#fic: conjuring affections

[buggy-d-hoe]

Conjuring Affections

“Dearest Mother, My fifth year is off to a wonderous, yet busy start. My studies have kept me from writing to you, but I hope this letter will suffice for now. Every week is spent learning a new spell and I hope I can memorize and master them in time for our O.W.L.s at term’s end. Luther sends his regards, as he is busy training, hoping the Quidditch season can resume. Please give our love to everyone. -Vivie P.S. There must be something in the air at Hogwarts. For some reason, everything feels much more enchanting this year.

[ciudaddelapazmp3]

Sometimes my brain will randomly come up with the most rancid absurd fake discourse ever and it startles me every time

[jiyascepter]

Caught You | 18+ Only

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Loki x F!reader

Words: 4012

Warnings/Content: SMUT; Avenger! Loki & Avenger! Y/n, Themes of dub-con, dark-ish Loki??, dom!Loki, pervy!Loki, possessive, jealous loki, use of loki's magic (in a lot of sexual stuff), restraints, bondage, biting, licking, aggressive, pissed loki, praise, slight degradation, there's a tattoo on y/n's thigh (for the plot!), other mcu characters also make an appearance, clit licking, fingering, overstimulation, p in v.

Please lmk if I missed anything! Loki is a bit of red-flaggy in this one, please keep in mind this is only a fanfiction.

Summary: When you make fun of Loki's magic, he "demonstrates" how his magic can be useful. In many, ehm..ways. What did you expect?

A/n: i moved the title in the corner so that i can keep seeing tommys's sexy face in the middle 😮‍💨 im trying to make my fics dirtier but it's not quite coming down in my works, like it's in my mind but it's not easy to express??? im trying & hopefully it'll come soon

The cavernous, dimly-lit warehouse echoed with the sounds of clashing metal and grunts of exertion. The Avengers were locked in combat with a band of mercenaries armed with advanced weaponry.

Tony was in the air, repulsor beams lighting up the darkness, while Natasha and Clint worked in tandem, their movements precise and deadly. Thor’s hammer, Mjölnir, was a blur as it struck down the enemies with thunderous force.

In the midst of the chaos, Loki stood with an air of detached amusement, casting spells with flicks of his wrists. His magic sent mercenaries flying, created illusions to confuse their ranks, and conjured barriers to protect the teammates. But Loki's magic, powerful and unpredictable, was also a bit reckless tonight.

Maybe it was the leather suit you were wearing today.

"Loki, for the love of—watch where you're aiming!" You shouted as you narrowly avoided being hit by a stray spell meant for an enemy.

Your eyes flashed with annoyance as you shot him a glare. "Are you trying to get us all killed?"

Loki smirked, eyeing you up, not taking you seriously. "Perhaps if you were more attentive, you wouldn't find yourself in such precarious positions, darling."

You scowled and ducked under a swipe from a mercenary, retaliating with a swift punch that sent your opponent sprawling.

Ugh, you hated how he always carried that stupid smirk.

"Maybe if your magic was actually useful, we wouldn't be in precarious positions to begin with!"

Loki's eyes narrowed slightly, a spark of irritation flashing through his otherwise calm demeanor. "Is that so? I seem to recall saving you from a similar predicament just last week."

"By causing it in the first place!" You shot back, dodging another mercenary's attack and taking him down with a well-placed kick. 

Loki rolls his eyes and runs in the other direction. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured an illusion, making a group of mercenaries see each other as Avengers.

Confused, they turned on one another, giving the team a moment of respite. But the spell was too potent, and soon the illusion spread, affecting even the teammates. 

Chaos erupted as friends and foes became indistinguishable. 

"What the—" Tony exclaimed while flying over the scene. 

"Damn it, Loki!" You screamed, ducking, as Natasha took a swing at you, mistaking you for an enemy.

"Enough!" Thor bellowed, his hammer smashing into the ground to create a shockwave that knocked everyone off their feet and dispelled the illusion.

The mercenaries, now disoriented, were quickly subdued.

The flight back home was quiet. Everyone was either tired, tending to their wounds, or just rethinking what happened back there. 

Once you landed, the rest of the Avengers stepped down the Quinjet and walked into the building to their rooms. 

"Loki, wait." Steve calls out and walks towards Loki in the lobby.

“About today—”

“Nobody died, Rogers.” Loki replies. 

"That is not an achievement," You murmur to yourself loudly on purpose for him to hear while taking a sip from your favourite grey-coloured sipper. 

Loki and Steve both glanced at you, with Steve carrying a hint of a smile on his face while Loki scowled and turned back to Steve.

You could tell he was not impressed. 

A win for you.

Steve clears his throat, turning serious once more. "Look, what happened today was not good. We cannot work as a team if we don't know half of your tricks."

Loki grins. "Well, that's the fun, isn't it? A surprise for everyone.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. "But it isn’t helping, Lo-"

"Helping? His magic is useless half the time."

Loki shoots an eye at you when you say that, and you could tell the God wasn't pleased.

"He's showing off in front of everyone, like the arrogant ass he is." You go on, while Loki watches you with his grave, sharp eyes.

Why wasn't he replying with his usual snarky comments today? 

Steve gives a light chuckle and pats Loki's shoulder as if feeling sorry for him, "Be careful next time, that's all I ask," and walks away through the corridor, leaving you and Loki to yourselves.

While waiting for the elevator, you silently stand in front of the doors, waiting for it to arrive.

Until you feel a hard pressure against your back.

The sensation is unmistakable—a solid, unyielding presence, warm and firm. Loki's chest. His closeness sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his breath and subtle heat radiating through his clothes.

You stiffen, unsure whether to move away or stay still, the elevator's arrival feeling like an eternity away.

You decide to say something to break the uncomfortable silence.

"Ego broken, Loki~?" You say his name in a sing-song voice.

"Do you enjoy testing my patience, mortal?" he says, leaning down to your ear.

"Someone has to keep you in check," you reply, your voice steady despite the proximity.

The elevator reaches your floor, and with a little chime, its doors open. You proceed to take a step forward to enter the elevator when his hand grabs hold of the back side of your neck and pulls you back to him.

"Careful," he almost whispers, his breath ghosting over your skin, "your tongue is going to get you in trouble one day."

You pause for a moment, feeling the tension thicken in the air, before you turn your head out of his hands to look at him. "Oh, I'm sorry, did I hurt the big bad trickster's feelings?" You taunt, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Maybe if your magic wasn't so unreliable, we wouldn't be in these messes. Or do you need Daddy Odin to give you some pointers on how to actually be useful?"

Loki's eyes flare with fury, and in no time he grabs your neck once again and strides into the elevator, pinning your head to the panels. His body pressed against yours with a force that left little room for doubt about his intensity.

His frame, tall and lean yet undeniably strong, exerting a commanding presence as he pins you against the cool metal of the elevator wall. You can feel the heat emanating from his body, a stark contrast to the chill of the metal against your cheek. 

He was so close to you, you could smell his sultry, intoxicating smell on him.

"You think my magic is useless, don’t you..." He whispers, his breath ghosting on your skin. "I’ll make sure you regret saying that."

"I don't "think", it's a fact." You try to push him back with your elbow. “Let me go, Loki.” You say it firmly. 

"Not yet, vixen." He says so, and the elevator doors shut by themselves. And with one flick of his fingers, the front chain of your tight leather suit yanked open down to the end of your belly.

Did he just–

"I’ll make sure to demonstrate how useful my magic can be." He says and looks down to notice you were not even wearing a bra underneath.

He grins at the sight, licking his lower lip. "Naughty girl." He coos in your ear while his fingers work their way to your belly. 

His fingers, though possessing a hint of coldness at first, quickly warmed against your skin as they made contact with your belly. Each touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, igniting a fire that danced just beneath the surface. 

"Let. Me. Go." You say, trying to stand your ground, but your attempts are futile. 

"Told you no, darling." He says while his fingers trailed up to your nipples, sending a shiver down your spine as goosebumps rose in their wake.

It was a sensation that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable, yet strangely exhilarated by the raw intensity of his touch. 

He slides down your suit from your shoulders, proceeding with a graze of his tongue on your skin. 

"Mmm…sweet," he murmurs, sucking on your shoulder, "unlike those words you use."

"FUCK. YOU." You reply with a gruff.

Loki chuckles darkly against your skin, his breath hot and tantalizing. "Oh, darling, you will," he murmurs, his voice dripping with seductive menace. "But not before I teach you to respect a God."

He pulls down your suit lower, his lips kissing the back of your neck, followed by melty little kisses down your bareback. Despite your discontent, you couldn’t help but feel turned on by him.

As Loki pushes down your suit to your thighs, his eyes catch sight of a small tattoo etched on the inside of your thigh. The ink reads the name of your ex-boyfriend. Loki's eyes darken with a mix of curiosity and possessiveness. 

He paused, his brows furrowing as he read the name inked there. "Well, well, well," he murmured, his voice a mix of curiosity and disdain. "So that’s what your little skirt was hinting at the meeting a few days ago..."

He traced the tattoo lightly with his finger, sending a shiver through your body.

So this bastard was always watching you?

You grit your teeth, anger and embarrassment flushing through you. "It’s none of your business, Loki."

He tightens his grip on your neck slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to assert his dominance. "I know."

"But this mark... it irks me. An insignificant mortal claiming a part of you." He pinches your thigh, and you try to jerk away your leg but cannot. 

You squirmed against his grip, but he held you firmly, his eyes dark and intense as they bore into yours. "Let it go, Loki," you demanded, trying to maintain your composure.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against the tattoo. "Why should I?" he whispered, his voice a dangerous purr. "Why should I let some forgotten lover's mark go unchallenged?"

He gives you a rather harsh bite on your shoulder, trailing his lips to kiss your neck, which makes you whimper, which makes him grin.

He pulls away a bit, and with the flick of his wrists, an invisible force pins your arms above your head, securing you in place against the elevator wall. You struggle briefly, but the bonds hold firm. Loki steps back, his eyes raking over your exposed form with a predatory gaze.

Before you could retort, he bent down, turning his body against the elevator and facing you from below. He kissed the tattoo with deliberate slowness, his lips soft and maddeningly sensual.

The act was both possessive and teasing, with his tongue swirling repeatedly on the same spot that was making you crazy. You gasped, the sensation overwhelming, and a part of you hated how your body responded to his touch. 

"Shh, people can still hear us, darling. Even if they cannot enter." He says placing pecks up and down your thigh, evaporating your steady facade away.

"Now, let's see what other secrets you're hiding," he murmurs, his hands sliding down to your hips. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down and exposing you completely.

You saw his eyes almost sparkle at the sight, placing a kiss on your mound, making you flinch against the metal. Where and when did your suit disappear? You didn’t know.

He leans close and starts exploring your already wet clit with his tongue. Holding your waist in his hands, he kept stealing glances up at your aroused form, watching your expressions while you gasped every time his warm tongue darted on your needy pussy.

The god had a talent for his tongue. The silver tongue. 

"Are you still with him?" He murmured, pulling away his face from your pussy, making you let out a complaining whine.

He holds up his two fingers to caress your folds. "Answer."

"N-no…" You answer, your voice quivering in pleasure.

"Then why isn’t it off?" He says this, glancing at your tattoo.

"I never…Loki-"

He pushes two fingers in. "You never what?"

You shudder as Loki's fingers push inside you, his question hanging in the air, demanding an answer. Your mind races, caught between the intense pleasure and the need to explain yourself.

"I never... had the chance," you manage to gasp, your voice barely steady. "It didn't mean anything anymore. I just...fuck-forgot about it."

Loki's eyes narrow slightly as he studies your face, his fingers moving slowly inside you, curling and stroking in a way that makes coherent thoughts nearly impossible. He doesn't seem entirely convinced.

"Forgot about it?" he repeats, his voice low and dangerous. "Or perhaps you wanted a reminder of something you couldn't let go?" 

"No…" You moan, writhing against the panel with your hands above your head, your fingers aching to dive into his hair. 

He starts to pump his fingers in and out of you with a deliberate rhythm, his thumb circling your clit with maddening precision. You squirm, your faint moans echoing the elevator.

"Good," he murmurs, his voice a seductive purr. "Because I don't share, darling. And I don't like to be reminded of what once was."

You moan, your body arching against his touch. His words send a thrill through you, and the possessiveness in his tone both intimidating and exhilarating.

"You know I can just turn you into a pretty mannequin for me so I can do whatever I want with you…but I want to feel you squirm... to mewl... like a little prey." He says watching your face while feeling your pussy start to clench around his fingers.

"Now, let's make sure you never forget who you belong to, hm?" Loki whispers, his lips brushing against your thigh as he speaks. His mouth returns to your clit, his tongue flicking and sucking with a relentless intensity that drives you wild. 

"Yeah, that’s right, just keep on making those little sounds for me." He says it with a satisfied smile curling on his lips, and he resumes his ministrations with renewed fervor. 

The combination of his fingers inside you and his mouth on your clit sends you spiralling into a mind-shattering orgasm, your body convulsing with pleasure as you cry out his name.

As the waves of ecstasy subside, Loki slowly withdraws his fingers. He stands, his eyes locking onto yours. He releases your binds away and turns you to him, and his thumb caresses your lower lip as if studying it for a second before he holds you against the wall, cupping your cheek, and kisses you almost fiercely. 

And gosh, you needed that. You needed that and more.

"Y/n, is that you?"

Both of you freeze to your seats when you hear Thor’s voice outside the elevator. 

Loki's eyes narrow in annoyance, and he quickly glances towards the elevator doors. "Shh," he murmurs against your lips, his voice barely a whisper. "We wouldn't want to get caught now, would we?"

He continues exploring your mouth, and the kisses start spreading to your neck, tongue, and teeth, making their wild appearances every once in a while. 

Until you couldn’t help it and let out a moan.

"This door is not openi- Y/n??" Thor repeats again. "Wait, let me call Stark.-" 

Your heart races when Thor calls out again because of your moan. Loki’s eyes narrow, and he pulls away. "Are you doing this on purpose? Just another one of your games so we can get caught and you can have your fun?"

He gives your pussy a little slap, and you whine a no. 

In a swift motion, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you tightly against him. You barely have time to register the shift before the air around you shimmers and the familiar confines of the elevator vanish, replaced by the opulent and dimly lit interior of a room unknown to you.

The room is a stark contrast to the sterile metal of the elevator. Rich tapestries line the walls, and candles flicker, casting a warm, golden glow. A large, ornate bed dominates the space, its dark, luxurious linens inviting in a way that makes your heart race. 

Loki wastes no time. He sweeps you off your feet, carrying you to the bed with an urgency that sends a thrill through you. He lays you down gently, his gaze intense as he takes in your still-naked form. His hands trace over your skin, as if committing every inch to memory. 

The air is thick with the scent of sandalwood and something uniquely Loki—intoxicating and alluring. "Now, where were we?" He purrs, his fingers tracing a delicate line down your spine, sending shivers through your body.

You can barely catch your breath; the intensity of the moment overwhelming. "Loki, what if Thor—"

"Thor won't find us," Loki interrupts, his voice a low growl. "This is my domain. No one enters without my permission."

"Now," he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear, "let us continue our little magic demonstration." 

The silken sheets cool against your heated skin, and with Loki's hands everywhere—caressing, teasing, exploring every inch of your body—his touch both gentle and demanding, leaving you breathless and craving more. 

"So beautiful," his voice dripping with seductive menace as he conjures a binding spell that secures your wrists to the bedposts. 

You gasp, your body arching against the restraints, as Loki's mouth finds your breasts, his tongue swirling around your nipples with maddening precision. The sensations are overwhelming, and your mind is lost in a haze of pleasure and need. 

Loki's mouth moves with deliberate precision, his tongue tracing intricate patterns over your breasts. Each flick of his tongue sends jolts of pleasure through your body, making you arch and writhe against the silken sheets. The restraints on your wrists keep you firmly in place.

"Loki…"

"Mhm," he hums, enjoying your squirms. But he wanted more.

He uses his powers to amplify his touch, making your nerve endings sing with heightened sensitivity. You gasp and moan, the intensity of his magic overwhelming your senses.

You can feel the magic pulsating through you, heightening your awareness of every touch and every kiss. His lips move from your breasts to the sensitive skin just below, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The combination of his mouth and his magic almost too much to bear.

His free hand trails down your body, leaving a path of fire in its wake. As his fingers reach your inner thighs, you feel a new surge of his magic, more potent and concentrated. It wraps around your thighs, making your muscles quiver with anticipation.

Loki conjures small, delicate tendrils of magic that wrap around your nipples, gently tugging and twisting. The sensation is unlike anything you've ever felt before—a perfect blend of pleasure and pain that leaves you gasping for breath. 

He moves lower, his mouth leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your belly. The tendrils of magic follow his path, amplifying every sensation, making you feel as if your skin is on fire. You can barely think or breathe; your mind consumed by the overwhelming pleasure.

As he reaches your hips, his fingers part your folds, and you feel a rush of cool air against your wetness. His mouth hovers just above your clit, his breath hot and tantalizing. 

"Tell me, darling," Loki whispers, his lips brushing against your most sensitive spot, "how does it feel to be at the mercy of a god?"

Before you can answer, his tongue flicks out, teasing your clit with delicate, precise strokes. His magic enhances every touch, making you moan and writhe against the restraints. You can feel your orgasm building, the pleasure coiling tight in your belly. 

"Loki I-" He sees your upcoming orgasm and pulls away quickly, enjoying your needy, complaining moan for him.

"Not so easy, darling."

And with another display of his magic, he completely gets rid of his clothes, his disrobed body turning you on even more, the heat of need between your legs almost unbearable.

He brings his already-hard cock near your lips. "Kiss it." and you do, the light hum of satisfaction he makes making you want to absolutely suck him out rather than just a little kiss.

"My filthy little vixen," he says, eyes blazing with hunger as he positions himself between your legs. His grip tightens on your hips, holding you in place as he teases your entrance with the tip of his cock, the sensation sending shivers of anticipation through you, "get ready for your god."

He lets out a low growl, a dark and seductive sound, before slowly pushing into you, his length stretching and filling you completely. The feeling is exquisite, with every inch of him sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

"You feel so perfect," Loki murmurs, his voice husky with desire. "Every part of you was made just for me."

He begins to move, slow and deliberate, his thrusts deep and controlled. Each motion designed to draw out the maximum pleasure to make you feel every inch of him. The binding spell keeps your wrists secured to the bedposts, preventing you from reaching out to touch him, to claw at his back as the pleasure intensifies.

Loki's eyes never leave yours, the connection between you palpable and electric. He leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with the same intensity as his thrusts. You respond eagerly, your moans muffled against his lips, your body arching to meet his. 

His magic continues to amplify every sensation, making your skin hypersensitive, every touch sends sparks of pleasure through you. The tendrils of magic around your nipples tighten and twist, adding to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body.

"Loki," you gasp, barely able to form coherent words. "I can't... it's too much..."

He smirks, his eyes dark with lust. "You can take it, darling. You will take it. You will take everything I give you."

His pace quickens, and his thrusts become more urgent and more demanding. The bed creaks beneath you, the sound mingling with your moans and the wet, slick sounds of your bodies moving together. The pleasure builds rapidly, creating a coiling heat in your belly that threatens to consume you entirely.

Loki's hand moves between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight, precise circles. The additional stimulation pushes you closer to the edge, your body trembling with the effort to hold back your impending orgasm.

"Come for me, darling," Loki commands, his voice a low, seductive growl. "Come for your god."

His words are your undoing. With a cry, you shatter, the orgasm ripping through you with an intensity that leaves you breathless and shaking. The pleasure is overwhelming, your vision going white as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you.

Loki continues to thrust through your orgasm, prolonging your pleasure, his own release imminent. His movements become erratic, his grip on your hips tightening as he chases his own climax.

You can feel him throbbing inside you, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he finally lets go, his own orgasm ripping through him.

With a final, powerful thrust, he spills into you, his groan of pleasure vibrating through your body. He collapses on top of you, his weight comforting and grounding as you both catch your breath, the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through you.

For a moment, there's only the sound of your ragged breathing, the scent of sex and sweat heavy in the air. Loki's hand comes up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear of overwhelming pleasure. 

"Fuck, you drive me wild." He murmurs breathlessly. 

"Did you like that, darling?" Loki murmurs against your skin, his voice a seductive purr. "My magic can do so much more." 

You breathlessly chuckle while he traces patterns on your skin. His fingers caress down to your thigh, where he glances at your tattoo.

"We can’t have that." He says in a low voice and grazes his hand over your skin, and the tattoo vanishes.  Loki’s touch lingers on your thigh where the tattoo once was, his magic leaving your skin smooth and unmarked.

"And now you’re mine."

┈➤ Taglist in the comments! Lmk if you want to join or just click this 𖹭

[bpmiranda]

Another fic idea💡

Sub! Logan x fem! reader

You're taking pics of your bf, and he gets all shy of how much praise you give him, he gets hard by the thought of you sitting on his face filming ext. <3

Love your fics angel, have a good weekend 🫶🏻🤍

Picture Perfect (Logan Howlett)

A/N: sub!logan, 18+ f!reader, public displays of affection, mentions of face sitting, suggestive content

There couldn’t have been more perfect weather if Ororo herself conjured it up. The sun was warm as it touched your skin, the light breeze keeping you cool as your boyfriend’s charming grin and wandering eyes made you warm in your cheeks and between your thighs. Logan was sitting underneath you, his arms behind his head as you straddled him to take another picture of him.

“Think you’ve got enough, baby.” Logan smirks, one of his hands coming to rub gently on your thigh now exposed as your dress bunched up from how you were sitting on him.

“You said you’d help me with my photography,” You pouted, checking how the image came out on your camera. “You’re so handsome, Logan.” You gush, looking down at him to see his face turn a light shade of pink. “Can’t believe how lucky I am to be yours.”

“Quit it. I’m the lucky one.” Logan chuckles, his hand moving beneath your dress a little bit and you bite your bottom lip as you stare at him basking in the sun’s light as it brightens the green and gold hues of his eyes. “Y/N, stop staring at me like that.”

You only smile as you set your camera down and you lean down to kiss him, sighing against his lips as you lace your fingers through his hair. Logan’s hands both move underneath your dress, caressing your soft thighs slowly as you make out. “You’re so gorgeous, Lo.” You whisper as one of your hands slides up his t-shirt and he groans at the feeling of your small hand caressing his torso.

His mind wanders to filthier places as his hands roam underneath the skirt of your dress. He knows you’d never get intimate outdoors, you’re far too reserved and modest for that. The thought alone, however makes him hard and you feel him between your legs. A soft moan escapes your lips and he squeezes your thighs in warning, letting you know he’s aroused, too turned on to let you continue whatever it is you might be doing. “Stop.” He murmurs, but you don’t.

“Mm,” You hum, subtly grinding against him. Logan groans, squeezing your thighs harder and you whine against his mouth. “Logan.”

“Baby, you gotta quit unless you plan on sitting that pretty pussy on my face right now.” He urges, pushing your thighs down so you pull away from his lips.

It’s not often that you get to be in control of him like this, it’s not often that you have him begging like this, completely at your mercy. And you want to enjoy it, tease him as he so often teases you. “Is that what you’re thinking about?” You ask, kissing his jaw and his neck as he moves his hands out of your dress and holds your waist instead. Logan sighs at the thought, nodding subconsciously as you lightly tongue at his Adam’s Apple. “You wanna eat my pussy?” You ask, breathless at the thought and he swears under his breath. “That’d be quite a picture, your handsome face between my thighs.” You comment as you move your leg along his pelvis.

Logan’s cock is unbearably hard as you rub your thigh against him, your hands continue pawing at his chest and his abdomen, feeling every ridge of his body with your delicate fingers. “Y/N,” He moans as he pulls you back up to his lips, one hand grabs onto a handful of your hair as he kisses you hard, his other hand fists the skirt of your dress as he aches to tear it off you. “Let’s go inside.”

“One more picture?” You ask teasingly and he flips you over with ease so he’s hovering above you, you laugh lightly, your cheeks warm as he looks down at you seriously.

“Inside. Right. Now.” He punctuates every word with authority, a switch up from just a moment ago and you nod submissively, back in your place with one swift movement.

You are putty in his hands. “Yes, sir.”

🏷️: @dontfeedthebigbadwolf @peterparkernotfound @httpsells @evasmlp @ayatotiddies @thatlittlered @seasonofthenerd @littlemisscantloveyouback @scorpiosaintt @simpingfor-wakasa @spencerswh0r3 @thatweirdtheaternerd12

[titania-sleeps]

idea pitch (adonis and dion fics in the works i promise), tell me if yall like this and if this should get a full oc + fics

yandere!sea spirit who is just a minor sea deity and met you, the moon goddess, one day. he's instantly drawn to you, as the tides are to the moon.

yandere!sea spirit who stares at you longingly every night as you come out from hiding, dragging the moon on your chariot. the legends say that you've fallen for a mere human before, and a sleeping youth at that! if a human had a chance for your affections, surely he would too?

yandere!sea spirit who gathers seashells and sparking stones he finds during his day to slowly weave the perfect necklace for you. he wants to court you properly, and the first thing that he must do is make you the greatest gift. and then he will imbue the necklace with a conjuration that brings you safety and peace.

yandere!sea spirit who finds the courage to talk to you one night. he was a stuttering and blushing mess, but you gave him a lighthearted laugh and suddenly nothing mattered anymore. only you and your joy did, at that very moment, and he was smitten. after you left, he was crestfallen realizing that he forgot to give you the necklace he made.

yandere!sea spirit who yearns to talk to you again, staring up at the night sky day by day, hoping to catch your attention for yet another moment.

yandere!sea spirit who attends the party thrown by the gods (luckily invited, though he was just a sea spirit), finding you easily in the crowd. clutching the necklace tightly in his hand, he moves through the crowd, an urgent river in the stream of people.

yandere!sea spirit who lights up as he finally reaches you. he composes himself, checking to make sure the necklace is still in perfect condition. he's about to talk to you until he sees a scathing light next to you, a burning devastation.

yandere!sea spirit who finds out that you're engaged to the sun god. you're too happy about that, and he's oh so very jealous. the sea and the moon are meant to be; the sun and moon are fated to never meet. so why aren't you looking at him instead?

yandere!sea spirit who leaves that night without gifting you the necklace. but that doesn't matter; you and him are drawn to each other like magnets, he knows, so he will bide his time and wait for the right time to bring you to him. even if it means usurping the greatest ocean god, even if it means he has to become the embodiment of the sea. he isn't in a hurry; he will wait a millennium if he has to.

and then the sea will swallow the moon, caging her gently in his worshipping warm waters. the sky and the sun didn't deserve to have you.

-> masterlist

[wonjns]

overawe — j.sc

⌗ pairing. . . jung sungchan x male reader

⌗ genre. . . smut

⌗ summary. . . uh oh, somebody made sungchan jealous (it wasn't even your fault).

⌗ includes. . . intimidating!bf!sungchan, sub!reader, possessive chan, a lil toxic, size kink, orgasm prolonging, nipple play/hickeys, unprotected sex (don’t irl !!), mdni.

⌗ wc. 1.2k

°A/N. . . requested by anon ✓ "Hey Luca!! Just here to request a jealous!sungchan with his younger bf who was paying attention to the other members too much 🫣 Sungchan knows he shouldn't be so upset but he just can't help it..." // hiii i hope you like it!! its nothing special really, just your run-of-the-mill jealousy fic but with sungchan, anything is hot 🥵

it was almost twisted how much control sungchan had over you without even having to do anything.

one would think it was inscribed in your dna to bend to his every will; to please him, to hear him praise you... to be his perfect, pliant boyfriend. yet, it seemed like you could do nothing but disappoint him – or at least thats what he wanted you to think.

something in sungchan's brain always itched just right when he would watch you break down in front of him. he loved how all it took was a stern glare to get you muttering a mantra of apologies, all but sinking to your knees for his mercy whenever you did something he didn't approve.

you can't help but reminisce the time you slightly rose your voice at him in the grocery store, just to end up sucking him off in the parking lot for 30 minutes solely to win back his forgiveness.

you remember your knees digging into his mustang's carpet flooring while looking up at his shirtless body, toned abs rippling as his head was thrown back, showing off his adams apple while he called you his good boy. you didn't even cum that day, but your cock was practically drooling at that sight for the rest of the week.

this time, you knew you were in trouble before he could even get a word out.

here you both were, the only ones who remained in your shared apartment after ushering all of your friends out after a long night together.

you were close with a lot of your mutual friends, especially shotaro, and it showed in the way the two of you were attached at the hip the entire evening.

your innocent physical affection and loud giggles were enough to catch the attention of a certain sungchan, who you knew you’d have to deal with from the way his eyebrow quirked dauntingly in your direction.

as soon as the front door closed, it felt as if an overbearing storm rage conjured itself in your home, hovering dangerously above your head. you knew this feeling was because of sungchan, the foreboding pheromones radiating off of his huge, 6'2 frame.

"i'm gonna get a glass of water," you sighed aloud, timidly making your way back to the kitchen in attempt to escape the rising tension.

but before you could even grab a glass from the cabinet, you felt sungchan's looming presence behind you. you'd successfully predicted that when you turned around, you'd see his towering form looking down at you with that gut churning smirk, silent as a mouse.

his accusing glare bore into yours, the slightest smirk dancing across his plump lips as he reached up into the cabinet behind you, lowering an empty glass in your hands without breaking eye contact for even a second.

"i-i'm sorry." you muttered, glancing to the tile below.

"what are you apologizing for, baby?" sungchan replied, his voice entirely too relaxed and unassuming for the anxiety it was causing you.

"i... uhm, it just..." you stuttered, breath hitching in your throat when you felt sungchan's long fingers tilt your chin up to catch your eyes directly once more. "i wasn't doing anything on purpose."

that earned you a low chuckle from him as he placed both large hands on his hips.

"are you feeling guilty for letting shotaro throw himself all over you? letting him treat you like his own slut right in front of me?" sungchan inquired, dipping his head down closer to yours.

his voice was sickeningly sweet, and you knew he was trying to lure you into a false sense of security. but you had been with him too long, you knew exactly what the steaming temperature between your two bodies meant. your skin felt on fire and he wasn't even touching you anymore.

the proximity of his face to yours was making you dizzy, feeling a certain muscle in your boxers begin to stir. you struggled to hold his eye contact, squirming under his glare as he flashed you another of his signature smirks, dripping in arrogance.

god, he knew what he was doing.

his physical prowess alone was more than enough to make your head fuzzy, but what really made you weak in the knees was his damn aura. he was just so dominating without even trying. he never yelled at you, or ever even harmed you, but the way in which he spoke was enough to make you melt into a worthless puddle on the floor. the slick tone of his voice had a talent to completely rewire and chip away at your brain until you could think of nothing else but him, and fuck it was a skill he never hesitated to use.

your taller boyfriend felt his heart leaping the more you fidgeted - shrinking smaller beneath him at his accusation.

"taro was just being friendly," you try to defend, twisting your fingers around one another. "i swear, babe... i swear."

"you don't get to call me that after ignoring me all night, sunshine."

you became aware just how much sungchan had inched closer to you when you feel one his veiny hands running up your thigh, the tips of his fingers lighting up paths on your skin as they traveled underneath your shirt.

his heavy gaze was still locked on to yours, just daring you to look away. you wouldn't... you couldn't.

you knew the repercussions, but in a slightly concerning way, the thought always had your stomach churning with butterflies and anticipation.

"you're gonna have to make it up to me, baby boy."

"fuck, channie, please!" you moaned, hands clawing at the exposed tan skin of your boyfriend's muscular back.

he had bottomed his cock out in you forever ago, and somehow still had the restraint to not move once, despite your endless pleas and whimpers. instead, he took to sucking mark after mark onto the thin skin of your collarbones and chest.

you'd be rich by now if you had a dollar for every time sungchan had guided you to just the peak of your climax by stroking your leaky cock while sucking on your hardened nipples, just to cruelly stop all ministrations and let your orgasm ebb away.

you had come so close to release you could almost taste it on your tongue, shaking in the frustration of denial only seconds later while hearing sungchan chuckle deeply at you. he thought your begging, paired with your tears and involuntary tremble of your lips, was the cutest thing in the whole world.

"awh, is my baby getting aggravated? i know he probably wants to cum so bad." he coo's in the second person, gently kissing your face before licking up the trail of a fallen tear. he groans at how your ass clenches on his throbbing cock inside of you. "shit, why did you have to go and make me punish you, prince? i could be fucking you senseless right now. isn't that what you want?"

you choke out another sob while nodding your head desperately, clinging to his broad naked shoulders whose grooves make your mind bleary.

"are you gonna be good for me from now on?" he taunts, raising an eyebrow as he reaches between your bodies to start stroking your desperate cock again.

"y-yes! fuck, yes, sungchan. i promise."

"and no more letting other people flirt with you? you know they could never make you feel the way i do." he smirks, cooing once more when you nod and lean up to kiss him again.

sungchan pushes his tongue into your mouth, purposefully muffling your high pitched moans when he starts thrusting inside of you.

he's huge, just like the rest of his body, and he always managed to snatch the breath from your lungs whenever you feel his cock beginning to bulge in your stomach from the power of his hips.

your thighs clamp around his slightly sweaty torso, pulling his body closer to yours for him to reach even deeper. your breathless groans flurried into the air as sungchan return to sucking on your sore adams apple, intentionally making sure you felt the ridges of his abs gliding along your cock.

with needy hands roaming mindlessly from his back, to his biceps, up to his neck, you felt your climax rapidly approaching for the umpteens time that hour - you choked out his name while tangling a hand in his shaggy hair.

"i fucking love you, y/n." sungchan all but growled, earning his length another clench from your ass. "you'll always be mine, right? my good boy."

"yes, yes i love you so much." you whimpered. "i- i love you, i love your cock, and the way you make me feel. i'm yours. forever, channie."

your mindless babbling was all it took, the bands in both of your stomachs snapping. you shared a loud, guttural moan in unison as you came at the same time. the sweet rush of finally being allowed to release made your spine tremble, and you swore you saw a firework of stars behind the eyelids you squeezed shut. you shook as your arousal shot up onto sungchan's chest, while he shamelessly emptied out his inside of you.

"oh my god, thank you." you whined repeatedly as your boyfriend's hips began to slow, carefully landing the both of you back to stability.

his large frame eased on to your sweaty one, but you didn't mind at all. you could only feel euphoria in your veins, grateful that sungchan decided to stay sheathed inside you for a little bit despite his cock beginning to soften.

this was everything you'd ever wanted - the feeling of him inside of you with his supple lips kissing the sides of your face, whispering the sweetest of praises.

"always mine." sungchan mumbled one last time, before you both began drifting to sleep.

[shelbgrey]

✨POOKIE✨ can you conjure up a fic of the very lovely very handsome very shrexy lip biting man also known as Killian Jones? Get that steamy boat time in his bedroom on the Rolly Joger. He’s a pirate so…😳🫣give that man some rope cause he knows how to tie a knot alright😏 also get that bed tapping. He got accent…a hot as hell accent, get it all deep and raspy then you can sign me the hell up. Man can hook me in numerous ways, I’d thank him🫢😳😏

Smut fic with Killan Jones

Paring: Killian Jones x reader

Summary: Smut with captian hook

Warrings: SMUT, gn!reader, bondage, Dirty talk?, desk sex, unprotected sex, rough-ish sex?, getting it from behind.

MasterList

“what should we do with them Capitan?” a crew member grunted as the 'trespasser' wiggled and struggled in the grasp of the pirate's grasp. Y/n fought, kicking and clawing at the dirty man, and no matter how much it hurt the man he didn't let go.

“take our prisoner to my chambers, then I'll decide what I should do with them” Killian commanded.

The pirate nodded and dragged y/n down to the lower part of the jolly Roger, he tossed y/n into Killian's private part of the ship and grabed some rope. Before they could get to far the pirate forced y/n's arms behind their back and tied their wrist together. Y/n snatched their arms out of his grasp and tired to make a run for it. The pirate just snarled and pushed them back it on the room, locking it so they couldn't escape. Moments later the sounds of boots aproching the room filled their ears. Y/n perked up and tired to think of an escape plane quickly, before the plan could be formed the door flew open revealing a tall handsom pirate with blue eyes and black hair. Y/n looked down at this left hand, It was a hook. They now knew who's ship they were on.

He had a wicked grin as he walked towards y/n. His muscular form, encased in leather armor. He had a look of power in his eyes. “I usually don’t allow trespassers to live, but you’re quite beautiful”

Y/n's had nothing but fire in their eyes, staring at the pirate. They showed no fear. “Whatever you're gonna do, might as well do it… On Second thought why don't you just kill me and get it over with”

Killian leans in, whispering menacingly against their neck sending shivers down their spine. “I can think of a few ways you can convince me to let you live”

Y/n stepped back, standing their ground. The pirate's gaze was intimidating, but they didn't let it show how much it affected them. Y/n stepped back till their body hit a table with a large map on it. Y/n's hands had been tied behind their back from when the crew abducted them, y/n had barely kept their balance when she was bound then thrown in the small room.

Killian chuckled darkly when he saw the daring look in y/n's eyes. Y/n stood their ground watching his every move. Killian moved closer, leaving very little room between them. He had a devilish grin as he stared down at his prisoner. He reached out and ran the side of his hook down y/n’s cheek, tracing the line of their jaw. The metal was cold and intimidating “you've got fire…”

Y/n's heart pounded when the hook that replaced his hand ran cold down their cheek. Y/n had heard too many stories about that hook. They leaned back further against the table, keeping their eyes stony, staring into his eyes. “if your looking for gold I don't have it, I have nothing to offer you”

Killian let out a dark chuckle at y/n's comment, he stepped closer still so that his body was pressed against theirs. His free hand slid around their waist, his rings felt cold against their skin. He pulled y/n's body flush against him. I think we can come to an arrangement…”

“And what is that?” y/n asked, not amused.

Y/n shivered as his hook trailed up their thigh, the metal was cold against the hot skin of their inner thigh. “What do you want, Capitan?”

“I think you know what I want…” Killian chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against their neck, nipping at y/n’s skin, leaving marks. Their cheeks became crimson and their heart raced when his lips and the scruff of his beard brushed against the sensitive skin.

Y/n bit their lip, trying not to show the effect the pirate had on them, Killian grinned at the resistance they had. his eyes were darkening with desire when he stared at them. He ran his free hand through y/n's hair, pulling their head back slightly to expose their neck further. “It seems like you're already starting to fall under my spell…”

“You wish…” Y/n argued back, lying to both him and themself. Their heart was pounding and if their hands weren't still tied, y/n knew deep down they'd be grabbing for any part of him or that leather coat they could reach.

Killian chuckled darkly, leaning in to place a soft kiss on y/n’s neck. He pressed the curved end of his hook against the middle of their collarbone and slowly trailed it down their chest then slipped between their legs. Y/n's breath hitched as he rubbed slow circles against their clothed sex through the thin fabric of their pants. “if you want me to stop I will, you have my word… If not there's no turning back”

y/n shuttered and quickly nodded, their mind working over time and was too cought up in the moment to form a proper awnser. Killian's grin widened as he saw the submission in y/n’s eyes. He leaned in, his lips claiming their's in a fierce kiss that left them breathless. Y/n lost balance momentarily, but the desk that was behind them didn't let the fall happen.

Killian pulled away from their lips, whispering as he stared into their eyes. his hand slipping under their shirt to rub against their bare skin, the cold rings that were wrapped around his fingers made y/n shiver. “turn around, bend over the desk.” He nipped at their bottom lip, demanding there obedience.

y/n didn't understand why they responded so quickly. They leaned forward and pressed a quick soft kiss against his lips before submitting to his command and bending over his desk, her ass and tied wrists now pointing towrds him.

Killian smirked as he watched y/n bend over his desk, their ass on display for him. He walked around to stand behind them, his hard cock pressing against their as through his pants. He Hooked his hook on the part of the rope between y/n's wrists, securing them between the desk and his body. y/n got inpacent and pressed their ass against his hardened erection.

Killian growled, his hands moving to grip y/n's hips roughly. He lifted them up slightly, pushing their legs apart with his own. His other hand came down, slapping against her ass hard enough to sting. “don't move”

A shiver ran down y/n's spine as Killian forced their pants down their thighs. Killian groaned, moving his hand to wrap it around his hard erection. He went slow just to tease as he guiding it towards y/n's wet entrance. Y/n's moans encouraged his fast, rough movements as he thrust forward, pushing into y/n's ass with a groan of satisfaction. “Bloddy hell, your perfect”

His thrusts became more forceful, punctuated by harsh grunts of pleasure. He leaned his arm next to y/n, his free hand gripping the desk tightly for balance. “I'm going to make you scream my name, Love”

y/n pressed their forehead against the wooden table as Killian thrusted roughly, stretching them out. “Killian…” they moaned.

Killian groaned at the noises they made as he continued to fuck y/n from behind. fingers gripped their hip tightly as he pushed forward. His breath was ragged against their neck as his hips pistoned back and forth, driving into y/n with force. Y/n's skin felt like it was on fire and they could no longer control the noises that fell from their lips.

"Hell... You like this, don't you?" His voice was raspy and full of lust. He looped his Hook on the rope that binded y/n's wrists and tugged them up. Their back was pressed against his chest and he captured their mouth in a searing hot kiss. He forced y/n against the desk again, but didn't bend them down like last time just continued to pound into them.

“fuck, feels so good” y/n moaned.

“That's it, moan for me…” Killian's words were lost in a string of curses and moans as he felt himself getting closer to the edge. His thrusts became more erratic, each one hitting y/n's sweet spot perfectly.

“killian!” y/n's moans became higher and more desperate, their heart was pounding and they felt themselves about ready to fall over the edge as the knot in their stomach got tighter. “Damn, I'm close”

Killian panted heavily as he thrust into y/n one final time, his entire body shaking with the force of his orgasm. He held onto y/n tightly, feeling his release pulse through him as he growled out his satisfaction. “Fuck... Fucking perfect…”

feeling Killian's release within them, y/n cried out in pleasure as they came as well, their head fell back in pleasure against killian's shoulder as their whole body shaked with the force of it. As they leaned back against him, their chest heaving up and down as they caught their breath “your so perfect, Love”

Killian gently pulled out of y/n, his cock slippery with their combined fluids. He turned them around, pulling them into a warm embrace. His fingers traced gentle patterns on y/n's back as he kissed their forehead. “I've got you” he whispered as he reached behind them and untied their wrists.

“here, let's get you somewhere more comfortable” he murmured, kissing y/n's forehead again before carrying them over to the small leather couch that was in his room. He laid them down gently, his eyes never leaving their face as he brushed some hair out of her face. His fingers tracing gentle patterns on their cheek before pulling the covers up around them, letting them rest. “your no longer a trespasser… if you decide to stay a bored my ship you can guarantee protection from me and the crew”

Y/n smiled softly, their eyes getting heavy. “I'd like that..”

[trashmouth-richie]

the raven told me of you

eddie x female reader

crafted from this prompt list by: @bettyfrommars @somnambulic-thing @allthingsjoeq

summary: eddie is released after six months of being behind bars with a false identity, he was never lonely because you were there with him, until you weren’t. now, coming home to a new life with his old name granted back to him. he navigates flashbacks, and trying to settle back in with wayne in private protective seclusion, alone— or is he?

8.1k

tw: 18+ angst. fluff of a new relationship, light smut— s1, s4 canon events with reader inserted into the timeline, mentions of insanity, death, witness protection, government cover-ups etc. this could be a continuation or stand alone fic of your touch but is not necessary to read.

releasing: thursday 3/7

Owens’ worked his charms. The government covered up the mass hysteria and pinned the murders of Chrissy, Patrick and Fred on an accidental chemical reaction from arsenic, radiation and terpenoids. The results left their bones liquified from the toxic lick of acid and torqued before solidifying once again. 

  The Hawkin’s Post called it ‘a combination of sickly tainted water from the school cafeteria.’ 

  Parents were urged to have their children tested at the local clinic for extra precautions, and thankfully no one else had been affected. 

  On Thursday the Eighteenth of September, at approximately 1300 hours… an hour into quiet personal time, Mr. Edward Munson, was once again, a free man. 

  At first he thought it was possibly a mistake, a horrifying joke fed by his many delusions. But when they called him into the warden’s office, he sat across an oak desk from a tall man with a skin bald head, shining like a lightbulb.  

  He used Eddie’s full name—not the persona he was given— and gave him ten minutes to collect his belongings. It was then he came to realize that maybe he wasn’t crazy after all. 

  Six long months in the clink with his brain spinning hallucinations beyond his control he wasn’t sure if he’d come out of it without a government issued lobotomy— and in the blink of an eye, it came to an abrupt end.

  Prison was cold, unwelcoming in shades of gray coating the ceilings, walls, floors, any service imaginable. As if there was one color sanctioned to the American Prison system and gray was the less costly option. 

  Concrete was probably more pliable than his bed was. The food was impeccable— if you were a raven on a mealworm diet.  It was just shy of hell, and it made the inhabitants calloused to a helping hand or squirreling away from making friends. 

  Seven months prior, Eddie was in his prime. For the first time in his life he was happy with where he was at, school was almost over and he had a true chance of walking the stage of graduation. 

  And you, he had you. 

  Beautiful, charismatic, sweet you. 

  It was almost like he conjured you up himself with a hard roll against a plyboard table of a twenty sided dice. Mesmerizing eyes that seemed to shimmer in any light, a smile that could soften Medusa’s rocky stare. You were perfect. 

  The first time his eyes laid on you was across the cafeteria. Everyone moved with the mundane routine, but you were shining like a spotlight had been placed on you overhead. 

  Your soft skin beckoned him like a moth to a flame. Smooth as silk, and he started to wonder what would your flesh feel like in his hands…would you cower away from their roughness? 

  His mind raced, and his heart pumped firmly whenever you walked past him, you smelled like ripe fruit, warming by the sun, and Eddie began to understand why Eve was tempted so easily. 

  And so began the daily task of seeking you out. He was able to spot you like Waldo amongst the boring gray faces of every other girl. 

  You shone like a gem, a sapphire filled with the darkest of depths, and like an enthusiast to your craft, he wanted to know the breadth of your soul. 

  His gem. 

  It was by total chance that he stumbled upon you after months of stray glances. He was walking backwards, yelling to Gareth about being on time for Hellfire that night, when he bumped into something that yelped in surprise. 

  It was you. 

  Sprawled and landing hard on your butt. Papers scattered from the collision of your face mashing into a denim patchwork vest. 

  He stumbled over your feet, falling beside you in a mess of curls and cigarettes, the one between his lips still intact. Your eyes met his for the first time, and that’s all it took for him to fall head over feet, in this case Reeboks, Eddie was a goner. 

  Your smile spread a warmth in his chest that he had never felt before. And your laugh? Made his knees physically weak. 

  He still didn’t know how he managed to swing it, but he charmed you into agreeing to a ride home. Conversation came easy with you. You were sweet yet comical, a bit of a smart ass. He was grinning like an idiot.

  Chatting about books, then music, he bantered back and forth, teasing on your choice of horror, astounded in your tastes— but nevermore, he was enthused, enamored. 

  Witty and shit giving, you had him wrapped around your finger before the van pulled in front of your place. A permanent dimple pecked into his cheek that wouldn’t subside no matter how hard he tried. 

  A ten digit number exchanged on lined paper was the start of the end. A corny fist pump and a pep talk on his jaunt back to the trailer park. 

  Eddie was living on cloud nine. 

  He called you that night, foregoing any dumb advice he had seen in movies or heard at school at waiting a certain amount of days or hours, he went on pure instinct alone, and almost threw up all over himself after punching the last number. 

  You answered with your name after saying a proper greeting and he stumbled over his own tongue before choking out that it was him. 

  “Sorry who?” you had teased, Eddie’s heart fell into his stomach with relief when you giggled on the other end, “are you calling to sell me some boy scout popcorn, because cheddar is my favorite… but for you I might just buy a tin of caramel.” 

  A heart laugh erupted from his trailer, loud and barking. “Boy Scouts weren’t really my thing, princess.” 

  “Ah,” you reasoned, “knots too hard?” 

  He laughed again, that damn dimple achingly prominent as he smiled through the receiver, and you swore you could hear his cheeks squeak, “something like that.” 

  An hour had passed and Eddie found himself in the snares of coiled phone cords as he wore a pattern from his bedroom to the kitchen, fiddling with things left on the counter. Even going so far as to start a load of laundry and empty the sink. 

  You too were in the trenches, living solely on the scraps of information of Eddie’s life that he tossed to you like a pigeon in a park.  

  He was smart, filled with colossal amounts of knowledge on anything from cars, to reading sheet music. He had an ear for rhythm, cocky enough to have you hum a tune so he could pick up on it, and add to it. Eddie was a closeted genius under the untamed curls. 

  “Shit— I’m talking too much, huh? " he asked after a long winded speech about a campaign he was planning for the freshman in Hellfire. “I get carried away sometimes,” he admitted with a chuckle, a ripple of embarrassment heating over his body in a wave. 

  “Not at all,” you eagerly replied, “tell me more about Kas!” 

  “Well princess, I could show you, if you wanted?” He prayed you’d say yes, to whom or what he was praying to— hewasn’t sure, just crossed fingers and pinched his eyes shut in hopes that you wouldn’t think he was some loser yanking his dick to figurines and elf lore.

  But you didn’t, you had said yes faster than he finished asking. And from there— it was history. 

  He went to bed with a spinning head and a heart wrapped in lace, sugar coated with your sweet voice in his ear, the same lopsided grin he had worn since tripping over you at school. 

  —

  Stepping out into the first breath of freedom, the sun felt heavy on his skin. It itched his arm hairs, the heat touching his neck for the first time in years since he grew out his hair. The brightness stung his eyes. 

  He had become accustomed to the hollowing sag of fluorescent lights paling his skin to almost translucency, a true dracula in the pits of a four walled hell.

  A croaked caw is loud overhead, singular— followed by a fluttering of wings, and the bend of a tree limb.

  The clothes he wore didn’t feel like him, the ripped cotton Hellfire shirt wasn’t clean coming in and wasn’t clean coming out, Shredded where the demobats feasted on him like a hotdog at a ball field. 

  His jeans stunk of decay and murky water from the gate. Caked with mud, dried several times in the days of being on the run, the jeans chafed his skin raw, gnawing on his leg hairs until they popped free, giving up the fight. 

  A manila envelope held his rings, clashing together in a melodic tone. He slotted them one by one on the correct fingers, yet they felt loose, heavy and familiar all at once. 

  He was ready to pitch the envelope into a trash bin when he felt something else in the bottom, having to rip it apart to get to whatever was inside. When the ground was littered next to his waterlogged Reeboks, and his palm held the small silver item, his eyes brimmed with tears. 

  —3

The nightly phone calls soon turned to walks around the trailer park, Eddie listening intently as you strolled around the driveway, kicking up little clouds of dirt or catching the occasional rock with the toe of your sneaker. 

  He matched your steps, learning about your passions after graduation, how you favored sweets over salty treats, and the embarrassing truth of how after your friend Barb went missing, you didn’t have any friends at school. 

  “Well, now you have me,” he chirped earnestly, dark eyes squinting in the setting sun as he knocked his elbow with yours, a smirk on his lips, “I’ll take care of ya.” 

  It was as simple as that, and the easiness of it made your nose tingle with a burn as you fought back tears at his kindness. 

  Weeks of walking with you after school round and round Forest Hills— the scenery started to change. 

  The emerald grass faded into sharp tawny weeds. Foliage turned the color of autumn and the air began to crisp and chill.

  It was then, on a windy Tuesday afternoon, that Eddie invited you into his home, he made sure to kick dirty laundry under his bed, hide the Playboys in the closet behind an old pair of shoes and empty the heaping ashtrays the night beforehand. 

  A jewel in a shit shack— you equally looked out of place and fit in with the cluttered belongings of his uncles at the same time. 

  “My castle.” he announced, bending low and holding the door open like a gentleman. 

  He showed you around the small square footage, taking less than fifteen seconds to point everything out. 

  “And that?” 

  “That’s.. my room.” 

  It was silly then, how nervous he was to let you into his space, even though during your walks you acquired everything there was to know about him. 

—

  Snow was on the ground when your after school routine of going to Eddie’s was as second nature to you as breathing. 

  You were sitting on his unmade bed atop the rumpled comforter and soft sheets, socked toes dangling from the side of the mattress. A textbook balanced in your lap, pencil between your teeth. Your eyebrows pinched in a studied strain as you tried to solve a calculus formula. 

  His voice had startled you, not sure when he had gotten up or how long he was standing at his desk, looking almost sick. 

  “Got something.. for you.. something dumb that I saw.” 

  He tried his damndest to be cavalier. But Eddie was everything but. 

  Ten dollars in quarters, more hours than he had spent in a pizza joint ever, and a hoard of tiny plastic containers from a machine holding costume jewelry, he had finally gotten what caught his eye. 

  A silver ring adorning a bat with an indigo colored stone in the center. It didn’t come close to the actual beauty you possessed but the blue stone reminded him of the way you moved through the crowd that day, like a rare gem. 

  Tired eyes focused on him, a nervous little twitch in his body didn’t go unnoticed as he fumbled with something behind his back, a wanton smile smirked on his lips. 

  You smile, adjusting the book from your lap and rubbing the pressure from your eyes, “a gift? Ed, you didn’t have to do that.” 

  “Didn’t have too,” he charmed, moving closer into your space, his jeans tickling the tips of your toes, “but… I wanted to.” 

  “Should I close my eyes?” 

  He chuckled, “sure sweetheart, hold out your hand,” 

  Your eyes shut tight, eyelashes squishing against your cheeks as you giggled, “why am I nervous?” 

  He stared at the rubber eraser shavings that clung to your bottom lip. The graphite on your fingers, a small hole in your jeans atop your knee, showing a smooth expanse of skin that he itched to touch. You had captivated him since the day you crossed his lazy stare in the lunchroom, and he thought of very little else. 

  He could still hear your squeals when you opened your eyes and saw the delicate ring in your palm. Still feel the way his heart raced when you jumped up and hugged his middle, squeezing him tight against you, the smell of your hair filling his nose with notes of strawberry, or was it peach? 

  He didn't realize he had the ring fisted in a vice grip until he felt blood in his palm, salty tears collecting in the thickness of his mustache, his lip quivering.

  They’re wiped away in haste at the sound of a police cruiser. The familiar scent of thick gasoline exhaust and a camel cigarette follow with the squeak of his driver's door and release of weight on the suspension. 

  A towering frame crowds the sun from Eddie’s brow. A thick mustache sits square on an egg shaped skull, sunken cheeks replace a once plump face. But the drawl and cigarette smoke are welcoming just the same. 

  “Hey kid.” 

  —

  Eddie was nervous. 

  The time you two had been spending together was making him feel giddy. You hadn’t kissed or so much as held hands yet but the air between you both had become filled with dense clouds of lust induced tension— it was hard for him to see straight. 

  He didn’t know if you felt the same, or if you only saw him as a friend, but tonight was the night the boundaries would cross, and he stood armed like a Paladin, ready to conquer his toughest quest yet, you.

  Ice had built up on the broken concrete steps to Eddie’s trailer and your slick bottomed converse hit the glassy surface just right for you to slip backwards, falling into strong leather coated arms. 

  “We gotta stop falling into each other princess,” he chuckled, holding you tight with hands wrapped around your waist, “gettin’ too old for this nonsense.”

  His scent invades you, encompassing you with hints of camels, a stick of big red gum, and starch powdered deodorant. 

  Your laugh bubbles out of your throat like a giggly champagne, “damn, you got me, totally do this on purpose, insurance claims. All the rage nowadays.” 

  He buffers for a bit as you tip forward on your feet and spin to face him, one step higher than he stands. “Only kidding,” you tease, grabbing his chin with icy fingers. 

  His doe eyes stare into yours, lost in the way you made his heart skip and his bones feel like jello, blood ablaze. He’s searching, searching your face for a giveaway— a sign. 

  And it happens like clockwork.

  Your hands rest on either of his cheeks, thumb sweeping softly over the creamy silk of his skin, an audible sigh slides from his throat, followed by a giggle slipping from yours before your voice narrows to a whisper, “lighten up Munson.”

  The salmon tone of his lips have gone more cherry colored in the cold, a little chapped from the frigid temps. Not the usually pinkish orangey hue they drew in warm light when he flustered over History notes and Chemistry study cards.

  The apples of his cheeks were rosy like a cherub on a Valentine’s Day card, glittered with fancy text swirling of “Be Mine?” 

  Coal eyes shone with the bright overhead light from the trailer park. A deer caught in headlights. 

  Eddie was handsome in a way nobody in Hawkins was. A mane of curled brown locks, eyes to match. He was affectionate, easygoing, and you loved him the minute he crashed into you a few months ago. 

  Hands still on your waist he pulled you towards him, “Can’t,” he breathes, almost silently, a huff of air between you now, “not when I’m around you, never around you.” 

  Your fingers tangle together around his shoulders, braided in the hair at the nape of his neck, he shudders at the temperature change on his skin. 

  A quirk in your brow you tilt your head and wet your lips, “why’s that?” 

  He joins you on the crowded step, taller than you, peering into your face, heavy hands still on the waist, “for months, haven’t been able to think straight when you’re here,” his hands rub on your lower back making lazy circles under your coat with his blunt nails. 

  “Hmm..” you tease, twirling a curled lock of of the hair framing his face between your fingers, sultry eyes looking up at him in thick eyelashed innocence, “wonder why that is?” 

  The opening he was looking for, boundary lines down in overgrown grass as if he rolled a crit hit to whatever creature stood in his path was laid out for him. 

  His forehead comes to rest on yours, surprisingly warm in the cold, his nose like frost as it slid beside your own, bumping and sharing one breath. 

  “ ‘cause I’m crazy ‘bout you,” he finally admits, heart loosening, unrestricting, “and I can’t stop thinking what your lips would feel like with mine.”  

  He feels your smile on his mouth, the bated breath you’re holding teasing his tongue, “find out,” is all you can get mutter before his lips press gently to yours. 

  —

  Hawkins was a few hours drive, longer yet after stopping at the nearest diner for a burger and fries. After staring at a menu for more than Hopper’s liking he ordered for himself and Eddie. 

  The coffee came in white ceramic mugs, the waitress setting them down in the designated spots that were already stained with rings of taupe, years of wear. 

  “Wayne’s all set up in a new trailer, living high off the hog or whatever he said during our weekly check-ins.”

  Eddie ate in silence, chewing slowly, eating but not really tasting. What was freedom if you weren’t a part of it? 

  He’d be the first to admit that he talked to you when he was stressed. When he thought he couldn’t shut his eyes without seeing the horrific beings that crawled upside down from our world, he turned to your voice, feeling you wrap around him gave him a sense of hope. 

  “It’s not in Forest Hills, somewhere a little more private, government owned land.” 

  Eddie sipped at the bitter coffee, taking the burn in a big swig, letting it hurt. Nodding along as he watched his reflection in the dark cup. 

  —

  Kissing you was like being able to breathe underwater, like the 1986 New Year’s fireworks over Lover’s Lake. 

  He kissed you at your door before school when he showed up every morning to drive you. He stole more kisses in his van, cursing the 8:15 bell, his hands on your waist pulling you further into him.

  Standing by your locker, he kissed your cheeks as you dug for textbooks. He pressed his lips to your ear in the lunch line, making you squirm. 

  He kissed your shoulder when he sat behind you teaching you to play his guitar. Pressing the delicate pads of your fingers into the strings to play each chord with ease. 

  He’d groan into your neck, while pressing you into the couch, nipping your skin until his lips were raw. 

  “Where have you been my whole life?” 

  Your fingers are entwined in his hair, pulling his weight  further into you, your legs wrap around his waist, “led astray, lost, so lost.” 

  He leans up, dark curtains of hair dangling into your face from your position on the saggy couch in the Munson living room.  

  He smiles a toothy grin, dimples breaching, “good thing I found you then, baby,” he sweeps a rogue eyelash from your cheek, “can’t escape me now.” 

  “wouldn’t want to even if I were dead.”

  —

  “Nope, hasn’t said a word, how do you know he can even talk?” 

  Owen’s sighs on the other end of the receiver, “he’s tough, but he’s been through a lot,  needs time to recover, find out who he is again.” 

  Hopper takes a long drag of a cigarette, “yeah, don’t know about that one doc, he’s mute.” 

  Short trimmed nails scratch at a tuft of curly white hair, stationed somewhere in Nevada, “Alright, just get him home, I’ll call the uncle and let him know.” 

  — 

  Hugs lingered. Kisses deepened. Bodies pressed to one another in a staticky velcro of magnets, unable to peel apart. 

  Things were hot and heavy between you and Eddie. Smoky, tingly, a fog that had your blood pulsing places you didn’t know was even possible. You didn’t want to be apart, aching to explore every inch of him. 

  And he felt the same. 

  Together you set the plans into place. 

  He purchased the condoms, made sure his favorite mix of the slowest metal music he could find was ready to go. He washed his bed sheets and lit a dust covered candle. 

  You had done your own routine, showering and thoroughly scrubbing every surface of your skin, lathering a thick lotion on your body, and planting perfume in the direct places Cosmo described as, ‘irresistible’. 

  It wasn’t his first time. But it was yours. 

  Running his fingers through his bangs once more he took a last meticulous look around his room, crossing the trailer to answer the front door, where you had knocked quietly. 

  You were gorgeous, standing in a pair of light wash jeans and a buttoned red sherpa coat. A bag over your shoulder. 

  “There’s my girl,” he cooed, holding his arms wide and embracing you in his signature bone crushing hug. His lips found yours in a fevered second and he walked you backwards inside, flipping the deadbolt as he kicked the door behind him. 

  The duffle bag travels from your shoulder to his arm and he breaks away from your tempting lips. Holding your shoulder he pulls you into him, looking at you as he leads you to his room. 

  “Got everything you need? Toothbrush?” 

  You smile a little nervously, “check.”

  “Okay, pajamas?” he inquires, “could wear mine if you wanted, you’d look pretty damn cute in my Garfield pants.” 

  “Packed and folded last night,” you say, tickling

 his sides, “you were on the phone with me when I did it.” 

  He stops before crossing the threshold to his room, hands gently pressed to your cheeks, looking into your eyes in a serious manner.

  “Are you sure? Like really sure?” his brows knit into concern, “I want you to be comfortable with this.. with me.” 

  You tug his shirt with a pinched grip, at his waist, staring back into his eyes, the truth on your tongue. 

  “I want you.” 

  —

  Gravel spits up from the rubber tires as Hopper’s cruiser pulls off onto the secluded road. Eddie’s head hits the window hard with a thud, waking him from a dream. 

  “Home sweet home, kid.” Hop grunts, cranking the vehicle to a stop after traveling down a long twisting driveway thick with bordering trees and miles of woods on either side. A safe haven for a man deemed dead. 

  He could make out the taillights of his van, nestled in the tall grass beneath a willow tree, obscured from view. Wayne’s trusty Ford under the carport. 

  The overcast sky splayed a gray color against the new Munson home, and sitting on steps that weren’t broken, was Wayne. 

  The passenger door releases with a groan, and he inhales the fresh scent of dirt and summer grass. Finally, he feels like he can breathe. 

  Wayne’s familiar thin lipped grin is spread wide on his face, smoke lingering from a cigarette in an ashtray. His wet eyes gleam at the boy he once thought was dead, as he stands to greet his nephew.

  “Hardly recognized ya with that short hair, Ed, and that beard?” he says rubbing a weathered hand through his own scruff, “givin’ me a run for my money son.” 

  He hadn’t seen his uncle since that friday morning in March. Unbeknownst to them both, in 15 short hours a cheerleader would die gruesomely in their living room, sprouting a world of chaos and demons, destruction, uncertainty and more carnage. 

  Hop had explained to Eddie that Wayne was compensated generously for his grief by the United States Government. He was told the ins and outs of what had happened and where Eddie was, and perched on land in a new house, he was told to wait. 

  —

  Spring had sprung, the hard winter that seemed like it would never end was finally seeing its demise. March brought promises of new growth in the soil, and warmer days ahead. 

  It was a typical Friday, besides a morning pep rally for the laundry basket team after winning an important game the night before. 

  A pep rally you never attended.

  Your back was pressed against the bathroom stall, skirt rucked up with the help of Eddie’s hand. 

  “We’re… gonna… get caught.” You rasped out between kisses.

  His other hand was interlaced with yours high above your head, “probably,” he teased, tongue licking into your mouth, “it’s worth it though? Yeah?” 

  His hand travels further to the cotton waist of your panties, dragging them further and further down your thigh, his lips assaulting your neck, vibrating with your delicate moans. 

  “For you?” you question, hooking an arm around his shoulder, as your panties hit the ground, “always.” 

  He smiles into your lips as he pushes into your warm center, taking the breath from your lungs as you adjust to him, ass cheeks cold on the metal siding of the stall. 

  Your legs are wrapped into the crease where his elbow meets, his cock dragging in and out languidly, mouths hung open and tasting each other's ecstasy as your eyes drink one another up. 

  “Swear I’ve never, ever had someone like you, baby,” he gasped, bangs frizzing from being wet from a morning shower then covered in sweat. 

  Hips pistoning into you, he can feel your walls clench and tighten, your breath choked before you release, saying his name as if it’s the only word you can make out. 

  He cums hard. biting his lip and burying his face into your neck, “I love you, fuck I love you.”

  It was the first time he had said it. He had known it for months, but today in the girls bathroom skipping a pep rally he could give a shit about, he figured it was the perfect place to say how he felt. 

  He’s still inside you when you say it back, spend leaking from you and onto the tiled floor. Your own eyes wet with the happiest of tears because no one has ever said that to you, not like this. 

  But this gorgeous man, in all his reputational flaws that didn’t mean shit, loved you. And you had never felt more emotion flooding through you all at once. 

  “I love you too, Eddie.” 

  —

  Hopper didn’t stay for supper, patting his barely there belly and saying the missus was expecting him home tonight. He tipped a felt hat goodbye to Wayne and to Eddie, telling them to call if they needed anything.

  He still hadn’t spoken, only nodded and waved curtly as the red tail lights danced down the tangled web of a driveway. 

  “Gonna make pork chops if you’re interested,” Wayne chirped, holding the door open for him as they climbed the same number of steps, “learned how to cook, can y’ believe that?” 

  He smiled softly, carrying his envelope of release papers and setting them on the table. 

  Everything from the old trailer was ruined. His guitar, all the band equipment he had stored in his room, the mattress that held more memories with you in them that he’d never get back— all gone, burned to a rancid fiery crisp when the fourth chime rang and Hawkins spread open like a festering wound. 

  The only thing he had of yours was the small bat ring with a sapphire stone. 

  Ten dollars in quarters at a shitty pizza place. He should have given you something real.

  —

  “.. yeah yeah and I was full of shit then,” Eddie grinned as Jeff and Gareth teased him about his graduation timeline. “This is my year, I can feel it.. ‘86 baby!”

  He was always a flare for dramatics, dungeon master or not he amped it up for the freshman, acting like DnD was life or death, as if the cult of Vecna couldn’t be missed. 

  To be fair, he spent months on this campaign, late nights plotting and scrawling into a binder as you sat behind him, playing with his hair. 

  French braids then pippy styled pigtails, a cute bun on the top of his head with little hairs sweeping against his forehead and at the nape of his neck, perfect curls. 

  “Ten bucks says Wheeler cries when Vecna makes his return.”

  “You think?” 

  “Definitely.”

  Shoving Dustin and Mike with specific instructions to find a replacement player for Lucas, he sits down to his measly little lunch, leaning over to your space and whispering so only you can hear. 

  “After Hellfire tonight you wanna come over? Wayne bought a frozen pizza and I heard that Family Video finally got some good horror flicks in.” 

  Stealing a pretzel from his fingers you nod your head yes, “ I’ll get the movie, meet you at the trailer?” 

  The rest of the day dragged on. One boring class after another, students excited for the upcoming game, teachers unable to keep the roar of amped up Jocks under control, but alas the last bell finally rang. Releasing Hawkins High for Spring Break of ‘86. 

  Some kids went on vacation, others hunkered down with their friends. And some never made it back to school when classes resumed. 

  Walking down to his designated selling spot at the forgotten picnic table in the woods, he could have never imagined the trouble he’d be in just seven hours later. 

  —

  Pork Chops seared in a pan with some butter and a chopped onion, Wayne had the news playing on the small tv in the kitchen, listening for the weather report. 

  The trailer was identical to the one lost to the rotting flesh of the Upside Down. Newer, and a damn sight cleaner, but the layout was exactly the same, except for an added bedroom with an attached bath on the opposite wall of the living room.

  The filthy hat collection was replaced by odd cowboy decor and small wolf figurines. Eddie paced around the living room, touching the knick knacks that someone else had picked out not even questioning whether or not Wayne enjoyed this kind of stuff. 

  He had shown Eddie to his room, a navy blue carpet stretched across the floor, a queen sized bed against the back wall. New new new. Everything was foreign to him. 

  He would miss the heavy creak of a dresser drawer that didn’t shut properly, his closet door that fell off its track years before. Hell, he’d even miss the itch of the green wool blanket he kept on his bed in the winter months. 

  “Got your own bathroom too,” Wayne said cheerfully hovering in the doorway, hand rubbing the knob as he stared at the floor, “figured you’d wanna shower ‘fore supper, so I laid a towel out.” 

  Eddie turned his head nodding while he poked at the too soft blanket folded on his bed.

  “It’s good to have you home, Eddie.” Wayne said, finally looking into his nephew’s eyes, “didn’t feel the same without you.” 

  Wayne wasn’t a coddler, he didn’t want Eddie to feel like he couldn’t be trusted, so he turned to leave, “shower’s got real good water pressure.” He takes  a glance back at Eddie, and looks around the room before pulling the door shut behind him.

  “Thanks,” Eddie mumbles, turning away at the last second, avoiding the piercing color of Wayne’s eyes before they could break him down. 

  —

  Ten o’ clock on the dot your car crunched onto the dusty driveway of Forest Hills. Eddie’s van wasn’t parked out front yet, but thankfully the Munson trailer was never kept locked. 

  The trailer smelled of old smoke and musk from two hard working men. Even if the laundry was never caught up, and greasy wrappers from a quick bite of a burger littered the counter— Eddie’s home was comforting to you. 

  You didn’t have to fumble around for the light switches anymore, walking in the dark you knew where the table could connect with your hip if you weren’t careful. 

  Ten steps from the kitchen, down the hall was his bedroom door, five steps back led to the bathroom. He had cleared a drawer for you to keep your clothes in, socks, extra pajamas, some of his favorite pairs of your underwear lived in the top drawer on the right. 

  The mirror on his dresser held a collection of pictures of the two of you from the photo booth at Starcourt Mall, movie ticket stubs, and the mint condition guitar he kept sacred. 

  A yawn escapes your tired mouth the warmth of a shower calls to you.  

  Grabbing a towel from the cabinet, the water sputters under the shower head as it always did, and familiar music floods your ears from the thin walls outside. 

—

  His reflection is gaunt, different than the last time he looked at himself, the night he struck the mirror in disgust. 

  He’s too happy to rid himself of the swamp smelling clothes that itched and scraped his skin. The lick of a flame would do them justice, good riddance to the worst time of his life.

  The shower is bigger, the head double the size of the one he grew used to. The spray of scalding water hits his head like magma. Burning his flesh, washing away months of isolation, stale air, and stiff clothing. 

  The water released muscles in his back that had grown crimped from the thin cot he curled himself on. His fingers ran through the shorter length of hair on his head, just above his eyebrows realizing it now was long enough to drip water into his eyes. 

  He didn’t check the labels before rubbing whatever soap or shampoo it was into his skin, but the slide of it onto his pale and gummy mauled scars felt like butter on toast. 

  Registering the faint scent of a stixky sweet fruit he couldn’t determine if it was strawberry or peach, but the concoction had him clutching his chest, unable to breathe. 

  It smelled like you.

  You. His best friend.

You. His first girlfriend.

You. The only person he has ever loved— so intensely, it killed him. 

  You you you. 

  His gem. All sapphire blues with depths beyond comparison to anyone else who simply peaked on the surface. 

  Gone.

  “Ready whenever you are!” Wayne knocked on the door, “pork chop ain’t no good cold.”

  He wipes the tears from his eyes. Regulates his breathing with labored intakes. And finally admits the thing he couldn’t for the past six months. 

  “She’s gone.” 

  —

  “Sorry for the mess, maid took the week off.” 

  “You live here alone?”

  Murmured voices are muffled under the rush of water from the shower, “Eddie?..that you?”

  Shuffled steps get closer and the bathroom door swings open, Eddie’s eyes are wide, wild with excitement as they roam over your form. 

  He licks his lips, stalking towards you in a lazy manner with dark hooded eyes, “prettiest girl in the whole world in my bathroom?” His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into him, a breathtaking move leaving you giggly as his hand caresses your cheek, “hope you’re naked under these clothes.” 

  He presses his lips to yours in a chaste kiss, dipping you low and swinging you back up, he tastes like Mountain Dew and lingering hints of nicotine, spread with a wicked grin. 

  “I missed you, handsome,” you say, pressing your lips to his again, “so how was it? Did Mike cry when Vecna came back?” 

  Eddie barks out a laugh, rubbing his hands together, “think I might’ve seen a single tear fall, but they defeated him— crit hit by Sinclair’s sister.”

  “Really? That’s.. impressive!” 

  “It was… shit, I’ve never been more proud of those little assholes.” His smile fades and you know he’ll miss being DM for them next year. 

  “Eddie?” A small voice asks from the living room.

  Your brow quirks in question and he looks at you voice whispering low, “Chrissy Cunningham wants to buy ketamine.”

  “What?!” you whisper back face struck in shock, “seriously?!” 

  Eddie nods, eyes wide in almost disbelief himself, “wanted a half ounce at first, but then said she needed something stronger.” 

  Your face pulls concern, honestly astonished that someone who seemed so prim and proper would want something like that. Eddie didn’t sell k normally you’ve been with him on multiple occasions and the only thing that was consistent with your peers of Hawkins High was weed. 

  “Do you even have it?” 

  “Dunno” he shrugs, lips in a frown, “told her I did because it’s an easy thirty bucks, but I could just crush up some tic-tacs… she wouldn’t know the difference.” 

  “Eddie? Did you find it?” Chrissy calls out in a nervous pitch. 

  “I can talk to her while you find something?” 

  “That’d be great,” he kissed you once more, lips buzzing, “two minutes!” He practically skips to his bedroom and shoots you a wink. Leaving you in a flight of butterflies lining your stomach. Helplessly in love. 

  —

  Inhaling the hot cooked meal that didn’t taste like warmed up roadkill, Eddie sat in silence in a clean pair of clothes that weren’t his, listening to Wayne talk about what he’d been up to since they had last seen each other. 

  He burned with questions, needing, wanting, aching to know but the only thing he could blurt out came choked and almost suffocating on the use of his vocal cords. 

  “I need to see her.”

  Wayne simply slurped his iced tea, setting the glass down heavy on the oak table, ice shifting. “Figured you would… want me to drive ya?” 

  Eddie swallows hard and shakes his head, “I need to go alone.” 

  With instructions from Wayne on the less traveled roads back to town, Eddie’s van sputtered to life in a cloud of backfiring smoke. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the passenger seat, he knew what would be there, and what wouldn’t. 

  Nothing was the same. Not anymore. 

  —

  The boat floor was cramped, quite literally packed like sardines in a can, you were somehow lulled to sleep by the sway of Lover’s Lake waters and the even breathing of Eddie’s chest. 

  Your head tucked beneath his chin, he wrapped his arms around you as tight as he could without crushing your bones. 

  Rick’s offered little comfort for an empty stomach outside of a moldy fruit bowl, an expired beer and a singular can of spaghetti o’s. But you were both safe for now. And that’s what mattered. 

  The kids, Steve Harrington— of all people— and Robin promised food and any information they could find without seeming suspicious. He was gracious for their companionship, needing something to keep him busy while trying to hide his own slip to insanity from you. 

  Your tears were endless, soft and steady one minute and the next you were wrecked, in a choked fit clinging to him for dear life. 

  Eddie’s mind played on replay of your trembling screams when Chrissy’s bones snapped like twigs and her eyes vacuumed out of her skull. Vecna, a made up character that he had been obsessing over for the past couple months for DnD was real. 

  Killing teenagers for what? World domination? Eddie and yourself were the ones on the run, knowing all too well how a dead cheerleader in his trailer would look to any cop with half a brain. 

  He’d run forever if it meant not losing you and killing Vecna for good. Everything he had ever known, books of fantasy and creatures that he drew for campaigns, it was all real, and these kids have been fighting it for years now. 

  The sound of tires crunching on the driveway had his ears perked like a guard dog, followed by three slamming doors. Instructions were given, and he could only imagine that whoever it was was in Rick’s house and it was only a matter of time before they noticed the boat house just like Mayfield had. 

  The walkie talkie Dustin left was clutched in his hand, you were both fucked, and needed help— now.

—

  The Roane Hill Cemetery was eerily foggy, dew coated the hot blades of grass from the sweltered heat. Wayne drew a map on what section you were in. Apparently the number of people lost in the “earthquake” were in the upper digits now, and they were running out of land to bury the deceased.

  Those not recovered were given markers slotted into the ground with accompanied by silk ribbons to symbolize hope. They were nestled up under a thick tree line, complete with a wrought iron fence. 

  He bubbled out a laugh when he crossed by his own empty grave. The headstone was covered in graffiti of wishes to burn in hell. Typical. His death date marked as  ‘March 27 1986’. But that wasn’t true. 

  Lots of people passed that day when hell itself opened a crimson quaking flood. but not him. Although he wished he had. 

  Pushing forward, he knew had to be close now. The air was thick in the foggy whiteness— blinding him. A high pitched croak screeched from the sky, and he stumbled backward, landing on his ass with a wet thud, a spattering of grass grown wild in tender dirt. 

  His chest cavity sunk in, gasping for breath but coming up empty. Each threatened choke chipped away at him as his fists tore at the soft ground. 

  His girl. His gem. Laid to rest.

  —

  The Winnebago rocked on uneven suspension as Steve winded down the Indiana highway back to Hawkins. It was eerily quiet. Even Robin was silent, planning her mission in her head? You couldn’t be sure. 

  Tightening the bandana around Eddie’s curls you ask him if it feels okay. 

  “Yeah, course.” 

  Days of running. Hours of growling stomachs, unable to keep down food— you prayed this plan of Nancy’s would work, that Max would be able to lure Vecna with her vulnerable mind, that Eddie could distract the bats long enough to have the others attack his paralysis ridden body—it had to work— right? 

  Eddie sits and pulls you onto his lap, adjusting the spear made by the same eleven year old girl who defeated his campaign a few nights before. Erica, you learned, was a warrior. 

  “Nervous?” you asked throwing an arm around his neck and whispering into his ear. 

  He shrugged nonchalantly, “little worried.” 

  You believed in the plan, in the younger kids, in Steve Nancy and Robin who had been fighting stuff like this from a different dimension for years. They were trustworthy and intelligent. 

  “It’s gonna work babe,” you encouraged, stroking his cheek, “we’ll clear your name, graduate, and then leave this hell hole, together.” 

  He looks at you with strained eyes, wetter than usual, “you and me?” 

  Staring back at him you press your lips to his in a gentle kiss, “forever.” 

  —

  He laid there until the sky turned to ink. Speaking to you in his head, knowing in his deepest of hearts that you could hear him. Telling you how he had missed you, how your beautiful smile played like a film in his brain. How he loved you. and hours have told you sooner, more, every day.

  He told you how he wished he was gone too. Would you like that? It could be so easy to do.

  Tracing his fingers over the formal font of your engraved name. He smirked at the silly spelling of your middle name. 

  It was comforting. 

  Eddie hadn’t felt this sense of calm since the day you hadn’t come back to him in the mirror, and he thought whatever magic spell was broken until you reached for him one last time, promising to never leave. 

  But you did, and he was alone. 

  Standing upright, he let out a sleepy yawn, “can I come by tomorrow?” he asked, “would you be okay with that?” He smiled, and bent at the knee to press his lips into the stone above your name. 

  “Oh,” he remembered, fishing your ring from the breast pocket of his borrowed flannel shirt, “look what I found.”

  He held it to your stone, “this belongs to you, baby, I want you to have it.” 

  Placing the small ring on the smooth base of your tombstone, he gets back up, knees clicking like he’s years older than he actually was. 

  “See you tomorrow, my sweet gem.” 

  —

  The night air shifted on his drive home, blowing a chilling breeze from the north that whipped his hair around his ears. The van struggled on the drive home with each gust that blew against the metal frame. 

  “Think we’re in for a storm tonight.” Wayne said when Eddie breached the front steps, straightening his arm, “ol elbow’s actin’ up.” 

  “Kinda cold for September, right?” 

  “All of a sudden it dropped about thirty degrees, somethin’s a brewin’.” 

  Wayne had his truck keys wrapped around a finger, “I gotta go check on Miss Pam, her husband died in the uhh.. anyway, she’s not doing well and you remember how those damn lights always went out? I’ll be back after while.”

  Eddie grew a smile, “should I wait up?” 

  Wayne stopped in his tracks, talking around a smirk hiding a laugh, “don’t get smart with me.” 

  They both share a glance and laugh softly, and Eddie still has a smile even after the rumble of Wayne’s pickup gets carried away in the wind. 

  He locked up, pulling the vinyl shades and unhooking the curtains, pitching the trailer into darkness right as the rain pelted the window panes. 

  Wayne must have made his bed when he was in the cemetery. A small radio was perched on a nightstand and after slipping into starched pajama pants, from the fancy dresser, Eddie fiddled with the knob until the faint guitar sounds filled the room. 

  Thunder grumbled in the distance, but what he heard next was repetitive, growing louder. Shit, maybe Wayne didn’t have a house key. 

  “Ya know,” he says, walking to through the kitchen to the front door, “you tel me not to wait up but then you bang on the door because you don’t have keys? C’mon!” 

  The door swings open with a final gust of wind. Mud sloshed on his feet, Rain splattered his face. But that was not a concern. 

  A beautiful face, covered in Earth. Eyes he hadn’t seen outside of a mirror in months. You wore the same thing he last saw you in, same tattered wear that his Hellfire shirt had, but it somehow looked soft. 

  “I promised you forever.” 

[alyrasturnz]

matt is so guilty as sin coded... so can u make a guilty as sin smut fic

 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎GUILTY AS SIN

❐ summary » when your best friend elucidates that the weight of guilt for the licentious musings you've harbored about him is an unnecessary burden, his compassionate understanding and acceptance illuminating the dark recesses of your conscience and freeing you from the shackles of self-reproach.

❐ pairings » bsf!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » creampie, no protection (wrap it up), you will get second hand embarrassment cause he catches her masturbating to him, masturbation, p in v, oral (fem receiving)

❐ a/n && w/c » cause why was i thinking of the girl i like while writing this •

your eyes wandered over the expanse of your bare thigh, your thumb tracing intricate, delicate patterns across the skin.

as you continued this gentle exploration, your mind, a fervent artist, began to conjure vivid, almost tangible images of hickeys and love bites, each one a testament to unspoken desires and intimate moments yet to be unveiled.

these imagined marks seemed to dance across your skin, telling stories of passion and connection, of whispered secrets and shared breaths.

the more you traced, the more detailed these fantasies became, painting a tapestry of longing and affection that lingered in the quiet spaces of your thoughts, awaiting the moment they might become reality.

you bit your lip, your top teeth sinking into your bottom lip as the vivid image of matt pinning you against the wall with a series of fervent, messy top lip kisses played out in your mind.

you longed for his touch, yearning not only for the tender, romantic gestures that spoke of love and affection but also for the intimate caresses that ignited a deeper, more primal connection between you.

the mere thought of his fingers tracing the contours of your skin sent shivers down your spine, awakening a desire that transcended mere physicality and delved into the very essence of your being.

each imagined touch was a promise of unspoken words, a silent symphony of passion and connection that you craved with every fiber of your existence.

he remains oblivious to the manner in which he has haunted your thoughts so stunningly and slowly, like a ghost that lingers in the shadows of your mind.

his presence, though unseen, weaves through the fabric of your consciousness, leaving an indelible mark that time cannot erase.

each memory of him is a haunting melody that plays incessantly, a slow and mesmerizing tune that captivates your soul and refuses to fade into the background.

you felt the heat in your core intensify, a smoldering ember that grew with every breath, as you let out a soft, languid sigh.

rising from your chair, you moved with a deliberate grace, each step resonating with the silent anticipation that filled the room.

as you approached your bed, the air seemed to thicken, charged with the electricity of your unspoken desires, each movement a testament to the inner fire that burned within you.

your mind conjured vivid and surreal tableaux of you and matt, engaged in the most fantastical and absurd escapades upon the canvas of your bed.

these mental images, rich in detail and brimming with whimsy, transformed the ordinary into a realm of boundless imagination, where reality blurred and the extraordinary became your playground.

each scenario, more outlandish than the last, wove a tapestry of shared adventures that defied the mundane constraints of everyday life.

you shook your head, a twinge of guilt gnawing at the edges of your conscience for harboring such feelings about your best friend.

the internal conflict was palpable, a tempest of emotions swirling within you, as you grappled with the delicate balance between affection and loyalty.

each thought was a whisper of forbidden desire, a silent battle between the heart and the mind, leaving you ensnared in a web of introspection and remorse.

you’re conjuring visions, intricate and vivid, within the labyrinth of your mind. these creations, born of your innermost thoughts, dance before your inner eye, leaving you to ponder whether you are mad, bad, or wise.

the line between reality and imagination blurs, and you find yourself questioning the nature of your own consciousness, a philosopher lost in the depths of introspective wonder.

you crawled onto your bed, the soft fabric yielding beneath you as you nestled your back against the headboard. with deliberate, languid movements, you slowly slid your shorts down, the sensation of the cool air against your skin sending shivers up your spine.

your hands roamed over your bare legs, each touch a tender caress, as your mind painted a vivid picture of matt’s touch, his presence almost palpable in the charged atmosphere of your room.

your mind conjured vivid and uncharted scenes, obscenely tantalizing and foreign to your own experiences.

these mental visions, akin to clandestine trysts, featured chaotic, fervent kisses that left your lips tingling, his hands exploring every inch of your being with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

you bit your lip, the sensation sharp and electric, as you slowly slid a finger along the delicate expanse of your skin.

a gasp escaped your lips, a whisper of breath that seemed to reverberate through the stillness, each movement heightening the anticipation and intensity of the moment.

someone once told you that there are no such things as bad thoughts, that it is only through actions that one's true intentions are revealed. yet, as the tendrils of your mind wove intricate tapestries of imagined encounters, you couldn't help but wonder if it truly mattered.

your thoughts had become so vivid, so consuming, that they blurred the line between reality and fantasy, convincing you that the two of you had already crossed that forbidden threshold.

your breaths grew ragged and uneven, each exhalation a testament to the mounting intensity, as you thrust multiple fingers into the searing warmth of your core. the sensation was overwhelming, a conflagration of desire that left you gasping and trembling, each movement igniting a cascade of shivers through your entire being.

the waves of sensation within your abdomen surged and swelled, building to a crescendo that left you breathless.

tears brimmed in your eyes, a testament to the overwhelming intensity of the moment, each droplet shimmering with the raw emotion coursing through you.

"matt!" you cried out, your voice a mingling of desperation and ecstasy, as you felt yourself inexorably approaching the pinnacle of sensation.

"just like that," you cooed, your voice a soft whisper laced with urgency. "please, matt," you pleaded desperately, each word dripping with raw need, as you pumped with an almost frantic fervor, your motions a testament to the overwhelming desire that consumed you.

the rhythm quickened, your movements driven by a fervent desperation, every fiber of your being focused on the singular goal of reaching the pinnacle of pleasure, the intensity of the moment enveloping you both in a whirlwind of fervent passion.

each breath was a struggle, each heartbeat a drumbeat heralding your imminent release, your body trembling with the intensity of the moment.

"mh- i'm close, matt," you cried out, your voice trembling with anticipation and urgency. each syllable was a raw, unfiltered expression of the approaching climax, the intensity of your emotions palpable in the air.

your body tensed, every muscle coiling in preparation for the imminent release, the words a desperate declaration of the ecstasy that was about to overtake you.

but your voice was abruptly silenced by the sudden, jarring sound of the door swinging open, its movement slicing through the air with a sense of urgency and intrusion.

“y/n?” matt asked, his eyes widened with surprise, yet his orbs were still tracing every bare curve on your body

the knot in your stomach unraveled instantaneously, yet the release eluded you as you withdrew, the waves of pleasure dissipating into the ether.

"oh- oh my god, matt!" you exclaimed, your voice a mixture of mortification and surprise, as you hastily pulled the sheets over yourself, the fabric a flimsy barrier against the overwhelming tide of emotions.

"oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," you repeated, each utterance a crescendo of embarrassment, your face buried in your palms, trying to shield yourself from the reality of the situation.

your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a reminder of the vulnerability laid bare, the intimacy shared now overshadowed by the stark light of self-consciousness.

"y/n, were you-," matt asked softly, his voice a gentle murmur as he closed the door behind him with a quiet click. you nodded, still unable to meet his gaze, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily in the air between you.

his question lingered, the unvoiced emotions and shared history adding layers of complexity to the moment, your silent acknowledgment speaking volumes as you remained fixated on the floor, the tension palpable in the space you both occupied.

"hey, it's okay," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm against the tension that filled the room. he reached out gently, his touch light and reassuring, as you slowly pulled your hands away from your face.

the atmosphere, thick with unspoken emotions, began to ease slightly, his words weaving a delicate tapestry of comfort and understanding, attempting to bridge the gap that had formed between you.

matt's eyes drifted down to your lap, where the blanket lay in disarray, before slowly rising to meet your gaze once more. "want me to help?" he asked, his voice a tender murmur, the question hanging in the air like a fragile promise.

the sincerity in his eyes conveyed a depth of understanding, as if he sought to bridge the chasm of vulnerability that separated you, offering solace in the midst of your shared uncertainty.

you furrowed your eyebrows, the silence in the room growing thick and heavy.

"what?-" you began to ask, your voice tinged with confusion, but your words were abruptly silenced as matt's lips captured yours in a sudden, unexpected kiss.

the world seemed to tilt, the room's stillness shattered by the intensity of the moment, his actions speaking volumes where words had failed.

you melted into his touch, your body instinctively moving further back against the headboard, creating a space that silently invited matt onto your bed.

he climbed onto it with a fluid grace, his lips never breaking contact with yours, the kiss deepening as the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you entwined in a moment of shared intimacy and unspoken understanding.

he hastily undid his pants, the urgency in his movements palpable as he momentarily disconnected your lips from his. with swift, almost frantic motions, he discarded the garment, only to return with a fervor that was even more intense.

his lips crashed back against yours, the kiss now charged with a raw, unrestrained hunger that seemed to consume both of you, each touch igniting a deeper, more primal connection.

"please," you whispered against his lips, your breath mingling with his as the words left your mouth. you felt the subtle curve of his smirk against your own, a silent acknowledgment of your plea.

he pulled away, the brief separation heightening the anticipation that crackled between you. with deliberate, almost teasing slowness, he slid down his boxers, each movement a study in restrained desire.

his cock sprang free, glistening with a tantalizing sheen, the sight causing your throat to tighten. you swallowed hard, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, every second stretching into an eternity as the tension between you grew almost unbearable.

"are you sure you want this?" matt asked softly, his voice a gentle murmur that contrasted with the intensity in his eyes, which were filled with a potent mix of lust and understanding.

his gaze bore into yours, seeking confirmation, and you quickly nodded, your heart pounding in response.

the gravity of the moment settled over you both, a silent agreement passing between you as the world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you suspended in a shared desire.

matt leaned down, his every movement a testament to his practiced skill. as his mouth connected with your heat, a jolt of electricity seemed to pass between you, igniting a fire deep within.

his tongue embarked on a slow, tantalizing journey, tracing a path up your clit. each stroke was executed with precision, a masterful blend of pressure and rhythm that sent waves of pleasure cascading through your body. the world around you seemed to dissolve, leaving only the sensation of his touch and the rising tide of your arousal. every flick and swirl of his tongue heightened the intensity, drawing you deeper into the vortex of desire that he so expertly commanded.

"matt," you gasped, your hands gripping the sheets with a desperate intensity as he smirked against your heat. the sensation of his mouth connecting to your core was electrifying, a prelude to the overwhelming pleasure that followed.

as he thrust his tongue inside you, a surge of ecstasy coursed through your body, sending your eyes rolling to the back of your head. each movement was a symphony of sensation, orchestrated with a skill that left you breathless and yearning for more.

you let out breathy moans, the sound escaping your lips in rhythm with the rising tide of your pleasure. your hand found its way to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft, unruly locks.

each tug and twist of your fingers seemed to communicate a silent plea, urging him to continue, to delve deeper into the intoxicating dance of sensation and connection.

the world around you faded, leaving only the intensity of the moment and the unspoken bond forged in the heat of passion.

matt brought his mouth up to your clit with a deliberate slowness, each movement calculated to heighten your anticipation. as his lips enveloped the sensitive nub, his tongue retreated, only to be replaced by the deft movements of his fingers.

the transition was seamless, a masterful shift from one form of pleasure to another, leaving you breathless and teetering on the edge of ecstasy. his fingers moved with a practiced rhythm, each stroke and curl designed to draw you deeper into the whirlpool of sensation.

matt curled his fingers inside of you with an expert precision, his touch unerringly finding that elusive sweet spot. the moment his fingers made contact, a surge of intense pleasure shot through you, causing your screams to grow louder and more desperate.

your body jolted upwards, an involuntary response to the overwhelming sensation that rippled through every nerve.

each movement of his fingers seemed to amplify the ecstasy, drawing you further into a realm where time and space ceased to exist, leaving only the raw, unbridled pleasure that he so skillfully elicited.

"close," you whispered, your voice trembling as whimpers began to replace your earlier moans. the knot in your stomach tightened with an almost unbearable intensity, each passing second bringing you closer to the precipice of release.

your body quivered in response, every nerve ending alive with anticipation, as the crescendo of sensations built within you, threatening to spill over in a wave of overwhelming ecstasy.

as the tension within you reached its peak, your breath hitched, and your grip on reality seemed to slip. matt's relentless rhythm continued, each movement synchronized with the pulsating pleasure that consumed you.

your body arched involuntarily, a final desperate plea for release. then, with a sudden, breathtaking intensity, the knot unraveled, sending waves of ecstasy crashing through you, leaving you trembling and gasping in the aftermath.

matt eagerly savored every drop of your essence, his fervor akin to a man partaking in his final, most cherished feast. each slurp was deliberate and thorough, as if he sought to commit the very taste and texture to memory.

his actions were imbued with a sense of urgency and reverence, transforming the moment into an intimate ritual that left you both breathless and profoundly connected.

matt knelt up, his length engorged and flushed with a deep, fervent crimson. his hands, driven by an insatiable desire, found their way to your waist, each touch imbued with a sense of urgency and longing. he pulled you closer, the magnetic pull between your bodies undeniable, as if the very air around you crackled with the intensity of the moment.

"tell me you want this, baby," matt's voice rumbled, a low, gravelly whisper that sent shivers down your spine. his words, laden with anticipation and raw desire, hung in the air as he meticulously aligned his tip with your entrance, the tension between you palpable and electric.

"i- i want it more than anything," you whispered, your voice quivering with a blend of longing and anticipation. your hands, shaking with an almost desperate need, reached out as you pleaded, "please, matt. i want it inside of me." the vulnerability in your tone and the raw, unfiltered desire in your words painted a vivid picture of your yearning.

you didn't have to tell him twice. with a swift, powerful motion, he thrust his hips against yours, the force of his movement eliciting a deep, primal groan from his lips. simultaneously, a moan of unrestrained pleasure escaped your own, the sound a testament to the intense connection and overwhelming sensations coursing through both of you.

matt's eyes fluttered shut, savoring the moment as he remained still within you, a quiet intensity marking the brief pause. after a few heartbeats, he let out a low hiss, his eyes opening to meet yours with a smoldering gaze. "m'gonna start moving, baby," he murmured, his voice a husky promise of the sensations to come.

you nodded desperately, your entire body trembling with an insatiable need to feel more of him. the urgency in your gesture spoke volumes, a silent plea for the connection you craved.

matt, sensing your desperation, began to move his hips against yours with a deliberate, tantalizing slowness. each measured thrust sent waves of electrifying sensation through you, the slow pace intensifying the anticipation and drawing out every moment of your shared desire. the rhythm he set was unhurried yet powerful, a testament to the profound connection between you.

you let out a series of loud, unrestrained moans, each sound a testament to the intense sensations coursing through you.

the initial flickers of pain gradually dissolved, transforming into waves of pure, unadulterated pleasure that consumed your entire being. with each passing moment, the boundary between pain and pleasure blurred, leaving you lost in a whirlwind of ecstasy.

matt's thrusts grew increasingly erratic, each movement more desperate and uncoordinated than the last. the rhythm that once held a steady pace now dissolved into a chaotic dance of passion and urgency.

you could feel the knot in your stomach tightening with an almost unbearable intensity, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. it was as if every fiber of your being was wound tight, ready to burst forth in a torrent of overwhelming sensation.

the air around you seemed to thicken, charged with the raw, unfiltered energy of your shared desire, creating a crescendo that promised an inevitable release.

matt's lips found yours, a fervent connection that mirrored the growing intensity of his movements. with each passing second, his thrusts increased in speed and urgency, creating a rhythm that was both chaotic and harmonious. the kiss deepened, a melding of breaths and desires, as the pace of his thrusts quickened.

the world around you seemed to blur, leaving only the raw, electrifying connection between your bodies and the fervent dance of passion that ensued.

your legs entwined around his torso with a fervent intensity, drawing him into an even more profound depth, as if seeking to merge your very essences in that moment of unparalleled connection.

the strength of your embrace conveyed a silent plea for closeness, urging him deeper with each heartbeat, creating a symphony of shared desire and unspoken understanding.

it was as though your bodies were communicating in a language beyond words, each movement a testament to the profound bond you shared.

"i'm close," you whisper, your voice trembling with an urgent need as matt's teeth leave a trail of fervent love bites along your neck. each bite sends shivers cascading down your spine, a juxtaposition of pleasure and pain that heightens your anticipation. the air around you thickens with the palpable tension, every whispered word and gentle bite weaving an intricate tapestry of desire and longing.

"give it to me," matt grumbles softly, his voice a low rumble that reverberates through you. he plants soft kisses around your hickeys, each touch a tender contrast to the intensity of his demand. as you release with a loud moan, the world seems to blur at the edges, and every sensation amplifies, creating a symphony of pleasure that resonates between you, binding your bodies in a moment of exquisite, shared ecstasy.

you squirm as matt groans, his voice a deep, primal sound that reverberates through your entire being. your walls tighten around him instinctively, creating a vice-like grip that draws a guttural release from him, deep inside you.

the moment stretches, filled with an electric tension, as every nerve in your body sings with the intensity of the shared climax, a testament to the profound connection that binds you both in this intimate dance.

matt thrusted in and out of you slowly, each deliberate movement mixing your juices together in a sensuous rhythm. the friction and heat between you build with every thrust, creating a symphony of shared pleasure.

finally, he pulls out, the sensation lingering as he collapses next to you, both of you enveloped in the afterglow of your shared passion, breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath.

matt soon rises and strides towards your bathroom, his movements purposeful yet unhurried. after a brief moment, he returns with a damp towel in hand, the coolness of the fabric contrasting with the warmth of your shared intimacy.

his care and attention in this simple act speak volumes, a silent testament to the tenderness that underlies your passionate connection.

matt gently wipes the beads of sweat from your body, each stroke of the towel a tender caress that soothes and refreshes.

as he finishes, he leans in and plants a soft kiss on your lips, the gesture imbued with a quiet intimacy that speaks to the deep connection you share, a silent promise of care and affection in the aftermath of your shared passion.

"so, i take it you like me?" he smirks, his eyes twinkling with mischief. your laughter bubbles up, light and infectious, as you playfully swat him, the gesture a blend of affection and teasing.

[vanfleeter]

Ticking Time Bomb

Characters: Jake Kiszka x Reader, Josh Kiszka Warnings: 18+ || Language. Angst. Anger. Frustration. Tears. Arguing. Yelling. Stress. Self doubt. Fluff. Making up. Smut. Allusions to sex. A/N: After a stressful week last week, I decided to release some of my frustrations into this fic. So enjoy.

For the most part, Jake is able to control his emotions, wearing a mask when he needs to. He can also be a very quiet person, sometimes reserved unless he’s around good friends he knows well and his family. This past week he’s been unusually quiet to say the least and very short when it comes to his responses. Whenever you asked him how his day was, he’d simply give you a “It was fine” or “It was okay”.

He’d drop his guitar off by the door before slipping off his shoes and retreating into his study where he would be holed up for the duration of the night. He would come out that evening when dinner was ready, but still keeping to himself. He’d show a little bit of affection, a small kiss to your temple as he mumbles a quiet ‘I love you’ before sitting down at the table and quietly eating dinner.

You chalked this behavior up to just being an off week, so you made the decision to try to stay out of his way as much as possible and only interact with him when it was needed. You mostly let him come to you whenever he decided he wanted to. Giving him space to work through whatever was bothering him seemed like the best route to take. And while it worked for the majority of the week and you could see just a sliver of the sweet and caring Jake coming back, you knew in the back of your mind that he was bound to still snap at some point.

That time came quite unexpectedly.

He had just come home from work and parked his car in the garage. He found it odd that yours would be missing at this hour, but he didn’t think too much of it. Probably out running errands, that’s okay. He needed some time alone anyway to just breathe and relax. He needed it after how this week has been going. It wasn’t going well.

Everything seemed to be right, no matter how he played. Josh kept getting on his case, telling him to figure his shit out because whatever he’s playing is just not going to cut it. He’d conjure up riff after riff after riff, hoping that at least one would stick. He just needs one good one. The band was scheduled to have at least one single released by the fall to slowly ease themselves and their fans into a new era of music and nothing he played was good enough for the song that Josh was imagining.

Day after day this week he was growing frustrated with his twin, and instead of taking it out on him like he’s always done in the past, he’d just bottle up and shelf it. That is until today.

Stepping into the house, he sets his guitar down and slips off his shoes as normal. His stomach growled and he looked at his watch. 6:30. Where could you be at 6:30? He knows he assumed that you were running errands but even when you did run out, you weren’t ever out this late. He never treated you like a 1950’s housewife, but he always loved coming home from work and already smelling the beginning of dinner being made. Though this week was an off day for him and he showed you very little affection, he still appreciated it when you took the initiative to have dinner ready when he got home.

Tonight, however, he finds himself standing in the house void of your presence and any food cooking. He hums to himself, thinking maybe he’d just take it on himself this time and cook dinner. Mix it up a little bit and show you just how much he does appreciate you even though he’s been quite the shitty husband this week.

Once he got dinner started, he heads upstairs to the bedroom and starts to strip out of his clothes, wanting to rid himself of the god forsaken day that he had at work. But when he steps into the bedroom, just half way through taking off his shirt, he notices the laundry still piled up on the bed. Folded nonetheless, but still left out on the bed. Both yours and his clothes were separated.

Now what could have made you have everything folded but still leave it out on the bed? Huffing and shaking his head, he tosses his shirt into the empty hamper before starting on the mundane task of putting the clothes away. He had enough time to do so before he had to be back downstairs and in the kitchen before the pot of soup boiled over.

“All I wanted to do was come home and relax,” He grumbles to himself as he shoves his shirts into the middle drawer of his dresser. He slams it unintentionally but yet he still did and he didn’t care one bit. “She’s not even home and the laundry was left out.. I don’t want to put it away but I have to so I at least have some place to sleep tonight..”

He groans and slams the drawer closed again after tossing in folded pairs of socks. “And I have to make dinner because I at least want to be nice after being such a dick all week.”

He grumbles some more incoherent nonsense under his breath. “Always having to make someone else happy. What about me?” He scoffs and slams the last of his dresser closed before standing up and grabbing the clothes on the hangers and going into the closet.

He proceeds to slam the door closed as he leaves the closet. He repeats the process with your clothes.

And this is where the pot finally boils over. Figuratively and literally.

He’s just finished putting the last of your clothes away when he hears you yelling from downstairs. “Jake! Oh my god!” It wasn’t the excited tone either, but one of panic. “Jake?! Where the hell are you?”

Don’t yell at me. I have had it with people yelling at me this week.

Walking down into the kitchen and trying to keep his cool, he finds your things haphazardly thrown all over the floor before he looks over at the stove. He sees you struggling to turn down the burner and stirring the soup to let it simmer back down.

“Jesus..” He mutters as he quickly runs over. “Dammit, move.” He demands as he takes the wooden out of your hand and stirs the soup until it’s completely back to a low boil.

“I can’t believe you left that unattended..” He hears you say as you go to gather your things up from the floor. His body tenses and he stops stirring. “What the hell were you doing?”

“Shut up..” He mutters under his breath.

“What?”

“I said, shut up!” He slams the spoon down on the countertop and whirls around to face you. “Just shut up! I have had the worst week imaginable and I’m at my wits end! I came home, hoping to find you already cooking dinner but no, you were gone! So I thought I’d be nice and start on dinner because I know that I haven’t been the best version of myself this week, I wanted to make up for it! I needed to change so I left the soup unattended, thinking that I would be back soon enough to take care of it before it did all of this! But no, I couldn’t because when I got upstairs, I found a shit ton of laundry not put away so of course, I had to do that too! I miscalculated how much time I had to get back down here, so I’m sorry that I accidentally let this boil over but none of this would have happened had you been here!”

You still stand there, staring at him in complete surprise and watching him as he practically blows steam from his ears. The air is thick with tension as you both stare at each other. Silently, not uttering a word, you finish picking up your things from the floor and leave the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” He calls after you. When he doesn’t hear you answer, he shuts off the stove and leaves the kitchen to go after you. “Hey! I’m talking to you!” He shouts up the stairs, making you stop. “I made dinner.”

You slowly turn back to face him. “I’m not hungry..”

“You’re fucking kidding me..”

“No, Jake, I’m not fucking kidding you.. Until you can stop acting like an asshole, I’m not eating with you.”

“Can’t I just have one bad day?!”

“One?” You say in disbelief. “One?! Jake, you had the whole week! And I have been keeping my distance so you can have your space to work through whatever the fuck is bothering you! But I will not let you stand there and yell at me over something so stupid!”

“Well I’m sorry for being such an asshole!”

“Wow.. So sincere..” You scoff and turn back around to continue going back up the stairs.

“If I knew this is how you’d react when shit like this happens, I never would have married you!”

You stop again at the top of the staircase and slowly turn to face him. “Definitely living up to the asshole definition, Jake. But you’re right.. Maybe you shouldn't have..” Turning back around, you inhale deeply, blinking away the tears that threaten to fall and you head off to the bedroom.

He never followed you upstairs, for you could hear him in the kitchen slamming shit. You couldn't stay here tonight. At least not while he’s acting like this. He’s finally hit his boiling point and he's just using you as the target for his aggression. Well, it stops now.

After you finish packing a bag with enough clothes and toiletries to last you a few days, you rest the strap on your shoulder and make your way downstairs. You can see him in the kitchen and taking a long drink from a bottle of whiskey as he paces back and forth. Taking in a deep breath, you make your way into the toxic air swirling around the room. Slipping the rings off your finger, you set it on the island counter. He stops his pacing and looks at you.

“Y/N.. What–”

“Since you obviously regret marrying me..”

“No..” He shakes his head. “I didn’t–”

“You’re drunk.. So maybe when you sober up again and you get your shit together, we can talk.”

He sets the whiskey bottle on the counter and tries to reach for you but you step back and adjust the bag on your shoulder. The pain in his eyes is obvious as he drops his hand back to his side. “I didn’t mean anything I said, you know that.”

“Jake..”

“Please, don’t go. Let’s talk about this.. I-I’m sorry.. I mean that this time, I do.”

“Do you really regret marrying me?”

He vigorously shakes his head. “No, I was just..” He sighs. “I was angry and I took it all out on you, and I shouldn't have. There was no reason for me to do that. And I’m sorry.. You’ve been nothing if not supportive and I am grateful that you’ve given me space to work through my problems, and I completely disregarded all of that..” He tries to reach for you again and when you don’t step away, he holds your hand and brings it up to his lips to kiss it. “I love you and I don’t ever regret marrying you.”

“Will you tell me why this week has been so horrible?” You ask. “I want to help..”

“The pressures of being in a band,” He scoffs. “I have been slaving over this new song and no matter what I come up with, Josh just doesn't think any of it works.. I’ve just been angry with him and him being so picky and it just makes me feel like I’m not doing good enough.”

“Oh Jake..” You reach forward and raise your hand to his cheek. “That’s not true,” You tell him. “And I am very confident in you that you will find the perfect sound for the song.”

“You do?”

You smile and nod your head. “Of course I do. You are a very bright man, Jake, and you make the most beautiful music.”

“Want to know what else I’m good at making?” He asks.

“And what would that be?”

He raises his hand and rests it against yours with it still on his cheek. “That would be making you feel so good.”

“Oh?”

He uses his other hand to draw you into him. “I know all the right ways that make you produce those beautiful sounds that only my ears have the pleasure of hearing.” He moves his other hand and pulls your face close to kiss you. “I love you and I don’t ever regret my decision to marry you. Please forgive me..”

“I forgive you..”

“Really?”

“Just promise me that when this happens again, that you’ll explain what’s going on. Don’t keep everything bottled in, Jake. This..” You wave your hand around the kitchen. “Can’t happen again.. Your words do hurt, whether you intend them to or not.”

“I know.. And I’m sorry..”

You reach up to kiss him and wrap your arms around him. “And next time I’m not home, just call me.”

He slightly pulls away. “Where were you anyways?” He asks.

You smile and kiss his cheek. “I knew you had been having a rough time.. Soo..” Pulling away from Jake, you go back over towards the garage door. “I wasn’t sure which one you’d be in the mood for, so I bought both.” You call from the garage, your voice echoing through the door. You come back into the house just a minute later and carrying two separate cakes. They were small individual cakes, one vanilla and one chocolate.

“You bought me cake?” He asks as you set them both on the countertop.

“I wanted to show you how much I appreciate you, and how much I support you, and that you are doing an incredible job.”

“Y/N..”

“I know this week has been rough on you so I thought I would get you something to make you feel a little better. Cake always makes someone feel better.”

He opens his mouth to say something but no words come out. Instead you see his eyes well up in tears. Immediately he pulls you back in and hugs you tightly. “I’ve been such a mess this whole week and yet you still keep being this perfect person.” You hear him sniffle over your shoulder.

“Oh Jake..” You hug him tighter, running your fingers through the ends of his hair. “I am far from perfect..”

He pulls away, revealing the fresh tears slipping down his cheeks. “Yes, you are.” He says. You reach up and swipe your thumb over his cheeks. “And I love you.. I love you for everything that you are and everything that you do.. I’ve been so shitty to you and you don’t deserve that.”

“You were never shitty to me.. You were having a bad week, that happens.” You hold his face in your hands as you look him in the eyes. “You are better than you might think of yourself. Don’t let whatever Josh says bother you. You will find that sound, you will make it work for the song, and in the end you and Josh will be better.”

The doorbell rings and you pull away from Jake to go answer it. When you open the door, you find Josh standing on the front porch with a flash drive in one hand and bag of takeout food in the other. He gives you a small smile before speaking, “Uhh.. Is Jake home?”

“Yeah, he’s in the kitchen.” You say as you let him inside. Bringing him in the kitchen, you give Jake a reassuring smile.

He quickly wipes his face and clears his throat. “Josh..”

Josh drops the food and the flash drive on the counter before running around to embrace Jake in a hug. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry..” He blurts out. “I’ve been such an ass and I am sorry.. You have been busting your ass coming up with new stuff and I’ve just been so negative about it all..”

“Josh..” Jake sighs as he tries prying Josh off of him.

“No, I’m not done.” Josh says as he tightens his grip on Jake. “I loved every single one of them,” He continues. “But I was just afraid.”

“Wait, what?” This time, Jake pries Josh off of him and holds him at arm's length. “Afraid of what?”

Josh huffs a breath. “I was afraid that when we finished this song and released it that you would finally move on to your other projects and I guess I got jealous because someone else will have all your attention and I will hardly see you after this.”

“Joshua…” Jake grumbles. “You’re jealous?”

“Maybe just a little..”

“Josh, you are stuck with me no matter what.” Jake chuckles and pulls him back in for a hug. “Just because we’re going to take a break after this one song, doesn't mean we're taking a break.”

“Yeah?”

Jake nods his head. “Regardless of how much you drive me insane at times, I will always be there just like you will be there for me.”

“Can we start over?”

“Of course we can.”

“Great, because I brought the flash drive and I picked my top three riffs you played and I think we could take this song in either direction.” Josh says. “But I also brought food too as a peace offering–if you haven't eaten already.”

“No, we haven't,” You say. “And I am starving.”

“You bought cake?” Josh asks when he sees them on the counter.

“Just to show Jake how much he’s loved,” You say as you lean over to kiss him.

“Cheers to that,” Josh says. “But I’m not kissing him..”

“I would hope not,” Jake grimaces.

“So!” Josh exclaims as he claps his hands. “Food first and then we work?”

“I’ll grab some silverware,” You say.

“And I will set up in the living room,” Josh says as he grabs the stuff  and carries it into the other room.

As you begin to follow after him, Jake grabs your arm and pulls you back and presses his lips to yours. “Have I mentioned how much I love you?”

“Only in so many words,” You say.

He smiles and kisses you again. “Well I love you.. And thank you.”

“Jake! Let’s go!” Josh yells from the living room.

______________________________________________________________

Apologies in advanced with this taglist, I have recently been having problems with it!

@watchingover-hypegirl @losfacedevil @ignite-my-fire @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @writingcold (more tags in comments)

[buggy-d-hoe]

Conjuring Affections

Genevieve Selwyn + Sebastian Sallow

[kk1smet]

Rumors say the castle conjures mistletoes to appear between people with unspoken affection. Well, this is no surprise, is it?

It’s that time of the year! Finally had some break from work to whip up some doodles.

What’s one advent fic that you would always return to? Mine would definitely be nearly all Saras_Girl’s, But Turn, If The Fates Allow and Kaleidoscope hold a special place. Sigh. Looking forward to read and discover more from other amazing authors soon.

I wish a happy Christmas to everyone who celebrate it and may you have a lovely, restful time ⭐️

Love, K.

[demonicbaby666]

Corruption

Kinktober 2023 | Marvel Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Scarlet witch x fem!reader

Genre: smut & angst

Words: 3.6k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, kidnapping, gagging, degradation, biting, spanking, slapping, fingering, overstimulation, g!p (conjured), face fucking, oral (bj), anal play, restraints, orgasm denial, sub/dom dynamic, dubcon

Summary: When Wanda seeks out your comfort one late night, you willingly oblige. However unbeknownst to you, the older woman has been changed by her recent shortcomings and has plans for your new role in her life.

A/n: I want to preface this by saying that THIS IS A DARK FIC, meaning the themes of it can be triggering and will not appeal to some. Read at your own risk, and please avoid if you believe anything in the warnings will negatively affect you.

In the darkness of the room you were being kept in, time was hard to keep track of and left ample room for crazed thoughts to run rampant. You'd been here for what you could only assume had been a couple of days. The shackles - attached to the ceiling, forcing your body to remain upright - dug painfully into your wrists' sore, tender flesh. Nothing could have prepared you for this. For what you'd endured in the last days, and who the one causing it would be.

When Wanda approached your doorstep late at night, you hadn't known her intentions. You'd been ignorant to think the loss of her children would have had little effect on her, so you let her in and offered comfort in the one way you always had with her - using your body. When you woke up the following morning, you'd expected to be greeted by an empty, dishevelled bed and aching muscles. However, the moment your eyes opened, your muscles were strained, not just from the excursions that took place but from the effort it took to hold up your body.

There was a dim red light glowing in the corner of the room. When your sleep-addled vision cleared and adjusted to the dark setting, you saw the shrouded figure emerge. It was Wanda, but now her stance vastly differed from the night prior. She stood tall, her strides purposeful and her gaze predatory.

"I was wondering when you'd wake up," the redhead's lips lifted at the sides, forming an alluring yet daunting smirk.

"What's going on?" you hurried to ask, "Why am I here, Wanda?"

There was nothing behind her eyes resembling the softness you used to see. The witch was cold and callus, walking around you, her nose pointed upwards, inspecting your nakedness and dismantling you under her gaze.

"You're here to listen and obey," she mused, her tone bored and unbothered.

The chains rattled as you fought against them, almost losing your unsteady footing, "I don't understand. Wanda, let me go. This isn't you."

The redhead appeared in front of you in an instant. Though she wore a faint smile, it was not mirrored in her eyes - that remained displeased.

"You don't know what I am anymore." There was anger behind her words, as though this new persona was something she was forced into becoming. Her inky fingers sought out your jaw, etching fine scarlet lines down your throat until she stopped and wrapped her hand around your neck, "You will listen, and you will obey." She repeated.

"I-"

Before you could get another appeal out, your airways were forcefully closed, and your nipple was roughly pinched. The silent whimper you let out seemed to intrigue Wanda, and she repeated the action on your other nipple, extracting the same response.

When she lowered her head and soothed your swollen tit, running her tongue in circles, you couldn't help the small appreciative moan you let out. The sensation was welcome, overshadowing the dull ache in your legs and arms, planting the seeds of satisfaction and desire, so much so that you closed your eyes and momentarily forgot where you were.

The air filtered back into your lungs as Wanda eased her grasp on your neck, and you let it circulate through your body with each shaky inhale and subjugated to the fleeting euphoria running through your veins.

"Stop!" you shrieked abruptly, eyes flinging open, wrists wrestling against your restraints once more.

The witch surged up, and her hand collided with the side of your face. The harsh slap left your cheek stinging, tears blossoming in your eyes. The pain was barely registered and loomed behind the initial shock of what had just happened. You wanted to touch where she had hit you, soothe the reddening spot, but the chains above you were unrelenting and echoed what Wanda had said, 'obey.'

Burning fury painted emerald eyes red, and now, you were terrified. With a jerk of her wrist, material was wrapped around your mouth, stopping you from making any other unsanctioned demands.

The fear that danced in your eyes extinguished some of the anger in Wanda's. With an eyebrow raised, she waited a few seconds for you to stop fighting against your gag before raking one hand through your hair and craning your head back. With your neck fully exposed, the older woman drew her head down and bit.

The mix of pain and pleasure licked every nerve ending in your body and cleverly distracted you from the hand wandering south until it was too late. Two slender fingers thrust inside you, and instantly, your hips bucked with a keening cry. A small fire bubbled inside you, starting in your chest, working its way down to your stomach, and finally settling scorching blue between your legs.

"You're so wet," Wanda whispered hotly into your neck, starting to pump lazily into your tight channel, "Are you sure you want me to stop?"

Staring up at the ceiling, you watched the metal chains sway in time with your grinding hips. This was wrong, you knew it. However, your body did not. The older woman was right; you were dripping. You'd felt the treacherous arousal pool in your sex the moment Wanda walked in, sizing you up like her next meal.

She was dressed in red, tight trousers and a form-fitting body piece that actuated her curves in all the right places. This combination of her new style and the intoxicating power she wielded had damned you from the get-go. You just hadn't wanted to admit it.

Now, with her fingers prying soft whimpers and mewls from you, there was nothing left in you to deny yourself further from what you wanted. Wrapping a leg around Wanda's leather-clad hips, you held tightly to loops of cold metal, leaving outlines of o's along your palms. Hungry teeth continued to gnaw at your neck between intervals of sucking and pinching nibbles.

The pressure on your arched spine dissipated when the hand in your hair moved to your raised thigh. It pulled you closer, and you let out a mangled cry when the palm of Wanda's hand touched your neglected clit. Hardened nipples brushed against rugged leather, and the delicious friction sent another wave of arousal to gush from your filled cunt.

Then, all movement stopped.

You thrashed against unmoving fingers, seeking out the orgasm that was near in sight, but the pleasure paled compared to the overpowering stimulation you received moments ago.

"So desperate." Wanda sniggered, emerging from your bruised neck, "So greedy."

She watched as you tried to get yourself off on her stubborn fingers, face screwed together in frustration. Watched as your eyes silently begged her for more. Smirked when tears burned in your eyes, and you let out choked sobs from behind your gag.

"You want to come so badly, don't you?" she taunted smugly, pulling her fingers out and ignoring your sobbed-out whine, "Open. I want you to taste your filthy cunt." she pulled down the saliva-coated material and held her wet fingers to your closed lips.

The heady smell filled your nostrils, and saliva gathered in your mouth. You wanted so badly to lick her fingers clean, to hear Wanda moan again much like she did the night prior, but the realisation that doing as you were told would be giving up the one bit of power and control you had left made you turn your head away in disdain.

A wicked cackle bellowed through the dark room, making you cringe and attempt to scarper away. The sight was most likely pathetic. You, naked, dripping down your legs and aimlessly kicking your feet off the ground with limited space to go. It only made Wanda laugh harder.

"Pitiful," she muttered, looking you up and down, "I'll be back tomorrow."

She turned, took a few steps, and suddenly, you felt like you could breathe again. That was until the older woman doubled back, shoved her fingers into your mouth and used her other hand to open your jaw. The force with which she had thrust her fingers into your mouth left you gagging and coughing, and still, Wanda refused to remove her fingers.

"Suck," she growled.

And only after feeling bile rise in your throat did you relent and obey.

Every night, Wanda would visit, cast warm rays of red over the room, offer food and water and ask the same question.

"Are you ready to behave?"

Regardless of your answer, she would do as she wished, much like the first night. You wanted to hate it, to hate her, hate yourself for the pleased sounds you let out, for enjoying something you know you shouldn't, for slipping up and becoming pliant one too many times. You needed it. You needed her. Though she was the one who would, time and time again, rip away your release, she was also the only person who could give it to you.

Over the span of the following days, your willpower lessened and lessened. The idea of giving yourself to the witch to end this torment became more and more attractive. She'd made it clear that surrendering to her would have its reward but never made apparent what that reward would entail. But to your weak mind, your fighting legs and swollen wrists, anything seemed better than what you were enduring.

So after one too many nights of being denied, when asked the question, you conceded and gave your capture what she wanted, whatever that may have been.

You met her gaze as she walked in and made your decision known, "I'm ready."

Without batting an eyelid, Wanda undid the restraints. The metal clicked, your arms slid out of the cuffs and with nothing holding you upright, your body crumpled to the floor. Tingles ran through your legs as the sensations returned to them. It was near orgasmic, feeling the assuaging tension dissipate.

When you could curl and uncurl your toes without pain, you gradually gravitated back upright until a pressure pushed down on your worn-out shoulder, forcing you to the floor again. Your knees smacked the hard concrete with a shattering thud, and you let out a pained groan.

"I want you on your knees," Wanda commanded, menacingly looking at you like a speck of dirt on her shoe.

Wanda dug the sole of her shoe harder into your shoulder, blanketing your muscles in searing pain. Fighting against your body and the redheads to remain steady in your position, you steeled your spine and secured your tongue between your teeth. Seething in pain seemed a better option than curling up into a little ball, which would only antagonise your delicate situation. Glancing up, it was hard to ignore the change. Between her legs, poorly hidden by tight leather trousers, was a prominent bulge.

"You're going to suck my cock like a good little bitch." Wanda announced, raising a brow and waiting for a complaint.

Of course, you knew this was another test to determine whether you had taken heed to what she had demanded of you. The role of being submissive surprisingly came easy to you. So far, all it entailed was remaining quiet and complacent, something that wasn't exceptionally difficult. A slanted smirk and the yielding weight off your shoulder was confirmation enough that your submission was taken gratuitously.

In the blink of an eye, Wanda - towered over you still - was fully undressed. As always, you found yourself exploring the plains of her glorious figure with your eyes, taking count of all the scattered freckles and beauty marks, travelling up and down creamy thighs and finally honing in on the generous peaks jutting from her chest. The contours of her body were beyond breathtaking. She was the image of perfection.

It was odd to feel such fondness towards your capture, but with a history of joyous nights wrapped in one another, complications arose and left you stranded far beyond the borders of confusion.

Reading you like a book, Wanda's face lit up. The faint colouring on her cheeks reminded you of the lost woman who was haunted by her past and yet still held so much love in her heart, the woman who was a hero, who, without question, would sacrifice herself for the greater good. She was still there, lurking in the depth of this new hardened exterior. But trying to reach her was a mission for another day because as quickly as her old self was there, she was gone.

Her foot finally met the ground alongside its twin, and now, directly in your eye line was Wanda's erect cock. It was far bigger than any you had seen or taken, standing proudly, nothing short of eight inches. A step forward had the end of her brushing against your lips, pre-come wetting the textured skin salty. Your whole body stiffened, and your jaw tensed.

"Uh-uh," she took her hardness into her hands and eased it between your lips until muscle memory took over and your mouth opened.

In an instant, the tip of her cock repeatedly hit the back of your throat. You were being forced to devour her full length at record speed, causing tears to sprout with each passing gag. Filthy moans and sucking sounds filtered through the room, and soon, Wanda was fucking your face harder and faster, not caring about the death grip she had on your hair or the bruising she was causing to your throat.

"Such a good little slut." she praised.

Tongue flattened on the underside of your mouth, you traced ridged veins and treasured the snap of Wanda's neck, which was thrown back blissfully. Hard as it was to admit, you got lost in it. In the feeling of pleasuring this divine woman. Fell into the electric rhythm of her stiff cock and the sound of her low groans.

Ribbons of warm sticky come filled your mouth as Wanda let out a feral howl. She pulled out and finished unloading herself all over your face. The taste wasn't unpleasant. It was salty and bitter, faintly familiar yet entirely new. Nevertheless, with the witch's seed smeared all over your face and present in your mouth, you felt dirty and wanted to rid yourself of the feeling entirely.

"Don't even think about it," Wanda warned, clamping your jaw shut with one hand and pinching your nostrils shut with the other, "Swallow."

Nails cut deep into your nostrils, etching moon crescent outlines into sweat-clad skin. If you didn't choke, you'd surely run out of air trying to fight an unwinnable battle. You admitted defeat, tasting the saltiness trickle along your throat and feeling the last bit of pride you were clinging onto shrivel and melt away. Then came the tears. Fat, burning, free-flowing tears.

"You're only making this more fun for me," the older woman sneered, releasing your nose and using the hand on your jaw to harshly cast your head aside, "Bend over, ass in the air."

There was no time to recover, no time for thinking twice. You'd have barked, performed tricks, and eaten out of a bowl if asked. So, you bent over and let the cold air lick your exposed cunt, whimpering as fingers teased through your sensitive folds.

Faint shuffling sounds were heard from behind you, and then, with no prior warning, metal slipped between your legs. Whilst it slid through fluids, clear insight into what was about to happen struck. The plug skimmed rearwards, teasing your back entrance. It was cold, sending shivers up your back and eliciting a whimper from you.

"Relax," Wanda ordered. Her voice softened before she spoke again, "If you don't, it will hurt."

With a steady hand, Wanda pushed the plug inside you, twisting to ease the intrusion. As quickly as the gentleness in her actions came, it vanished. The plug thrust into you, and a crackling cry left your lips. Soft lips drowned out your sob, and a demanding tongue plunged into the depth of your warm mouth.

A steady heartbeat thrummed over your back, and pointed nipples grazed your shoulder blades, replacing the uncomfortable pressure with bubbling exhilaration. In this position, the slick tip of the redhead was felt against your sex, and it took all your might not to lean back into the tantalising contact.

Slowly rolling her hips, Wanda pulled soft moans and whimpers from you as she toyed with the plug, twisting and turning it, and began marking your neck with blotches of red. You endured this teasing for endless minutes, listening to steady breaths intensify, feeling hips circle faster and more uncontrolled and eventually letting your moans and whimpers grow in volume.

Behind you, Wanda was coming apart, and you were being made to remain still and serve your purpose. Except, you didn't want to. The ache between your legs throbbed. Over gruelling days, you were brought to the edge multiple times and hauled back before you could reach your well-needed peak. The searing need to come was too much, and all you could do was throw a silent pity party, blow out your candles, cry salty tears of exhaustion onto tooth-rotting icing and hope that your complacency would earn you your heart's desire.

"Please," you whispered, pushing back to alleviate the mounting yearning in your core.

The plea earned you a swift spanking, and the privilege of using your hands was removed. Your hands flung behind your back, and rope secured them together. Without anything holding you up, the side of your face collided with the cold floor, and seething pain crept all over your face.

The dull ache in your needy pussy multiplied ten folds, and something told you it was not only your body's doing but a different force entirely.

"You feel that?" Wanda remarked with a laugh, "That's what it will feel like if you try and take matters into your own hands again."

The limit to your submissiveness ceased to exist. You were putty in Wanda's hands; you'd do anything for her, to her, let her do anything to you because you needed this, whatever was about to take place, you knew you wanted.

Though you'd adjusted the darkroom long ago, picking apart all the various scattered objects, a chair in the corner, the door to the side, chains hanging from above, you sought comfort in not seeing anything. Eyes closed, the irreparable desire halted, embers danced with stars painting a night sky, and inner turmoil transmuted into a calming yet eager readiness. Wanda traced your entrance, never entering, only prodding and then sliding up and applying almost-there pressure to your clit.

Your mind's eyes closed, settled back into the present seconds passing by, and homed in on every sensation. The cold air licking your hardened nipples, the concrete floor hard and pressing against your flushed cheek, the warm body hovering above you, the puffs of air tickling your upper back.

It was then you were rewarded with the delicious stretching of your tight canal. Inch by inch, Wanda filled you, taking her time, savouring how you clenched and tightened around her. Clinging to the rope secured over your wrists, you wedged your bottom lip between your teeth and held back from screaming out in unadulterated bliss. It felt so right, despite being so wrong, to be filled entirely, to be used for one single purpose, to have to earn what felt like the one thing you needed, would ever need.

And that was how it happened. As Wanda launched into a full assault, pounding into you, fucking you hard and deep, you decided this was your fate, to be hers wholeheartedly, to listen and obey for however long she would have it that way.

Wanda seized a handful of your hair and tugged you up. Using her new anchor, she pushed deeper into you, each thrust ending in her thighs slapping against the back of yours. Thrashing and seizing, you could feel your orgasm rapidly approaching with each hit of her cock sliding against your g-spot and hadn't the slightest hesitance in what to do.

"Can I come?" you pleadingly asked, each word broken by a forced jerk of Wanda's hips.

"Look who's learning," she tweaked the plug between her fingers, pulling it in and out, and you felt it everywhere. Your whole body shook and burned alight. All your brain could comprehend was pleasure, "Do it."

The floodgates crashed open, and you let out a keening cry. Days. It had been days of being denied this. This glorious, unparalleled utopia of endorphins running rife, heart beating so hard your chest feels as though it may collapse. It was the light at the end of the tunnel, heaven after hell. It was all you ever wanted to know.

Your climax seemingly never came to an end as Wanda continued driving into you, her speed the same, vigour growing more and more bestial. Nothing was tangible anymore; only the repeat slaps tenderising your ass that jerked you back to consciousness. You heard your screams accompany the witch's grunts and felt molten tears stream down your face, but the last thing you remembered was the final push that had you falling over the edge with your eyes rolling back into your head and Wanda unloading herself inside your tight walls.

When you woke up, you were in a familiar position, arms held up, legs barely holding your weight. A body pressed to your back, and instantly, you calmed and fell into the welcoming presence. Wanda's sultry voice spoke from behind you, asking only one thing: "Are you ready to behave?"

And with no hesitation came your answer, "Always."

Taglist: @red1culous @7thavenger @sapphicprentiss @five-bi-five-mind @supercorpstan97 @kenyakimble34 @12fluffybunny12 @asensitivecookie @maxinehufflepuffprincess @lesbi-hinest-here @imlike-so-gaydude @taylorswiftsboyfriend @asphodelvamp @tmlwattpad19 @jareguiromanoff @lilfartbox1 @jemilyforever @purpleturtletragedy @fayhar @lovelyy-moonlight @mrsromanovaa @patronagrona @lostenby @nickelyy | click here to be added to my taglist

[moonxytcn]

I just need some cute wanda fluff, I'm like desperate

a magical evening

| Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

summary – Wanda makes your evening magical

tags & warnings – just pure cuteness, wanda using her powers to make you happy

a/n – my first Wanda fic, I hope you like it 😊

| English is not my first language so there may be some errors.

| Masterlist —✽— Pinned post

   ㅤ✯ ━━━━━━ ✿ ✫ ✿ ━━━━━━ ✯

–––

The day had been perfect—a whirlwind of laughter, joy, and shared moments that seemed straight out of a dream. Now, as evening settled over your cozy home in Westview, you and Wanda found yourselves enjoying a rare moment of solitude.

The soft glow of twilight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, intimate ambiance in the living room. You sat together on the couch, Wanda's arm draped around your shoulders as you leaned into her side, content and relaxed.

Wanda turned to you with a playful glint in her eyes. "What do you say we add a little magic to our evening?"

You chuckled softly, knowing exactly what that meant. Wanda's powers always brought an extra touch of wonder to your lives together.

"I'm all for it." You replied with a grin.

With a flick of her wrist, Wanda conjured a small, shimmering orb of light that hovered above your heads. It danced gracefully, casting ever-changing patterns of light and shadow across the room. You reached out to touch it, marveling at the warmth and gentleness of its glow.

"That's beautiful." You whispered, looking up at Wanda.

She smiled warmly, her eyes filled with affection. "Not as beautiful as you." She murmured, leaning in to kiss your cheek.

As the orb continued its mesmerizing display, Wanda's fingers traced delicate patterns in the air. Sparks of light followed her movements, weaving intricate designs that seemed to come alive before your eyes. You watched in awe, captivated by her skill and the sheer magic of it all.

Then, with a flourish, Wanda produced a bouquet of flowers. Each bloom shimmered with a soft, ethereal glow, their petals unfolding gracefully as if awakened by her touch. She handed them to you, a tender expression on her face.

"For you." She said softly.

You accepted the flowers with a grateful smile, admiring their beauty. "Thank you, Wanda. They're perfect."

Wanda's eyes sparkled with happiness. "I'm glad you like them."

The evening continued in a gentle rhythm of shared laughter and quiet moments. Wanda used her powers to create tiny bursts of fireworks that filled the room with bursts of color and light, like your own private celebration. She made a gentle breeze sweep through the room, carrying with it the scent of jasmine and lavender, creating an atmosphere of tranquility and comfort.

At one point, she even levitated a small plush toy, making it dance and twirl in mid-air, eliciting delighted laughter from both of you. It was moments like these—simple, magical, and filled with love—that made you realize just how lucky you were to have Wanda in your life.

As the night wore on, you found yourselves lying on the floor, surrounded by pillows and blankets, lost in conversation and each other's company. Wanda's hand found yours, fingers intertwining in a silent promise of love and support.

"I love you." Wanda whispered, her voice filled with tenderness.

"I love you too." You replied softly, squeezing her hand.

In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of her embrace and the gentle glow of her magic, you knew that no matter what the future held, as long as you had Wanda by your side, everything would be alright. Her love was a constant, unwavering beacon in your life—a source of strength, joy, and endless wonder.

As you drifted off to sleep that night, safe and secure in Wanda's arms, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the magical evening you had shared. Every moment with her was a gift—a beautiful, extraordinary adventure that you cherished with all your heart.

[venus-haze]

Baby Let's Play House (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: After noticing your exhaustion in trying to balance managing Homelander’s day-to-day and your relationship with him, he decides that you’d be happier behind a white picket fence than an office desk. You initially agree, but the housewarming party you throw reveals how differently the two of you view your relationship.

Note: This can be read as being related to My Destruction Is an Hour Late, but you don’t need to read that to understand what’s happening in this. Reader is a cis woman, but no other descriptors are used. First time incorporating Homelander’s perspective into a fic, also I took some creative liberties on how his costume works. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 4.7k

Warnings: Homelander is his own warning (I never tag his stuff as yandere because that’s just how he is), but toxic relationship that includes possessive tendencies, gaslighting, guilting. Mirrorlander makes an awful, misogynistic appearance. Sexually explicit content which involves coercion/dubcon, oral (m. receiving), brief orgasm denial and choking. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Dating your direct superior was undoubtedly an ethics violation, but the trembling HR manager who signed off on Vought’s workplace relationship disclosure form couldn’t conjure up any protests when Homelander and you showed up at her office to make your relationship “HR official.” When you’d expressed concern about how dating him would affect your career, he scoffed, ‘What are you talking about? Babe, I am your career.’ You faltered under the weight of his gaze, knowing full well he could hear your heart skipping frantically along as you thanked him for his reassurance.

He’d resisted the idea at first, one you brought up almost immediately after you’d become his girlfriend and he gave you a promotion. He was The Homelander. He didn’t need Vought’s permission to date you. It wasn’t until you reframed it as a declaration rather than permission that he was on board. Stan Edgar could read the damn form and weep. No more publicity relationships, not when he had you. It didn’t take long for things to spiral out of control from there.

Your coworkers treated you differently, with a nervous politeness that was unsettling and isolating. Loneliness settled in soon after, almost as if by design. Suddenly, Homelander was the only one you could turn to, and by the nature of your job, he was almost always there, ready to fill whatever emotional void you needed filled, from co-worker to lover. He thrived off of your dependence, each display of it a hit that coursed through his veins. An addict in thought, he couldn’t get enough of you. 

When he brought up this idea to you, not long after his grandiose proposal, you welcomed it. A cozy house in the suburbs didn’t sound so bad compared to the whirlwind of your responsibilities at Vought managing Homelander’s day to day on top of your relationship with him. 

Now, as you walked up the pathway to the front door with the last of the groceries you’d needed before the housewarming party you were hosting the following night, the white posts of the picket fence that surrounded the house looked more like teeth rising out of the ground to devour you, red roses planted along the perimeter painted droplets of blood on the unhinged jaw. You knew it was never your choice. 

Most of the time, things were good, and you and Homelander fell into a comfortable, domestic rhythm. When things were bad, however, there was nothing you could do but sit back and wait for it to end. That hadn’t happened in a while, and despite your excitement for the party, you could tell he wasn’t nearly as enthused. You foolishly hoped that the night you’d been planning for weeks wouldn’t end in disaster.

Almost as soon as you finished unpacking the groceries you’d bought, you considered what to make for dinner. Despite Homelander’s enhanced palette, he wasn’t that picky when it came to your meals. You wished he expressed some preference, though, since your Pinterest board for recipes was out of hand, even with your organizing it as best as you could.

“Hey babe,” Homelander greeted you with a smack on the ass, a domestic yet outdated gesture he favored upon seeing you in the kitchen. “What’s for dinner?”

He never used the services of Vought’s chefs after you and he began “going steady,” even though he did like their food more than yours objectively. Getting food cooked by a chef in an industrial kitchen and then brought up by an intern was too impersonal. You cooked with love, always adding a personal touch that made even the overcooked chicken cacciatore you’d served a few nights before worth eating. 

“Do you consider soup a meal?” 

“What is this, a Seinfeld episode?” he asked. “I don’t know. I guess it depends on the soup.”

“French onion.”

“That’s basically a deconstructed French dip. Sure, that’s a meal.”

“Perfect, I’ll make that, then.” you said. “I’m so excited for the party tomorrow.”

“Yeah, it’ll be a blast,” he mumbled, leaning against the kitchen counter and folding his arms across his chest.

“C’mon, I get to spend the whole night showing off my amazing fiance and our incredible home,” you smiled, giving him a kiss on his clenched jaw.

His pouty mood cracked just the slightest bit, though he didn’t like how your attention had been all over the place in the week or so leading up to the housewarming party rather than solely on him. It was all you could talk about, and to add insult to injury, you’d started ordering him around far too much for his liking. You’d ask about his day as if it were an obligation to do so, a segue into ‘Pick up these streamers’ and ‘Remember to ask Jason and Patricia about their baby’ and ‘Tell Vought you need to be home by five.’

His biggest reason for even getting you this house and convincing you to quit your job at Vought was so you’d have more time for him. Even though your work schedule had been mostly dictated by him, you found yourself exhausted most nights, passing out in bed almost as soon as dinner was over. That was no fun at all.

Far too soon for his liking the next day, your stupid friends made their way up the street and to the house, bottles of wine and wrapped gifts in tow. He realized that he shouldn’t have left so much of the planning to you. To his displeasure, the guests were evenly co-ed. Though your hugs and greetings to the men who entered your home were polite and platonic, he didn’t like it. Not one damn bit. Who the fuck kissed someone’s cheek as a greeting anymore anyway?

He watched as you played hostess, a tornado of hospitality as you ran yourself in circles around the house to refill drinks and jump in on conversations. You looked like you were having the time of your life, and his gloved hands balled into fists at his side every moment your attention wasn’t squarely on him, especially when you were all dressed up the way you were. None of them deserved to see how perfect you looked.

Finally, he crept up on you while you were speaking with your old college roommates who’d asked you to give the details on how you and Homelander got together. He was more than happy to indulge them, his arm tight around your waist as he took control of the narrative.

The version of the story that left Homelander’s mouth almost made you choke on your own spit. Of course, it started at work, with you harboring a crush on Homelander for far longer than he’d even noticed you. Your persistence was cute, though, and soon enough you’d wormed your way into his routine. Curious about your infatuation, Homelander would make excuses to keep you in the office late, until the projects became canoodling. He’d finally asked you out on a date, and you graciously offered to cook dinner for him. 

He’d flipped the whole thing on its head. You had helped him with one project, and in the months spent building up your reliability, he was the one who’d become infatuated with you, until almost your entire life revolved around him. His story was far more palatable, as evidenced by your friends’ expressions of congratulations and how lucky you were.

You supposed you were lucky in a way. Homelander made sure you had nothing to worry about, except for him, of course. His moods were increasingly volatile as he was slowly pushed out of the spotlight of The Seven. The glance he gave you, loving to the untrained eye, was a warning. Despite your hope that the housewarming party would open up Homelander to the idea of you getting a bit more social interaction outside of just him, it was proving to have the opposite effect. 

Then again, he never wanted to have a good time at the party, as you dejectedly reminded yourself. It was a shame, your friends all seemed to like him well enough, even if you did catch him being backhandedly rude to some of them a few times that night. He was so good at pretending when it came to the fans he supposedly hated so much. You weren’t sure why he couldn’t put up a front for a few hours for your friends.

By the time everyone left, you were exhausted. Drained physically and mentally from the demands of the party and your fiance, you were glad you’d opted for disposable plates and cups. The little clean up you had to take care of was just manageable enough to take care of before you headed up to bed.

“Glad that’s over,” Homelander said, drying the charcuterie board you’d handed him.

“Why were you so determined not to have fun tonight?” you asked.

“Excuse me if I don’t find entertaining your idiotic friends fun.”

“Then you suck it up and pretend, for me.”

“Don’t—don’t pull that.”

“Pull what?”

“That ‘for me’ thing. Everything I do is for you,” he said, huffing before lowering his voice, his icy glare making your breath catch in your throat. “You don’t need them. You don’t need anybody. Not when you have me.”

“Homelander, codependency isn’t—“

“Don’t pathologize me!” he shouted, slamming his hand on the granite countertop which cracked from the force he used. Upon noticing your terrified expression, he drew back a bit, letting out an unnerving laugh in an attempt to ease the tension he’d created. “You almost made me lose my temper there, missy.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, wide-eyed as you moved to take a tentative step back from him.

He quickly grabbed your arm, keeping you in place. “I know you are, darling, but a love like ours–it can’t be put into clinical terms.”

Fuck. You hit that specific nerve. It took him a while to open up about his childhood, the real one, not the Midwest little leaguer who loved god, mom, and the good ol’ US of A, in that order. That story sold comic books, it was comforting to watch on screen, the warm apple pie with a scoop of melting vanilla ice cream. Not even born in a lab, by his own accounts, but dumped from a test tube and caged like any other animal used for experimentation. Except Homelander had been a boy, scared and alone as white coats filtered in and out of exam rooms and testing labs, poking and prodding. Though, torturing was more like it, pushing him to see the extent of his powers, whether their unbreakable hero was truly unbreakable. Then he was unleashed onto the world, the weight of it on his shoulders.

Something was wrong with him, psychologically at least, and you knew the unhealthy fixation on your relationship as his sole source of emotional fulfillment would have sent you packing if it were anyone else. Every time you considered leaving, as if you even could, you just as quickly thought of how scared and hurt the most powerful man in the world looked when he recounted every painful experiment he endured, the plethora of human rights violations that became so entrenched in his identity. The ensuing tug of empathy and guilt at your heartstrings made you stay.

Still, you had to let him know that you wouldn’t tolerate an outburst like that just because you’d had a lapse in judgment when it came to your phrasing.

“I think you should stay at your old place tonight,” you said.

“Babe, c’mon, the counter can be fixed. I’ll have someone at Vought call a contractor tomorrow and—“

“That’s not what I mean.”

“You still love me right?” he asked, desperately searching your face for an answer. “Right?”

“Of course I do, but we both need space to cool off.”

He huffed, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Fine, have it your fucking way. As always, babe.”

He stormed out before you could get another word in, you mentally sent your apologies into the universe to whoever would end up being at the receiving end of his wrath. 

A few cars were lasered to smoldering hunks of metal on his way to Vought Tower. He didn’t care, the company had millions of dollars set aside each year for superhero-related collateral damage. After all, they weren’t even nice cars as far as he could tell. He was doing them a favor that’d go unappreciated, not unlike you.

Homelander’s arrival to his suite was devoid of any fanfare or announcements of his return. He was embarrassed to be back. Standing dejectedly in the dark doorway, he glared at every object in the room with disdain. It’d been a fine place to live before he knew any better, before he’d experienced what a home truly felt like. You’d once described it as like being in a museum, and he couldn’t disagree. At one time he thought it was to his taste. Now, the suite he’d resided for so many years without you felt cold, hollow, and unfamiliar. 

He looked out on the city, rage boiling in his veins. Things were fine when it was the two of you against the world. Your shitty friends had to come in and ruin that. No matter how hard he tried, it was like you refused to listen to reason and see that he did everything because he loved you. He loved you so much it hurt.

“Now this is really pathetic.”

“You saw how pissed she was.” Homelander argued weakly against his sneering reflection.

“She’s a woman. That’s their default state when they’re running the show.”

“She’s not running the show.”

“Really? So that’s why you’re banished to the proverbial couch?” his reflection taunted.

Homelander swallowed the lump in his throat. “What do you suppose I do, then? Flowers? A box of chocolates?”

“No. That’s practically admitting you did something wrong. Do you remember how you got her in the first place? You didn’t ask. You took.”

Homelander nodded along as his reflection spoke.

“What you do is remind her who’s in charge. You’re the man of the house. Take the respect, the devotion, you deserve.”

You awoke suddenly in the middle of the night to a figure standing at the end of your bed. At first, you thought it was a dream, until the figure began to move. Turning on the lamp on your nightstand, its soft glow illuminated your side of the bed, casting shadows over your fiance’s face.

“Homelander!” you gasped. “Oh my god, you scared me. What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” he said.

“You know what I mean.”

“You know the old saying, ‘Don’t go to bed angry.’ I already forgive you for tonight, but things need to change.”

“I need you to leave.”

“You don’t call the shots, babe. I’ve been way too lenient with you,” he said, a dangerous grin spreading across his face. “Think you need a reminder of who’s in charge here.”

“Honey, what’s this about? You know I love you.”

“Sure, but you don’t respect me.”

“Of course I respect you—“

“No, you don’t. By the end of the night, you will,” he said, before beckoning you over to him with a curl of his index finger. “C’mere, sweetheart. You haven’t even welcomed me home yet.”

You felt his eyes practically burning a hole through you as you silently complied, pushing back the covers you’d been bundled under and padding your way across the room to where he stood. He somehow loomed over you, stony-faced like a marble statue honoring a god with disdain for humanity. His eyes glistened as he took in your face, though, betraying the whirlpool of emotions that rushed through him whenever he was in your presence. 

Dozens of dresses and lingerie sets had been casualties of his lust and strength, the material torn from your body like gift wrap and promptly replaced within a few days. This night was no exception, as with a flick of his wrist, your satin nightgown was a pathetic pile on the floor.

Though you expected as much, he captured your lips in a heated kiss that almost made you lose your balance with his intensity. He held you close, his arms wrapped around you the way old tree limbs twist and tangle around objects left in their course, time and nature making it impossible to separate the two without irreversible damage to both. 

“John,” you whispered against his lips.

There were plenty of men named John. It was a disgustingly common name, chosen for him by Vought to give him that relatable, everyman persona. Bullshit. He wasn’t an everyman. He was a god. People praised and worshiped Zeus, Jupiter, Jesus, Homelander—not fucking John. 

Whenever you used it, though, suddenly the name was his. His. Not some stupid placeholder the white coats gave him instead of “subject whatever.” He was grateful you couldn’t sense the crack in his facade, his heart skipping a beat at how lovingly you said his name. How could you ever expect him to want to share that? Reluctantly, he pulled back from you, releasing you from his embrace. He still had a point to make.

“Get on your knees.”

You looked almost confused by his words.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warned.

Slowly, you knelt on the shredded satin that lay at your feet, and with trembling hands unbuckled his belt, avoiding eye contact with the eagle that adorned it as if the metal bird of prey were judging you. You tried telling yourself there was no reason to be nervous, you’d given Homelander plenty of blowjobs before, but his mood was always much, much lighter when you did. 

When you pulled down the spandex pants of his suit that was practically painted on him, you were greeted with an eye full of his hardening cock, already leaking with precum when you took it in your hand, eliciting a moan from him that seemed to echo through the bedroom. You stroked his cock, leaning in to give a teasing lick to the head that made his breath hitch.

“You like that baby?” you asked. “Do you want more?”

He whined, struggling to respond as you pumped his hardening length.

“C’mon, baby, use your words and—“

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snapped, grabbing you by the root of your hair and shoving his cock in your mouth. 

You gagged, trying to adjust yourself to the sudden change. Although, you didn’t think you’d ever get used to how big his cock was. The bulge in his suit certainly wasn’t compensating for anything.

“Go on, put that smart little mouth of yours to good use,” Homelander said, fingers still tangled in your hair as he tugged at your scalp. “Or are you so helpless without me that you can’t even suck a cock on your own?”

With a whimper, you did your best to massage his length with your tongue, taking as much of him as you could, though you never managed to fit all of him in your mouth. It wasn’t without a lack of trying. You gagged again, and this time he seemed to bore of your struggle and instead began fucking your throat at a merciless pace.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re it. You’re the only one for me. Why don’t you—fuck—get that?”

Your response was a garbled choking noise as you placed one hand on his thigh to steady yourself. The other reached out to fondle his balls, prompting an erratic thrust from him that nearly knocked you over. As unpredictable as Homelander could be, if you thought too much about how much self control he used to not accidentally kill you whenever the two of you were remotely intimate, your brain would start to feel fuzzy. Or maybe it was the way you couldn’t seem to catch your breath. 

When you looked up at him through tear-filled eyes, he was barely able to keep his own open. Blonde hair flopped across his forehead, he looked at you with hooded eyelids, the faintest smirk flashing across his face before he groaned again, throwing his head back.

He never lasted all that long to begin with, woefully sensitive and touch-starved despite his experience. Normally, you found it endearing, but tonight you were grateful as you weren’t sure how much longer you could handle his mercilessly fucking your throat. 

With another involuntary thrust, his cock twitched against your tongue. You struggled to swallow his cum that was pumping into your mouth. Some of it mixed with spit as it dribbled from the corners of your lips down your chin.

As Homelander pulled his cock from your mouth, he observed your ruined state—disheveled hair, puffy lips, tears tracked down your face. Pride filled his chest as he watched you try to catch your breath. He’d never pushed you quite this far before, and he wanted so much more.

“Messy little thing, huh?” he asked, swiping what had escaped your lips on his thumb and bringing it to your mouth. 

With a shaky sigh, you wrapped your lips around his finger, weakly sucking the residue from it until he was satisfied, pulling it from your mouth.

He smiled, caressing your cheek with his wet thumb. “That’s my girl.”

You hummed in response, the most you could manage with how sore your throat felt. It was good enough for him, because he offered you his hand, pulling you up from your knees with ease. His gentleness as he laid you back on the bed felt almost foreign compared to his ruthlessness just minutes earlier. 

The reprieve was short-lived, however. As soon as he shed the rest of his suit, he pounced, his eyes betraying the intention to devour you whole. Animalistic, manic, from his predatory gaze to the prominence of his canines, he could rip your throat out if he wanted to. There was no point in trying to conceal your concerning arousal at the thought, even if he hadn’t reached between your legs to feel your wet pussy, he could smell it on you from a mile away. 

He licked his lips, leaning over you as he teased your clit while sliding his cock inside you.

“Oh my god,” you moaned.

Homelander grinned, rolling his hips against yours. “I know I am.”

He’d been aggressive in bed before, usually due to jealousy or possessiveness. The way he moved was far more calculated than impulsive, as if each thrust intentionally pushed you closer to climax as he rubbed circles on your clit instead of just him releasing pent up frustration and insecurity. 

“You love taking it all, don’t you? Love the way I fill you up?” 

His mocking tone went straight to your pussy, and you could hardly manage a coherent response as he pounded into you. Even then, it didn’t feel like enough, as you bucked your hips to get more of him.

He was studying you, observing every contortion of your face, feeling the way your wet pussy clenched around this throbbing cock as he thrust into it, the sound nothing short of obscene as it echoed with your desperate moans. Then, just as you were about to orgasm, he moved his hand away from your clit and pulled out of you so quickly, you almost started crying.

The look of hurt and betrayal on your face gave him conflicting feelings, but the one that won out was a smug superiority. He’d never loved anyone as much as he loved you, and it seemed like this ‘tough love’ approach was working. He wrapped his hand around your sore throat, his cold and intense stare as he leaned closer to your face sending a shiver down your spine that he could surely feel.

“You don’t come unless I say you can. You got that, sweetheart?” he asked, voice dripping with condescension. 

You nodded weakly, a pained whimper trapped in your throat. As soon as he gave you a wicked grin in return, you knew that he wanted you to give in to your base desires like humans do. With so much of his life spiraling out of his control, he wanted to be sure he didn’t have to worry about you. 

He released his vice grip on your throat, and, as if reading your thoughts from just a few minutes prior, leaned down, pressing a kiss to your neck before grazing his teeth down the tender flesh, feeling your racing pulse’s vulnerability.

“John,” you breathed, your voice inaudible to anyone but him.

“I know, darling. You want it so bad, don’t you?”

“Please,” you whimpered, “please.”

“It didn’t have to be this difficult, you know,” he mused, his fingers playing with your sensitive clit.

You choked out a sob at the almost painful feeling of overstimulation. “I’m sorry. I love you. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not that hard to be good for me, is it? To just do as I say?”

“No.”

“Good. I’d hate to have to remind you again,” he said, his voice soft and low as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I love you.”

The emptiness you felt between your legs was soon filled again by his cock. 

You fell limp at this point, no movements in an attempt to match his thrusts. His reflection had been right, he just needed to take what he wanted and remind you who was in charge. He was in control, all you needed to do was lie back, look pretty, and take it. You should be thanking him for making things so easy for you.

He kissed you, reveling in how sweetly you moaned in his mouth now that he had you exactly how he wanted you. Your heart was racing, he could tell you were getting close, and he was too, but he wanted you to come first, to be the one to fold and give in to him completely.

“It’s all right now, darling. I’ve got you,” he whispered.

It felt like all of your muscles tightened before your release, your hips rocking involuntarily as your orgasm rippled through your body. The pent up pleasure was almost too overwhelming, and you had to grab his bicep to ground yourself, digging your nails into his skin. It didn’t matter, it wasn’t like you could break it anyway. 

With the way your pussy squeezed his cock as you came, an unhinged moan and tears and vision clouded by stars, his own orgasm followed soon after. He never bothered with the pretense of pulling out. Filling you with his cum was right, it was natural, another way to lay claim to you. He hated condoms, but he knew his next course of action would be doing something about your pesky birth control soon. 

You winced as you moved closer to his chest, allowing him to hold your body against his. Your muscles ached, and you knew that in the morning you’d hardly be able to move at all. It wasn’t uncommon with Homelander, and he loved your dependence on him on those mornings when he’d carry you from room to room, a reminder of his strength. He was the most powerful man in the world, you might as well have been a feather.

“How’re you holding up babe?” he asked.

“Fine,” you said softly.

He smiled, stroking your cheek. “I’m glad we’re on the same page now. It’ll make things so much easier, babe, you’ll see.”

You gave him a weak smile before closing your eyes, knowing fully well that he could hear by your thumping heart that you were faking sleep.

[very-normal-abt-this]

hypothesis on what Aziraphale was thinking during the elevator ride (s2e6)

They rode the elevator in silence. Hundreds of thoughts raced through the Angel's panicked mind, as he tried to figure out what just happened.

But after panic, came anger.

Anger, which was caused by an answer to the sudden question that arose in his mind. The question was - How is HE the best angel for the job of "wrapping things up" on Earth? That actually made absolutely no sense. Certainly, after Aziraphale thwarted the last attempted Armageddon, Metatron was highly aware of Aziraphale's disapproving stance on Earth obliteration and on starting wars between Heaven and Hell. So then...why would the Metatron recruit him??

Aziraphale could think of only one reason that made any sense. He suddenly remembered what the angels had said about the combined miracle performed by Crowley and himself - "almost 25 Lazarii", and they had barely put any effort into it. (Metatron's plan all along was to separate us, in order to prevent us from interfering in their plans again!) Aziraphale realized that Metatron was probably *betting* on Crowley rejecting the offer to come back to Heaven. It was probably the lynchpin of his entire plan. On top of that, the bastard also used Aziraphale's affection for the demon as bait, to get him to consider the offer, while knowing the whole time that Crowley would never go for it. (Unbelievable. Actually...completely believable, but still. Unbelievable). Aziraphale was absolutely seething. Metatron had played him for the fool. He had played both of them. (And we completely fell for it. United we stand, divided we fall...isn't that some famous human expression?) Aziraphale tried very hard to control his facial expressions, trying not to let his bitterness and disgust be overly apparent. He wasn't totally successful...

After anger, came resolve.

(So, you think you've tricked me? You think you've neutralized your biggest threat? Fine. Good on you. I will let you think that. And I will use that to my advantage.) Aziraphale was thinking that it is all up to him now. That he WILL figure out a way to stop this from happening. Once and for all. He has to. Aziraphale's eyes darted around the elevator, as he considered his nex steps.

The elevator was slowing down now, and Aziraphale knew that the doors will be opening in a few seconds. He steeled himself internally, and stuffed all his genuine thoughts and emotions very deep, and very far away from his face. He then conjured up the most pleased/excited smile that he could muster.

The problem is - Aziraphale was never good at hiding his emotions. He tended to wear his heart on his sleeve, and his emotional state was usually quite obvious to those around him.

So, as often happens with disingenuous and forced expressions of emotions that are the opposite of how we are actually feeling - Aziraphale's "pleased/excited smile" came out as over the top, maybe even mildly grotesque. But he didn't care. He knew that most angels had a very limited understanding of emotional expression. And...they had a very limited understanding of him.

(full fic located here https://archiveofourown.org/works/50747473/chapters/128195287)