#full body dent paint

[sandeepkumar30]

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[autocarrepairblogs]

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[careager]

Range Rover Full Body Paint Protection-luxury car painting By CarEager Gurgaon, We Offer High-Quality car denting painting services In Gurgaon. Accident-damaged vehicles that have been dented, scratched, or otherwise damaged must be fixed and put back on the road in showroom condition, with the repaired portions perfectly matching the exterior's colour and quality. One could argue that the best compliment to a skilled automobile painter is that their work is invisible once they are done.

[deakyjoe]

Misfire

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Reader (afab)

Category: smut, fluff

Summary: After a long day, Copia gets a little too excited at finally seeing you.

Warnings: 18+, smut, dry humping, premature ejaculation, kissing, groping, cum eating, shower sex, p in v sex, unprotected sex, f receiving oral, cream pie, established relationship, stressed Copia, needy Copia, hurt/comfort, praise kink, fluff

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: Every horny thought I had previously about Copia that had been pushed to the back of my mind with the insistence of “I don’t need to write that” came back in full swing after RHRN and manifested into this. Title comes from the song of the same name by Queen.

Consider buying me a coffee :)

The day had been long and stressful. Like most days were. And there was nothing Copia wanted more than to be back in his room, in bed, with you underneath him or his face buried between your legs. It was the only suitable way to unwind after a difficult day in his opinion. Fucking you.

As soon as his last meeting was done, and he'd managed to convince Sister Imperator that the latest pile of paperwork she'd dumped on his desk could wait for tomorrow, he was out the door and practically running to go and find you. Thankfully, you were exactly where you always were at the end of the day. You were waiting for him back in his rooms, ready to do whatever he needed to feel better.

The door swung open with an unceremonious thwack against the wall, door handle banging into the paint and contributing to the dent that already existed there. It slammed back into its frame behind Copia, all cares about possibly disturbing his neighbours gone. He just needed you.

At the clattering sounds of him appearing, you looked up from the book you were reading and immediately stood to greet him. "Hello, my love. How was your day?"

Copia dismissed your question with a wave of his hand, instead marching towards you with purpose. "No time. Need you."

You didn't have much time to react but the page of the book you were on was forgotten as the item fell to the seat of the chair you were previously situated on, and you prepared yourself to be met with his hands that were already outstretched towards you.

His pace was fast. So fast in fact that when he collided against you, mouth slanting over yours with the slightest clash of teeth, you stumbled back a couple of paces. Luckily, his arms were tightly wound around you in time to steady you and prevent you from falling.

The kiss was messy and desperate, the low whine he let out at the relief of finally touching you telling you everything you needed to know about the state of his day. It obviously hadn't been a good one. But you knew how to solve that.

For Copia, no amount of contact was enough. He was glad that he'd forgone his Cardinal vestments for the day, one less layer between the two of you. One of his hands pushed into the small of your back to draw your body as close as possible to his. The other was on the back of your head to keep your lips firmly pressed against his. On top of that he was leaning forward, almost bending you backwards and making your spine arch in a slightly uncomfortable position, to make sure you didn't leave his embrace for even a second.

His tongue licked hotly and urgently into your mouth and it wasn't long before you could feel him growing hard between you. It didn't take much on days like this. So without breaking away from him, because you knew that would make his day even worse, you slowly started to guide him back towards his bed.

Copia hadn't realised that the two of you were moving, too distracted by the feeling of you, until the backs of his legs hit the wooden frame. He hummed against your mouth in appreciation, you always knew what he needed. Not like it was difficult to tell when he was being like this.

He whimpered when you had to break apart in order to get on the bed, hands not leaving you for a second as you crawled on and collapsed against the pillows and he climbed on top of you. Not a second was wasted as he went back to kissing you, pushing your thighs apart so he could slot himself between them and rest almost the entirety of his body weight on you.

One of his hands roamed you, sliding up underneath the hem of your shirt to gain access to your skin. Even if he couldn't feel it because of his gloves, knowing that the leather was on your bare flesh was enough for him. Your own hands were tangled in his hair, letting the strands run a little looser after being pristine for the day, and pulling him as impossibly closer as you could. You knew he liked it when you showed how you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

It didn't take long before his lustful impulses took over and the friction of your bodies against each other had him pushing his pelvis into yours with a snap of his hips.

"Fuck." He hissed against your mouth, hips rutting forward again. "I'm sorry. I can't- I can't stop, it feels so good."

You slid your hands down to cup his face in your palms, thumbs swiping across his cheeks to calm him down. "Copia, my love, if it feels good then don't stop."

His mouth fell open, a protest dying on his lips when he saw how genuine you were being about the idea, brows scrunching together in pleasure as he let himself rut against you again. After that, all control was lost.

His mouth crashed back over yours, desperate to feel as much of you as possible. He chased the feeling that was steadily building, convinced that he could do this for just a little while longer before he took your clothes off and actually fucked you.

But you knew better.

You could tell he was getting close by the whines he was letting out into your mouth getting higher in both pitch and frequency. His hips were also rutting against you at a much faster rate, almost frantic. Then suddenly he stilled, limbs going rigid and jaw falling open around a long groan of elated satisfaction.

He collapsed on top of you, face buried in the side of your neck and heavy pants tickling your skin. You let your hands slide around to his back, tracing patterns with your finger tips along his clothes.

Copia sighed suddenly, mumbling against your ear. "I'm so sorry. I, eh, I don't know what happened."

"It's okay." You replied, a content smile gracing your lips. He didn't need to apologise, there was nothing you loved more than his happiness. And if that was caused by him coming in his pants just through some dry humping? Then you were all too pleased for him. You let him rest for a couple more minutes, allowing his breathing rate to slow down, before suggesting something that always made him feel better. "Let's go get you cleaned up, hm? Shower?"

The smile in his voice was evident. "Okey dokey."

He slowly pushed himself up, hands running down the lengths of your legs to keep in contact with you as you yourself also sat up. You took his hands in yours as you started to lead him towards his en suite bathroom, letting him wind his arms around your waist and push his face into the side of your neck to keep you close.

When you got to the bathroom, and looked in the mirror, you found that the black paint he applied to his top lip every day was now smeared around your mouth. This was a common occurrence.

You pointed it out to him anyway. "Look, we're matching."

And Copia smiled like he always did. "It suits you."

You rolled your eyes at the same line he always gave you, biting down on your bottom lip to smother the grin it always brought to your face. After switching the shower on, you gave it a minute to warm up as you started to help Copia remove his clothes. He let you do it, a fond smile on his face as he noticed your eyebrows pinch in concentration.

His thighs were sticky from your previous activities and your eyes lit up at the sight. Copia's own eyes practically popped out of his head as he watched you swipe a finger through the mess and then suck it off into your mouth with a pleased hum.

That was all it took for him to start ripping your clothes off and then push you into the shower whilst you giggled at his new found energy.

"Slow down, my love. We have time and you could probably use a minute." You glanced down to where he was hanging soft and pulled him under the hot stream of water with you to start cleaning him off.

Copia's head rested on your shoulder, his hair dripping into his eyes and making his black eye makeup start running, as you lathered him up with soap and got to work gently washing the day's stress away. Once he was spotless you pressed a kiss against his neck to tell him you were done and he stood up straight to look at you.

An adoring smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he cupped your face in a bare palm and ran his thumb over your bottom lip. He kissed you quickly, softly, and then sank down onto his knees. He gazed up at you, mismatched eyes wide and almost vulnerable, black paint cascading from his eyes. You used your thumbs to wipe the mess away before giving him the go ahead with a small nod.

Copia dived in between your thighs, enthusiastically licking at every inch he could reach. His eyes closed in pleasure, moans rumbling through his chest and out of his mouth against you. The fingers of one of your hands threaded through his hair, encouraging him, the other steadying you against the wall to hold yourself up. He was always so keen to please, so desperate to know he was doing well, so that's exactly what you gave him.

"Mhm, just like that." You sighed, meeting his opened eyes. "Good boy."

He whined against you, somehow pushing his face further into you and bumping his nose against your clit. One of his large hands splayed across the plains of your thigh, tips of his fingers pressing into the soft flesh and pushing your leg up to hook your knee over his shoulder. That only gave him better access and a new angle. As much as you wanted to stay composed for him, to keep praising him, the new sensation had a choked cry leaving your mouth and your head dropping backwards in pleasure.

Copia licked and sucked with determination, working towards the goal of getting you to orgasm against his face. He kept a close watch on every reaction you gave, making sure to keep his eyes open now so he didn’t miss a single response you gave to anything he did. Water rained down onto his head, beating against his face and making it harder to see, but he didn’t care. He only cared about making you feel good. Because you always made him feel good. He loved to return the favour.

Your toes curled, thighs clenching around him and drawing him closer against you. Copia knew then that the end goal was arriving soon and this only motivated him further, his rapid motions only picking up further like a man starved. The fingers carded in his hair tightened, tugging on the roots harshly, and Copia groaned loudly, sending vibrations rippling through you. That tipped you over the edge.

A smile spread across his face as you rocked your hips against it, chasing the high that he’d given you. Once it had eased out to a warm glow Copia stood again, wincing as his knees cracked.

“You need to be more careful, my love. Your joints can’t handle positions like those anymore.” You hummed, cupping his face in your hands.

“For you I will bear the pain and get on my knees any day.” He retorted as he leaned in to kiss you.

The proximity alerted you to the fact that he was hard again and you pulled away from him with a startled squeak and looked down to where he was pressing against your stomach.

“Bad days make you like a horny teenager.” You chuckled, not complaining in the slightest.

“No, you make me like a horny teenager.” He countered and kissed you again, tongue lapping into your mouth so you could taste yourself on him.

Steam from the hot shower had clouded the room but neither of you cared as Copia pushed you against the wall and slid into you. You both gasped lowly into each other’s mouths in gratification at the feeling, him lifting one of your legs to give him better access.

He fucked you slowly and lovingly, a strong contrast to the way he’d been rutting against you earlier. But that had been for relief. This was for comfort. He took his time with it, letting the sensation build slowly as to not rush it this time. And you were all too happy to let him have you anyway he wanted you.

Water cascaded between you, causing his body to slip against yours with ease and making it difficult to breathe between kisses. But neither of you cared, not being able to bear being too far away from each other for even a fraction of a second.

It didn’t take long for you to reach your second orgasm, despite the slow pace. And the feeling of you clenching around him meant Copia wasn’t far behind. He stilled as he came inside you, pumping a few more times to make sure he filled you.

After a few more kisses, he slid out of you with a hiss and it was his turn to wash you. He babbled about how much he loved you, a mix of English and Italian and what you thought to be some Latin leaving his mouth in hushed tones. You could only smile back, knowing he knew how much you loved him too.

Once the shower was done, and the steam started to clear, you dried each other off and giggled about meaningless things. You pointed out how much you adored the greys in his hair as you ruffled his head with a towel. He pointed out the bite mark he’d left on your thigh that you hadn’t even noticed he’d given you in the shower as he wiped water droplets off of your skin.

When you returned to the bedroom and started searching for some pyjamas for you to wear, one of his fingers tracing up and down the line of your spine, he informed you that he wanted to sleep naked. To feel you as close to him as possible. You agreed with a simple nod of your head. And when you crawled into bed, you told Copia how much he meant to you. He only blushed and returned the sentiment.

With the lights off, mumbles of affectionate praises, promises of eternal love, and soft kisses were exchanged until the two of you fell into a peaceful sleep wrapped in each other's arms.

A/N: this started out as something meant to be strictly horny and then turned all sweet at the end?? Anyway, hope you enjoyed my first dive into Copia fanfic!

[ikkosu]

TO LIVE, AND TO SERVE

part two

(tfo.sentinel x gn.miner.reader)

A short chapter

one, two, three

"So, what'd you think?" He placed his servos on his hips and glanced down at you with a grin. You're looking at elsewhere, though. At the interior of the habsuite and the slight widen of your intake and mouth should be embarrassing.

After all, you missed feeling the movements on your face after the venom disappating.

 "A nice, lovely space for a miner, isn't it?" 

Nice was a bit of an understatement. It wasn't anything lie you'd have at the barracks. Gold amassed the entirety of the room, gleaming as every glare of the light streaming through the wide arched windows rushed in. A a comfortable mini alcove for a library was by the corner and — oh, look your berth. Right by the window, puffed up with pillows and satin covers. 

A dream for any mech with terrible backs and callous bodies. Small but strangely pleasant. Befitting of a miner, you suppose.  

"I appreciate your kind...gift, sir.''

You could finally enjoy a time of solitude. Away from all the drilling. 

"I've got it all prepared in under a cycle." He said. " Had the drones churning up a few midnight energon for the bit. You know, after I saved you from getting killed." 

 Saved me from getting killed by you. How poetic.

The drones behind pottered into the room arranging the furniture where Sentinel wanted it to be, moving in necessities you never thought you'd needed : waxing equipment, extra plating transfers, extra paint transfers, among more you couldn't count. However, one of the drones had a significant dent across their chassis. Almost like someone had thrown quite the punch and wanted to string out their gut. 

You curl out a digit to point. "Is that...normal?"

Sentinel grunted and gave a dismissive wave, optics trained on the several drones organizing the library. He was fixated on the covers being color coded.

"Nothing trivial.This used to be a holding cell for soon to be named convicts so you can expect the structure to be a little bit janky and loose." 

You look up to see where the metal pole of the ceiling is bent at an odd angle with clear signs of energon flakes coating the end. Poor mech, almost impaled by the thing. What were they doing up there anyway?

" The blueprint is drawn up before the war. Unfortunately, too much funds were going to the military so we had to improvise— " he nodded towards your berth, "—and built personal cell at the castle instead"

"I'm assuming holding cells are this lavish all around."

 He finally looked at you for a moment and let out a loud laugh, a rich crescending wave of timber. "For me? Perhaps. Not for you, though. Not anything you would expect it to be." 

A kind of tightness coiled in your chest at the tone of his voice. Not for you. Not like you. Not you. A chant. A mantra. Layers and overlays of voices that won't stop. The prior migraine that plagued your helm plunged back at full force and you gritted your dentas, cringing. As sentinel looked away, he conversed with the drones of what color you preferred your berth covers to be. " Blue," he declared. A distant murmer.. You drown out the noise, lightheaded. Eventually, he came up to you, uttering words that doesn't make sense. 

"Thank you, sir." You say aimlessly. 

"And, on that topic of sir," He cornered you in.

You step back instinctively

 "I remember asking you to serve." A servo curled around your sides. "And I won't repeat this again, you know how much I hate repeating myself its ridiculous." 

" What do you—"

"My Liege." He leaned down, whispering in your audials firmly. "Say it." 

You stared straight ahead and swallowed. The lump on your throat glided down like an irregular sized rock. He was so close. So close to reach. If you could just reach out, curl your servos around his neck and squeezed — maybe, you could accomplish something that hadn't been done in your lifetime.

"My liege, sir.'' The words rippled out. 

"Louder." He squeezed your sides, digits digging into the soft protoform.

You winced. "My liege, sir." 

His nose grazed your jaw and he smiled. "Good mech, and don't worry about the floor you're in. I'll only call you up when you're dearly needed." 

Which is, every night. 

[cvnt4him]

Do you think Deku is big on family?? He just SCREAMS dilf energy yk

Yes yes yes nonnie/nonnette. I think he is HUGE on family. Izuku js screams girl dad to me personally like I feel like he has 2 daughters idk how to explain it. Lemme js write ts for you..

Also this is x black reader.. I'm sorry💋

Reader n zuku are in their late 30's/ early 40's

Day 1 of izuku week!!

You and izuku had been together since highschool, you were quite literally highschool sweethearts. When he asked you to marry him at your highschool graduation you were literally sobbing. Just letting out tears and more tears.

When he told you he wanted to have kids you were a bit afraid. The thought of having to push a human body out of your literal birth canal terrified you. But he promised you he'd be there every step of the way. With him by your side you felt as if there was nothing you couldn't do.

That's how you ended up with the most beautiful girls in the world, izumi and zora. Those weren't the names you personally agreed upon but he made it his mission to have his daughters with names exactly like his. There was something so satisfying and gratifying to him about the fact there were his daughters. You had his kids. It was only fair he got to name them.

Izumi was izukus splitting image, she had curly green locs and big wide green eyes, she didn't have freckles however. Zora looked like you, a dingy greenish brown painting her hair and her deep hazel brown eyes not being as wide as izumis, her hair was more coily and voluminous than izumis.

Izuku loves both of his girls unconditionally, he loves when they have him play weird and wacky games like hospital or restaurant. Izumi is more of a loud and carefree kid, she loves singing and dancing and just being a kid. Zora is a bit too responsible for her age izuku thinks, shes very intelligent for the younger sibling and is very intuitive with things around her.

Izukus daughters are two different people but he can't help but love them all the more. Izuku sometimes loves watching you do zoras hair, putting cute little barrettes in her coily hair. He loves to watch the way you smile and do her hair, she winces slightly moving around from the discomfort. It was always easiest to do izumis hair in your opinion, not that you had a problem doing either of your daughters hair.

They were both huge Daddy's girls. He loved spoiling them absolutely rotten. They could just bat their eyelashes to him and he'd give them whatever they wanted. You hated how because he couldn't never dent them you were always seen as the bad guy.

Izuku would sit by the girls shared room door frame and watch you read to them, they'd say goodnight as you'd kiss both of their heads before leaving their room to your surprise you see your big husband with a soft grin on his matured face, his eyes soft and full of love.

Izuku was in love with you, the way your body had changed from giving birth, the stretch marks, the dimples and just everything about you. He loved you so much, you gave him a family, you gave him hope and reason to love, a home to come back to. The house wasn't his home, it was you and his daughters.

He would pound you from behind deep into your shared bed, whispering sweet things into your ears like how you were made for him and made to fit him. How you were so perfect and the reason he goes on. And so many more sweet things that made you gush and tighten around him.

Izuku midoriya was your big strong strapping husband who loved you so<33

AN: this was more of headcanons than a fic and i really enjoyed making this, lemme know if you want a little day in the midoriya girls' life!! I would enjoy making it!!!!

[cherryredstars]

Miguel/Reader request:Recently Miguel is experiencing a lot of pain,stress,his serum was losing effectiveness and his spider were more stronger to the point he transformed into a monster,a man spider:a 15 feet tall creature,full of fur,six clawed arms,hindlegs,spikes,fangs,many eyes and pinchers.One night Miguel was really struggling so y/n decides to “help” (there’s consent from both even if Miguel is a bit scared about it since he’s afraid of hurting her and he transforms while doing it)

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Blood, Penetrative Sex, Internal Vaginal Ripping, Sedation, Mating, Mentions of Breeding, Mentions of Reader Developing a Spider Egg Sac, Spiders… Miguel Turning into a Big Spider and Having Monster Sex with You????

Summary: A not so itsy bitsy spider…

A/N: This was requested all the way in October… I am so sorry. And I am so sorry for the warnings.

Word Count: 1.1K (Unedited)

It had to be a miscalculation of something. 

Maybe the wrong measurements, a switch in chemicals, perhaps some lab equipment in need of replacing. He refuses, absolutely refuses, to believe it is because his body has begun to form a tolerance of the neon chemical. That instead of sedating him, it’s making him stronger. It has been stressing him the fuck out. Everything has been stressing him out. Rapture, the multiverse, Miles Morales, Peter B. Parker. There is only so much a single man can take.

And you know that. The woman of his dreams and the miracle cure to all his problems. You, you, you. You were so sweet to him, leading him to the bedroom the moment he returned from HQ. Your small hand grasped his as you collapsed on the bed and pulled him on top of you. 

“Let me take care of you, Miggy”, you had whispered into his ear. “Let me help you get rid of all that stress.”

How could he say no to that? How could he ever say no to you?

And it was fine. It was going good. His mind was empty and all he could think about was the way you squirmed under him. How good you were at taking his deep thrusts. How easily you were giving him the sweetest mewls. He was hyper focused on the way you moaned into his neck and your fingers tangled into his hair for dear life. Your skin was soft and warm and pliable under him, denting under his fingers and sure to leave bruises in the morning. Your hot cunt clenched and fluttered around his cock, making him moan out. 

And then he felt it: a sharp prickling running down his spine. It burned red hot, shooting pain along all of his nerve endings. It felt like his skin was splitting open and expanding, like something was trying to crawl out of him. And it was. He let out a roar of pain, his thrusts slowing. Hair started to pierce through his skin, sprouting from his neck and down his back. The hair on his arms, legs, and chest expanded and thickened. His joints and muscles popped and rolled as they began to take a new shape and stretch. His skin began to give away to an ugly black that grew larger and swelled. His mouth has split open as his fangs elongated and pinchers began to sprout from his face. His eyes began to sting, his vision doubling, then tripling, and quadrupling. His eyes looked around frantically, watching as his field of vision dented and widened, now painted in a reddish tint. It started to grow more distant as his body began to lift, his back arching as it hit the ceiling. 

Arms, legs, began to sprout from his ribs, sharp and spiky as they punctured the mattress around you. The hands on your body began to grow claws that punctured your skin, making you cry out as the smell of copper filled the air. His cock was the last to change, swelling and thickening. The sounds of your panicked screams echoed in his heightened senses, the smell of blood growing strong as his abnormal cock split you open from the inside in a way that was impossible. Your walls tore in an effort to accommodate him, and you tried to pry yourself off of him as the pain grew stronger. It only served for his morphed claws to dig deeper into your skin and you sobbed heavily. The sounds of your desperate pleas for help and terrified screams echoed in Miguel’s head. He tried to comfort you, apologize, but his words were only inhuman gargles. 

An instinctive surge coursed through his body, his cock throbbing in a need to mate you. The need to have your stomach swell with spider eggs and create the perfect egg sac. He can’t do that if you’re trying to escape and if you’re in pain. 

He leans his face closer to you, making you sob harder and turn away. It provided the perfect access to your neck. His fangs grazed the skin, before he sunk them in. You let out a muffled scream, your body quickly began to sag as the sedative chemical began to fill your bloodstream and make you sleep. Your eyes began to flutter, your mind trying to fight the drowsiness and failing. In a few seconds, your body completely relaxed onto the bed with your eyes closed and erratic breathing turning soft. 

When the sedation wears off, when he turns back, he will cuddle up to you. When you wake up and look around frantically in fear, he will pretend to wake up and reassure you it was only a dream. A horrible nightmare sprung from your wild imagination. But for now, he ruts into you, his bulbous tip smashing against your cervix and jolting your body upwards on the bed. His movements are frantic and slightly disoriented as he tries to maneuver in his new form. Your walls are impossibly tight around him, glued to his length and almost refusing to let him go. It brought him closer to the edge, and with a few sharp thrusts he began to spill into you. 

It surged out of you, overflowing from the edges of your hole in a creamy light pink as it mixed with your blood. When the blood washed out, it began to run a pure white. It soaked into the sheets and began to form a puddle. Then, Miguel’s body began to shift again. All the new additions receded back into his frame until he collapsed on top of your body. He was breathing heavily, his body readjusting to his human form. He groaned softly when he pulled out of you, and a panic welled in his chest. 

He needs to fix this before you wake up. 

He frantically got off of you, moving your unconscious body higher up on the bed so he can remove the sheets. He scours the closet you keep the linens in, picking out the one most similar to the old sheets. He doesn’t have time to go out and buy a new mattress, instead ripping up the cum and blood stained sheets and stuffing the fabric in the holes as a temporary solution and then covering it up with the new sheets. He cleans you up, amazed when the puncture wounds on your body have disappeared, only leaving the crusted trails of blood and discoloration. He can only hope your vaginal walls have repaired themselves and you only have an uncomfortable stretch between your legs. 

When everything looks normal, he tucks you in and crawls in beside you. He holds you tightly to his chest, breathing in your scent and squeezing his eyes shut.

 It was only a dream, he begins to practice in his head. Just a dream.

This felt like a fever dream to write. I can not explain to you the way I was laughing and ripping at my hair in bizarre astonishment as I typed this shit out LMAO. 

Like ‘Internal Vaginal Ripping’ and ‘Mentions of Reader Developing a Spider Egg Sac’??? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

[hwajin]

— look at me, look at me. you're looking?

⁺ 𓂋 𓈒 ✦ :: — lee minho | 4k follower event

genre: smut

pairing: minho x gn!reader

req

send me a request!

"Yeah, keep your eyes on- on me babe, look- look at me."

Struggling to find his voice yet he attempted to keep his composure. Minho would never admit to have lost control long ago, over his body, over his mind, over the entirety of the affair he had initiated.

"Touch yourself while watching me jerk off."

Words had cut deep into the air, had emptied your lungs off any oxygen. They had come so casually, so without remorse and you grew shy, embarrassed in Minho's place, him seemingly missing any sense of shame.

His hand, now visible, now not hidden within the confines of his jean but on full display for you, wandered up and down his length, slow and torturous strokes you knew had him breaking sweat, had him seeing stars. Knew he needed more than what he was giving himself and knew you could provide it, though you stayed in your place, back against the headrest of the bed, legs spread sinfully wide before him — if you'd been embarrassed before you sure weren't now, despite the situation surely called for it. And yet, watching your boyfriend's breath hitch in his throat, watching him pull up the hem of his shirt, reveiling tensed up v-line and spasming torse, watching him throw his head back into his neck, against the rest of the chair, delicate veins painting his skin in purple and blue. You wished to paint that neck in yet brighter colours, wished to claw your teeth into silken skin, breaking the barrier, bruising the body.

Your head lulled sideways, own thoughts overwhelming and your eyes rolled back, fingers on your heat quickening in pace, chasing a high, or chasing more, or chasing the touch of another, of him, altogether. Long forgotten about his order, eyes neither on his own nor on his body now, sheer inability to keep them anything but closed stroke through you like buzzing lighting. You were close, dangerously so, chasing and chasing after something you knew only he could give you. Only he could truly provide you.

You sensed shuffling from across you, heard nearing steps and a muffled curse beneath breath, felt hands on your body, finally, eventually, like sweet release in itself, like salvation only he could grant. Your eyes opened momentarily, catching his in surprise, surprising further at the darkness laced within them — he wasn't angry yet determined, grip on you a solid one, all ten cups of his fingers digging into your skin, leaving dents and marks and possible bruises to awe at the next day. Erection prodding against slit, against filthy wetness, eliciting sounds you shyed away from — maybe you did find yourself embarrassed after all, with the newfound touch of his on your skin, with the newfound realisation of your utter neediness, of your desperation, pathetic, almost. Skin blushing, cheeks red and Minho's hand found a place on them, holding your face steady, puckering your lips slightly in the process.

"Told you to look at me, d- didn't I."

Tip prodding at your entrance before he pushed into you, slowly though unexpectadely deep that you nothing but arched into his body and whimpered out in longing, in oversensitivity, in pleasure overwhelming. Receiving a chuckle in response, thrusts of his hips against yours, faster now, more urgent — he was as impatient as you, as egged up, as eager, as edged; he needed release nearly as much as yourself, any plans he'd planted beforehand thrown over board, instincts taking over instead. He wasn't normally one to lose himself, so only drawing a reaction more needing, more wanting out of you — he did lose control now, due to you, because of you and your body, and you clawed onto him, hands on his shoulders, eyes on his ones, his grip never allowing you to convert gaze.

And your faces were contorted. Brows scrunched and eyes frantic, lips laced in sweat and bitten red, bitten bloody. And it didn't take much longer for you, clenching around him in butterfly flaps, voice pitching higher, pleas foaming off your mouth — you had nearly reached what you'd chased, and you could only hope Minho to bring you all the way towards the finish line.

"That's it baby, look at me while you come around me— fuck. Look at me."

Complying though it was a harder task than given — your eyes dared to lose themselves if you didn't focus enough, and you nearly closed them when your high hit you like a loaded truck, weight on your shoulders and pressure in your stomach releasing, body contracting against his own, eyes hooded and milky, thoroughly fucked out as you kept your gaze on him, obediently.

And if he hadn’t lost control already he had now, surely, watching you, watching your eyes lace in pleasure, in satisfaction greater than anything you’d ever known before him, his own thrusts grew static, lowest grunts rolling over and past his lips, and you felt him fill you moments later, hot release within your stomach, within the depths of you, daring to spill out, to stain thigh and sheets and mattress. Panting the both of you, hand yet on your jaw, gazes yet connected – not planning to separate any time soon.

@felixinameadowandthesuniswarm @es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @lix-ables @yvniek4ng @ppiri-bahng @bintificreads @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @minniesvenus @junebug032 @noellllslut

[trashmouth-richie]

⋆·˚ ༘ * eddie x female reader

⋆·˚ ༘ * summary: what happens, when eddie makes plans without you?

⋆·˚ ༘ * tw: 18+ only, unprotected p in v! toxic relationship behavior, choking, reader is kind of crazy but it’s explained at the end, breaking shit, mean!reader, drinking, weed, knife use, pet names, nicknames.

⋆·˚ ༘ * 1.7k words, not proof read, pretend it is.

Saturdays were usually your nights together. Spending the night at his trailer because it was guaranteed that Wayne would be gone. 

But tonight Eddie said he had “plans with the boys”. 

So imagine your surprise when Robin called you up and asked why you weren’t at Steve’s party, but Eddie was?

The ten minute drive felt like sixty seconds of pure rage filled hell. You only saw red, steam shot from your ears like a cartoon. 

And when you pulled up to Steve’s enormous house, Robin was right, because Eddie’s van was sitting out front. 

Your blood boiled and your cheeks felt like fire. Heart hammering in your chest,  you slammed the gear shift into park before the car could even come to a full stop. 

You didn’t care that he was here with his friends, what you cared about was the normal posse of skanky girls who were at Steve’s parties, one strawberry blonde in particular that rubbed you every way of wrong. Chrissy.

She was always hanging on Eddie any chance she got, batting her eyelashes, acting dumb to get his help in math. You’re so smart she’d whisper to him— even though the straight F’s on his paper definitely didn’t stand for Fantastic. 

Jason had dumped her and rumor had it she was looking to get back at him the biggest way she knew how, and that was t getting with the freak. 

Your freak. 

The sharp black points on your heeled boots clicked along the sidewalk as you stalked towards the house whistling an angelic sort of tune, swinging the wooden bat by your side. 

Jonathan was outside the lavish home, smoking a fatty and leaning against the raised brick garden bed. Upon first glance he waved, all drunken smiles and lazy greetings. 

It wasn’t until he saw what was in your hand that he finally pieces it together, and you asked him sweetly to kindly get Eddie because you had a message for him. 

The driver's side window broke with little to no effort, a few swings and it shattered into a pretty spider web of splintered glass, covering Eddie’s driver seat. 

The whistled tune never stopped from your puckered lips. Not when you flicked open the pocket knife and punctured the rubber tires, or when you carved a long jagged scratch into the paint down the aluminum body. 

It wasn’t until you were standing on the hood of the van, crashing the bat into the windshield did you hear the front door to Steve’s swing open, music fading through the night with each body shoving their way through the door, gasping at your surprise gift for your boyfriend. 

Someone, Jeff, you think— hollers for Eddie and you plant your ass on the hood, leaving a dent for sure by the way you plopped down like it was a trampoline. With legs crossed and twisting the bat between your palms, you wait patiently for the man of the hour to finally arrive, a smile on your black painted lips. 

By now there’s a decent sized crowd, all gaping mouths and wide eyes, some laughing but mostly struck with fear out of the freaks girl. 

He walks down the concrete steps, his heavy boots thudding against the hard ground. You can see the muscles in his jaw tense from where you are sitting, his knuckles tighten into a fist and his shoulders broaden and angle back, like he's trying like hell, not to yell out right by the look of the destruction you caused to his van. 

“Hi baby,” you greet, sugary sweet like you just brought him balloons on his birthday, “having a fun night?”

Eddie is seething, nostrils flared as he tries to even his breathing, “what did you do Lil?” 

“What?” You ask, turning your body to look at the glass splintered on the windshield and smashed on the ground, “oh, you mean all this? It’s pretty right?” 

Eddie drags his tongue across the front of teeth, sucking in a breath, “you’re kidding right?”

Unhooking your crossed leg you slam your heel into one of his headlights, the satisfying crunch of the plastic pieces littering to the ground, you smile pretty up at him, but he doesn’t bat an eye, “oh Eddie,” you tsk, “I don’t like jokes… or being,” the tip of the bat hits the other headlight with a crunch, “… lied to.” 

“Fucking Christ, what are you even talking about?” Eddie spits as he looks to Jeff then to Gareth. 

“Really? Then why did Robin call to say you were here with that bimbo Chrissy?” 

The crowd ooo’s as Eddie stomps towards you, his face struck with anger, the browns of his eyes completely black as he glared down at you, his necklace still swaying as he leans forward into your space, only malice in his voice. 

“Time to go,” he grunts, grabbing the bat from your hand and tossing it to the ground, “now.” 

“Nah,” you say, looking past him and waving at Steve, he returns the wave with a confused look at a silent gasp at the look of Eddie’s van, “I’m just getting started.” 

Steve tries to push everyone inside shows over! Let’s go! But nobody budges, waiting for the train wreck, unable to look away. 

Eddie pulls you from the van by your feet, your bare ass skimming the hood as your skirt lifts up, sure to leave a burn, you land on your feet, waltzing over to aforementioned blonde and taking her drink from her, downing the horrific liquid in a gulp. She’s too stunned to speak as you twist back around to catch a glimpse of Eddie, shooting him a wink. 

The knife tucked into the cute holder on your thigh comes out with a flick. Flashing the steel blade to Eddie, you wink before whipping back around to Chrissy just in time to catch her ponytail between your fingers. The knife cuts through her hair like a shear, close to her scalp beneath the emerald ponytail, her golden locks fisted limply in your hand. 

The scream she lets out is blood curdling and ugly, but you don’t mistake the laugh coming from Robin or Steve as Chrissy runs inside, her cheer squad hurrying behind to help their friend. 

“Wait! You forgot this!” You say shaking the blond strands towards the door, “I’m sure some glue or tape will hel—”

You're caught off guard as Eddie’s hand wraps around your wrist and starts dragging you away from the party back to his van. He wiggles the knife from your fingers and closes it on his hip, shoving it into his jacket. 

The smile never left your lips, not even when your shoulder blades rest against the side of the van as Eddie crowds you in. 

“Jesus Christ you’re fucking crazy, y’know that?” his words are mean but there’s a hint of something else on his lips, a smirk.

Your fingers move to his belt buckle, threading it through itself as you look up at him through your lashes, “you love it.” 

His eyes roll tk the back of his head, and he takes a deep breath, animalistic instinct kicking in as you suck his thumb into your mouth. 

“Fuck.”   

Your thighs are wrapped around his waist in two seconds flat. He grunts as his thick fingers glide through your wet heat, finally noticing you weren’t wearing any panties he groans guttural and low. 

His hand wraps around your throat and he smiles as you gasp for a little breath, eyes rolling into your skull as he cants his hips forward and his thick head pushes through your walls, filling you full. 

Your lips attach to his neck, licking and biting hard enough that your teeth marks will bruise a perfect dental record into his skin. A nice match for the red lips tattooed on the left of his neck, an identical mark to yours. 

“Shit,” he groans slamming into you harder and harder, shaking the van on its flat tires, broken glass hitting the ground like hail. “Always so fucking tight for me baby, fuck I love your pussy.” 

You’re mewling into him, inhaling his words as he bites your lip, licking the blood from them and running it over his teeth. 

The front door opens and shuts but neither of you stop, not even when the sobs from Chrissy get closer as her friends bell her into their car, parked right behind Eddie’s van. 

Eddie’s face is buried into your neck and you catch Chrissy’s blue teared stare, horror on her face as you and Eddie both moan. “Mm fuck,” you say to her, eyes boring into hers, “like what you see, Christopher?”

The screaming huff from her mouth is  heard around Hawkins as she slams the door to Heather's car, tires screeching as they tear out of Steve’s driveway. 

Eddie chuckles into your skin and shakes his head. A smile on his face as he kisses you hard, pumping into you harder and before long you're both coming and moaning into the night, completely lost in your own world. 

Later that night in Eddie’s bed, you're tangled naked and fresh from a shower beneath soft cotton sheets. His hands lazily work up and down your back, your arm propped up beneath your chin on his chest, “so, I did good, right?”

Eddie laughs and blows a ring of smoke into the air, “you were perfect my little vixen, I could barely contain myself when you were sitting on the hood like that, looked so fucking sexy, wanted to fuck you right there.” 

You both laugh at the theatrics of the night, and you remember something that’s missing, “gonna need my knife back by the way, feels weird without it.” 

Eddie points to his jacket crumbled on the floor next to a mountain of discarded clothing and leather boots, “it’s in my pocket, just keeping it safe.” 

You roll your eyes with a tease and slither from the sheets, bare skinned beneath the yellow warm lamp, the jacket feels cool in your hands, silk pockets gentle on your fingers as your grab your knife and pull it out. 

Examining it in your fingers it truly was the perfect gift from the man you adored, etched into the handle, a script he cut himself, “to my Lilith.” 

liked this? consider a reblog like and comment! thanks for reading

another story in the same lilith au - here & here

[btreeseo]

https://camauto.ae/

[starlightsearches]

track 8 with eddie!

all i ask is that it’s sub!eddie 🤞

Brat

So I lied earlier about deleting all of the requests for the mixtape milestone 😬 i did get rid of the some of the requests i hadn't started, but i couldn't let go of the ones i drafted, which is good news, because inspiration struck for this one!

Ex-boyfriend! Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader

Warnings: NSFW 18+, pussy eating, bratty eddie but he gets put in his place super quick, bondage, not a happy ending if you want them to get back together, language, and i think that's it!

You never thought you'd be back on Eddie Munson's doorstep.

Hands hanging heavy at your sides, a little taste of a summer breeze teasing at the hem of your skirt. You'd been full of a strange mixture of righteous fury and sick anticipation on the drive over but it's all gone now, a choking feeling in your throat when you lift up your hand to knock.

And you still can't do it.

Your eyes rake over his completely uninteresting door (are there even interesting doors?)— pockmarked with random dents and dings and sticky residue from long gone flyers—but you study it like it's the Mona Lisa, like it's got the meaning of life hidden somewhere in its peeling paint.

Fuck that. You didn't come here for the meaning of life.

Your knuckles meet the cool metal, once, then twice. The door flies open before you get a chance to drop your hand.

Eddie was waiting for you on the other side.

Heat floods through your entire body—and not the good kind—the oily feeling of embarrassment creeping up your neck. Had he been watching you through the peep hole?

He leans casually up in the door frame, arm stretched long above his mess of curls. The smile on his lips is so familiar it makes you ache.

"Hey, sweetheart."

Eddie looks good. Better than the last time you saw him—a little over a month ago, although not much as changed. Kind of stubbly, kind of toned. Still very, very hot.

There's no need to feel guilty for thinking it, but that doesn't stop your stomach from sinking as you drag your eyes down the white t-shirt he wears, band logo faded and the sleeves cut off, knees poking out of the rips in his jeans.

It should be ridiculous—a fucking caricature of a cool guy with his artful rips and the tats littering his arms. A Halloween costume on anybody else. But not on Eddie.

You push past him, like you push past the thought about how tight he wears his jeans. "Don't call me that."

He follows you into the living room of his shitty little apartment, kicking the door closed behind him. "What can I call you, then? Sugar tits?"

He doesn't even pretend to whither under your stare, although you feel like you cut glass with the look you give him.

"I thought I told you not to call me at all. Where is it?"

He's standing too close, looming over you with a little smirk. You can feel how hot his skin is. Feel the warm puff of breath from his nose on your cheeks. "Where's what, gorgeous?"

He never called stuff like that when you were together. Baby was his favorite. Princess when he was feeling sassy. Honey, but only on the rarest occasions, the sweetest mornings. That one always made you weak at the knees.

"The box of my stuff," —you're mad at him, at this, and it hits you hard, has you jamming a finger into his sternum, feeling the wiry muscle of his chest underneath the tee—"the one you left me three desperate messages about."

That humbles him a little bit. A very little bit, but enough to make Eddie shut his mouth for once. He points down the hall behind you.

"Bedroom."

You know the way, but let him lead. It's colder in his apartment than it was outside, the hair on your arms standing up, and you hold yourself a little tighter, cussing yourself out for leaving your jacket in the car.

"You look good," he calls back without turning in your direction, eyes on the clutter covering every inch of the floor, maybe hoping you won't notice the edge in his voice, “going out tonight?"

That was the plan—before this. "Yeah."

"Who with?"

Eddie doesn't even have enough shame in him to look embarrassed about asking, staring at you openly, like he has any right to know anything about your life now that he's not in it.

"You don't know them," you answer, and he laughs.

"Come on, sweetheart. Your friends are my friends."

And yeah, that used to be the case. Robin still called you up some weekends, inviting you out to girls' nights in a sad little tone. You made up excuses every time, but she still called.

Whatever. They were Eddie's friends first.

"Well, I made new ones."

Eddie runs his tongue over his bottom lip, crossing his arms across his chest.

“What’re their names?”

Jesus, he's such an ass.

"Just a bunch of guys I met outside a liquor store. Said they'd buy me shots tonight if I let them motorboat me in the parking lot."

"Har-har," Eddie rolls his eyes, but you didn't miss the look. His concern for you makes you itch. "Seriously, princess, just wanna know if you're keeping good company."

"Well, I'm not. Can I get my stuff now?"

And maybe you feel kind of bad for lying to him, but you can't let him know the truth—that it'll just be you and a couple girls from work. A few glasses of wine and some gossip. Hell, you'll probably be in bed before midnight.

Eddie digs around at the bottom of his closet, producing a cardboard box littered with garbage—a stack of magazines, some stupid teddy bear he won for you at an arcade, and a couple of bras you'd never be able to wear anymore with the way Eddie's spit is probably permanently fused in the fabric.

A wasted trip.

You try to take the box from him, but Eddie's grip doesn't budge.

"I can carry it out to your car, sweetheart," he says, standing up tall, "unless those biker guys are out there waitin' for you."

"I never said they were bikers," you respond, adjusting your grip on the box, pulling it tighter to your chest. It just has Eddie taking another step closer, big, warm hands sliding over yours.

"Good, 'cause I don't think bikers are your type."

He's whispering a little, lowering his voice all sexy in the way that always used to get you into bed with him.

Not this time.

"Oh fuck you, Eddie. What would you know about my type?"

"Uh, at least a little, honey," he laughs, smiling wide and boyish—so confident, self-assured.

"Don't—" you snatch the box out of his hands, "call me honey."

That's the landmine he's been waiting for you to step on. Eddie looks at you, ready to mash all your buttons until he figures out which ones will have you on him. You wish he wasn't so close to the right combination.

He stalks closer, trapping you up against the closet door, both hands planted above your head. You can't feel anything below your knees.

Voice low, breath wet up against your ear, Eddie says, "what are you gonna do about it, honey?"

The box falls with a whump, spilling all your shit across Eddie's bedroom floor. It's nothing compared sound of your body slammed against the door when your lips finally meet his.

You don't know who started it—whether it was your hands tangled up in his hair or him pinning you in place with his hips. You just know you don't want it to stop.

Eddie's running hot—hot hands at your waist and stubbly skin scratching up your jaw and his whole, hot body pressing up against you, moving just the way you like.

Liked.

You push his hands away with both of yours, trapping them against his sides, but it's not enough to stop him, his mouth at your neck.

"Come on, honey," he whispers, "I said I was sorry."

"I don't want an apology, Eddie."

He tries again, fingertips just brushing against your hips. He looks at you, eyes a little sad, a little too honest.

"Then what can I do to get you back?"

Fuck him. You didn't come here for that either. There's only one thing you want from Eddie Munson, and it's not a box full of bras.

"Get on your knees."

You're surprised his bones don't break with the speed he falls to the floor, thumping against the carpet. Hands already pushing up the hem of your skirt, face pressed low against your stomach. Maybe he's missed this as much as you.

"God, baby," he whispers against your thighs, fingers snaking under the hip of your lacy underwear, "knew you couldn't stay away."

Your knee juts out against his sternum, pushing him back.

"Stop that."

The look on his face is a little stupid, jaw dropped open and his brows furrowed. You were never like this when you were together, always deferring to him in one way or another. But you’re not together anymore.

You crouch down to his level, tracing the tips of your nails over the distended veins in his neck. Eddie's lids flutter, and then fall closed when your lips run over the same path, hand stroking faintly down his arm.

"You don't get to touch me, Eddie," you tell him, and he starts to nod, until his eyes flicker open again and he gets a good look at you, zeroed in on your tits and the low-cut of your dress.

"I- I don't, I mean . . . how?"

You slip the black bandana from his back pocket, give his ass a little squeeze. "Don't worry, honey, I'll help you out."

Eddie doesn't fight you when you push his wrists together, wrapping the cloth around them. He just stares, like he's trying to make sure this isn't a dream, his throat trembling when you pull the knot tight, letting the coarse fabric bite into his skin. You can almost hear a moan on his lips. But maybe you just imagined that.

Besides, you're not worried about what he likes right now.

Back on your feet, you rest your shoulders against the door, jutting your hips out toward him. Eddie looks up at you, big eyes wider than you've ever seen them, wiggling his wrists a little to see if there's any give.

You raise a brow, nudging at the ripped knee of his jeans with your bare toes. "Well?"

Whatever doubts Eddie may have had, they're out the window the second he sees you lifting up your skirt, revealing more and more of the soft skin of your thighs, the black lace you're wearing underneath it.

"Jesus, honey," he shuffles forward until his face is sandwiched between your thighs again, "you wear these for me?"

There's a little laugh on your lips, if only to cover up the way your breath hitches at the way he kisses at your skin, squeezing you between his teeth.

Even without his hands, Eddie Munson is dangerous.

You shift your legs wider so he can fit better, plant a hand in his hair and pull him closer to where you want him.

"Not a chance, Munson. You think the next guy will like them?"

Eddie can't answer. Not vocally at least. His mouth is busy, tongue splitting your lips, before he stops to rub slow circles over your clit through the fabric. Like he's trying to tell you that there's not gonna be a next guy.

Fuck. You thought you were stronger than that, but maybe he's right.

Because, for all his faults, Eddie really knows how to eat pussy. Even without the use of his hands he's got you shaking—better than the feel of his fingers splitting you open, maybe even better than when he'd rip your underwear off you and dive in, nothing to separate you from the pleasure Eddie loved to give.

Your underwear are soaked, and not just from his spit, the sloppy way Eddie devours you, big eyes dark, looking up at you past the bunched up hem of your skirt. He's got you dripping, a little desperate.

Or more than a little.

Eddie's whispering when he pulls back enough he can speak, and you're shocked you can even hear him with the way he's talking directly into your pussy, and through the buzzing in your ears.

"Come on, princess. Let me taste you."

You snake your free hand down—because you want to, not because he asked, pulling the sticky wet fabric to the side. Eddie whistles low and soft when he sees your glistening cunt, the breeze sending a shiver up your spine when it meets your feverish skin.

He moves back in, slower this time, savoring the taste of you, his tongue peeking into your dripping hole and circling the edges, collecting your cum, drinking you up.

You press tighter against him to improve the angle, one leg coming up to rest on his broad shoulder. Eddie groans and the vibrations go straight to your clit.

Fuck, you're close. Close in a way you haven't been since you slammed the door to this apartment all those weeks ago—the kind of close you'd been looking for with your hand between your legs ever since, losing the feeling every time you were reminded that you should be thinking about anyone but Eddie.

But how could you manage? Head like this was hard to find.

Eddie knows that, the fucker, lips circled around your clit, sucking at you like his life depends on it. Your vision goes dark, eyes rolling back of their own accord. The only thing louder than your moans is the sound of Eddie's sloppy mouth working at your core.

You grind your hips down against his face, riding his mouth when the feeling overtakes you, body buzzing as those little uh uh uhs spill from your lips. Shock waves like fireworks traveling through you with each stroke of his tongue.

Fuck.

Eddie doesn't slow down, still abusing your poor clit, sucking at your puffy lips, trying to drain you of all those moans from you until you've got to drag him away by his hair or else he's gonna make you cum again.

And then you'll never want to leave.

Eddie looks up at you, face shiny, and he smiles.

"How was that?"

And it's almost as thrilling as that orgasm, the way his brain so clearly shuts down and stalls when you shift your clothes back to where they were, unphased, patting his cheek with a patronizing little look.

"Passable. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have plans."

Eddie doesn't have quite enough balance to get back on his feet with his wrists still tied, so he shuffles after you on his knees, tripping on clutter and knocking shit over.

"Wait a second, what about me?"

He waves his hands in front of his face, like you might have forgotten that you tied him up, like it wasn’t the highlight of your day.

"I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out, princess."

You don't even bother to look back, and the satisfaction that washes over you probably feels better than heroin.

You're in the living room before you hear Eddie call out again.

"Hey! You forgot all your stuff!"

He doesn't get a response to that one, either. The last Eddie hears from you is the slamming of his front door.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Playboy || PG10 {3}

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x fem!reader Summary: Pierre proves himself and makes promises. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut WC: 2.2k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four

Wind whipped through the gaping hole in the back of the Ferrari and you shivered from the cold, curling your knees up to your chest as Pierre drove back to the city. You expected him to take you home but he pulled into a far nicer apartment block and spiralled down the ramp to the underground carpark. 

Slipping out of the car and into the well-lit carpark you saw the full extent of the damage and shook your head at the new paint job that was needed. “I’m sorry,” you murmured as you ran your fingers over the worst chips and dents. 

A pair of hands came to rest on your hips and Pierre rested his chin on your shoulder as he looked at his car. “Don’t worry about it, insurance will cover it.”

“I was apologising to the car,” you said with a smirk but the move only served to split the cut on your cheek and fresh blood welled to the surface as you winced. “Do you have a first aid kit I can borrow?”

Pierre laced his fingers with yours and nodded as he led the way to his apartment. The elevator ride was quiet and you felt the tension rising as you idly played with the thick ring on his thumb. Looking away from the jewellery, you realised it was a mistake as you met his eyes and knew the feeling wasn’t one way, but the elevator was not the place to start what you had in mind.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Pierre all but groaned as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Like what?” you asked innocently, tilting your head to the side and peeking up through your lashes.

“Like I’m a playboy who will fuck you on the first date.” There was a sinkhole in the ocean of his irises and it was stealing all the colour from them the longer that he looked at you. He reached out and hit the button for the 12th floor again as if it would magically make the ride go faster. “I’m trying to prove a point and you’re making it hard.”

“Is there a rooftop here?” you asked as you thought of a solution.

“Yeah, for maintenance I think. Why?”

“Take me there first,” you urged and he frowned as he hit the button for the level above his. The elevator opened to a short hallway and you saw the stairs that led to a metal door so you tugged his hand and made your way outside, sticking a brick in the door to keep it from locking you out. “Lay down.”

“You can be quite bossy,” he chuckled but humoured you as he did as he was told, joining you on the cold concrete roof top. “What are we doing?”

“Stargazing,” you said as you turned to him, propping your head up on your hand. “It seems like a reasonable second date.”

“A second date already, hmm,” he smirked as you sat up and leaned over him with a matching smile.

“I think that officially means you aren’t a playboy.” You dipped your head down and he met you halfway, his large hands grabbing your waist to pull you onto his lap as he sat up and kissed you. 

“Very clever,” he murmured against your lips, making you smile more. 

“I’ve been known to have a few good ideas on occasion.”

He chuckled as his hands roamed your body, brushing along the hem of your dress and edging it up. “Any others you can think of?”

“One or two,” you breathed as his fingers slipped beneath the material. “But not here.”

There was a new urgency as you rose on unsteady feet and Pierre’s arm curled around your waist as if the distance to walk at your side was too far for his liking. After three quick presses of the elevator button and no instant result, he growled and you looked at the stairwell before kicking off your heels.

His laugh echoed off the concrete walls and he was quick to make chase as you raced ahead of him down the next floor where his keys were already in his hands and rushing to unlock the door. It crashed open as he turned and pulled you with him, your bodies sealing close together while your lips collided with a deep hunger. 

He blindly kicked the door shut behind and his large hands splayed across your ass before gripping tightly and using his strength to pick you up. A moan escaped you as your legs wrapped around his hips and you felt just how bad he wanted you.

“Wait.” Your eyebrows lifted at the order he gave as he sat you on his kitchen countertop, his chest rising and falling with quick pants.

“Wait?” you echoed in disbelief, the needy sound making him smirk. 

“You’re still hurt,” he reminded softly as he reached under the sink for his first aid kit before nudging your knees apart so he could step into the space. “Let me take care of you first.” He was gentle as he cleaned your cheek, the gauze turning pink with your blood, and he apologised when he opened the antiseptic wipe. “This might sting a bit.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.”

Curiosity filled his eyes as he dabbed the skin dry before putting a little butterfly stitch over the cut. “What happened?” he asked as he cradled your jaw in his hand to keep you from looking away.

“That’s something that would need to wait until at least the third date,” you said with a shake of your head. “I thought you were going to take care of me.”

A cocky smile played at his lips as you challenged him and his hands brushed your dress up over your hips as he dropped to his knees. “Oh, I’ll take care of you, Beautiful.”

The first aid kit was scattered across the kitchen floor where you had knocked it off the bench in the throes of your first orgasm. He had enjoyed taking his time with you laid out, writhing under the talent of his lips, his tongue, his teeth. 

The next victim was your dress, his impatience and strength breaking the zip in the frenzied need to remove all barriers between your bodies. Your hands had tugged his sweater over his head before pulling his shirt open, little white buttons popping off in all directions.

“Jesus,” you moaned as you ran your fingers down his body, feeling every hard ridge of muscle until you reached his jeans. “I knew you were going to be fit but fuck…”

He grinned proudly at the remark and took over removing him of the denim keeping you from reaching what you wanted. The thin pair of boxers did little to hide the length of him begging for freedom from the constricting material but before you could tug them down he was tugging you back into his arms and leading you to his bedroom.

“I’ll lose all my common sense if you touch me, beautiful, and then we will be in trouble,” he admitted as he laid you on his bed, kissing you before pulling back and rifling through his drawers for a condom.

You weren’t sure you were going to be able to feel your legs again anytime soon. The man was obsessed with making sure you were in a constant state of bliss and you were almost relieved when he couldn’t hold back his own release any longer. He had collapsed beside you with a deeply satisfied sigh before disposing of the condom so he could recover with you in his arms, your head on his chest. 

His fingers danced lazily across your hip, tracing invisible letters and shapes on your skin until he noticed the changes in texture, the slight bumps on an otherwise smooth surface. Lifting his head, he pushed the sheet away and spied the scars in the dim light. “What happened?” He had seen the scars that littered your knuckles and palms, victims of the job you did - but these were different. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you whispered, pulling the sheet back around your body as you sat up. “I should get going.”

“Stay,” he urged, but you were already leaving the room to find your underwear on the messy kitchen floor. “It was just a question.”

It was a question that there was no easy answer to. It was a question that opened the door for more questions, and they would surely lead to memories that were better off left in the recesses of your mind.

“It was just sex, Pierre,” you said as you felt him following you, “that doesn’t mean I have to bare my soul to you.”

You pulled your dress on but it hung open at the back so you grabbed his shirt and shoved your arms inside before he pulled you back into his arms and his lips pressed to your neck.

“It wasn’t just sex to me.” The quiet admission had your eyes closing and your head tipping back onto his shoulder. “Please, stay.”

“I can’t give you the answers you are after.”

“You already have.” He turned you in his arms and you could see the sadness swimming in the ocean of his eyes. “I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

“Men make promises they can’t keep.”

“Not real men,” he said with a little laugh. “You’re probably thinking of those playboys.”

You rose on your toes and brushed your lips softly over his. “I don’t trust people very easily, but I’m trusting you. Please don't make me regret it.”

His smile made your heart skip a beat and when he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead you knew you weren’t going anywhere. You let his shirt fall back to the floor before brushing your dress straps off your shoulder, taking his hand and leading him right back where you started.

“So sex in your car is out of the question,” you giggled as you watched the playback of the dashcam. The man had a camera on the front, at the back and, more crucially, facing the driver so everyone could see exactly who it was that won the race. They would also see the heated kiss you shared after coming to a halt at the lookout. “A shame really, we look pretty good together.”

“I’m adventurous but not that adventurous,” Pierre admitted with an amused shake of his head. “You ready?”

Your finger hovered over the button to post the video, tagging D as well as the other Street Kings. “Long live the King,” you muttered as you hit it, uploading the file almost instantly. “No going back now.” Closing the laptop, you spun around in his gaming chair and looked up at Pierre. “Now what do we do?”

He glanced at his watch and saw it wasn’t even noon. “I know a place where we can kill a few hours.”

“The bedroom?”

He smirked and caged you in his chair, nudging your legs open with his knee. His oversized shirt you wore rode high up your thighs and his eyes lingered on the bare skin before he dragged them up your body to your face. “You don’t need to convince me, but I was thinking about something outside of the apartment.”

Less than an hour later you were pulling up at a racetrack on the outskirts of Nice, half a dozen cars already there.

“Hey Pretty Boy, how’s your girl running?” you greeted Charles as he stepped out of his Pista.

“Very well, thank you.” He looked between you and Pierre, his smile growing as when he saw the possessive arm curl around your waist. “Now you can finally stop calling me that.”

“Why would I do that? Pierre would have seen your mid-teen-crisis too. Plus, I have a better name for him now.”

“This should be good, let’s hear it,” Charles chuckled until you pressed your forefinger to your lips.

“Sorry, it’s not for innocent ears.”

Charles’ nose wrinkled with an idea of where it was heading and shook his head before leading the group inside. “Whose team are you going to race on?”

“What are we racing?” you asked as you walked past a line of Porsches but continued along to a few garages open.

“Not this time,” Pierre teased as he pointed to a smaller track you hadn’t noticed to the side. At the start line, Joris, Ilies and Arthur were already picking up their race suits and you cocked an eyebrow at the mode of racing chosen.

“Karts?”

“I thought you could race anything?” he challenged playfully. “It has an engine and four wheels.”

You cracked your knuckles and accepted the helmet and race suit he grabbed for you. “I suppose I could do with a warm up before the big race.”

“What race?” Charles asked with concern before looking at his friend. “You’re not getting yourself into trouble are you?”

Pierre couldn’t help sending a wink your way before he clapped Charles on the shoulder. “Relax, mate. I’ve got this.”

Click here for chapter four.

[letmesleep8]

the fucking punchline // elliexreader

CHAPTER 1: White Carnations

Ao3

content warnings/tags: drug usage (weed), implied daddy issues

notes: hello lesbians! this is my second ever fanfiction here on tumblr, quick reminder: i didn't drop the other one. this is kinda slowburn and also kinda daisy jones & the six inspired, so if you like that book you might like this too. i'll always link up the songs I used in the story at the end of the chapter. hope you enjoy. <3

taglist: @lorelaihehe @lonelyfooryouonly

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────••─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────••─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

September 09th, 2023 

Time shakes, found you at the water 

At first you were a problem my father, now I love you like a father a brother

Earthquakes shake the dust behind you

This world at times will blind you

Still I know I’ll see you there

The calloused, ink stained hands scribbled on a sketchbook, next to a drawing of what seemed to be a wolf. On the same page, Ecology notes got lost between chord progressions and two-sentence long lyrics. Near the margin, a quick but precise drawing of Dina’s eyes. 

Ellie was sitting in the corner of her Organic Chemistry lecture at Jackson’s Community College, hiding her freckled body under a gray sweatshirt and her sleepy eyes behind overgrown face-framing bangs. As the professor finally called the class off, she got up from her seat, walking to her visibly well loved truck, its blue paint holding scratches and slight dents, clearly faded from the sun

I sat on my window as I watched her old truck drive by, as loud as always. I was waiting for my nails to dry, afraid that the maroon polish would stick to everything if I didn’t have the  patience to let it take its sweet time. She got off her truck and stepped on her cigarette before  going through the front door. 

I had met Jesse a few weeks earlier, it was karaoke night at the bar. I managed to get a few drinks from the old creeps there and was already feeling a bit too “happy” when I stepped onto the improvised stage we had set up and gave that bikers’ bar the best drunk performance of “Hopelessly Devoted to You” they had ever seen. 

I have always loved to sing. Writing, playing  the  guitar, putting up concerts for my family in my living room. Music is my soul. But I’ve come from a reality where art wasn’t an option, being an artist would not pay my rent, nor would it show to my  parents that I wasn’t a complete disaster. So I worked as a waitress and saved up  to  the last cent of any tips I would get, only spending enough to pay my parents my contribution to what they spent so I  could go to cosmetology school

After I finished my fifteen minutes of fame, I went back to the cold reality and started cleaning up some tables. That was when Jesse came up to me, drunk and full of compliments to give. He had a girl beside him, Dina. He started rambling about his band and how they’re so good that they even do weddings, and then he asked me if I had ever auditioned for a singing  gig  at all. I was full of confidence and whisky, so I gave him my number when he said they could  use another vocalist

The next morning I had basically forgotten about my new deal, and I figured he would have forgotten about it  too. But I was wrong. The boy did not forget about it, in fact, he kept calling me to schedule my “audition”. So I finally gave in. I grabbed my guitar case and started walking to the address he gave me. It was just down the street from my house, at  the Miller’s. I held the case on my shoulder and walked towards the open garage door. There were Dina, Jesse and the girl I had only seen from my window every now and then. 

– You actually came! – Jesse got up from his seat, walking his way to me. – Oh, you play the guitar  too? Damn, Williams, found someone else to do your work. – He joked and the girl gave him an annoyed look, sitting comfortably on the old chair inside the garage. I couldn’t help but observe how her thighs set apart from each other and her head was thrown back mindlessly. 

– So, are you gonna show me what you’re all about? You seem to have really impressed the other two. – She gestured for me to sit on a stool, her voice was, honestly, cold but not in an unfriendly way. She seemed nonchalant, but not distant. Her green eyes had the warmth her mouth seemed to lack and her face was strangely expressive, like someone who had spent their developing  years in front of the tv instead of talking to people, but it complemented her sharp voice just perfectly. 

– This is a song I wrote a few weeks ago. It’s not finished yet, but I think it’s fine. – I spoke as I tuned in the guitar while keeping my eyes mostly on the girl, who seemed to be paying close attention to me and, at the same time, seemed to disdain me. 

She analyzed my every move as I started singing. I could see some curiosity peeking through her eyes when I began performing the first verse. 

“She's asleep in the backseat

 Looking peaceful enough to me

 But she's wakin' up inside a dream

 Full of screeching tires and fire”

I played the chords and kept singing the words, trying to mask the knot on my throat. “Emily, I’m sorry, baby / You know how I get when I’m wrong” I tried to keep my voice from shaking;  not because of the lyrics, I haven’t talked to Emily since 8th grade and, honestly, I just think it’s a beautiful name. I wanted to cry because I felt anxious. Turns out it hurts more to overcome your fears when your blood is not 50% whisky.

It was as if I could listen to my  father screaming from a distance: “you are a waste of time!” Suddenly, it was like I could slowly feel my blood going through my veins all throughout my body, sliding like raindrops on a window. I was feeling overwhelmed, the song felt never ending and I was sure that I had gotten at least 30% of all the notes wrong. I didn’t realize how much I wanted this, how much I craved for a chance to showcase my songs, a chance to pretend that my dreams were possible. And in my head, it was all over, until I heard Ellie’s voice from across the room.

– Sounds good to me. – She shrugged her shoulders and raised her eyebrows. – If you two think she’s good then she’s good and she’s in. I’d be the odd one out anyway. Dina flashed me a warm smile and gave me a side hug.

– Welcome to the band! – She nudges my arm.

– Rehearsal every Sunday, Wednesday and Thursday from 3 to 5 pm. – Jesse smiled from the worn out couch he was lazily lying on. 

We decided to spend the rest of the afternoon getting to know each other better. Dina talked about some songs she would like to perform at their next weddings, Jesse laid back on the couch and played with the drum sticks. The band had some work of their own, but not many since Ellie was basically the only one who was more interested in writing than playing covers. 

– Hey – I was sitting on the floor and scrolling on my phone, Ellie scooted closer to me, brushing her jeans against my knee. – D’you write that song by yourself? The “Emily” one and shit? 

– It’s called “Emily, I’m sorry”. – I chuckled, nodding. – Yeah, I did. I actually write a lot of songs. Why?

She reached out for her sketchbook inside of her forest green backpack, I couldn’t help but notice how it matches her eyes almost too perfectly. She flipped the yellow pages  until she found a small verse of lyrics to show me. I wasn’t really used to showing unfinished lyrics to people but I grabbed the small handbook in my pocket.

Do you understand the things that you’ve been seeing?

Do you  understand the things that you’ve been dreaming?

Come a little closer, then you’ll see

– I woke up in the middle of the night last week and wrote this down on my phone. Do you think it could perhaps work with the melody you wrote? 

– Well, actually… – She scratched the back of her head and looked up. 

– You haven’t thought of a melody yet, have you? – I smirked.

– No, no, of course I have, I just… – She stuttered. – It just needs a bit of… refining.

– Refining, huh? – I chuckled.

Jesse told Dina he was bored and, with a smirk, they both decided it was time to go watch a movie at his house. I was ready  to take my things and leave too, but Ellie stopped me.

– Hey, wait! – She called for me. – Do you want to work on the song? I mean, I ain’t got no professional studio but we could make it work with what I  have. The others don’t really like to write and shit, I was thinking maybe we could give that one a try.

– Oh, sure. – I smiled softly. 

She closed the garage door, giving us some more privacy. Ellie reached for the laptop on a tools table, it was plugged into a reasonably nice mic, she must have saved up for ages to buy it. She also got an electric guitar out of the case and started to tune it. With my acoustic guitar, I started humming a few different generic melodies that came to my head, until Ellie liked one and decided to try to follow it with her guitar. We stayed there for a while.

– Do you like it that way? I don’t think it’s working out well enough. 

I scratched the back of my head, my eyes narrowed. I rubbed my hands over my face. 

– I don’t know, I'm just having trouble locking in, I guess. We could give up for now, if  you want. 

– I know something that could help, if you’re up for it. – She smirked slightly. Maybe I was overthinking it, but I could swear I saw her eyes wander to my mouth. – I  mean, if you’re even a smoker, of course. 

– Oh. – I fell into reality and felt stupid. – Oh yeah, sure, I- I mean, we could try. Cool.

She got up and gestured to me to follow, I put the guitar on the case and took it with us. We exited the garage through a small door that led to the kitchen. Her house was messy enough to be acknowledged as a college student’s but it was furnished like some kind of family had once lived in that space

She led me up the stairs, into her room. I shyly sat on the edge of her bed and she got some weed and some silk out of her bedside table. She started rolling it up and I watched as she licked it together in record time, I would be lying to say I wasn’t impressed. A simple lighter came out of her pocket and she took a long hit before passing it over to me. I brought both the blunt and her gaze up to my lips, taking a drag not as experienced as hers. It wasn’t  my  first time smoking but I was scared to bite more than I could chew, for some reason.

– So, are you from around town? Never seen you around. –  She was trying to break the ice. I got up from her bed and walked towards her window, she was quick to follow after me. 

– Right there. – I pointed to the other side of the street, about three or four houses over. She seemed surprised. 

– Really?! – She spoke, surprised. –  I thought that was where the annoying lady from the Neighborhood Association lived. The one that’s always telling people to speed down and shit.

– Yeah, that’s my mom. – I laughed as I watched her cheeks  grow a bright red, her eyes trying to look anywhere but mine. – It’s okay, she really is annoying. She does that to me too and I’m her own daughter. – I sat on her windowsill, taking another drag of the joint. She joined me, sitting by my side. 

– I mean, she never complained about the noise during the band’s practice sessions. Gotta give her that, though. 

I laughed and she took the weed back. 

– She can be a bit mean but she is a music lover, after all. Maybe you’ve found her soft spot with that one. 

– Aw shit, gonna have to give her tickets to our next underground-bar concert. 

We both laughed at the idea of my mom at one of our shows. 

– Gonna make sure to tell her to look out for it. – That was when I realized I hadn’t asked a really important question. – What’s the band’s name anyway?

– White Carnations. – Ellie took another hit, blowing the smoke outside and passing it to me.

– White Carnations… – I breathed out the smoke. – I like it. Any particular reason for the name? 

– I don’t know. – She shrugged her shoulders. – Sounded good, I guess. – She was clearly lying, but I didn’t want to push her too hard so I changed the subject. 

I went back to playing some chords on the guitar and we were lost in a comfortable silence, until I had an idea. I started humming something along the lines of: “Ten thousand people stand alone now / And in the evening the sun sank, tomorrow it will rise / Time flies by, they all sing along”, repeating the last line over and over until Ellie started singing it too. At some point she simply changed it to “time flies, bye-bye” and I absolutely loved it. It sounded like something you’d point the mic at people so they could scream at a concert

Only then I realized my bare feet were in her lap, like we had been the closest of friends for ages and not distant neighbors that only now realized that each other existed. Her tattooed hand rested on top of my ankles and her hazy eyes and smile seemed as familiar as my mirror. That evening we wrote the entirety of ‘Come A Little Closer” while sitting on her bedroom window, then ate a bunch of chocolate covered ice cream bites.

[sehunniepotwrites]

Something Stupid | J.JH

SYNOPSIS. Out of all the things that could spill out of his mouth while spending time with you, Jaehyun finds himself saying the stupidest words of all.

PAIRING. friends-with-benefits!Jeong Jaehyun x (fem) friends-with-benefits!reader GENRE. Friends-with-Benefits!AU | Friends-to-Lovers!AU | Fluff | Suggestive WORD COUNT. 1559 WARNINGS. suggestive content: making out, alluding to sex (but no explicit descriptions!), fwb situationship; i use the word stupid a lot; nicknames: my sweet girl

PLAYLIST. something stupid - frank sinatra

DISCLAIMER. This is work of fiction. I do not own the people/characters and concepts I have written about. You cannot translate or copy my work. Crossposted on AO3 by sehunnypot.

Making out with you is a pastime Jaehyun will never get tired of. It’s been an hour since you’ve arrived at his place, bodies tangled together in between his wrinkled sheets. Unlike the other times you’ve spent in his bed, Jaehyun savors his time with you–never moving past his wandering hands, clothes still separating you from the heat you will always crave. Even when a hand slips in between the thin material of his shirt, fingers tickling the soft skin of his wide back, he doesn’t cave in like he usually does.

Instead, Jaehyun breaks the heated kiss with an elongated groan, gently pushing you away to create some distance. The task itself is hard when your body splits the full mattress with him in the dim lighting of his bedroom. He’s never turned you away before, not when he’s had you like this–fingers tangled in his hair, hips pressed against his, and thigh wrapped around his hip. When you lean in to connect yourself to him once more, the pressure in Jaehyun’s palms strengthens ever so slightly and presses you back into his headboard. “I need to stop myself or else...”

“Or else what?” You breathe out with a pant that fans across his face, taking in his disheveled appearance.

Jaehyun, turning red in the ears and neck, turns his gaze away from you. His eyes dart everywhere around his room, doing his best to avoid the eyes that stare right into his soul. When you hum in confusion, he finally whispers, “I might say something stupid.”

He’s serious, you note.

The hands that rest on top of his now slowly reach up to cup his cheeks. Your thumbs caress the pink tint that paints his soft skin, loving the glow that takes over his handsome face. He’s always been that way. Frustratingly handsome in your eyes to the point of annoyance. So good-looking, a punch to his nose wouldn’t dent his prettiness. “That’s never stopped you before,” you reply, using your soft grip to turn his head back towards you.

The two of you have been at this for months now, your relationship progressing from acquaintances that met through his coworker, Johnny, to friends and finally, to friends that come together behind closed doors. Jaehyun doesn’t know why he has to hide the fact that he is sleeping with you from others. In fact, he thinks his group of friends already picked up on it by the way you’re always attached by the hip at parties. Before, you dismissed Mark’s comments about disappearing at the same time entirely but in the past few weeks, you answered Johnny’s teasing smirks with a shy smile that provided both a clear answer and yet, no answer at all.

You know that your mutual friends don’t mean it in a bad way, their teasing is just a way to rile you up, but still, your shenanigans with Jaehyun are something you wanted to keep private. Plus, you’re both grown adults making consenting decisions, no one else’s opinion should matter except the two parties involved.

Jaehyun, being the sweet guy he is, respects that; that’s exactly why he keeps you to himself. He doesn’t utter a word because he wants to keep you. Even when he wants to move past this silly arrangement of hitting each other up with the excuse of needing release, Jaehyun refuses to say anything. Because what if he loses you, the best thing he’s ever had?

You are the one person that keeps his mind occupied from morning until night. There is no room for anything or anyone else but you. Your smile clouds his brain, your laughter fills his ears, and your touch keeps him longing for more. Jaehyun often finds you in the little things that pass him by–in the coffee shop that he frequents, wondering if you got your morning fix; in the stories that he hears on the news, thinking you would enjoy the upcoming city event that is being highlighted; and in the tiny trails you leave behind in his apartment, hoping that one day they would find a permanent spot in the place he currently called home.

There were so many times where Jaehyun could’ve slipped and revealed his feelings, resulting in him biting his lip until it bled but this time, as you look at Jaehyun with eyes that sparkle, he decides it might be time to come clean.

“But this could top every other stupid little thing I’ve ever said before.” He still refuses to meet your gaze.

You take a gulp, tilt his chin so that he has no other choice but to look into your eyes, hoping the desperate twinkle in them will be enough to get your message across. You’re ready to take a step further and you’re willing to do it, just as long as it’s with him. “Well, I happen to love the stupid little things that come out of your mouth.”

Just as much as I love you, you want to finish. But you don’t. You wait for him to get the words he is fighting off his chest. You have an inkling of what it is. A tiny glimmer of hope in your heart.

Jaehyun senses that there is a chance, especially when the thumb pinching his chin ghosts up to rub across his swollen lip. So, with all the courage left in him, he takes it.

Jaehyun closes his eyes, catches his breath, and then proceeds to kiss the pad of your thumb. Then he whispers the stupidest sentence–three small words with the biggest meaning–in existence against your finger, wishing that it’s loud enough for you to hear. “I love you.”

His confession, as soft as your favorite pillow and as melodic as your favorite song, causes your heart to burst into tiny little pieces that only Jaehyun can put back together. The smile that stretches across your face makes you feel like you’re exploding, much like the fireworks that decorate the holiday skies, and Jaehyun is the one to admire the beauty of it all. “Say it louder,” you ask him before tackling a small, “please.”

“I love you.” There’s more confidence behind his words the second time Jaehyun says it with the dust of the stars in his shining chestnut eyes. It sounds so beautiful when it comes out of his mouth, like the prettiest string of words sewn together, you beg for him to repeat it a third time.

This time, Jaehyun retaliates with the cheekiness that trapped you in his grip in the first place. “If I say it again, will you say it back?”

Your nose brushes against his softly before dragging it down his cheek to line his jaw and the path of his neck. You inhale the sweet, lingering scent of his perfume that sticks to his skin and place your lips onto the collarbone that peeks out of his loose shirt. “Say it one more time, Jae, and you’ll find out.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Jaehyun brushes the damp hair that sticks to your sweat ridden face, daintily tucking it behind your ear like he always does. The fingers in your hair dance their way from your cheek to under your chin, gently tilting your face towards him until your eyes meet his. That’s when he gives you the most charming smile you’ve ever seen on his lips, one that can brighten up more than just his darkened room but the entire universe, accompanied by the biggest dip in his reddened cheek. You see the words in Jaehyun’s eyes as his gaze glides over every little feature he can capture. When he lands on your swollen lips, he presses not one, but three meaningful pecks onto them, sandwiched in between the three short words you needed to hear. “I love you, my sweet girl.”

The fourth kiss Jaehyun presses is one that you prolong by circling your arms around his shoulders and diving your hands into his thick hair. He makes a cute squeak out of shock, his sore body falling slightly forward into you, before melting into your hold. With his knees now on either side of your hips, you are now trapped in between him and the bed’s headboard but you don’t seem to mind.

When you pull away, it’s Jaehyun that chases blindly after you with all the love he can muster. A hand in your hair and the other gripping your waist, you love the way it feels. You love being surrounded by his scent, clouded by his words, and adored by his actions.

“I love you too,” you say as you press your forehead to his. Once again, you tenderly rub your nose against his and you kiss the tip of it to top off your moment of affection. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Jaehyun chuckles as your ear finds his fast-beating heart. You hear it thumping against his ribs, trying to claw its way out to you, it’s one and only keeper. Your lips leave a kiss right on top of it, causing him to shiver.

“You’re mine now, sweetheart.”

“I’m pretty sure I always have been,” you say, hugging his waist.

Jaehyun called his confession something stupid. In your mind, your lover didn’t say anything of the sort. Instead, he said something right.

AUTHOR’S NOTE. This one’s been sitting in my docs for a while so might as well release it <3 I finally finished that one portfolio that’s been kicking my ass so let’s hope I have more time to write! Please let me know what you think hehe [reposting to test out the tags!]

TAGLIST. @johtenrecs @emmybyeakitty @ppangjae @sokkigarden @kaepop-trash @suhnnyskiess @baekhyuns-lipchain @bat-shark-repellant @ferxanda @lebrookestore @yutaholic-main @alluringjae @justsayk @itsapapisongo @ashes23 @hyperfixationficrecs @bebsky @misakiise @iwishiwasthemoontonight @inlovergirlsworld @feltednettles @ahgase55g7 @justalildumpling​ @taelme

(tagging my usuals and people i think would be interested in this <3)

NETWORKS. @neowritingsnet​

© sehunniepotwrites, 2023 — all rights reserved. reposting, editing/modifying, translating of any piece of work (fic, original writing) posted on this blog is not allowed.

[rotworld]

14: Again and Again

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

the stray night lords who joined your eccentric warband mostly keep to themselves. their sudden interest in your new mutations and ability to recover from grievous injuries is worrisome, but as always, you'll do anything for your warband.

->warhammer 40k. original chaos space marines (night lords)/reader. explicit; contains graphic descriptions of violence, sexual violence, mild/mentioned body horror, consensual but not safe or sane, consensual non-con/non-con roleplay, mentions of slavery and general disregard for human life.

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The Night Lords are absent again. 

Siarotha tells you this isn’t unusual. It doesn’t matter that there’s little else to do on this nameless, empty world you share and no way to leave without the warp gate. They’ll show up when they feel like it and not a moment earlier. You wonder if it’s the venue. The manufactorum’s maze of narrow corridors and machinery-stuffed assembly rooms are claustrophobic even for you. The cavernous hall the warband favors for meetings once housed a crisscrossing labyrinth of cogitators, conveyor belts and metal walkways until Erghol did some defenestrative redecorating. The only furniture left is an enormous stone slab, roughly circular and wide enough to make a decent Astares-sized table where no one has to stand too close to each other. You worry that the space might be too open.

Dagger and Claw remind you of feral cats. They like enclosed spaces; walls at their backs, a clear view of exits and entrances. No matter how many times they threaten desertion, vanishing in the midst of raids and battles, they always seem to come slinking back. It’s the security, you think. Safety in numbers, the promise of food and a roof over their heads. They hiss and bristle but they know where shelter is.

It could also be that they haven't figured out a convenient way to steal the warband's entire cache of supplies and carry it with them, but you prefer to be optimistic.

“What we need,” Kyloteknis says, “is the support of a Forge World. Our logistics are nonexistent. Access to ground transport should be our first priority so we can stop hauling our spoils one crate at a time. Armor repair is a close second.” He needs it more than anyone, the plates and panels protecting his limbs gradually becoming a singed, dented mangling of metal. The beveled dome of his helmet swivels back and forth, scrutinizing the rest of the warband. 

“Seconding,” Grigori says on his left. The star of Chaos on his shoulder pauldron has been nearly obliterated from all the hits he takes on that side, the paint scuffed and the embossed surface chipped and uneven. 

“And what exactly do we have to offer them in exchange for access to their resources?” Zonaras asks dryly. He’s one of the few who forgoes his helm, comfortable enough to reveal his shaved head and small, scribbling facial tattoos. 

Kyloteknis makes a rumbling sound of consideration. “They’ll want a favor. Something too dangerous for them to do themselves.” 

“Likely too dangerous for us, as well.” 

“A garrison, perhaps?” Siarotha suggests. He looms beside you in his full armor but he’s left his helmet off, long hair tucked over one shoulder in a loose braid. “Why incur a debt we can’t pay when we could simply repurpose a vehicle we come across?” 

On your other side, Erghol grunts in agreement. “Seconding a garrison. Can’t afford any weapons breaking until we have a proper armory. Better to take whatever we can get our hands on.”

Zonaras nods. “A garrison will have maintenance personnel, as well.”

“Hm. True,” Kyloteknis says. “We could really use some slaves—”

“Serfs,” Siarotha says quickly, glancing at you nervously. Kyloteknis turns, probably glaring under his helmet at the interruption. “We could easily obtain some serfs from Kheralath. They would adjust well, I think. My warband was there not long ago and discontent towards Imperial authorities was quite high.” 

“I’m not terribly concerned with how well our manual labor ‘adjusts.’”

“Maybe you should be,” you say. “Humans are most efficient when they’re happy. I’m a good example.” 

“No. You are deranged. You are not a standard model for human behavior.” 

“Either way,” Siarotha says firmly, “it’s within the system. Calibrating the gate would be simple.”

“Kheralath?” Zonaras asks, suddenly animated. “I’ve been there as well. Yes, they were extremely dedicated, although I’m afraid the populace won’t be of much use to us anymore.”

Siarotha’s eyes rapidly change colors like a startled chameleon. The air around him grows chilled with anger. “How many of them did you kill?”

“Let he who has never obliterated millions in the pursuit of infernal truths cast the first stone.” 

“I think I’m starting to see why you didn’t want me to come,” you say. 

The heavy drag of something moving over the rockcrete makes you jump. Nobody else seems surprised so you must be the last one to notice Claw sauntering closer—stormy, midnight blue, silver skulls and red wings. Red hands, too, you’ve always noticed. Strange. Dagger’s are the same blue as the rest of his armor. He’s extremely good at not making noise until he wants to be heard, which means he wants you to know he’s there. 

“You sound more like bureaucrats than soldiers, bickering like that,” he drawls. He’s pacing, circling like a cautious predator looking for the weakest link in a herd. It should be hard to tell with his helmet and the unblinking red lenses of the eyes, but you’re absolutely certain that he’s looking at you. “So. A garrison. Do we even know of a garrison we can take without too much trouble?” 

“We’re better off keeping this a hit-and-run operation,” Kyloteknis says. He tracks Claw’s movements around the room, unwilling to lose sight of him. “Isn’t that particular brand of cowardice your specialty? Maybe you have a suggestion.” 

“Hm. Maybe.” Claw slinks closer. He passes behind Grigori, then Zonaras, slowing when he reaches Erghol just to make him snarl. “Ah. I just thought of something,” he says. 

Your only warning is a crackle—a split second staticy sound as a white-hot, glowing sheath of energy engulfs his claws. Erghol and Siarotha are right next to you but they’re not fast enough. Four razor-sharp lengths of steel impale you with a burst of boiling blood, piercing your lungs and smashing through your ribs. Claw is close when he does it. You can hear the hum of his armor’s internal components, can hear the quiet chuckle just loud enough for his helmet’s vox to pick up. He withdraws his gauntlet in a sharp, vicious motion that sends you stumbling into the table, your fingers scrabbling over a puddle of your own blood and minced insides. 

All hell breaks loose.

Kyloteknis shatters the table when he vaults over it, lunging for Claw who narrowly avoids a swipe from a furious, roaring Erghol. The only reason you aren’t trampled is Siarotha, swept up in his arms and away from the chaos. You see them tumbling through steel guardrails and punching through the guts of dusty, long dead machines. Zonaras makes a half-hearted attempt to break it up until Claw barrels into him racing for cover, bolterfire scouring the ground behind him. 

“Surely it wouldn’t bother you if something unfortunate should befall Claw during the next raid?” Siarotha says quietly. You shake your head urgently. It hurts too much to talk. “You can’t be serious. He tried to kill you.” 

No, he didn’t. He knew you would heal. That didn’t feel serious, you think. It was personal, but not like a grudge. He wanted you to know he was coming. He wanted you on guard and anticipating. And he lingered just a moment after he did it, loose and relaxed behind you. That wasn’t anger, or aggression, or a threat. So what was it? You want to figure it out but the room is spinning and your chest is aching, and you’re starting to itch all the way down to your bones. 

By the time you’re finished molting, Claw has slipped away and Erghol is doing a bit of enthusiastic remodeling with the walls. Siarotha tells you the meeting has been rescheduled. You crawl out of the sticky wreckage of your old self and try to remember everything you know about domesticating strays. 

*

It takes a few days for Dagger to appear. 

It’s unusual, you think, to see them apart. As long as they’ve been here, they’ve been attached at the hip. Old friends? Lone survivors of their old warband? Mentor and newblood? You’re disappointed by how little you know about them. Everyone in the warband is tight-lipped about their previous lives but they’re opening up little by little, learning to begrudgingly trust one another. Kyloteknis has stopped hurriedly putting his helmet back on when someone finds him outside enjoying the wind on his face. Zonaras and Siarotha bicker with ever so slightly less menace in their voices. You’ve glimpsed Erghol and Grigori together with increasing frequency, training, talking, silently standing together atop an observation platform to watch the sky darken. 

You’re helping reorganize Kyloteknis’ workshop. This would be ridiculous ordinarily—anyone in the warband can lift an entire table one-handed—but he wants scrap metal and spare parts from the second floor of the manufactorum and he can’t cross the rickety grate-floored walkways without shattering their rusted frames. He did not ask for help so much as he vaguely mentioned his dilemma with the same grating reluctant tone one might use to report casualty estimates. He left immediately after, claiming he would return later when you’d completed the task. 

So here you are, elbow-deep in a dead cogitator’s wiring looking for the cogs and connectors Kyloteknis asked for, when you hear movement behind you. Dagger doesn’t risk stepping onto the flimsy walkway, standing on the more solid platform behind you and blocking the only way out of the room that isn’t a very long, painful drop. 

“Hello, Dagger,” you greet him. He’s not holding his namesake but you see the sheath at his hip, large enough that calling it a “dagger” feels a bit absurd. He stands at an angle—not so far that the weapon is completely hidden, but far enough that you just get a peek. 

“I heard you’re attending meetings now,” he says. 

“Did you hear what happened at that meeting?”

“Of course. Claw told me in excruciating detail.” His voice dips into a gravelly rumble that you’re tempted to identify as teasing. Mocking, or playful? You can’t tell if you’re supposed to be in on the joke or the butt of it. He leans against the railing at the edge of the platform casually. “What are you doing over there?” 

You shrug. “Scavenging. Kyloteknis wants some of this stuff.” 

“Mm. You like to be useful.” 

You look across the walkway at him. He looks back, you assume. Like Claw, you’ve never seen him without his skull-faced helmet. Astartes size is hard to estimate through the bulk of their armor, but you think he’s smaller than Claw if only by a little. Built to skulk in the shadows while Claw draws the enemy’s attention. 

“I do,” you say.

“That’s how it was in the Eighth. The weak ones are useful for the strong ones. That’s how they survive.” He turns, staring at the wall, but you think he must be seeing something else. “We don’t have the instinct to fawn over small, defenseless things. We want to torment them. A fledgling in midnight clad is better broken by his brothers than by an enemy. We know exactly how hard to push.” You pull your hands out of the cogitator and give Dagger your full attention and he follows the movement, helmet turning slowly, curious rather than tense and alert. “I guess,” he murmurs, “it’s all we know how to do.” 

There’s a dark, hungry edge to his words that sends a shiver down your spine. “Is that how it is?” you ask. You make your voice deliberately small and quiet. Weak. Just how he wants you. “You want to break me?” 

Dagger doesn’t answer for a minute. The ancient metal of the manufactorum groans and creaks quietly all around you. He rests his hand on the sheath at his waist. “You’re standing too far away,” he says in that same syrupy tone. “Why don’t you come a little closer?” 

Maybe Kyloteknis was right about you after all, because you start walking down the metal walkway. You don’t rush. Each step is slow and deliberate, just like how Claw circled you at the meeting. You never take your eyes away from the red lenses embedded in Dagger’s helmet and you can feel his gaze without seeing it, how it burns into your body. 

“Tease,” he purrs. “So you don’t just have eyes for your rabid dog and that sorcerer. Quite a collection you’ve started. Will you seduce Kyloteknis?” 

You laugh. “I’d probably have better luck with Zonaras.” You’re halfway there and your heart is pounding. This is a bad idea, isn’t it? This is definitely going to hurt. You’re not sure why you’re so excited. Maybe it’s the way Dagger’s started shifting slightly, like he can’t stand still anymore. His metal fingers close around the blade’s handle, squeezing impatiently.

“You would. Word Bearers and their needy idolatry.” He grabs you when you’re close enough. The movement is so swift you barely see it, just a passing shadow and then your forearm is caught in his crushing grip. He yanks you into him, straight onto the point of the knife you didn’t even see him unsheathe. The flesh of your throat parts around hard, serrated steel. An arterial splatter arcs as high as Dagger’s chestplate, dousing the winged skull emblazoned there in flecks of scarlet. You choke and sputter, coughing up reddened saliva. 

Dagger cups your jaw with his free hand. He wants to see the light leave your eyes. Your hands rake and scratch uselessly at his armor as another thick gush of blood oozes from your open throat and splatters on your feet. Dagger hisses something you don’t catch. A word you don’t know; a language you don’t speak. His exhale is full of satisfaction.

The knife comes out in horrible jerking motions, slow and sawing, blinding pain overwhelming your senses. Dagger leans in so you hear him right next to your ear. “There’s a statue of a saint straight ahead from the west entrance,” he says. “Half-toppled. Missing an upper body. Come tonight, alone.” 

He’s gone by the time you’ve made sense of the words, shriveled ribbons of flesh hanging through the grate of the walkway under you. Siarotha’s presence passes through your mind in brief glances, drawn by heightened emotion and racing thoughts. 

You think of a cat. A mangy, flea-bitten thing that arches its back and puffs up its tail. Two of them, for good measure. Siarotha sees them in your mind’s eye and you sense exasperation, and amusement, and fondness. And ultimately, agreement. 

*

You can see the saint from the manufactorum, but you hadn’t realized what it was. The figure has been cleaved nearly in two, the cut diagonal and crooked leaving jagged edges behind. It was carved from some sort of gray stone, dark-veined like marble, the surface detail still smooth and precise although it was only made yesterday. You see meticulously rendered folds of cloth, a tangle of vines and flowers frozen in eternal full bloom where the robe puddles upon a massive rectangular plinth. You wonder who it was meant to be.

Dagger never gave you a time but nightfall seems appropriate. The streetlamps don’t work but they don’t have to. The moon is a perfect silver circle, just bright enough for you to navigate the bumpy, uneven streets. Looming silhouettes of steel skeletons and decrepit stone form lattices of shadows against the starry sky. You don’t come this way often. The warband chose to settle in the region of the manufactorum where the structures are mostly intact and you rarely have time to wander the more distant ruins. It’s darker here, the trees more numerous and sprawling. You have to slow down so you don’t lose your footing, hands in front of you to feel for the edge of the statue’s base. 

The shadows shift in front of you. Something moves in the dark. You hear footsteps approaching from up ahead and behind you at the same time. Not the weighty, metallic crunch of space marine armor. Normal, if heavy, footsteps. Boots on stone. “Claw?” you ask. “Dagger?” 

A hand cups around your face, covering your mouth. You’re tugged against a warm body, frighteningly tall and thick with muscle. “Shhh,” he whispers. You don’t know which. A blindfold made of dark cloth is tied around your eyes and you’re dragged forward. 

You struggle to tell them apart. The vox in their helmets makes the whole warband sound the same, impossibly deep and rumbling, but there are peculiarities unique to each. Grigori sounds hoarse on those rare occasions he says anything. Erghol has the abrasive, gritty voice of a chemfactory laborer, damaged by centuries of ecstatic battle cries and screaming fury. Kyloteknis has a habit of using old High Gothic terms for machinery and weaponry. Claw and Dagger have spoken to you so much less so it’s hard to tell who’s who.

“Small, sweet thing like you, out here all on your own?” one of them purrs. “Dangerous. Do you want to get hurt?” 

“I think they do,” the other says. “I think they’re desperate for it.” 

You walk until the ground changes, evening out to smoother stone. You’re led around turns, down a flight of steps, shoved suddenly. You catch yourself and feel softness beneath your hands. Towels. Linen. Pillows. No mattress, but so many blankets that it doesn’t matter. You have no idea where you are when the blindfold comes off, but it’s as dark as a tomb. You no longer hear the breeze or feel the chill of the night air. You’re indoors somewhere. No windows and no light. 

Someone sits behind you and someone sits in front of you. Your arms are seized, held together behind your back. You hear the hiss of a blade being unsheathed.

“Do you know much about Astartes?” The words are murmured against your ear. “How it works? How they made us?”

“Not really,” you admit. “Siarotha has told me a little about being a neophyte but—ah!” You gasp when sharp, pointed steel slides down the center of your chest, splitting your clothes open with the slightest pressure. The room is cold. You’re undressed with precise cuts that whisper across your skin but never quite puncture.

“They put a lot of things into us. That means they have to take a lot out.” Whoever’s behind you leans in close, pressing himself against your back. He’s half-dressed and you can feel all the bumpy nodes and ports across his chest and arms where his armor hooks into his nervous system. “At least, that’s what they tell us. None of it’s really gone. Just twisted.”

“For the really unlucky ones, it untwists,” the other one says, chuckling. The tip of the knife drags down your chest, over your sternum, and stops at your belly. It presses just a little harder, a stinging pinch that makes a thin stream of blood trickle down your body.

“You like to be useful, right?” Teeth nip the shell of your ear and the body behind you shifts slightly. Your arms are released long enough for him to peel off the clothing on his lower half. You inhale sharply when he comes back and you feel everything, skin to skin. A monstrously large cock twitches against your lower back, already hard and leaking precum. “Then you can be useful for both of us.” 

It happens at the same time. The knife sinks in—is that Dagger? It doesn’t feel like him. He wasn’t steady like this. Steady like Claw with four massive blades in your chest, the perfect control and stillness. It’s a slow, shallow stab. Holding. Teasing. You can feel him watching you shake and whimper. The other one knocks your legs apart and nudges the head of his cock against your entrance. He prods and pushes once, twice, a third much more violent time that sinks past your resisting muscles. He’s far too big and you’re not prepared, the sheets bunching up beneath your fists. 

“Hold onto him,” Dagger whispers in your ear. His hands are on your hips, forcing you down and sheathing himself deeper. “He likes it. Scratch him. Try and fight.”

You hear a shaky exhale in the dark. Your hands find Claw’s shoulders—clothed. Wearing some kind of skin-tight shirt. He swallows audibly when you grab onto him tightly, digging your nails into him. He slips the knife in deeper, just a little. Another inch. Then he holds it there, and you feel his hot breath fanning across your face. Dagger rolls his hips under you and you tremble around the stinging thickness of his cock. He rewards you with a pleased sigh, squeezing and massaging your hips. He whispers in the same language you heard before and Claw answers him, sounding strained. Holding back, you think. But you want everything he can give. 

“No,” you whisper. Soft. Helpless. “Don’t. Please don’t.” 

Claw shudders. The knife suddenly tilts, angled up, tugging and ripping at your skin. Blood slicks his fingers and pours down your abdomen. “Beg me,” he mutters. “Beg me to stop.” 

Dagger encourages you. He runs his hands over your shoulders, rubbing, teasing out knots and sore spots. You’d melt against him if you weren’t in so much pain. “Don’t do this,” you whimper. “Don’t hurt me, please. Let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I won’t—”

You choke on the words when Claw drags the knife all the way up your chest in one quick, violent movement that rips you open. Your trembling, clawing grip on his shoulders isn’t an act. A blood-slicked hand cups your cheek and your gaze is lifted, your eyes gazing into darkness. You can’t see anything more than the faintest outline of a person, but you know he sees you. You hear his breath growing faster and shakier, feel it in hot puffs against your face. Then he’s kissing you, and his hands plunge into the wound. 

Dagger starts to fuck you in earnest and you can’t tell what hurts worse. The slap of his thigh, muscular thighs against your ass is humiliatingly loud in the otherwise silent room. He uses you, impales you on his length over and over. You feel raw and skinned inside by the time he brings you down fully, seated in his lap with his entire cock gripped by your tense, agonized muscles. You can feel Claw where he shouldn’t be, his touch like fire fondling the inside of your skin. He kisses furiously, nipping and biting at your lips. He pulls away to run his tongue along your cheek and moans at the taste of your tears. You hear the sickening squelch of your organs as he gropes and squeezes them. 

Everything starts to sound muffled and distant. Your heart is pounding. You can feel your pulse behind your ears, a constant throbbing. And there’s the itch again all over everything, the molt coming. It makes them ravenous. Dagger grabs you around the middle and fucks you like he’s trying to kill you, hard and impossibly deep. Claw kisses your forehead. There’s blood on his lips. Blood in your mouth. Blood trickling from your open belly, and slippery, meaty organs flopping out of you to splatter wetly on the floor, and—

*

You wake up clean, whole and comfortable. And warm; almost too warm. Blankets are piled on top of you so heavily that you can barely move. You blink blearily, trying to get your bearings. Siarotha’s faint amusement tickles the corner of your mind. You wonder how long he’s been there. How much he saw. Heat curls through your body and phantom sensations prickle across your skin. 

All of it, apparently. 

“Hungry?” Claw asks. 

You still can’t see anything. Is it still night? Do they cover the windows? You wonder where this place is, how they found out. Where all the blankets came from. Someone peels off several layers of bedsheets until they find your arm. Your wrist is grabbed, hand pried open. A plastic wrapper is placed in your palm.

“It’s chocolate,” Dagger says.

“Chocolate?” you echo. Intrigued, you fumble with the wrapping, trying to find a way to tear it open.

“Expensive chocolate, by the looks of it. Found it when we sacked a governor’s estate. Here.” The wrapper is plucked from your hand. You hear an abrupt ripping sound, and then something softer and warmer is set in your hand.

Your first bite is small and testing, barely a nibble. “Whoa,” you say. One of them laughs. He sounds far away. “You’re not leaving me here, are you?”

“No,” Claw says. “Don’t you want to go back?” 

“You want me to walk all that way, after everything I did for you?” 

“You want someone to carry you?” Dagger says dryly.

“I could stay here for a while,” you suggest. “You could, too.” 

Neither of them say something for a moment. You wonder if you pushed too far, too fast. But after a while, you hear movement in the dark. The blanket nest dips on your left, and then on your right. They don’t touch you. They don’t even talk. But they sit there while you finish the chocolate bar, watching, quiet and content.

“What are you grinning about?” Dagger asks.

“Nothing,” you say. A bad lie that makes them chuckle. 

You’re thinking about feral cats, of course. And how with enough persistence, and patience, and gentle touches, they will walk right up and eat out of your hand.