#Some of them just don't occupy my brain as much!

[daveth-isnt-dead]

Overlock Stitch Part 4/?

Summary:

Viktor is just trying his best to survive his years as a student at the academy when a girl studying textiles suddenly begs him to let her tailor his uniform. She is right, it doesn't fit, but he isn't in the business of accepting charity from strangers. "Please?" She asks, "It would be fully anonymous on your part and we would both be better off." Then again, but with feeling, "please?" Viktor eyes her again and against his better judgement, presents an undeserved olive branch, "Will you be here tomorrow?" Her smile is so wide it almost makes him want to recoil. He wonders if her cheeks hurt.

Contains: Third person POV, She/Her Pronouns for reader

Word count: 3195

Read on ao3

Having Viktor in her room makes her jumpy. Every one of her nerves is a live wire, she feels like she might implode in on herself if she doesn't find a way to calm the battering ram of her heart. It's somehow worse how casual he looks, the way he comfortably sinks into the cushions of her sofa and sips on a cup of tea, as if to him this is not a panic inducing experience. She should have fought harder when he offered- well, not offered, told her that he was going to fix the radiator. What kind of host invites a person over and then just stands around while they do household repairs for them? She gets an itchy feeling, worming into her brain, remember that conversation they had about favours and their value, looking at him now she can't help worrying that he felt he had to do that, so he wouldn't owe her anything.

She bounces a knee, glad that he has decided to stay, terrified at the prospect of keeping him occupied all the while.

It is much warmer in the room now that the radiator is actually working. Viktor quickly stood up from the sofa and turned the boiler back on five minutes ago before settling back into his seat and she can't deny how much nicer it feels inside now that the place is actually properly heated. She has been trying to carefully unpick the inner seam on a pair of his trousers for some time now, but her shaky hands are making it difficult. It's not so much Viktor that is making her nervous, more just the presence of another person at all. Viktor is special in a sense, largely that he is the only person she has cared to impress for reasons outside of maintaining her already fragile reputation.

Whatever desire she has to maintain airs around her classmates is more about protecting her enrolment at school, in making her final year of study as smooth as possible. Aside from that she could hardly care what they actually think about her as a person, she already knows they don't like her. With Viktor it's different, she aches for his approval, for the tiny first inclinations of a smile that she catches every so often. She wants for him not to just tolerate her, but to like her and that is what makes her hands shake.

"How old is your sewing machine?" Viktor asks suddenly.

She nearly stabs herself with the seam-ripper. She had half expected him to not say a word until she did and she was still trying to muster up the confidence, "I-I'm not sure, very, I think. It was my grandmother's on my father's side."

He hums low under his breath and then leans forward to rest his teacup on the table, "Might I take a look at it?"

"Oh, sure, that would be fine." She finally finishes undoing inseam of his trousers and hangs them over the armrest before reaching for the last pair, "Just be careful, it's pretty delicate."

"I did say look and not touch, didn't I?" Viktor asks in a tone that she almost dares to interpret at playful. He smiling again, she tries not to stare, "I will be careful, don't worry."

Luckily finding the first stitch and hooking her seam-ripper through it takes enough focus that it's easy to avoid watching as Viktor crosses the room to look at the machine. It's nothing like the ones in the academy, it's an old thing with scuffed dark paint and a litany of chipped hand painted flowers decorating it in a assorted colours and styles. Her father and grandmother paint differently enough that she can tell which flowers were drawn by who by style alone. Her father always seems to paint the sorts of daises that grow up through cracks in the pavement, the ones she always watches the academy groundskeeper ripping out because they are apparently weeds. Her grandmother largely favoured painting an old species of flower that her father says haven't been seen in decades, not since he was very young. Butter yellow, with a shape like two scooping hands held upward to the sky.

"Did you paint these?" Viktor asks quietly.

She peers up at him, he's bent half over, fingers not quite brushing the flowers on the base of the machine, "No." She answers truthfully, "My father, and grandmother. I'm too nervous to add anything to it, I'm better with a needle and thread than I am with a paintbrush."

"These are Zaun flowers." Viktor says and she might imagining it, but he sounds almost wistful.

"Yes." She answers softly, noticing the way his hair curls up at the base of his skull, the broad slope of his shoulders, "My father says they died out sometime after he moved topside to be with my mother. I've never seen them."

There is silence for a moment, so long that she returns to tailoring. She manages to unpick a few more stitches before Viktor replies. His voice is quiet and mournful, he doesn't turn to face her, still staring at the sewing machine.

"My mother had two of them pressed in a hardcover novel." and then, quietly, like a rasp in the back of his throat, "They were beautiful."

She doesn't know how to respond to that. To the realness of it. She could tell him that she is sure they were beautiful, but that wouldn't help because she doesn't know and she can only assume, that's all it ever is with him, assumptions that she is sure are wrong half of the time. "My grandmother must have painted them well, then. If you recognised them." She tries, hands shaking in her lap.

Viktor hums, peering at her from over his shoulder, "She did."

There is a lapse in conversation, in time too, it feels like. Viktor slowly returns to the sofa and picks his teacup back up and she returns to unpicking stitches in his final pair of trousers. It feels like hours have passed before she finds the courage to peer up at him, only for her heart to gallop in her chest at the sight of him staring back. He doesn't move to break her gaze, just continues to look at her, curiously, she thinks. Her hands shake at the final stitch, unsure where she is supposed to be looking but unable to bear the thought of turning from him.

His nose is slightly crooked, she's never noticed that before.

She quickly ducks her head down before she notices anything else. Before she starts mapping the contours of his face, enveloping his topography in the soft inner recesses of her mind. Though she can't stop visualising the curve of his upper lip, the jut of his chin.

She finally manages to unpick the last stitch, but the uncomfortable twisting in her stomach doesn't leave.

"I-I have to affix the fasteners now." She says quickly, trying not to look at him, "It can be a little noisy sometimes, I need to hammer them. Is that alright?"

"Cannot be louder than what I hear in the engineering lab." Viktor says dismissively from somewhere in her peripheral vision, "Besides, I am not much of a complainer."

She has noticed that, and as she gathers all of his trousers and starts bringing them up to her worktable, the thought stews in her a little, they way thoughts always do before she says something stupid. She does, of course, right as she sits down at the table.

"You can complain." She says quickly before she can stop it, "I'd like it if you did."

Viktor barks a laugh from behind her, "Would you?"

She shrugs a shoulder, opening her sewing kit to remove a set of fastener pieces and the tool used to press them together, "My classmates never tell me when I've done something wrong, at least not to my face." she pauses as she rummages through her drawers for the hefty cube of metal that she uses for hammering, she hits her fingers less this way, "I like that you speak your mind. If you did it more I'd probably be less nervous around you."

"I make you nervous?"

She turns around quickly with the intention of defending herself, completely forgetting there was a reason she hasn't been looking at him. Viktor has one leg crossed over the other, one arm resting across the back of the sofa and the other still holding his teacup. He's smiling too, which isn't fair. That toothy smile, the one she barely gets to see.

"Everyone makes me nervous." She says unconvincingly, certain that her tone betrays that the way he makes her nervous is somehow different, "I'm not good at pretending, not like them."

Viktor hums, and she likes the way the sound is absorbed into the walls of her dorm. She hopes it sticks.

"A complaint, then." Viktor begins, "For your satisfaction." "O-Okay." She responds, nerves suddenly alight at the thought of him disliking anything about her, despite asking for the truth herself.

"You are too afraid of me." He says slowly and evenly, "I will not bite, Myšičko."

She feels blood rushing up the sides of her throat, she is not afraid of him. Of disappointing him, of driving him away, yes, but not of him. She swallows, "Promise not to pretend around me, then I won't have a reason to be afraid."

Viktor pauses, his brow furrowing and she panics, terrified that she has overstepped. He exhales evenly and responds, "I can try, but it will not come all at once. I do not know you yet, you understand?" he shrugs one shoulder, "Maybe if you stop pretending around me as well, it will be easier."

She didn't really think she was pretending. She has been trying hard not to, but the high-society false pretences cling to her like a second skin and Viktor is right, they don't know each other, it is not so easy to shed the falsification that way it is with her parents. Every minute detail of herself that she has shared so far felt terrifying, made her heart race and muscles tighten like her body was preparing to sprint. She wants to be real, but it is like prying herself open each time.

"Ask me a question, then." She says quietly, urging her hands not to shake, "I'll answer." she finds she can't meet his eyes anymore and suddenly figures it will be easier if she doesn't have to look at him, "Just…Just let me get started on the fasteners, the distraction will help, I think."

Viktor stays quiet for just a moment, waiting for her to start focusing on her work again. Then, he asks, "When you first introduced yourself to me, you didn't offer a surname. Why?"

Despite his gentle intonation, her shoulders still jump like his question is some sort of assault. She tries to focus on aligning the pieces of a fastener, pressing the pins through the fabric. This is an easy question, she can tell he has tried to ease her into it, but despite that her body still arc with terror even though Viktor is perhaps the only person at the academy who wont judge her for this.

"I don't have one, technically." She says quietly, lining up the tool designed to press the pieces of the fastener together "My mother's surname was forfeit when she married my father, she tried to negotiate for him to take hers instead, but they didn't allow it."

Viktor doesn't speak behind her, so she quickly hammers the fastener into place and continues, "My maternal grandmother lets me use the family name on academy documentation and I use it with my classmates but I-" she moves onto the next fastener, struggling with her shaking hands, "I guess I felt like I didn't have to with you, lie I mean, at least, not about that."

"Is your grandmother your patron"

She nods, taking a moment to hammer in the next fastener, "She says I shouldn't suffer for my mother's poor decisions, and that if I study and find a nice topside husband I can rejoin her side of the family, it's all so very-"

"Piltover?" Viktor offers mischievously, and that makes her laugh.

"I was going to say vapid, but i suppose the two are synonymous." She sighs, moving onto the final fastener for this pair of trousers, "I took up the offer for patronage and just need to play nice with her until the end of this year, and then I can go set up my own shop without her or her help."

~~~

There's a lamp on her desk with a pale yellow bulb. Viktor notices they way the light catches on the shaken out mess of her hair. He also notices the tension in her shoulders and aches to ease it, the same way he aches for someone to ease the ever-present tightness in his temples and behind his eyes. he notices that even with the explanation behind her reasoning, she still never offered the surname, but supposes that he is a secret he is happy to let her keep.

"Ask me something." He says before the rational side of his brain has a chance to stop it.

She freezes in the middle of affixing the next fastener, the tension in shoulders changes to one of alertness instead of discomfort. Viktor is shocked that he can even tell the difference. She turns to face him, bright eyes wide and uncertain. The light of the lamp shines out around her and his gut once again churns with the thought of softness and warmth and home.

"Are you sure?" She asks, as if he had just ordered her to bury a knife into his gut.

He laughs, "Supremely, it's only fair."

She makes a sound, a sort nervous titter and he imagines her as a mouse all over again, "Are you…enjoying your studies?"

Viktor nearly laughs again at the innocent inquisitiveness of her question, so easily answered and so seemingly kind, "Yes and no." He answers truthfully, "It is good to have my brain teased a bit, but I could do without my gaggle of classmates."

She turns back to her worktable and nods, "The same as me, then."

She doesn't ask him anything else, instead returning her focus to the worktable. The tight pull of her shoulders seems to have loosened and Viktor doesn't appreciate how relieved that makes him feel. He decides not to ask her another question either, at least not yet. Instead he muses about the difference in how she works on her textiles to how she communicates. At this angle he only catches glimpses of her hands, how quickly and nimbly they move as she inserts the fasteners. Hands that shake at her sides whenever he speaks to her seem completely stable now that her focus has returned to her work.

He finds himself wishing he were sitting across from her, to watch her brow furrow and lips purse as she loses herself in focus. He wonders briefly how he looks when he does the same. Viktor is not one of those self-important engineering students who believes the arts are a frivolous endeavour requiring little to no actual expertise. He watched his mother darn enough of his socks that he has more than a burgeoning appreciation for textiles, the art of it, the mathematics behind knitting or crochet, the importance of different stitches for different fabrics. The essentially of over-locking, preventing the edges from fraying, holding everything together when it could so easily fall apart.

So he continues watching her, even as she finishes the last fasteners and instead begins pinning the folded seams before lining them up with the needle on her sewing machine. It's a loud thing, each press of the pedal sounding more like a kur-chunk than the smooth gear rotation of the one she uses at the academy. She's confident enough with the machine that she is able to tuck some unruly hair behind her ear and continue holding the fabric in place with just one hand.

For some reason, sitting here in her small, dimly lit dorm room. The sound of old machinery, the clutter of bolts of fabric and dried flowers reminds him of a home that hasn't existed for years, back when his parents were both alive and his mother would slip flowers between the pages of old books and his father would tinker with whatever he could find at an old worktable. It's a nostalgia so aching that he almost resents it.

Then the silence breaks, gently, tentatively, when she whispers, "Viktor?"

She is very focused on her sewing and doesn't look up, even when he responds, "Yes?"

She grows still, foot pausing on the pedal, and then after a moment she asks, "Do you miss Zaun?"

She says that word, Zaun, with a quivering intonation. It's as if she isn't sure that she is allowed to say it, that this is her first time actually voicing it out loud.

Viktor has been asked about his home many times, though usually with a teasing edge, or even worse, with a morbid curiosity. Though her question is different from all the others he has suffered through. She doesn't ask for gritty details, doesn't ask if it is just as terrible and violent as everyone says that it is.

Of all the students who have asked him invasive, curious questions, this is the first time anyone has dared acknowledge that his home is a place worth missing. That it isn't just somewhere he was lucky to escape from, or some stink that he will never be able to scrub out. It makes the inner corners of his eyes prickle with the beginnings of tears. He clenches his hands and takes a deep breath in through his nose.

"Sometimes." He lies, he misses it always.

She hums quietly and slowly starts working the pedal again, "Well if you ever want to go visit, I could always come with you?" she says softly, as if she is reaching her hand out, pleading for him to take it, "My grandmother used to have a workshop down there, but my father closed it when he lost his arm. Sometimes I wonder if it's still there, I guess."

Viktor finds himself laughing, in disbelief more than anything, "Are you certain? You aren't worried that someone might try to attack you or rob you, Myšičko?" She shrugs a shoulder, "You haven't, and you've had every right to, I know I can be very annoying to be around."

He laughs again and is happy when he catches the nervous upward curl of her mouth, "Alright, then." he says non-noncommittally, not wanting to come off as too enthusiastic, too appreciative, "Maybe someday."

She turns around in her chair and gives him another one of those achingly wide smiles, her eyes crinkle in the corners and her cheeks flush red.

Viktor is too afraid to tell her that these days he hardly finds her annoying at all.

[torchickentacos]

I hate it when my chronic illnesses are chronic and my disabilities are disabling and my seasonal affective disorder is seasonally affecting me

[aenslem]

can we just take a moment and appreciate the fact that young puts the weapon down to use his fists, it needs to be physical for him, he needs to feel rush when he hurts him, and I love it, I am here for this, I am here for these two being wild about each other, it's just beautiful

if he wanted to kill rush, he would just shoot him, he does not want to kill him like 'kill him', but he wants to beat him so much, he wants to feel rush's life in his hands, that way he can have some control over whatever they have going on between each other, this 'need to beat you' mode is so good, I absolutely enjoy it

yeah, there are better things to enjoy in life than watching how two idiots on screen would fight, but there are some sports where people pay to watch those things, I just chose to enjoy it between a space drama, mostly caused by one of the jerks above

I am trying to imagine what their relationship would be like if the show was not cancelled, and they did become more, um, 'friendly' I guess I can call it friendly, less physical, which obviously sucks for me, I enjoy them getting physical. I think even when they are on good terms young would not be able to not be aggressive with rush in some ways. it would not be life threatening like in this scene, and rush would know it, but their arguments would be heated, and I think young would use his strength, maybe pushing rush to a wall a little too hard, stopping him by holding his arm a little too hard, I think whenever young would realize he is losing an argument he would try to get into rush's personal space, it's the way he shows his strength, he can't win with his mind, but he can win by force. he knows it, but also, I think he would not do it intentionally all the time, with rush it's always unintentional, heated and brought to the point where you can't control yourself and you give into it and act on impulse.

I think it would start with less and less aggression in fight, and more enjoy outdoing\outsmarting the other one. like playing a chess, like, you can be smart as rush and win, but you also need to be a good strategist, so young does have something to offer here, he can challenge rush, and I think he has the chance to win a game. so they would be around each other as if they play a chess. the more they would play this game the more they would want to win, they would make the other one learn some new tricks to win, I think they would make each other better by learning thing or two from one another, and by the end of the show they would actually enjoy having an argument, having a talk, maybe one day they would just talk, you know, like normal people, and it would not end up with one accusing the other one in sabotaging something, or lying, or whatever.

rush just crawling away, and young trying so hard to not finish what he started, you can see he wants to beat him more, but he is tired of this as well. have you seen a man who is so tired by trying so hard to not kill smb? love it

they are trying so hard to control things, but they can't even control themselves

as if it is not about control and power for you, man. when he offers rush to work together in 'darkness' he looses his shit and the talk goes the wrong way, just because young wanted rush to report to him, not him consulting his actions with rush. you want to control this man, but he is like a force of nature, you both are like two hurricanes meeting at some point and you either collide and become even more dangerous together or destroy each other and everything around you.

oh, and let's appreciate this screencap here, idk, I just love it, because I love men suffering, also robert carlyle has pretty hands there

he ain't wrong here. young does something on impulse and then regrets, he can be calm and strategic, but when it comes to something he cannot control, something like rush, he is all about emotions, bringing out the worst in him, and causing to act based on impulse rather than thinking about his actions through, he does it after, and it usually ends with regret, as we saw in 'justice'. yay my fav part <3

anyway, idk where I was going with this but here we are

oh and you know what I love about young? he is a man of force, using fists instead of words, but he actually listens if you talk to him, and even if he does not always understand it he tries and is not opposed to explore something new and learn and stay on an ancient ship with 10 more people and the man who framed him for murder just to find out what lies beyond it all. you may say it's because he feels responsible for those people, and yes, he does, but I also like to think that it's not just responsibility, but young just wanting to go to unknown places to see wonders of the universe.

[parfaitblogs]

painkillers ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you've developed emotional dependence on spencer reid, and he discovers how he can get you to open up. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: smut (18+ mdni) tags: cedar universe. p in v. no protection mentioned but imagine what you will. soft dom!spencer? situationship/fwbs. drug addiction as a metaphor. asshole spencer reid.  word count: 1.8k a/n: surprise 😁 there's more of them coming!!! these two are also seen in cedar. yay!!! lmk what u thinkkkkkk.

cedar’s masterlist ✿

"in the dream i don't tell anyone, you put your head in my lap." (richard silken)

You have a headache.

So, you take naproxen — Aleve. It eases the pain, and you are able to continue with your day like nothing ever happened. You'll wake up the next day with the same headache, so you take another dose of naproxen. It dulls the pain this time, so you take another one, and you still continue on with your day like it is not there. You'll wake up a third day with that same headache, and this time two doses of naproxen do nothing for you. So you take three doses, which is too much, and your body shuts down. 

Which is ridiculous, and you should have enough conscience not to let a dependence on an over the counter drug kill you to get rid of a headache. 

And yet, you are at Spencer Reid's apartment for the fourth time in one week. 

A whispered, "Hey," accompanies hands sliding up the sides of your thighs, and your eyes flicker to his brown ones, wide and concerned, as they study your face. 

Visibly absent, or he was just incredibly good at reading your body language, you're not sure. 

"Hi," you murmur, fingers twitching as he lets his own rest at the fabric of your shorts, fidgeting with the hems. 

"Are you okay?" he asks. A question he had asked you the night before, and the night before that. He was catching on, and a small part of you wants him to take the bait of your emotional avoidance; to pressure you into telling him things. 

A larger part of you knows you won't get the happy ending you want. So, you shake hair out of your eyes, nod your head, and give him a smile. "Yeah."

"You can talk to me, you know," his hands don't go anywhere, but you can feel the energy coming off of them. He wants to touch you.

"And you can touch me, you know," you reply.

He says your name, chidingly, but you ignore his disapproval. Your hands find his, and you slowly drag them up your body, finding his eyes as you do.

You win this silent battle, because he ducks his head down and presses his lips against yours. You let the kiss distract you from the way your brain runs rampant, and he lets you deepen it. 

He breaks away from your lips, though you've barely any time to complain, for he's kissing down the hollow of your neck, moving the sleeve of your shirt to expose more of your shoulder. He knows too much of what you need to be going this slowly, though, and there's something else occupying his mind other than touching you.

"Spencer," you quip, and he lifts his head to look at you. "Go faster."

"Tell me what's wrong," he bargains, and your chest deflates. 

"Nothing's wrong—"

"—Give me something, or you go home."

You blink a few times, taking his face in and out of focus in your eyes as you process his words, and then process them again. What?

"I'm just not having a very good day," you settle on saying, looping your arms around his neck, tugging him down to your face. "And I'd really like a distraction."

"Can you talk to me about it?" 

You don't get a chance to deny him, because he's kissing your jaw, his hands are gently parting your thighs, and your brain is short circuiting. 

"I'm just... overthinking some things," you tell him, and his eyebrows knit together, fingers hooking in the waistband of your shorts to pull them down. 

"What things?"

You have less than half your mind properly working, and so you breathe out, "Us," before you can stop yourself. 

"You're overthinking us," he says, slipping your underwear to the side and dragging a finger through your folds. 

"Mmhm," you nod, the sound a mix of your agreement, and a mewl.

"Why?" his finger stops, and then traces a circle around your clit, and your breathing picks up.

You push your hips back into his hand subconsciously, while simultaneously mumbling, "I've been here a lot this week."

His hair tickles your forehead as he nods. "I've needed you a lot this week."

Ice floods your blood for a second, and your stomach flips uncomfortably, but you push back the anxiety that begins to spike. 

Instead, you smile, and let his words resonate for more than what he actually means. You'll let him make you feel good, wanted, needed, now, and face the wreckage of your own emotions afterwards. 

Though, he's trying to pry you open one fervent touch at a time, and you're fearful of him succeeding. 

So, you combat his attempt of getting beneath all of your layers with a hushed, "Can you just fuck me?"

He pauses, stares at you for a beat, then nods. 

He goes through the motions of ridding the two of you of your clothes, and you borderline blackout for it. It's such a standardised routine now, you don't even think you need to be fully present to help him when he needs it. You lift your upper body when he tugs your shirt off, and raise your hips when he pulls your underwear down. 

"Please tell me what you're overthinking about," he says, breath warm against your lips, hips in line with your own. 

"It doesn't matter," you reply, dismissively. "Just hurry up."

He says your name, a warning tone that makes you uncomfortable, but then he's pressing into you, and you're forcing yourself to forget all about it.  

He stills, and his head drops to your shoulder, the familiarity of this position not preventing the slight sting in the beginning, nor the way he breathes out a quiet, "Fuck," into your skin. 

Your fingers delve into his hair, and he takes your tugging at the locks as his signal to move. Slowly, he draws his hips back, and its guttural when he moans, causing your stomach to flip. 

"Spencer," you whimper, just as he sinks back into you, and his response is to kiss your neck. You wonder if he's holding back an otherwise embarrassing reaction to you. 

You figure there's a psychological reason why he keeps coming back to you. He's attractive. You're sure if he wanted to have sex with someone else, he could find them. But he doesn't, he chooses you. Over and over again. A thought you shouldn't entertain, but do, because maybe you mean more to him than just being a body he can use. 

"Always so good for me," he whispers, his thrusts slow and steady, but so drawn out you think you could cum from them anyways. "I wish you could see yourself like this. You're so beautiful."

You don't say anything. An embarrassing love confession manifests on the tip of your tongue, and you have enough mind to not let it out. Still, your head reels from how kind his words are, and you savour this moment all the same. 

You whine when his fingers find your clit, and he swallows your moans with his lips. Your hands fly to wrap around his wrist, but he's stronger than you, and your grip does barely anything to prevent his ministrations. 

"Please," your voice cracks as the tip of his cock brushes against that spot, and he's nodding his head. 

"I know, sweet girl," he murmurs, pulling back so he can look at you the second your walls clench around him. "Always so good for me, you know?"

He pries your hands off his wrist and firmly holds them against the pillows beneath your head, a knowing look that gets you to leave them there. Even when that hand drops to still your hips, that were beginning to desperately rut against him, seeking release from the pressure in your abdomen. 

You have barely any voice left in you as you come, nails digging into the palms of your hands as your eyes flutter shut, and he's coaxing you through your orgasm with a hand on your clit and his lips on yours. 

He barely made a sound as he came, but by the time you regain your awareness, you can hear his heavy breathing that indicates he had. 

Then comes the hated cleaning crew, that has a sick feeling pool in your stomach, and his hands delicately wiping over your skin with so much love and care, you almost succumb to how nice it feels. 

"You need to go to the bathroom," he says with a kiss to your forehead, and you wonder if he knows how intimate such an act is. 

Probably.

"I will when I get home," you say, mustering all the courage there is to have in the world, and standing up from his bed to find your clothes. 

"It's safer to now," he replies, watching you with an uneasy amount of intent. "Fifteen to thirty minutes after sex is the safe window."

"Good thing I don't live thirty-one minutes away from you," you quip, tugging your clothes back onto your body.

"Why are you being so difficult all of a sudden? What's changed?"

"Nothing."

The silence in the room allows for you to hear his sharp exhale of breath. "Stop."

You freeze, turn, and meet his gaze. 

"What has happened?" his voice is frustratingly level as he asks you, a voice you're sure he uses all the time for his job. You hate that he's using it on you. 

"Nothing's happened. I just want to get home. We had sex. Great. Now I'm going to go home, because I got what I came here for, and you got what you called me for. Then you will call me again next week, or maybe tomorrow, and I will come back, and we will have sex again, and then I will leave again. Because that's what we do."

His gaze pulls you apart limb by limb, and you want to shrink down beneath it. 

"You're upset because we had sex?"

"You're acting oblivious on purpose. Oh my fucking God," you shake your head, picking up your phone from his dresser and pocketing it. "Goodbye, Spencer."

"I'm trying to understand—"

"—I'll see you next week!" you call. 

The last thing you hear is your name, before his front door slams shut, and he's left to the silence of his apartment, and you're left to the silence of his hallway. 

Like a drug addict, you let him pick you apart and administer all the good things there is in life. You bask in the praise and the intimacy of his hands on your body for as long as it lasts. And then you let him go, and you crash, and you desperately scrape at it all happening again, hoping it'll be just as good as the last time. 

The more you let Spencer Reid in, the less of yourself you have left to give. 

You're beginning to resent the problem you have.

your reblogs and replies are always welcome ♡

[lovegoodlane]

Pursuing the Prefect- 3

3.7k words

Warnings: mentions of sex, teasing, oral sex [female receiving], fingering

Summary: Fred and his prefect continue to grow closer, but their relationship grows tense when he suggests a public date (soft Fred, dom (ish) Fred)

Author's note: Here's another part! I'm trying to build up a storyline in case y'all want this short fic to continue. Enjoy <3

Link to part 1, part 2

----

Another week at Hogwarts had passed. You had spent a bit of time with Fred, sneaking kisses in empty classrooms and even spending Saturday night curled up on a blanket at the quidditch pitch. It was nothing official yet, but you were enjoying getting to know him.

It was already Thursday. The weeks were passing by in a blur. As a Sixth Year, you were focused on studying as much as you could before taking the entrance exams for an Upper School program in potions. It was difficult to get in, so you spent much of your free time cramming as much information into your brain as possible.

You walked to dinner with Cho and Beatrice, chatting about the Winter Ball coming up next month. Beatrice had been talking your ear off about Oliver Wood for the past week, and she was hoping that he would ask her to be his date.

"He's so dreamy," Beatrice swooned. "If he doesn't ask me to be his date, I might use a curse on him."

"Do you talk about anything other than Wood?" Cho snapped, clearly annoyed.

Cho's relationship with Cedric Diggory had been on the rocks. She had a bit of a jealous streak, and watching other girls fawn over Cedric got on her nerves. They'd been arguing about it nonstop for the past month.

"Cho, leave her alone," you said defensively. "She's allowed to be chuffed about Wood. You were the same with Diggory. I get that you're brassed off, but that's not Bea's fault."

Cho glared at you, huffing. She knew you were right. "Who are you going with? Seems like Adrian is your only option," she said, veering the conversation topic away from herself.

"I'm definitely not going with Adrian," you said empathically. "I don't need to have a date, I'm not worried about it."

"Maybe Fred will ask you," Beatrice teased, nudging you. "He seems pretty fond of you."

"I'd rather go to the ball with a toad than Fred Weasley," Cho asserted.

"Godric Cho, pull the stick out of your arse, will you?" you said, clearly irritated with her. 

You still hadn't filled Cho in about your situation with Fred. The only thing she would do is make snarky remarks and tell you that it's a bad idea. She was too worried about her squeaky clean reputation to see any value in associating with the Weasley twins. It pissed you off.

"I think I'm actually going to skip out on dinner, I'll grab something from the kitchen elves later. I want to get a start on my Potions assignment," you said as you had reached the Great Hall.

It was just an excuse to not have to sit through dinner with Cho. You could barely stand her recently, and taking some space felt like a good decision. 

Beatrice squeezed your hand in a goodbye, and Cho only shrugged and rolled her eyes. You turned to head for the library, wanting some peace and quiet after dealing with Cho's attitude.

You were only paces from the library when you ran in to the Weasley twins. 

"Hey birdie," Fred greeted you. "Heading back into your abyss?"

"My abyss?" you questioned.

"The library," he said matter-of-factly. "They should give you a cot so you can sleep there, would save you a trip to your dormitory."

"Have you two even seen the inside of the library? Or do your pranks occupy too much of your time?" you asked, crossing your arms and jutting out a hip. You raised your eyebrows at them expectantly.

George chuckled, enjoying the attitude that you were hurling at his brother. Very few people had the guts to stand up to Fred.

"You can show me if you'd like," Fred retorted, stepping closer to you. "Though I can't promise that I'll be much interested in doing homework, if you know what I mean."

You bit the inside of your cheek. These flirty showdowns were routine between you two, but somehow it was more embarrassing when someone was watching. Like George. But that didn't mean that you were going to let Fred win.

"I would be willing to tutor you again, Merlin knows that your grades need it," you said, closing the space between you and Fred. You reached for his tie, playing with the end. "It'll cost you, though."

George cleared his throat, an attempt at reminding you two that he was still there. It didn't matter though, both of you were locked in to this battle.

"Name a price, darling," Fred muttered, his hands ghosting underneath your robes and finding a place on your hips. 

You looked up at him, trying to soften your gaze to appear innocent. You were going to put the nail into his coffin.

You stood on your toes so you could whisper in his ear. "I keep having a dream where you bend me over a desk in Potions class. That sounds like a sufficient payment to me."

You nipped at his ear before pulling away, grinning at him sweetly as if you hadn't just whispered something filthy in his ear. Fred stared at you, a slight blush in his cheeks in response to your words. He still wasn't used to your boldness.

"Are you two going to shag in the hallway or what?" George piped up, causing his twin to turn around and give him a slap to the chest. 

"We were on our way to dinner. And I am still very hungry, in case you have forgotten," George said, directing his last sentence at Fred. It was a not so subtle reminder for him to keep things moving. 

"Did you have dinner already?" Fred asked after giving George a glare.

"No," you responded. "I was going to get something from the kitchen elves later."

"Then why don't we do that," Fred proposed. "George, you can go on to dinner. I'm sure you won't miss me."

George shrugged and offered you a wave before he headed off in the direction of the Great Hall. You hadn't been intending to spend your evening with Fred, but you could think of worse things you could be doing instead. Like sitting through dinner with Cho.

"The kitchen elves love me," Fred said sarcastically. "You'll have to do your prefect sweet talking to get them to hand over the goods."

——

After getting some sustenance from the kitchen elves, you and Fred ended up back in his dormitory. He wanted to show you the music player that Hermione had gotten him for his birthday last year. It was Muggle technology, and he found it incredibly fascinating.

"What is it called again?" you asked as you settled onto his bed. You propped yourself up with a pillow, waiting for him to work the music player.

"I think Hermione called it a record player," he replied, fiddling with the machine. "You have to put these records on it to make it play music."

He held up a few of the records in his collection. To you, they just looked like big black discs. 

Fred finally settled on a record and put it on the machine, adjusting the volume. It was something you had never heard before.

"This is from a band called Mother Mother," Fred explained. "Hermione says that they're pretty edgy."

He finally joined you on the bed, leaning up on the wall behind him. You both sat there listening to the music for a bit, content without conversation.

"I've been wondering..." Fred started, looking over at you.

"Oh no," you teased. You jokingly put your head in your hands.

"I haven't even said it yet, you git," Fred replied, pulling your hands from your face. You grinned at him, and he grinned back.

"I wanted to know how you started dating Pucey in the first place," he said.

You breathed out. You knew that Fred was curious about your relationship with Adrian. Everyone at Hogwarts knew that you were dating last year, and it took most people by surprise when they found out that you had broken up.

"Adrian's dad is my dad's boss," you answered. "We've gone on holiday together every year since we were kids. The summer before 5th year, he suddenly fancied me. That's pretty much it, I guess."

"That's it?" Fred questioned. "You didn't put him through trial after trial like you're doing to me?"

He flicked at your thigh, emphasizing his teasing. 

"Adrian was different. I was younger then, less experienced. And no one had been interested in me before," you said. 

"There's no way that can be true," Fred said, adjusting his position on the bed. "You've always been pretty. I'm sure lots of blokes have fancied you."

"If they did, none of them told me," you replied, letting out a dry chuckle. This topic was a bit of a sore spot for you. You had always felt like you weren't pretty enough, as you hadn't drawn the attention of the boys like some of the other girls at Hogwarts. But this insecurity subsided a bit as you got older. Who needed attention from a boy when you could have good grades?

You and Fred sat in silence for a moment. He seemed to be thinking about what to say next. 

"Of all of the blokes at Hogwarts, you chose a Slytherin?" Fred asked, half joking and half serious.

You slapped at him. "I don't care what House someone is in. I dated Adrian because he fancied me, and I was tired of all of my friends having boyfriends. Adrian is smart, and he's good looking. And whether you like to admit it or not, he's cracking at quidditch."

"Cracking is a bit of an overstatement," Fred replied. "Did you even fancy Pucey then?"

You shrugged. "I liked the companionship. We had always been friends. It wasn't difficult to turn it into something more. And I wanted to keep up with everyone else at Hogwarts who was snogging and shagging anyone they could get their hands on. Adrian felt like a safe option."

"So it sounds like you never really liked him," Fred said, leaning his head on your shoulder.

"I liked him, but I didn't love him," you answered. "He really loved me. And I still feel bad about that. But I just....my heart wasn't in it."

"Is that why you broke up?" he asked.

"Part of it. He wanted things to get more serious. Slytherin pureblood families are really intense about dating and marriage, and he wanted to consider next steps. I wasn't ready, and I wanted to focus on academics," you said. "I didn't want to break his heart. And I know that he still really cares about me, but I'm not cut out for a life like that."

"What, you mean that you don't want to be the next Narcissa Malfoy? I can't imagine why not," Fred teased, poking at your side. 

"Shut it," you replied, slapping at his hand. "I'm not made to be a pureblood trophy wife who pops out perfect pureblood babies. I want a career."

"That makes sense," Fred said. "You've got enough brains to do anything. So what would you want to do?"

"I want to go to Upper School for Potions," you said. Every time you talked about it, it sounded far away and impossible. "I don't know where I'll go from there. I could make potions for hospitals. Or maybe I'll teach, I'm not sure."

"You'll be cracking at teaching," Fred said, a smile stretching across his face. "My marks in Potions were way better when you tutored me."

A slower song started to play from the record player, and Fred popped up onto his feet. He extended a hand toward you.

"Dance with me?" he asked, giving you a wink.

You tried to fight the smile that started to spread across your lips, but it was too late. You accepted his hand, wiggling off the bed and joining him.

He guided you to the center of his dormitory, placing one of your hands on his shoulder and holding the other. His hand found its way down to your waist.

You began swaying together to the music. It was a bit awkward and clumsy at first, but after a bit, it felt romantic.

"Do you have a date to the Winter Ball yet?" Fred asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know," you teased him, squinting your eyes and scrunching your nose.

"I would actually, because I'd like you to be my date," he said.

"I'll have to think about it," you replied, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of an easy "yes".

"What, do you need a grand gesture?" he asked, squeezing your hip. A lopsided grin was on his lips. 

"The only thing I need is time to think about it," you replied, cocking your head slightly at him.

You leaned your head onto his chest, finally closing the small gap between the two of you. You stayed like this for at least one whole song.

"Birdie?" Fred said, a question clearly on the horizon.

"Yes, Fred?" you replied, your cheek still pressed against his chest.

"We don't have to talk about it if you're not ready, but it's something to consider," he started.

"You're making me nervous," you said, pulling back so you could look up at him.

"No, it's nothing to be nervous about," he soothed. "I wanted to talk about next steps. Y'know, what you're comfortable with and what you're not."

"What do you mean?" you asked.

"Well....we seem to have a comfort level. We snog, mess around a bit. But I wanted to see how you feel about anything more," he said. "And I don't want this to feel like I'm pressuring you, I want to know so I don't overstep."

You could feel your cheeks heating up. Talking about sex in any context made you feel a bit flustered. At least Fred was being polite about it.

"Uhm...well...I'm not sure," you answered. "It feels like a big step."

"I know, birdie," Fred said, his hand moving to your back to rub soothing circles. "There's no rush. I want us to be able to talk about these things if we're going to keep seeing each other."

"Right..." you said, still feeling a bit sheepish. "I just...Adrian and I had sex, but that was only after he said that he loved me. I'm not sure that I'm made for casual hookups like some other people are."

"And that's absolutely okay," Fred replied. "I don't need to shag to know how much I like you."

You looked up at Fred. He was staring at you with those soft eyes again. His patience and willingness to communicate only made him more attractive to you. 

You put your hands on either side of his face, standing on your toes to kiss him. His hands found your waist, pulling you in as close as possible.

Your kisses were sweet, and it felt like Fred was reassuring you that he didn't just see you as a shag. His feelings were genuine and his intentions were pure. Well....pure might not be the best word, but his intentions were good.

Your hands found their way down to his shirt collar, and you tugged at it. You pulled him back towards his bed, pushing him back onto it. You straddled him like you had the very first time you were in his dormitory. 

He kept kissing you, his hands wandering up your thighs. Everywhere he touched felt like an electric shock, and you were dying for more. 

"Freddie?" you said, interrupting your make out session.

"Yes?" he replied, a tad breathless. 

"I need you to eat me out," you commanded, looking him dead in the eye.

Fred smirked. "Your wish is my command, birdie."

He flipped you on your back, propping your head up on his pillows. He resumed kissing you, biting at your lower lip while his hands gripped at your thighs.

Fred worked his way down, undoing your tie and unbuttoning your shirt in what felt like seconds. Your cheeks flushed as he took in your light pink bra. You hadn't considered that Fred would see you bra when you put it on this morning, otherwise you would have chosen something different. 

"Pink? I love it," Fred commented with a smirk. He kissed along your collarbones and down to your chest, leaving a love bite between your boobs. 

He made his way down to the top of your skirt. "I think the skirt is going to stay on this time."

His words were enough to make you want to clench your thighs together. He could feel your body tensing in desperation, so he graciously positioned himself between your legs.

Fred kissed along your thighs all the way down to your knickers. His fingers played at the waistband.

"You still want this?" he asked.

"Please Freddie," you whined.

He pulled your panties down your legs, tossing them onto the floor next to the bed. He worked your skirt up just a bit so he could see what he was doing.

Fred's tongue darted out, teasing you. You almost yelped, gripping onto the sheets to try to keep it together. You were so desperate for him that it felt embarrassing. 

His tongue worked around your clit, purposefully avoiding where you wanted him most. He loved the whimpers that were coming out of your mouth. He knew exactly how desperate you were. 

Fred squeezed your thigh with one hand and brought the other to your clit, rubbing circles with his thumb. His tongue worked its way down to your entrance, and your back arched off of the bed in response.

"You like that, darling?" he asked, pausing for a moment.

You only nodded in response, unable to get any words to come out. Fred resumed, his thumb playing with your clit and his mouth teasing your entrance. 

He pulled his mouth off of you, dragging a long pointer finger down to your entrance. 

"Is this okay?" he asked before going any further.

"Yes. Please," you answered, burning for his touch.

Fred's finger teased along your entrance before finally pushing it into you, a whine escaping your mouth. He worked it in and out slowly, kissing your thighs and leaving love bites.

"More please," you begged, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach.

Fred obliged, plunging another long finger into you. He picked up the pace, and you were rocking back and forth to meet his fingers. 

A number of profanities fell from your lips as you chased your release. Fred was admiring the sight in front of him, relishing in finally having his fingers inside of you.

"Such a good girl for me," Fred murmured. "So gorgeous like this."

You moaned in response, so close to your release. Fred's fingers had found the trigger spot inside of you, and he pounded against it again and again. 

You finally finished, your back arching off of the bed. Fred slowed his fingers, working you down from your high. He kissed the inside of your thigh.

"Fuck, you're perfect," Fred commented, admiring your form as you tried to catch your breath. 

He kissed a trail down your thigh, nipping at your hip bones. He left another love bite just above your hip bone. He loved marking you up, and secretly, you loved it too. His marks were nothing that you couldn't conceal with a glamor charm when needed.

Fred returned to your center, licking a stripe from your entrance up to your clit. You groaned at the overstimulation.

"Think you have another one in you?" Fred asked, massaging your thighs with his hands.

"You're going to be the death of me," you replied, ruffling his hair with your hand.

"That sounds like a yes to me," he smirked, placing one more kiss on your thigh before returning his attention to your clit.

He alternated between sucking on it and playing with it with his tongue, driving you absolutely mad. Your nails dug into his scalp, urging him for more.

"Fuck Freddie," you whined. 

You pulled at his hair, causing him to groan into you. Your hips started to buck up to meet his mouth, trembling at how sensitive you were after your first orgasm.

Fred was determined to make you finish again. One of his hands wandered up to your chest, sneaking under your bra. He pinched and played with your nipple, forcing moans and whimpers out of your mouth. 

"Freddie...so close," you breathed out, struggling to form words. 

Ten more seconds was all you needed to find your second release, trembling and whimpering as you finished. You panted in disbelief at the boy who was able to get you to finish twice. You had a hard enough time finishing once.

Fred kissed along your stomach, working his way back up to your mouth. He finally kissed you on the lips, and you gripped at his hair to pull him even closer.

He pulled back, grinning at you. "Good?" he asked. 

"Don't even," you slapped at his shoulder, giggling at him. 

His head came down to rest on your chest. You ran your fingers through his hair, placing a kiss on the top of his head. 

"I want to take you out on a date," he stated, nuzzling further into the crook of your neck.

"Where?" you asked, still playing with his hair.

"There's a Hogsmeade trip this weekend, how about then?" he said, picking up his head to look at you.

"I'll have to think about it," you replied.

"You are going, right?" he asked, sounding almost confused.

"Yes," you answered. Not a single Hogwarts student would want to miss out on a trip to Hogsmeade. Not even you. 

"Then why not?" he asked, pushing the issue.

You readjusted so you could sit up. Fred sat up too, putting his back against the wall behind his bed. 

"I haven't told all of my friends about you yet," you admitted. "Spending time together at Hogsmeade would make us look like...well, a couple."

"And you have a problem with that?" he pressed on, sounding a bit hurt. 

"No, well....I just like how things are now. It's private. It's just you and I without other people getting into our business," you said with a shrug. 

"So you don't want people to know that you've been seeing me," he stated, turning his head so he wouldn't have to look at you.

"No, Fred," you replied, reaching for his hand. He pulled it away. "I'm just not sure that I'm ready for something so public after Adrian. I need a bit more time."

"You're willing to sneak around and hook up in my dormitory but you can't be seen with me at Hogsmeade?" he said, now very clearly upset. 

"Fred...." you trailed off, trying to find something to say. You agreed, it did sound that way. But you just weren't quite ready for a public commitment. The whole school would be buzzing, and you liked to remain out of the spotlight when it came to gossip. 

"Please, just go," Fred said, still refusing to look at you. You sat there frozen for a minute, absorbing his words. You quickly dressed yourself, pulling your robes on and grabbing your back pack.

You headed for the door, turning over your shoulder before you left. "I'm sorry, Fred," was all you could say before turning the knob and walking out.

----

Next part

[luvendiary]

👁👁 I'm the anon that asked for a silent/non-talker reader fic with hiccup many many moons ago, but if you still write for him, could it be with a prompt where reader's still not much of a talker on some days but would like to still passionately communicate, therefore inventing a sort of sign language system with hiccup under gothi's supervision, and maybe put in a bit about how stoick knows of their relationship (i visited this hole of fondness in my brain again, forgive me)

a/n: dearest anon. I am so sorry for gettin back to you so late. I haven't been writing much lately, but your request helped me sort of rekindle my love for it. I've been spending way to much time on my phone instead of doing the things I like. I'll try to put out more writing. i'm sorry if the ending is a bit janky, im a little out of practice. also, i don't know much about asl, so i apologize for any mistakes. thank you for your request!

Sweetest of Melodies (pt. 2)

pt. 1

The sound of soft humming flooded the room. You were so focused on the soft lulling sound that came from your throat that you were unaware that the place had gone quiet. When you did, however, you found that all eyes were on you, making you retract your head into your shoulders as the signs of embarrassment appeared on your face. You silently reached out for Hiccup’s hand in order to seek some sort of comfort.

‘Sorry’, you wanted to say, but your words failed you at the moment. You had come a long way since allowing yourself to speak more freely in front of the riders. That didn’t mean that you were still totally comfortable with letting yourself be heard. Instead, you liked being able to hear yourself better; that’s what most of your words were meant for anyway. For you to hear them.

“You should sing more often,” Astrid said as if it was no big deal. You appreciated her nonchalant attitude, it made you feel less judged. You knew the riders didn’t have bad intentions, it was probably still a little strange to hear you make a sound, which prompted their current reaction. But years of overthinking made you jump to the worst possible scenario, even if you knew it wasn’t true.

In return you offered her a shy smile. Hiccup sensed your discomfort and did his best to steer the conversation away from you whilst giving your hand a small squeeze.

Later that night it occurred to him that whilst you were somewhat comfortable speaking to him, it was still a big step for you to accommodate to this while having been mute for years.

He was visibly stressed as he realized that some of your relationship’s problems might stem from that. You weren’t used to communicating with anyone. Anyone besides Gothi.

That’s how Hiccup found himself knocking at your front door one early morning. Gothi opened the door, as he knew she would and assuming that he was looking for you (like he often did), she quickly signaled to him that you had gone to collect some items you had run out of. 

“Actually. I’m here to see you”, he explained with a nervous smile.

Gothi seemed surprised for a brief moment before inviting him inside.

Awkwardly, Hiccup made his way inside and found a stool to sit on. He watches as Gothi -much like you did whenever he came to visit- occupied herself with making tea. 

Once the tea was on the table, and she had poured a cup for him as well as one for herself, she stared at him patiently.

He took that as his sign to talk, and set the cup down after having had a sip. “I need your help,” he stated rather obviously.

The small woman raised her eyebrow before signing your name in the form of a question. 

“Yes,” Hiccup confirmed. “I just-” he sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s come so far with speaking out more, and she’s doing great, but…I’ve just now realized that while she’s making all this effort, I don’t seem to be doing anything to understand her better.”

Gothi’s gaze softened.

“She tries so hard, all the time; to understand me, and help me understand her, I just feel as if it’s about time I did the same for her.”

Silence settled between them as Gothi took another sip of her tea before hopping off the stool she was sitting on and staggering off to one of her many shelves. 

“I guess, I was wondering if you could help me. Understand her better, I mean-”

 Not a second later a small book was slammed on the table. Hiccup jumped slightly, marveling at the frail woman’s strength. 

Upon further inspection he realized it was not a book but rather a journal. Littered with drawings of different hand signs and gestures and their respective meanings. Dust covered its pages, indicating how long it had been since someone opened it last.

Hiccup looked up at Gothi with admiration. “You made this?”

The woman shook her head and flicked back to the first page where your name had been scribbled down neatly. 

He chuckled as he stared down at the journal, “this is amazing.”

She nodded proudly. She had been the one to help you come up with this communication method, it had been your idea of course- but as the both of you developed it it made your bond grow stronger. She considered it to be hers as much as yours. 

Hiccup carefully tucked the journal away and stood up. Enthusiastically, he gave Gothi a quick kiss on the cheek and thanked her before bolting out of the house.

‘Good luck’, she signed as she watched the young man ride away on his dragon.

Hiccup was determined. His presence amongst the dragonriders had become sparse. When he wasn’t training or helping out in the forge, he was most likely practicing his signing skills. Even then, work seemed to come second to his newfound hobby. 

He found himself practicing with Toothless, as he signed him orders receiving a confused tilt of the dragon’s head in return. He stole moments in the forge, his hands mimicking the signs in between hammering metal; his usual rambling also appeared to be accompanied by matching signs. Even during dragon races, he would move his fingers in the air absentmindedly, his mind working through the motions while Astrid gave him odd glances.

You, on the other hand, had no idea what was going on. His absence was more palpable as the days went on. He still greeted you, still sent you small smiles and the occasional kiss when you crossed paths, but your moments together felt shorter. Less frequent. He always had somewhere to rush off to. Places to go, people to see, things he needed to do. 

At first, you didn’t think much of it—Hiccup was the chief’s son, after all. He had responsibilities. 

But as the days stretched into weeks, your nervousness grew. 

Had you done something wrong? Was he getting tired of having to put up with you? Maybe it was too much effort, too exhausting. Maybe he had realized that words were easier. Someone else would be easier…

The thought made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

You tried to push the thought away, but doubt seemed to creep into every corner of your mind. 

You found yourself slipping into old habits. Speaking less often and keeping to yourself. You had stopped going to the forge to keep Hiccup company while he did his work.

Maybe he needed space.

Astrid had taken notice of this change, trying her best to include you in whatever plan the dragon riders were currently in the midst of. Whether it was a trip to a nearby island or just having lunch together near the cliffside.

One afternoon as you took residence in the Great Hall while grinding herbs, you felt a presence approach you. Hiccup strode in, and you quickly averted your gaze as you focused on the task at hand.

“Where have you been?” he asked lightheartedly as his arms snaked around your waist and he pulled you closer.

You smiled nervously and just shrugged your shoulders.

“My dad's been asking for you. You don’t come by the forge anymore,” he continued as he nestled his head on your shoulder, pressing your back to him. 

“Just busy,” you replied curtly.

He noticed how your hands seemed to accompany your words now. One of them laid flat, with your palm looking downwards whilst the other stood vertically and moved side to side in a repetitive motion.

‘Busy’.

He hadn’t noticed that before. But now that he thought about it, your hands were always moving. You had been talking to yourself all along, in silence.

“I need to tell you something,” he said then, as he took a step back. His arms leaving your waist. You immediately missed the contact.

Your mind immediately jumped to the worst conclusion. 

Hiccup's hands flexed and unflexed at his sides and his shoulders did that shaky thing they did whenever he had a lot on his mind.

‘Leaving,’ you signed to yourself as you placed down the pestle.

His face turned into that of confusion, as his right hand mimicked what yours had just done.  ‘Leave?’ 

“What? No,” he mumbled, his eyebrows furrowed. ‘I miss you’

Your mind had been too slow to realize what was happening. “What?”

 ‘I miss you’ he signed again. This time followed by an ‘i love you’.

Your breath caught in your throat as a gasp escaped your lips.

His movements were slightly jumbled, not as smooth as yours or Gothi’s were. But the message was there clear as day. He was talking to her, with no words.

You stared at him for a long moment before finally reaching out, your fingers trembling as they brushed against his.

“I miss you too,” you replied. “So much.”

Hiccup grabbed your hand and pulled you in before sweeping you off your feet for a kiss.

“What did you mean ‘leave’?” he asked with a slight chuckle as he pressed a tender kiss to your neck.

Your face flushed, immediately embarrassed for your self-deprecating thoughts. You tried to hide your face in the crook of his neck but he moved his head to search for your eyes.

“Don’t tell me you thought I wanted to leave you,” he said, though the statement came out more as a question. 

“I’m sorry!” you said as you buried your head in his chest. “You just had been spending less time with me, and I thought you were getting tired of having to deal with me.” 

Hiccup pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “Hey, don’t say that,” he whispered. “I could never get tired of you. I just—I wanted to learn. I wanted to understand you the way you understand me.”

You smiled up at him, adoration clear on your face. You stepped back and raised your hand slightly. 

‘I love you too’.

[huh-i-guess]

Paloma

(Captain John Price x F!Reader)

Summary: You all go to a club after a mission in Mexico and your drunken words have a sobering impact on your captain.

Warnings: SMUT 18+, daddy kink, embarrassingly drunk reader (no sex while she's drunk), spanking, choking, authority kink (?), age gap, unprotected sex, price gets nassssty

Word Count: ~ 6.3k

(Reader's callsign is Pepper)

I don't own MW2, the characters, or the gif above.

“Pepper. We’re waiting on you. What’s taking so long?” Simon gruffly inquired from the bottom of the stairs. “y/n what are you wearing?” He examined as he questioned your choice of club attire.

“A dress. Duh?” You deadpanned.

“WOAH.” Some of the guys gasped as you walked down the stairs.

“Steamin’ Jesus. Where’ve you been hiding these things?” Soap quipped.   

“You guys are acting like you've never seen me in civies before. They are just legs, come on. Leave me alone suds.” You swatted at the Scotsman that poked at your thighs.

“Pepper. I’ve seen you in civies before but not in a dress. Not this dress” Soap stated while his lips quired into a sly grin. 

“Yeah, I can't say I have either. You look beautiful though.” Gaz affirmed to your left.

“Thanks, Gaz.” You tilted your head in appreciation. Alejandro and Rudy walked in from the kitchen. Ale’s face brightened as he took in your appearance.

“¡Qué hermosa mi amor pero eso no es nuevo para ti!” Alejandro winked at you.  

“¡Gracias Ale!” You smiled as your face flushed with warmth. 

“You look gorgeous, sweet girl.” You looked over to the bench where your captain sat.

“Thank you, Captain.'' You smirked at Price's compliment as you watched his eyes rake down your body. Something about Price stirred things deep inside of you. Like a primal need. A want. A craving. But he’s your commanding officer so that’s all that he can ever be.

 A want. 

You fought the urge to clench your thighs together at his heavy gaze. His baby blues met yours and you felt yourself to suppress a shiver. Get it together.

“Okay let's go before they close the doors on us huh.” You cleared your throat and made your way to the door. 

~~~

You had just finished a massive bust and the team wanted to chill for a bit so you recommended clubbing. Did you recommend this because you miss shaking your ass and wanted to get drunk? Yes. Yes you did. You could only deal with so much testosterone for so long. It wasn’t like you hated being around the guys, you loved them, it was just that you sort of missed the thrill of getting hit on and it actually leading somewhere. The guys flirted with you all the time but it never went anywhere because at this point you were all family. It wasn’t even flirting anymore, it was like getting a compliment from a drunk aunt. 

You missed when flirting had an edge. When it led to you going home with someone and riding them till the sun came up. Some small part of you missed being treated like a girl. You appreciated that the guys saw you as one of them but at some point you have to remember that you have needs… parts you have to have filled. 

Price treated you the same as all of the guys and part of you appreciated it but his “flirting” always had a different air to it. Like he wasn’t trying to rile you up or ruffle your feathers. It was like he wanted you to hear everything he said and take it to heart. Like he meant it. Clubbing could also serve as a distraction from your feelings about the man. It wasn’t fair that he could occupy so much space in your brain. 

So you styled your hair, put on a face, slipped on a cute but always comfortable pair of heels, and a dress that damn near guarantees you’ll get laid. And made your decision to kick back and take your mind off of Price.

~~~

“So… Can I get drunk tonight?” You looked at Price for an answer and batted your mascara covered lashes.

“Why are you looking at me? You’re a grown woman and you don’t need my permission to do things.” Price rasped avoiding eye contact as he gripped the wheel. 

“Okay cool. So then you don't have a problem with me going home with someone tonight?” You probed watching as his hand white knuckle gripped the steering wheel. The men behind you fighting to hold in giggles knowing their captain’s feelings for you that he has yet to admit.

“Now why would I have a problem with that, Pepper?” Sounds like he has a problem with it, you thought. You chuckled and looked out of the window as you watched the stone fences eventually turn to trees. Alejandro’s car in front of you eventually came to a stop outside of the club. All of you regrouped at the door and made your way in. It always felt a little weird being one woman walking in with a gaggle of 6 men on your tail but you’ve been in weirder situations. You grabbed a booth on the far side of the club. Making sure to have easy, clear views of all of the exits. 

“Okay. I'm going to the bar to have a drink. Please don't come over unless you need something. You guys have a tendency to scare… people away.” You laughed and winked as you made your way to the bar. You spotted a handsome man who appeared to be having a drink with his friends and you knew you had to get his name. 

“The huntress is on the prowl, Price. You gonna do anything about that tonight?” Soap questioned his captain with a low whistle.

“Soap. I have no clue what you are talking about.” Price denies.

“Ay dios mio. Captain, you play the fool so well. We all know how you feel about her and I think she knows too. We are in Mexíco. My people do not play when it comes to beautiful women.” Alejandro began as he lifted himself from the booth. “I saw at least four others whose jaws dropped when she walked in. You will miss your chance with her here if you keep being shy.” Alejandro chipped with more bravery than his brothers at the table before he patted Price on the back and made his way over to a beautiful woman he had locked eyes with the moment he stepped foot in the club. 

After a while you got bored of the man you were talking to. He was a beautiful man but lacked any depth and honestly didn't seem like he could do any of the things you need a man to do. You stayed up at the bar and turned back to look at your group's table. Almost all of your group had been dispersed throughout the club. The only ones left at the table were Price and Rodolfo. They seemed to be deep in conversation and enjoying themselves so you smiled and headed to the dance floor. 

You found a group of girls to dance with that seemed to be having a good time and you asked if you could join their group just to dance for a bit and were welcomed with open arms and kisses brought to your face. You missed being like this. It's been ages since you hung out with a group solely made up of women. You quickly learned their names and where they were from. They were from all over the world and just spent time traveling together across the world as a group. The group was composed of some of the most beautiful women you’d ever seen and you felt great being accepted into their group. Mara was from Brazil, Tati from Puerto Rico and a number of other girls from a variety of countries. Tati had been eyeing Gaz all night and you knew that they’d hit it off deciding to introduce them later in the night. Your priority at the moment was dancing and having a good time.

Although you were in a Mexican club, they played all kinds of Latin Music and even random hints of American Music. Anything that you could move to, you moved to. From Destiny’s Child to Bad Bunny to Kali Uchis to artists you’d never heard of. You and Mara had been platonically grinding on each other for a major portion of the night. Your hips had minds of their own and moved any which way. Your system was flooded with an indiscriminate number of margaritas and palomas so you felt like you were on cloud nine. Your hips hadn’t stopped moving even as you felt a pair of eyes on you. The heat of the gaze could only belong to one man in this club. 

 You looked back to the table and locked eyes with Price. You smiled, felt a wave of confidence, and blew him a kiss before you turned back to Mara, Tati and the others.  La Romana by Bad Bunny and El Alfa came on and you all were locked in place on the dance floor. The tequila from the drinks you downed had you feeling like the only thing that mattered in the world was dancing to this song with these girls that you quite literally just met.

 You and the girls danced to the song as if you were the only people on the floor. Tati started rapping El Alfa’s part as all of the inhibitions exited your body. You couldn’t even call it dancing anymore because at this point it was just cheering as the gorgeous woman next to you rattled off in Spanish. By the time the song ended and you were out of breath and drenched in sweat. You raised your voice over the music as you drew the girls in and let them know that you had to take a break. You were met with a number of hugs and kisses to your cheeks as you turned to slip from the crowd. You decided to stop at the bar for another drink and turned back to the table. The liquor coursing through you made it feel like you were floating as you made your way back over to the table with your fruity cocktail in hand. 

Price’s eyes followed each step that you took and he stared at you with a burning gaze. The heat of his stare felt like a rope as the intensity pulled you closer and closer to him. You eventually closed the distance between the two of you and plopped down next to him. You were most definitely invading his personal space, but he just sat with the slightest smirk on his lips. 

“You look like you’re having fun out there, sweet girl.” He said as bumped his shoulder into yours. Your mouth was moving before your brain could even formulate a response. You never really did kick the habit of rambling when you got drunk. That little fact about you and Price’s watchful eyes had you loose. Absolutely no control over your body or your mouth, so you rambled. 

“I would be having so much more fun out there with you, daddy. Those girls are so sweet though. Mara and Tati and I think someone named Olivia. I can't really remember but I think Tati and Gaz would be so cute together.” You leaned into Price and lovingly looked into his baby blues. For some reason you grabbed his hand. “I haven’t danced like that in so long. Did you see my hips? It was like they had a mind of their own. Feel like I'm gonna be sore in the morning. Ugh, Daddy you should’ve joined me out there. Wanted to feel you behind me. Grabbing my hips and guiding them. Might’ve even put your hand on my throat and let you choke me a little.” The filth slipped from your mouth with a giggle and you hadn’t even realized the gravity of the comments you'd been making. You’d called him “daddy” twice. Not once but twice. 

Price stared at you dumbfounded. He felt his dick twitch in his trousers. Of course he’d been watching you from the moment you left the table to the moment you set foot on the dancefloor. He watched you meet the girls, open your arms, and be welcomed with kisses and giggles. Watching the interaction had him feeling things. His mind told him was too old for you. It told him that he was old enough to be your father and he already was your superior.

He’d watched you play with the lad at the bar who hadn’t even realized how out of his league you were. Price’s mind told him that you have all of these young men at your disposal. The doubts about his age flooded his mind. Why would you want him? You deserve someone who can keep up with you. Someone young and energetic.

His doubts were put on the back burner when you blew that kiss to him. He felt his heart flutter in his chest. When you damn near skipped over to him his heart was replaced by a warmth. When you called him “daddy” his cock stood at attention and his doubts had flown far from his mind. 

“Sweet girl, how many have you had tonight?” He groaned. 

“Like 4 shots of tequila and a few palomas? Have you had one yet? I think it's the national drink of Mexico or something like that” You chirped. 

“You know that I won't enjoy that. Barely enjoying this sorry excuse of a whiskey.” You pushed the cocktail over to him. 

“Please just give it a try for me, daddy? I tried that scotch the other night and I almost passed out from how strong it was.” Price let out a long sigh and looked into your eyes as he grabbed your glass and took a sip of the grapefruit cocktail. The smile plastered on your face was enough to melt his heart. He felt the cold liquid hit his tongue and was immediately hit with the sweet tang of grapefruit and the light punch of tequila. He would never admit it, but he actually enjoyed the slight tangy and sweetness of the drink. He faked a grimace and placed your glass back on the napkin. 

“Happy, love?” You giggled in his ear and kissed his cheek. Your brain hadn’t even registered what you’d called him just a moment ago. His eyes met yours.  “y/n, I don't want you going home with anyone tonight.” Price stated with a serious tone. He almost sounded how he did when you went on missions and he’d used your real name. Not your call sign or a term of endearment. 

“Daddy, don’t be so serious, I wasn’t planning on it.” You leaned into his ear as the words flowed from your lips, sweet and syrup-like. “ I just wanted to look pretty for you. Maybe sit on your lap and dance a little but you can be so stubborn.” Price turned his head and looked at you with wide eyes. Full of lust but also full of shock at your gall. 

“Love, I think I should take you home. You’ve had quite a lot tonight.” You leaned into him and pressed a giggly kiss to his cheek. 

“Only because it's you, okay. You really don't want to dance with me. Not even one song?” You practically begged as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. 

“Let's see if you can even stand up on your own, Love.” 

“Of course I can.” You stood up and felt like the world had left you behind as wobbled on shaky feet. 

“Mhm. Let's go home.” Price affirmed and you frowned, but immediately thought of Tati and Gaz.

“Wait. Tati and Gaz. They need to know each other. Let me introduce them, please daddy.” With a long sigh that was meant to calm himself, he nodded and let you drag him to the dance floor. Of course you had hopes of playing matchmaker tonight. He chuckled a little at the fact that you always had the best interest of the team at heart. 

When you spotted Tati, she looked at you, and then at the 6'2 man planted firmly behind you. Her smiling face began to reflect one of concern as a frown crossed her stunning features. She tried to convince you to stay with her to make sure you weren't being taken advantage of in your state of intoxication. You felt your heart warm at the act of consideration, but let her know that you know him, trust him, and love him. Loud enough for him and everyone around you to hear over the music. His eyes widened and his face immediately flushed into a shade of deep red. He cleared his throat and grabbed your phone. He asked for the girl's number while you leaned on him and looked at him like he roped the moon out of the sky for you. He’d definitely remember the dopey love struck look that was painted on your face. 

He let you take Tati over to Gaz. Gaz, Soap, and Simon had been planted at the bar drinking and laughing with each other before you tapped Kyle on the shoulder. He turned around and was met with the sight of you, very much inebriated and giggly, arm intertwined with Price’s as you leaned onto him while holding onto Tati’s hand. Kyle and the others were glad to see you clinging onto Price and watched the interaction in fascination. 

“Kyle. Tati. Handsome man meet stunning woman.” You hummed while pushing Tati toward Kyle, feeling satisfied with your matchmaking skills. “Daddy, let's go home.” You looked up at Price. Soap’s mouth dropped open as soon as the word slipped from your mouth but quickly clamped it shut as he locked eyes with his ever serious captain. Simon just shook his head, not completely in disbelief at your comment, but more in amusement that you’d been drunk enough to say something like that in front of the others. Gaz’s eyes widened because he definitely heard you call your captain, daddy, but he threw on a smooth grin as he looked over to the beautiful woman that you brought along with you. He was torn between clowning you for your kinky admission or letting it slide. He ultimately decided to put it on the back burner as the gorgeous woman locked eyes with his. You whipped your body around and stumbled your way toward the door. 

Price basically carried you to the car. He was supporting most of your body weight with his as he chuckled while navigating the two of you through the gravel filled parking lot. The pair of you reached the Black SUV and Price swept you into his arms as he opened the car door. 

“In we go, love.” As he situated you securely in the passenger seat. Just as he was about to close the door you slurred out a “wait.”

“What do you need, sweet girl?”

“I’m sorry for being like this, daddy. I just wanted to have fun. I didn’t mean to be a burden.” He chuckled and brought your hand up to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your hand.

“You’re not a burden, love. You just had a bit too much to drink. It happens. As long as you had fun, I really don’t mind it.”

“God,” you said with a sigh, “You’re so hot. Can we have sex?” The warmth returned to his face at the admission. He had no intentions of doing anything with you tonight except maybe brushing your teeth and tucking you into bed. He sighed with a soft smile and closed the door. 

“You truly are something special.” He said into the nothingness as he walked around the car.

The rest of the night was a blur for you but all you remember was Price carrying you back into the safe house then lying in the soft covers of a bed and finally drifting out of consciousness.

Price sat next to you in bed and watched your sleeping figure as your soft snores filled his ears. When he was satisfied with the amount of breaths that fell from your lips, he lowered himself into the sheets next to you and lost his own battle with consciousness. 

--- --- ---

When you awoke, you were met with the sight of an empty bed and the sun shining through the flowing curtains. You looked over to the on-suite and saw your burly captain brushing his teeth at the sink. You released a content sigh as you turned onto your side. You felt yourself being pulled back into the warm embrace of sleep but as soon as you were at the cusp of consciousness, you felt the bed dip next to you. You kept your eyes closed but felt your captain just sitting there. You heard his breaths as he sat motionless next to you. The air grew tense as a beat of silence passed. Even with your eyes closed, you could feel the heat of his gaze. Was he just staring at you? Was he going to say anything? 

“What are you doing?” You probed, anticipating a gruff response.

No reply and then a long, heady sigh. 

You started to turn your head until you felt a warm, firm body press against your back. Price’s body molded into yours as he reached around your front to find the hand that rested on the sheets. His hand found yours and you gawked at the difference in size. His hand engulfed yours in a warm embrace as he gave it a soft squeeze. His face nuzzled into the nape of your neck as he filled his lungs with your scent. His hairy chest was snug against your back as you felt his lips purse against your warm skin. 

The tension grew as he shifted his hips forward against yours. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his bulge firm against your ass. He let out a low hum behind you at the feel of your soft bottom against him. Your mind started running through scenarios as you tried to recall the events that took place last night. How did you end up in bed with your captain? Did you fuck your captain? Did you do what you’ve been craving since your first meeting almost two years ago?

“We should talk about it, love.” He said with a firm squeeze to your hand. 

“Did we… Did we have sex last night?” The words came out far meeker than you had intended. He let out a small sigh and pushed his head deeper into the crook of your neck. 

“No.” Before he placed a soft kiss against the side of your neck. You felt a chill run down your spine at the intimate act. “You were far too inebriated for me to feel comfortable doing anything to you.” He hummed as he began to pepper delicate kisses on your neck.

“I wanted you to.” Slide its way, breathlessly and truthfully, from your lips. 

“I know.” His hips shifted into yours, allowing you to feel him fully. Feel the warm, firm thickness that John had hidden under his shorts. “You looked stunning last night. Seeing you free and enjoying yourself like that, it made me feel things.” A gasp slipped from your lips as you felt his cock twitch against your bum. “Things I thought I had buried. Things that aren't right. Things that I shouldn’t feel about you.” He rocked his hips into you as his hand tightened around yours. “Then you danced your way over to me, looking at me like I hung the moon in the sky. Calling me what you did.” He groaned in your ear at the memory as he rolled his covered length into your behind. “You remember what you called me, love?” A fervent pulse into your rear. His hand left yours and trailed its way up your front, stopping just under your breast. 

You couldn’t say anything. Your mind had just gone blank as your captain began to frot into your clothed ass. “Hm? Do you remember, sweet girl?” His hand made its way into the valley of your breasts and he pressed, pushing your torso impossibly close to his. Your back and ass flush against the mountain of a man. 

“I-”

“Do you need me to remind you?” His hips curled into yours. Your thighs tightened and your pussy clenched around nothing. Air slipped from your mouth as your words were trapped in your throat. Lost searching for words as his cock rubbed into the covered crevice of your ass. The intimacy of the act had dulled your thoughts. The only thing that filled your mind was him and the effect that he had on you. 

“Ah. I- Price.” 

“No. Not that. That's not what you called me seven times.” His hand made its way to your gulping throat. “That’s not the name you used. No, I don't think so. That's not what you said in front of the others.” You pressed your ass into him needing to feel more of the thick bulge that was trapped between you, your underwear and his. 

“Please.” Was all that you could conjure as your mind told you to take matters into your own hands. Your trembling hand made its way between the two of you searching for the thick length that was causing the blankness in your mind. The man jerked his hips away from you. Away from your desperate touch. 

“Ah ah. Not until you say it. I know you know it sweet girl. You wouldn’t let me forget it last night.” His voice had a deep, raspy quality to it that you’d never heard from him before. It set your core ablaze. 

“Captain please.” His grip on your throat began to constrict as your hand searched behind you desperately seeking the source of warmth you’d just lost.

“Getting closer.” His other hand slipped under your neck and replaced the hand he had tightening on your throat. The hand that was originally at your throat made its way down your body as you trembled at the sensation of his warm fingers teasing your body. 

“Mmmmmm fuck. Please please. I-” His fingers made their way into the waistband of your absolutely drenched panties. Your hips twitched at the sensation. He pressed his palm just above where you needed him. His breathing deepened in your ear. He growled in your ear. Deep, full bodied like a scotch. Gravelly.

“Say it.” Your hips twitched at the command. 

“Price I- please I’m-,” the words racked your brain as you tried to concentrate. His fingers on your pubic mound just began to tap. Light yet so impactful as his fingers just danced upon you. You tilted your hips upward trying to catch their movement just a bit lower. So close to where you needed him. The words tumbled out of your mouth at breakneck speeds.

“Daddy, please.” You were almost crying now. He tugged your ear lobe between his teeth as he sank two fingers into your weeping pussy.

“Oh fuck yes.”

“Say it again, sweet girl.” No hesitation. No stammer. 

“Daddy. Fuck.” He rocked his hips back into yours as he plunged in and out of you. The meat of his palm rubbed harshly against your puffy clit. An exhale forced itself from your lips that was soon accompanied by a low whine.

“You wouldn’t stop fucking looking at me last night.” Rock.

He licked the side of your neck as he breathed heavily against your ear. He curled his fingers inside of you as the breaths were forced from your lungs. 

“I couldn’t take my eyes off you.” Rock.

“Like you had some kind of spell on me. Your hips. Watching them sway in that dress.” Rock.

“You- uh fuck- wouldn’t stop.” He groaned as he pushed his fingers in further. Rock.

“You insatiable little slut. I shouldn’t even fuck you right now.” His hand constricted around your throat again. The man was tearing you apart with just his fingers and his voice.

“I- oh my god. I’m so sorry, daddy. I didn’t mean it.” The groan that ripped from his throat shifted something inside of you. You needed to hear him make that sound again. Your hand fumbled behind you as you searched for his cock. John tilted his head away from your ear as he watched your clumsy ministrations. You, frantically searched behind you. 

“Desperate girl.” He chuckled over your shoulder. 

“Please, daddy. I just. I wanna make it better.” Maybe you were desperate. You really couldn’t care because the thing your really needed was so close yet being shielded from you by fucking fabric. “John fucking help me.” 

Wrong answer. 

He pulled his fingers from you and rolled out of the bed. Your body followed as he stood up. “I’m sorry, daddy. Please just- can you just-” Frustration was not a strong enough word to describe your feelings.

“Lie on your stomach.”

“Huh?”

“I won't repeat myself.” You wouldn’t even give him the chance to repeat himself as you laid yourself flat on the bed. 

“Hands behind your back.” You complied. Of course you did.

He gathered your wrists in his hand and ran his palm over the covered globe of your ass and you shivered at the touch. He yanked your panties down to your thighs and your newly exposed pussy fluttered at the change in temperature. 

“Fucking gorgeous. God look at that little pussy. It's too bad though.” You couldn’t see what he was doing behind you but your hips twitched in anticipation. 

Apologize. Yeah that’s what you should do. “Daddy, I’m sorry. I just wanted to make you feel good.” 

Smack.

An exhale left your lips that you didn’t even know you'd been holding. The pain hadn’t even fully begun before he dropped his palm onto the other cheek. You rocked your hips back in shock. 

“You don’t like to listen, sweet girl. No. You don’t think, do you?” The sting was red hot on your ass and you somehow couldn’t stop your pussy from clenching. He pressed your hands into your back and forced you to arch for him. He ran a thumb down your dripping slit. He dipped the tip of the thumb, just barely, into the opening of your weeping center. You shifted your weight back, further into his touch, and let out a soft moan. 

Smack. 

You pressed forward into the bed hoping to run from the sting that blossomed on your ass. 

“I’m sorry, daddy.” You whined.

“Sit still.” 

“Yes, daddy.” 

He let go of your hands and moved his own to the burning flesh that encompassed your ass. His hands squeezed and groped, kneaded, the plump fat that sat at your hips. 

“Calm down, sweet girl.” He soothed. With a firm grip of your ass, he turned his thumbs inward, and pulled the stinging cheeks apart. His thumbs sat just above your drenched slit. He pursed his lips and pushed a drop of spit from his lips. It landed on your perineum and trickled its way into your opening. You tried to still your hips as your mind conjured a visual of the filthy act. The picture you painted in your head had you shivering. 

“Are you gonna be good for me, love?”

“Yes, daddy.” You eagerly nodded your head against the pillow. 

He hummed behind you as he kneeled above your trembling body. He grabbed your hips and tilted them upward, deepening the arch of your spine. He pressed his weight against you as he shifted his own hips forward. His underwear was gone. You could finally feel just how massive he was as he shifted his bare hips into yours. He pressed his cock down between the globes of your ass and he rocked his weight into you. A light whimper left your lips as you felt the girth that hung between his legs. He pressed his thumb onto his cock and sank it down into your wet heat. 

The stretch was blinding as you forced yourself to calm your breathing and you felt him work your open on his cock. Your body shook as he made room for himself inside of you. It felt like the air had been pressed from your lungs. 

“Oh god yes. Thank you, daddy.” 

“Tight as a bloody vice.” A deep groan tumbled from his mouth as he dropped all of his body weight onto you. He let you adjust to his girth before he repositioned his arms and legs so he could support himself and fuck you proper. He pulsed his hips forward and you swear that you could feel him at your cervix. The kiss of his cockhead at your center sent a shiver through your body. 

“So fucking deep, daddy.”

“Yeah I am.” He sighed quietly. He rocked his hips into you again and you keened. You reached your hand up to his, needing to hold onto something as you prepared for what was to come. His thrusts began to pick up speed as he fucked you into the mattress. The only thing that could be heard in the room was the sound of his hips slapping into yours and your quick releases of air as he fucked into you. A ragged growl left his throat as he straightened his legs and grabbed your neck. It was a blur of colors and gasps as he shifted the two of you over. He laid on his back with your back to his chest and planted his feet firm into the mattress. He slipped a hand around your front and found your neglected clit. His hips met your ass with a fierce clap. The sounds that left your mouth were quick little yaps as he fucked up into you. The change in angles had you feeling him even deeper than before and you were about to start seeing stars.  

You’d never been fucked like this. His hips shot upward and brought yours back down as they descended. The pressure of him driving into your aching pussy along with the tight, firm circles on your clit had you clenching tightly onto his cock. He was hitting all the right spots deep inside of you and taking care of your clit just the way you needed. All you could do was lay on top of him and take it as he basically used your body. His breathing had gone ragged as he pounded you.  

“Daddy I-”

“What sweet girl? Is it too much for you?” He smirked, out of breath beneath you as he pounded into your pussy. He stopped the circular movements on your clit as he pulled his hand away from your body. A frustrated goan fell from your lips at their removal. The groan was short-lived as tight gasp replaced it. Price quickly dropped his hand back down onto your clit in a sharp slap.

“Oh my god.” You squeaked.

He chuckled behind you and did it again. The sting from his motion had melded perfectly with the pleasure of him digging into you. Your pussy tightened around him as the sensations of his actions pushed you closer to the edge. He brought his hand back down onto your puffy clit and sighed into your ear. The only thing that slipped from your mouth were the short moans that were being punched out of you as you took what he gave you. 

“You gonna cum, sweet girl?” He taunted over your shoulder. His condescending tone had your pussy bearing down onto him. 

“Fuck. I feel you tightening up on me.” His voice had started to sound almost surprised as he made you take him. He placed his hand back on your pussy and used his index finger to rub small, intense circles on your clit. 

“I’m gonna cum, sweet girl. Where can I? Huh? Can I cum in you?” He ragged under you. 

“Fuck yes. Yes, daddy. Yes.”

“You gonna let me fill you up? Huh?” He sounded absolutely feral. He applied firmer pressure to your clit as he groaned into your shoulder. 

“Oh fuck, daddy” You threw your head back and dropped all of your weight onto him as you felt your release flood your system. Your back arched and your toes curled as you struggled to take air into your lungs. The intensity of the orgasm rendered you speechless and helpless as it washed upon you. Price’s movements grew sloppy as he tried to walk you through your release. You ground your hips into his as you rode out your high. 

“Fucking shit.” You felt your captain throb inside of you as he emptied himself into your aching cunt. You felt the warmth grow inside of you as his seed flooded your warm walls. 

He straightened out his legs and layed the two of you onto your sides. He left his softening cock inside of you as he wrapped an arm around your sweat drenched torso. All that could be heard in the room was the sound of your breaths syncing up as you laid there in bliss.  

“Holy shit.” You panted. 

“Mhm. I’ve wanted to do that for a while.” He sighed, breathlessly as he traced your senseless shapes onto your stomach.

“Yeah? Me too.”  You smiled as you turned your head to partially face him. 

“Why didn’t we do that sooner?” His baby blues met your gaze.

“Because you’re a stubborn man.” A satisfied chuckle fell from his lips as he smiled at you.

“I guess so.” 

A beat passed as the two looked into each other's eyes. Your breaths had fallen in sync with one another.

“You told your friend that you loved me.” Somehow, more warmth spreads across your face and your eyes widen and his smile grows. 

“I- I do.” You said, meek as a mouse, as if you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t have. 

He leans over and places a soft, tender kiss to your lips. His lips feel surprisingly soft and only mildly chapped as they move against yours. He pulls back from you, breathless, as his eyes lock onto yours. 

“I love you too, sweet girl.” 

[keikikait]

ᴀʟʟ ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ (ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

read my other rafe series here!

pairing: rafe cameron x f!reader (not au, both are early to mid 20's)

word count: 3k

summary: you're his safe space after stressful days in the outer banks

warnings: friends with benefits, light angst, no outright smut but it's mentioned/suggestive so read at your own risk, cheating??, i promise i don't actually hate sofia, i haven't finished s4 yet so i don't know everything, pining, soft rafe comes out for like four seconds, not proofread

a note: this is my first fic for outer banks! i don't think i slayed with this...

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

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Ever since Rafe met you a year ago, he’s gone to you after everything.

Whenever he’s angry, or stressed, or feeling downright homicidal, he comes to you. He knocks three times on your apartment door before you let him in, pulling him into your arms. Sometimes he doesn’t even knock the third time before you’re throwing the door open and grabbing his hand. It’s almost as if he steps into a portal into another dimension with the way he immediately relaxes in your presence, everything rolling off of his shoulders as he wraps his arms around you. You’re always so soft, and you always smell so good, like that expensive perfume he got you for your birthday.

You’ll hold him for as long as he needs, rubbing his back and lightly scratching his scalp with your nails, it’s the least you could do considering he pays for them every time. He just has one rule. You can’t kiss him. And it’s so hard not to. It’s hard not to grab him and kiss him while he’s thrusting into you, hand on your throat. It’s hard not to kiss him when he rushes inside your apartment, angry tears in his eyes with blood on his knuckles after losing his temper on someone. 

You spend most of your nights waiting for him. Sometimes you stay up all night, waiting for those three little knocks. You spend most of the time asleep on your sofa, hoping he would come to you instead of her. 

Sofia.

At first, he told you Sofia was just a friend, which turned into a friends with benefits. He told you there wasn’t anything serious going on, and that she was just a girl he kept around when he was bored, that she was good for his ever decaying image in the Outer Banks. And you believed him. You fucking believed him. There was a little part of you that wanted to occupy his brain, be the only living space in his head. And when he’s filling up his lungs with a cigarette or some weed he bummed off of Kelce, you wanted to be the only name that’s under his breath. 

You didn’t know the truth until you saw her Instagram post. Her account was private, but you managed to get your follow request approved on your burner account. You spent far too much time scrolling through her never-ending posts and stories, looking for a glimpse of him. You had decided to check her account while eating your breakfast this morning, the spoon clattering out of your hand when you saw her newest post.

It was a photo of her and Rafe, lounging in his new house, with the caption; ‘Soft launching an almost year-long relationship. Happy 8 months, baby!’

Your oatmeal was shortly discarded. You crawled back into your bed, cancelled all of your plans, and decided to hide away from the world until you got over him. 

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It was almost 10 PM when you heard the three little knocks.

Rafe stands on the other side, hands shaking slightly. What was taking you so long? He bangs twice more before you finally open the door. 

You hold the door open just wide enough so he can see you, keeping your hand firmly on the doorknob. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He doesn’t sound like his usual self. He sounds drained, the bags under his eyes more pronounced than usual. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans and a hoodie, a gold chain around his neck that glitters in the light. It feels like forever before he speaks again, eyes not meeting yours. “Can I come in?”

You should say no. You should turn him away. You were the other woman, after all.

But you let him in, stepping aside, biting the inside of your lip.

Rafe sighs, relieved. He really didn’t want to stay somewhere else tonight. Quietly, he slips past you, going straight for your sofa. He plops himself down, immediately kicking his shoes off and burying his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. You shut the door and lock it, hesitating before walking over to him, standing next to the sofa. You almost move to sit next to him, nervously picking at the skin around your thumbnails.

He doesn’t notice you hovering over him, too lost in his own head. He looks like a complete mess. Rafe is usually so put together, always straightening his hair until it’s just right and tugging on the sleeve of his designer sweatshirt if it’s even a centimeter out of place.

“You okay?” You eventually say, and you regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth. You shouldn’t have even let him in.

“What do you think?” His tone is bitter, but you can tell there’s no real bite behind it. He still refuses to look up, his fingers lacing together and gripping his hair almost painfully.

“Don’t do that.” You immediately say, reaching out and grabbing his fingers. “Don’t rip your hair out.”

He flinches for a moment, not expecting you to touch him. He glances up at you, his gaze meeting yours for a second before he looks away again, his shoulders slumping a little as all the fight leaves his body. Rafe doesn’t pull his hands away, instead he just moves them out of his hair, allowing you to hold his hands.

He looks so disheveled it almost hurts.

You sit down, continuing to hold his hands. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t respond at first. Instead, his thumb brushes against yours, absentmindedly. “We got into a fight. Me and Sofia.” He admits quietly. It shouldn’t make your heart leap into your throat, but it does. You shouldn’t be happy that he and his awful girlfriend are fighting.

“I’m sorry.” You say, brushing your thumbs over the back of his hands.

He sighs heavily, leaning his head against the back of the sofa. “It just… It didn’t use to be like this, y’know? We were just friends, and we were just messing around.” His tone is bitter, almost annoyed. “Now she wants me to be her boyfriend and everything is… different. And I don’t like it.”

Your eyes widen ever so slightly. At that moment you feel a glimmer of hope, that maybe he didn’t want to date Sofia, and that he actually wanted to be with you. “What happened?”

Rafe closes his eyes as he tilts his head towards the ceiling, like it’ll help him remember. “She was nagging me all day. Nag nag nag. I was trying to work, she wanted to go on a date.” He pauses just for a second to take a deep breath, his brow furrowing slightly when he releases it. “She started being a brat. ‘Oh, but you always make time for her!’” He says the last part in a high-pitched mocking tone.

“You can talk to me, if you want.” You slide your hand into his, intertwining your fingers. “You’re always welcome here.”

Rafe stares at your interlocked hands, biting the inside of his lip. He hesitates for a second before giving your hand a small squeeze. “I told her I didn’t feel like going on some stupid date, and she started acting like a baby. She said… she said if I wasn’t going to act like a boyfriend, I shouldn’t get to have all the benefits of having a girlfriend.” He says the last part with a scoff, anger making its way into his voice again.

You squeeze his hand. “Do you want to stay here tonight?”

Rafe finally looks back at you, his brow furrowing again. “Yeah. I don’t want to be home with her right now.” You didn’t know they lived together.

You hope it means as much to him as it does to you that he’s staying here. 

You lead him into your bedroom, pulling out the spare clothes that he keeps here. He changes in front of you, as he always does, and you have to stop yourself from staring. Part of you feels guilty for letting him stay here while his girlfriend was at home, waiting up for him.

You start to overthink. You want Rafe here. You don’t want him to go home, especially not to her. But you don’t want to be the other woman, you don’t want to make an enemy out of Sofia. “Rafe, maybe you should--” You start to say before he suddenly grabs you, throwing you onto your bed and climbing on top of you.

“Don’t.” He interrupts you, pinning your wrists to the mattress as he moves in to lay between your legs. He looks down at you, his brow still furrowed. “I don’t want to talk about her or hear her name. I just want to forget about her.” He leans down towards your neck, breathing in the scent of your skin. “I need you.”

“You have me.” You say softly.

He shakes his head. Something in him shifts as he starts tugging on your shirt, trying to pull it off of you. He seems desperate, desperate for you and to feel your skin against his. “You don’t get it.”

You lift your arms so he can pull your t-shirt off. “You need me, Rafe, and I’m here. I’m always here.” Your expression falls, growing slightly worried as you see his eyes turn red, tears starting to well up.

Rafe shakes his head, the motion almost desperate.  “No,” he answers, his fingers tracing the soft skin around your ribs. “I need you. I need you in a way that I’ve never needed anyone before. I need to be so close to you that we’re a single being. I need my skin against yours with no boundaries between us. I need—”. He slowly pushes you onto your back, moving to hover over you as his hands continue to roam, moving to caress your sides and hips. “I need to feel you against me,” he whispers. “I need your skin on mine until there’s no way to know where you begin, and I end.”

You’ve never wanted to kiss him so bad. You reach up and cup his face, brushing your thumb over his cheekbone. "You have me, honey. In every way you want. I'll always be here."

He presses his face against your palm, closing his eyes and nuzzling into your touch, chasing after the gentle sensation of your hands against his skin. He swallows hard, his throat bobbing as his eyes open again to meet yours. He presses closer against you, his forehead dropping to rest in the crook of your neck. He lets out a shaky breath. “Baby,” he whispers, voice cracking slightly before he stops, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as he tries to hold himself together.

“What?” You ask softly, your hand moving up behind his head.

“I… I can’t take this anymore.” Rafe presses himself even closer against you, his entire torso pressing against yours as his arms wrap around your middle, his fingers tracing the skin of your back. “Sofia.” He says her name like it’s a curse, his grip on you tightening. “She’s controlling and clingy and demanding. I have to go where she wants, do everything she wants, and I can’t say no to anything, or she throws a tantrum. I hate it.”

“Don’t think about her.” You say softly into his ear, rubbing the back of his neck with your thumb. “She’s not here. I am.” 

“I know,” he whispers, and the words come out so close to him moaning that it sends little sparks directly to your core. “God, I know. You’re all I can think about. You’ve been all I can think about since I met you.” 

A moment of silence passes between you, only the sound of his ragged breathing filling the room until he speaks again, sounding more desperate this time. “Kiss me, please.”

Your eyes widen, your heart almost stopping. “What? But Rafe, you told me I couldn’t.”

“I don’t care.” His voice is firm, his hand moving up from your back to cup your cheek, forcing you to look up at him. His eyes are dark, the deep blue practically black in the low light of the room.  “Please. I need to feel something that isn’t her against me. I need to feel you. Kiss me, please, kiss me, please—” His words break into a desperate plea, his hand pressing against the skin of your back almost frantically.

He sounds so desperate, it makes your heart ache.

You cup his cheeks and kiss him, going softly at first.

Rafe immediately melts into your touch, his entire body relaxing in response. His hands start to roam again, his fingertips tracing the curve of your waist, the skin on the underside of your thighs, the flesh of your back. He can’t stay still, touching every inch of you that his hands can reach as he kisses you like the taste of your mouth is the only thing that will save him from drowning. His tongue swipes along your bottom lip, begging you to give him more as he pushes your legs open. He grinds himself against you, reaching down to pull your panties off. He pulls away before ripping the soft purple cotton in half, shoving the remnants into his pocket. He sits up on his knees, tugging his sweatpants down, smirking at you when your eyes linger on his bulge.

He tugs his boxers down and goes to climb on top of you again when you stop him. “Condom, Rafe.”

That stops him in his tracks, his eyes widening slightly and his cheeks turning pink as he looks down at you. “I didn’t—“ He swallows hard, his throat bobbing obviously as he looks almost guilty. “I didn’t bring one.”

“Dresser.” You say. “Top drawer, by the socks. Big box of ‘em.”

He immediately scrambles off of the bed, his fingers trembling slightly as he pulls open the drawer, digging through it before finding the box. He picks up the box, his fingers drumming against the lid for a moment before popping it open. He glances at you as he pulls one out, tossing the box onto the floor next to a discarded sock without bothering to shut the lid. “How often do you bring guys back here?” He asks, more accusatory than he intended for it to be.

“Not for other guys.” You say. “You just never bring any.”

“Oh.” He seems to relax a little at that answer, swallowing hard and looking almost sheepish as he turns around, holding it up between two fingers.

He looks so handsome walking over to you, now.

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Rafe fucks you so good, you almost tell him you love him.

Your legs are still shaky the next morning as you make your way around your kitchen, preparing some breakfast. You hear him padding through your apartment before coming up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his chest against your back. You lean against him as you cook, reaching up with your free hand to cup his cheek.

You sit in comfortable silence.

Until Rafe’s phone dings.

He sighs, pulling it out of his pocket. He opens the message and reads it, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Something wrong?” You ask.

“It’s Sofia.” He says.

You tighten your grip on your spatula. “Is it?”

“Yeah,” Rafe sighs, kissing the back of your head. “I gotta go home. I promised her a brunch date on the mainland.”

You freeze, but just for a second. “You’re going back to her? Even after what we talked about yesterday?” You turn the stove top off and set your spatula down, turning to face him.

“Yeah. She’s my girlfriend.” Rafe says.

You’re speechless. Were you being delusional last night? Did you dream it all? “But… I thought you said that you didn’t like being her boyfriend.”

“I don’t.” Rafe says, sighing. He tilts his head slightly. “She’s good for appearances, for my reputation.”

“But you don’t need her to have a good reputation.” You argue. “Just try to not fight every Pogue you see, and your reputation will skyrocket.” 

“You don’t get it, baby.” Rafe says, starting to get defensive. “I need her. Whether you like it or not, I need to play pretend with her.”

“But is it worth it?” You ask. “Is it worth being unhappy?”

“I’m always unhappy!” Rafe says. “I’m kinda used to it, sweetheart.”

You scoff. “Are you unhappy with me?”

“No, of course not.” Rafe says quickly. “Don’t be stupid.”

You sigh. “Rafe, I just don’t understand your reasoning.”

“It’s just for appearances.” Rafe says. He can feel himself getting angrier and angrier, but he has to hold himself back, stop himself from snapping at you. He reaches up and tugs on his hair again. “God, what do you want from me? What do you want me to do, huh?”

You suck in a short breath. You haven’t seen Rafe angry in so long, you almost forgot what it was like. “All I wanted was you.”

Rafe purses his lips, looking away. He takes a shaky deep breath, counting to four before releasing, a trick you taught him. He takes a step towards you, watching you flinch slightly. “No, don’t…don’t flinch, baby. You know I’m not gonna do anything.” He reaches out, cupping the back of your head, threading his fingers through your hair before pulling you closer. He kisses your forehead before sighing, leaving his lips against your skin.

“It’s just for appearances.” He whispers. “I promise.” He kisses your forehead again before pulling away, cupping your face. “I’ll be back tonight, okay? Please promise me you’ll stay up.”

You nod.

Rafe sighs, lightly squishing your cheeks, his voice low and soft. “Words, sweet girl.”

You shiver, leaning closer. “I promise I’ll stay up.”

“Good girl.” His voice is almost a whisper as he pulls you closer, kissing your forehead yet again. “I’ll be back soon.”

He leaves as quickly as he entered, shutting the door behind you.

You let out a shaky breath before turning the stove top back on and continuing to cook.

You were going to stay up. You would be stupid not to.

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let me know what you think!

part two is here!

[stevesbipanic]

@steddiemicrofic prompt: fool, WC, 454, rating: G

Only fools fall for someone like Steve Harrington. You'd have to be foolish to fall for someone to kind and caring, someone who'd never let you feel unloved. Only fools would fall for that smile, those eyes, knowing love was being given freely yet not quite the one you wanted.

Only fools like Eddie Munson fell for straight boys like Steve Harrington.

"Eddie? You ok?"

Eddie was shaken from his bemoaning thoughts by the very boy that occupied them.

"Yeah, Stevie, sorry, spaced out for a second there."

There was that smile again, if Eddie dreamt hard enough he'd believe that smile was reserved just for him.

"We should have a signal for normal zoning out, please be advised no scary dreams or weird thoughts about clocks happening here," Steve laughed. It was nice being able to laugh about it, Vecna was dead a year now, they were safe and free.

How could he tell this beautiful boy that he had scary dreams every night of Steve hating him or weird thoughts about how his hair looked almost golden in the afternoon light. Eddie would be a fool to lose what he already had.

"I was thinking, maybe you wanted to go see a movie with me this Friday? We could stop by the diner and grab burgers too?" Steve looked nervous, why did he look nervous it wasn't like they'd never done those exact things together before.

"Of course, Stevie, that sounds great, as long as I'm not stealing you from some nice girl on date night."

Steve was blushing now, wait why was he blushing, had Eddie embarrassed him, did his date cancel?

"Um, actually, I was hoping maybe, it's ok if you don't, but um, fuck this was a dumb idea." Steve looked upset and if there was one thing in the world Eddie hated more than anything else it was Steve looking sad.

"Hey, sweetheart, what's wrong, what were you hoping?" Eddie could feel his foolish heart skip a beat at the impossible possibility of what Steve was trying to say.

Steve took a deep breath and Eddie felt those hazel eyes he loved so much look directly into his soul, "I was hoping you'd be my date, Eds."

Before Eddie's brain had a chance to panic his heart answered, "Stevie, there's nothing I'd rather do this Friday than be your date."

Only fools fell for someone like Steve Harrington, a boy that picks you up on time and holds your hand. You'd have to be foolish not to fall for a kiss goodnight at your door. Only fools fall for their best friend but Eddie thinks he wouldn't mind being a fool as long as he had his Stevie.

[peariote]

HI AGAIN!!!

another request if you don't mind:p specifically mari again oops I love her lmao

precrash? or maybe no crash idk. they've been dating for about a year now (maybe Danny happened long before them lmao).

r is like complete opposite of mari in like every way. she's shy and stuff (and shorter if u ever add details like that idk but its good for cuddles and hugs because r likes that crap :p). the team doesn't know about them because r didn't want to tell anyone (she's not on the team and she doesnt know them that well). so mari didn't tell them but after a while she does brag about being in a relationship and they just keep calling bs.

eventually they see them together (r doesn't care about telling them anymore but mari wanted to keep messing with them)

ok that's all I got

THANK YOU AGAIN!!!!!!!! the small (but slowly and ever growing) mari fandom thanks you😞🙏

oh yes more mari x reader !! thank you for requesting <3

"You guys would love my girlfriend." The whole team groans, lockers slamming and conversations puttering out at Mari's familiar echoing.

"Mari. Stop telling people you have a girlfriend." Shauna's most fed up with it; she's bent over, head in hands, like someone died. Her dramatic groans make snickers erupt, Lottie ruffling Shauna's dark, messily-ponytailed hair as she slides past towards the door. "Yeah, Mari. We know you're salty about Danny, but Jesus Christ, it's been a year." The tall girl snickers, grin crooked as she slips out of the locker room towards the field. Mari scoffs, eyes almost rolling white in her annoyance. It's not the first time Danny's been brought up—it's basically their go-to. Losing an argument against her? She's wholly prepared for Danny's name to drop. She gets in a particularly good barb? Your ex-boyfriend broke up with you for his own cousin. It's enough to set her teeth on edge—especially when that dweeb doesn't even occupy an inch of her brain space anymore. Him and his incestual tendencies can give his kids genetic diseases for all she cares. She's got you. Sweet, perfect you.

How she so wishes she could shoot back with your name or shove the sweet polaroid she keeps you the two of you in their faces. But instead she just groans a what-ever, laces up her cleats tight and plays a little too hard. (So what if she barreled over a freshman? They need to get tough.)

She’s found that the faster she moves, passes, destroys the other team, the faster she can get back to you. Her rapid improvement is putting her in contention for a varsity spot, she’s heard, but all that work comes from a desire to see you. The harder she practices, the less time she has to think about how much longer there is, the faster practice goes. She’s got it down to a science.

Her desperation to see you isn’t truly unfounded. She barely sees you at all during the day, just for English—where she can barely even cough without the teacher writing her up—and lunch—loud, oppressive lunch that always makes you hole up like a turtle. A cute turtle, but still a turtle. It’s hard to get conversation when all her friends crowd, so she settles for half-an-hour of hand-holding and daydreaming about after practice.

So as soon as practice ends she’s out. Her excuse, the one she started long before you started dating, is that her parents are super strict. No one would expect the stern-faced Mr. Ibarra to be an absolute teddy bear—especially for his daughter—so it works out. She doesn’t even bother to shower, just hops in her car and peels off towards your house.

She always, always comes through your window. Even though she has a key to your front door she’s insistent on climbing up the tree like some kind of Romeo. You worry about her falling and spraining an ankle, but leave the window unlocked regardless.

She pushes open the glass, crawls through. Flops on you, all sweaty and gross and dirty from the field, right onto your clean sheets.

“Gross, Mar.” You scoff, half-asleep and barely conscious at her routine arrival. It makes her pout, hard.

“You’re not even happy that I’m here? You’re terrible.” She pokes your cheek until you peek open an eye, and then tips her head.

You groan and shift as she wants you to, letting her sweaty ass bundle you to her chest. You curl easily into her, nose nuzzling at her damp collar.

“Asshole.” You murmur.

“Princess.” She retorts.

Rolling your eyes, you go quiet. You’re not sure how to breach the subject—the discussion about going public. Mari’s never expressed the desire, but she’s never kept you much of a secret anyway, even with your pleas to keep it under wraps.

You sigh, and then speak.

“Mar.”

“Princess.” She scoffs, half-amused.

“Be serious!” Laughing now, you hit her on the shoulder, bringing a faux wince and another pout. “I… well. I think it would be good if we went a bit more public.”

Mari goes silent, before a wide grin spreads. It’s spells trouble—big trouble—for you, and anyone else she intends to direct it at.

"Can we fuck with them, at least?"

So you help her do just that. You press lipstick-coated kisses (whether or not you wear it) just low enough so that when she changes into her jersey they'll be visible—bright red and prettily defined. She lets you (begs you) to press hickeys there as well, the skin of her collarbone molted purple and green.

Everyone starts asking who the fuck she got to agree to do that, and all she responds, smug grin splitting her face, is "oh, just my girlfriend,” met with many eye rolls.

At this point you’re getting restless—you’d already waited so long to build up the courage to ask her, and now she’s dragging it out because she wants her friends to suffer.

So, in a show of reckless bravery (though your hands still shake), you kiss her in the lunchroom. She’s unaware of you coming up behind her, even less aware of how her teammates’ gazes stray towards you.

The entire table goes silent as you shut her up yourself, tilting her head back to seal a kiss over the thin seam of her mouth. She smiles, all teeth, as she pulls back.

“Hey, princess.” She murmurs, soft as she scoots so you can sit next to her.

The entire table erupts.

[possesseddesiress]

Possession – Revenge: Part Two

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue. All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes.

If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.

Possesion – Revenge: Part Two

part one: Revenge

- I'm home! - I heard Dustin's voice. I could only smile with an expression laden with mischief. Bingo.

- I'm in the bedroom, honey! - I lied with no chutzpah.

Almost immediately he was already in the doorframe, smiling as he looked at me. It took everything in me not to yell at him, at least lash out or curse at him, instead I just forced a smile.

- What are you doing? - he asked with a laugh.

- Nothing. Don't you like it?

- I love it... Although I'm confused as to why you're wearing your Halloween costume

- I remembered you like those things and wanted to surprise you - at least I had the advantage that I knew this jerk inside out.

- You're absolutely right...

We started kissing. I was nauseous, I wanted to make these two pay, how could I ruin Dustin and Alberto's lives? I wanted to come up with a plan but it was hard to think of anything with Dustin touching my buttocks insistently.

He placed his hand between my legs, to which I let out a slight gasp. I thought maybe I could get some use out of this.

I kissed him with some intensity, both of us using our tongues, a kiss as sloppy and intense as never before. Or at least... not with me.

I sighed lightly. I felt him press against me fully, saliva escaping between my corners. He spun me around until I was settled on his legs, both of us panting.

- Today you feel... Different.

He murmured, watching me from head to toe, a little suspiciously. He stared at me too long, to which I preferred to kiss him intensely to keep him from thinking.

- Why don't we... de-stress?

I moved against his body, letting my buttocks rub insistently against him. And suddenly neither of us had any pants on.

His thick tool ended up inside me, to which I gasped with desire. We had been intimate a thousand times in my original body, but there was something now that felt very different, as if Alberto's body had more nerve endings.

It was like seeing stars.

- Ah!" I half-opened my lips, confused by the new sensations that I myself was sticking to with more need, as if I wanted him to get to the bottom.

- Gosh honey, you're so excited today....

I didn't even pay attention to him.

My eyes curved with desire, I smiled foolishly and even felt a little saliva drop. It was as if my brain was melting just to feel that.

We ended up exhausted on the bed, him cuddled up to me, which made me uncomfortable, it must be said.

- Everything all right?

- Yes, yes - I looked away.

- Did I do something to upset you? Are you angry?

I denied.

- Not at all, honey - Rather, I was thoughtful. As much as I would love to occupy Dustin, I couldn't forget why I ended up here in the first place.

So I had to come up with a way to make them both pay. Leave Dustin so disappointed in Alberto that I wouldn't want to see him for years, and Dustin so ruined that there was no going back.

So it all started the next morning. I waited for Dustin to leave the house and immediately installed a "casual" dating app.

I filled in the necessary information, and to make things worse (or better?) I put Alberto's full name, and a picture where his face was perfectly visible.

If they liked to play "keep" with someone else's partner, then they wouldn't mind sharing.

Barely five minutes went by and the message inbox seemed to explode: men of all sizes, races and descriptions, discreet, twinks, everything.

But there was one message that interested me more than the others.

- Alberto, is it really you?

I opened the message, noticing the profile and the picture, I could only smile with mischief and total satisfaction: It was Roger.

Dustin's best friend.

- Hey, right. That's right

I typed.

It wasn't even five minutes before he answered back.

- What are you doing here? What's going on with Dustin?

- Well, can't I have a little fun?

- Not when you have a partner.

He had a point, I wish his best friend felt the same way.

- It's weird, though. Don't you think? You say I can't but...that hasn't stopped you from texting me, if you wanted to tell Dustin.... You would have done it by now.

It took several minutes for him to respond, so I sent another message.

- Or did you see something you liked? Do you want to play with your best friend's "prize"?

Six minutes passed, I thought he wouldn't answer until the phone buzzed.

- I'm on my way to your house.

I smiled arrogantly.

As soon as he arrived, I opened the door, he walked in, looking somewhat annoyed and even intimidating.

- Aren't you dating Dustin? - I rolled my eyes a little at his insistence and the same question.

- I thought we had already cleared that up.

- It's not fair what you're doing, Alberto.

He muttered crossing his arms, I did the same.

- And yet you're here.

The silence lasted a while, he looked at me with his eyes closed.

- It's Dustin's joke, isn't it? Where is he? Tell him to come out now.

- I can prove to you that it's really not a joke.

I smiled coquettishly, kneeling in front of him to stick out my tongue like a fool, I took his hand to make his fingers find their way into my mouth.

He looked at me with desire for a while, until finally he lifted me up and we started kissing so intensely that our lips were so hot, he grabbed my waist, dug his fingers into my skin and then spread kisses down my neck. He caressed my buttocks and his fingers found their way to my entrance.

- You don't know how much I wanted to do this - he murmured hoarsely. He placed me against the wall.

- And why hadn't you been up for it before? - I whispered in a seductive tone, before I felt him insert his tool all at once, my eyes widened with force and some pain, which was quickly replaced with pleasure, I gasped with a silly smile, feeling a slap to my buttocks.

- I thought you were faithful to Dustin.

- Well, the world changes so fast.

And again, another lunge.

We went crazy for hours, sweating and filling the room with that signature scent.

I expected Dustin to arrive at any moment, "finding" me red-handed. But he never came. So I had even more time and ideas to leave Alberto as a random.

My initial idea was more encounters until Dustin figured it out. But maybe that would be too boring.

I took my cell phone, starting to take pictures to upload to my stories, caressing my new chubby buttocks, or "promoting" my new gift boxers. The easier Alberto looked, the better.

- Today there will be a party with some friends, maybe we should go. Although I know you might not feel like going - he commented while we were eating.

- Actually I do want to go.

I smiled to myself.

- Do you really? You don't usually like parties.

- I know, but you're my boyfriend. And I have to support you, don't I?

He swallowed it all. The poor guy didn't even suspect anything, and how could he? Of course, he had no idea that his ex was inside the sensual body of his new boyfriend.

We got to the party, which was pretty... boring. Just drinks here and there, boring talk and nothing else.

So it was the perfect opportunity to make it interesting.

I excused myself to go to the bathroom. Once in front of the mirror, I smiled, flexing my arms and pulling my hair back.

- Ready for your big performance? - I asked as if Alberto could answer me.

I took everything off immediately, leaving me in just a tight boxer. I flexed my muscles a little more and opened the door.

I moved forward to where the "soul" of the party was, I felt the stares of all of Dustin's friends, some indignant, others... staring very intently.

I stood in the center, starting to flex my arms with a goofy grin. I didn't even know what to do but that was the least of it, right?

- Do they like what they see? - I asked aloud, also starting to sway my hips back and forth, feeling the relief in my underwear bounce with each sway. I lifted my armpit to sniff it, enjoying the stinking aroma.

Then I knelt on the floor, beginning to caress my buttocks.

Panting and sticking out my tongue almost like a dog, a little saliva escaped my lips in between panting and slapping my buttocks.

I could see perfectly well how some of his friends started rubbing their pants and looking at me with lust-laden eyes.

- Anyone care to join me?

I mumbled licking my lips, just at that moment I met Roger's gaze who looked quite “excited” with a marked relief in his tight jeans.

And next to him, Dustin.

First an expression of surprise bordering on disgust and disappointment, until it shifted to anger.

Bingo.

I leaned forward, starting to knead my muscles, slow from my calf all the way up to my hip, then back. I began to work my fingers into my entrance, gasping at the sensation, smiling and biting my lower lip.

Despite everything and the repulsion I naturally felt for this body, it was sensitive....

- What the fuck are you doing, Alberto?

He grabbed my arm to pull me up suddenly. I smiled like anything.

- Does it bother you?

- Of course it bothers me! What's wrong with you?!?

- Oh come on, don't make this scene in front of everyone.

I said looking around me.

- A scene?!? You're the one acting like an exhibitionist!

- And you don't like it? - I pressed myself against him, caressing his abs - We can give you all a.... show everyone. I think they'd love it.

- Fuck you.

He stormed out of the room, annoyed and angry. I just stayed in the room, surrounded by his friends who hadn't left upset or shocked by my behavior, on the contrary... they looked hungry, starving.

- Do you want to come and have a taste?

I flexed my arms again.

Going home was quite a challenge, Dustin and I screamed a lot, which was strangely... satisfying.

Considering that in my original body he only left me with a text message.

- I don't understand what's wrong with you Alberto! You've been acting weird for weeks! What the fuck is wrong with you?!?

A laugh escaped my lips, denying.

- You don't have the slightest idea, do you?

- What?

I laughed again.

- That I'm not Alberto, asshole.

I let out a thunderous laugh, drunk with revenge. I don't think I'll ever forget his confused look.

- You're crazy.

- Pretty crazy, "Dunnie" - I put my hand on his chest, smiling. That nickname only I could tell him, his look transformed into pure horror.

- But... Sebastien? Is that you?

- Till you figure it out, big guy.

I squeezed his breastplate hard.

- But how? What are you doing inside of him? Why are you doing this?

- Why? Are you seriously asking why? - I raised my eyebrow, crossing my arms - Don't you remember everything you did? You ruined my life, Dustin! I'm just returning the favor.

- No, you're doing it to Alberto and he had nothing to do with it-

- Of course he had something to do with it! I wasn't the one who chose to steal someone else's boyfriend.

I declared.

- And what do you want?

- To see you pay, of course.

- You've done your job, you've done it, leave us alone.

- Oh no, I made him pay. You...

I felt a strange sensation in my stomach, it was as if my body went on autopilot. I immediately threw myself against him to kiss him, grabbing him by the cheeks with force, he moved to pull back but I kept him where he was, I felt something rising from my stomach to end up in my mouth, the more I advanced, it was as if I lost control of Alberto's body.

And then I passed into Dustin's body.

I felt spasms and violent agitation, before falling to the ground with darkness enveloping me.

Once I awoke, I found Alberto's unconscious body next to me, I felt heavy, very heavy.

I smiled, stroking my fat pecs.

- I must admit, you're not bad at all... Dunnie.

I boasted, emphasizing the caresses to his chest in that sensitive spot, going crazy from the sensation.

- Gosh, you sure are sensitive!

I kneaded harder, flexing my arms to sniff my armpits.

- You do stink... But get used to it, from now on you'll be nothing but a muscle-bound fool addicted to their stench.

I sniffed, smiling.

From that day on, I stayed in Dustin's body. I thought about ruining his life like Alberto, humiliating him and leaving him almost ruined. But then I thought, where would I go?

I didn't know if I could go back to my body, and even if I could, I had no job, no money, not even a house anymore.

So I decided to stay as Dustin... for the rest of my life.

I had great muscles, charisma, a good job and a nice apartment, plus a rather interesting addition...

It turns out that when I possessed Alberto, my soul seemed to merge with his. Leaving a permanent residue of me in him, it was almost like a clone, my mind in his body.

It was quite a surprise to know that my consciousness was still inside that body. Although I certainly enjoyed staying inside Alberto as well.

It was a bit complicated to explain what happened that night at the party, but they quickly forgot about it (not that Alberto apparently had a magic mouth).

If you're wondering if we're still a couple, yes. Initially it was weird thanks to the hatred we had for each other, but, we also know exactly what we want, how we feel about things.

It's great, although sometimes if we do allow ourselves to be with other people for one-night stands.

And Dustin? Well, unlike Alberto, I did spend weeks listening to him whine, scream and beg me to leave his body, until one day he just shut up.

I guess my mind sucked him in or something, because his memories came with him. Anyway, everyone got what they deserved, and well, revenge is sweet.

----

I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don't forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it.

I'm always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages. See you in the next story... Who knows what body you will occupy this time?

---

[gorgeys]

kinda pervy!queen maeve x femsupe!reader

sorry this is so long but i finished season 3 and had to get this out of my system. maeve come home the kids miss you.

and pls more ppl write for her 🙏🙏

she doesn't want to be like this.  she really doesn't.  but as you sit down at your new seat across from her at your first seven meeting, all of her morals fly right out the window.

you're smiling up at homelander as he introduces you, but all maeve can see are your hands attempting to pull the low cut neckline of your suit up to cover more of your tits.  your suit's brand new and, like starlight's, shows more skin than your previous one which takes some getting used to on your end.

vought's costume department also made quite a few mistakes so your new suit is basically a size too small.  it's the world's best push-up bra, giving maeve so much to look at.  but it's the small opening of your suit over your rib cage that really gets her.  it shows just the teeniest big of your underboob and it's already driving her wild.

you're already not leaving up to imagination, but still, she wants to reach across the table and rip the black leather right off of you.  she wants to run her cold hands all over your chest and make your nipples turn hard under her thumbs.  she wants to grope and squeeze your tits and watch as your face morphs between pain and pleasure.

when you look over at her, you finally notice that she's been staring at you with what appears to be the meanest death glare you've ever seen.  she's leaning forward with her elbows on the table and a clenched jaw as if you're her next target.  you look away quickly, already scared of her.  you just hoped she didn't hate you.  she was your idol after all. oh, if you only knew what she was thinking.

you're too pre-occupied to notice, but every time you leave the conference room after a meeting, she always walks behind you.  of course, it's not an accident.  nothing she does is an accident.

she notices that whenever you walk in front of one of the boys (especially the deep), your hands constantly rest along the hem of your skirt which barely covers your bare ass, ready to pull it down and obstruct their prying eyes.  but with her, you don't seem to care.  it's probably because you think that you're both girls so you don't have anything to worry about.  little do you know she's the worst of them all.

her eyes constantly peek beneath your skirt, hoping to catch a glimpse of something.  a couple times she does get lucky and sees a bit of your white or pink cotton underwear.  one time she gets really lucky and instead catches your black lace panties and wonders who you could be wearing those for.  it's moments like those where she hopes you know she's looking.  she wants you to wear those for her, no one else.

but most days she's not that fortunate.  instead she just watches the sway of your hips and ass as you both walk over to the elevator.  again, she wants to run her hands all over you and feel every single curve.  she visualizes herself squeezing your ass and whispering in your ear how soft and smooth your skin is.  then she imagines bending you over something so she can see all of you.

but then you enter the elevator and turn around and smile sweetly at her.  having spent enough time in the seven, you know she won't ever smile back, but it doesn't really bother you.  you've accepted that's just who she is.  meanwhile, she contemplates pressing the emergency stop button, slamming you against the wall, and shoving her fingers so far inside of you that your brain goes fuzzy and tears are slipping down your pretty cheeks.

it's that same thought that keeps her awake at night.  she can almost hear your whines and moans echoing in her head.  she can hear you begging to cum all over her face and promising you'll be a good girl for her.  you're so loud in her head that she can't help but reach under her shorts and rub circles on her clit as she whispers your name into her pillow.  she thinks about fucking you so often that, to her, it feels like it's really happened.

one time she comes back late from a team-up and, on her way toward her room, peeks into the training room to find you practicing moves on a punching bag.  she stops and just watches through the window for a second.  your back is to her but your hair is up and she can see the sweat dripping off your neck, some of it hitting the mat beneath your feet.  she wonders what it tastes like.  probably salty, but also sweet because it's you after all.  she'd lick your sweat right off your neck in long stripes.  she'd probably lick it off the floor too if she was feeling extra thirsty.

she's torn.  she's tired and you look tired and if homelander catches her, he'll know something strange is going on.  but as you turn slightly toward her and use your tank top to wipe some sweat of your forehead, she makes her decision.

"hey" she says, leaning against the door frame.  you whip your head around and are more than surprised to see her of all people with her arms crossed over her chest and a smug half smile.  "need a training partner?"

you weren't going to say no to this uncharacteristically kind offering, even if you were just about to head upstairs.  so you're jumping around the mat at nearly midnight, dodging her blows and getting in a few licks of your own.  you're a pretty good fighter, but not as good as her, so it's not long before she has you pinned to the mat with one forearm against both your shoulders.

your chest is heaving beneath her arm and your mouth is slightly open.  she's never been this close to you before.  she feels like she's on fucking fire, feeling herself on top of you like this and feeling her skin against yours.  she would've been able to control herself if you weren't staring into her eyes like that, looking a little dazed but excited.  who can blame her for closing the distance and kissing you like there's no tomorrow?

you're beyond shocked.  more like stupefied.  you'd never even had an inkling that she had thought of you in this way.  in fact, you assumed she wanted to kill you sometimes.  but the way she kissed you so hard and dug her teeth in your bottom lip made you want her so badly that you could feel your panties growing wet.

with your little crush on her, you thought about this moment sometimes and assumed she'd be rough but my god she was rough with you that first time.  she barely let you move, keeping you completely pinned to the mat with one arm while the other snuck beneath your skirt.

"you don't even know how long i've been waiting for this," she whispers into your ear as her fingers push your panties to the side.  she's instantly assaulting your clit in fast, tight circles, leaving you writhing beneath her, though there's not much wiggle room between your bodies.

"maeve, what if somebody sees?" you ask between quiet whines.  what a suck up you were, constantly trying to gain points with the other members of the seven in hopes of gaining more power.  she especially hated the way you sucked up to homelander, always grinning at him and laughing at his stupid, gross jokes with hearts in your eyes.  a small part of her wanted him to see her fucking you so good.

"you'll keep taking my fingers, goody fucking two shoes," she says through gritted teeth before shoving a finger inside of you with no warning, causing your back to arch up and off of the mat.  "good girl, baby."

after that night, there's less staring and imagining but more touching and doing.  her hand grazes your ass when you pass each other in the hallway.  she pretends to swat a fly away from your chest and ends up smacking one of your tits.  it always ends with that same no-good smile.

you try your best to only end the night in maeve's room if homelander's out on a mission, but she grows impatient.  you're an addiction and every little taste she gets leaves her wanting more.  she especially gets handsy when you've spent a lot of unnecessary time with homelander.

"y'think he can fuck you like this?" she asks, her strap buried deep inside of you.  you're sat on the kitchen counter, your legs wrapped around her waist and hands tangled in her hair as she relentlessly pounds into you, pushing you toward your third orgasm.  you moan a "no" into her shoulder before biting down on her skin.  "yeah, that's what i thought.  if i see you touching him again, i swear i'll strip you naked and fuck you in front of him.  now cum before i change my mind and don't let you."

she once threatened to make you wear a vibrator to one of the seven meetings after you came back from a team-up with homelander's arm around your shoulders.  but, after a lot of begging and time spent on your hands and knees feverishly eating her out, maeve finally forgot about the idea.  he would've probably seen it anyways.

but, one of, if not her favorite time fucking you is on a random sunday when homelander's out doing day-time talk show interviews.  she drags you into the seven conference room and sits in homelander's chair at the head of the table.

"feels good, does it, baby?" you say, sitting on the edge of the table in front of her, reaching underneath your skirt and shimmying your panties off.

she sighs a sigh of accomplishment and leans her head back against the chair without taking her hungry eyes off of you.  "feels fucking fantastic."

then she's rolling her chair forward, locking her arms around your thighs, and pulling your pussy toward her mouth.  you lie back on the table with your legs over her shoulders and moan maeve's name as her lips enclose your clit and suck harshly.  she shushes you but with her lips against your cunt, the vibrations only leave you struggling to compose yourself.

the rush of power from eating you out in homelander's chair makes her hungrier than ever and she laps you up quickly, collecting your juices on her tongue and swallowing proudly to avoid leaving behind a mess.  "you taste better than ever, baby," she says, licking her lips before leaning down to give you a chaste kiss.

everything's going well until one fateful meeting when homelander's getting on your ass about some dumb little thing you said in an interview that's been twisted by fans and is now trending on twitter.  he was talking to you like you were a mentally unstable infant and it was starting to piss maeve off.

"hey, cool it, homelander," she interrupts him mid-sentence as he ranted on about your "tiny pea brain."  he turns his face, which was inches away from yours, toward maeve who was coolly leaned back in her chair.  they had a stern staring contest for a few moments before something inside of him snapped.

"just cause y/n's slutting herself out to you doesn't mean you have to be her lesbian knight in shining armor, maeve."  maeve was far better at hiding her shock than you were.  "yeah i fucking knew about you two.  don't think you can hide anything from me."

and that was when your secret arrangement turned into a very public one.  you would be lucky to escape this situation with your life.  luckily maeve would never let you go without a fight.

[pleasurebuttonwrites]

Getting to Know Jake Lockley's Massive Cock

Jake Lockley x f!Reader | Explicit 18+ | 5.5K

Summary: You are a fic writer in the marvel universe living in New York where Moon Knight, and of course, Jake Lockley are real. His identity, as well as Marc's and Steven's are public. You write for the fandom, primarily for Jake. He joins tumblr...and reads your fics.

Warnings: smut, oral, p in v, unprotected, cream pie, breeding

A/N: I had so much fun writing this one. If I had more time I would have created fun edits for the parts where there are tumblr posts and messages and such, but I really wanted to post this already. Also, sorry about the Spanish, I don't speak it. If it bothers you too much, give me a shout, and let me know what I should change it to and I'll fix it!

~~~

It was always the same. When you finish a story and are about to post it the nerves kick in and you hesitate to hit the button. You shake yourself, literally, and post it before you could talk yourself out of it.

You refresh the page and there it is, first post on your dash under your url: jake-lockley-is-my-husband. You know if you don’t distract yourself, you’ll obsessively check for any interactions with it. So you close out and find something else to do.

You manage to occupy yourself until it’s time for bed, and you just can’t resist checking. You have dozens of likes, a few reblogs, and two lovely comments that you reply to before going to bed. All-in-all not too bad.

When you wake up the next morning you can’t wait to check again and when you open tumblr your first thought is that there must be a glitch. You have thousands of notifications. You try to sort through your activity but it’s a complete mess. Fics you posted months ago are suddenly getting interacted with, and random other posts too. But your top post is the fic you posted yesterday. You scroll through the comments:

No way it’s really him.

New celebrity tumblr just dropped.

Man of the people!

You go to the reblogs to figure out just what the fuck these people are talking about and click view post on the most recent. You scroll through a chain of reblogs until you get to the first one.

It’s from a blog called jake-lockleys-massive-cock. It says:

dios mio that was hot! i love the way you write me. it’s kinda eerie how spot on you are. #my wife knows me so well #fic rec

Your brain practically malfunctions. Was-was-was that, was that, was that…?????

You go to his bio. His pfp is a picture of Jake Lockley and he’s written:

hola, me llamo jake lockley the handsome third of the superhero known as moon knight. he/him. some say man of the people. according to fics written about me: lover extraordinaire. here to read said fics. if you write for me, tag me 😉

It was some kind of joke, right? It had to be. You scroll through his blog. He’d been busy in the last five hours, replying to asks about his identity to which he provided pictures of himself. Pictures that people were quick to point out weren’t anywhere else on the internet. Others of course still doubted it, but you were starting to be convinced. Or maybe you just wanted to be convinced. But that would mean that Jake Lockley had read your smut about himself.

You don’t know how to respond directly to him so instead you make a new post:

Oh my god you can’t do this to me when I’m asleep. Did jake lockley just comment on my fic? No right? Am I still dreaming? #freaking the fuck out

You step away because it’s just too much. Notifications are still coming in and you don’t know how to reply to any of them. Later, at work, at random moments you’ll think about it and it’ll shock you all over again. This potent mix of excitement and fear courses through you. Fear because all of the attention is damn scary. You scroll through your asks on your break and there is some hate in there. Some of it just random hate that seems to come with getting attention. But some of it clearly borne of jealousy that Jake had singled out your fic.

You consider turning off anon, but some of your best requests had come from people on anon. And you don’t want to end that. You think about replying to the hate but you barely have time to reply to all the nice comments. Instead you block the bad and focus on the good. You can’t get to it all, but you’ll try.

You still can’t work up the nerve to reply to him directly - if it really is him anyway.

-

You’re still trying to manage your inbox days later when you see a request come through. You were planning on closing them since you’d gotten so many new ones and needed time to get to them all. This new request is from jake-lockleys-massive-cock. Your heart is practically beating in your throat as you read it.

are you avoiding me? seems like you answer all your requests so here’s one: jake (that’s me) gives you a cream pie and fingers it back into you with my gloves on.

You realize just how much you believe it’s the real him by how wet you get from this request. You try and try and try to temper yourself, but your imagination gets the best of you and for a few hours as you fulfill this ask you live in a world where not only is Jake Lockley requesting smut about himself from you, but he’s actually giving you a cream pie and fingering it back into you with his gloves on.

-

I would never avoid my husband. That’s preposterous. Go Time Summary: Trying for a baby, your ovulation window comes up and Jake’s busy driving around. You go meet him and fuck right there in his cab. A/N: not the way ovulation tests work but idc You’d gotten the smiley face. It was on a stick you’d just dipped into your pee, but still it made you incredibly fucking happy. You immediately reached for your phone and called up your husband. It went straight to voicemail, but that was common when he was working. You left him a brief message: “It’s go time.” You don’t have to wait long for a response. He’s good about checking his messages in between fares. You pick up. “Jake Lockley, are you ready to put a baby in me?” “Mi vida, no puedo esperar a esta noche.” [Can't wait for tonight] “No, not tonight. Now. We’ve missed the window the past three months because something always comes up. I want to do this now.” “It would take me hours to get home with the way traffic is right now.” “So…let me come to you.” You take the subway and meet him in one of the sub-levels of a parking garage. It’s full but he doesn’t need a space and everyone is already in their offices so no one is around. Jake’s double parked in one of the darker corners, leaning against his yellow cab. You thread your arms around him in a hug and he pulls you closer burying his face in your neck. Being close to your husband like this still never fails to turn you on. And knowing that you’re about to try for a baby with him just takes it through the roof. He slides his hands into the back pocket of your jeans, giving your ass a little squeeze. Your lips meet his and it’s all a rush from there. He opens the door to the backseat, ushering you in, trying not to break the kiss. On your back he pulls off your jeans, muttering, “...should’ve worn a fucking skirt.” He gets in and pulls his pants down his thighs freeing his cock, already leaking precum. You can’t help but lick it off. “No, no, baby. This load’s going between your legs.” He pulls you into a straddle on his lap and drags the head of his cock through your folds. “Already so wet for me.” You’d taken him so many times before but it still took you a minute to get used to his size. You sank slowly down over him letting the thickness of his cock give you that delicious stretch. Soon though you’re bouncing on him like a pro and he’s pulling your shirt down to free your tits and mouthing at them while your cunt soaks his lap. He knows you. Knows you better than you know yourself. No matter how much you rock and shimmy your hips, somehow you just can’t hit that spot like he can. He knows this, of course, so he takes your hips and angles you and pulls you down onto him. It doesn’t take long after that. Those pretty sounds and the way your cunt squeezes his cock so good have him right there with you. You cum together, his seed coating your walls so thoroughly, there’s no way you won’t get pregnant from this. Unless you let it all leak out. He at least as the presence of mind to get you on your back to help keep it in. He watches as some of his cum drips out of your spent hole and without a thought, he gathers it on his gloved fingertip - in his haste he hadn’t taken off his driving gloves - and pushes it back inside you - deep inside you. He does this over and over again, making sure his cum stays in, ushering it back with his thick fingers, up to your cervix. His thumb slides over your clit and the tips of his fingers inside you are coaxing you toward your next release. You want him to fuck you again. To make the most of your ovulation window. “Do you think we could go again?” He slips his fingers out, only leaving you empty for a mere moment before he fills you up with his cock. “Mi vida, I’m not stopping until you can’t hold one more drop.”

The words pour out of you. Never before have you had such inspiration to write a story. You’re awash in the glow of post-writing when you realize that now you have to post it. For Jake (if it’s really him) to see. You just wrote filthy smut for your celebrity crush. By his request, but still.

Normally you look over it for a quick proofread/revision before putting it out there for the world to see. But you’re pretty sure you’ll change your mind if you don’t just post it as is. So you add a note to the A/N section and send it off into the abyss of the internet.

You want to log off. Go do something, anything else. But the thought of someone else seeing his reply before you do makes you seethe with jealousy. So you stay connected and obsessed and watch for replies.

You’re still getting a stream of notifications so you ignore those and refresh the page with your post every few seconds to start, and then only every 30 seconds. You get some likes, then some comments and reblogs. You don’t even read them when you see they’re not from him.

Finally after what seems like forever, but is really about ten minutes judging by the timestamps, he replies.

i didn’t know i had a breeding kink until just now. you’re a goddamn genius. also my cock is way bigger than you described.

While you’re still recovering from this praise, you get a dm from him. You have to take some deep breaths before you open it.

Jake: do you know you’re my favorite writer? would you like to see a pic of my cock, you know, for inspiration?

You: Wait. Are you serious?

Jake: yeah, i love all your work.

You: NO, about the other thing.

Jake: only if you promise not to share it. it’s only for you.

You: I promise. If you’re not comfortable though, it’s all good.

Jake: ok, here it is.

The pic comes through and it is indeed a massive cock. Just not the kind you were hoping for. It’s a very large rooster. Like a rooster photoshopped to be huge.

You: 🙄🙄🙄

You: You know if I had really expected you to send one I’d be disappointed right now.

Jake: sorry, cariño. i’m looking at the dick pic i took and now i'm thinking i’ve over-promised what i have. 😰

You: I can promise you that I will like it, but there’s no pressure to send anything.

The dots appear and disappear a few times as you await his response. You’re about to change the subject, when his reply pops up.

Jake: está bien, look what your fic did to me.

And a second later a picture of the finest cock you’d ever seen. You waste no time replying, wanting to reassure him that you indeed love it.

You: oh fuuuuuuuck 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤

You: Is this really yours?

Jake: you’ll just have to trust me 😈

It does its job and inspires you. You feel inspired all night long. But you don’t write one word.

-

You’ve never spent so much time on tumblr as you do for the next few days. You dm with Jake a little bit, but he’s a busy man and you only get to talk for a few minutes here and there. You’re addicted to his blog though. He’s reblogging so many fics and answering asks. You’re pretty sure he has his queue set up and he just blasts these things in the few minutes he probably gets to spend on here.

On a tender Marc x Reader fic where Marc opens up about his past and then has emotional sex with the reader, he’s commented:

that’s pretty good, but marc cries more during sex.

And on a Steven x Reader fic where the reader is dominant, taking what she wants from Steven and pegs him:

this was fucking hot, but steven would be hard from the moment you looked at him. if your hand is down his pants, he’s already at full attention. #why is it always steven who gets pegged? #i feel left out

Someone asks him if Steven and Marc are also on tumblr and he replies that they don’t even know that he’s on here.

It’s shameful how often you look at his dick pic. He hasn’t asked you to, but you want to return the favor. You spend some time taking a good pic of your tits and you want to send it to him, but you have to figure out how to broach the subject with him.

He’s just caused a stir by posting:

thinking about getting a cat now.

And after lots of comments with suggestions on what to name the cat, he creates a poll.

He dm’s you with the question:

Jake: can you explain to me why everyone wants me to have a cat?

You: We can just tell you’re good with pussy 😏

Jake: jajaja, so you don’t know either

You: Forget it, Jake. It’s Fandomtown.

Jake: !!!!

Jake: one of my fav movies

Since you’re the queen of non-sequiturs, you write

You: Hey, could I send you something?

Jake: like…in the mail? 🤔

You: Uh, no. Like a picture? Of me?

Jake: absolutely! i’d love to see your face.

You: Welllll it’s not of my face

Jake: you have my attention

You: It’s a tit pic. Is that ok?

Jake:

You take a deep breath and remind yourself that he’s a guy and guys like tits. You send it to him and the one second that ticks by before he’s typing makes your heart skip a beat.

Jake: 🍆💦💦💦

Jake: tan hermosa. quiero tocar y besar y lamer y chupar y poner mi cara en ellas [So beautiful. I want to touch and kiss and lick and suck and put my face in them]

Jake: if i stop responding i want you to know it’s because i'm stroking my cock while drooling over your tits.

You: That’s perfect. It’ll give me some time alone with your dick pic.

Jake: dffdsdsadsajkl you’re trying to kill me woman

-

It’s strange how something so incredible can become so normal in the span of days, but it’s hard to remember what it was like before Jake was being a menace in the fandom. Not that it wasn’t still exciting, every post, every comment, every ask. But you no longer had to pinch yourself to prove it was real.

In fact it was so usual, it felt strange when he seemed to disappear for a few days. You missed him, but you didn’t wonder about it too much. He was a busy man, a superhero, a cabbie and shared a body with two other whole people.

His absence gave you some time to catch up on your tbr list, reply to comments and get to requests. You’re in the middle of an engaging back and forth on a thread when you get a request on anon.

can i request a fic of reader holding jake (preferably against your perfect tits) as he cries?

It’s him. You know it’s him. Was he even trying to disguise himself? You sprint to your dms.

You: Everything ok, buddy?

Jake: whatever do you mean? 😇

You: 🤨 Ok, ok, brb.

You get to work right away.

Get Closer to Me It’s later than the usual time that your husband, Jake, comes home. He always tells you not to wait up for him, but you struggle to fall asleep without him so you might as well stay up watching TV. You’re in one of his T-shirts. It smells like him and the soft cotton caresses your bare skin underneath. Finally you hear the click of his key opening the lock. He steps over the threshold, tired from his night of protecting the city. Something’s wrong. You can tell by the way he doesn’t meet your eyes. If not for the protection of his suit, you’d fear he’d been hurt. He lets you lead him over to the couch where you sit him down. You take off his shoes for him and then sit back. As soon as your ass touches the cushion, he throws his arms around your middle and buries his face in your chest. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong when you feel his body shuddering with sobs. As much as you rely on his strength, it’s times like this when he trusts you with his vulnerability that makes you feel closest to him. You cherish the moments you get to be his rock. A wet spot blooms between your breasts, soaking in his tears. You run your hands through his hair, using your other hand to graze your nails on his back. You lay together in the stillness and silence of the night until his breath calms and his grip on you eases. You kiss the top of his head and he shifts, nosing the space between your breasts and placing a hand beneath your shirt, traveling over your ribs to squeeze at your flesh. “Jaaake?” you ask lightly, drawing out his name. “Hmmm?” he replies. “What are you doing?” From where his face is firmly planted in your chest, comes his muffled answer, “It’s soothing.” Your body shakes with laughter and relief. If he’s fondling your tit, he’s back to his usual self. There’ll be time tomorrow for talking about what was bothering him. But for now, it was time to take your husband to bed.

You’ve never written or posted something so fast. Before you can even tag him by adding your tag list in a reblog, he’s reblogged it with the comment:

THAT’S WHERE YOU CUT IT OFF?! #why are my eyes suddenly wet #boobies make everything better #currently accepting hugs

Then you get a dm:

Jake: gracias, cariño. i’m feeling much better. 🥹

You: Glad I could help! ❤️

-

One thing that you and Jake had bonded over was being New Yorkers. Despite not having it in your bio, Jake could tell you were one based on your posts. He messages you that he’ll be in town in just a few days.

You: Are you excited to be coming home?

Jake: i’m more excited to be closer to you.

Wait. Was Jake actually flirting with you?

Jake: do you think i could meet you while i’m there?

Holy shit holy shit holy shit. For the first time in a while you worry that maybe this guy isn’t really Jake. Because it’s not possible that Jake Lockley wants to meet you, right?

When you don’t respond, he messages:

Jake: no pressure if you’re not comfortable.

You: No, I’d love to meet you. It’s just… you could be anyone on the other side of this screen.

Jake: ah. would you like to chat on video?

He gives you his number and you take a few short minutes to freshen up and find a spot with good lighting before you video call him. He picks up right away, his smile lighting up the screen.

“Cariño, eres muy bonita,” he croons. [You are so pretty]

You put a hand over your face in embarrassment.

“No, no, no, don’t cover that pretty face!”

He’s walking around his place, the background shifting behind him as he moves around.

“What are you doing?” you ask him.

“Packing.” He sets up his phone and holds up two pairs of pants. “What do you think? Tight jeans or grey sweats?”

He’s rendered you completely speechless, your mouth is hanging open but no sounds come out.

“¿Por qué no los dos?” He shoves both in his suitcase and picks up his phone, but before he can continue his conversation with you, his attention is drawn to something or someone off camera. You don’t hear anyone but Jake listens with a stony face, then rolls his eyes.

“Lo siento, cariño. I have to go.”

“Was that Khonshu?” you ask, all amazement.

“Unfortunately. See you in a few days?”

“Yeah, see you then.”

You hear him start to yell, presumably at Khonshu, as he hangs up the call.

-

Jake: no don’t send me your address.

Jake: if i find out you give random people online your address i’m going to be mad. you should care more about your safety.

You were texting with Jake, trying to make plans to meet up and though it would be convenient to have him at your place, he doesn’t want to put you at risk. If an enemy of his sees him there, your place would be compromised.

You: Oh, but it’s ok if I send a random person on the internet a picture of my tits?

Jake: uh, yeah, your tits are beautiful, you should share them with the world.

You’d managed to fend off the nerves until the day of. Now as you make your way to the intersection you’d agreed to meet at, your heart feels like one of those huge timpani drums and like a gorilla is erratically banging on it.

There’s a crush of people and tourists on the sidewalks and you’re not sure how you’re supposed to find him. Though you are like extra super early, so perhaps he’s just not here yet.

As you scan across the street, you walk by a line of yellow cabs - and nearly walk right past him. He’s leaning against his car, flat cap pulled down covering his face, and gloved hands holding a newspaper. He’s reading a newspaper. An actual goddamn newspaper of all things.

He lowers it when you stop in front of him. His eyes scan you and a smile spreads on his lips. “Would you like a ride, señorita?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.

He folds up his paper and tosses it into the passenger seat through the open window, then opens the back door for you. For a moment you’re worried he doesn’t recognize you, but then you step toward the door and his hand is on your lower back guiding you into his car. He leans down to your ear to tell you it’s nice to meet you and that you look beautiful today.

You’re too caught up to reply. Up close his brown eyes are even deeper and richer than you could have imagined. His touch is gentle and comforting but the strength in him is unmistakable. And best of all his scent, sharp and heady, his cologne a perfect complement.

Your body still tingles from his touch as he circles around from the back and slides into the driver’s seat. As soon as he shuts his door, it feels like the two of you are in a little bubble. He meets your eyes in the rearview mirror. “Sorry about the pretense. Can’t be too careful these days. Never quite know who’s watching.”

“That’s okay,” you try to say, but it comes out in a croak. You clear your throat, embarrassment racing up your neck. “So, um, where are we headed? Your place?”

He pulls out into the flow of traffic, and glances in the mirror at you. “We don’t keep a place here. When we visit we usually stay with a friend.”

You wonder if you should be jealous of this friend until you realize he probably means…”Frenchie?”

Jake barks out a laugh. “I’m so glad you all use your powers for smut. If any one of you became a villain we’d be so fucked.”

“‘So fucked’ is kind of what I’m going for.” You can’t believe you said that out loud. Apparently you have no control over your mouth when your panties are soaked.

Jake doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, though you are busy admonishing yourself in the backseat, it doesn’t stop you from catching the way he bites his lip and tightens his grip on the wheel.

Before you can restart the conversation, Jake pulls into a parking deck underneath a hotel and slips into a spot. Was-was he recreating your fic?

You stay in the back as he gets out. He comes around to your door and you expect him to climb in but instead he offers you his hand.

“We’re not staying in the car?” you ask him as you take his hand and he pulls you out.

Amusement flickers in his eyes. “No, cariño. Cab sex is hot in theory but there’s not nearly enough room for what I have planned.”

You’re thankful to still be holding onto him because your knees go weak at that.

As you wait for the elevator, it occurs to you that you don’t know for sure that this is Jake Lockley. Like the real Jake Lockley. There were known to be lookalikes that posed as various superheroes. What if you’d been duped by one?

You’re quiet in the elevator. And through the grand lobby of the hotel complete with a fountain. And when Jake nods to the man dressed very nicely at the reception desk and says, “Buenas tardes, Eduardo.” And when the man returns the nod and says, “Señor Lockley.” And when Eduardo looks right at you and Jake says, “This is [your name].”

You don’t speak until Jake has opened the door to his hotel room and you hesitate before crossing the threshold and you blurt out, “How do I know you’re you?”

His eyebrows lift in surprise. “How do any of us know who we are?”

God, he’s funny and charming. Even if this turns out not to be the real Jake Lockley, you might fuck him anyway.

“No, I mean how do I know you’re actually you. You look like Jake, but you could be some impersonator, right?”

“Oh, I see.” He ponders for a moment. “If you’re comfortable coming into the room, perhaps I could show you something.”

You still hesitate.

“Okay. No. Good,” he says. “You have a survival instinct after all. Here, I’m going to go in. You watch from the door, but only open it enough for you to see in, okay?”

You nod and Jake goes in and you hold the door open just enough like he said. He turns around and while turning, his clothing appears to morph into a black and white suit, complete with a cape that you know only too well. Your jaw drops open because it’s one thing to see it from a recording where your brain is used to seeing all manner of crazy CGI. But it’s another to witness it right in front of your own two eyes.

You rush in, letting the door close behind you. “Oh my god,” you gush. “Can you keep it on?”

He embraces you and delivers a kiss that feels completely natural like the two of you have done this hundreds of times before, but also nothing like you’ve ever experienced. And maybe that’s one and the same. His breath is minty, and you swear he’s wearing cherry chapstick.

“That will defeat the point, won’t it?,” he says. “This thing doesn’t have a zipper. Besides, it’s really itchy.”

He transforms back while you’re still in his arms, and you have to admit you like him better this way anyway.

It’s not anything like your fics and that makes it magical. There’s more fumbling and laughter and friction. He’s not some love god and you’re not a siren. But there is desire, and it is real.

-

That One Night Summary: When your date stands you up, but you’re lucky that it happens in the same bar that Jake Lockley frequents. A/N: Special shoutout for the inspiration, you know who you are You’re in Jake Lockley’s hotel room. In the bed. And you’ve just laid eyes on the swollen spear he calls a penis. Your gulp is cartoonishly loud, and your legs press together like they’re Shaggy and Scooby in a haunted mansion. “Don’t worry, cariño. I’m going to get you really wet,” Jake says, crawling on the bed toward you and gently prying your legs open. He settles his face between them and when his tongue touches your clit, your legs fall all the way open and you sink into the bed. You marvel at the way your night has gone. From getting stood up, to trading looks with the hot stranger across the bar, to now being in said stranger’s - no he told you his name, so technically he’s not a stranger anymore - bed. He lifts his mouth off of you and you whine in protest, but he shushes you and a fingertip circles your entrance before dipping gently in. He goes slow, tantalizingly, excruciatingly slow. He works you until you can take two of his thick fingers, then his lips return to suck gently on your swollen nub. He didn’t lie. You are soaking wet, the puddle beneath you more like a lake. You’re at the edge when he asks, “Do you want your first orgasm on my fingers or my dick?” Your body doesn’t give you a choice, the image of either sending you over, and you clench down so hard on his fingers, he mutters, “Fuck.” He sweetly kisses his way up your body as you come down. Planting them on the soft skin of your belly and spending his time covering every inch of your breasts. He ignores your pleas to be fucked, waiting instead until your breathing slows and the coil inside you relaxes. You look up into his deep brown eyes and caress his face, wanting to know this man, his story, his life, what brought him to you tonight. “Ready?” he asks, and you nod. Despite how slippery you are, he’s still big enough for you to feel the stretch. He eases himself into you, breathless praises falling from his mouth. “Doing so good for me.” “You’re taking me so well.” “Tu cuerpo me maneja tan bien.” [Your body handles me so well] When he’s reached your depths, he stays there, letting you get adjusted around him. “Why don’t you show me how you like to play with your tits?” he suggests. You’re self-conscious at first but he watches you, hypnotized, while you tug at your nipples and knead your flesh. It relaxes your pelvic floor enough that Jake can fuck into you. Gently, until he learns how far into you he can go. He’s like a fucking paperweight inside you and you tell him so. “It feels even better from behind,” he informs you. And that’s how you find yourself on your knees, Jake behind you, his heavy cock dragging across your G-spot back and forth with every thrust, the pressure building up until it’s nearly blinding, your legs shaking so bad that he has to hold you up, which is a good thing because your body goes limp when your release comes, and then his cock is jumping inside you (‘twitching’ is too tame for what this monster can do), his spend replacing the weight of him. The bed is soaked, your legs are a sticky mess, and the night is just beginning.

The writing came easy but you debate posting, wavering between wanting to keep your experience to yourself and knowing that no one but you and Jake would know the truth. Ultimately, since you had kept the most personal parts out of the fic and it felt somewhat removed from the real thing, gussied up as it was to be smut-worthy, you decide that you want to share it, and as usual, you click the damn button before you could change your mind.

You wait a while before checking the interactions. This time not caring as much what other people would say, or whether anyone would read it at all. There is only one person’s feedback you’re interested in. And it’s there the next time you open tumblr:

sounds like a really good time. like something i’d like to do again.

[daydreaming-in-letters]

Against the wall

05/24/2024

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,917

Warnings: rpf, alcohol, pining, naughty thoughts, fluff

Summary: Sometimes all it takes is a room full of people to figure out you want nothing more than to be alone with that one person.

A/N: Guys, this was written in a fevered frenzy. Haven't felt the muse in months and don't know whether she did a good job, but I am so happy she is not dead.

Picture is a screen cap from this video

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

If you enjoy my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. No permission is given to copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

She had forgotten how much she loathed being in a room full of people. Maybe it was a condition that came with age, to appreciate silence and solitude, or maybe, just maybe, it was entirely his fault. 

Her back leaning against the wall, his hand was splayed out right next to her head, supporting the weight of his body as he leant in slightly so he could focus on her voice above the noise of the bustling room. He had never been this close to her, so close she could smell the intoxication scent of his body, and in an instant the chatter was drowned out by the wild drum of her heart, which in turn made it one of the most challenging tasks she had ever had to face to string her words together into meaningful sentences. 

But it seemed she had somehow succeeded, against all odds, as he turned his head to look at her, his face so close now that she could feel the heat of his breath on her face. And as if that had not been enough to clear every coherent thought from her head, he chose to turn his lips up into the most dazzling smile upon her silly joke. 

It made her dizzy, combined with the sparkle in his eyes it was an almost deadly combination, impossible to resist. It had captured her completely. He had captured her completely, occupied her every thought in a way that was bordering on concerning, for her sanity, maybe even for the idea of feminism she lived by, but even more so for the very essence of her existence. 

She had seen it all so clearly, a happy future, no one to bother her, especially no man to cause her even more worries than she already had. Just her, the path in front of her clearly mapped out. And then he had crossed her way, and it had dawned on her that what she had deemed the perfect life would seem like nothing but a cheap substitute next to a life with him. Certainly, she could still be happy without him—if she needed to. 

The problem was, she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to live a life without the sound of his laughter, without his twisted sense of humour and the way he looked at her when they were engaged in a conversation, as if there was no one else in this world, as if it was only him and her. He made her feel secure in a way no one ever had. When he entered the room, she could feel her shoulders relax, her breath going more easily and the galloping of her heart slowing in pace. And when she talked to him, it was as if she had never done anything else in her entire life. There was nothing of the usual unease or urge to appeal between them that might, under different circumstances or with a different man, lead her to a point at which she had either moulded herself into a completely different person or where everything meaningful she had wanted to say and that had been phrased so clearly in her head became lost somewhere on the way from her brain to her mouth. With him though, she could just be herself, safe in the knowledge that he would not judge or tire of her at some point. 

If only she knew with the same certainty if he felt the same. Obviously he did enjoy talking to her as well, or he wouldn’t be standing here right now, choosing to talk to her when he had a room full of people to choose from. But did he also hang on her lips like she did on his? Did he also wonder if they were just as soft as he imagined them to be? And would he like her to step closer, or pull him closer to her instead? And when her hand rested against his chest then, would she feel the same thunderous beat that drummed behind her own ribs? Would it start to flutter as soon as their lips met and refuse to fall back into its regular rhythm until their bodies lay sweaty and spent, their desire finally sated? And in their blissed out state, would he hold her? Would he pull her that impossible inch closer and press the softest of kisses to her forehead, telling her all she needed to know without uttering a single word? Would he still be there in the morning to see her tousled hair and sleep-wrinkled face and look at her with the same affection she thought to find in his gaze right now? Would he—

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” His back still turned on the intruder, he gave her the most dramatic roll of his eyes she had ever seen, making it very hard for her to hide a snicker. “Come, there is someone I need you to meet.”

She wanted to protest, wanted to do whatever it took to keep him close, but before her brain had even been able to form a protest, he was being dragged away from her, his lips forming a silent apology. 

This social engagement was tedious. The thought came as somewhat of a surprise to him. There had been a time when he had truly enjoyed this kind of event, but tonight something just was not right about this party. Well, not ‘something’ as in an unknown factor that made this party different from other parties. It was not unknown to him at all. In fact, this evening had been perfectly enjoyable up until that moment he had been so rudely separated from her. 

She was still leaning casually against that wall, the only difference being that he was too far away from her now. To be fair, any distance that exceeded an arm’s length was too far for his taste. She on the other hand did not seem to mind his absence much, as someone else had already taken his place by her side to engage her in what appeared to be a most entertaining conversation. Not one glance did she spare him, while all he could focus on was the ludicrous attempt to will himself back into his old position, close to her. So close that her breath would waft across his neck again as she spoke, the heat of her body crawling over his skin. Maybe her hand would find him by accident—or intentionally, which would be all the better. After a moment he would return the favour, finally giving in to his longing to feel the smoothness of her skin against his fingertips.

Instead all he could feel was his mouth opening as she brought the glass to her lips and took a sip of champagne. Would he be able to taste it on her tongue if she allowed him to kiss her? He almost hoped he would not be, because what he really desired to taste was her, the exquisite, singular flavour only she possessed. 

And still, that would not nearly be enough to sate his hunger. He wanted to taste all of her. Her lips, her skin, the moist heat at the apex of her thighs. He wanted her so much he could feel his mouth drying up upon the ardor of his wish, no, need for her.

What would it be like to have her? He had imagined it a thousand times over and yet there were so many questions still left unanswered. Would she voice her pleasure or enjoy in silence? Was it her wish to be the director of their passion play or did she want him to lead the way? Would his name glide over her lips in a soft moan or would she scream in ecstasy when they had finally reached the peak? Would she stay serious, caught up in desire, all the way through or would there be giggles and laughter? And what then, after they had given themselves to each other completely? Would she leave, seeing this as an experience best enjoyed once only? Or would she stay, her naked body resting against his in peaceful slumber, and allow real intimacy to begin? 

If it were his choice to make, he would know exactly what to choose. But he could not blame her if she opted for something different. Commitment was tough, and there had been times when he had thought that he, like so many others, was simply not built for it. But watching her now, he could not recall how he had ever been this blind about himself in the first place. 

It had been strange at first, that sense of belonging that always befell him when she was around, completely unexpected. But ever since he had felt it for the first time and realised its true meaning, it was as if he had discovered a law of nature, complex and yet so easy to understand, as if it had always been an inherent part of him.

Once again, the dryness he had felt earlier returned to his mouth, more demanding this time, until it had managed to push every other thought aside for a moment. Instinctively he set the glass to his lips, his eyes not once leaving her until he had lifted the bottom high enough to block his view. It had only been for the blink of an eye, but now he found himself almost choking on his final gulp when his eyes returned to find her spot against the wall empty all of a sudden.

Leaving without a goodbye was childish, she knew, but she just could not shake this nagging feeling that had befallen her out of the blue, that being in the same room with him without talking  to him or being able to at least be near him without looking as if she was running after him like a duckling was far worse than not being here at all. 

With a sigh she set down the glass on an empty table she passed on her way to the exit. What a waste, as it was almost half-full, but somehow it did not taste quite right, and so she left the rest of her drink behind, like the dream that she would ever be to him what he was to her. 

It was dark as she entered the hallway and the air felt uncomfortably cool in contrast to the air inside that had been heated by all those bodies. Their chatter was still following her now, echoing from the walls left and right. 

It must have obscured the noise of his steps, or maybe they had not made any sound at all. Otherwise she would have recognised their rhythm from a mile away. But instead, she only realised that he was there as his warm hand closed around her wrist and gently brought her to a stop. And despite the fact that she had halted her steps almost instantly, she had not expected him to be this close now as she turned, so close that she could see the startled expression of her eyes reflected in his own. So dark, so green. 

He did not utter a single word. He did not have to. She knew when his grip on her loosened and his fingers softly glided between hers. She smiled, and so did he. And then, slowly, they began to walk.

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@rosecentury

@lowkeysimpinloki

@fightmespideyboy

[cloverapple]

Do you have any advice for someone who can't concentrate on their thoughts for the life of them? I'm a maladaptive daydreamer and have dabbled in shifting, but I always find myself thinking about some random thing (or falling asleep. Usually both). Even when I focus on the feeling of being there, I get distracted 😭

I really like your blog!!

First of all, I suuuuper reccomend this guided meditation by Alunir. It’s the solution to the problem you just described, trust me.

My take on this as a maladaptive daydreamer myself:

My dear, I think your daydreaming is the way you concentrate on your thoughts! Don't get me wrong, maladaptive daydreaming can be harmful when it interferes with daily life, but in the context of focus, have you ever considered that this might be your mind’s way of saying “Hey! This is how we concentrate easily!”

There’s no single “right” way to focus. When people talk about concentration, they often imagine a clear, still mind, deep breathing, and allowing thoughts to pass without attachment. And yes, that is one way to focus, but it’s not the only way. Everyone’s brain works differently.

For example, I have ADHD, and I process information better when I’m listening to something while doing another task—washing dishes, drawing, anything that keeps my hands busy. That’s also what triggers my maladaptive daydreaming; the second music hits my ears and I’m occupied, I’m gone. Fully immersed in another world.

And here’s the thing—daydreaming is a state of awareness. Just like being awake, asleep, or in the hypnagogic state, daydreaming exists on that spectrum. If you're prone to it, slipping into that awareness is effortless, which is why it can feel disruptive to real life. But when it comes to focusing on your thoughts, you can use this as a tool rather than fighting it. This makes visualization, shifting, and other mental techniques so much easier.

So what triggers your daydreaming? If music does it, try lying down with a playlist that reminds you of your desired reality and let the scenarios play out. That’s just as valid as any shifting method. The difference between daydreaming without meaning to and daydreaming to shift is intention.

If you spend time lost in a scenario and then think “Damn, I just wasted all that time when I could have been shifting,” you weren’t setting the right intention. But if you go in thinking “Alright, let me do my shifting method” and let yourself naturally fall into daydreaming—then trust that your mind knows how to shift—you’ve already increased your chances of success exponentially.

And you don’t have to be in bed to do this. You can move around, do it throughout the day, so long as the intention and self-trust are there, your subconscious will recognize it and follow through.

Always strive to improve for the sake of your mental health, but never be afraid to work with your mind instead of fighting against it.

I hope this helps in some way ♡

[whambamsami]

snowed in pt. 3

pt. 1. pt. 2

summary: after a brutal breakup, all you want is a snowy escape in the mountains. what you get is a cabin that's very much occupied, a dangerously attractive roommate, and no exit strategy. you plan to avoid the situation by visiting the town center. often.

such a shame the weather has other ideas.

warnings: 18+, swearing, alcohol, smut!

note: i wanted to slow burn but i can't not write them hooking up so this is my solution

You don’t remember how you got here. 

It starts with warmth.

Not the kind from your blankets. From a hand. Big. Calloused. Sliding slow across your waist beneath the hem of your shirt.

His voice, low and rough, ghosts over your neck.

“Didn’t think you’d be this soft,” he murmurs, breath hot against your skin.

You can’t speak.

“Been thinkin’ about this since the second you walked through that door,” he adds, mouth at your ear now. “All attitude, actin’ like you weren’t lookin’ at me the same way.”

He pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other dragging down your thigh, coaxing it open.

“Tell me to stop.”

You don't.

You arch into him instead, desperate.

“That’s what I thought,” he growls, and then he’s kissing you, claiming you, and you’re gasping his name like it’s the only word you know.

His voice scrapes against the shell of your ear, sleep-rough and devastatingly low.

“Didn’t think you’d let me touch you like this.”

You don’t answer. You just sigh. Already gone.

That arm tightens. His palm spreads over your stomach. He presses closer from behind, hips snug against your backside.

“You’re warm,” he mutters, lips grazing your neck. “Sweet.”

You gasp as his hand slips lower, sliding beneath the band of your underwear. His fingers graze that aching spot between your thighs like he’s done it before.

“This what you wanted?” he breathes. “Waking up like this? Me in your bed, hand between your legs?”

Your hips roll back into him like your body knows something your brain doesn’t want to admit. You can feel him, hard behind you, and it’s filthy, it’s wrong, it’s-

“Tell me to stop. C’mon, sweetheart, use your words.”

You can’t. Won't.

Instead, your fingers grip the sheets and you whisper his name.

“Bucky-”

Your eyes snap open. 

Legs tangled in the sheets.

No warm body behind you. 

Just the ghost of his touch haunting your skin. 

You sit up way too fast, hair clinging to your forehead, heart pounding. Thighs pressed together like your body’s still grasping for what it almost had.

Groaning, this time out of mortification, you run a hand down your face.

One night. One tender dinner. And your body’s already betraying you. 

You don’t let yourself think too hard about what your subconscious had just confessed to you. 

Instead, you swing your legs out of bed, throw on a sweater, and head to the kitchen. Like a normal person. Who had normal dreams. 

Bucky’s already there. Of course he is.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” he tosses over his shoulder. 

He’s got a worn henley on, sweatpants low on his hips. 

Flipping a pancake over the stove.

You’re going to scream.

“Thought you didn’t cook,” you mutter, hoping that your casual tone covers up for the guilt that is surely thinly veiled on your face. 

“Don’t usually have such pleasant company,” he teases, “plus, I figured we’d both need something heavier for breakfast after last night.”

Right. 

Last night.

You’d sat by the fire with Bucky. Had two of those god-awful beers, maybe three. Socked feet tucked under you, sipping slowly. You were tipsy, he was steady. 

You’d almost wished he was drunk. It would’ve given you an explanation on why it looked like he was figuring out what made you tick, what made you laugh, made your eyes roll, how you’d blush the tiniest bit when he called you ‘doll’ with that gravel in his voice. 

He told you about himself.. He’d grown up in Brooklyn, apparently. Spent some time in the army, even made it up to the rank of Sergeant. Lost his arm in a battle a long time ago. Escaped to the mountains, desperate for some quiet. Found Alpine. Found peace. 

You’d told him about your life in the city. A bit more on your shitty ex, but mostly… other things. About your favorite speakeasy, the cafe by your apartment. How it was so easy to get swallowed up, to feel alone in such a busy place. How being here, even with a near stranger, was the first time in a long time you’d really let yourself exhale.

He’d listened. No judgement. Just warm. Solid. 

At some point you’d fallen over laughing over his reaction to how much you paid for rent in your tiny apartment. He’d sputtered at the number you’d thrown out. 

“For a closet?”, he’d repeated, scandalized, “that’s how much I paid for my first apartment! For the whole year!”

“Times change, grandpa”, you’d laughed.

Somehow, your legs had ended up tucked under you on the couch, body angled slightly toward him. His arm had draped lazily along the back of the couch, close enough that you could feel the heat of him even without touching. Alpine had claimed the space between you, curled in a ball, clearly smug about her front-row seat.

“City people are wild,” he murmured after a moment, almost to himself.

You raised an eyebrow. “You used to be one.”

“Yeah. Then I came to my senses.”

There was a beat of quiet after that. The kind that makes your heart beat a little faster.

“Glad you did,” you murmured.

He turned to look at you. Eyes steady. A little warmer than before. “Yeah?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “You built a good life here. Quiet. Peaceful.”

“And lonely,” he admitted, surprising both of you.

You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty.

He looked away, tapping the edge of his bottle with his finger. “But… not so bad tonight.”

You swallowed. Suddenly very aware of how close he was. Of the flush creeping up your neck. Of the way your gaze kept dropping to his mouth.

“I should, um…” you cleared your throat, setting your beer down. “I should probably go to bed before I say something embarrassing.”

He smirked. “You already called me grandpa.”

“Fair point,” you said, rising to your feet. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

He didn’t follow, didn’t press. Just gave you that same, steady look and murmured, “Night, sweetheart.”

You made it to your room. You brushed your teeth. You changed.

But as you curled up in bed under flannel sheets and wool blankets, staring at the ceiling in the quiet dark, his voice came back to you. His laugh. His eyes. That low, thoughtful way he’d said “sweetheart.”

And then.

Then the dream came.

Of hands on your waist and flannel brushing your bare skin. Of fingers curling around your throat as his mouth claimed yours in the shadows. Of growled words and his body pressed on yours, the burn of being wanted like that. Wanted by him. 

Which brought you to this morning. 

He plates a pancake and slides it in front of you.

“Sleep alright?”

“Like a rock.”

He gives you a look. One of those slow, knowing ones that feels like it peels the truth right out of you. “Sure about that?”

You nearly choke on your coffee.

He grins.

Asshole.

“I slept fine,” you say, biting into the pancake more aggressively than necessary.

“Good,” he says, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “You talk in your sleep?”

You go still. “What?”

He shrugs. “Just wondering.”

Your face is on fire.

“I do not.”

“Never said you did,” he replies, but he’s clearly enjoying this. “Just saying… if you had something you wanted to get off your chest, you know, out loud-”

“Eat your damn pancakes, Bucky.”

He smirks, like he knows something you don’t. “Yes, ma’am.”

And it’s entirely unfair how attractive that sounds coming out of his mouth.

You’re halfway through your second pancake when Bucky glances outside the window, drawing your attention outside.

The snow had really come down last night. Was still falling now, the front yard so bright it almost hurt your eyes to look. 

It felt like you were in a snowglobe. The sun reflected off the snow, shining into the cabin, but the clouds were starting to thicken again. 

“You know,” he says, stealing your fork and taking a bite off your plate, “they’re saying this storm might knock us off the map for a few days.”

You give him a look. “You already stole my cabin. Don’t think you’re allowed to steal my breakfast too.”

He smirks and shrugs, still chewing. “Communal living, sweetheart. And I made them.”

You grab the fork back with narrowed eyes. “Fine. But if we’re snowed in and I have to start rationing pancake mix, you’re out.”

He laughs softly, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Deal.”

You tilt your head. “Wait-actually serious question. If the power goes out, what happens to the heat?”

He leans back, finishing off the beer he apparently considers a breakfast beverage. “It’ll hold for a bit. We’ve got the fireplace and the generator. I can keep us warm.”

That last part comes out low. Confident.

Your stomach does a little flip and you refuse to look at him too long. “You mean it can keep us warm. The fireplace.”

“Sure,” he replies, deadpan. “Let’s go with that.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away.

“Anyway,” he continues, nodding toward the window again, “once the snow starts coming down hard, we’re stuck. Roads’ll be blocked in an hour. Power lines are old out here. You stocked up, at least?”

You shrug. “Got batteries. Canned soup. Tea. And the important stuff.”

“Which is?”

You gesture to the fridge. “Beer. Obviously.”

He grins, but before he can make another smartass remark- 

Flick.

The power goes out.