizers.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Johnny mutters, moving back and hurriedly flattening out his suit. “Right! Time to get this over with, boys. I’m goin’ in—don’t miss me too much while I’m away.”

Price’s hand goes to rest on his shoulder, moving him out of the door as Kyle calls his good luck to him. The Captain moves a hand in emphasis on the words he ends up speaking.

“In the inside pocket, you have a USB,” he says, and Johnny’s blue eyes stare at him, serious with his lips flat. “We don’t need the entire system—just plug it into the box and let it do the work.”

“Rog.” Soap asks, “Anything I need to expect from this Lawson fellow?”

John grunts. “Negative. Man’s a drunk who likes to flaunt wealth, he’s in the background of his practice; has others do the dirty work for him. But we need his intel.”

“Then I’ll get it,” the Scot assures firmly, steel determination in his gut. “M’not so easily distracted, Price. It’ll be like takin’ a walk through the park.”

—

“I’ll be back soon, Ma’am,” Buck comments as he opens the door for you, sticking a hand out to assist you out to the red-carpeted grounds. “Call if you need to.”

“Thank you, Buck, I will,” you chuckle, nodding.

Walking past you run your hands over your jewelry, slipping your fingers up the inside of your wrist until you grasp the sleeve of your coat and pull it down more. It was growing colder out, and it was best to get inside the party as soon as possible. Already the air was thick with the noise of music and small talk, properly illuminated by lights that spilled out like water from a river.

Around you, the front entrance was guarded by the tall sentinels of rose bushes; decorations in the form of strung lights and pumpkins placed and carved to immaculate detail. The mansion itself was the biggest on the tree-strangled street, and cars were coming and going quickly; lights moving through the dark trunks.

Looking and walking slowly down the red carpet to the front entrance, your shoulder is lightly grasped.

“Ma’am?” You startle, head whipping around to the sound of a deep Scottish accent.

Your eyes lock with cobalt blues, a large man behind your form holding a piece of paper in his hand. You look at it quickly, the calloused and firm fingers extending the item.

He was in a black suit, and while you fight to raise your brow at the deep shade of blue for a tie, you find that the outfit suited his stocky build quite well. You could see the size of his biceps easily, and in the light, your face nearly went slack at them.

Not even mentioning the thighs.

“Apologies,” the stranger breathes, backing up a step and releasing you with a soft smile on his lips. “Saw this fall out of your pocket. I’d hate for you to lose it so close to the door.”

Staying silent for a moment, you quickly fall back on your natural charm.

“My pocket?” Your hand extends, brushing against the man’s own before lightly taking up the familiar shade of the invitation. You flip it over in your hands, eyebrows raising in slight shock. Your other hand pats down your coat pocket, finding no firmness besides the body of your phone.

“I didn’t even notice,” you chuckle lightly, focusing on the man ahead of you. A small flutter of upset moves in your veins. “Thank you very much, Sir. That would have been embarrassing.”

“Ah,” he shrugs his wide shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. And Johnny’s just fine, Dearie.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Johnny,” you move up and lean forward, lips shifting to leave a delicate kiss on the side of his cheek. Hearing a slight hitch in his breath, you hide your smirk, leaning back fully to stare into Johnny’s slightly widened eyes and the reddish sheen to his cheeks. He clears his throat, mohawked hair shifting in the breeze as he turns his head to the side for a moment. “You’re a lifesaver.”

You tilt your head.

“So, here for Victor’s party then?”

“Ah,” the man recovers quickly, nodding as you turn and begin a slow pace. The both of you stay near each other as the stairs to the front door get closer. “Yes, Ma’am. Have you…been to one before?”

You humph, shaking your head. “No way, I only ever go to these things once. Waste of time, in my opinion.” Your eyes send Johnny a glance to find him blinking at you in confusion. “What? You thought I would be all snobby about it? Most of the people here can’t even take back a shot correctly.”

A shocked chuckle exits the Scot’s lips, eyebrows raising on his face. A far more casual smile now takes form on his part.

“What are you even here for then,” he asks cheekily. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

You smirk. “The spoils of war, of course.”

“You’re strange, you are,” Johnny utters, but finds he can’t wipe the grin on his face for the life of him. In his ear, Price’s voice grinds through like iron.

“Soap, stay on schedule.”

He grunts, rolling his shoulders. Johnny’s thumbs go to rest in his belt, looping the brown leather.

“War’s a big word, Bonnie,” his blues glint.

“Would you prefer quarrel,” you dart back, and your spirits seem to enjoy this conversation some. The man was…new, so to speak. There was something different about him that you couldn’t place; he felt more layered than the normal people at these events usually came. Like you could speak to him for hours and only crack the surface. But, even by just his eyes, you could tell that he was intelligent. Very much so.

“That might be more your speed,” you end with a tilt of your head, jewelry lightly clinking against one another.

“I think you’d be surprised.” Your chuckle is smooth and easy to listen to.

“Perhaps.”

Johnny hums, smirking as he pulls ahead a tiny bit. “And what do I call you, exactly?”

“My name?” You find a hand in front of you when you make it to the stairs, and you mildly get thrown off by it. Blinking quickly for a moment, you recover and delicately place your hand into the Scot’s, smiling as he helps you walk up.

His flesh is warm, and you can feel it even through your gloves as it bleeds into you. A warmth that pushes back the chill of autumn, sending winter scampering like a dog with a tail between its legs. You ignore how your breath hitches at that action.

“You can just call me Cerise.” Is what you say as the doorman draws near and as Johnny stares with an intrigued furrow on his brow. Before the Scot can speak, you’ve already walked away, heels clicking and your purse swinging; hand whispering out of his like it was never there.

Blue eyes watch, but they quickly snap out of whatever trance was there beforehand.

There were things to accomplish—adrenaline was already taking hold in Soap’s bloodstream, making his focus hone in. While your conversation had been…interesting, and you were quite the beautiful woman, of course, he had a job to do.

But first, he had to get through the door.

As you were speaking with the doorman, easily handing over your invitation, the man slips his hand into his pants pocket to get it ready; voices from other guests all around.

But his hand touches nothing.

Immediately, Johnny feels his stomach drop.

“Where’s the fuckin’ invitation,” he hisses under his breath down the line, trying to keep his voice low. Soap’s eyes darted about on the ground, thinking that maybe he’d done the same as you and just dropped it. But no, nothing.

John’s hurried voice moves through the earpiece.

“Sergeant, don’t tell me you lost the fucking invitation.”

“It was in my pants!” He growls. “Bastard things that are making my thighs go numb.”

You’re none the wiser to the conversation in the man’s ear, only pausing when you hear the implication of something not going right. As the doorman takes your invitation and looks it over, you turn your head to the side and watch for a moment in confusion as Johnny pats his thighs and backside, hands over the pockets and his body turning in a circle.

“Johnny?” You call, walking towards him. The man freezes, eyes snapping back to you. You grab onto the tips of your gloves and begin taking them off, stuffing them into your coat. “Are you alright over there?”

His jaw is clenched, eyes simmering with annoyance. “Just fine, Hen, no need to ask,” your eyes narrow, slowly dropping to where the obvious lack of an invitation sits in his hands. “Just…uh, seems I’ve gone and lost something o’ mine.”

He goes back to whispering under his breath, throat bobbing with irritation that could rival even yours on a bad day. Even his cheeks gained a sheen of red to them, and not from the wind.

You blink, sighing under your breath.

You weren’t a good person, but you weren’t heartless either. The man had been good company, the least you could do was repay him. A good conversation is so hard to come by these days.

“Oh,” you play off with a chuckle, turning back around and speaking loudly. The doorman looks up at you quickly. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to tell you about my boyfriend, Johnny.”

The air halts, and wide blue eyes snap to the back of your skull.

“It must have slipped my mind in all the excitement, you can understand how such a magnificent property just takes all of my attention.” You chuckle, pushing an embarrassed sheen to your eyes and body—hunching your shoulders in, gripping by the elbows, even bending your spine lightly forward to lean closer to the man. “It’s so beautiful here, I was so caught up in the decorations. He’ll be my plus one for the night.”

The doorman chuckles with you, glancing at the Scot who quickly clears his throat; taking this blessing for what it is and ascending the last steps in record time.

A hand hovers over the small of your back, a bulky body slotting beside your own. Your nose twitches to the scent of hair gel and…you pause, swallowing down saliva. Was that the tang of gunpowder?

“It’s just fine, Miss,” you blink back to the present. The invitation is put to the side. “You’re both welcome inside. Please, enjoy your time in Mr. Lawson’s estate.”

“We will,” Johnny grunts, nodding. “You have a good night, Mate.”

You smile politely, the two of you walking through the open doors. A pair of lips moves to your ear, the words said with low reverence.

“I owe you, Bonnie,” he pauses. “Big time. Nearly scuffed the entire thing.”

“We can’t have that,” you ease, voice like water. “Quickly, what’s your last name?”

You both walk side by side, yourself only stopping for a moment to shimmy out of your coat. Hands move to the back of the collar, helping.

“Last name?” Johnny asks, confused at the instant question. “Why?”

“They’re going to introduce us when we walk in—I need to know so I can tell the announcer.”

The Scot stares, holding your coat as you take your phone out and put it into your purse. He passes off the item to a man near a side door, who asks your name and scurries off when he has it.

“MacTavish, full first name, John.” He grunts, admitting, “There’s a lot more to this than I expected.”

“It’s all for show, Mr. MacTavish,” your hand moves to his arm, lightly taking him along with you and restraining the want to squeeze the muscle under your fingernails. The man was as built as an Ox—what did he eat?

“There’s always more to things like this,” you chuckle.

A small silence falls, but it’s broken when Johnny’s curious nature betrays him. The way you had lied to the doorman…it had been so natural for you it had made him pause now that he had the time to think it over. Hell, he’d half-believed you himself.

Price had even been silent in his ear since then, only a shocked grunt moving across the line. As you shift a hand-held mirror out from your purse and bring it up, looking into it, he speaks up.

“You were good at that,” the Sergeant mutters, looking around at the paintings and decorations in the hallway, hearing more people entering from behind. The noise echoes from ahead as well, the party in full swing. “It was quick-thinking on your part, any reason as to why you’d help me?”

A smirk flicks over your lips as you snap your hand-held closed, moving it back into your purse. “You’re asking if I want to get into your pants?”

Johnny nearly chokes. “N-no! Not at all.”

Your head tilts, side-eyeing him, heels hitting the floor and carrying your snake-like stride. Not once do you blink at him, studying; taking him apart. Johnny’s enamored by the way you do it.

He suddenly knew to be far more cautious around you than he had been previously. His fingers twitch at his sides, and he goes to push back his mohawk with a run of his palm over his hair. He licks his lips and turns his face forward with a heat writhing under the skin.

“It’s alright,” you explain. “I wouldn’t be opposed, but, unfortunately, tonight I have other things to fuck than you, Mr. MacTavish. Perhaps at a later date.”

The man is at a total loss, jaw as slack as a piece of paper in the wind.

But what shocked response he could give you is lost as you move into a far more open room, you both at the top of an overhang—pillars and a large chandelier, shining bright. Marble with real vines wrapped around banisters; tables full of food in such quantity it seemed excessive. But the people. Hundreds of them, all dressed their very best at the bottom of these double stairs.

Soap’s eyes went over all of them, studying faces in an instant and memorizing them for later. No Victor from what he could see…he just needed an excuse to slip away when everyone was occupied. He had to get to the garden first; get that knife and his gun that had been stashed. If it all came to worse, he couldn’t afford to get caught without one of them.

Gaz can only do so much as overwatch from outside.

You move to a woman at the left, smiling as you move to whisper into her ear your title and Johnny’s.

“Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.”

The woman nods, and no later does she call into the crowd, moving her voice above the bob and flow of the conversation waves. Many of the men in the crowd choke on their drinks—eyes snapping up—at the mention of your moniker.

“The Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.”

“Johnny,” you call, and the man blinks, seeing and immediately moving out his elbow so you can loop your arm through his. “I am curious about one thing,” you say as the scent of gunpowder returns.

“Yeah?” Soap asks, scanning the faces that now pause their speeches and look at the pair of you. He grows uncomfortable at the attention, but you seem to soak it up—particularly the glares from a few faces that you seem to be acquainted with. “What’s that then?”

“You’re not here for the party, are you?”

Bloody fucking Christ, who is this woman?

“What makes you say that, Bonnie?” He forces out, his muscles winding up; jaw working itself in a tight clench. The Scot’s stubble writhes with the force of it. Has he been compromised that quickly? Not possible. Johnny’s mind starts running, and Price gets into his ear to call a firm order to move away from you immediately.

But that would make your unblinking eyes worse, and Soap didn’t want that. The hair on his arms starts to rise, spine straightens like a stick. You felt it, feet going down the stairs without having to look at them, your head is stuck gazing at him.

“No offense, of course,” your voice even results in his feet wanting to disobey him, to turn your way. The way you spoke was hypnotic. A siren. Some womanly beast from long lost history, coming to haunt him when he had a job to do on a limited schedule.

You continue. “But you’re not right. You don’t fit into this crowd.”

“What?” Soap tries to push a flat joke. “Did my hair give it away?”

You study him, smirking. “No.” There’s no other explanation beyond that.

This was supposed to be simple.

Give him a gun and he’d be the most experienced shooter in this room; a jumble of cables? He’d have a homemade explosive in minutes.

But why the hell would they put him in a suit?

“Listen, Cerise, Hen,” Johnny levels, “I’d love to stay and talk, really, but I need to fuck off and find some of my friends. Thank you very much for the save at the door, but there are some things I need to take care of.”

“And here I thought I’d get to keep my fake boyfriend,” you pout, leaning into his side. He watches you tensely.

Your lips move in a laugh like a ringing bell. “But, yes, you’re right. I also have to take care of my entertainment for the night.” You move up to his cheek again, placing a kiss on his stubble as you both reach the bottom of the stairs. You whisper into his ear. “It was very nice meeting you, Johnny. Do tell me if you’ll ever take me up on the offer I gave you.”

Disappearing into the crowd, it’s like you were never there.

—

Johnny grunts as he tries to bend down, the fabric around his thighs and arms pulling tight enough to stop the blood in his veins.

“If someone doesn’t get me properly fitted,” he growls down the line, “you can find a new demolitions expert, Price.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sergeant.”

“It was short notice, Johnny,” a Manchester accent follows.

Blue eyes glared at the bag hidden beneath foliage, a hand snatching out and grabbing it quickly.

“Ghost,” Soap huffs. “Good of you to join us with our late-night heist.”

“Figured you could use the support.”

“Oh,” Johnny scowls, “always. ‘Specially when I have to get myself surgically removed from this piece of utter shite.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.” With a shake of his head and a growing smirk, the Scot takes out the M9 and the combat knife. Moving to attach the silencer to the gun. Blue eyes scan the garden rapidly; on the lookout for any guests or guards walking near the fountain at his back.

“Alright, I’ve got the gun.”

“Knife?” Ghost asks.

“Affirmative, Lt.”

“You’ll be smart to use it away from any prying eyes. Neck leaves too much of a spray—go for the gut and cover the mouth until they stop moving.”

There’s a moment of rustling fabric as Soap shifts the gun into the small of his back, the back of his suit enough to cover the grip but restricting the ability for a fast draw. Simon was right—the knife was the best option for him.

“You are stone cold, Simon,” the Sergeant smirks, eyes gazing over grass and gravel as the knife finds a home up his right sleeve, resting against his forearm. “Price, has Gaz checked in?”

“Affirmative,” the Captain comes back on as Johnny stands, re-hiding the bag into the bush. “Says he has eyes on from the neighboring mansion’s roof. He’ll lose you when you go inside, but if you need any guards terminated, lead them outside and he’ll take care of ‘em.”

Soap nods, head swiveling and brushing down his front. “Copy. I’ll keep it in mind.”

But as he’s walking, the Sergeant pauses, dress shoes getting brushed by the grass. A bead of silence lingers on him like a needle into fabric, a nagging feeling like an itch at the base of his skull.

“Price?”

“What is it?”

“I need you to look into someone else at the party, calls herself ‘Cerise’.” Johnny can practically hear the confusion over the line and he moves on to explain as he walks farther into the garden. “See if there are any files with that name. I have a bad feeling, and I can’t place it.”

“The woman?” Simon’s voice enters his ear.

“Aye, her. The things she said…they’re stickin’ with me.”

“Hate to tell you, Soap,” Price sounds slightly amused in his dim monotone way. “But the things she says stick to most men.”

He growls, face going heated as his chest tightens. “I’m not speaking ‘bout any of that.” Johnny’s head swivels up to the balcony of the ballroom, trying to pinpoint his location from the maps he’d memorized prior. “I’m talkin’ about how she—”

Speech halts in a fast instant of a choked-off sentence.

A flash of red catches his eye.

“Johnny?” Simon asks over the earpiece, confusion in his tone. But with a slack jaw, Johnny can only watch in awe and shock at the woman currently breaking into one of the locked balcony doors. And he knew they were locked. The informant had said they would be.

It was you.

Red dress and moonlight over your flesh, you look around the balcony before bending and opening up your purse, fiddling for a moment with the contents inside.

“Johnny, sit-rep.”

Unblinking, Soap watches as you take something out, moving closer to the door and inserting it into the door lock.

“She’s fucking picking the lock,” Johnny breathes, his breath making a cloud on the air.

“Who, Sergeant?” Price asks.

“Cerise,” Soap huffs, his jaw closes slowly, blinking as a hand comes up to rub at the back of his head. Only a minute or so later, you move back from the door swiftly, stuffing your items back into your purse and standing. Hand going to the handle, you push into it…and it opens with no trouble at all.

Walking through, Soap gapes as the door closes silently behind you.

“She got in,” he relays, and he hears Price order for Simon to contact Laswell—possible hostile inside of the mansion. “How do I go about this, then?”

“We need that intel—neutralize her if she interferes.”

Something swirls in Soap’s chest, but as he hurries to the stairs up to the balcony after you, gravel stuck into the grips of his shoes. With a grunt, he says, “Copy, Sir.”

Reaching the very same door you’d just gone into, the man slips inside without a whisper, clicking off his earpiece.

—

You trail a hand along the wall at your side, keeping to the barrier and resisting the temptation to fill your purse with expensive pewter statues and whatever other bits you can fit. But you can’t fight off the feeling for long, and before you take a fast right on the way to the office, your noiseless hand snatches at a small statue of a knight and stuffs it into your bag. A low chuckle breeds in your throat.

As you pass mirrors, you gaze at your neck, trying to imagine the glint of pearl and the way they’ll feel over your flesh; sitting heavy with wealth and dripping perfection down to the golden clasp.

“Three rights and a left,” you go off the words from the maid, pausing when you hear the sounds of staff or security. Heels muffled on the thin carpet, your body slinks along like a cat, red dress trailing with all its dangerous intentions.

You’re only one last turn to the hallway of the office when you’re unceremoniously grabbed by the scruff of your neck.

Eyes snapping wide, a sharp inhale is muffled on your lips as a hand settles over your mouth, ripped back along the carpet and shoved into the wall with a rattle of picture frames.

Ignoring the sting of your spine and the fingers that find purchase around your flesh, you blink away the sheen of panic and lock eyes into familiar cobalt blues.

“Johnny?” Your voice is muffled behind skin, and your hand snaps up to his wrist when pressure is set over your windpipe. Shock flies to every other emotion available, confusion taking precedence.

His face is rabid with anger.

“Who the fuck are you?” The words are snarled on his accented tone—lower than the bottom of a canyon.

Physical interactions, in this sense, were never your strong suit, of course. You specialized in getting out before anything like this ever happened, not when a hand was around your throat and starting to put pressure. In fact, now that you thought about it, the man ahead of you would have absolutely no trouble snapping your neck in a second. Despite all of your pride, a bead of fear moved up your back.

Yet, you still glare with all the venom you can muster over the barrier of Johnny’s hand. The weight at your neck stays, but the one over your mouth moves to lean into the wall beside your head.

“Get your hands off of me, you brute,” your words are tight, nails digging into his skin and making indents.

The man can feel your pulse under his hand, the thump of your blood as he looms, glaring heavily. He wanted answers.

“I asked you a question, Bonnie,” his jaw clenches, eyes unblinking. “I think it’s in your best interest to answer it truthfully, eh?”

“And what about you then?” You force out, “I guess my hunch was correct, you’re not here for the party.”

“I have a job to do,” Soap snaps under his breath, eyes moving the hallway as your free hand delves into your purse slowly. “I have a feeling you’re lacking in that department, Cerise, whatever the hell that name bloody means.”

“It’s French,” you snarl, teeth bared, and feeling insulted. “It’s elegant.”

“It’s a load of bullshit. That’s not even your real name, you minx.” His hand tightens even more, and your eyes gain a sheen of panic as your throat closes—his hold was unbreakable just as is, a trained and dangerous thing. Trained? Who was he? What did he want with Victor’s estate?

Was he a thief like you, or hired security?

“Answer me!” His face moves forward, nose nearly brushing yours and breath puffing your face. “Who do you work for?”

“Work?” Your voice raises, confused and angry. “I fucking work for myself, asshat! Do you think I’d waste my time doing this for someone else? Those pearls belong with me.”

His eyebrows pull in, face tight.

You lash out with the pewter statue in hand, aiming for his head. Halfway there, the man’s limb beside your skull flashes out and you find your wrist captured, shoved back into the wall, and outstretched beside you.

Gasping at the pain that ricochets your bones, your hand drops the item in an instant. Your brows go tight with old wounds, the memory of your first attempt at pickpocketing sparking up along with the pinch of marrow.

“Not very bright, Hen,” Johnny’s voice is graveled, glancing at the statue as it bounces along the floor. His lips twist, expression shifting as he takes in your prior confession one word at a time. The attack hadn’t even phased him. The scar at his chin roaves, as he huffs out as the hold on your neck loosens, “Now what did mean pearls—?”

Your knee reems itself upward and connects with his crotch.

Balking back, Johnny’s spine bends, curling in as a long and loud groan enters the hallway—a curse hurled out soon after. Not planning on lingering, you bolt off, jewelry jingling, and lungs heavy in your chest.

“What the hell,” you gasp, taking that last left and staring at the large wooden door at the end of the lineup; fancy gold handle. Fingers shaking and neck aching, you hear the sharp call from behind you as your body gets to the barrier.

Yet, there’s no time to pick the lock. A curt bark moves along the walls.

“Cerise!”

“Fuck,” you draw the word out, quivering hand moving through your purse to find your picks.

Johnny rushes the corner, one hand still on his aching lower body and the other pointing down the hall.

“Get over here,” he snaps.

“Fuck you!” You snap, glaring. “Stop acting like there was anything down there for it to hurt!”

“I am five seconds away,” the man hisses, “from dragging you out of here by your arm and throwing you to the fuckin’ security. You’re a damn thief.” He says it with utter surety, knowing as he puts all the pieces together.

“I am a businesswoman,” you back up a step as he moves even closer, the bulk of his body intimidating now that you know what it could do to you. “And, apparently, you think it’s acceptable to toss one around like you’re trying to have sex with it,” your eyes flare, back going flat to the window behind you. Johnny looms once more, arms caging you in as they go beside your head and the fingers curl. Both of you bark at one another with, at present, no bite.

“I’m not opposed to fun, Mr. MacTavish,” your smirk is venomous. “But I prefer to do it when I’m not on the job.”

“Stop talking,” he snaps, eyes darting to your lips as your gut spikes with adrenaline. His front is nearly flush with yours. “This isn’t worth it—you’re wasting my time. I need to get into that office”

“Then let me go,” your lips are near his, brushing with every word. Now your silver tongue has something to latch onto. He wants to get into that office just as much as you do. “We can help one another.”

“You?” Johnny scoffs, tilting his head as footsteps echo down one of the nearest halls. “Help me? Sorry, Dearie, but after that stunt of kickin’ my fucking balls in, you’ll have to wait for ‘em to re-drop before I put any sliver of trust into you.”

“Tempting,” you huff, both of your teeth bared like dogs—not once do either of you blink away. “But you can’t get that door to move without me.”

Johnny raises a disbelieving brow, and you elaborate.

“If the pins aren’t all moved in under ten seconds, and the door opened, an alarm goes off,” the man stills above you, and you smile in pleasure. “All security in the area will come rushing down on you and your horribly styled hair,” he snarls, eyes flashing, but you continue, face triumphant. “And I hate to say it, Mr. MacTavish, really I do, but I doubt you can pick a lock better than me.”

Johnny glares still, and this time, it’s far more sharp. Something moves behind his blues; consideration or exasperation, you don’t know. Hell, you still don’t know what he’s going to do when he gets into the office. But this is an alliance between wild animals.

The man is about to open his mouth, jaw already loosening, when a loud, questioning, voice moves from the end of the hall.

Both of you freeze, pupils going tiny from where they stare into one another's. Even the blood in your veins slows to a near stop; shock so potent it renders you speechless. Someone was coming down the hallway.

“Is anybody down there?” A voice calls, echoing off the ceiling. There wasn’t anywhere to hide.

Johnny moves back immediately, a hand going to the back of his suit to try and grasp at something as you hurriedly blurt out, “Kiss me!”

The man flinches, anxious eyes narrowed. He blinks rapidly. “What?”

“You heard me,” you snap. Footsteps get closer and the Scot looks at you like you’ve gone mad.

“I am not fuckin’ kissing you, Bonnie,” he says bluntly, a chuckle on his lips. “No way on God’s green earth.”

“Do you want to get caught or do you want to play it off as a mistake?” Your hand moves forward and grabs at his tie, yanking him back to you. He barely budges, raising an unimpressed brow. “I swear to God, MacTavish, do not ruin this for me.”

The man glares, snapping, “I’m not the one that decided to kick a man in the dic—”

“Hurry up and kiss me!” No time.

Someone’s shadow cusps the visible part of the hallway, and you stare with a pleading expression, Johnny glances over his shoulder before he moves his hand away from the M9. With a deep grunt of disapproval, he leans forward swiftly and slams his lips to yours.

Gasping at the intensity of it, your face is smushed as the Scot’s hand comes up, grasping under your jaw and keeping you attached to him, the other stuck at your hip where it creases the fabric.

For a moment you even forget why he did it, and your body melts slightly as he huffs through his nose—your fingers finding his waist. He shivers as they dig in, and he pushes you into the wall, making the dichotomy of warm flesh and a chilled window leave your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head.

When your tongue brushes his lips, soft smacking meeting your ears, he hums, leaning into you harder. Neither of you fight it when your lips meet again and again, this time making your hand go to the back of his head, greedy mouth opening when he growls into your flesh. It’s nearly feral with clacking teeth and a massacre of senses. His fingers knead at your jaw slowly.

“E-excuse me,” Johnny rips himself from you, whipping around with a red face. Keeping you in front of him, his pounding heart makes his eyes blur for a moment, attempting to focus. You peek over his shoulder, face burning like a million suns, but a smirk forcing itself forward.

The man behind the mysterious Scot is older, and not part of Victor’s security at all. Just a partygoer who had gotten lost along his way. How he even got back here through the main way without being spotted was something of an achievement, you supposed.

He stutters into the heated air. “Sorry to…erm, interrupt, but I don’t suppose you two know the way to Mr. Lawson’s garden?”

The both of you are brainless for a second, Johnny’s hand still on your hip.

“Two lefts and a right,” you utter on swollen lips, eyes smug. “Door’s already open.”

He hurries off, without a glance behind him, and silence falls again.

You blink at the man now suddenly unable to meet your gaze, backing off of you like you’re made of red fire. Your head tiles even as molten heat rages in your bloodstream, pounding in the base of your throat.

“My, my, Johnny,” you draw out, leaning closer as he sends sharp glances. “I’m impressed, who knew you had that in you?”

“Stop it,” he ends the subject, voice fast and firm.

“And here I thought you’d be a bad kisser. Very attentive to a woman’s needs.” You smirk, slinking past him and muttering in his ear, “Gold star for you, Mr. MacTavish.”

“Get the door open before I change my mind!” He snaps, but you aren’t put off by the darkness of his eyes.

You raise your hands, tossing a look over your shoulder.

“How did I know you’d be so pushy?” The man’s jaw moves as it clenches, nose twitching. He runs a hand over the back of his neck and glares.

You kneel, opening your purse and snickering as you grasp the picks and twirl them between your fingers. They were metal—long and bent to be inserted into the lock and manipulated until you found the correct sequence of pins inside of the mechanism. Inserting the first pick, you take and turn the knob slightly to the left, keeping it like that as you hurriedly insert the second.

“Ten seconds,” Johnny utters, watching closely as his anger simmers down to annoyance with you. Yet, he can’t deny that he liked that kiss, either. “Bastard has a lot to hide.”

You hum under your breath, face close to the door and ear twitching with each click. “Not for long.”

White pearls glimmer in your mind.

Feeling around, the pressure from one pin to another is easily definable to you—years of practice moving from brain to brawn flooding out. With every bit of loose metal identified, the handle is moved by the first pin to keep them from slipping back down.

“Five seconds,” the man behind you forces out, looking back from you to the hallway, anxious about getting caught.

“Do shut up,” you sigh harshly, head tilting. “Stop breathing down my neck and make yourself useful.”

“Doing what,” he grunts, blues getting stuck at the back of your scalp.

“Hand near the door,” your voice is easily forced to sound hurried. “You need to push it open, shoulder and all.”

“When?” He barks, already rushing to hover his large limb over your head. You finally get the small snap of all of the pins in place, a click of achievement.

Your heart skips a beat, yet you say casually, “Now.”

He nearly barrels it down, and your eyes widen as he moves through with the force of a bull, your left-behind form kneeling as the man’s shadow dashes. You blink a few times, brows pulling in with distaste.

While you should have been happy, all you do is stare with a raised brow at Johnny as he stops the inside handle from making a dent in the wall, head on a swivel.

“I said to push it open, MacTavish,” you grunt, standing. “Not bring it down, you idiot.”

He turns as you fix your clothes, taking out your compact mirror once more and running your hands along your neck; slinking into the office. Johnny huffs, rolling his eyes.

“Forgive me, Cerise, if I didn’t want the entire bloody party comin’ to me.”

You wondered if now was a good time to tell him you lied about the alarm but decided it was better to hold off until you had your prize. The less he knew, the better.

“Yes, yes,” your voice is low, “are you going to tell me what you want with this place or am I going to be left in a well of intrigue?”

“You’re not gettin’ a peep out of me, Dearie,” he levels looking around slowly—always keeping an eye on you. Johnny doesn’t trust you, but, hell, you don’t trust him.

Shrouded in mystery.

You shut the door behind you, gazing with glee at the expensive decor and knick-knacks. Was that a gold statue of a deer, you spied? Oh, that would fit just perfectly on your foyer’s side table. Pity you can’t just carry it out of here.

“Such a tease,” you hum, sauntering like a fox over the hardwood. “But I have to admit, John, I don’t care a large deal. You’re not important to me.”

“Likewise, Thief,” he grumbles, eyeing the way your hips sway with every step.

There’s the click of a safety going off, and before your fingers can card along the glass case set into the side wall, keeping velvet boxes in their clutch, you freeze. The door’s lock is reinstated.

Eyes still, you stare at Johnny’s reflection in the glass, heart slightly pounding faster. His face is staring, lips pulling into a smirk.

“As much as I’m just loving our little session, Ma’am, I just need you to understand something, yeah?”

You don’t speak, don’t blink. You hate to admit it, but you feel a droplet of unease as it enters your bloodstream. Had he had a gun this entire time? Your eyes find it now, an M9 hanging from his right hand. It’s black body and the long silencer, an image of death if you’ve ever seen one. You’re not new to guns—no, no, not with how you’ve chosen to live your life; the world you’ve taken by the throat and throttled. But getting threatened with one never became easier.

“I think I understand just fine,” you say, smoother than you feel. Shifting your head, you look over your shoulder, raising a brow. “I have business to attend to, MacTavish. I suggest you do the same.”

“I can’t have witnesses,” you laugh, shrugging. Your hands go to the clasp of the glass cabinet, flicking it to the side with a slide of cold metal.

“And I can’t go without these pearls, do you expect me to care about what you can or can’t have? My needs outweigh yours.”

A low rumble. Johnny’s hips shift weight, and that gun still hasn’t risen from the side. He wasn’t going to shoot you, though you recognize that it may be a bit of a shock to him as well as to yourself.

“I very much doubt that,” enters the air with an accented drawl.

“Doubt it, then,” your bluntness is cold and precise, attention already taken as you move to grasp one of the jewelry boxes, pushing the top open with a squeak of the tiny hinge. A silver sigil ring meets you, and your lips twitch at its shimmering material. “Just stay out of my way.”

“Bloody fuckin’ bastard,” the Scot utters under his breath, shaking his head harshly before his feet take him to the desk set near the back. He allows you to stuff your purse to your fancy, even as his mind screams at him to just put a bullet in you and end this—there wasn’t time for games. Certainly not ones played with a damn fox like you.

The memory of the kiss still sears the man’s brain, until Johnny thinks of every interaction you two had had over this fast-paced and stressful night.

But now it was time to hone in. Clean-up later.

“Price, I’m in the office,” Soap mumbles through the line, clicking his earpiece back.

“Good,” the reply is swift. Johnny ignores your small intrigued look, not commenting on the amount of valuables you suddenly have bulging out of your purse. Like a kid in a candy store. The sight is almost enough to make him smirk at you. “Insert the USB and let it do its work. Should take a few minutes—hunker down and assess the exits. There are three floor-length windows behind the curtains; if it comes to it, break through and drop into the pool below.”

“Swimming lesson?” Soap jokes, patting his inner jacket pocket and producing a small black USB stick.

“Eager, are you, Sergeant?”

“Not particularly, Sir.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Ghost joins on, dry response adding to the choir of strange humor.

Johnny’s fingers move to plug the USB into the port, hearing the click of it inserting and stepping back as lines of code jump across the now illuminated screen—files pop up and disappear just as quickly, and the blinking light on the stick tells him all he needs to know about if it’s working or not.

“Johnny,” Simon pipes back in, and the man shifts his body to the side, hand coming up to his earpiece on reflex.

“What is it, Lt?”

Across the way, your eyes glint.

Lieutenant? So the man’s military? Jesus, that changes things. I thought he was just some guy trying to get dirt on someone he disliked. Business partner, maybe. But military?

Your shoulders get a bit more tense, but it doesn’t stop your fingers from brushing your real prize—the last box inside of the case; red leather. It was all but calling your name like a veiled ghost of lust.

“Got a hit for a file with an Unknown, alias ‘Cerise.’ Laswell dug through the records.”

“Do you?” Johnny licks his lips, feet backing up a step and swinging his weapon. “Lay it on me, then.”

“Not much to relay—multi-year investigation, borders on some of their top classified cases for untouched HVTs. Don’t even have a description. String of high-caliber thefts, blackmail, extortions, and suspected of multiple murders to end it all off. Woman’s been busy.”

“Well,” Soap draws, tilting his head with raised brows. “Isn’t that just lovely?”

But the last part stuck with the Sergeant—murders? Call him naive, but you didn’t seem the type for that.

Blue eyes linger on you, slipping up and down with a twitch in their lids. He sees your face light up as you pop open a jewelry case; lips peeling in a violent smile as the round bodies of elegant and expensive pearls meet the light. Hell, Soap nearly hears you squeal.

Murder? But he knows that looks are deceiving.

He addresses Price, peeling his eyes away and taking a long breath. “Any advice, Captain?”

“She’s not the mission. Get what we need and get out.” It wasn’t shocking.

“And Gaz?”

“Still on overwatch—getting antsy. Says there are more security patrols in the gardens but they haven’t done anything more than speak to an old man.”

Johnny blinks. “Say again, Sir?”

“Old man,” Price repeats. “Have him out by the gardens, moving about; asking questions.” A pause. “Why?”

“We might have a problem,” Soap growls, and not a second later there’s news being relayed.

“They’re moving up the stairs into the mansion, Soap.”

“Fuck me,” the Sergeant snaps, rushing to pull at the curtains behind him, seeing the pool far below—it would take a bit of a jump to land a safe distance from the concrete, but there were limited options.

Making out in a hallway pretending to be horny partygoers wouldn’t fix this.

You glance over at the ruckus, in the middle of clipping your prized necklace over your flesh, feeling the weight of it against your collarbone. The sensation of pleasure was so overwhelming your gut swirled with achievement like a storm at sea.

It was perfect.

Staring long at yourself in the glass reflection, your smile is wide and sharp—uncaring to the Scot’s sudden anxieties. You had your pearls and a few extra treasures, that was all that mattered to you. All that was left was your escape. Taking your phone out of your stuffed purse, you text Buck and tell him you’re ready for a pick-up and to park a little way down the street.

‘Need to walk the drinks off a little bit,’ is what you type, before hitting a firm send with a smirk.

Moving backward, Johnny still speaks hurriedly into the earpiece you had deduced that he has, and has probably had since the evening began. Fast-clipped sentences, and glances to the whirring computer, the USB stick you see inserted into its body. Your curiosity has always been your downfall, but you weren’t about to mess with whatever heist this was; especially involving the military and their forces.

That was a cat you didn’t want to drag out of the bag.

Making your way to the door, your hand is just about to grasp at it when you full-stop. Blinking slowly, your head tilts, your ear twitching to hear the muttering from beyond the barrier. With a moment of understanding brewing, a hand lands on the back of your neck and yanks you back, dragging you like a toddler for the second time tonight

Before you can shout at the brutish man, a hand is once more over your mouth, and a voice in your ear. Was this really the only way he could figure out how to keep you quiet?

“No speaking—you’ll just give away our position.”

You glare, unimpressed, until he releases you—blue eyes firmly leveled on your face in order.

“Keep it shut,” he harshly whispers. As your mouth opens, he raises a finger and clicks his tongue, moving away quickly as you stare past in insult. Jaw loose, your eyes glint with hatred, growl in your throat as you turn after him.

“I’m not fucking three, you asshat!” You exclaim under your breath. “I bet I’ve gotten out of more situations like this than you have. And would you quit dragging me everywhere?!”

The handle across the way is jiggled, Johnny glancing at the computer screen in desperation. It wasn’t done yet. He scoffs, face twisting.

“Debatable.” You vehemently roll your eyes, looking around the room. This wasn’t exactly good—but it wasn’t unsalvageable. Looking at the woodgrain of the door like a plotting snake, you decide you could always play it off as one of Vicor’s multiple affair partners. He had scores, no way the man could remember them all. Tell security that he’d invited you here to discuss child support or hush money; that had to be fair play.

You hum under your breath, sighing. How would you explain Johnny? A lover? Bodyguard? Your mind runs through scenario after scenario, until a large knife is shoved right in front of your face. You balk back with a choking sound, startled like a bird on a line.

“Take this before I change my mind,” Johnny grunts, grasping at his gun firmly.

Your eyes stare with a sneer at the combat knife, which wiggles as the man’s hand shakes it impatiently.

“I’m not taking that—are you mad?”

Soap’s face is as stubborn as stone. “I’m not leaving without my intel, and neither are you.” A look is thrown up and down your body which makes you straighten, heels situating themselves below you. “You wanted to be here, Dearie, so you can’t back out now, can you?”

“If I was here alone, none of this would have gone wrong,” you get into his face, eyes deadly. The door shakes as someone runs a shoulder into it—loud shouting from the hallway.

“You’re a vain little minx that plays mind games because she thinks it’s fun,” Johnny hisses, breath atop of yours and eyes unblinking. “Mind yourself, you hear? This is bigger than a necklace, you vain creature.”

You huff. “It’s funny you think I care.”

“Little—” The computer beeps, and Johnny’s head whips back around as the frame of the door begins to crack.

The USB’s light glints a steady green, and then goes off, just as the computer screen blackens.

“Price!” Soap barks. “USB is done uploading, I need intel from Gaz, now!”

“Everything below the window is clear, Sergeant—get out!

“I need something to protect the damn thing from the water,” the man is already moving back, gun clattering to the desk as he opens drawer after drawer for anything—even just a little bag of—

“Holy shit,” you laugh, picking up something that had fallen to the floor in Johnny’s rabid search. “Victor was getting up to it.”

Cocaine baggie—the Sergeant snatches it from you.

“Woah,” you huff. “Wasn’t aware you had an affinity.”

“I am beggin’ you to keep your trap shut.”

“Ooo,” you smirk, eyes shimmering. “I like that.”

Johnny seethes like a dog, looking at you as he dumps out the drug and rips the USB out, shoving it inside as white powder hits his dress shoes. From there, the thing gets shoved into his pocket with a heavy hand.

“Come here,” he takes you by the arm, pulling. With his other, he grasps his M9 once more. Your annoyingly smooth voice in his ear is a constant knife right to his brain.

“Of course, Handsome.”

“Sergeant, for the love of God, tell me that Cerise isn’t in that room with you.” Price’s voice interrupts the two dogs at each other's throats, baring their fangs with sharp intentions.

Soap tilts his head harshly, moving to the window with you beside him. For whatever reason, he fights his senses to leave you here to be caught.

“Then I won’t tell you, Sir.”

“Fucking hell, Soap.” The Scot huffs, smirk at his lips.

“In a worse way because of it, too.” His hand tightens on your arm and you only chuckle, fingers to your mouth as heat moves up Johnny’s neck. He clears his throat, looking away, muttering to his Captain. “Won’t bloody leave me alone.”

“Awe,” your free hand captures his bicep, running up the fabric of his suit jacket. “I’d never leave you alone, Baby.”

Soap suppresses a whole-body shiver, your heated kiss still strangling him every second he gets a whiff of your perfume. His feelings towards you were strange; potent like a snake to a mouse.

The worst part was that he didn’t know who was who in this equation.

Releasing you, your body jostles at the sudden lack of a brace, but you recover with a laugh and a raise of your brow.

Johnny takes his gun and sends four rounds into the glass.

Yelping, your hands go to your head, covering your ears and slightly ducking.

“Time to go, Sunshine!” Your waist is gripped, legs jerked up with a grunt. All at once your eyes widen, your brain understanding the total lunacy that’s about to take place.

“Wait!” You shout just as the front door is busted down. “I’m wearing tangerine quartz—i-it can’t get wet!”

He’s already in mid-air, a smirk on his face, peeling back the stubble on his cheeks as his body crashes through the broken glass.

There’s the sensation of flying, briefly experiencing what a bird lives before gravity takes over, stealing you just as it does your stomach. You yell sharply, but that’s all you get above Johnny’s heavy chuckle before water enshrouds you both. It sloshes over your head, and takes you down into its depths; chlorine makes your eyes burn before you snap them shut.

You’re taken by the first thing that strikes you as your waist is pulled back to the surface—Johnny hiking you upward with your back to his chest.

Who keeps water in the pool this late into autumn?

Gasping as your head breaks out of the water again, your nails dig into Soap’s wrist, loud commotion from far above, and the screaming of orders.

A bullet whizzes past your face.

“I’m going to need Gaz on this!” Johnny shouts, unwilling to let you go as his legs begin kicking, water running through his hair and flowing off of his nose.

There’s a muffled call before one of the security guards from the office window is struck in the head, a spray of red popping from the burst container of his skull—body slumping out of the hole. He hits the ground with a slapping crunch as you pant on fast breaths.

Getting forced back along with Johnny, you curse in the open air at the sight, eyes wide as your dress is utterly ruined by the pool.

You’re tossed upward, body grunting and skidding along the concrete as your palms slap the ground. Scrambling up, Johnny pivots with you behind him, taking his M9 and leveling it up, firing off a few rounds before the sound of your rushing heels strikes him.

Soap calls to you, but you’re already speeding away to the tree line, water leaving a long trail as you sprint to the best of your ability. The pearls around your neck glimmer, slapping against your flesh.

“What the fuck,” you gasp, heart rushing like a lion. “What the fuck!”

Grass moves near your feet, the estate slashing by—gunshots still echo, those loud booms moving over the night; you even hear the loud panic of the party, beginning to understand what they’re hearing.

Stumbling on a rock, your palms skin themselves along the ground, but you don’t wait to think about the sting. You push back up and keep running.

“Cerise!” Soap barks, running after, looking over his shoulder as his earpiece is full of loud orders.

A hand swipes at the back of your arm and misses as you pivot and grasp your purse strap, swinging it around until it slams into Johnny’s head.

“Fucking hell!” He snarls, hand raising to shield himself as you do it again.

“You’re crazy!” You yell, mind stuck on blood and bursting heads. Your purse is in the air, swinging from your raised hand; feet still backing up from the bulky form.

Blue eyes blink at you, occupied with both looking behind for pursuers and shots as you both move into the trees rapidly, circling one another even while escaping. “You’re shooting people?!”

“It’s my mission!” Johnny shoves out, jerking out a hand. “We need to leave—now!”

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” You yell, looking him up and down, backing up, and bringing your purse close to your chest.

Both of your eyes lock in a battle.

“Bonnie,” the man levels, “You’re not staying here with them—they’ve seen your face.”

“I like my chances better when I’m alone,” you swallow down your tone, evening it out to emanate the confidence that you always try to carry like a sword. You’re not going with Johnny—not now. Now you had to go through aliases; move again—run like a petty criminal. You had to hide your valuables and get your finances together.

Staring, you pant, water dripping from your nose.

You needed to disappear again.

“Don’t be a bloody fool,” Johnny hisses, moving closer. “C’mon, we need to leave.”

“You’re right we do—go, then.” It’s final. “I’m not following you anywhere,” your eyes darted his form, remembering how his weight had pressed you into your wall. “Enjoy your intel, Mr. MacTavish, but I have my own affairs to deal with.”

You slip your purse strap over your body and unclip your heels, dangling them by your finger as you stand back to full height with a deep breath. You’re scared now—nervous. Being around guns was one thing, but watching someone get shot was another.

No one was supposed to die tonight; you’re shaken.

“Cerise,” Soap opens his mouth, annoyance in his veins. But he looks into your eyes and pauses, seeing the fidgeting, the flightiness. The man stills, glancing at your visible heartbeat, gobsmacked.

You were afraid. The woman who’d smirked when he’d pushed her into a wall—the woman who had no terror of getting caught. Afraid of him.

He backs up a step raising his hand.

“Hey,” Johnny eases, lowering his tone. You don’t change your attitude.

“No, MacTavish,” you clench your jaw. “This is where our game ends. For good.”

Eyes lock; stare. They dig and they stay still, night aflame with chaos. The game had been fun, but, Soap knew the truth about this as well as you did. It was felt in the very air along the vibrations. He can’t drag you along back to the Exfil point—it would bring nothing of it but wasted time and energy. There wasn’t any time, and even as his instincts told him to level the barrel of his weapon with your skull…he couldn't do that.

He had to let you go.

There aren’t any words spoken; none said in parting or goodbye—in all accounts, the two of you don’t even know if you like one another. Both of you would aggressively deny any such thing, even if the pair of you were absorbed in how one another feels rubbing your hands along clothes. That dig; that pull.

In the end, you turn, and you disappear into the trees, rushing to circle back to the front of the property where Buck will be waiting down the road. Your heart patters, your jewelry bouncing, and your purse full of your stolen quarry.

In the end, blue eyes watch you for a long moment.

And then Johnny backs into the shadows of night, and neither of you seemed to have ever existed at all.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

1K notes · View notes

rileyslibrary · 11 months

Text

Be gentle, man!

Synopsis: You and the team go undercover to a dinner where high-profile guests are invited. You need to acquire vital information while acting posh at the same time. Good lord, help you all.

Relationship: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader, Task Force 141 x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,519 (approx. 6-7 min reading time)

Notes:

This is the second (and final) part of the story but you can read it as a oneshot. Here’s Part 1 if you’re interested.

No warnings; casual read with platonic relationships.

———————————————————————

The Athenian Palace: You’ve heard of the place a few times, mainly through the news, but never had the chance to visit. And why would you? Are you the president of a country? A diplomat? A wealthy businessperson with significant influence over government decision-makers? No, you are just a soldier among the many considered expendables. Your duty is to protect your country with your life—the same country that many attending the event have a vested financial interest in.

But today, everything is different. Today, you’re supposed to act like someone who comes from money.

For the past month, you and the rest of the team have undergone extensive training in formal dining, conversation, walking, and dancing. Everyone has adapted to their undercover personas somehow, except for Price, who couldn’t accompany you since he’s been undercover in a similar instance some years ago and poses a threat to the mission if he gets recognised.

Gaz required the least training among the four of you. You haven’t yet determined if he was naturally suited for this role or if his assigned persona was more straightforward than the rest. Nevertheless, he seemed comfortable conversing about the tech industry and acting like James Sinclair, the alleged tech entrepreneur.

On the other hand, Soap was the complete opposite of Gaz. Your etiquette instructor, Lady Theodora, struggled to mould him, but he always found a way to break free. Eventually, she found the tipping point to channel Soap’s extravagance to benefit the mission.

“What would you do if you were a trust fund child?” She asked, to which Soap replied that he would be “poised and all” but at the same time act “like Paris Hilton in the 2000s.” And that’s how Maxwell Vanderbilt—or “you can call me Max,” according to Soap—was born: with a mohawk, a loose-fitting suit, and an unchallenged attitude. You hated to admit it, but he was the most authentic and convincing among the four of you.

As for you and your Lieutenant, you were still adjusting to your role as a couple, particularly with the required intimacy. Yet, with Lady Theodora’s help, you managed to get closer, even if that involved a few unorthodox ways of doing things. One day, for example, she duck-taped your hands together and ordered you to spend the entire day together. She taught you how to dance, touch each other in public, and show, without telling, how you and Ghost— or Sir Ethan K. Wood—would infiltrate the facility and gather vital information as a couple.

He hated the name. “Why should I pretend to be fucking Ethan?” He asked, but Lady Theodora explained that it was a name forged by Laswell and she could do nothing about it. And when you told him you were named “Constance”, he spitted out his drink and immediately became grateful to Sir Ethan K. Wood.

Arriving in a Maserati Levante, you were greeted by a team of three people, two opening your doors and one guiding your hand as you stepped out of the car.

You wrap your arm around Ghost and approach the entrance.

As you walk through the imposing double doors, the room reveals itself in all its glory—a high ceiling decorated with murals stretch towards the heavens. The ballroom’s walls are draped in exquisite fabrics of gold and burgundy while crystal chandeliers cast a soft glow, illuminating the space and creating an inviting and elegant atmosphere.

The ballroom’s focal point is a large dance floor. It invites guests to dance while a live orchestra, hidden in a corner, fills the room with melodies. Surrounding the dance floor, elegant tables decorated with crisp linens showcase elaborate floral centrepieces, while towering candelabras provide additional illumination.

You look at the guests; men wear tailored tuxedos, and women glide in flowing gowns and sparkling jewellery. Your gaze shifts to Ghost, who looks dashing in a three-piece navy suit, a matching tie, and a white handkerchief in his chest pocket.

“Are you ready, my dear?” You ask with fake confidence.

“Ah, my love,” Ghost replies, “in for a penny...”

“... in for a fucking pound.”

“Language, Constance.” He corrects you sternly.

“Apologies, darling.”

You enter the crowd, mingling with the elite. Ghost introduces you as his wife, guiding you with a firm yet gentle touch on your back. Engaging in conversation, you discuss the land you supposedly own, the inflation—that most people in the room are the direct cause of—and collectively sorrow over the economy’s current state. All this while sipping champagne from crystal glassware that’s worth more than your annual salary.

Among the guests, you spot Soap conversing with a group of Wall Street figures. He appears relaxed, holding a glass of whiskey with an orange peel garnish.

“Ah, what can you do?” You hear his Scottish accent echoing in the room. “It’s a self-regulating market, after all.”

Lots of things baffle you in this world. Soap, talking about self-regulating markets with a bunch of Golden Boys who nod and agree with him just added another paradox to your list.

“Darling,” Ghost says, with his hand finding yours and interlacing your fingers, “dinner will be served shortly; let us find our table.”

You approach your seats, and Ghost pulls out a chair for you. As you settle in, you look around at the surrounding tables, searching for familiar faces. Gaz, sporting a suit with no tie and fake glasses, is seated at the table next to yours and talks with the people around him.

The evening unfolds with a symphony of courses served with artistic precision. Each dish arrives like a work of art—a culinary masterpiece. You apply Lady Theodora’s training and indulge in the exquisite feast while engaging polite conversations. You observe and listen closely to the guests’ discussions, hoping to obtain any valuable information that might aid your mission.

With dinner concluded, everyone moved to the ballroom for the entertainment segment. Ghost discreetly signals for you to follow him. Excusing yourselves, you navigate the corridors of the Athenian Palace, with the music and chatter fading as you reach the server room.

“This is it,” Ghost whispers as he approaches the servers. “The information we need should be here. You need to get to work.”

You nod and navigate the complex digital landscape, leveraging your technical expertise to penetrate the encrypted files. Meanwhile, Ghost maintains a vigilant watch and stands guard, ensuring no unexpected disruptions throw a wrench into your plans. Each creak or distant voice makes him reach for the gun in his inner jacket pocket.

Minutes pass like hours. Suddenly, your face lights up.

“Got it!” you shout, and Ghost brings a finger to his lips, urging you to keep quiet.

“Got it!” You repeat, this time in a whisper.

“Good girl,” he replies softly, “now let’s go find the others and get the fuck out of here.”

You begin your return to the ballroom, but things feel strange this time. The calm conversations surrounding the place have turned to screams, and the music sounds somewhat different than when you left the hall.

Ghost puts a hand in front of you and stops you.

“What’s going on, Constance?” he asks, concerned.

“Let’s find out, my love,” you reply, loading the pistol strapped to your thigh.

You run through the corridors, but there’s no one there—it sounds like everyone has gathered in the main hall.

Just before entering the ballroom, you compose yourself, adopting the poised stance Lady Theodora taught you. You enter the hall to uncover the reason behind the change in atmosphere.

Soap stands on a table in the centre of the ballroom, flipping his mohawk from left to right in sync with the rhythm of “Macarena”, played by the orchestra. Ties are now worn as headbands, and champagne glasses have become shots.

Dumbfounded by the spectacle unfolding right before your eyes, you approach Gaz.

“Ga-James, what’s the deal with all this?” You ask while looking at Soap dancing on the table.

Gaz chuckles, adjusts his fake glasses, and points towards Soap. “This fucking genius had a brilliant plan to create a diversion while you two were working your magic behind the scenes.”

Ghost raises an eyebrow. “So, this whole… thing is Soap’s way of keeping the spotlight off us?”

Gaz nods. “Exactly, mate. Soap figured throwing a wild party would divert the security’s focus from their employer’s safety.”

You look at Soap, who has now started a conga line. “If their employer is too drunk and occupied, they won’t care about outside threats,” you utter.

“Indeed,” Gaz says, “they have a whole other worry; their employer not getting any more shitfaced.”

“That audacious, brilliant motherfucker,” Ghost shakes his head in awe, “he just created the perfect cover for our mission.”

Soap notices you looking at him and raises his hands triumphantly. He looks so proud of his achievement. He brings his thumbs to his chest and mouths something.

“What is he saying?” You ask, confused.

Ghost’s lips curve up, and he leans towards you.

“He says,” he whispers in your ear, “like Paris Hilton in the 2000s.”

———————————————————————

2K notes · View notes

comradeghosty · 4 months

Text

Would My Lady Like to Dance? (NSFW)

NSFW Zoro x reader fic

Summary:

You are on a secret mission with some of the Strawhats to get some important documents. Things go awry and you find yourself hiding with Zoro.

Tags: nsfw, jealous Zoro, PWP, rough sex, light BDSM themes, hair pulling, vaginal sex, oral sex, fingering, dirty talk, praise, possessive behavior, biting, a bit of blood, regency/ballroom attire

!!! 18+ !!!

I also posted it on AO3

The mission was simple enough: infiltrate the ball, find the documents, and get out. For some reason Nami needed these Grandline maps and you were definitely not about to argue with her. The plan was for you to dress up and pretend like you were a guest. Everybody had their own separate role to fill, so you split up into teams to prepare yourselves. Since you were dressing up as a guest, you worked with Nami to get a costume and go over all of the correct proceedings so you wouldn’t stand out. By the time you were done, you were a proper lady. All of you had to arrive separately to not arouse suspicion, so when you got to the ball, you tried to look around inconspicuously to find your crew.

The first person you saw was Robin. She was dressed plainly and playing the violin in the live orchestra. You saw Sanji running food from the kitchen, and Luffy dressed in a little chauffeur outfit taking peoples coats. He just was kind of tossing them into the coat closet in a pile and it made you chuckle. Your eyes scanned the ballroom, taking in all of the people dressed fancily. The last person you were expecting to see was Zoro since everybody else was staying on the ship in case a hasty exit was needed. Nervously, you smoothed your dress. It was light green silk that had a high waist and small bust. The fabric draped loosely down your legs and it bunched in small puffs over your shoulders. Elbow length gloves hid your calloused hands.

You took in your surroundings, people danced with their partners and chatted amongst the edges of the dance floor. The room was large and you noted faces of important people that you might need to talk with during the night, specifically looking and catching the eyes of the host, who began to wander in your direction. With a coy wave of your fan and a bashful look, you began your job for the night.

As you talked with the host, you acted curious about him, in a way that made him feel intelligent and impressive. Men always revealed more when they bragged about themselves. Slowly, you started to catalog more and more information about him, feeling confident that he had the documents you needed stored away somewhere in his estate. You egged him on, about to request a personal tour of the mansion, when you were rudely distracted. If you were not so entranced, you would’ve been pissed at him for distracting you.

Over the host's shoulder, a vision of a certain green haired man appeared. However, it was not the sweaty and crass swordsman you knew. He was a gentleman, draped in this beautiful white fabric with billowing sleeves that hid his muscles. The cravat accentuated the sharpness of his jawline, and his slick backed hair made his gaze more piercing than usual. He wore a pair of pants that hugged his slim waist, two columns of gold buttons fastening them. The metal of the buttons complimented the gold jewelry that hung from his ear. His hands were clad in black leather gloves, which he seemed to be adjusting a bit nervously.

You were snapped from your trance by the host touching your arm, gently but insistent. He asked if you were alright, to which you nodded evenly and excused yourself, promising to find him a bit later.

As you approached the swordsman, a startled look crossed his face for a moment before he corrected his expression. His eye roved down your body, registering your attire. You smiled, touching his arm briefly before curtsying. “Don’t worry, Zoro. We are allowed to interact here,” you reassured him, assuming his expression was anxiety about being recognized.

He bowed deeply, one arm pressed against his torso and the other placed against the small of his back. Before he raised his body, his head peeked up to look at you. “I’m not worried about it, my lady,” he teased. His eye crinkled slightly, a wide smile stretching across his face. You felt yourself blush at his expression, unsure of whether he was making fun of you or was impressed by you. His teeth seemed to shine as he offered you a hand, which you took gracefully. Zoro pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, still smiling up at you. “Would my lady like to dance?”

God, what was going on? Of course, you had always noticed that Zoro was handsome. Who wouldn’t? But seeing him like this, all poised and dressed up, made you feel flustered. You could feel the blush on your cheeks as you nodded dumbly at him. If he could have smiled wider, he would have.

In a swift motion, his hand had gripped yours and you felt the other one on your waist. Zoro was suddenly very near, pressing your bodies against each other as he swept you up in a dance that led you to the ballroom floor. His swept back hair revealed the handsome planes of his face. Somehow, his features looked more intense than usual as you stared up at him. His face was twisted in a smirk, as he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“So the swordsman cleans up nicely, huh?”

Your hand tightened slightly on his shoulder, but you gave him a carefree smile. “Evidently so, you look very handsome tonight,” you praised. The compliment made Zoro quirk an eyebrow, hiding his smile out of your sight. He smelled incredible, which struck you as odd. The usual musky sweat, booze, and steel scent that cloyed to the swordsman was replaced by a leathery, sandalwood, citrusy smell. There were still remnants of booze, which most likely just leaked from Zoro’s pores.

“I didn’t know you could dance, Zoro,” you teased.

The swordsman chuckled, spinning you expertly. Somehow you ended up closer to him, if that was even possible the way he pressed your bodies together. “Robin taught me, and dressed me, and put this perfume stuff on me… I’m guessing she did a good job then?” Zoro’s brow quirked at the inquiry. You nodded your head, blushing and hiding your face against his shoulder.

“Tsk, look at me. It’s not lady-like to hide your face,” he murmured in your ear. When you looked up, his eye gleamed with mischief. “You look lovely tonight as well.”

This time, you couldn’t hide your blush. Butterflies blossomed in your stomach at the compliment, and you were speechless for the first time all night. The music ended, signaling that your dance was over. “Get back to your task. Be safe, please.” Zoro whispered into your hair, and your breath caught in your throat. He pulled away from you, bowing again and kissing your gloved hand, before dismissing himself to roam the ballroom once more.

The crisp night air cooled your skin as you stepped out onto the balcony for some fresh air. In order to find the papers, you had agreed to meet the host in his study. You walked to the railing, crossing your arms and resting against it. Stars sparkled in the sky and the scent of pine was in the air. You thought about what you were going to do when meeting with the host. A few moments seemed to pass before a clearing of a throat made you startle. You quickly looked over and found the green haired swordsman staring at you intensely.

“Oh, Zoro, it's just you,” you breathed. A hand rested on your chest from being startled, and you missed the way Zoro’s eye quickly flitted down to your breast and back up. “I’m glad you’re here. I think I can get the papers soon.”

Zoro’s brow quirked up, his eye studying your face intently. It was clear he was waiting for you to finish explaining. You shuffle a little, a bit awkward but confident in your plan. As if Zoro could sense your nervousness, he looked out at the expanse of forest beyond the estate.

“He’s asked me to meet him in his study,” you stated plainly. Your cheeks burned a bit red at the potential implications of the host’s request.

“Yeah, okay. Just don’t do anything stupid,” he muttered.

Your eyes flitted away from him, face red. A noise resembling a scoff escaped your lips rather clumsily. “Stupid? Please. I am very smart, the sneakiest one in our crew, actually. Thanks for the vote of confidence though,” you said flatly, rolling your eyes at the swordsman.

“I… okay. Whatever,” Zoro dismissed you, slightly turning away from you.

“What?” you demanded him to say what he was going to say.

“Just…” he sighed, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You breathed out fast, frustrated by his vagueness. One of your hands gripped his firm bicep, prompting him to look at you. “Zoro, then what do you mean? I don't understand.”

The green haired man looked at you, his eye dark and stern. Fierce energy radiated off of him. “God, woman. You’re going to make me say it out loud? I… Just…. Don't do something he forces you to do. Call for me, and I’ll make sure you’re safe,” he grit out. Both of his hands were clenched in fists by his side, silently getting worked up.

“Oh… Oh. Well,” you snorted, a short laugh as you realized what he was so worried about. “Honestly, if it means that we can get the documents and get out of here, I don’t mind doing it. They’re kind of extremely important, y’know?”

You had never seen Zoro move so quickly, turning to face you in a split second. His eye glared at you, wide and intense. You could see the muscles in his jaw work as he ground his teeth together. It was as if his whole body was on high alert, and you blushed at his intensity. His mouth opened for a second, as if he was going to say something, but he closed it, jaw clenching again. You saw Zoro’s shoulders drop, his muscles relaxing slightly. His lip turned out in a small pout.

“Hmph… I… hmph. Just, call me if you feel like you’re in danger, okay?” You watched as he spun around, quickly hurrying away from the balcony. His shoes clacked on the stone and his white shirt flowed in the wind. You felt your stomach flutter watching him leave.

For a moment, you stood silently and stared out at the pine forest. Zoro’s reaction was hard to decipher, as much as you tried to understand it. Briefly, you wondered if he was jealous, but you brushed it aside. No way. As you made your way to the host’s study, nervousness rested heavily in your chest. Wanting to maintain your confident air, you straightened your shoulders and stood tall, steeling yourself for this interaction. You knocked on the study door and entered, unknowing of the swordsman lurking around the corner.

About 30 minutes later, you emerge alone from the room. You habitually straightened your appearance since you were about to join the company again, which was not missed by Zoro who lingered nearby. He waited around the corner, not wanting to be seen accosting you, but knowing you’d run into him on your way back to the ballroom. As you turned the corner, found yourself face to face with the swordsman, jumping a little from the fright.

“Oh! Zoro, you scared me,” you murmured, being startled by him for the second time this night. Zoro’s hand found the small of your back, ushering you in the direction of the crowd.

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his mouth downturned and expression severe. “Come on. Did you get the maps?” Your heels clicked in tandem with his black boots on the floor.

“Yes,” you nodded, eyes straying to look at his expression.

Zoro only hummed to acknowledge you, offering you his arm before entering the dance hall. For a moment, both of you stood there staring at each other. There was an indiscernible expression in Zoro’s eye. You couldn’t tell if he was angry, thinking, planning… he revealed nothing.

You took his arm and followed his lead into the ballroom before parting ways. The intention was to split up and inform the crew about the completion of the mission. Weaving your way through the audience, you made contact with Robin before going to find Luffy. Zoro had made his way to find Sanji in the kitchen before reappearing. You searched around the ballroom for Luffy, unable to see his messy dark hair and bright smile, and worrying your bottom lip between your teeth.

Suddenly, there was a lot of commotion and clatter from the room adjacent to the one you were in. Your body froze, knowing that you were about to have to make a quick getaway, when you heard gunshots echoing through the halls. Just before you were about to make a decision, you made eye contact with Zoro from across the room. It’s as if your body moved on its own, sprinting towards him and grabbing his hand as he dragged you behind him to safety. If it hadn’t been for your panicked brain, you would’ve realized that Zoro was only going to get you guys lost, but you didn’t even consider it. Before long, you realized you didn’t recognize your surroundings anymore. You could still hear fighting, so you decided to duck into the first closet you saw to wait out the clamor. The abrupt stop and yank of Zoro into the closet had him off balance, and you couldn’t stop either of you before landing in a heap on some jackets. He reached behind him and slammed the door, and you winced knowing it would probably alert somebody of your presence in the area. You took stock of your situation, knowing that Luffy probably got you into said situation, and that people were probably scattering. You realized that you probably had to stay in the closet for a little while, with Zoro. Oh god, Zoro who currently had you pinned beneath him.

You looked up, right into a piercingly dark eye that seemed to be taking you apart as you lay under him. Both your breathing and heartbeat increased, and you were suddenly very aware of the proximity to him. His eye roamed down your face, pausing for a second on your lips before traveling further. You felt it rake over your neck, lingering for a second before gazing unashamedly at your breasts. The dress you were wearing could be called revealing, showing lots of cleavage and giving the illusion that they were barely contained. You blushed as you felt him staring.

“Z- Zoro?” You stammered out, “did you hit your head? You seem dazed.”

“No,” he replied. His voice was firm, confident, and it made you shiver. You watched his brows furrow slightly and his jaw clench.

You took a deep breath and tried once more. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head when we fell in here?” As your hand came up to check for any head wounds, it was stopped quickly when a large hand wrapped tightly around your wrist.

“No.” And this time you could tell he’s irritated. You swallowed thickly, nervous and shaking a little. The way he loomed over you made you feel like a prey animal, his demeanor dangerous in the same way he acts when he is facing down an enemy.

“Ah, Zor-”

“Shut. Up. Don’t fucking speak,” he grit out. He kept staring, unblinking, at your chest. You felt yourself start to shake, mind racing through all of the reasons he might be angry with you.

“Does it feel good? Huh?” Zoro snapped at you, his voice quiet and clipped. Your brows furrowed up at him, unsure to speak or be silent. The closet was way too small for the two of you right now, his energy emanating from him like flames. Zoro and you had always gotten along pretty well, often training together and napping together. He never used that tone of voice with you before. “Don’t play dumb with me, woman.”

Zoro trapped you underneath him, his knees pinning the skirt of your dress. “You like playing dress up? Huh? You like when they look?”

“Zoro, I-”

You were cut off again, a gloved hand pressing into your cheeks. “Don’t. Talk,” he enunciated each word with a squeeze of his hand. “I saw you flirting with that man, giving him a show. He was fucking you with his eyes in the middle of that ballroom, and you were encouraging it. You like that? You want him?”

Desperately, you shook your head no. Your eyes were wide, trying to decipher his reaction. There was a certain hesitation in his actions, like he was trying to hold himself back. His shoulders and chest were tense, his jaw clenched and his breathing quick.

For a moment, both of you just stare at each other, unsure what to do next before suddenly your mouths are crashing together. Zoro kissed with a desperation you’ve never felt before, like he’s trying to consume you. Both of your teeth clashed together, his tongue licking into your mouth. At that moment, everything was Zoro. His smell, his sounds, his touch, it changed you, like you've never been intimate with another person. The passion was a completely different caliber than you’ve ever felt before. Small whines and moans left your lips as Zoro kissed you, feeling completely at his mercy the way he pinned you beneath him.

“Ah, Zoro,” you whined as you felt his teeth scrape along your jawline.

Zoro pulled away from you, looking down at you. He scoffed, his brows furrowed. “Look at you. Listen to you. Fuck, in that fancy ass dress, wearing those ridiculous heels.” Embarrassment washed over your body, heating your skin from your cheeks down your chest. You felt yourself look away from Zoro’s gaze before his hand gripped your chin harshly. Zoro forced you to meet his eye again, his teeth bared. “As if you’re not the filthiest in the room, woman. Pretending you’re a lady, waving that stupid fan.”

You felt Zoro’s hand move down your arm from where he was gripping your wrist, skimming over your peaked nipples, finding its place at your waist and squeezing. His smile was wicked, one side of his mouth curled up as he groped your body. The other hand found itself squeezing one of your breasts, thumb brushing over your nipple. A gasp escaped your lips as he touched you. “You like that, my lady?” He sneered, sarcastically and coldly.

“Zoro… please..” you whined.

“Zoro? Ha, I’m a gentleman, so I go by sir, remember?” He harshly pinched your nipple through your dress, eliciting a loud moan from you. One of his hands quickly clapped over your mouth, and Zoro tutted at you. “Ah ah, somebody might find us here, like this. Unless you want somebody to find us,” he teased. Zoro leaned down close to your ear, his lips brushing over your lobe. “Don’t let them hear. Those noises are only for me.”

The top of your dress was yanked down harshly, and you heard the silken fabric tear. Before you could protest, his hands squeezed your breasts hard, pinching them in a way you know will leave a bruise. One of your hands came up to stifle your moans, your eyes watching him as he pinched your nipples harshly.

“That dress was so fucking tight, your tits were spilling out,” he grit out. Zoro’s calloused hands played with your chest, pulling the skin between his index finger and thumb. “Couldn’t take my eyes off them all night… fuck.” His voice was breathy, needy as he touched you. A slicked strand of his hair fell from where it was stuck, the green hairs draping over his flushed face. His brow was furrowed in concentration, bottom lip sucked between his teeth.

“S- sir,” you whined, one of your hands moving to touch his arm. A small sheen of sweat covered his forehead. He gasped heavily as he ducked his head to your chest, burying it between your breasts.

Zoro’s mouth was hot and needy on you, licking and sucking the soft skin. He whined quietly against your skin as he sucked dark marks into your breast, not worrying about if they would be visible tomorrow or not.

He began to bunch your skirt up around your hips, his knuckles grazing your bare thighs. You ground your teeth to keep yourself from whining when suddenly his mouth left your breast with a wet pop. It was filthy, the way his mouth was red and swollen from kissing and sucking you, the small string of spit that dripped from his bottom lip, his mussed up hair. The last thing you saw before he ducked under your skirt was a deadly smirk that shot arousal straight to your core.

You groaned and threw your head back when his hands gripped your thighs. Zoro licked a long, wet stripe up the inside of your leg before biting down on your inner thigh. He bit down hard, possessive, like he wanted his teeth marks to be a permanent scar in your skin. A moan escaped your mouth, and you could feel yourself blushing as wetness pooled between your legs. The delicate skin of your inner thighs was already bruising under his grip, and you felt Zoro smile against you. There was something about how easily your body responded to him that brought out something sadistic in him.

Bright hickies bloomed on your thighs as his mouth and hands roamed the soft skin. Every once in a while, they would brush against your panties, making you whine. The way Zoro took his time had you desperate and needy for him. Your body started relaxing as he kissed you, his nose every so often brushing over the wet spot in your panties. The swordsman gripped your legs, keeping them from shaking, before biting down especially hard on the meat of your thigh. It broke skin, the intensity of which he bit you, and you could feel his tongue laving over the marks. You cried out before clapping a hand over your mouth, face flushed and chest heaving. The swordsman relished in your cries, suckling the spot he had broken skin. He moved to the other thigh, sucking dark marks all over. His mouth was so close to your core, that you could feel his warm breath fanning over your clothed cunt.

You were broken out of the moment by loud footsteps outside the closet door. The breath caught in your throat and your heart skyrocketed. Getting caught with Zoro at all was not good, but getting caught like this was a nightmare scenario. You tapped on Zoro through the silk of your dress to stop and come out. His head peaked out from your thighs, and for a moment he turned away from you to grab something. Zoro returned to you, his head coming up next to your ear with a low chuckle. His gloved hand gripped your cheeks, forcing you to open your mouth before your fan was shoved between your teeth, like a horse with a bit in its mouth. “Don’t make a fucking noise, unless you want to get caught,” he whispered to you, his smile devious. The swordsman licked against your neck before disappearing again under your skirt.

He brushed against the damp spot on your panties as he smirked into your thigh. You could feel how red your face was, equal parts turned on and terrified of somebody hearing you and opening the closet door. Both of your hands gripped your skirt and you squeezed your eyes shut tightly, trying to focus and not make a sound. Your teeth ground down against the wooden fan between your jaws. Zoro knew how to tease you, how to coax sweet sounds from you, and he wasn’t holding back his efforts.

One of his fingers pushed aside your panties, and you felt him blow a stream of cold air against your core. You grit your teeth and cursed him in your head as you clenched down around nothing. A shiver wracked your body, and Zoro chuckled lowly between your thighs. He just barely skimmed his gloved index finger against your slit, causing your toes to curl. You felt him hum against you, his tongue licking your thigh as he slowly pressed the finger into you. It started slowly, gently pumping in and out as you tried not to give away your presence.

You jumped when you suddenly felt Zoro’s tongue on your cunt, licking up from where his finger entered you to your clit. He licked against you, flattening his tongue against your lips in lazy strokes. The tip of his tongue flicked your clit every time he reached the top of your slit, building pleasure in your body. It radiated through you in waves as you tried to contain your voice. The steps outside seemed to pace as if they were searching the area. Your hand clutched your mouth, over the fan even, eyebrows drawn tight in desperation. Zoro’s finger curled in your cunt, pressing against the spongy wall and causing your mouth to open briefly and almost drop the fan. Your hands gripped your silken dress, pleasure wracking your body.

Zoro ate you like a starved man, sloppy and needy. You could feel the mix of his spit and your drooling cunt run down your ass, and you flushed with how filthy you felt. Heat nestled in your core and you felt your orgasm building every time Zoro brushed against your clit. Close, so so close, you cried in your head. Gritting your teeth, you resisted the urge to beg for him to keep going, keeping yourself from making noise. Tears slid down your cheeks as you came, throwing your head back in a silent cry. Zoro smirked against you as he felt you clench down around his finger, fucking you through your orgasm to the point of overstimulating you. He never let up, even after your orgasm had finished and you were squirming from the intense sensation.

As if Zoro had been listening for the person outside the door, as soon as their footsteps drew away from the closet, he bit down on your thigh hard again. At the same time, he added a second finger and fucked them into you with more intensity. There was no reprieve from him, he wanted to fuck you stupid. The fan fell from your mouth as your mouth dropped open. A deep moan escaped your lips at the dual sensations of pleasure and pain, as the green haired man licked the bite.

Zoro drew back from your legs, looking at you intensely. The absolute feral look in his eye made your stomach churn with something primal. He smiled, his sharp canines gleaming dangerously with a bit of your blood. A pink tongue quickly swiped over them, cleaning his teeth with a deep groan. You watched his gloved hand come up to his mouth as he bit down on one of the fingers, yanking the glove off. “Wanna feel you bare,” he stated evenly, pulling the other glove off as well.

One of his hands came up to grip the back of your neck, slamming you into a bruising kiss. The other of his hands roamed your body, finding a place on your breast to fondle you greedily. He pinched your nipple and massaged you tightly, breaking off the kiss to breathe. Zoro’s forehead rested against your neck, and you could feel him whine softly against you. You pressed your leg up between his thighs, feeling his hard cock against you. Slowly and languidly, he rutted against you. He whined and panted as he thrusted against your leg, growing more needy and desperate by the minute. Both of his brows pinched together and a bead of sweat gathered near his temple.

Suddenly, he bit down on your neck, sucking a dark mark under your ear. His thrusts became more desperate, a growl escaping his throat. Zoro pulled back, his hands coming down to your hips.

“Fuck it, I can’t wait,” he bit out, his hands grabbing at your panties and tearing the silk fabric. Zoro was impatient, desperate at this point. He grabbed the waist on his own pants, not bothering to unbutton the two rows of golden buttons. One quick yank sent buttons flying around the closet, clattering against the walls. His chest heaved with want, his hands quick to free himself from his pants. Zoro rested back on his feet, pumping his cock with a groan as he looked down at you. His eye was dark, almost glazed over with want.

With one hand, he gripped your waist, hard and bruising. Using the other, he lined himself up with your hole. He barely gave you any time to breathe before bullying his cock into your cunt, sinking deep into you in a fluid motion. A cry escaped your lips as your back arched, your jaw open and gasping. His cock was large, girthy and long, and it stretched you so well. Your body clenched down hard around him, causing him to shudder and grit his teeth. Zoro breathed out slowly, bending down and resting his hands on either side of your head.

“Fuck, so tight,” he groaned, thrusting shallowly inside you. His teeth skimmed your jawline as he lowered himself onto his elbows, your chests pressing together. It felt to you like he was taking up every sense, as if he was all you could experience in this moment. Nothing outside of this closet even existed to you anymore. He bit down on your neck, at the spot where it joins with your shoulder, and you moaned loudly.

“Aah, Zoro, feels good,” you mumble out, your mind dazed from the mix of pain and pleasure his mouth gave you.

He thrusted into you with a hard and punctuating rhythm, emphasizing his words. “Haa, yeah? Better,” thrust “than that no good,” thrust “stuck up,” thrust “host?”

“Wh- what?” You whined when his hands tangled in the back of your hair, forcing you to look up at him. His brows were furrowed.

“Say it,” he growled, glaring down at you. Your breath caught in a strangled sound when he thrusted deep into you, holding himself there. The head of his cock was bruising against your cervix, and you squirmed with the mix of sensations. It was overstimulating, and you whimpered under him.

“Zoro, sir, move. Please,” you begged. Tears sprung to your eyes as you tried to move against him. One of his hands flew to your waist, gripping it firmly and holding you still. You cursed him silently for being so strong.

“I’m not moving until you say it.”

“Say what?,” you cried, your eyes searching his face wildly. His jaw clenched in irritation.

“Say that I fuck you better than he ever could,” he ordered. Zoro’s chest heaved with his breath, you could tell he was barely containing himself. His bicep flexed and you felt his grip tighten on your waist.

“God, yes. You fuck me better than he ever could, you feel so amazing. Please fuck me, please,” you begged, desperation dripping from your cries.

A predatory grin spread across his face with your words, his eye crinkling with pleasure. “That’s my girl,” he praised, lips ghosting across your cheek. Zoro pressed his lips against yours and rose up, grabbing your waist with both hands and dragging his cock out of you slowly. As you looked up at him, you shuddered at the fierceness of his expression.

His thumbs brushed against your skin before slamming you down on his cock with abandon, thrusting into you repeatedly. Zoro watched as your tits bounced, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he concentrated. Your hands clenched the fabric under you as he fucked you hard, and you watched as his blouse rode up as he moved, his abs flexing with each thrust.

You cried for him, his cock battering your poor cunt. His hand found the back of your neck, pulling you up roughly to slam his mouth against yours. He kissed you insistently as he fucked you, before removing himself and turning you over onto your stomach. Your dress piled around you as he dragged it up, exposing your ass to him. He gripped one of your asscheeks in his hand, pinching hard. The hand dipped under your abdomen to pull you onto your knees, and he sheathed himself back in you. The new angle was world shattering, every thrust bumping deep inside you, causing your legs to shake and breath to catch.

Zoro’s hand gripped your hair, dragging your back to his chest. His teeth sunk into your shoulder, breaking the skin as he thrusted into you from behind. You felt him as he licked the bite mark, moaning as your blood stained his tongue. He was relentless, slamming into you over and over. At the same time, his voice was like honey as he moaned into your ear.

“That’s fucking right,” he grunted. “You take me so well.” Nobody had ever fucked you so well before, pleasure spiking through your body. He fucked you like he knew you could take it, like a bit of roughness wouldn’t break you. Pain blossomed through your ass as he smacked it harshly, causing your cunt to clench down. “Nobody can fuck you like this,” he promised. “Only me.”

You mumbled incoherently, the feelings of pleasure and need causing you to feel brainless and light. Zoro’s hand pressed you into the pile of coats underneath you, his hand on the back of your head. The pressure you felt from his hand was so good, rendering you immobile. The other hand on your waist pulled you back into him as he fucked you. You felt yourself drooling into the fabric under you, drunk on the pleasure. Everything was Zoro, from the feeling of his hands on you and the way his cock dragged in your cunt, to his leathery perfume, to the sounds of his groaning and skin slapping together.

The pleasure built in you again with each thrust, and you trembled with overexertion and overstimulation. Zoro’s hand moved from your head to snake past your waist to your clit. Never once did his thrusts let up, his endurance endless. Small, quick circles were rubbed on your clit with his first two fingers.

“Zoro please, please please, fuck,” you mumbled, pleasure reaching deeply into your fingers and toes.

“Let go, cum around my cock. Wanna feel you,” he mumbled out. His voice was less demanding now, more needy. The swordsman rubbed your clit insistently, and your orgasm hit you gradually, washing through you in hot waves of pleasure. You moaned as you came, feeling your body weaken like jelly.

Zoro fucked you through your second orgasm, his thrusts hard and erratic. He held you up, both hands on your waist. You could hear his breath stuttering, his voice tight and strained. “Haa… Gonna… Cum in you… Make you mine…” he grit out, leaning forward to kiss and bite at your shoulders.

You cried out as his teeth sank into your flesh, Zoro groaning loudly. His cock slammed as far in your cunt as it could go, emptying himself into you as he came. The man licked at the bite mark and he mumbled against your skin as he kissed your shoulder blades. He pulled out of you, and you whimpered at the loss of fullness.

For a moment, you didn’t move and neither did Zoro, watching his cum dribble out of your cunt with a smirk. You heard him hum, before feeling his hands flip you over to look at him. He looked at your messed up hair and smudged makeup, also noting the tear in the bodice of your dress before snorting. “Oops,” he laughed, obviously sarcastic. You were so fucked out that you didn’t even care how much of a mess you two looked, seeing his appearance sort of mirroring your own. “C’mere.”

Zoro gathered you up to him, kissing your hair and smiling affectionately. It was too late to go back now, not that you’d want anything to be different. “Now, I just gotta figure out how to get my girl outta here safely,” he chuckled.

#one piece #op x reader #x reader #one piece fanfic #fanfic #roronoa zoro #zoro smut #zoro x reader #one piece zoro #zoro #imagine him all dressed up GOD he's so handsome

484 notes · View notes