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lovebugism · 1 year ago

Note

“don’t you dare touch him” eddie x shy!reader

idk i need a situation where reader never really speaks up but she finally does when it comes to eddie because she loves him sm😭

thanks so much for your request! hope you like it!! — the one where eddie melts when his quiet gf sticks up for him in front of jason (shy!reader, fluff, 2.4k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

The drive from Forest Hills to the arcade is spent with Lucas and Dustin bickering in the backseat and Eddie’s hand on your thigh.

“It’s been two years, and you still can’t beat my high score, Dusty Bun,” the former boy taunts. The nickname spills like venom from his smiling face. “Just give it up, okay? It’s not happening.”

Dustin grins back at him. It’s more so mischievous than it is taunting. His deep blue eyes narrow in a challenging squint. “You are so gonna be eating your words by the end of the night. When we leave, Princess Daphne is gonna be mine, alright? For good.”

Their arguing becomes background noise. With your cheek lolled against the hand you’ve got propped against the window, you’re pulled into the wispy lilac cloud your gaze is so heavily fixated upon. The sky billows lavender against a sea of pink and golden orange — a summer sunset so vivid you can taste it.

The only thing keeping you grounded is Eddie’s palm on your knee, wide and warm and all-consuming. His thumb rubs against your skin so softly you think it must be absentminded. It feels like static shock, anyway. He laughs quietly to himself, and his fingers tremble gently against you. This time they squeeze you with a newfound intention as he brings you back to him.

“What do you think, babe?” Eddie asks, pink mouth spread in a pearly white grin. His chocolate eyes glimmer with the golden hour sun as his gaze flits between yours and the road. “Think Dusty Bun has a chance here?”

You nod, scrunched nose and squinted eyes, silent in your support for the curly-headed boy who’s still yelling over Lucas in the back of the van.

“What about me?” he presses. And because he knows better than to give his quiet girl anything other than a yes or no answer, he follows quickly, “You think today’s the day I finally beat your Space Invaders high score?”

A beat passes. The momentary silence is filled with arguing boys, old tires on older asphalt, and Ozzy Osbourne’s “Crazy Train” spilling softly from the radio. A quiet smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. You purse the mischievous expression to the side as you turn away from him again.

Your non-answer makes him laugh. It sounds exactly like the colors of the sunset.

His beat-up van jerks when he puts it into park. The door on the side squeaks as the kids file out of it. Eddie’s does too, but you can’t hear it over him telling you to “sit tight.”

You wait patiently in the passenger seat like you always do, smiling to yourself as the boy rushes around the hood to open the door for you. The hinges screech in protest. His wild curls billow in the wind as he smiles. “C’mon, sunshine. Our palace awaits.”

The group of you stand beneath the spinning neon sign he parked next to — glowing orange and white beneath a setting sun. Someone calls from across the parking lot, “Well, well, well. Look who it is.”

Your heads snap in the direction of the painfully familiar voice.

Jason and the rest of his abnormally tall goons stand outside the new gym that just opened on the strip. The dark, vacant building wedged between The Palace and Family Video was no longer as scary as it used to be now that it was occupied. You were just hoping it’d be something more exciting. Forcing arcade nerds and gym bros into one spot feels like a crime.

“And they brought little miss wallflower, too,” Jason lilts with his pretty smile and straight teeth. His blonde hair is a darker shade of brown, damp with half-dried sweat. His lean form is unnaturally built underneath his white tank top and basketball shorts.

It isn’t any wonder why he turned out to be such a raging douchebag.

Someone so perfect needed at least one flaw.

“The gang’s all here, huh?” one of his other friends — Andy, you think — concurs from behind him, always in the boy’s shadow.

“Like what you see, fellas?” Eddie calls out from across the slab of pavement separating the group of you. He’ll never turn down an opportunity to take the piss out of the so-called jocks, all muscle and no brain.

“What do we do when those assholes give us hell?” he’d often ask when you’ve had a particularly shitty day with them. “We give ‘em hell right back.”

Jason’s thin lips curl into a more mischievous smirk. His blue eyes are lighter in the golden sunlight, and they twinkle beneath the neon signs as he looks you up and down. “Yeah, actually,” he hums with his unabashed ogling. “I do.”

Mike’s lanky legs sidestep to stand ahead of you. He does it so swiftly, so instinctually, you don’t think he even really meant to do it. Despite the raven-haired boy halfway covering you, you cross your arms over your torso in a further attempt to keep yourself hidden.

You feel so suddenly exposed in your frilly floral sundress — especially considering the only thing you wear to school is baggy jeans and baggier sweaters. You feel like you might as well be naked standing in front of them just now.

The younger boys stand on high alert as Eddie walks the short distance to Jason. The brief journey is made quicker when the blonde boy strides to meet him halfway. It’s a high school sort of standoff — neither particularly wanting to get physical because the real-life repercussions aren’t worth it. They just want to see who can piss each other off the most.

“She is pretty, isn’t she?” Eddie concedes with a grin, flashing you a brief glance over his shoulder. He turns away quickly at the sight of your wide, pleading eyes. He scrunches his nose in feigned sympathy. “I bet you’re real jealous, huh? Especially now that you’ve got nothing but your right hand keeping you company ever since Chrissy dumped your ass.”

“Watch it,” Jason warns through gritted teeth.

“I think I saw her riding around last week with Harrington, actually.”

The blonde boy’s sneakers scuff against the concrete as he takes a daring step closer. His piercing stare never wavers. “Don’t talk about Chrissy.”

“Don’t talk about my girl, and I won’t talk about yours,” Eddie retorts in lilt. And then, because he can’t help but twist the knife, he tilts his head to his shoulder and continues. “Well, I guess she’s not really yours anymore, is she?”

“I said don’t talk about Chrissy!” Jason repeats, louder than before, when he lets his anger get the best of him. One hand shoots up to shove at Eddie’s chest, using only enough force to make the boy stumble slightly back.

While Dustin, Lucas, and Mike gear up for a fight, Eddie only laughs in response — big, boisterous, and boyish.

You don’t even realize you’re stepping in front of the group until you’re already doing it. The words seem to fly from your mouth without you even thinking about them. “Don’t touch him!” you shout.

And even though it wasn’t particularly loud, it quiets in the mindless bickering all at once. Everyone turns to gape at you — Jason, Andy, Dustin, Eddie. Everyone is equally surprised by your outburst. Because you don’t speak. Ever. At least, not if you can help it.

And it’s not because you don’t have anything to say, because you do. It’s just that your brain works too much, and your mouth can’t keep up with it sometimes. It’s easier just to be silent.

That’s what you’ve been known for ever since you were little. You went through all of it — the bullying, the sad eyes, the talks with teachers, the ‘is everything alright at home’s. Everything was fine, for the most part. Your childhood was equally as middling as everyone else’s. You just had a harder time being human than most people.

Jason smiles again, amused by your warning. “What was that, sweetheart?”

You swallow through a tightening throat. Your sweaty hands clench into balls at your sides. The words come out quieter than before, but no less meaningful. “I said… Don’t touch him.”

“Oh, so she does speak. Here I thought no one ever taught you how to,” the blonde boy laughs. You feel disgusting when his attention settles solely upon you. The lingering sick feeling is eclipsed by your gratitude that Eddie’s no longer in his line of fire. “I’m gonna be honest�� I thought you were cuter when you were quiet.”

You don’t know what he means by that. You can’t tell if he’s being genuine, or if he thinks you care enough about what he thinks to slink back into your shell.

“Leave Eddie alone,” you retort drily.

He snorts. “Yeah? Or what?”

There’s a thousand words you want to say. You open your mouth to spit all of them at the boy across from you, but nothing comes out.

“Yeah,” Jason laughs at your silence. “That’s what I thought.”

You stand your ground when he walks towards you. His strides are slow and menacing, like he’s expecting you to back away. You might’ve if you were anywhere else — if Eddie wasn’t a couple feet away and the rest of your friends weren’t crowding behind you. You’re made somehow braver by their presence.

“This is a really cute dress, though, sweetheart,” the blonde boy compliments with a thin smirk. “You should dress like this more often. You know what? You’d really fit in at the strip club downtown— what’s it called?”

“Pink Paradise,” Andy answers without missing a beat.

Jason smacks his lips against his teeth. “That’s the one.”

“Is that the one your mom works at?” you wonder with your arms crossed over your chest. Your head tilts to your shoulder as you squint at him. “Is she still giving those two-for-one discounts?”

Jason’s confidence stutters at your biting reply — even more so by the choked-back laughter accompanying it. Your boys don’t bother to hide their humored giggles, though the basketball team covers theirs by coughing into their fists.

“Ooh. I didn’t know you had such a much on you,” the blonde lilts as his blue eyes narrow. “I’m like… fifty percent more attracted to you now.”

“Leave Eddie alone,” you deadpan once more. “And go be a douchebag somewhere else.”

One of his friends breaks free from the pack. He’s tall, thin, and toned. He’s got the same haircut as Lucas: compact curls, squared off on the sides. You know him — Patrick McKinney. He’s the only one of Jason’s friends that was actually nice to you. Or, at the very least, he wasn’t a total asshole.

“Let’s go, man,” the boy ushers, nudging at Jason’s bicep. “Let’s go shoot some hoops or something. This isn’t worth it.”

You scoff out a laugh. “Oh, please— the only shooting Jason Carver does is into a kleenex. It’s why you were benched all last season.”

“I twisted my ankle!” the blonde boy defends, sounding weak and pathetic beneath the chorus of laughter as Patrick drags him away.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you mutter, perhaps too quiet for him to hear, as Lucas pulls at your forearm to guide you in the other direction. His touch is still gentle — it would be uncharacteristic of him to be rough with you. It would also be a terrible idea with Eddie just a few paces behind the both of you.

The walk to The Palace is a silent one. There’s too much to say, and everyone’s just a little too amazed to say it. Eddie, however, never had a hard time killing a quiet. He rushes on long legs to match your quick strides, reaching you rather easily.

“Hey, hey, hey— you okay, babe?” the worried boy wonders. He takes a gentle hold of your wrists when you reach the awning beneath the arcade. His chocolate gaze flits attentively over your form, nowhere near as leering as Jason had been.

He can tell by your heaving chest and glassy eyes that you’re a little overwhelmed. When he takes your face in his hands, he finds that your cheeks are burning, too.

You nod into his warm palms in silent reply, back in the comfort of your shell all over again.

“What’d you do that for, huh?” Eddie singsongs with a quiet laugh. His thumb dances over your cheekbones as he grins at you. “You know I don’t like you getting involved with those assholes.”

“They don’t get to talk to you like that… Or put their hands on you,” you mutter. Despite your soft tone, Eddie can see the fury flashing in your eyes, getting angry about it all over again.

His smile widens — proud and hopelessly in love with you. “No. They don’t. Especially not with my girl around, huh?”

“Nope,” you murmur, popping the p. A sheepish grin pulls at your mouth, equally as proud and in love.

Eddie leans down to kiss you, guiding your mouth to his with the hands cupping your jaw. It’s innocuously chaste, being that you’re still standing in a public parking lot. You could never quite stomach the attention of PDA, anyway. His pink lips lock with yours in a fleeting peck, and his arms wrap around you a second later.

He smothers you into his chest, and you revel in every second of it. He smells like cigarette smoke and the cologne he tried to cover it up with. He smells like a home you could live in forever.

You smile into the thrifted Blondie tee you got him — which he happily accepted because he loves you (even though he hates Blondie). He presses a kiss into your hair and smushes his nose into the crown of it as he laughs.

“‘Is that the one your mom works at?’” Eddie repeats with a soft chuckle, chest swelling with pride once more. “God, babe. That’s good.”

“Shut up…” you murmur.

“I’m serious! I didn’t know you were such a good smack-talker! I think you might be a genius, actually.”

“Don’t,” you grouse with a lighthearted scowl. You pull away from him only slightly — enough for him to put your face back in his hands again. You feel safest there, even if you are pouting up at him.

“You’re so cute,” the boy muses with a beam. His eyes glimmer like a sea of chocolate syrup, melting with all the love he has for you. “You’re like a cinnamon roll. A cinnamon roll that could bite people.”

“That’s exactly what I am,” you monotone and try your best not to smile.

Eddie couldn’t hide his grin if he tried. “And that’s exactly why I love you.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #eddie munson #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #eddie munson x shy!reader #bug's summer fic fest!

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bitterrfruit · 4 months ago

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Wild Cherries

John Price x f!Reader tags/cw: modern western AU, cowboys, mean!John Price, chasing, spanking, light sadomasochism, age gap (ish), brat taming, dubcon if you squint, smut wc: 4.9k 18+ mdni

Jonathan Price owns the ranch that neighbours your family's. You've got a bad habit of hopping the fence between them, snooping and stealing, leaving little traces of your misbehaviour behind. What happens when you poke the bear?

✼ Read the full chapter on Ao3 ✼

Jonathan was almost as tall, near as wide as the doorframe he stood in. He glanced above you, expecting someone taller, before he craned his head downward to look at you, and you felt your heart flip behind your sternum.

“Well,” he huffed, voice hoarse from a day’s worth of yelling. His stare narrowed as he soaked you in, crow’s-feet creased; piercing eyes raked from your head to your feet, painfully slowly, and back up again. “Ain’t you a nice surprise.”

His cocksure voice was rumbling and deep, it sunk under your skin and made you turn pink. You had only ever heard him shouting, heard his roars in the distance when he chastised either you or his ranchmen. Now he uttered his words so low that you could hear the gravel in his throat, it made you want to press your ear to his padded chest and feel the vibrations of his sonorous voice directly from its origin.

You took the same time to inspect him - realising you hadn’t ever seen him up this close, close enough to smell him. He smelt of hard work and cigar smoke, salt and musk, the warmth of his mammoth body reached out and touched you as if the evening air was suddenly cold. His smoky blue t-shirt had stains of sweat between his broad pectorals and down from his neck, the cotton coated in dust - he had only just turned in from a long day of wrangling, hadn’t yet had the chance to shower or to change.

He lifted a bronzed and furry arm to lean his elbow against the jamb of the door, so thick with well-earned muscle they threatened to tear the sleeves of his shirt with the slightest flex. You wondered if he picked up his cows with his bare arms, carried them around like they weighed no more than bales of hay.

His cheeks were ruddy with sunburn and vigour, his firm jaw coated by a dark and barely kempt beard, specked with silvers. His expression was stern, though a glimmer of interest in his steel-blue eyes belied his severity. Heavy lids hung low by virtue of looking down at you, his lips in an analytical curl under the thick moustache that grew under his nose.

You blinked up at him, and opened your lips to speak - but a gruff snicker from him sucked the air from your lungs before you could utter a word to greet him.

“Brought me a gift?” He asked richly, glare stuck on you and not the sack of ruby-red jam you hung from your fingers.

Finding yourself, you gave him a pursed smile. “Lawrence made me come and say hi.”

“Made you, did he?” He snorted, oozing a knowing arrogance.

“Yep,” you said, lifting the bag to present it to him. “Eve cooked up some jam.”

You saw his temples bulge as his jaw clenched tightly, expression sinking into what looked to you like twisted disappointment.

“Nice o’ you,” he grunted disinterestedly, paying no mind to your olive branch. After a troubled sigh, he asked; “Where’ve you been, lil’ miss Honeybee?”

The use of your nickname made gooseflesh shiver down your spine. He could only have heard that from your siblings or their ranchmen - how often had they spoken to him? Discussed you while you weren’t there to hear it? Last you thought, they never interacted at all. Now, he seemed to mock you with it.

But he uttered it so casually, with such a coating of sugar, that it rinsed you like praise.

“Just working,” you replied flatly, shuffling on your feet, vaguely embarrassed to admit you had abandoned the job already. “In the city.”

“Mh,” he hummed, giving you a placid nod. “Back for good?”

You bit back the smirk that coaxed your lips. “Maybe.”

“I’ll have to build a taller fence, then, won’t I?”

Unable to discern if there was any humour in the forcefulness of his tone, your tongue curled behind your teeth as you tried to find a response that wouldn’t incriminate you.

And you failed. “I’m a good climber.”

He didn’t quite smile, you saw his chest rise and fall with a hounded breath.

“I bet you are.”

an: hey y'all, as some may recognise, this is the extendo version of my old drabble 'cowboy price'. Not yet the part 3 that many of you were asking for (i'm sorry), but there will be many more parts to come, and I hope they will sate our collective hunger for horny western Price!!

Above is only a snippet, the rest is on my Ao3. love youuuu <3

#punish me #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain price #john price x f!reader #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #cowboy price #bitterfruit fics #bitten fruit

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zablife · 6 months ago

Note

hello, i have a request for benny where he introduces his girl to the vandals for the first time.

one of them is already a good friend of her, but he didn’t know the person she was seeing was benny (and maybe benny gets a bit possessive)

Ty for the request, lovely! It's my first for The Bikeriders so I couldn't wait to dive in. I used your idea plus the GIF above as inspo to create drama, plus a little heat with our fave man. I hope you enjoy it and let me know your thoughts!

Rumors

18+ MDNI

Warnings: language, possessiveness, semi public sex

A/N: If you haven't seen the film, it might help to know: 1-Johnny doesn't like to share Benny and 2-Cal's first language is French.

"Heard a little somethin' about your girl you might want to know," Johnny rasped, allowing his words to dissipate into the air on a lungful of smoke.

Benny signaled his interest by leaning forward slightly in his chair, brow furrowed as he thought of anything about you that would warrant a private conversation with the leader of the Vandals. All he could think of at that moment was how eager he'd been to show you off to the guys, an obvious note of pride swelling in his chest each time he uttered your name.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he finally asked, "Yeah, what's that?" Though he had tried to hide his concern behind a facade of cool detachment, the slight twitch of his hand when he raised his cigarette to his lips gave him away.

If it had been a game of poker, Johnny could have recognized the bluff from a mile away. He bit back a sly grin, tonguing the inside of his cheek as he chose his next words for maximum damage.

"Let's just say she ain't no stranger here," he hinted, eyeing Benny carefully to gauge the effect it had on the impulsive young man. Watching Benny's fists clench at his sides, he swiftly added, "Especially not to Cal."

As if on cue, Benny's blue eyes flashed with an ominous darkness. "What are you talkin' about?" he demanded through clenched teeth.

Hissing in Benny's ear like a venomous serpent, Johnny advised, "Don't let her make a fool out of ya. That's all I'm sayin."

Benny's shoulders began to stiffen tightly beneath his leather jacket and Johnny clapped him on the back before abandoning him to his rapidly spiraling jealousy.

You could practically feel the floor shake with the stomp of his boots before you heard the low rumble of his voice calling your name. The tenderness he'd affected an hour ago was gone, replaced by a gruffness which commanded you, "C'mon, baby."

You stared at him wild eyed, wondering what had gotten into him. "N-now? We just got here," you stuttered.

He nodded, taking you firmly by the hand and you decided not argue while his rings pressed into your flesh.

As his friends hooted and whistled, you exited the bar out into the warm summer night. The relative quiet of the street amplified Benny's voice as he asked, "When were you gonna tell me?"

Stumbling off the front step together, he brought you face to face with him, sapphire eyes gleaming with fire. However, you immediately sensed a note of hurt in his accusation.

"Tell you what?" you begged, still uncertain what had him so worked up.

"About you and Cal," he prodded, watching a flash of recognition pass over your face in damning confirmation.

"Don't try to deny it," he warned, dropping your arm to pace the darkened alley beside the bar. Running his hands through his hair in distress, he'd clearly begun thinking the worst when you remained silent.

You struggled to recall who else knew about your acquaintance with Cal, then suddenly you understood, a long sigh pushing from your lungs as you recalled what Kathy had told you about Johnny's dislike of girlfriends hanging around. He said nagging wives took the guys away from the club when the crack ups and late nights began to threaten their relationships. You closed your eyes and shook your head, realizing he’d probably been the one to upset Benny.

"Say somethin'...please," Benny begged, waiting for you to open your eyes to him.

You twisted your fingers in front of you as you finally confessed, "Yeah, I know Cal." Watching Benny hang his head at your admission, you clarified, "Well...I knew the scrawny kid who took English lessons with me a few years ago. I barely recognize him now with that wild hair and that earring." You huffed out a quiet laugh at the thought of it, stopping Benny's nervous movements as he listened to the angelic sound.

He splayed a palm against the cool brick, glancing over his shoulder at you hopefully.

You nodded at him confirming,"That's all it ever was, baby." His chest heaved a sigh of relief as you came to stand at his side. Ducking under his strong arm, you ran a hand down the side of his scruffy cheek and brought his gaze back to you. "I'm yours, Benny. Nobody else's, you understand?"

A low growl rumbled from his lips as he pressed you against the wall, lips seeking yours for the physical reassurance he so badly needed.

His mouth moved against yours insistently, desperate for more and your hands flew to his hair, tugging in wanton desire. As your breasts pushed against his chest, he couldn't help deepening the kiss with a swipe of his tongue and before either of you could contain it, passion overtook you.

Benny turned you to face the wall and raised your skirt over your ass, tugging your underwear aside eager to claim you. Your breath hitched as you heard the jingle of his belt and you quickly braced yourself against the wall for what was to come. Without a care for who might disturb you, he took you right there, hips pistoning into you with reckless abandon.

"Tell me one more time, sweetheart," he urged breathlessly, sucking a dark bruise into your neck that would become irrefutable proof.

"I'm-I'm yours...I belong...belong to you, Ben--," you panted through little shocks of pleasure, unable to continue as you came hard around him.

"S right," he agreed, biting down on your shoulder to stifle his own groans of pleasure. Giving into your vice like grip, he tumbled over the edge with you, heartbeat hammering against your back in exhaustion.

You reached for him in the darkness, clutching the back of his head to keep him close. He stayed inside you for a long, tender moment afterward, placing scattered kisses behind your ear. You might have stayed that way longer if not for your ticklishness and exposed location. So with a hiss, he begrudgingly withdrew from you and gently lowered your skirt.

In the afterglow, Benny smiled at you with a cockeyed grin, tucking himself inside his jeans. The dewy flush of your cheeks making his heart skip a beat, he leaned in for one last kiss as you heard the door to the bar open and release the sounds of boisterous laughter.

Several bikers emerged, Johnny leading the way to the row of choppers parked at the curb. As he strutted toward his bike, a haphazard glance was thrown your way before doing a double take.

You weren't sure if you should scream at him or thank him for the rumor he'd attempted to spread about you and Cal, seeing how it had actually brought you closer to Benny.

When your boyfriend wrapped an arm around your waist, placing a kiss to the top of your head, you decided it wasn't worth arguing about. With a smirk and a little wave, you forced Johnny to acknowledge you, making it clear you weren't leaving Benny's side anytime soon.

#zablife ask box #the bikeriders #the bikeriders fanfiction #benny cross #benny cross fanfiction #benny cross x reader #Benny cross x you #Benny cross x y/n #Johnny Davis #Austin Butler

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ninibeingdelulu · 6 months ago

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Fireworks

synopsis: while you’re watching the fireworks, he’s watching you

The bright colors exploded across the night sky, lighting up the dark in wild bursts of red, blue and purple.

Each firework seemed more amazing than the last as they bloomed and faded away like delicate floating flowers.

You gazed upwards in wonder, tiny gasps of awe escaping your lips with every new blast of light. But Megumi wasn't watching the fireworks at all.

His whole world in that moment was the look of pure joy and amazement glowing across your face.

Illuminated by the flickering colors, your eyes sparkled with childlike delight. You were beaming as if witnessing real magic for the very first time.

Megumi felt his breath catch, captivated by the radiant beauty of your unrestrained happiness. In that moment, your smile outshone any man-made spectacle.

The air was still and quiet but for the muffled bangs as each firework burst overhead. Megumi was frozen, mesmerized by your look of rapturous enchantment.

That was until you turned that sunny smile his way with a raised eyebrow, clearly puzzled by his intense stare.

He blinked hard, the spell temporarily broken.

But Megumi didn't deflect or make a sarcastic remark like usual. No, the burning tenderness he tried so hard to conceal shone openly in his eyes.

Without a word, Megumi simply leaned forward and closed the distance between you two. His slightly chapped yet soft lips met yours in a sweet, soulful kiss.

It was deep yet unhurried, a loving caress that expressed everything unspoken between you.

You melted against him, fireworks exploding unnoticed overhead. In that perfect cocoon, nothing else existed except the heated press of your joined mouths and the whisper of fingers tracing adoring lines across heated skin.

When you finally parted, Megumi's harsh exterior had dissolved completely. His face was peaceful and unguarded in a way very few ever witnessed.

As if he'd momentarily drowned in the cleansing waters of your affection, and resurfaced anew.

You smiled at him radiantly. Because in that instant of pure intimacy and connection, you realized just how deeply and wholeheartedly you loved this beautifully complex boy before you.

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pricetagged · 1 month ago

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The usual from me, I'm afraid. I'm back at my nonsense, typing up wife-hunter John while I take a break from tidying my apartment (: Here's part iii! (there will be more reader/john in part iv )

Masterlist l Previous

Content: More stalking, manipulation, voyeurism & marital sabotage. John's a bad man and I want him viscerally <3

----------------------

It tears at him, rends flesh from bone with sharp little teeth. Corrugated. Rusty. It poisons his bloodstream, boils blood to madness and burns to feverish pitch.

It's a trap of his own design, and he just had to poke at it. He set it up, jaw wrenched wide and trigger taut and, god, he had to touch it. Had to feel the bruising pleasure bloom then give to something sharper. Sweeter.

In his more reflective moments he wonders if setting up the cameras was a good idea. He's a possessive old bastard and he's torn; not because of any hand-wringing morals, no. No, but rather that he's left himself licking along the knife's edge, close enough for it to cut if he presses hard. He can touch it. It's in his grasp, but he's not fully confident that he's the only one wielding it.

There are too many variables still.

And it's left him here, testing the pressure of the razor-sharp rim and wanting to dig deeper. (He fisted at himself harder than usual that night, flesh aching and engorged and throbbing as the cold metal of your wedding ring bit at the veins and ridges of his length).

The screen is his most hated ally. Pixels and light; the blue sheen. The static blur that raises the hair on his arms as he caresses your image. It's the sweetest torture, watching you boxed in by the four corners of a machine. Gazing on only the impression of you, shadowy and reflective, pacing the monitor. It's peiskos, but wrong. He has you in his home, but can only see and touch you in artificial impotence. It drives him wild, makes his throat ache and his head hot watching you, but not knowing how you taste.

That's not him, he thinks, having something that he can't fully possess. Even the bottle of 1926 Macallan locked in his cellaret has been cracked open, rolled around the palate and savoured before returned to the shelf. Locked safe behind glass, yes, but within reach.

He has to see you again. The trap is tightening, and isn't it funny that it's caught him too?

(His hand moved faster, pleasure simmering as he watched your wide eyes turn glossy and your voice grow thick. 'I don't know where it went! It must have fallen off in the garden, I swear!' Even being unable to taste it, to lick at your tears and feel you tremble-

-it had him tensing his thighs, body clenching in anger and heat as he listened to your apologies. As he listened to your pathetic, half-hearted moans. The way you gave in so sweetly, so eager to please and make good. Your husband's disgusting, breathy grunting. Weak. Unsatisfying-

-But it had his palm tightening around the tacky, swollen flesh at his tip. Slit leaking as the rage boiled his blood and sent it south in a paroxysm of rapture).

He sees Buck before he sees you. It's a necessary evil. No, that's not quite right. It's inevitable; it's reasonable. He needs to lay the bait, shuffle the leaves over it and let nature take its course.

It's a classic pub. A real boozer, where the floor is always slickly sticky and the walls are a cheery, tobacco-stained yellow. The kind of place that serves only pork scratchings and pints.

Your husband didn't expect to see him there. Fox in the henhouse, only he's too stupid to realise that he's the bird.

"System is running well, mate! Thanks. This round's on me," he claps at John's shoulder and does admirably well at hiding his nerves.

It has him smiling into the pint glass, schadenfreude as your husband subtly stretches his aching palm and paints on a wary smile.

(Foot hovering just above the spring; steel teeth ready to -)

"You here alone?" John sips at his drink, eyes scanning the dingy room until - yes, there in the corner he sees a familiar Union Jack cap. Good lad.

"No, no. My mates have just left. Like to linger, you know, for the company," he sends a wink to some pretty thing nursing a G&T by the window.

"Not enough company at home?" he tries to make it light, hoping that the gravel in his tone could be mistaken for interest. And it is, really, if prey drive could count as mere 'interest'.

Buck scoffs, rolling his eyes in a way that looks a lot like rolling belly-up. 'Tell me I'm a real man, look at me! I've got the pick of the flock'. "You know how it is. Gets boring, fishing in the same hole all the time, eh?"

"I wouldn't know," he hums, eyebrows drawn low in faux-consideration. Meets him dead in the eye, lets the mask drop for a just a second. Let's the words come out flat and dangerous. "I've never had a problem reeling in what I want."

The words linger, settling heavy and awkward in a way that has him licking his teeth. Tension so thick he can chew it, feel the fat and gristle rend under the strength of his jaw. It's heady watching the way your husband flounders, not sure how to react until the pack leader backs up and loosens the canines at his nape. Lets him breathe. It's a joke, really. Go on. Laugh. And he follows suit so easily. It's almost boring, he thinks, with eyes cold and muscles frozen under his fake smile as he watches the man chuckle.

"You've gotta stay, Price, that's a good one. One more drink, c'mon." Funny. He thinks that it's his right to give orders. He thinks that John's staying at his command.

John taps twice at the foamy rim of the glass. Catches his sergeant's eye from across the room. "Sure, why not."

It's time.

It's masterful, really, how well Gaz slips over. Greets Buck like an old friend. Drops hints and in-jokes that have the man chuckling along as his eyes flit about with confusion.

"Can't believe I've run into you, here. I thought I'd seen the last of you when you moved house, what, a year ago?" Kyle slides into the barstool on the left. Boxes him in, piggy in the middle. "Still with that finance company?"

"Yeah, yeah it's been a while," he trails off. Too proud to admit that he doesn't know Gaz. Has never met the man. John can feel the way his eyes keep flicking towards the side of his face. Needy. Histrionic.

"You lads catch up, have fun. I'm away for the night," he sets the empty glass at the bar with a soft thud. Makes a show of introducing himself to Gaz and waving the two of them off.

In the cool air of the smoking area he has a moment of fika. Cars roll by on a distant road. The muffled sound of laughter and murmuring filters through frosted pub windows. The rich, heavy smoke of his cigar swirls around and around until he's closing his eyes in the haze. It's slow, calming, and he takes a moment just to appreciate the hand that he's about to play.

He thumbs over the smudged screen of your husband's phone. Only 2 missed calls and 1 text.

>>Sorry to go on at you, but you said you were finishing work at 5 today. It's nearly 8 now. Can you at least let me know where you are? We were going to start that series tonight and I've been getting worried waiting for you :/

Poor, sweet thing. Polite, too. All love and care wasted on the pathetic, juvenile lump slumped over the bar right now.

(It whets his appetite, seeing how well-trained you are. How you toe the line, defer to the farcical rules set out for you in your relationship. 'Stay at home. Don't blow up my phone.'

Would you come to heel for him? If a weak, useless hand could shape you so well, what could a strong one do?)

<< Sorry, baby. I goty caugtht up at the pub w some friends. HAd a few drInks. Cmome and get me? [LOCATION SHARED]

He flicks the stub of the cigar away as he pockets the phone.

Curtains up; show about to begin.

He settles into his seat, a well-worn booth. Threadbare, stained upholstery and faded coasters. It's shadowy here, tucked away in the corner but offering a perfect line of sight to the door. And right by that very door is Gaz, your husband, and the pretty thing from earlier.

The bell jingles; wind whistles in.

Gaz lets his grip slip, lets your husband slump in the seat until his head is resting against the neck of the woman he was chatting up. Fingers inching up her thighs as she laughs and flirts back.

"What..?" it's too noisy in here to hear you, but he's listened to your voice over and over. He knows just how your pitch is rising. The slight crack on the final consonant.

You stand, face screwed up as you try to make sense of the situation. But two plus two can only ever equal four, and your husband's hands up a skirt can only ever equal-

"Hi, gorgeous. Here to meet someone?" his sergeant grins up at you. Plays the charmer so well. "Got an empty seat with us, if you fancy it."

There's a little bitterness cutting at the furl of your lips. You're holding it in so well but, god, the words must burn, coming out like bile. "What, sure that I'm not interrupting something?"

"No, no. He said he's just having a little fun. Said he wants something warm before he goes home to his bitch wife," Gaz chuckles, leaning towards you like he wants to whisper a secret. "Bit sick of hearing his complaining, if I'm honest. Makes her sound like a right harpy. But you could take my mind off it."

"Not sure about that," he sees the way your chest hitches. Sees the sob that you swallow down as you steel your expression. "I am the 'bitch wife'."

And it's magnificent. Kyle's played his part so well; stuck to the script like he's performing at The Globe. An ad-lib here, an improvisation there. He hands you a napkin, rubs at your shoulder as he looms over the treacherous tableau he fashioned for an audience of two. You, and John. Ache and Hunger; betrayal and mastery. He maneuvers you, keeps you from causing a bigger scene as he hauls your husband by the scruff of his jacket. Choreographs the steps so that John can see every last microcosm on the universe of your face.

It's his set, his design. He's the architect, director, and audience all in one.

(And that foolish, stupid player of yours tugged at the lure. Found himself swinging, tied up in the string).

--------------------------

Ik reader wasn't really present here, but had to get the ball rolling (: Also I've been stressed and not sleeping so forgive me for this being a bit...

And yes. John stood there and put all the typos in that message on purpose. Unhinged.

#also u can decide whether or not buck was really ranting about his wife to gaz #but i imagined it as an elaboration on gaz's part because he's good at his job and has to make his captain proud (:#báirseach writes #captain john price #dark john price #john price/reader #john price x reader #cod fanfic #cod mw3 #cod mwii #cw stalking #cod x reader

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reignpage · 26 days ago

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Stairs or Brooms?

10:45am By Y/N

Good morning Students of Eden!

The last week has been hectic, certainly a rollercoaster none of us remembered getting on, but we sure don’t want to get off.

Or do we?

Since according to an informant, who will stay anonymous, a cheerleader and a member of Omega Phi were getting it on behind the old stairwell of the Psychology building.

Sound familiar?

Well, that’ll be because it isn’t the first time a cheerleader has taken a wild ride behind some stairs.

You’ll remember a campus-wide email sent in June of last year detailing the complaints members of the cleaning staff reported on ‘mysterious remnants staining’ the floors and walls which they found ‘extremely difficult’ to clean out. CC’ing the coach of the cheerleaders, none of us missed the implication. Ending with a reminder of the Code of Conduct we all agreed to upon acceptance of our offers, the good people of EdenU were left wondering, who were the culprits creating these stains?

Having conducted a poll, linked here, there ended up being no majority consensus on what it could have been, but a sizeable number of the student population, and beyond (thanks to the people of Eden City, much love), theorised it was ‘liquids of love’, as a Holistic Health researcher put it nicely.

We never did get an answer.

Until now?

Another informant kindly entered the Psychology building with a magnifying glass and pipe -- two fundamentally important ingredients to a good snoop -- and investigated for us. Their exploration led to a discovery of a used condom.

That’s a present he’ll never forget.

Though, I don’t recall if they ever reported what they did with it. Let’s just hope it isn’t a repeat of BlueToothGate — it still gives me nightmares.

Now we have two incidents of inappropriate uses of stairwells, is it still too early to wonder, what is it about stairs that gets people going?

Perhaps it’s the curves of the bannister as it rounds over the corner, or is it the creaking of the third step that drives people wild?

It’s entirely possible that we’ll see a rising trend of stairwellphilia and I, for one, cannot wait.

Speaking of Philias, the rumoured cousin-lovers both named Phil, after 78% of you voted, have been sighted once more. This time in the broom cupboard of the Literature department. Was it a moment of convenience or something more?

Is there also a rise in broomphilia?

Should we be concerned?

Will the school ever make a stand?

So many questions but only one certainty:

We say NO to cousin-love!

Or, at least, 52% of us did.

I do not want to know why it was such a close call. But I’m sure you’ll tell me anyways in my Insider’s Line.

On to more pressing matters; how is our List looking this time?

Drum roll please….

Gojo stays at number one!

Anyone surprised?

Before someone starts, no, I am not biased. The number of confessions regarding him are staggering and that has not changed, only grown, since he entered the fold.

Having thrown yet another smashing bash, this time in Genesis Park, the president of Alpha Phi Delta secured his spot as the most desired man on campus. People reported the utter genius of using the skate ramps as beer pong tables and his quick thinking to hide the beloved pug mascot of our rival, Eden Met, down the slide.

The picture taken by his friends cuddling the adorable puppy in his shirtless arms has, I’m sure, been printed out and pasted on every surface of many girl’s bedrooms.

No judgements here.

The silent but deadly man of campus, lovingly known as Hot Nerd Nanami, has risen up the rankings after many months of stagnation at 13th to 4th after he was seen abandoning his frumpy blue sweater in favour of a plain white tee. Boring and basic on anyone else but downright scandalous and drool-worthy on the physics student.

As some people have confessed, this is the most bare we've ever been able to see of him. Is it the beginning of a new era?

Or was it just laundry day?

Whatever the reason may be, we are sure glad it happened.

Apart from the usual, one other interesting change in our List is Vice President Sukuna’s rank — having been at 5th last time, he’s been bumped up to 2nd. And it wasn’t because of a shirtless picture he posted on Insta, for once.

No, this time, there are videos circulating the Bulletin which displays him, in the background of Gojo's disciplinary hearing, eyeing someone up and down like they were the tastiest wagyu around. This is the most daring, most expressive, most human? we’ve ever seen our star basketball player.

But just who was bringing that out of him?

Send in your guesses, people!

It’s time to play our favourite game:

Who Are You Looking At?

-------------

Some people wanted to see a example of Toji's reader's writing so I busted one out for y'all x

Not proofread btw

#jjk x reader #jjk crack #modern au

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ohmenai · 27 days ago

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Sharing a Sticky Experience

Ah, the allure of the Manailands—an untamed paradise where nature and desire intertwine in the most unexpected ways. I had been wandering through this lush, verdant labyrinth of a rainforest, my trusty OhMenFlex slung around my neck, seeking the perfect shot. Little did I know I’d stumble upon something far more primal and intoxicating than the usual fauna or foliage. There, amidst the emerald canopy of Jizz Jungle, the damp earth transformed into a stage for a performance so raw and untamed it was as if the rainforest itself had birthed it.

The scene unfolded before me like a fever dream—a tale of lust and longing, played out by two aboriginal Adonises. The top guy—let’s call him Gorilla-Man—loomed like a tribal god, his hyper-muscular body glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, each muscle fiber under his deep, dark skin a testament to the gods of virility. He crouched over his partner like some simian deity, veins pulsing, saliva trailing from his open mouth like a lazy river connecting them in an unbroken stream of shared essence.

Underneath, his companion lay splayed out, bound in ropes like a sacrifice to this rainforest deity. He was all surrender, his bouncy ass hoisted skyward, eagerly accepting Gorilla-Man’s veiny black monster of a cock—a visual so exaggerated it defied belief. This bottom dude, a living canvas of contradictions, had eyes that told a story of their own: one a warm, earthy brown, the other a piercing blue, each gazing straight up as if capturing every flicker of emotion dancing across his partner’s rugged face.

Their bodies were a study in contrasts, the top guy’s thick black hair sprawling across his body like the mane of a wild beast, absent only from his chiseled abs and impressive biceps—those areas smooth and hairless as if sculpted by the gods themselves. His full beard and mustache framed a face marked with freckles and a permanent simious frown, his hands pressing into the soil as though rooting him to this spot, making the earth an accomplice to their primal dance.

The bottom guy’s skin was a lighter tone, a canvas upon which sweat and saliva mingled, reflecting the overcast sky in a glistening symphony of moisture. Ropes bound his muscular shoulders and neck, yet one rope lay loose, hinting at a freedom not quite granted. His open arms seemed to embrace the earth itself as he tilted his head back, letting that saliva trail weave its path across his face, tasting the shared fluid with a slow, deliberate roll of his tongue.

With each thrust, Gorilla-Man’s massive tool delved deeper, their connection a visceral symphony of moans and whispers, primal and instinctive. It was like witnessing a storm, wild and untamed, every movement a testament to nature’s raw, unrestrained power. My OhMenFlex captured it all—the heat, the aroma, the sweat mingling with the scent of damp earth and exotic blooms, immortalizing the moment in all its erotic splendor.

Suddenly, the rainforest’s symphony of whispers was interrupted by a sharp, unsettling crack, a sound that could spell trouble in a place where civilization seemed a world away. Instinct kicked in—I wasn’t about to stick around and become a jungle snack or have my ass handed to me by some unforeseen danger. I bolted, the heavy breathing and cries of the lovers fading behind me as the forest closed ranks once more, its secrets held fast beneath its verdant cloak.

And as I ran, heart pounding in sync with the drumming rain, I couldn’t help but wonder what other tantalizing tales the Manailands had yet to reveal, waiting for an eager witness to capture their wild, untamed beauty.

#gay hot #gay male #gay black #gayhot #ai men #gay men #gay #gay muscular #aigay

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naffeclipse · 6 months ago

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Petal

Botanist!Reader x Naga!Eclipse

Commission Info

This little fic was such a delight to write and I'm so happy @bluemoon1331 commissioned me for some good ol' Blackwater Lure (naga) Eclipse. Toss in a botanist reader to pair with this handsome snake and you have quite the pairing and a little smooching in the jungle!

Content Warning for suggestive themes.

———

You swat a buzzing insect swirling around your ear before huffing. The humidity is thick like rain but not a drop falls from the blue-white sky in the middle of a bright, brilliant day. The green canopy overhead provides mottled shade. Despite this, a thin sheen of sweat glistens on your forehead. Swiping underneath the stiff brim of your boonie hat, you draw in another sweltering lungful before pressing down on the camera button to finish capturing a picture of a brilliant cluster of heliconia flowers. The picture is basic, but you only need one for reference in your study.

Common and brightly colored, the bracts of the flower form a beak-like shape which are often called lobster claws. You prefer the name heliconia. It’s far more fitting for the stunning, tropical blossom.

The deep green stem stands tall and sprouts the flowers high, allowing you to stay standing on your feet as you sweep your camera aside and reach for your notebook. The pages are rimmed with your observations and small, simple sketches of each flora you have studied throughout your stay here in the jungle. Michael and Vanessa seem to appreciate your craft though don’t pursue the same interests. Their place here on the fridges of the wild, feral jungle is a fleeing mystery, but you hope they’re enjoying the beautiful, lush ecosystem as much as you are.

You lift your head at the sound of a steady hum whizzing through the air. A tiny creature floats, its wings blurring with the speed of its flight, and dips low to sip at the nectar of the heliconia. A smile spreads softly over your lips.

Hummingbirds are drawn to the sweet taste of this flowering plant. The small fowl’s feathers shine with an iridescent blue and green. Another flit by. This one pauses just long enough for you to spy its ruby throat. You lower your book for just a moment. Sometimes you get lost in your botany—unable to see the flowers for the petals—but now and then a creature who loves the plants as you do gives a gentle reminder to admire the brilliant red and deep green colors for a moment.

Another hummingbird with a wonderfully rare purple sheen and gray body buzzes over to a nest. You jot down a gentle note of what the flower attracts as well as its pollinators. The ink needs a moment to try and stick to the thick paper. Your book is about to overflow, with a few pages left spared but not for too long. There are still giant lily pads you wish to observe upon the water and passion flowers high up in the canopy that you must find a way to climb up to.

You lower your notebook and pause for a moment. It’s strange. You’ve been here for the better half of the morning and haven’t had any interruptions. This is the most research you’ve done in a good while.

Taking the blessing for what it is, you bow your head and scribble more, noting the bright color and how it thrives upon the jungle soil. There is nothing richer on earth but this Amazonian floor. The most abundant resources of natural, green goods are right before you and you get to observe each flora up close.

You lift your head again. The heliconia is abundant and red, a few tipped in yellow and a rare, stray stem has a tinge of blue to their edges. Beautiful. You step closer, wondering what genetics carried this special trait into this patch of bright reds. Was it cross-pollinated or did a seed get laid here from another stretch of open, flowering land?

The silence settles over you after a moment. Sweeping over the heliconia, you realize the hummingbirds scattered, silent, and swift, leaving you in a heavy quiet. Even distant birds calling and chirping have calmed. The unnatural hush of an otherwise thriving jungle touches you with a warning.

Your heart stops in your chest.

Your poor notebook drops from your hands, pages, and pen falling. Pointing your feet away from the patch of heliconia, you fail to take a single step before a soft hiss cuts through the air. You cry out as a strike of a lithe, long arms seizes you from behind and a powerful tail sweeps around your legs. A sharp gasp rips from your throat. In a moment of your world spinning, you’re pulled forcibly into a constricting embrace.

It takes mere seconds. A tail of green scales, dotted with black, quickly twists you into its coils before a soft hum echoes. You fight the urge to squirm as the thick, corded muscle climbs up your legs, locking them together before winding around your waist. Orange-yellow striping on either side of his long, serpentine form cages you within his grasp. Your arms are, unfortunately, caught in the naga’s constriction. You tug on them experimentally but only receive an answering squeeze in return, your ribs tested for a mere moment. A breath slips away from you.

��Happy day, petal.”

You lift your eyes from your trapped body to face the one enforcing your precarious position. Eclipse. The naga hovers over you, balancing on his tail while keeping you in place. The length of his body is utterly incredible. Ropes of thick, powerful muscle spread across the jungle floor and neatly spiral around you, all while leaving enough to support his humanoid torso.

You try to shift, to find a little more breathing room, but the naga decides to recline you back instead, setting you into an unsettling position where he can creep up his coils to admire you up close. His fangs flash in a ravenous grin. His venom glistens on the razor-sharp tips before he swipes them away with his dark, slender tongue.

“H-hi, Eclipse,” you answer in a rattle. Yet, a smile manages to work its way onto your lips. “Did you have to startle me?”

“I thought you would know it’s me saying hello. Who else would catch you like this?” he rumbles low and deep and the sound vibrates through your own body. You clench your teeth just to keep them from chattering.

He tilts his head as if he finds you adorable—or appetizing. The frills decorating him are as bright as any jungle flower, orange-yellow, and almost hypnotic in the gradient hues. Slitted pupils observe you in the way you might have just been studying the heliconia, interest keen and desirous.

A nervous sound leaves you, somewhere between amusement and fear. “You can say hello without catching me next time,” you offer. “It would be less… frightening.”

His coils shift around you slowly as if tempted by the thought of squeezing until your lungs can’t expand anymore. You glance briefly down to see what his tail may do next.

“Are you frightened right now, petal?” A clawed hand hooks your chin. Eclipse lifts your face to hold your gaze. You swallow back a few mouthfuls of apprehension. A pulse in your arm presses back against the thick serpentine body. You hope he can’t feel it.

You know he does.

“No,” you answer, then truthfully, “not anymore.”

He hums thoughtfully. The sound echoes with a hissing undertone and gradually softens. His eyes survey you with slitted pupils, one a midnight blue, the other deep emerald, even darker than his scales.

“I agree. I’ve held many prey in my coils but you don’t struggle like them. They bite and claw and cry out,” he answers, drawing it out with a slithering sound that spills heat into your core. “But you; you resist little. You’re as soft as fruit in my palms. You’re deliciously small.”

He lifts out his other hand and slowly tilts your hat up and up until it falls away, stumbling down his coils to lie flat by your notebook and pen. The very breath within you catches as he turns his hand and runs the back of his crooked finger down your cheek, admiring you closely. You lean away on instinct but the snare of his scales gives you little room to escape. Softly, he reaches up and strokes your head. His claws comb down your hair. His tongue flicks out so close to your nose, you wonder if he intends to lick you.

“Although there is one aspect you carry with the rest of my prey,” he simpers. He leans close enough that his fangs glisten in the mottled sunlight. “You look good enough to eat.”

The tempo of your heart rate becomes a beating drum within you.

“What do you eat?” you ask breathlessly, as if you could stall his hunger.

“Oh, whatever trots my way,” he slips a claw over the shell of your ear, causing you to shiver, much to his delight. His coils cinch around you tighter in what you suspect is a desire to feel every shuddering muscle within you. Your cheeks burn.

“Like?” you prod, trying to regain control of your racing pulse but failing miserably.

He flashes a sinister smile and a drop of venom slips into his saliva before he licks it away.

“Monkeys are fine for a meal. Jaguars are a delicacy that I’ll indulge in when I have the chance. If I’m in the mood to work up my appetite, I’ll hunt black caiman. Otherwise, I’ll dine on a giant otter.” He watches you closer as you comprehend the strength of his ability to target other predators. Truly, nothing can stop him if he so desires.

You’ve learned much about Eclipse in the short time you’ve encountered him—or rather, he’s stalked and caught you. He is the apex predator of this ecosystem. He glides between the trees and turns into mottled shadows under the dense canopy and possesses a head as brilliant as any blossom. You do not know the animal kingdom as well as your flora, but you know he is the king within this jungle.

And he favors you, somehow. Though he has played with you like a cat with a mouse, he has never delivered a venomous bite with his wicked fangs or squeezed you until you couldn’t breathe anymore. You don’t know what to name this obsession he holds for you but it’s enough to spare your life. It’s enough to convince you that he cares for you.

A nice theory you’ve come to consider is that you are in the safest place in the jungle right now, protected by the apex predator’s serpentine body. It’s enough to make your heart soften whenever he wraps you tight in his tail. After the initial shock has worn away, of course.

“I imagine they, ahem, taste fine,” you say, though your tongue is a bit dry.

“Such meals hold a very excellent taste, but I prefer a new flavor as of late,” a low rumble moves through him.

You swallow roughly. His eyes catch the motion, dropping down to your throat where it bobs before his grin seems to sharpen. His fangs lie on full display.

He tilts your head back slightly, allowing sunlight to brighten your face. “Now I want to know more about what you’ve been up to, petal. What are you studying today?”

“Heliconia,” you answer. He captures you in his intense gaze. You nearly wish you could look away just to concentrate on forming words on your tongue. “The, ah, scientific name is heliconia latispatha, but it’s sometimes called lobsterclaw.”

“Say that again,” he commands.

You almost spit out ‘lobsterclaw’ but catch your mistake before you can simmer in embarrassment. In a steady voice, you repeat, “Heliconia latispatha.”

His eyes close briefly, sealing away the jewel-dark colors of his gaze. For a moment, you study him, fascinated by how he tilts his head as if turning an ear towards you.

“Beautiful,” he hisses softly. His eyes open, slitted pupils thinning in the brightness of the day before he nods. “Tell me more.”

You sputter once before continuing into details about their relationship with hummingbirds. Eclipse lets you spill into a monologue. His attention never lapses as you so often find in those who ask about your botany studies only to realize you are giving them an accurate answer, not a simple and inadequate one-note description. You can almost forget that you can’t move your limbs while falling into a ramble of your studies.

While you speak, his coils keep you cool. His smooth, sleek scales effortlessly ease your sweating while slowly shifting around you, occasionally squeezing as if grasping your hand to remind you that he is here, listening. His tongue flickers out once while he traces your jawline and even your lips when you tell of hoping to locate giant lily pads.

“I will take you to see them,” he says after you pause. Your eyes widen. He grins as his claws slip along your temple, trailing your hairline.

“Really?” you breathe. You’ve been searching for them for so long—even Michael and Vanessa reported that they have stumbled upon many yet in their travels around the jungle.

“Of course.” Eclipse’s simper deepens while he lets his hand fall to cup your cheek. “Anything is yours. You must only say the word, my favorite flower.”

Your lips part but no sound falls out of your mouth. Eclipse’s eyes drink you in as you wriggle in the slightest, unable to contain your eagerness despite how tightly you are held. His tail moves in answer. Scales shift you towards him as Eclipse leans over you, closing the distance.

“Eclipse.” Your mouth finally moves. His name fills it. He stirs, his thin eyelids fluttering briefly as ripples of muscle fall down his tail.

“Say that again,” he commands.

Your throat bobs before you shift your shoulders. His hands fall to the neckline of your shirt, tugging on it slightly to expose your collarbone.

“Eclipse.” Your cheeks heat with a red as bright as the heliconia.

“Petal,” he hisses gently, “You’re so sweet and precious. Like nectar. I want to taste you.”

Oh.

You want to say something, that you are not nectar but a very simple, boring human, but you aren’t sure if that’s the right thing to say in the face of a predator who lies inches away from your mouth. He draws his hand under your shirt and palms your shoulder, covering your shoulder blade. He tilts your head up. A soft gasp escapes you when he squeezes you softly, and then as if stealing your air, he captures your mouth. He pushes gently, tasting your lips and grazing them with his slick fangs. Quiet sounds escape you, your hands clenching and your knees rubbing together, unable to take his face in your hands and hold him in return. It’s almost maddening. Almost.

A low hiss breaks the kiss as he draws back. His gaze, despite his serpentine aspects, is soft and glowy. You spin slowly after the contact like you were on your feet one moment and lifted off them the next.

“Perhaps we might find a lily as pink as your cheeks,” he murmurs, much to your embarrassment. His smile is devilish but his tongue slowly traces your cheekbone, and you close your eyes.

You hope so, silently, for such a flower.

#naff's writing commissions #blackwater lure #naga!eclipse #i really love writing bl eclipse for the first time because augh #he is so grabby <3 #naff writing

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movingmusically · 7 days ago

Note

Hello . Can i request a piece where austin and reader gave a slow sunday morning with sex in the shower?

Author’s Note:

If you liked this chapter, you might enjoy a similar one I wrote in my Hank Thompson series, feel free to check it out here!

Word Count: 5,833

Masterlist

Let the World Wait

The morning sunlight spilled softly into the room, warming the tangled sheets and brushing against your skin. You stirred slowly, half-buried in the warmth of the duvet, feeling the comforting weight of Austin’s arm draped over your waist, his long fingers resting on the small of your back. His touch is soft, absent-minded even, but it grounds you, like he’s reassuring himself you’re still there.

It’s one of your favourite things about him—the way he’s always touching you in some way, even without thinking about it. A hand brushing your back as he passes, his knee bumping against yours under the table, his fingers trailing idly along your arm while you talk. It’s like he needs the constant reassurance that you’re there, that this is real. You think about those long fingers now, the way they know exactly how to tease, how to hold, how to make you feel completely his. The thought sends a flicker of heat through you, but you push it aside, letting yourself sink back into the warmth of the moment.

You shift slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him. He’s still out cold, his face buried halfway in the pillow, his hair a wild mess of blonde waves that stick up at odd angles. His mouth is slightly open, and you can hear the faintest sound of his breathing—steady, slow, soothing.

These mornings feel rare. Most of your time together is stolen in fleeting moments between conflicting schedules, long stretches apart, and late-night phone calls where one of you is half-asleep. The life you’ve built together is wonderful, chaotic, and full of love, but mornings like this—lazy, unhurried, with no reason to rush—are the exception, not the rule. And maybe that’s why you’re savouring it now, letting yourself soak in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

God, you love him. You love the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. You love the way he listens, really listens, even when you’re rambling about something inconsequential. You love the way he makes you feel safe and seen and so completely, utterly loved.

You reach up to brush a strand of hair away from his face, trying not to wake him, but he stirs anyway. His nose scrunches in the way it always does when he’s waking up, and your chest tightens because even that tiny, sleepy movement feels impossibly endearing.

Then, slowly, those impossibly blue eyes blink open, still hazy with sleep. His gaze lands on you, and the softest smile tugs at his lips, one side curving up just a little more than the other.

“Morning,” he murmurs, his voice low and raspy, the kind of sound that never fails to send a little thrill down your spine.

“Morning,” you reply, your voice just as quiet.

His arm tightens around you, pulling you closer until you’re pressed fully against him, his warmth seeping into your skin. His lips brush your temple in a lazy, barely-there kiss, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

“Been watching me sleep?” he teases, his grin widening as he buries his face in your hair.

“Maybe,” you admit, a small laugh slipping out. “You were drooling, by the way.”

“I don’t drool,” he replies, his voice muffled against your hair, but there’s laughter in his tone.

“You do, actually,” you counter, shifting so you can look up at him. “I’ve got photographic evidence somewhere.”

“Lies,” he says, his hand sliding up your back, his fingers tracing lazy patterns against your skin. “You just like staring at me. Admit it.”

“Fine,” you say, rolling your eyes playfully. “You’re cute when you’re unconscious.”

“Only when I’m unconscious?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Well,” you say, pretending to consider it. “You’re tolerable when you’re awake.”

His laugh is soft and warm, rumbling in his chest as he shifts to roll you onto your back. He hovers over you, his hair falling into his face as he grins down at you, and your breath catches for a moment.

“Just tolerable?” he asks, his voice low and teasing.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you reply, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair.

His smile softens then, the teasing giving way to something quieter, something deeper. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and when he pulls back, his eyes linger on yours.

“I missed this,” he says softly, his fingers brushing against your cheek.

“Me too,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t say more. You don’t have to. It’s all there in the way he looks at you, like he’s memorising every detail, and in the way you reach up to trace the curve of his jaw, wishing you could hold onto this moment forever.

Because you know how rare this is. His work, your work—it pulls you in a thousand different directions. Most mornings, one of you is rushing out the door while the other tries not to let the goodbye linger too long. But here, in this soft cocoon of warmth and sunlight, it feels like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

“I don’t know how I got so lucky,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and your chest tightens at the honesty in his voice.

“You make it sound like I’m the catch here,” you tease lightly, but your smile falters when his gaze doesn’t waver.

“You are,” he says simply.

The weight of his words settles between you, and for a moment, you feel like the air’s been knocked out of you. But then he’s leaning down again, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s slow and tender and filled with everything he can’t quite say.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and he lets out a soft laugh. “We’re being disgustingly sappy, aren’t we?”

“Maybe a little,” you reply, grinning.

“Want me to stop?” he asks, his hand sliding down to rest on your hip.

“Not even a little bit.”

His laugh is louder this time, and it fills the room in a way that makes your chest feel lighter. He rolls onto his side, pulling you with him until you’re nestled against him again.

Your hand moves to trace lazy patterns over his chest, your fingertips skimming the faint dusting of hair there. His chest rises and falls a little deeper under your touch, a subtle reaction you’ve come to know so well—a quiet surrender to the way you affect him.

His eyes flutter shut for a moment as your fingers continue their aimless journey over his skin, and you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. These quiet moments, where it’s just the two of you, feel so precious. Life pulls you in so many directions—work, travel, obligations—but here, in this bed, it’s just him and you, tangled together with no deadlines, no alarms, no need to rush.

“You know, we really do need to get up at some point.” you murmur, though you make no effort to move.

“Do we, though?” His voice is thick with sleep, his words drawled as if he’s only half awake. “I’m not convinced.” His arm tightens around you, and you know neither of you has any intention of leaving the bed just yet.

You laugh softly, the sound muffled against his chest. “We can’t stay here forever.”

“Why not?” he asks, a teasing lilt in his tone. “Bed’s warm. You’re here. I’m here. Seems like a pretty solid argument to me.”

His logic is flawless, and for a moment, you let yourself entertain the fantasy of staying exactly like this all day. No meetings, no calls, no responsibilities. Just the two of you, cocooned in this bubble of stolen time. But then reality nudges at the back of your mind, and with a sigh, you shift slightly.

“Okay, but I need to get up,” you say, though your body remains firmly pressed against his.

He grumbles something incoherent, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His stubble brushes against your skin, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine, and you let out a soft, involuntary laugh.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice full of amusement.

“Trying to convince you that staying in bed is the better option,” he mumbles, his lips brushing against your collarbone.

“You’re very persuasive,” you admit, your fingers sliding up to thread through his hair, which is still delightfully messy from sleep. “But I think nature might win this round.”

He lifts his head, his brows furrowing slightly as he looks at you. “Nature?”

“I need to pee,” you confess, your face breaking into a sheepish grin.

A moment of silence passes before he lets out a dramatic groan, rolling onto his back and flinging an arm over his face. “Betrayed by basic bodily functions,” he mutters, the corners of his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to laugh.

You prop yourself up on one elbow, looking down at him with an arched brow. “Would you rather I stayed here and wet myself?”

He peeks at you from beneath his arm, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Not exactly the vibe I was going for, no.”

“Thought so.” You lean down to press a quick kiss to his cheek before slipping out from under the covers. The cool air hits your skin, and you shiver slightly as you make your way toward the bathroom.

Behind you, you hear him call out, “Don’t take too long. I’m not done convincing you to stay in bed.” You laugh, shaking your head, the cool tiles against your bare feet a sharp contrast to the warmth of the bed you just left.

The bathroom is quiet except for the sound of running water as you wash your hands. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror—hair tousled from sleep, cheeks warm with the leftover glow of being wrapped up in him. There’s a small smile on your lips, the kind you couldn’t hide if you tried.

The sound of the door creaking open drifts in, followed by the quiet pad of his footsteps. You don’t turn, but your smile widens, knowing he can’t stand to stay away for long. Sure enough, you feel the heat of his body behind you a moment later, his presence filling the small bathroom effortlessly.

“Couldn’t stay in bed?” you ask, glancing at him through the mirror as you reach for your toothbrush.

He leans against the doorframe, his eyes still heavy with sleep but impossibly warm as they settle on you. “Missed you,” he says simply, his voice low and gravelly, the kind of sound that makes your stomach flip.

Your heart does that little flutter it always does when he says things like that. “You lasted all of five minutes,” you tease lightly, squeezing toothpaste onto your brush.

“Five minutes too long,” he counters, stepping behind you and wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. His chin rests on your shoulder as he watches you in the mirror, his sleepy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You start brushing your teeth, trying to keep your expression neutral as his hands drift idly along your sides. He’s not doing anything overtly distracting—just little, absentminded touches that make your skin tingle and remind you of how close he is. His thumbs brush gently against your skin, just enough to send a pleasant warmth spreading through you.

He grabs his toothbrush from the counter, staying close enough that his arm brushes against yours. His movements are slow, unhurried, as if he’s content to take his time as long as you’re beside him.

When you finish and rinse your mouth, you turn to find him still brushing, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. There’s a teasing glint in them, the kind that makes you want to roll your eyes but also makes your chest ache with affection.

“You’re really taking your time there,” you say, leaning back against the counter.

He pauses, the toothbrush still in his mouth, and raises a brow at you, as if to say, And?

You smirk, leaning closer, your hand coming up to rest lightly on his chest. “Nothing. Just seems like an awfully long time to be brushing when you said you missed me so much.”

He grins around the toothbrush, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief. Spitting into the sink, he rinses his mouth quickly, grabbing a towel to wipe his face. Then he turns to you, still standing there with that playful smirk tugging at your lips.

“Oh, I did miss you,” he murmurs, his voice dropping low as he steps closer. His hands find your hips, his thumbs brushing over the bare skin there, his touch warm and possessive as he pulls you closer. “And now that I’ve got you here…” He trails off, his gaze dipping briefly to your lips before snapping back up to meet your eyes.

You raise a brow, pretending to be unimpressed, though your pulse quickens under his touch. “Now what?”

His smirk widens, and without warning, he sweeps you up into his arms. A surprised laugh escapes you as he carries you the few steps to the shower, reaching in to turn on the water before you can protest. The spray hisses against the tiles, and steam begins to curl in the air around you.

“Baby!” you exclaim, your laughter bubbling over as he gently sets you on your feet under the warm stream of water, his body pressing close behind you, the heat of the shower wrapping around you both.

“What?” he replies innocently, his chest pressed firmly against your back. “I thought you’d enjoy starting the day fresh.”

“You know, if you wanted to get me in the shower, you could’ve just asked.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he murmurs, his arms snaking around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his lips brushing the curve of your shoulder. His touch is unhurried, almost reverent, as though he’s savouring the feel of you in his arms. The spray of water glides over both of you, the rhythmic sound mingling with the steady cadence of your breathing.

“I’ve been thinking about this all morning,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and rough, his words a quiet confession. “You. This.” His lips linger there, soft and warm, as his hands begin a slow, deliberate exploration of your body.

“Austin,” you breathe, the sound of his name rough and needy on your lips.

“God, I love when you say my name like that,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire as his hands slide up, his palms skimming over your stomach, then higher, cupping your breasts with a possessiveness that makes your breath hitch. His thumbs circle your nipples, teasing them into tight peaks, and the sensation pulls a soft gasp from your lips.

He hums in satisfaction, his mouth moving to the side of your neck, where he leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses and his teeth graze the sensitive spot just below your ear. His grip on you tightens slightly, holding you firmly against him as his arousal presses insistently against the curve of your backside.

You turn your head just enough to catch his gaze, your eyes meeting his through the misty haze of the shower. His blue eyes are darker now, clouded with hunger, and the intensity in them sends heat pooling low in your belly. You lift a hand to tangle in his wet hair, pulling him down for a kiss that’s slow and searing, your lips parting to let him deepen it. The taste of him—familiar, intoxicating—fuels the fire building between you.

His hands glide down to your hips, gripping them with purpose as he turns you to face him. The water continues to pour over both of you, sliding between your bodies as you press against each other, your hands roaming over his chest, the slick heat of his skin beneath your fingertips. He’s all hard muscle and sharp lines, his body honed to perfection, and the way he moves, confident and sure, makes your head spin.

“I missed this,” he mutters against your lips, his hands framing your face as he kisses you deeply, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a slow, deliberate intensity that makes your knees weak. One of his hands moves lower, sliding down your back to cup your ass, squeezing firmly before pulling you closer, pressing your bodies together until there’s no space left between you.

You break the kiss just long enough to catch your breath, your head tilting back as his mouth moves to your neck again, his teeth scraping lightly against your pulse point before his lips soothe the mark. His hand slides between your thighs, his fingers brushing against your slick heat, and you let out a soft moan, your hands clutching at his shoulders to steady yourself.

“Always so ready for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire as his fingers tease you, sliding through your folds with practiced ease. He finds your clit, circling it slowly at first, then with more pressure, drawing small, desperate sounds from your throat.

Your hips move against his hand, chasing the pleasure building with each deliberate stroke of his fingers. He’s watching you now, his gaze locked on your face, drinking in every gasp, every arch of your body.

“Look at you,” he breathes, his voice rough with need. “So fucking beautiful.”

His words push you closer to the edge, and he seems to know it, his free hand sliding up to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak. The dual sensations threaten to overwhelm you, your breaths coming faster as the pressure builds, and just when you think you might fall apart completely, he pulls his hand away, leaving you trembling and desperate.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, his hands gripping your hips as he guides you back against the cool tile wall. The contrast of the cold surface against your heated skin makes you shiver, but any discomfort is quickly forgotten as he drops to his knees in front of you, his lips brushing the inside of your thigh.

Your hands move to tangle in his hair as his mouth inches closer to where you need him most. When his tongue finally flicks out, teasing you with the lightest touch, you let out a sharp gasp, your hips bucking instinctively.

He doesn’t rush. His movements are slow, deliberate, as though he’s savouring every moment, every taste of you. His tongue glides through your folds, finding your clit with precision, and when he sucks lightly, the sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, your back arching off the wall.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, holding him close as he works you with maddening skill, his tongue and lips coaxing you higher and higher.

The pressure builds steadily, your body tightening under his touch as Austin devotes himself entirely to your pleasure. His hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as his tongue continues its deliberate, torturous rhythm, swirling around your clit, then dipping lower to tease you further.

The warmth of his breath mingles with the heat of the shower, and the sounds spilling from your lips—soft moans and whispered pleas—only seem to spur him on. His name falls from your mouth like a mantra, your fingers tugging at his wet hair as you teeter closer and closer to the edge.

“Baby, please…” you breathe, your voice trembling with need.

His response is a low, satisfied hum against you, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure rippling through your body. And then he shifts slightly, his tongue pressing harder, his movements more focused, and it’s enough to push you over the edge. The world tilts as the orgasm crashes through you, your legs trembling as you cry out, your back pressing into the cool tile for support.

Austin doesn’t stop, his tongue drawing out every last ounce of pleasure until you’re left breathless and boneless against the wall. When he finally pulls back, his lips are swollen, his face wet from both the water and you, and his gaze is nothing short of ravenous.

“You taste like heaven,” he murmurs, his voice husky as he rises to his feet, his hands still steadying you. He kisses you then, deep and consuming, letting you taste yourself on his lips. It’s messy and unrestrained, his desire for you pouring into every movement, every press of his body against yours.

You can feel him now, hard and insistent against your stomach, and it stirs something primal in you. Your hands slide down his chest, over the ridges of his abs, until you’re wrapping your fingers around him, your touch drawing a sharp inhale from his lips.

“Fuck,” he groans, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as you stroke him, your movements slow and deliberate, matching the teasing pace he’d set for you. His hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he struggles to keep himself together.

“Turn around,” he commands softly, his voice thick with restraint. The words send a thrill through you, and you comply without hesitation, your hands bracing against the wet tile as you feel him step closer, his body radiating heat against your back.

He takes a moment, his hands roaming over your body, tracing the curve of your spine, the swell of your hips. “Perfect,” he murmurs, almost to himself, before aligning himself with you, the head of his cock brushing against your slick entrance.

The anticipation is almost unbearable, but he doesn’t make you wait long. He presses into you slowly, inch by inch, letting you feel every part of him as he stretches you, fills you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and heat that leaves you gasping, your fingers curling against the tile.

He groans, his hands gripping your hips as he sinks fully into you. He pauses there, giving you a moment to adjust, his lips brushing the back of your neck in a tender, grounding gesture.

“Move,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water.

And he does. Slowly, deliberately, he pulls back before thrusting forward again, his movements measured and unhurried. His hands guide your hips to meet him, his rhythm steady and deliberate, as though he wants to draw this moment out as long as possible. Each stroke feels deeper, more meaningful, every thrust hitting a spot inside you that sends pleasure radiating through your entire body.

The tension builds gradually, a delicious ache that coils in your core with every roll of his hips. Austin leans down, his chest flush against your back, his lips finding the sensitive spot behind your ear. “You feel so good,” he breathes, his voice thick with reverence and raw need. “So good, baby.”

His words send a shiver racing down your spine, and you arch back against him, giving him better access. His movements grow more fluid, his pace picking up slightly as he presses you further against the wall, the heat of his body enveloping you entirely. One of his hands slides up to cradle your jaw, tilting your head to the side so he can kiss you, his lips devouring yours in a kiss that’s all-consuming, messy, and perfect.

You gasp into his mouth as his other hand snakes around to the front of your body, his fingers finding your clit with precision. The contact is electric, a spark that shoots straight through you and has your hips bucking instinctively against his touch. His fingers move in slow, deliberate circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts, and the dual sensations overwhelm you, flooding your senses with heat and pleasure.

“Austin,” you manage to gasp, your voice breaking on his name. Your fingers dig into the slick tiles for purchase, your body trembling under the intensity of his touch. He’s everywhere—behind you, inside you, his chest pressed to your back as his lips graze your shoulder, murmuring soft, barely audible words of encouragement that only make the ache in your core grow more unbearable.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers against your skin, his breath hot and ragged. “Every sound you make, every time your body reacts to me—I can’t get enough of you.” His words, so raw and full of need, send a shiver cascading down your spine, and you feel yourself teetering closer to the edge.

His pace quickens slightly, his hips snapping forward with just a little more urgency, pushing you further and further toward the brink. The sound of the water splashing against your bodies is drowned out by the wet, rhythmic slap of his movements and the desperate, breathy sounds falling from your lips. His fingers on your clit press harder, his motions more insistent as he shifts his angle slightly, hitting a spot inside you that makes you cry out, your entire body tightening in response.

“That’s it,” he growls, his voice rough with a combination of restraint and desire. “Let go for me. I want to feel you fall apart.”

Your head falls back against his shoulder, your breaths coming in short, uneven bursts as the pleasure builds to a dizzying crescendo. His free hand slips up to cup your breast, his thumb grazing over your nipple in a way that sends another jolt of heat straight to your core. It’s too much—his touch, his words, the way he’s filling you so perfectly—and the coil inside you finally snaps.

“Come for me, baby,” he murmurs, his voice rough and commanding. His thumb circles your clit in perfect rhythm with his thrusts, and the combination is too much to resist. You cry out his name as your second orgasm crashes over you, your body shuddering against his as waves of pleasure roll through you, leaving you breathless.

He groans at the way your body tightens around him, his movements becoming more erratic as he chases his own release. “Fuck,” he rasps, his hands gripping you tightly as he thrusts into you one last time, his body tensing as he comes. His head drops to your shoulder, his breaths coming in heavy, uneven bursts as the last of his pleasure courses through him.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, the water cascading over your intertwined bodies, washing away the evidence of your passion but not the lingering heat that remains. Eventually, Austin pulls back slightly, his hands sliding to your waist as he turns you to face him. His eyes are soft, filled with a tenderness that makes your heart ache, and he cups your face gently, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“You’re amazing,” he murmurs, his voice quiet but full of reverence. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his touch lingering, unhurried, as though he’s committing the moment to memory.

You let out a small laugh, the sound light and breathless, as you wrap your arms around his neck. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He grins at that, his forehead resting against yours as the shower spray continues to beat against both of you. The heat of the water mingles with the warmth of his body, the closeness making the world beyond the bathroom feel like a distant dream.

After a moment, he shifts slightly, brushing damp strands of hair away from your face. “You good?” he asks softly, his blue eyes scanning yours with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten.

“More than good,” you reply, your hands slipping down to rest on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms. “But if we stay in here much longer, I’m going to start looking like a raisin.”

He chuckles, his hands sliding down your back, playful but still gentle. “I don’t think that’s possible. You’d still look perfect.”

You roll your eyes, though warmth blooms in your chest at his words. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“I’m willing to take that risk,” he teases, leaning down to press another kiss to your shoulder before reluctantly reaching past you to turn off the water. The sound of the spray fades, replaced by the soft hum of your breaths mingling in the now-steamy room.

Austin grabs a towel from the nearby rack, unfolding it with a theatrical flourish before wrapping it carefully around you. “Ladies first,” he says, his grin wide and playful.

“Chivalry isn’t dead, I see,” you reply, your voice light as you let him pull the edges of the towel snug around your body. The warmth of the fabric is a welcome contrast to the cool air outside the shower, but it’s the softness in his gaze as he tucks the towel under your arms that makes your breath hitch.

He grabs another towel for himself, rubbing it lazily over his damp hair before looping it loosely around his waist. His movements are relaxed, unhurried, and impossibly endearing as he slings an arm casually around your waist and guides you back into the bedroom.

The sunlight filters through the curtains, painting the room in soft, golden hues, and you sink down onto the edge of the bed, reaching for the bottle of lotion on the nightstand. You squeeze a small amount into your palms, rubbing your hands together before smoothing it over your arms.

Austin watches you for a moment, leaning against the doorframe, the towel slung low on his hips. His blue eyes are bright, taking you in with a look that’s equal parts admiration and mischief. “You’re really going to make me just stand here and watch?” he asks, his voice playful but with a hint of challenge.

“You seemed content to be entertained,” you reply, not looking up as you focus on your task. But when you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, the grin playing on his lips makes your heart stutter.

He pushes off the doorframe, crossing the room in a few long strides until he’s standing in front of you. “Let me help,” he says softly, kneeling down and reaching for the bottle of lotion.

“I can handle it,” you say, but there’s no real protest in your tone. His hands, warm and sure, close over yours, gently taking the lotion from you.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, squeezing some lotion into his palm. “But where’s the fun in that?”

You laugh quietly, unable to stop the smile that spreads across your face as he starts with your legs, his hands sliding down your calves before working their way back up to your knees. His touch is unhurried, deliberate, as though he’s savouring the moment just as much as you are. When his hands reach your thighs, his thumbs press lightly into your skin, and you feel your breath hitch.

“You’re thorough,” you say, your voice coming out softer than you intended.

He glances up at you, his blue eyes glinting with amusement. “Can’t rush perfection.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your chest spreads as he moves to your arms, carefully smoothing the lotion over your skin. His touch is so tender, so full of care, that you feel yourself relax completely under his hands.

“Turn around,” he says gently, his voice low.

You comply, shifting on the bed so your back is to him. His hands glide over your shoulders, kneading the muscles there as he works the lotion into your skin. You sigh softly, leaning into his touch, and he chuckles, the sound vibrating through you.

“Feels good?” he asks, his hands moving lower to your lower back, his thumbs pressing in small, soothing circles.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, your eyes fluttering shut. “You’re too good at this.”

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. “You deserve it,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

The intimacy of the moment—his hands, his voice, the way his lips brush so lightly against you—fills the room with a quiet kind of magic. When he’s finished, he shifts to sit beside you on the bed, reaching for the bottle to finish applying the lotion to himself.

You watch him for a moment, the way his muscles move beneath his skin, the concentration on his face. It’s such a simple act, but there’s something about it that makes your heart swell with affection.

“Need help?” you tease, leaning closer to him.

He smirks, glancing at you. “You offering?”

“Maybe.” Your fingers brush against his arm, and his smirk softens into something quieter, something more vulnerable.

His free hand reaches up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “You know I love you, right?”

Your breath catches, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around your heart. “Yeah,” you say softly, leaning into his touch. “I know. I love you too.”

The smile that spreads across his face is so full of warmth it takes your breath away. “Good,” he says, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

When he pulls back, his eyes linger on yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades away. It’s just the two of you, tangled in each other, the morning sunlight casting a golden glow over everything.

“Come here,” he murmurs, his voice low and inviting as he pulls you closer. The bottle of lotion is forgotten as his hands slide to your waist, guiding you into his lap and he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I vote we stay in bed the rest of the day.”

“Tempting,” you admit, your head resting against his chest. “But I think we’ll need food at some point.”

“I’ll order us something,” he says, his lips curving into a small smile against your hair. “Anything to keep you close.”

You laugh softly, tipping your head back to look at him. “You’re really laying it on thick this morning.”

“Can you blame me?” he replies, his grin widening. “You make it easy.”

Shaking your head, you reach up to kiss him again, your fingers threading through his damp hair. It’s slower this time, less urgent but no less full of feeling.

As the kiss breaks, you rest your forehead against his, your fingers still tangled in his hair. “Fine,” you murmur, your lips brushing his softly, “let’s stay here all day.”

His arms tighten around you, pulling you impossibly closer. “Best decision you’ve ever made,” he whispers, his voice warm and full of contentment.

You smile, sinking back into his embrace as the soft hum of the morning fades into the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat. There’s nothing else to think about, nothing else to do—just the two of you, wrapped in each other, letting the world outside wait.

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innerfare · 4 months ago

Text

Blue Balls - Sabo: Part 1

Summary: Sabo ends up with a case of blue balls; text below the cut

Pairing: Sabo x Afab!Reader

Genre: smut

CW: dirty talk, Sabo masturbating, needy Sabo

Word Count: 1,153

———

Sabo didn’t know what to do with himself.

The first few weeks you were gone, he’d jerked off morning, noon, and night to the thought of you, but as the memory of your touch grew more distant and the hole in his chest became gaping, he couldn’t stand to touch his cock without you there to run your fingers through his blonde hair and tell him how pretty his scars were, the words leaving your heart-shaped lips, swollen from making out, mere seconds before you wrapped them around his length.

Not being able to stand it didn’t stop him from doing it, though.

Feeling like his heart might give out from the pressure built up in his chest, he reached a hand under the covers and grabbed his length. At what point had your skill surpassed his? When had he become utterly useless with his own cock? He fumbled with it like he’d never jerked the thing before, his balls so heavy he worried they would fall off if he stood up. How precisely was he supposed to replace the feeling of your mouth with his stupid hand?

You were so nice when you sucked him off, so sweet. You blinked up at him with those pretty eyes of yours, smiled softly when you pulled away to catch your breath. His favorite was when your hair spilled down your chest and you wore something with straps or loose sleeves that fell off your shoulder so his eyes could travel the length of your collarbone.

He could remember all that, so why couldn’t he make himself cum?

He’d hit a wall three weeks ago, and he was absolutely losing it. He’d always been one to work and train overtime, but he’d become obsessive as of late. Everyone from Dragon to Koala had noticed, and had even tried getting him to relax, until Ivankov made a comment about Sabo’s raging hormones and everyone had dropped the matter.

He should have fought Ivankov for saying that- he certainly wanted to- but he didn’t even have it in him. He also didn’t want to get any closer to the devil fruit user than he absolutely had to for fear the queen would assess the true depths of his emotional and sexual despair, and Sabo couldn’t stand the humiliation.

But Ivankov was right.

His hormones were raging.

Sabo growled like a wild beast. He kicked his covers off, the sheets clinging to his sweaty skin. He dropped his cramping hand at his side and stared up at the ceiling in the dark. His chest heaved, and his cock throbbed painfully, a drumbeat between his legs that only grew louder with each moment to pass. He wondered if a man could die from blue balls.

If that was possible, he told himself, it would have happened by now.

“It has to work eventually,” he muttered to himself.

He dragged his hand off the mattress and grabbed the length of his cock again. He brushed his thumb over the biggest vein, just like you always did with a coo, and found the head. He pressed down on it and spread the pre cum around, using it as lubricant. But then he recalled how you kissed and licked his balls, treating them like the most precious things in the world, and suddenly, everything he did was lacking.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

He grabbed your pillow and shoved it into his face, the scent of your citrus perfume long having faded. He whined, the pillow catching the sound, and gave his cock a heavy tug. He felt it twitch, but he caught the pleasure in his hand only for a second before it escaped him.

“Do you have some sort of smothering kink I don’t know about?” A voice asked.

Sabo threw the pillow off and sat up in bed with a gasp. He saw a figure illuminated in the doorway, a figure with your perfect shape. His gaze fell on your sweet face, and he was caught between the urge to fling himself at you and actually smother himself to escape the humiliation of being caught with his dick in his hands.

“Y/n?” He watched with wide eyes as you closed the door, leaving only a bit of light to shine in through the bottom, and a bit more through the window. He rubbed his eyes. “What… is this real? What are you doing here? You aren’t supposed to be back for another two weeks!” The embarrassment almost too much to bear, he dragged the sheets over his lap.

“I finished my mission early and thought I would surprise you.” You giggled. “I guess I did.” You relished the sight of your boyfriend naked in bed, muscles coiled beneath his tan skin, his blonde hair stuck to his forehead, his impressive cock standing at attention. “I can come back later if you want me-”

“No!” He lurched forward, only to grit his teeth. “Fuck.”

“Sabo, are you alright?” You hurried to the side of the bed, thinking he’d hurt himself. You sat down on the edge, placing a hand on his bare shoulder; you noticed his skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and frowned.

Sabo shuddered. “Fuck,” he hissed again. “Fuck.”

“Sabo-”

“I’m fucking dying.” With that, he fell back against the pillows. “It doesn’t matter what I do. It’s all wrong. You’re the only one who can do it right, and you’ve been gone forever. And it fucking hurts, y/n.” His voice cracked toward the end.

You felt bad for him, but you also couldn’t help but smile to yourself. You hadn’t had much communication with your boyfriend in the time you had been away, and you’d worried that he didn’t miss you as much as you missed him, that he didn’t lay awake at night stroking himself but to no avail.

“And the pillow?”

“It used to smell like you,” he admitted, the darkness making him feel safe enough to be a little more pathetic than he would normally. “It doesn’t anymore.”

“Awe, you poor thing.”

Just then, the smell of your perfume wafted over to him. “Fuck.” He launched himself at you, pulling you into his arms and dragging you into bed with him. He wrapped his legs around you, too, clinging to you like a big baby. “Fuck.” The sound of your giggle as he buried his face in your hair and inhaled almost made him cum, and the weight of his problem came down on his chest once more like a ton of bricks. “Y/n, I need-”

“I know what you need, big boy,” you interrupted.

His cock twitched at the sound of the nickname.

You cupped his face in your hands and pressed those perfect, soft lips to his. You gave him a series of lingering, close-mouthed kisses before brushing his blonde hair from his sticky forehead. “Lay back. I’ll take care of you.”

Sabo didn’t need to be told twice, crashing back into his pillows with a shallow sigh.

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

#one piece #Sabo x Afab!Reader #sabo smut #sabo x reader #one piece smut

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4vanaa · 24 days ago

Text

WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING, rafe cameron, 07

summary: y/n left the outer banks years ago, determined to build a life far from the memories of her childhood love, rafe cameron. now a botanist, she's moved on-though a quiet part of her still clings to the past. when an event brings her back to OBX, she's forced to confront the one person she never truly forgot.

cw: mature language, angst | masterlist | 06 | 08 |

❀ ❀ ❀ - indication that the chapter takes place in the past!!

i recommend listening to free now, this chapter.

❀ ❀ ❀

The car is a pressure cooker of silence, ready to explode. Your arms are crossed tightly, your nails digging into the skin of your palms. The dull ache is a distraction, something to focus on besides the rage simmering just beneath the surface. Rafe's hands strangle the steering wheel, his knuckles ghost-white in the dim glow of the dashboard. The only sound is his sharp, uneven breaths, and yours — tight, shallow, like you’re suffocating in the space you once felt safest.

You glance out the window, the night outside a blur, trees flashing by like accusations you can’t escape. It’s unbearable, this silence, the weight of everything unsaid pressing on your chest.

“Are you just going to sit there and pout?” Your voice breaks the stillness, bitter and trembling. You don’t even recognize it.

His eyes flicker toward you, icy blue and ablaze with something dark and twisted. He doesn’t respond. The muscle in his jaw jumps.

“Fine. I’ll talk, then.” You turn to him, your anger bubbling over. “You embarrassed me back there, Rafe. In front of everyone.”

His lips curl into a humorless smile. “Embarrassed you?” His voice is low, rough, a sharp edge to each word. “I’m sorry I care too much. I’m sorry I don’t like watching guys hang all over you like they have a fucking chance.”

You laugh, but it’s hollow, a choked sound that barely escapes. “Care too much? That’s what you call it? You’re possessive, paranoid, and it’s driving me insane.”

He slams the brakes. The tires screech as the car jerks to a stop on the side of the road. Your heart hammers against your ribs as you brace yourself against the dashboard, your breath caught somewhere between panic and fury.

“What the fuck, Rafe?” you spit, turning to him, eyes blazing.

He’s staring at you, eyes wild, chest heaving. His voice is low, dangerously calm. “Why can’t you just admit it?”

“Admit what?”

“That you like the attention,” he snarls, eyes narrowing. “That you love being everyone’s favorite. That you love knowing guys are just waiting for me to screw up so they can take my place.”

Your jaw drops. The accusation slices through you, raw and unforgiving. “You’re fucking delusional.”

He leans in closer, his voice trembling with rage and something far more fragile. “I’m not blind, Y/N. I see the way they look at you. I see the way Pope—”

“Pope likes Cleo, you fucking idiot!” you shouted, your hands trembling. “You’re so goddamn insecure you’re seeing threats that aren’t even there.”

He recoiled as if you’d slapped him, his breathing ragged. “You don’t understand what it feels like to—”

“To what?” you cut him off, your voice shaking with fury. “To feel like you’re never enough? Because that’s exactly how you make me feel. I’m never enough for you. Nothing I do is ever enough.”

He runs a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands like he’s trying to tear out his frustration. “You don’t get it. People leave, Y/N. They always leave.” His voice cracks, and for a moment, his eyes betray the pain, the abandonment etched into his soul.

Your breath hitches. You knew what he meant. You knew this wasn’t just about you. It was about his father’s coldness, the way Ward’s approval was always dangled just out of reach. It was about the nights Rafe spent in his room, fists clenched, jaw tight, wondering why he was never enough for the man who was supposed to love him unconditionally.

But that didn’t make his words hurt any less.

“I’m not your father, Rafe,” you said quietly, your voice raw. “I’m not going to abandon you just because you’re not perfect.”

He flinched like you’d struck him, his grip on the wheel loosening. His voice wavered, cracking at the edges. “You say that now. But one day, you’ll wake up and realize you can do better than me. That you deserve better than me.”

The resignation in his voice was a gut punch. You swallowed the lump in your throat, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. “I’ve never wanted better, Rafe. I wanted you. But you’re so busy being terrified that I’ll leave that you’re pushing me away.”

Your heart twists, but you can’t soften now. You’re too far gone. You’ve given too much.

“I’m not your fucking father, Rafe!” you shout, tears blurring your vision. “I’ve been here, with you, fighting for you, while you’re too busy trying to control me to even see it.”

His breath catches, his eyes wide with disbelief and desperation. “So what, you’re just going to give up now?”

The air in the car feels thick, suffocating. Your voice drops to a whisper, trembling with exhaustion. “I got accepted to Stanford.”

The words hang between you, a ticking bomb you’ve been too afraid to let go of. His face crumples, the color draining from his skin. His eyes search yours, pleading, as if he can unhear what you just said.

“When?” he rasps.

“A week ago,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I thought maybe… maybe we could figure something out. Maybe long distance—”

He shakes his head, his jaw clenched so tightly you think it might break. “No.”

You blink, stunned. “No?”

“I can’t do it, Y/N. I can’t sit here while you build a life without me. I can’t be the guy you text when you have time between classes and your new friends.” His voice is hollow, a gaping void where his heart should be. “I won’t.”

The finality in his words knocks the breath out of you. A sob claws its way up your throat, but you swallow it down, your chest aching from the effort.

“God, you’re such a fucking coward.” The words tremble out of you, barely more than a whisper. “You’ll look for me in everyone else. You’ll chase girls who remind you of me, and when they’re not as forgiving as I was, you’ll remember this. You’ll remember that you did this. You didn’t want it enough.”

His face contorts with anguish, but he doesn’t say a word. The silence is louder than any shout, heavier than any blow.

You push open the door, the cold night air rushing in and stealing your breath. You step out, your legs unsteady, your heart shattering with every step. You pause, your back to him, your voice barely holding together.

“I hope your pride keeps you warm at night.”

And then you walk away, the sound of your footsteps swallowed by the darkness. You don’t turn around. You can’t.

Because if you do, you know you’ll see him, broken and alone — and you might break too.

a/n: can you tell my favorite ao3 tag is hurt/no comfort?? 😏 also the next 2 chapters will be past and then only present. also once we get out of the past, it’ll be mostly smau, i just wanted to storybuild and i was unsure how to do that through social media. and 1 more thing j wanted to get gracie tickets for msg, and why are they $1000+ rn, who she feeling like 🤔.

tags: @xoxo-ada @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @sleepiibunniiii @urbrunettebombshell @sideboobrry11

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