#i end up like captivated by the way their veins show through their skin

[oozeandgoo-art]

[majestyeverlasting]

Just Another Friday Night

This piece contains 18+ content and explores the idea of Eddie as a soft dom.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Eddie Munson's been your best friend since fifth grade. And on a night you think is going to pass just like any other, you realize you can't keep running from the way you feel.

Word Count: 6.2k

A/N: I hath returned. So excited to finally have this one out for you guys! Hopefully the person who requested this many moons ago is still somewhere in my orbit.

As soon as Eddie feels the pad of your finger meet the skin of his cheek, his lips curl into a soft smile. It brings small lines to the corners of his eyes and reveals the glint of his teeth in the dim light. Concentration sparkles in your eyes like water does beneath the moon. 

Both of you are seated on his messy bed. Him with his legs falling over the edge, and you angled towards him with your legs crossed. His breaths are steady, fingers lax from no longer strumming the strings of his guitar. 

When you finally manage to collect the fallen eyelash from his cheek, you hold out your pointer finger for him to see. If you’d been focussed on the song he was playing rather than studying his face, you never would’ve noticed the tiny hair to begin with. 

“M’kay.” His eyes flick back up to meet yours. “Now what?” 

You raise your finger closer to his lips. “You’ve got a wish to make.”

If there was anyone deserving of one, it was him. It had been almost a year since he crawled out of the Upside Down by the skin of his teeth. Half alive. You remembered all the long nights you’d spent by his hospital bed as he recovered.  

An air of weightlessness washes over both of you after Eddie blows it off your finger. As if somewhere far away, the course of time and happenings shifted in his favor.

“You can finish your song now. Sorry.” Smiling shyly, you tuck your hands into your lap and wiggle to get comfortable.

He smiles wider, but makes a quick work of tampering it back down. 

When he begins playing, you make sure to focus this time, letting the music soak in and flow through you. The passion is palpable, along with the underlying sense of purpose that hangs off the tail end of each resonant note. 

You’d been around to listen to him since the days he played off-tune chords with unsteady hands. As he sat playing now, hair curtained around his face, you knew he could easily captivate thousands if given the chance. 

As the song winds to an end, he looks at you and his fingers slow as the notes dissolve between you. The only thing left for you to do is applaud. Your approval makes him feel like there’s electricity buzzing beneath his veins. 

He absentmindedly strums a few quiet notes to keep his fingers busy, eyes remaining on you. “You’re the first person to hear it all the way through.” 

“Really? I loved it.” Honesty drips like honey from your words. 

He looks down to the fingerboard so you don’t see the faint flush of his cheeks. “Thanks. Lotta practice.”  

When he stands to hang his guitar back on the wall, you watch the way his shoulder blades shift under his t-shirt. You don’t mean to look as hard as you do. There was something captivating about the way he moved. Some days, he couldn’t sit still, but there were also nights like this one where he seemed to have embodied the very essence of ease. 

“So are you gonna add it to your setlist?”

He doesn’t answer right away, making sure Sweetheart is mounted securely. 

“Maybe after I’ve cleaned it up a bit,” he says. “The turnouts have been sick lately.” Gratitude glints in his eyes as they meet yours. 

Playing in front of a crowd at The Hideout was incomparable to selling out a venue like The Garden. But Eddie swore the gratification felt the same. With each new show, it’d been getting harder to find you in the crowd because of how many people had finally started giving him and the boys a chance. He never thought that locating you amid a sea head-bobbing bodies would be a pleasure he ever had. 

“Will I be getting a raise for spreading the word?” You tilt your head and bite back a smile.

He plays along as easily as breathing, biceps flexing as he crosses his arms. “You already eat my snacks, steal my jewelry, and make me drive you around,” he lists. “I don’t know what else there is to offer you, but it sure as hell won’t be Benjamin’s.” 

You have the nerve to blink up at him like a fawn. “It’s not my fault you hardly tell me no.” 

You make it easy to say yes a million times over. Again and again. 

There’s nothing for him to quip back with, so he sighs and studies you for the umpteenth time that night. There’s something amused about the glimmer in his eyes, but a fondness there as well. You’re wearing soft pants and a baggy sweater, looking effortlessly beautiful in a way that only you can manage. 

Guilt wastes no time prickling beneath his skin when you curl in on yourself a bit, self-conscious. You’ve never grown used to the way he makes you feel so seen. Part of you fears he can see right through to feelings you’ve been fighting to keep tucked away. 

He clears his throat and runs a hand through his eternally disheveled hair. 

“Maybe I should get better about that then,” he decides. “Start telling you no more often.” A lighthearted smile pulls at his lips. 

You look over at his alarm clock so you don’t drown within the increasing warmth of his umber eyes. You’re not ready to fall even though that’s what it feels like you’ve been doing for so long. 

He bites his lip in preparation for the weight of his next words, “I’ve been meaning to tell—“ 

“My folks are expecting me back by ten.” It’s the first thing you can think to say despite the fact that they hardly ever give you curfews. “I forgot to mention it sooner.”

“Oh.” He glances to his nightstand to scrutinize the red numbers glowing on the clock. Disappointment swells within him and makes him fidget. “How the hell is it almost ten already? Thing’s gotta be broken.” 

He pats the top of the device as if the right time was suddenly going to appear. “You can’t say for ten more minutes?” You shake your head apologetically. “How ‘bout five?” Another head shake. “Fuck—a minute thirty?” 

A laugh bubbles up your throat, making a helplessly gooey feeling melt down the walls of his chest. 

All too soon, with no success in convincing you, he’s walking you out to your car. 

The night’s chill nips at both of you without reprieve. You hug your arms and break into a jog to escape it faster, leaving Eddie slowly striding behind you in hopes of prolonging his last few moments with you. 

He watches you hop inside your family’s old station wagon and give the engine stuttering life. The headlights are soon to follow, illuminating a cluster of jittery moths. 

The feeling of his stare boring into the side of your face through the window makes you give into the urge to crank it down, handle squeaking faintly along with your movements. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” 

“Like what?” He huffs out a chuckle. “Where am I supposed to look? Up?” He tips his head backwards, and his demeanor immediately shifts. “Hey, the stars are out.” 

You peer through the windshield to see for yourself. Sure enough, countless of them shine like dull guardians miles and miles above lonesome Hawkins. They seem to span forever in every direction. The child in you looks for any surges of brightness or streaks that would indicate a shooting star. 

“The view’s better out here.” There’s a persuasive lilt to his voice. 

You don’t dare get out of the car. If you do, you wouldn’t make it home at all. It was getting too easy to be in his presence, like he was the bread and you were the butter that helplessly melted on top because you knew it’s where you belonged. 

“I really gotta go, E.” You swallow the sadness that wants to color your words as you buckle your seatbelt and settle back into the seat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

He kicks at a cigarette butt on the ground, and nods. You were always within arms reach, yet lightyears away. 

“Tomorrow,” he repeats. “Copy that.” 

A silence settles between you. The only sounds that prevail are the hum of your car engine, crickets, and muffled peels of laughter carrying from a few trailers down. 

Every time, it was you who pulled away at the eleventh hour before the dawn of something new. 

“Good night, Eddie.” 

•••

The cash register snaps closed with a resonant clamber. A beat later, you’re reaching out to take your change from the middle-aged lady thoughtfully chewing a piece of pink bubblegum behind the counter. The two of you are the only souls in the store. Humming freezers and a quiet instrumental soundtrack fill the air. 

She speaks up as you turn to leave, “You alright there, sweetheart?” 

“Just tired.” You sheepishly raise the bag carrying the Melatonin you’d purchased. 

Even God knew you weren’t going to be able to fall asleep on your own tonight. You’d lie awake thinking of all the reasons why you should’ve stayed. 

You take the time to read her name tag then: Irene. 

Her frown is sympathetic. “It’s a boy, isn’t it?” Warmth rushes to your cheeks. She then leans onto the counter and you feel compelled to take a step closer. “What’s his deal?” She studies your face for any hints before asking a different question, 

“What’s your deal?”  

You shrug lamely, and Irene tilts her head. You don’t owe her an answer, but you can’t help but feel as though you need to hear it for yourself. 

“I’m scared.” 

“It’s okay to be scared.” She blows a bubble and it pops neatly without sticking to her lips. “But it’s up to you to decide if you wanna be scared forever.”

•••

Eddie’s staring up at the ceiling when a faint series of knocks sound at the front door. Instead of moving, he blows out another cloud of smoke and watches as it dissipates into a thin haze in the air. The breeze entering through the cracked window helps filter it out. It isn’t until the knocks get louder that he’s convinced his mind isn’t playing tricks on him. 

What he’s not expecting is for you to be standing at the door. 

“Hi,” you say softly. 

He doesn’t dare question his luck. “H-Hey.” Eddie lowers the joint from between his lips and turns away from you to quickly exhale. “Tonight, uh, doesn’t count.” 

He was supposed to be taking a break from smoking, and you’d promised to help keep him on track. But now, as he stood doing just that for the first time in two months, it wasn’t the joint that captured your attention. It was the reason why, the conflicted look in his eyes that the pungent haze failed to mask. 

His next words get cut off with a cough, and he doesn’t bother trying to say them again. 

You're met by warmth when he motions you inside. Guilt tries to convince you that you don’t deserve another chance, fear says you’re going to blow it. 

“Eddie?” He raises his eyebrows. “I’m really sorry.” 

The way he nods suggests he knew your curfew was fabricated from the start. “Don’t sweat it,” he lifts his shoulder. “I’m gonna go put this out.” He holds up the joint. 

You trail him back to his bedroom, where your eyes roam idly over the posters covering the walls. Different things to say rise to the tip of your tongue, but none of them spill over. 

Eddie turns towards you when he’s done. 

“You didn’t have to lie.” Your shoulders sink as you meet his gaze, but he easily turns to humor, “You could’ve just told me you were tired of being cramped up in a trailer. I probably would’ve agreed.” 

You can feel the ghost of a smile on your face, but you still mean your next words, “I feel like the worst person in the world.” 

His nose wrinkles. “Maybe the fourth or fifth, but definitely not the worst.” 

In spite of everything, both of you find it within yourselves to laugh. It feels good, mending. 

You regain your composure before Eddie, and upon noticing he tries even harder to quell his amusement. It takes a few extra seconds because he’s high, but he finally manages to get himself under control. 

He thinks before his next words, “I wasn’t expecting you to come back. You never do.” A lump forms in your throat as you toy with the hem of your sweater. “And all I can think about every time you leave is how I let you walk away without telling you how fucking much I enjoy you being around.”

You swallow. “I know you do.” 

He shakes his head. “I like hanging out with the guys too—I’ll hang out with anybody if they’re cool.” You watch him with doe eyes as he speaks. “But you, you’re a whole different story. You drive me crazy in the best fucking way ever.” Those words hang thick in the air. “When I blew that eyelash of your finger, I wished—”

“Wait,” you hold out a careful hand, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “Don’t tell me.” Part of you wants him to, but not at the expense of the wish not coming true. 

That keeps him quiet for a few seconds. He’s still charged from his confession, electricity having taken the place of blood within his veins. 

“You came back,” Eddie states instead. “Why?” 

His eyes don’t leave you, and you take in his entirety for the first time since you’ve been back. Long hair, short sleeve Metallica shirt, faded pajama pants. He doesn’t have his chest puffed out or his chin turned up in that charming way he often does when he’s working a crowd or a group of friends. 

He’s leveled. No guard up, no mask on, just Eddie. 

The one who’s been by your side since fifth grade. Who could make your sides ache on the days when laughing was the last thing you thought you could do. Who got on your nerves almost every time you were together, but still managed to be one of your favorite people in the world. 

“You know how you always say there’s no shame in running?” you ask, shifting your weight. You’d sat in on enough of his D&D campaigns to have heard that phrase uttered. 

He nods. 

“Well, we both know it’s also worth something when you have the guts to stay. So this is me choosing not to run anymore.” From your feelings or from him. 

The room shrinks and grows one hundred degrees hotter when Eddie moves to stand closer to you. He reaches out to grasp your hand, calluses brushing your skin. The chunky metal rings adorning his fingers glint. 

Your next breath stalls as he presses your palm flat against the left side of his chest. The quickened rhythm of his heart drums against it fiercely. A mix of vulnerability and courage are married in his eyes. 

“Same,” you whisper, and his lips twitch upwards. “Here I was thinking this was gonna be just another Friday night.” 

You let your hand fall from his chest. 

A grin breaks across his face like dawn, more tender than it’s ever been. “I’m glad it’s not.” 

Time slows as he cups your face, eyes flitting over every detail as if to memorize it all over again. “You’re so fucking pretty.” He whispers it like there’s nothing to question, like he's been waiting forever. 

You don’t mean to smile as wide as you do. His heart skips a beat, maybe two. He’s done holding back from what he’s been wanting to do for so long. 

Not another second passes before he presses his lips to yours. 

They move with careful earnesty. Despite the fact that it feels like your entire body bursts into stardust, you kiss him back with an innate sense of knowing. You can feel the puffs of air from his nose fanning over your skin, the way his thumbs brush over your cheeks. It’s intoxicating in a way that makes you weak in the knees. Even with the newness of it all, there’s an air of ease and familiarity that you lose yourself within. You don’t worry if you’re doing it right. 

By the time he pushes you backwards to sit on the edge of his bed, he’s taken off your sweater and tossed it onto the floor, leaving your pale pink bra newly on display. 

From your seated position, you watch him pull his own shirt over his head, further disheveling his hair. His milky skin hosts a myriad of dark tattoos and fading scars. Anticipation swirls in your core as he encourages you to lay on your back, propping himself overtop of you. He pecks the tip of your nose before slotting his lips over yours once again. 

A surprised sound escapes you when his lips begin to plant a trail of kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck, head tilting to give him more access. The moment your conscience catches up to reality, you push at his chest and he immediately pulls away. 

“Too much?” He studies your face. You can’t bring yourself to say no because you don’t want it to end. 

“I think I just need a second. Sorry.” Embarrassment clings to your words, but you muster a shaky laugh. “I’m not used to this kinda thing.” 

Eddie had experienced his share of sporadic flings, but his feelings never ran as deep as they do for you.  

“You’re okay,” he soothes. “I may like pushing your buttons, but ‘m not gonna do anything you don’t want me to, alright?” 

In all your years of knowing him, he’d never given you reason to believe he’d ever discount your feelings. Or that he was even capable of doing so. 

You raise a hand to cup his cheek. “Let’s keep going.” 

“You sure?” He turns his head to kiss your palm. “Absolutely positive?” He dips down and playfully nips at your collarbone. “Cross your heart?”  

You bite your lip to keep from giggling, but fail when he begins to move lower. He drinks in your laughter like it’s an elixir. 

He continues a disorderly line of kisses down your stomach, and your mind is beyond hazy by the time he reaches the waistband of your jeans. You don’t utter any words of protest when he kneels to pop the button open. The subsequent sound of your zipper being pulled down might as well be thunder with how quiet the room has grown aside from it. 

Your panties are the same pink as your bra, trimmed with thin lace that makes Eddie dizzy. Without waiting for him to ask, you lift your hips for him to pull down your pants. Once they’re on the floor, he runs his hands over both of your thighs, trying his best to memorize the feeling. You briefly close your eyes when his fingers ghost over the soft fabric of your underwear. Nerves bundle low in your stomach to the point where you feel like a live wire laying exposed before him. 

“You’re gonna be the end of me,” he says like a scripture. 

“Me?” you peer down at him in disbelief. 

“Yeah, you. Who else?” He lifts the thin waistband of your panties and lets it snap back down to your skin. “I’m gonna take ‘em off.” He only makes the announcement to give you a chance to refute it. 

Rather than doing so, you brace your feet so you can lift your hips for him once more. 

You’ve known him for the better half of your life. If anyone, your trust can reside in him. 

A string of awed expletives slip past his lips when there’s nothing left between him and your heat. To stop himself from staring, he turns his face into your thigh to suck a bruise into the plush skin. You don’t realize that’s what he’s doing until you feel the tiny pinch that stings so good. 

Your silence is perceived as permission to switch to the other leg to do the same. You can hear your heart in your ears, and regard it as a reminder that you’re alive and breathing during a moment you never thought would come. 

You’re marked now, his.

He runs a gentle finger from your clit to your wet folds, and your own sensitivity surprises you when your thighs snap closed and trap his hand. 

“Sorry,” you breathe, slowly blooming them open again. You make the mistake of meeting his gaze, where fondness seems to radiate like imperceivable rays of light. 

After pressing a kiss to the space just beneath your navel, he stands and climbs onto the bed with you. You sit up and look to him for further direction. 

An easy smile spreads across his face as he settles with his back against the wall where a headboard should be. 

“C’mere,” he stretches his legs out in front of himself. 

You crawl to him and sit so that your back is pressed against the warmth of his bare chest. It isn’t until you shift that you feel his erection pressing into your rear. 

You peek back at him with hot cheeks. “Sorry.”  

Eddie drops a kiss to your shoulder. “You’ve apologized five hundred times tonight.” You shrink in on yourself because you know it’s true. “You’re not allowed to anymore, capeesh?” 

You nod. 

“Now prop your legs up, buttercup.” You can hear the smile in his voice that hopes you caught his rhyme. 

You press your feet into his sheets and spread your knees into a V. 

His pointer finger finds your clit without warning, applying just enough pressure to hitch your breath. You’ve touched yourself before, but had never taken the time to truly gain an understanding of the deeper pleasure there was to be felt. 

Here Eddie was, showing you what you didn’t know about yourself.

He switches to rubbing your bundle of nerves with his thumb while his middle finger glides through the slickness of your folds, making you clench with want. You reach between your legs with the hope of helping, or perhaps egging things along, but Eddie tuts. 

“Hands off or I’ll stop.” His tone is gentle and commanding all at once. 

Even though you follow his instructions, he still withdraws his touch. A protest ends up dying in your throat when you feel his fingers undoing the clasp of your bra and pushing the straps down your goosebump-laden arms. It soon joins the rest of your clothes on the floor. You’ve never been so bare in front of another person. 

“Jesus, look at you,” he murmurs. His large hands raise to cup your breasts, fingers experimentally pinching both of your pebbled nipples. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more beautiful sight. 

You watch with hooded eyes and parted lips. Caught off guard when he grabs your hands and redirects them to your chest to take over for him. You tentatively pinch your nipples in the same way he’d done, sending minute shockwaves through your body. 

“There you go,” he coos into your ear. A gasp falls past your lips when his hand dips back between your legs to ease the tip of his middle finger into your entrance. As he pushes it in further, your toes curl tighter. 

But his touch disappears yet again, making an exasperated breath leave you as your head falls backwards onto his shoulder. 

“Eddie,” it’s a whine. “Are you teasing me?”

“No. I forgot to take my rings off.” They clink as he drops them onto the nightstand. “But I think I will now since you just had to say something.” The charged promise of those words sends a chill down your spine.

You’re begging three minutes later. A melodic mix of weakened pleads, his name, and incoherent bargains that only make him smile. 

He’s trapped you on the edge of a freefall. Your thighs ache from tensing, and the strong pulse of arousal between your legs consumes the entirety of your mind. His two middlemost fingers pump in and out of your entrance with no sense of urgency, curling into that spot within you that makes you want to shatter. Whenever he senses that you’re about to topple over the edge, he pauses to let a few seconds crawl by. 

It’s scary how good he is at reading you. At holding the reins. 

“I can’t anymore,” you breathlessly insist, pressing back into him. “Eddie, please.”

“Sure you can.” He suckles the spot beneath your ear. In your head, you scream at him in frustration but in reality you squeeze your eyes shut. 

He doesn’t know who he’s teasing anymore. Listening to you whimper and feeling you squirm has him twitching and straining in his boxers. 

Somewhere along the line, he remembers mercy. 

As soon as the cord within you snaps, your back arches and your walls flutter helplessly around his fingers. Your orgasm crashes over you in strong heated waves, each one fizzling out in their own time, making you tremble. 

When your breaths grow even again, he slowly pulls his fingers out of you as you watch, awed and silent. You place a hand on his thigh to ensure he stays close. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises. 

The two of you sit in silence for a while, basking in the warmth of each other’s body, the new air between you. It’s as if you’re waiting to be roused from a dream. 

“I wanna keep making you feel good,” he eventually murmurs into your ear, smirking when you shiver. “Will you let me do that?” 

The feeling of his erection pressing into your backside suddenly registers in your mind again, and you reach behind you to curiously palm the outline through his pajama pants. He feels it in his bones. 

“You can do whatever you want,” you tell him.

Eddie grabs your waist and gently pushes you forward so you know to let him get up. You settle in the middle of the bed and pull your legs up to your chest in a halfhearted reclaim of modesty. 

He stalks over to his dresser and scans the cluttered surface with his lower lip pulled between his teeth. You trace his back tattoos with your eyes. After pushing a few stray trinkets aside, he makes a sound of frustration.  

“What's wrong?” you ask. 

He continues looking. “Coulda sworn there was a condom lying around up here.” 

After a beat, you crawl to the edge of his bed so you can peek into the drawer of his nightstand. There’s notebooks filled with song lyrics, old magazines, a Walkman, batteries, guitar picks. No square foils in sight. 

“Can’t we still…” your words fade when he meets your gaze, but he gives you an encouraging nod. “You know. If we’re extra careful, right?” Your voice is just above a murmur by the time you stop speaking. 

The innocence seeping from your gaze makes a helpless fool out of him. 

The next thing you know, he’s pulling his pants and boxers down in one go, cock springing up towards his belly as you watch with owlish eyes. A dark tuft of hair curls at the base, and the head is a pretty shade of rose that’s beading pearlescent pre-cum. A prominent vein snakes along the underside. 

You’re more than ready. It’s the lightning in a bottle type sureness that you can’t believe you’ve come to know so well. The second he starts moving towards the bed again, you reposition onto your back. 

Though you don’t utter a single word, every unspoken thought from your mind seems to shape his smile. It’s not entirely proud, there’s a hint of softness to it. Something giddy residing just beneath the surface that takes the edge off the intensity of his gaze. 

A comforting heat radiates from his body as he positions himself overtop of you. 

He reaches between your legs to collect the tell tale sign of your arousal on his fingers, and your eyelashes flutter. “Nice and ready for me, huh?” 

The tone of his voice makes you want to hide. You feel small and on top of the world at the same time. Eagerness is written all over your face. And in the way your chest rises with quicker breaths. How your fingers are curled into the sheets. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” You’re glad he does because you’re certain all words would fail if you tried to speak. 

All you can do is blink up at him, propping your legs on either side of him as he lines himself up at your entrance. 

It’s overwhelming at first, incomparable to his fingers. But he takes it slow, watching your face the whole while. Before you know it, you’ve stretched to take the entirety of his length, and his eyes are glued to where you’re joined. 

He bottoms out with a satisfied grunt, hair falling into his face. The fullness makes up for the dull ache. Especially as he begins to slowly pull out in preparation for another pump. A gasp escapes you the second time he eases back in, and your face scrunches with the new depth that comes with hooking your legs around the back of his thighs. 

“If you wanna stop at any point just tell me, okay?” He tries his best to keep his voice steady. 

“Okay,” you whisper shakily. 

He finds a rhythm before long, cheeks flushed right along with his chest. He looks beautiful like this. Even his pleasured sighs and huffs rush straight to the pit of your stomach. 

“Lemme hear you,” his voice comes out gruff. “Stop holding back.” 

You swallow a moan. “‘M not.” 

Unconvinced, Eddie rolls one of your nipples between his fingers, and your breath stutters on its way out. You don’t remember being this sensitive earlier, and a few more pinches have your mouth gaping open just as he expected. 

His thrusts grow pointedly harder, forcing the fire building in your core to burn brighter. 

“Oh, god—Eddie,” you finally choke out, gripping onto his biceps. 

He swears he grows impossibly harder, orgasm creeping even closer from its place in the distance. You’re so soft, so warm, so wet, squeezing him in a maddening way. Your blunt fingernails move to dig into the back of his shoulders, leaving crescent indents in their wake.

“Say my name again.”

“Eddie,” you sigh, helplessly clenching around him. “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.” You sound dreamy. It rushes straight between his legs, and he can feel that familiar coil beginning to wear thin. 

Hearing you say his name like that was going to do him in. 

A sudden burst of confidence finds you. “You’re so deep—gonna make me come.” 

His hips falter and something shifts in his eyes. He starts drawing circles over your clit.

“I wanna feel you fall apart around me,” he says, and you nod because you want that for him. “But not until I say, alright?” 

Your stomach drops. 

When you don’t answer, he slows to a torturous pace that makes your head spin. “Gotta answer me so I know we’re on the same page.” 

“We always have been,” you half slur, drunk on him. 

As Eddie looks down at you, he sees a large fraction of his world woven into the delicate furrow of your eyebrows, the way your eyelashes meet the very tops of your cheeks, the part of your cherry-tainted lips. 

He lowers himself so that his chest is grazing yours as he continues thrusting, pubic bone dragging over your clit. The feeling of his warm breaths fanning into your ear makes you shudder, and when you arch up, you’re only met by more of his warmth, more of him. There is no escape, nowhere to run. Only accept. 

“Wish I could, shit, wish I could bottle this feeling in a fucking jar and keep it forever,” he grits into your ear. “Never felt anything this good… five stars from me.” He’s fighting to hold himself together. 

You miss half of those words because you’re on the verge of an ascension. 

“Eddie,” you breathe, somewhat startled. “Eddie, please. Can I come? I’m so close.” 

“How close?” 

Your voice goes airy and high because he’s hitting just the right spot. “‘M right there.” 

“Tell me how good I’m making you feel.” Whining, you claw into his skin with the intent of making it sting, but it only makes his shoulders shake with a chuckle. “I’ll shut this whole show down if you wanna play that game—” 

“So good!” you whimper, giving in. “You’re making me feel so good. Just… please.” You clench around him in hopes of earning an okay.  

It almost makes him fold, come right on the spot, but he still forces out a, “Not yet, angel. I gotta practice telling you no, remember?” 

His constant denial was only adding fuel to the fire of pleasure burning within you and he knew it.

By his next thrust, he could tell the beginnings of an unraveling had begun sweeping you under. Even though he sees it coming from a mile away, he nearly passes out himself when you let go.

Eyes closed, your walls flutter around him in a strong, rapid succession that carries on for a while. You’re being lifted somewhere higher than you’ve ever known. The world fades around the edges, and the distant sound of Eddie’s voice washes over you as your jaw slacks open.  

There you go, that’s it. Couldn’t hold back any longer, huh?

Only when aftershocks begin to spark through you do you realize how deep your breaths have grown, and the new laxity of your limbs that makes you feel like you’ve become one with his bed, trembling weakly. A wonderful ache resides between your legs. 

A gentle weight soon meets your lower stomach, and your eyes flutter open just enough to see. Eddie has pulled himself from within the warmth of you, and rested his slickened tip against your warm skin. You watch dazedly as he strokes himself a few good times before jolting and releasing onto your belly. 

All you get is a glimpse of his blissed expression before he leans down to tuck his face into your neck. You lift a hand to his head and gently scratch at his scalp as you feel him begin to place soft kisses to your throat. You can still feel his cock against your belly, and you work your other hand between your bodies to wrap your delicate fingers around him. 

His whole body shudders, and when you lightly circle your thumb around the tip your name breathlessly falls past his lips. 

He grunts and makes you stop when you start to do the same lazy motion again, and you chuckle weakly. 

“Oh, is that funny?” he asks, wrestling a smile. When you bite your lip and nod sweetly, he pushes himself up so he’s propped higher above you. “You wanna know what else is funny? I don’t think I ever gave you the green light to come.” 

You blink up at him innocently. “I couldn’t help it.” 

He begins tracing the underside of one of your breasts and you suck in a breath, gripping onto his wrist. He pulls from your hold, and that same hand trails down your body, over your ribs and down your sides. His fingers leave a tingly buzz in their wake. You try not to squirm too much because his spend is still on your stomach. 

“I’m trying to decide if I should do something about it or be nice,” he says, ghosting a finger over your oversensitive clit. 

When you whimper, his fingertips move to revisit one of the marks he left on the inside of your thighs, and the ticklish sensation makes your muscles tense as you huff out a tired laugh. He playfully quirks his brows at that reaction, but you can see the warmth in his eyes. 

You smile when he leans down to give your lips a sweet peck. “I’ll be nice,'' he promises. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

•••

When midnight comes, sleep has found neither of you. You’re both fighting it, trying to stay awake so you can continue sharing hushed stories, soft caresses, and smiles that warm you right along with the sheets covering your bodies. 

Your eyes are the first to begin fluttering, and Eddie stops talking when he notices. 

“No, keep going,” you murmur. “I’m listening.” 

“We can talk more in the morning,” he says. You shake your head no, and he chuckles. “Yes. Go to sleep.”

Before you have the chance to say anything else, he reaches out to turn the bedside lamp off. You press yourself closer to his body after he settles back beside you. 

Neither of you say anything for a while, so you begin to assume he’s dozed off. When he speaks up again, his words are soft and honest, “This is what I wished for. A moment just like this.” 

You mean to tell him that you think you’re in love.

-

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[bellaveux]

i adored the soft college au wanda she’s so cute :(( may i request smth along the lines of r and wanda not going public yet because r is nervous but there’s still nat trying to pursue her and wanda gets jelly and clingy ? fluff or hurt/comfort pls ty <3

ALL I NEED TO HEAR | wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: when fellow classmate, natasha romanoff, has her eyes set on you, wanda struggles to hide her jealousy.

content warnings: hurt/comfort, angst w/ happy ending, college au!, jealous!wanda, soft!wanda, minor natasha romanoff x reader, jealousy, insecurity, kissing

word count: 5.5k

note: do not ask me why this took me a whole month to write!! i’m so so sorry for the long wait but here it is finally! i hope u like it :> (i meant to do fluff along with hurt/comfort but as i was writing it turned more angsty *thumbs up*)

In the bustling college lecture hall, amidst the hum of anticipation and the eager shuffle of notebooks, Wanda couldn't help but steal glances in your direction. Her heart swelled with a tender longing, a yearning she struggled to suppress as she looked at you as you were intently listening to the professor. Each stolen gaze only deepened her appreciation for your beauty, igniting an unspoken fascination that seemed to vibrate through her very core. Every fine detail, from your sculpted cheekbones to the way your lips formed a gentle smile, held an intoxicating allure that effortlessly captivated Wanda's senses. It was a magnetic force, an enchantment that dared Wanda to surrender to her desires. As rays of golden sunlight danced through the tall, arched windows, they gently caressed your countenance, illuminating your flawless features with an otherworldly glow. Wanda, with her heart in awe, marveled at the graceful curve of your delicate jawline, the gentle curve of your supple lips, and the sparkle in your eyes as you keep your attention towards the professor in the front of the room.

Yet, in the face of this consuming temptation, Wanda exercised incredible self-control. She wanted to touch you. To feel you. To kiss you. To show everyone that you were hers, just as she was yours. She fought the urges that surged within her, understanding the sanctity of personal space and the importance of boundaries, being mindful of your decision to keep everything subtle and on the down low. Her hands, adorned with delicate silver rings, just itched to trace the contours of your visage, to feel the warmth of your skin beneath her fingertips.

But Wanda wasn’t the only one who seemed to admire you. No, there was someone else—someone sitting far, multiple seats down the lecture hall, eyes trained on you for much longer than Wanda liked. A hint of uneasiness coursed through her veins. Her captivating gaze was momentarily drawn to a woman named Natasha, who sat in a distant corner of the curved row of the lecture hall, far from your shared space. Natasha, an enigmatic figure with an aura of magnetism, possessed an allure that stirred Wanda's heart, igniting an unwelcome sense of jealousy. Though she knew your loyalty was steadfast, the persistent glances exchanged between Natasha and her beloved fueled a flicker of insecurity within Wanda's soul.

“She’s staring at you,” Wanda whispers quietly, the tips of her fingers softly fiddling with your free hand under the long table.

You shake your head slightly, all too familiar with Wanda’s regular signs of jealousy. You pull your hand away to write on the blank sticky note sticking onto your of her notebook saying: ‘ignore her.’ Wanda sighs in return and rolls her eyes at the piece of paper. After a beat, she huffs and leans back into her seat, beginning to nibble lightly on her bottom lip as her patience wore thin.

“Kind of hard not to,” she replied, tone laced with bitterness.

Wanda subtly places a hand on your thigh, close to your knee, underneath the table, wanting to touch in some way—almost as if she was reminding herself that you were hers, and if Natasha could see, that would be even better.

The pout that shows up on her face doesn’t go unnoticed as you move her hand away from you with a shy smile, “Wanda, they’ll see.”

“Sorry,” she sighed again, putting her head down against her arm on the desk as she glanced over at the other redhead who did nothing but keep her eyes on you. “It’s just annoying to me… that she’s staring.”

You chose to tune out Wanda’s jealous complaints, paying attention to the professor at the front of the room. As the professor's words flowed through the lecture hall like a gentle breeze, your unwavering focus became a testament to your dedication. Your nimble fingers gracefully danced across the pages of your notebook, capturing the essence of each scholarly utterance in a tapestry of meticulous notes. Meanwhile, Wanda, sitting still right next to you with an otherworldly charm, exhibited her annoyance by tapping her pen against the wooden surface of the desk.

Wanda seemed to get distracted once again, something she couldn’t quite control all by herself, so you decided to let her sneak soft touches of her hand on your thigh, tender and elusive, spoke a language only you could decipher—a language of intimacy and shared understanding. Her fingertips, grazed the softness of your thighs, traveling up towards the hem of your skirt—the one you decided to wear was especially pretty on you that not touching you became an impossible task. It almost didn’t feel fair, for her to hide the fact that this pretty woman, you, were not hers. She’d shout it to the world when she could, when you’d let her, whenever you were ready to.

After a while, the final bell resounds throughout the room, marking the end of another day of intellectual exploration, your delicate features transform with an unmistakable sense of serenity. The waning rays of sunlight, filtering through the slats of the partially drawn blinds, dance upon the mahogany desk, illuminating the array of meticulously arranged notebooks and pens that have been your steadfast companions throughout your entire academic voyage. With deliberate grace, Wanda watched as you reach out, your nimble fingers gathering your supplies and shoving them into your bag.

You were so pretty in everything you did that Wanda would never tire herself as she watched you. She was glad to call you hers, even though the people around her didn’t know it yet. To everyone else, the two of you were best friends, glued to each other, roommates sharing the same apartment, but nothing more. And Wanda continued to wait for the day when you would be ready to show everyone.

As Wanda sat still and poised in her chair while students squeezed themselves out of the door to head to their next classes, her eyes caught a flicker of unease. With an air of intrigue and curiosity, her gaze fixated on the elegant figure that graced the space, coming closer and closer to where the two of you were sitting. As Natasha began a deliberate stride, weaving through the sea of desks and students, Wanda's eyes narrowed—a kaleidoscope of emotions swirled within her, a potent concoction of jealousy, apprehension, and a burning desire to unravel Natasha's intentions. What does she want now? A tremor of uncertainty danced upon Wanda's delicate features.

“Hey, (y/n), you look beautiful today… like always,” she smiled that charming smile of hers, an action that would usually have others swooning for her. “Just wanted to check in. We still on for later?”

You ignored the compliment, one of many, and took a quick glance at Natasha, offering her a tiny, friendly smile as you packed your things, “Uh, yeah, 4:30, right?”

“Yeah, at the library,” she nodded before looking past you for a brief moment to smirk at the other redhead who had been eyeing her since class started. “Wanda.”

“Natasha,” your girlfriend greeted bitterly.

After a beat, Natasha cleared her throat and put her eyes on you once more, “Alright, well, I’ll see you, hon.”

Wanda glared at her as she walked away, biting the inside of her cheek as annoyance fueled in her chest. It was in those ephemeral moments that a tempest brews and Wanda finds herself grappling with the tumultuous waves of jealousy. Like a veil, thin and delicate, but bearing an invisible weight, her discontent unfolds, entwining her thoughts with insecurities.

Natasha and her had never really been close—not when they both fancied the same girl. It was always a fight for your attention, and now, a fight to keep the third party away from you.

“I don’t know if I feel good about you going later,” Wanda mutters so quietly under her breath, you almost didn’t catch it.

You give her a soft look, hoping to reassure her somewhat with a light smile, “It won’t be long, Wanda. And I won’t be the only one there, remember?”

“I know. That’s not what I’m worried about. I just…” Wanda paused and looked into your eyes for a moment, practically using all of her strength to keep herself from leaning into your touch. “Just text me later. I’ll pick you up.”

Wanda watches you nod, bringing your hand up to give your shoulder a gentle and reassuring squeeze. You want so badly to kiss her, to remind her how much you love her, if only you weren’t too scared to show everyone your relationship with her.

As the time reached about almost forty minutes past four, you found yourself enveloped in a quiet study session, diligently engaged with a select group of classmates, immersed in a collective pursuit of finishing this class project. The light of the setting sun delicately filtered through the grand windows, casting a warm glow upon the diligent scholars. Textbooks, notebooks, and scattered papers adorned the table, bearing witness to their ardent quest for knowledge. As the ethereal scent of books permeated the air, your focus was unyielding, your mind attuned to the intricacies of the project at hand.

But within the depths of your intellectual fervor, a gentle longing tugged at your heart. You can’t help but think of her, Wanda, tiptoeing through your mind, like a melody echoing in your soul. In your mind's eye, you yearned for Wanda's presence, her soothing embrace, and the way her eyes sparkled with encouragement. You envisioned Wanda's tender touch as if it were the guiding light that fueled your fire. And while you wanted to get the work done as soon as possible, you couldn’t help but think of her.

You wondered what she was up to right now. Maybe, in your shared apartment, she was napping, studying on her own, watering her plants, or cooking dinner… Whatever she did, it always put a smile on your face.

“Hey, why are you smiling?”

It was a small whisper that only you could hear, coming from your right. You cleared your throat and took in your surroundings once more, noticing that Natasha was sitting next to you, doing some research on her laptop for anything useful to add to the project you worked together on for another class with a couple of other students.

You shake your head and whispered back, “I’m not smiling.”

Natasha scoffed playfully, “Well, smiling or not… You look pretty.”

The compliment didn’t phase you one bit. Instead, you turned your head to look at Natasha, who sported a smug smile as she looked at you. You were accustomed to the delicate dance of adoration orchestrated by Natasha, whose flattery and flirtatious overtures had become as predictable as the sun's rise. Yet, within your eyes lay a quiet strength, a spirit unyielding to the allure of superficial charm. Though Natasha's words, like sweet melodies, danced upon your ears, they fell upon a heart unmoved, resilient in its pursuit of genuine connection. It didn’t mean anything—not when you were loved by the woman you adored the most, when you had the most caring girlfriend waiting for you at home.

Natasha's advances, though flattering to the world's eye, did little to stir your heart, as it was already enveloped in a love so pure and profound that it painted every fiber of your being with colors of contentment. You, ever graceful and empathetic, offered Natasha kindness and friendship, cherishing the genuine connection you two shared, but resolutely protecting the love you held so dear. Wanda.

“Finish your work, Nat,” you say simply before turning your head away from her.

You could feel the redhead smiling in defeat, returning back to her laptop, the sounds of her fingers typing away on her keyboard filled the room.

As you delved deep into your project at the library, your once zealous spirit began to wane, and weariness settled in your bones. The weight of countless hours spent pouring over research and refining ideas bore down on you, urging you to seek solace beyond the confines of the library. Restlessness tugged at your thoughts as you yearned for the comfort of home and the embrace of your girlfriend.

She had been texting you quite a lot while you were here. And, “a lot” was practically an understatement.

She texted you minutes before you got to the library, then again after you sat down at a table, and again when you took your supplies out, and even more when you began working, up until now, right when you began to pack everything up. She kept telling you that she misses you so much and asked how long you were going to be there. She also went on about telling you to tell her if Natasha was doing anything to make you uncomfortable, checking to make sure you were okay, and asking quite a number of times if she should pick you up now.

And, you understood why. You understood her eagerness to talk to you as she was never good at hiding her jealousy which led to her clinging onto you in any way, whether it was texting you, talking to you, holding you, or touching you. Anything.

The vibrant colors of the library's surroundings dulled in your eyes as your focus shifted from the intellectual pursuit to the emotional embrace you craved. Thoughts of Wanda wrapped around your weary mind like a comforting shawl, igniting a renewed sense of purpose and drive. You sent her a quick text as soon as you were finished, telling her you were ready for her to pick you up, to which she replied that she was on her way almost immediately.

Your group of classmates walked out of the library, right into the chilly air, bidding their farewells and wishing each other luck for the presentation that was due in a couple of days time. They each left one by one until it was just you and Natasha left standing by the entrance doors.

“It’s a little cold out. I can take you home if you’d like,” Natasha says, shoving her hands into her jacket’s pocket.

You adjusted the bag hanging off your shoulder reluctantly, glancing over to the redhead, “Uh, Wanda’s already on her way, so… but, thanks, Natasha.”

“Right,” she says quickly, almost as if she knew what you were going to say.

She was quiet now. Uncharacteristically quiet. A mixture of excitement and apprehension coursed through Natasha’s veins as if every nerve in her body had suddenly been awakened. Despite her usual confidence, Natasha couldn't help but feel an unexpected wave of unease wash over her. Just as she was clueless about your relationship with Wanda, she found it hard to fight for your attention against her. Any of her words crashed into brick walls as she tried to flirt with you and it only made her want to have you more, even when you had told her that you weren’t interested. She didn’t know why, but she liked to think you’d end up liking her eventually.

“There’s… There’s this new Italian restaurant that opened. In downtown, by the bridge,” she starts, watching you closely for you your reaction. “Would you like to go try it with me sometime?”

You see Wanda’s car turning into the lot up ahead as she said those words. A sigh escapes your lips before you turn slightly to look at Natasha, “As friends?”

Natasha chuckles and drops her head down in defeat, knowing very well what your answer would be, after countless attempts and rejections. Her eyes lock onto Wanda’s car as well after bringing her head back up slowly.

“Your chariot awaits,” Natasha nods her head towards the car that pulls up right in front of the two of you.

You give Natasha a small smile before beginning your walk, “Have a good night, Nat. Drive safe.”

Natasha smiles in return, watching you step away. You get into Wanda’s car smoothly, greeting your girlfriend as a sense of relief washes over you.

As you settled comfortably into the passenger seat, your eyes met Wanda's, but instead of the warm welcome you expected, you noticed a flicker of annoyance and jealousy. Wanda's features, usually so radiant and full of affection, were clouded with a hint of unease. Your heart sank as you realized the source of Wanda's distress—Natasha, the persistent pursuer. A tumultuous mixture of guilt and longing swirled within your chest as you searched for the right words to soothe Wanda's troubled heart.

“Baby, let’s go home,” you say softly, your hand subtly ghosting over hers over the heartsick. “I’m tired.”

Wanda blinks and her eyes dart from Natasha, who stood still by the library doors waiting for the two of you to leave, over to you. Her eyes soften as soon as she looked at you.

“Okay,” she nods softly, before turning her head to the front, starting her drive back to your shared apartment.

As Wanda gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white with tension, an unusual silence enveloped the car. The soft hum of the engine provided a gentle backdrop to the muffled thoughts swirling in her mind. Casting a quick glance towards you, she noticed her girlfriend's serene expression, unaware of the storm brewing within Wanda's heart. Determined to shield you from her internal turmoil, Wanda reached out, intertwining her fingers with yours, seeking solace in your touch.

Wanda didn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the drive home. She kept her hand locked in yours right over your lap, occasionally using her thumb to smooth over your thigh so gently that you wanted to kiss her right then and there.

The drive didn’t last long as Wanda made it her task to rush home where the two of you would finally be alone, where she could have you all to yourself.

With the click of the front door, you stepped into the serene refuge of your shared apartment, an oasis of tranquility and familiarity. A palpable sense of relief washed over you, permeating the air as you shed the weight of the outside world from your shoulders. The soft glow of warm lamplight in your living room enveloped the space, casting a gentle ambiance that mirrored your contentment. As the two of you kicked off your shoes, a collective sigh escaped your lips, releasing the tension that had accumulated throughout the day.

You went about the evening as usual. Wanda made dinner before picking you up and you ate together. As the meal drew to a close, your determined gaze shifted to the pile of books and papers scattered across a nearby desk. With a sense of purpose, you excused herself and retreated to your work, placing a small kiss on the top of Wanda’s head, leaving her to her own devices. You told her you had to check up on some of your work just in case, not wanting to leave any mistakes on your part of the project. She watched you for a bit as you went to work before turning the television on to watch that cute old sitcom she loved so much.

Wanda's eyes occasionally flickered towards you, filled with admiration and understanding. She reveled in the sight of your unwavering dedication, recognizing the passion that fueled your late-night endeavors. At the same time, she wanted to pull you away from your work, keep you all to herself, kiss you all night long. Their cozy apartment was awash in the warm glow of lamplight, casting a soft ambiance upon the room. Wanda, feeling a sense of contentment, nestled herself on the plush couch, watching her show, patiently awaiting you to finish.

When you do finish, you excused yourself to the bathroom, needing a moment to refresh before bed. Sensing a subtle ache in her heart, Wanda couldn't bear the thought of being separated, even for a moment. With a surge of affection and longing, she quietly followed you into the bathroom, unable to resist the magnetic pull that drew her towards you.

Inside the bathroom, the air was filled with the soothing scent of lavender, creating an atmosphere of tranquility. You stood by the sink, ready to wash off your face and brush your teeth. Wanda, unable to contain her yearning any longer, approached you, her eyes reflecting a deep longing. Your gazes met in the mirror, an unspoken understanding passing between the two of you. Without wasting another second, Wanda's arms found their way around you, enveloping you in a gentle embrace. The warmth radiated through your bodies, your closeness a source of comfort and reassurance.

“Hey,” you smiled at her through the mirror, listening to her breathe against your neck. Although, your smile faded slowly as she didn’t answer. “What’s wrong?”

Wanda shook her head slightly, tightening her hold around your waist, “Nothing.”

“Wanda.”

“I just…” Wanda sighed and pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder, then one at the side of your neck, “I missed you a lot. That’s all.”

The words, gentle and delicate, struck a chord deep within your heart. A tingling sensation radiated through your being, as if every nerve ending had come alive, attuned to Wanda's every touch and breath. The weight of Wanda's absence had been temporarily lifted, only to be replaced by the overwhelming yearning that surged through your veins.

After a moment, you gently moved Wanda’s arms from your waist to turn around to face her. Wanda immediately put her arms around your frame once again as you wrapped yours around her neck. You saw her eyes flicker down to your lips, and it almost made you smile, knowing that she wanted to kiss you, but the undeniable fact that something else was bothering her interrupted your thoughts.

“What else?” you ask softly, bringing a hand up to h run your hand through her red hair. “There’s something else you’re not telling me.”

Wanda sighed and closed her eyes—your hand in her hair, massaging her scalp relaxed her in ways nothing and no one else could.

“There’s nothing else,” she says nonchalantly, not giving in to your gentle touches that would usually urge her to do whatever you asked her to.

You pull your hand back and give her a look, a serious one that told her that you weren’t buying every bit of what she was saying.

“I’m not jealous,” she said quickly as if she could read your mind, knowing very well that that question was floating around in your head somewhere, begging to be asked.

You shook your head, “I didn’t say you were.”

You watch as Wanda sighed and dropped her head down to your shoulder, pulling you impossibly closer to her body, pressing you slightly against the counter.

In an instinctive response to the relief flooding her soul, Wanda nestled her head into the crook of your neck, seeking the familiar scent and the soothing rhythm of your heartbeat. Wanda's fingertips traced gentle patterns on your back, her hands under your shirt, drinking in the sensation of skin against skin, reveling in the closeness that had been sorely missed. Wanda's heart found respite, the ache gradually dissipating with each passing second. With a profound sense of gratitude, she clung to you, her body pressed against yours.

It took a few more moments of silence before you asked her another question.

“Is this about Natasha?” You knew the answer when Wanda didn’t move or say anything.

The air held a moment of silence as Wanda's heart wrestled with conflicting emotions. With a heavy sigh, she found herself caught between her desire for transparency and her fear of burdening you with her insecurities. A battle raged within her, but she summoned a fragile smile to her lips, masking the jealousy that had woven itself tightly around her heart.

“A little bit,” Wanda whispered reluctantly against your shoulder.

It was. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, it’s been bugging her the whole day. She wished Natasha would back off. She wished she could tell her to back off. She wished she could show her that you belonged to her, just as she belonged to you. And Wanda wanted to tell you. She wanted to voice this constant struggle of jealousy that she had been going through each time when the two of you were in the public eye, but she had to wait for you.

And she’d wait for as long as you need her to.

A heavy sense of guilt weighed upon your heart as you observed Wanda's pained expression. Though you knew you should have revealed your relationship to the world, fear had tightened its grip around you, preventing you from openly embracing your love.

Each time Wanda's eyes met yours, filled with a mixture of insecurity and longing, your own heart ached with remorse. In the confines of your mind, you fervently wished for the courage to proclaim your love, to shield Wanda from the torment of doubt and protectiveness. Yet, the words remained lodged in your throat, locked away by apprehension and uncertainty.

“I’m scared of losing you to someone else,” she confessed, rubbing circles against the small of your back.

As you watched Wanda battle her internal turmoil, your desire to ease your girlfriend's worries intensified. With each passing moment, your resolve strengthened, your determination to overcome your own fears deepening. You knew that the time would come when you could no longer keep your love hidden away, for the pain inflicted upon Wanda by you and her clandestine existence was a stark reminder that love thrived when it was allowed to bloom openly, casting its vibrant hues upon the world.

“Listen to me carefully, please.” You brought both your hands up to cup Wanda’s face gently in your palms, your eyes filled with empathy and understanding, “I’m not ever leaving you. I love you, Wanda, so much. And… I know it’s hard not to, but don’t listen or think about Natasha or anyone else. She doesn’t have me… And she won’t ever have me. Only you. I belong to you.”

I have you. Your words repeated in her head.

Wanda's expression softened as she leaned into your touch, finding comfort in the warmth of your palms, “I have you.”

You smiled softly as did Wanda, “I don’t belong to anybody else.”

And as if relief washed over her worries, Wanda smiled smugly, knowing no one else has you the way she did. The heaviness that had settled in her heart dissipated like morning mist under the warm rays of the sun. Your words, spoken with tenderness and understanding, had acted as a balm to Wanda's troubled soul. With every gentle stroke of your hands against her cheek, Wanda felt the lingering tendrils of jealousy and insecurity unravel.

She saw the sincerity in your eyes, a mirror of her own love and devotion. The weight that had burdened her heart had transformed into a newfound lightness, replaced by an unwavering trust and a sense of security that only you could provide.

“I love you so much,” she said with a smile, placing a tender kiss against your forehead.

However, Wanda's smile faltered as her gaze met your tearful eyes. In that fleeting moment, the air seemed to still, carrying the weight of unspoken emotions. Wanda's heart ached at the sight of your glistening tears, a stark contrast to the usual vibrant warmth that emanated from your expressive eyes. A mix of concern and tenderness etched itself onto Wanda's face as she reached out, her fingertips lightly brushing against your cheek. She yearned to understand the depth of your sorrow, to offer solace and support in any way she could, just as you did for her just a second ago.

No, no, no. Wanda started to panic as your eyes got glossier by the second, tears threatening to fall any moment now. If there was absolutely one thing Wanda hated to see, it was you crying. And if she was the reason behind your tears, she’d do everything in her power to make it right.

“Hey, hey, talk to me, baby,” Wanda pleaded, leaning down to get a closer look at your face, trying to figure it out somehow on her own. “(Y/n)… Don’t cry—I’m here. I’m right here.”

“Sorry, I– I don't– I can’t– I can’t—“

Tears streamed down your face, their cascading path tracing the contours of your anguish. Each sob that wracked your body seemed to tear through the tranquility of the room, filling the air with a symphony of heartache.

Wanda stood frozen, her heart sinking as she witnessed your tear-streaked face, overcome with a depth of sorrow she had never seen before. Wanda's chest tightened with an overwhelming surge of emotions, her own eyes welling up with unshed tears. The sight of your vulnerability shook Wanda to her core.

As your cries grew louder, Wanda's immediate thought was to provide solace, to offer a safe haven within her arms. Without hesitation, she pulled you close once more, holding you with unwavering strength and tenderness. Your sobs found refuge in the curve of Wanda's neck, the soft fabric of Wanda's shirt absorbing your tears as her hand smoothed over the back of your head repeatedly. Wanda whispered soothing words, her voice a gentle balm to your wounded spirit, assuring you that you were not alone, that you would weather the storm together. Always.

When your sobs died down to soft labored breathing, Wanda moved to place soft kisses down against your temple, then over to your tear-stained cheeks, wiping her thumb over them in the process.

“I’m sorry,” she heard you say.

“For what, baby?”

“For being too afraid… to tell everyone. I know you’ve been waiting and that it hurts to wait. And watch, and hide. But, I’m… I’m still…” You found it hard to breathe as you spoke, not exactly meeting Wanda in her eyes, scared of what she might say.

“I know. It’s okay,” she didn’t let you finish. She already knew. Wanda’s heart ached when you still didn’t move to meet her eyes, so she repeated her words. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Wanda's touch became an anchor of solace, her fingertips tracing soothing paths along your back. With each delicate caress, Wanda poured her love and compassion into her gestures, whispering soft reassurances that echoed like a soothing lullaby. The warmth of her connection enveloped you, creating a haven where vulnerability was met with understanding and acceptance. In this intimate moment, Wanda's touch spoke volumes, conveying a depth of empathy that words alone could not capture.

“Everything will be okay,” Wanda told you, kissing your temple once again. “I will be patient. I’ll wait a day, a week, a month, a year, a decade… a century. Whenever you’re ready to. I’ll be there. You have me, too, (Y/n). I’m not going anywhere.”

Wanda used her hands to turn your face towards her, forcing you to look at her.

As you gazed into her eyes, you found yourself captivated by the depth and intensity within them. The windows to Wanda's soul revealed a profound sincerity and unwavering devotion that surpasses any spoken words. In the gentle flicker of candlelight, you witness a kaleidoscope of emotions reflected in Wanda's eyes—love, adoration, and an unspoken promise of a lifetime together.

“Did you hear me?” Wanda asked, using her finger to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“Yeah, I heard you,” you smiled softly, sniffling cutely as you moved to lay your head against her chest. “I love you.”

Wanda smiled again, hands moving downwards to your waist, as a surge of overwhelming love cascaded through her being, filling every inch of her being with a profound sense of warmth and contentment. In that tender embrace, time seemed to stand still, and the outside world faded into insignificance. The soft curve of your back molded perfectly against Wanda's chest, as if you were two puzzle pieces destined to fit together. The steady rise and fall of your breath against her own served as a rhythmic reminder of their intimate connection. Wanda moved to bury her face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your familiar scent, a scent that held the essence of home. She felt the steady beat of your heart beneath her fingertips, a steady cadence that echoed the unwavering love that bound them.

“I can kiss you now, right?” Wanda mumbled into your neck. “I’ve been waiting all day.”

Your girlfriend couldn’t fight the smile that crept up on her face as your lips turned up into a smile as well, “Kiss me, then.”

“Oh, I will,” she said with a smirk, hands running up and down your waist, feeling you in her hands.

And she did. In that timeless space between breaths, Wanda leaned in, capturing your soft, quivering lips with her own. The world seemed to stand still as your mouths fused in a passionate dance of love and understanding. The taste of your tears mingled, but it was the sweetness of your love that prevailed, a balm that soothed both your souls. As you lingered in the embrace, your lips locked, the world around you faded into insignificance, leaving only the profound beauty of your love.

She loved you forever. And she made sure to prove it to you the whole night, and many more nights to come.

— navigation!

[innocent-writers-soul]

Tate Langdon x Fem!Reader (smut)

summary: you pass by the room where the noises come from and decide to look in to see what is happening there and a strange picture opens in front of you;

warnings: male masturbation, dirty talk, cumming, voyeurism, exhibitionism (?), mention of blood and aggression; not proofread (i apologize if i forgot smth)

word count: 839

You look at Tate and think he's cheeky. He is out of control; he has no brakes or they work too late. And sometimes you can predict what will happen in the end, but there are moments, the consequences of which even for you remain a mystery, for example, like now. You look through the gap in the door and see Tate lying back down on the floor, blood dripping from his nose, he does not stop smiling and laughing maliciously, not even defending himself from attacks. His T-shirt is pulled up, revealing snow-white skin and a slightly embossed body, and you fleetingly understand that you are more similar to him than you could imagine. The only difference is that dark feelings have been born in the depths of your soul and almost always remained there, while Tate has a lot on display — he is not ashamed of himself most of the time, not ashamed of his gloomy and vulgar side. And it even fascinated you to some extent. Delighted, but sometimes frightened, because it was rarely possible to understand what was in his head. And considering the fact that you were still not particularly close and familiar with him, the atmosphere around him was still dangerous, but, nonetheless, exciting.

You quickly look at Patrick, who is standing at a distance from the door, half a turn, with his back to you for the most part, but in such a way that you can watch him clenching his fists in fury, his face twists in aggression, but then he completely freezes with mixed emotions in his eyes. You don't understand what's wrong, but when you return to Tate, your breath hitches.

“Admit it, you haven’t felt such a strong dick for a long time while imprisoned in a house with Chad,” the guy unzippes his fly and begins to stroke himself through the fabric, deliberately sobbing and sighing loudly, “but I have something that might interest you…” Long fingers take out an impressive arousal, the veins on which are already beginning to show — it is difficult to match the childish face of Tate with it — and move up and down at an increasing pace; lube collects under his moving palm, the sounds of squelching spread in the room where there is no furniture yet, and his ragged breathing is the second thing that echoes along the walls. A bright, lively, playful and mischievous smile does not stop leaving his face, his tongue constantly licks dry and cracked lips, he jerks off, looking into Patrick's eyes, but your heart stops beating completely at the moment when he looks at you outside the door, strengthening grip on the length, narrowing his eyes. “And maybe not only you,” he tosses his hips up in reverse motion, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead and rolling down his temple, blood continues to drip onto his T-shirt, but he doesn't care much. However, as well as you and Patrick. You forcefully squeeze the wood at hand, incomprehensible feelings arise inside you, you panic, the phrase “YOU ARE DISCOVERED” lights up in large red letters in your head, while Tate approaches his peak, biting lower lip, closing eyes a little in bliss, arching, but keeping an eye on you. You can’t tear yourself away from the view, it’s too captivating and beautiful, you think that your hand would look good on Tate’s place, but you quickly turn these thoughts away, feeling the uncontrollable atmosphere and your own arousal. You clenches your legs, feeling a throb between them, a tingling warmth beginning to spread in your lower abdomen, and you can’t help but continue to watch and tremble from overwhelming feelings. Your other hand reaches down to calm your admiration at least a little, but when you see that Tate notices this, tilting his head to the side a little, still watching with interest, you fast move it away. This is new for you, because you have never felt anything like this before, especially since you have not peeped at a jerking guy, but everything happens for the first time. Tate meanwhile comes to his senses, his curly tangled hair in even more disarray than usual, he sighs languidly, licking the cum from his palm revealingly, slowly putting two fingers into his mouth, not taking his eyes off you and still grinning.

You let out a barely audible breath, legs do not obey you, but you harshly go away, unable to endure the scene in front of you, of Tate himself, heading to your room at a fast speed, forgetting your (un)secret hiding place and hearing that Patrick has apparently recovered from his daze, beating Tate again. Your face is burning and reddening more and more every second, hands are freezing, heart is beating so fast and you cannot calm it down. You still have no idea what will come out of this situation, but something inside tells that Tate will come to you tonight, not letting you forget what you saw during the day.

a/n: english is not my first language but i tried my best, as always. before that i had been writing in my own for many years and now decided to improve english. in a very interesting direction, i need to say. hope you enjoyed! :)

[nicbutnasty]

💛 gewis!!

Hello, thank you! And apologies for how long it took me to write ths one, but we got there in the end.

💛 reunion kiss/relief for George/Lewis | G | ~1K words

note: contains brief description of a fictional crash. George is mostly unharmed

It wasn’t a bad crash, all things considered. But still, Lewis can’t deny that his heart was in his mouth when the message came through on the radio. Car 63 in the barriers, DNF. George. That was over an hour ago now.

He would have been checked over by the medics and debriefed since then—nothing more than a few bruises and feeling a bit shaken up, supposedly—but Lewis needs to see for himself. Being a supportive teammate means offering comfort where he can, but maybe selfishly he needs to prove to himself that George is unharmed, to stop the way his heart kicks in his chest every time he thinks about it.

George would have done his own post-race interviews whilst the rest of them were still on track—Lewis knows how these things work by now—so as soon as he can extract himself from his own media duties, he finds himself standing outside George’s driver’s room. 

The door is slightly ajar, so Lewis knocks once and tentatively pushes it open. George is perched awkwardly there on the black vinyl sofa, as if a stranger in his own room. He looks so much smaller than he did in front of the crowds earlier that day, his lithe frame contorted into a protective curl, all elbows and knees, head in his hands. Something in Lewis’ heart clenches in sympathy at the sight. 

“Hey, George?” Lewis calls softly.

Wordlessly, George looks up, his eyes red-rimmed and watery.

Lewis crosses the room in a few strides, carefully sits next to him on the sofa. Now he’s closer, he can see George is trembling slightly, hear his breath coming out in quiet shudders. He gently wraps an arm around George, hoping for comfort rather than scaring him off.

He shouldn’t have worried, because George immediately leans into it, turning his head so his face is buried in Lewis’ shoulder. His fireproofs are probably all damp and sweaty, but George doesn’t seem to mind, just clings to Lewis like  a lifeline as his shuddering breaths turn to sharp, choking gasps. Lewis clutches him tightly, all the worry he’d pushed down in order to complete the race now bubbling up with the relief of having George here in his arms. 

Lewis rubs calming circles on George’s back, bringing his other hand to the nape of George’s neck to run his fingers through the soft hair there. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, “It’s okay Georgie, baby, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Slowly George’s breathing begins to even out. Lewis continues to hold him, stroking his back and murmuring soft nothings to him, until George suddenly pulls away with a jolt.

“I’m– I’m sorry,” he stammers out, scrubbing his face with his hands, “You shouldn’t have to–”

Lewis catches his hands and gently pulls them into George’s lap, where they flutter momentarily like a captive bird before stilling. George keeps his eyes lowered, body hunched over, as if ashamed.

“But I want to,” Lewis interrupts softly. He absently brushes his thumbs over the inside of George’s wrists, where the delicate veins show in blues and greens through the skin, a tangible reminder that George is alive and unharmed. Lewis takes a steadying breath. “Oh George,” he sighs fondly, “when I heard, I was so worried. I wanted to make sure you were okay, see if I could help.”

George finally looks up at him with his big wet eyes, lashes clumped together with tears. Lewis thinks he’s never looked so beautiful. “But why?” he asks.

“Because I care about you, man.” George doesn’t look convinced, so Lewis continues, “I do, I swear. Not just because we’re teammates or whatever, but because you’re you. You’re incredible, man, and every day I swear to god I’m thankful I know you. You’re talented, you’re kind-hearted, and you’re beautiful, and I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you in my life, but I–” He feels a lump in his own throat, huffs out a wet sort of laugh, “Well, I’m not questioning it.”

Lewis releases George’s wrists to cradle his face in his hands, thumbing away an errant tear. George’s eyes have gone wide and glassy now, cheeks flushed and mouth parted slightly, as if stunned Lewis could even think about him that way. Well, he can’t have that, can he?

Lewis leans in slightly, hoping he’s not crossing a line. But George, sweet George, always there to meet him where he’s at, follows his lead, his eyelids fluttering shut.

The kiss is tentative at first, George yielding easily. Lewis can taste the salt of shed tears on his lips, licks at the seam of them and George opens easily, malleable under Lewis’ careful attention. He gasps into the kiss as Lewis sucks at his lower lip, one hand coming up to fist in Lewis’ shirt. Lewis likes George like this, he thinks. Open, expressive, not afraid to show what he needs. 

Lewis pulls back slightly and George automatically chases him, swaying towards Lewis, lips parted. His eyes flutter open in momentary confusion and Lewis can feel him tense slightly, as if preparing for rejection.

Whatever he sees in Lewis’ face must reassure him though, as George settles back into his arms. 

“Hello,” Lewis murmurs.

“Hi,” George breathes. His lips are kiss-swollen and he’s flushed pink from cheeks down below the neckline of his shirt. Lewis idly wonders how far that flush extends.

A loud thunk from outside breaks the moment, followed by laughter and good-natured jeers of the pit crew. Beyond the room, the whole paddock is packing up and shipping out for the next race. As lovely as it is right here together on George’s tiny vinyl sofa, they can’t stay. 

Lewis pushes himself up off the sofa with a soft groan, extending a hand to George. “Come on, let’s get you back to the hotel and in your pyjamas.”

George takes his hand but remains sitting for a moment, looking up at Lewis with something akin to hope in his eyes. “Will you– will you stay?” he asks.

Lewis laughs softly. “Yes, of course I will,” he reassures, giving George’s hand a tug for good measure. 

This time, George goes willingly, keeping Lewis’ hand clutched tightly in his, whilst he reaches for his bag with the other. 

There’s the early morning flight back home tomorrow, a couple days to rest, then straight back on the plane to the hustle and bustle of the next race, the next country. But tonight, in the comfort of George’s clean hotel sheets, they’ve got all the time in the world.

[bullet-prooflove]

The Comeback - Michael 'Riz' Ariza x Reader (feat: EZ Reyes)

Tagging: @anime-weeb-4-life @danzer8705 @mysoulisasunflower @msjava1972 @adaydreamaway08 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @wakeama @librarian1002 @briefpersonenemy @creativitybeware @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @purrrrfect @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx

You don’t sing for a couple of months, at least not publicly. You’re burned out after the tour, run down and tired. Riz sees it in you, he understands the fatigue that comes with what you’ve been through, that it can take a little while to recover. You end up bartending in Jo and EZ’s place a couple of nights per week, it’s been getting busier since they’ve changed things up a little. They do a weekly open mic night and there’s usually a band on the weekends.

Things change when ‘The Freedom Fighters’ cancel at the last minute, because their van ran into a ditch on the way over to the venue and their equipment is submerged in a few feet of water. You overhear the conversation as you put away some of the clean glasses behind the bar. When EZ puts down the phone he gives you a questioning look.

“No pressure.” He says holding up his hands. “I know you’re just getting back on your feet.”

The thing is you kind of want to. You like playing in intimate settings, connecting with a crowd, seeing the moment your music touches them. One of the things you hated the most about being on tour was losing that. The bond between you and the audience just isn’t the same when you’re playing in arenas.

Nobody’s watching when you pick up the guitar, nobody except Riz. He’s been sitting at the bar most of the night chatting you up, the same way he always does when your shifts are a little quiet. You sit down on the stool under the spotlight, your fingers playing over the strings and the attention shifts to the stage.

“I haven’t done this in a while so forgive me if I’m a little rusty.” You speak into the microphone before clearing your throat. “This one’s called Pretty Boy.”

A dark haired lover with amber eyes to kiss me through the night.

He’s got patches on his skin that tell a story, of a thousand lifetimes lived.

I run my fingers over them, and I hope he knows I’m his.

His heart thunders against my chest, my hands in his hair

As he whispers I love you against my lips.

It’s Riz’s song, the one you wrote for him in the middle of the night. You keep your eyes on him as you play and he smiles, that wonderful, captivating grin of his, the one you fall in love with every single time.

You don’t realise how much you’ve missed performing until after your set is finished. There’s an exhilaration in your veins, an excitement you haven’t felt for a longest time.

That night someone in the crowd makes a video, uploading it to a fan page and tagging the bar. You have no knowledge of this because you don’t do social media. During the tour there was a marketing team managing your platforms, you’d never had the log ons. You haven’t seen the messages from fans asking if you’ll be performing again, hoping that you’re ok because you dropped off the face of the earth.

The first you hear of it is when EZ turns up at your place at some god forsaken time in the morning. You’ve barely been awake five minutes and he’s telling you about all of the phone calls he’s getting at the bar asking when you’re doing a repeat performance.

“I don’t understand.” You tell him as Riz sets the big French press between you and EZ, the one you use for guests.

EZ removes his phone from his back pocket before bringing up the bar’s social media pages. All of them are inundated with messages about you.

“You had a huge following when you cancelled the tour.” EZ explains when he shows you the fanpage dedicated to you. It’s full of pictures from your tour, playing the guitar on stage, singing into a microphone, there’s videos of previous performances, snippets of your lyrics made into graphics. “The label never explained what happened, only that they weren’t representing you anymore.”

“That probably adds to the whole thing.” Riz says, his voice still rough from sleep as he rubs his palm across his jaw. “The mystery of why you disappeared from the music scene.”

“It doesn’t hurt.” EZ says, shrugging his shoulders before giving you his full attention. “People want to know of you’re making a comeback. The question is are you?”

Love Riz? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[feverinfeveroutfic]

”django tango”

wrote this back on thursday when i had a break and i was thinking about like blood from a stone ❤️‍🔥🩸💋

The sun hit his head and shoulders as he stood in between the two columns of the entryway to the warehouse. I had always been captivated by the shape and tightness of those lush curls, especially when they began to grow so long down past his shoulders. I watched him from clear across the pavement, the way that he acted over there with his band and their fitted black leather around their lanky little bodies.

I had my eye on them like a rich bastard wringing his hands at a bunch of golden bars, but on him in particular. He was like the Hope Diamond, as those eyes gazed out as if he was staring straight into my soul and preparing to take me under. At some point, he had apparently dyed his gray sliver in favor of rich black, but I knew those eyes and that olive skin anywhere. It was like meeting a part of my soul again.

The interesting thing about was I had only met him once before, and that was about three weeks ago: they were playing in some club not too far from where I lived in Orlando, and I happened to catch them after they had taken the stage following Metallica. I had only attended that show to witness them, but to watch those five men up there was something that I could resist for myself.

I had my eye on him in particular, the way that his long black hair spread behind him as if he stood in the sweetest winds from an incoming band of a hurricane, the lanky shape of his body and the way that his hips seemed a bit more prominent than the rest of him. His fingers wandered about the fretboard of his guitar as if it had grown out of his body and became just another appendage for him: those hands, in all their lanky might, complete with that spiderweb of veins near his wrists as they wandered all the way down to his elbows, made me fantasize about anything and everything he could possibly do for me.

I had spent the last few months fighting with my girlfriend and yet there seemed to be no end in sight for us at all, and thus, I welcomed the sight of him with open arms. I had never seen a boy so gorgeous before, even in all my years down there in Florida away from Long Island.

He was one of those boys who looked a lot older than he was, mainly because of the streak on his head but also from the maturity he had up there. It was something that I wanted to see more of in my own band, with the proverbial revolving door behind me.

I had made my way up to the stage at one point, and right as he was ripping out a solo no less: I watched him bow his head and let the guitar body rest against his thigh and his hip. His hair cascaded down his arm and his chest like water; I was close enough so he could look down and see me even through the darkness of the pit around me. Behind me, a mosh pit was beginning to form, but I had my attention fixed onto him. He gave his hair a toss back with the flick of his head, and it was at that moment that I could see his whole raw face, not obscured by his hair.

Even with the slight milkiness to his complexion, I could tell he wasn't a white boy. Those thick eyebrows, that bulbous tip of the nose... all he lacked was a Magen David wrapped around his neck. I licked my lips at the sight of him even as it seemed as though he had his attention fully fixated on his pick and the music all around him: at one point, he raised his gaze and locked eyes with me for a good long moment. He flicked an eyebrow at me, followed by a puckering of his lips.

If I could only figure him out right then. There had to be a way back to him, a way to crack into his mind without any questions asked.

I spotted the entrance over to the backstage area on the other side of the stage itself, and I hoped that I would be able to meet him back there. I lingered off to the side with a small stack of amps: I couldn’t believe how easy it was for me to hunker down back there, especially when I knew how difficult it was for fans to even catch up with me following a gig. His band filed off the stage, one after the other, whereby he returned at the rear and with his hair sprawled all around his neck and shoulders.

“Well, hi,” he greeted me, slightly out of breath; and yet his skin had not a single bead of sweat to be found anywhere. He looked as though he’d been sitting in a warm room this whole entire time.

“Hi there,” I returned the favor to him, and I ran my fingers through the curls on the side of my head. He showed me a little smile as he breezed past me to the shelf right behind me; I followed him there only to find that they had a coffee maker as well as a jug of what appeared to be mulled wine and a pair of accompanying ceramic cups.

“Care for a cup of coffee or something?” he offered to me with a slight squint to his eyes.

“A bit of coffee would be nice,” I said to him. I watched his every move, from the way that he cradled the mug inside of his hand to the way he poured the coffee out from the carafe: it was like watching water flow out from under dark vines, as his hair flowed all around his back and shoulders.

“Care for some cream?” he offered me, and he never changed his expression for a second, as if he was in fact seducing me.

“Just a little kiss of cream,” I replied in a small voice. A little caress of the cream deep inside my coffee. He stirred it for me and handed it over to me so he could serve himself a cup.

I lingered right across from him as he turned around and faced me with his eyelids hooded.

“You’re from… Death, right?” he asked me, slightly reluctant.

“Yeah.” I paused for a second with my mug nestled in between my hands as if I was offering him a chalice. “How’d you know?”

“I’ve seen you in San Francisco,” he replied. “You hung out with Jeff and the guys from Possessed in Ruthie’s. I was on the other side of the room. I recognize your curly hair.”

“What, and you didn’t say ‘hi’?” I teased him, to which he chuckled.

“I had to go,” he explained. “I had to get my ass back home or my parents would have a heart attack at the same time. But I do recognize you, though.” He leaned against the edge of the table with his legs crossed and his hips cocked out a bit: he held the mug up to his cherry lips as if he was about to take a sip, but he never did, however. He instead locked eyes with me, those bright luminous eyes that shone through the dark as if to light my way through the throes of infinity.

I could feel something in there, something that I never thought I would ever feel before with anyone, especially with him. He licked his lips and took a small sip of his coffee. Just the way he drank it down was enough to send a chill down my spine, and such that I nearly dropped my mug without even thinking about it.

He then closed his eyes and shook his head about at the taste of the coffee.

“Delicious?” I asked him.

“Very much so,” he said. “Warm and earthy.”

I nibbled on my bottom lip and took a deep drink of my coffee. It was nice and warm, and I couldn’t help but feel something when I looked long and hard at him. I wasn’t going to forget him, that was for certain,

And there I was, not too far from him and the band stood before him as if they stood for a modeling show all together. Meanwhile, we had a photoshoot about a block away from there, an all important one because we had yet another lineup change and I wasn't too keen on the label being what they were. Another photoshoot for another few bucks, I supposed.

But it was a surprise to see him over there by the warehouse, where we were supposed to record the album as well. The wind made his hair twirl and billow about behind his head as if he was posing for a modeling job at some sexy magazine. He tucked his hands into his jean pockets and tugged his jeans down a bit to show off a small sliver of skin from under the hem.

Something so cute about him, even when I thought about all of the seductive glances he flicked over to me.

He set one foot up onto the concrete beam before them, and he squinted in the light of the sun as it washed clean over his face. The four men next to him all let their hair fly all around them, as if they all modeled for some erotic magazine.

I had to go over there to talk to them, but especially to him. I felt something with him, something that I wanted to investigate and explore with him right there right next to me.

The five of them stood there like a row of marble statues, all of them right before the photographer who waved at them, and they all relaxed as a result. He ran his fingers through his dark hair and let it cascade all around his upper back and shoulders like water. His lips were full and sensual, perfect for kisses and as ripe and smooth as cherries. Even from a distance, I could see him in all of his full, voluptuous glory.

They took another few photographs before they relaxed and lingered back away from the arches.

I had to find my way over to him. I had to come close to him again, and that time, I had to strip away all of my prejudices and all of his prejudices as well. There was something between us, something that needed to give way. It was going to drive me crazy otherwise.

I spotted a trail over to the door to the building, and I knew I was going to have to make this quick.

My band was about to head in for a photoshoot, but I knew for a fact that it was going to take us a couple of hours. A couple of hours was more than enough for me: I peered over my shoulder to make sure I could buy myself some time. I returned to them and made a run for it.

I scurried over to that doorway and leaned my back to the wall behind me so no one would have to see me back there. I held still lest the breeze flutter my hair about, and then I made my way over to the doorway itself. I stood there with my hands on the actual door frame as if I awaited taking my prince home with me.

My prince awaited me upstairs. My prince awaited me as if he needed to be saved from his own comeuppance.

I ran my fingers through my curls and let them flutter about the crown of my head, and then I hurried up the stairs as if I was leading a march of sorts.

The five of them looked to be preparing to leave the building, but I had to make my move on him, though. He turned in my direction, right as a breeze welled up and let tendrils of his inky black hair fly up around his head. He showed me an unsure smile, accentuated by the sunlight that cast in through the arches next to them. He was undoubtedly the odd man out, just by the mere presence of the gray streak upon his head alone.

I always had a thing for the oddballs, the proverbial aliens, the ones who never fully walked congealed with their chosen crowd. Three of them laughed about something as if they were all brothers, but he lingered off to the side, this little wallflower with the minute plume of gray in his hair. I scurried over to him, right as he showed me a little smile, which in turn brought a twinkle to his eye and a slight roundness to his cheekbones.

“Hey,” he greeted me; his voice was low and round, and yet I could hear him talk dirty to me whenever he felt like it. He was sensual, and more so when he unzipped his jacket and showed off his Gary Moore shirt to me. The bottom hem of his shirt had raised off the top of his pants to show off a strip of creamy smooth skin on his waist. I nibbled on my bottom lip: I could not take my eyes off of him, right there in front of me.

“You’ve got a good scene here, big fella,” I told him.

“I try my best,” he assured me as he nudged a lock of hair back from the side of his face. “It was suggested that we come here for the photoshoot, so… here we are.” Another gust of wind came up next to us and billowed our hair about some more; a cloud of fine cement dust kicked up off to the left of us, such that he inched away from there with a wave of his hand before his face.

“It’s awfully dusty,” I told him with a quick glimpse around the big spacious room around us. “You should be where my band is going to be for the next few hours right across the street.”

“Yeah, let’s go where it’s not so windy,” he suggested to me, and as we were walking out of there, he said the same thing to those three guys there; one of them flashed us both a thumbs up. We headed back downstairs to the doorway below, but before I could lead him out of there, I stopped him right in his tracks so I could take a single look out to the street.

“I'm actually not supposed to be over here,” I told him in a low voice.

“Bad boy, wandering off from the group,” he teased me, to which I cracked him a mischievous grin.

“Hey, you're the bad boy,” I retorted. “Pulling me from the crowd.”

“You wandered up to me like flies on shit,” he said, and I took a peek around the corner to make sure no one was across the street. The coast was clear, and I gestured for him to follow me. It was amazing how his band just let us go and hang out for a while, unless they were done for the day: I doubted it, but I had my guess, though.

He tucked his hands into his snug jean pockets, and he let his long dark hair stream behind him with the wind: his bangs fluttered into his eyes; with the hem of shirt as short as it was, he really looked like a young boy.

“You and I should do something together,” he suggested.

“Like what?” I asked him as I nudged a lock of hair back from the side of my face to right behind my ear.

“Oh, you know, we should have a little bit of fun,” he replied, to which he showed me his tongue. “You know, something more than this and what we had the first time we met each other.”

“Like what?” I repeated. “A round of ice cream and then lay out under the stars with our bellies hanging out?”

He chuckled at that, and his laughter sounded so joyous and hearty, as if it really did come straight from his smooth svelte little belly.

“Well, I figure that you and I have plenty of time...” And his voice trailed off; he turned his attention over to the stretch of trees on the far side of the grass before us.

“We should go over there and jack off together,” he suggested to me.

“Jack off after we've had a couple of guzzles from the bottle?” I offered him a little gesture to my mouth, and he showed me that little grin.

“We don't have anything to drink, though,” he pointed out.

“You wanna play around and have a few brewskies?” I suggested. “You know, I can get us a couple of beers if you'd like. I'm old enough to buy us some juice.”

“Are you, now?” he asked me.

“Indeed I am. Although if I'm honest, I have a hard time seeing you faking an ID.”

“With this thing, you have no idea the degree of the shit I can get away with,” he quipped with a gesture to the plume of gray upon his head. “People always think I'm way older just on my appearance alone.”

“Something really dangerous about that.”

“Again, you have no idea. And while it makes me old, it makes me feel old, too. You know, a nineteen-year-old boy should look and feel nineteen, not thirty two.”

He then sighed through his nose and gave his hair a little toss back before he returned to me.

“Do you ever feel ugly?” he continued. “Like you aren't worth the time and effort from another person?”

“All the time,” I said with a shake of my head. “All the time. I often feel like no one could ever love my body or at the very least appreciate it from afar. Helps that I had a bad breakup earlier this year, too.”

“It's funny because... I did, too,” he replied. “Broke up with my girlfriend of nearly seven months. It was particularly devastating to me because I had never really had a relationship before.”

“Wow,” I remarked.

“I'm an errant fleeting contradiction,” he confessed with a shake of his head.

“If it makes you feel any better, I feel that way, too,” I pointed out as we crossed the grass over to the trees. From there, I could tell that they looked out to the cold bay waters, and there was a spot in between the trees for us to hang out in and have a moment to ourselves. I nibbled on my bottom lip as I thought of doing something there with him. He was silent as we reached the trees and the sweet caress of the shade.

“Okay, so how do you wanna do this?” I asked him. “You wanna just... do it yourself or would you like me to join you?”

“Join me?” He raised his eyebrows at that.

“Yeah. Have you ever done that before?”

“Actually, yes, believe it or not.”

“Care to share?” I offered him, and I gestured for him to have a seat down on the grass. He took his spot there under the tree with his legs spread out and the bottom hem of his shirt only just kissing the top of his jeans: a slender boy but he had just the tiniest bit extra flesh on his body, which I liked quite a bit. I took my seat next to him there on the grass, and I spread my legs out before me as if I was about to have a moment myself.

“The first time I did it with Eric and Lou, the three of us sat back to back,” he told me, and I looked over at him, baffled.

“Back to back?” I demanded. “What's so hot about that?”

“It actually was hot!” he declared. “The three of us kinda... leaned back like you're doing right now. Like when you get all hot and bothered and you feel like your pants are getting a little too tight.” I leaned back towards the trunk of the tree behind us and spread my legs; he leaned in closer to me so we touched shoulders with each other.

“So, you were leaning up against each other and tugging on the hoses and—”

“It was just the thought of being there,” he explained. “The thought of having my back to them both, and the soft little whimpers they gave to me, like I remember Eric breathing harder but there was something so titillating about it all.”

“What was the other guy doing?”

“Who, Lou?”

“Yeah.”

“He was sticking his tongue out like a dog,” he replied. “I thought of asking him to wrap around my dick but the thought escaped me almost immediately.”

“So, we get going and maybe—you wanna—?” I offered him.

“If you'd like,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders and a lopsided little grin on his face. I brought my gaze up to the crown of his head.

“By the way... let me just say that I absolutely love how curly and kinky your hair is,” I confessed.

“It's what I get for being Ashkenazi,” he replied.

“Hey, me, too! L'chaim!” And I raised my fist to him so he could bump the backs of my knuckles.

“To life,” he said, and then he unzipped his pants.

“Oh, you wanna get down to it?” I asked him, and I inched my legs away from him so we could somewhat have our backs to each other. There was something interesting about it, the fact that we were outside in broad daylight with nothing more than trees and bushes to act as our protection from any wandering eyes and the fact that we both had a great deal of time to have together. There was also the fact that it was just the two of us there out in nature.

“It's either now or never, my brother,” he whispered to me.

“It's like the pressure just builds,” I said with a chuckle; I unzipped my jeans. Part of me wanted to take them off all the way, but I had no idea if someone could stumble upon us and see us fucking in the bushes.

“The smoker you drink, the drunker you smoke,” he chided. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him use both hands on himself. I leaned up against his shoulder blade and the side of his back to steady myself; for me, all I needed was the flick of my wrist and the work of one hand and two fingers to get myself going. And yet, even though it was so easy for me, I still felt like there was something else that needed to be done. The top of my pants hugged my hips, and thus, not a lot of room for me to grow.

We were outside, out in broad daylight with the breeze blowing over our skin, but I had the itch I couldn't scratch for myself.

I sighed through my nose and I lifted my hips off the grass a bit. I nudged my pants down my hips.

That felt better. Now I could do it a great deal right then.

“Yeah, there we go,” he grunted out, and then he gasped. Another lap of the breeze swept over us, which in turn sent a chill up my spine, which in turn sent more feeling down below my belt. I stuck the tip of my pink finger into the hole, and the rough feeling of the callus on my skin tickled me so much.

He gasped again, and that time he leaned his head onto my shoulder. I closed my eyes and let the feeling wash over me.

We both surrendered. He was doing it to himself, and I was doing it to myself.

I was cold, but I was warm at the same time. He breathed into my ear; I looked over at him to see that he had grown so big and full. I licked my lips and brought my head down onto his lap.

His skin was warm and smooth, even sweet like the taste of rugelach straight out of the oven. I wrapped my tongue around his shaft like that of a snake; he gasped again, and that time he followed it up with a low moan. We were outside, and thus the noise of the outside acted as our safeguard against any passersby that could possibly hear us there.

I licked on him, all the way up the side of his shaft to his head. He tasted so good, and I knew he was loving every second of it: at one point, I opened my eyes to see his eyes closed and his lips parted in utmost euphoria.

I was going to make him come. We had gotten each other started, and now I was going to finish it.

I put my lips around him and I sucked on him as if we were going out of style. I moved in as deep as I could on him, to the point the tip nearly hit the back of my throat.

I did it a second time, that time with a bit of teeth, and that made him open his mouth all the way as if to yelp out, but he never did. Instead, I tasted something else on the back of my tongue, and I swallowed it down. I let go of him and ran my tongue all around the rim of my mouth to rid of anything extraneous, and then I leaned into his face for a kiss on those full lips of his.

“Mmm, you’re very sexy,” I told him as I stroked my fingers through his hair.

“You know, I try my best,” he replied with a smirk on his face and a slight hooding to his eyes. “I think I hear people coming.”

“Let 'em look, big boy,” I teased him with another kiss.

And I was being serious about that.

[unprocione]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ➤  * @stillaware requested a plotted starter!

the residual scent of bleach lingers in the air of the hospital hallways, and his scarce few belongings clink and clatter as he empties his pockets into the plastic tray provided, as leon makes his way through the comprehensive security set-up, shifting his legs shoulder-width apart as they wave the handheld metal detector over the fabric of his slacks, extending one arm, and then the other for the same treatment. leon can barely smother the impatient urge to tap his foot, instead repetitively squeezing his hand into a fist at his side and releasing, as they look over his government identification, and then his a.u.p.i.t. badge. leon startles, reluctantly dragging his eyes away from the curtain-clad sliding glass doors further down the hall ahead, as the woman behind the glass barrier clears her throat and asks him to sign a non-disclosure agreement he doesn't bother to read through for the second time. he knows the drill and gist by now. penning his signature in narrow cursive, piling his keys and wallet and identification cards loosely into his pockets, leon takes the chilled can of V8 in hand he bought directly from the lobby vending machine, and immediately breaks into a brisk walk as they wave him through.

stopping just outside the door, wavering on the threshold, leon pauses, uncertain - how is he going to approach this? what is there for him to even say in the first place? hey, i'm leon kennedy, nice to meet you, so, what was it like being held captive in your own body for four years because i let a renowned and amoral spy escape with apparently a handful of plaga samples? no hard feelings, right? guilt gnaws as he hovers outside of valentine's room, and leon draws a hand over the lower half of his face, scratching at light stubble with blunt nails as he considers a slight hope that maybe, if he was as lucky as everyone kept telling him he was, she would be fast asleep, knocked-out cold, and he could leave a note wishing her well instead of having to conversate face-to-face with her. leon winces visibly at the thought alone, disparaging it immediately. with the immense respect he has for jill in spades, he won't allow his admiration to be outwon by his self-reproach, and if she strangles leon with her iv lines, which he'll probably deserve, he won't go out as a coward, only as an idiot. inhaling, exhaling, biting the bullet, leon knocks twice before turning the handle and stepping in, and he can't hide the way his face drops the instant he sees the state of her, but he tries anyway, a well-practiced debonair half-smile instantly at the edge of his lips, raising a hand in greeting before it drums out a tinny beat on the canned drink he's brought along, sparing an assessing glass to the vitals monitor to the side of the bed, and then back to her.

❝ hey there, i'm leon, i wrote the kennedy report, about the plaga? i wanted to stop by, see if they were looking after you alright.. ❞ leon pauses, mouth partially open as he glances at her monitor again, back to her, and to the monitor again, concern flickering across his features. quiet for a spell of seconds, leon closes his mouth, internally settled on a new approach, with a matter of fact click of his tongue in a well, shit manner. he turns away, abruptly taking a chair from his side of the room, and placing it backwards near the end of her bed, leon swinging a leg over and straddling his seat with his arms braced over the back. wordlessly hooking two fingers in the collar hem of his shirt, leon pulls it down low over his breastbone, bearing the edge of fractals of jutting blackened veins, his skin warped with thick scar tissue, discolored to an amalgamation of dark pink and red splotches. leon's collar hem springs back into place as he lets go, and he scratches at the light stubble on the side of his face again, a nervous tilt present in his smile now. ❝ it's much easier to just show you than explain, sorry, ❞ leon's fingers drum against the back of the chair, the first few beats of journey's wheel in the sky. ❝ i wanted to answer any questions, if you have them? there's.. there's just certain shit that doctor's don't get, and can't understand. i'm a complete stranger, so i get it if you don't want to pass a tissue box back and forth with me, ❞ briefly, leon's boyish smile broadens, only kidding, before it shifts into that light half-smile again. ❝ but if, you change your mind, or something feels wrong, freaks you out, now, later, six years from now, three in the morning, whatever, whenever, i'll be a phone call away. ❞

[horseshoegirl]

Hi, Em!

I’m trying to remember what’s next after DTDT? Did you already add a teaser somewhere? I recall seeing another title. Was it here or at AO3?

Call me Ruthie, I’m Batghost over at Ao3. 😉

AHH YOUR BATGHOST?! I cannot tell you how many times I've anticipated hearing from you over on A03, cause I knew there would be a comment from you each time I've updated! 💛 It's so nice to put a name to a 'face'!

You are correct, there is a story after DTDT! I did a poll for two ideas, and BroncRider!Jake won out! I posted the Masterlist here a few days ago, and it will be posted to A03 as well.

It's called Forever After All.

Is this also a call for a teaser? Cause I can do that....

____

"He's up next," Jess nudged you with her shoulder, shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth. Your eyes shot down to the arena, searching for any sign of him. The two of you were sitting far enough away from the shoot, but you could still see everything going on without having to squint your eyes. You spied Wyatt at the horse's back end, closing the gate behind it as it charged into the small space.

The horse looked nasty. Nose flaring, ears pinned back against its skull, hooves kicking out front and left and back, clearly angry it was being put through this. That bronc-ing strap would have to be tighter than normal to make it react the way it did. 

Then you saw Jake climbing up over the steel railing, pausing as he reached the other side. You watched, captivated, as he stared down at the animal, waiting for the wranglers to calm it for a second so he might mount it. 

Whether it was the show or the fact he was dressed in those breeches and black collared shirt, where you averted your eyes back home, you felt like you had permission to stare at him now.

Watching him ready himself, the changes in Jake over the past three years became even more pronounced. Below the rim of his black Stetson, Jake's face is covered in a barely noticeable dusting of dirt, light stubble gracing his cheeks. His eyes, sharp and focused, remained locked onto the bronc. The stern set of his mouth revealed his thoughts, at least to you, letting you know he was mentally preparing for the challenge. 

And there was a maturity about him that wasn't there before. 

The horse stilled, and Jake lowered himself down into the shoot. He hooked his hand around the rope, settling his boots into the stirrups. 

From this distance, you could see Jake gritting his teeth hard. The muscles along his pronounced jawline tense, making sharp contours across the side of his face more evident. Every line and every angle seemed to harden, from the bridge of his nose to the curve of his chin. 

Even new scars on his cheek and neck stood out, and as Jake titled his head, readying himself, his jugular vein throbbed visibly against the taut skin of his sun-kissed neck. 

He shouted. The gate opened. The horse spun out, and your breath caught in your throat. 

[multistoty]

The moon is a loyal companion.It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human.Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.could have done or said more. I’m so sorry, mother. I’m sorry that- I don’t want this.But there's something about the darkness, the stillness of this hour that creates a language of its own. There's a strange kind of freedom in the dark; a terrifying vulnerability we allow ourselves at exactly the wrong moment, tricked by the darkness into thinking it will keep our secrets.And they are quotation marks, inverted and upside down, clinging to one another at the end of this life sentence. Trapped by lives they  did not choose. For Matthias was a lord expected to marry high by his family and house and Daenys was forced to play bastard by the sin of breathing. Waiting. Not waiting. One lover. A hundred lovers. There should be no judgement either way. A woman is not defined by what she does or doesn‘t do in the bedroom.They were meant to be opposites, but they had been on the same coin. And oh, he was catastrophically in love with her. Hope is a pocket of possibility.And he’s  holding it in his hand.Hope is a powerful thing. Some say it’s a different breed of magic altogether. Elusive, difficult to hold on to. But not much is needed.She leaned forward and caught at his hand, pressing it between her own. The touch was like white fire through his veins. He could not feel her skin only the cloth of her gloves, and yet it did not matter. You kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire. He had wondered once why love was always phrased in terms of burning. The conflagration in his own veins, now, gave the answer.Occasionally, there are minutes that get extra seconds. Moments so precious the universe stretches to make additional room for them. Gold shimmered no matter what, but few people could make darkness glitter the way she did.Dreams that come true can be beautiful, but they can also turn into nightmares when people won't wake up,Some things are worth pursuit regardless of the cost.She smelled of magic and heartbreak, and something about the combination made him think that despite what she claimed, she wanted to be his hero.Happiness depends on being free, and freedom depends on being courageous.Sometimes your heart is the only thing worth listening to. It was because they were two parts of a whole. He did not belong to her. And she did not belong to him. It was never about belonging to someone. It was about belonging together. This dangerous girl. This captivating beauty.This destroyer of worlds and creator of wonder. A true plague of a girl. And yet a queen in every sense of the word.And he smiled a smile to shame the sun. She is beauty, inside and out. She is the silver lining in a world of darkness. She is his light. She was his light in a sea of darkness and the poetry he had become fluent in. The world is a mess and all he wanted to do was laugh because all he can think is how horrible and beautiful it is that somehow this woman loved him.So many people had eyes like mirrors as they showed nothing or what you wanted.she always had eyes like mirrors filled with unseen depths and honesty. She had picked up the blonde’s shards to make a stained glass window. Matthias would always do his best to reflect her sunlight.""You are what happiness means to me. And I would rather have today with you than forever with anyone else.I love you enough to hope that you will not care that I am being selfish in trying to make the rest of my life - whatever length - happy, by spending it with you.You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen walking this earth. And you don't even know it. You have no clue how beautiful you are or how brightly you shine." The blonde said against the expanse of her gold spun locks. A gentle kiss on their walk.

@xrealmofmanymusesx

[casspurrjoybell-28]

Alpha's Temptation - Chapter 48 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

As I approach the crowd, phone gripped in my sweaty hands, my heart is beating so loud I feel like everyone around me can hear it.

Maybe they can, with how scared and nervous I am.

Tons of people are blocking my way but I fight my way through them, fight my way to my mate.

According to Lylah, he showed up at the pack house with two Dark Moon scouts he captured along the perimeter that attempted to sneak in.

But Theo, of course, instantly got word from his minions that they'd seen Daemon.

And now he knows that the brother he'd supposedly killed months ago is still alive.

This won't end well. So I have to try.

When I finally reach the center of the circle, I see it.

The Dark Moon scouts held captive by council members that look uncertainly between Theo and Daemon.

The air is tense as they glare at each other.

"How the fuck are you here?" Theo seethes, fists gripped so tightly his knuckles are even whiter than his ghostly pale skin.

"I had to come back. I had to bring them in," Daemon growls, motioning to the Dark Moon scouts.

Their is evidence of a fight on both Daemon and them and my heart twinges.

Daemon had to fight them on his own.

His cheek is bruised and various parts of him are bloody.

"You're not supposed to even be..." Theo shouts, stopping himself before he exposes himself.

Exposes the fact that Daemons not only not supposed to be here, he's not even supposed to be breathing.

"What exactly is going on here?" one of the council members intrudes.

Neither of them say anything.

Theo can't, really, without revealing his sinister plan to the tons of people that surround us.

I step forward. I'm shaking. I'm so scared. I have to do this.

"T-Theo has been l-lying to you a-all," I accuse shakily, causing everyone's attention to go toward me.

Daemons head turns when he sees me, eyes wide with confusion and surprise, while Theo looks angry.

"You little..." he stops himself once again, reminding himself that the Council is watching.

"You're in big trouble for the stunt you pulled the other day," he growls.

"I-I shouldn't be. I s-stopped you from doing something v-very bad."

Theo glances around us, the vein in his forehead close to popping.

"The Omega must be off his meds. Men, come take him somewhere he can be treated..." he motions to his goons, the line of Alphas with dead looks in their eyes, waiting at his beck and call.

One of them starts to move towards me.

"Don't even think about it," Daemon says darkly, moving in front of me to block his path.

"We would like to hear what the Omega has to say, actually," the council leader, a tall Alpha with light brown skin crosses his arms, addressing Theo.

"He has nothing to say," Theo growls.

"Yes, I do."

I peek out from behind Daemon, insistent.

"Be quiet..."

I hit play on the recording.

"Y-you're poisoning him."

"I'm sedating him," Theo's voice is cold in the recording but exceedingly recognizable.

The council members' eyes widen and they all look at each other.

"Oh, you fucking..."

Theo comes towards me but Daemon grabs him roughly by the collar, pushing him back.

"Just because it's not a lethal dose doesn't mean you're not hurting him."

"You need to keep your fucking voice down."

"He's your f-father. He loves you. How could y-you do this?"

"Because he wasn't ever planning on making me the Alpha. He was going to choose Daemon, his fucking bastard son."

Theo is seething by the time I've hit pause.

"And t-that's not all. Theo not only p-poisoned his father, he tried t-to kill his own b-brother," I say.

The crowd bursts into chatter, my accusation spurring unsurprising controversy.

So I go to play the part where he confesses to this but then one of Theo's goons is ramming into me, knocking the phone from my hands and sending it shattering on the ground.

Daemon, having not been able to shield me due to holding back Theo, roughly lets go of his brother and yanks the alpha that hit me away from me, grabbing me protectively.

"Don't fucking touch him," he snarls at the alpha and they back off.

My lips trembles, my heart falling at the sight of my broken phone on the ground.

All the evidence, lost.

My eyes brim with tears.

"What is wrong with you? You're a murderer. Sooner or later people will know, whether I expose you or not."

Suddenly a woman steps forward from the crowd.

Her eyes are bright with anger as she looks at Theo.

"He's the reason Zeke died. I know you got rid of him. You didn't want him to show the pack who you really are when he recovered from the overdose you pressured him in to."

Theo laughs nervously, rolling his eyes.

"I don't know how you can blame me for your mate being a drug addict..."

"Fuck you."

"No one is going to believe that, darling."

"No. It's true," Tristan is suddenly stepping forward.

"Theo gave me the order to kill Daemon. The only reason he's alive is because I helped him get away."

"You were never trustworthy from the start..." Theo hisses.

"So you're admitting that this is true, Alpha Theo?" the head councilman asks.

"Oh so what if I tried to kill Daemon?"

Theo throws his hands up in the air.

"If you all knew why I did it, you'd understand. Daemon was the one protecting him, after all."

Theo leers before pointing a crooked finger at me.

"You may look like an innocent Omega but I know what you're hiding under that shirt..."

"Theo," Daemon roars, eyes blazing red.

Theo's goons stand on either side of the evil man, ready to pounce.

"That's right. Little Ash has been hiding a very big bad secret from you all," Theo sneers.

I look around at everyone's eyes on me, my friends, my school mates, people I've become acquainted with since coming here.

They're all going to know.

Know that I've been lying since the start.

I look away from Lylah and Wren, who watch, confused. I'm too ashamed.

No. It will be my choice to reveal it.

He won't take this away from me.

"Yes," I say, "I have."

Theo raises a questionable eyebrow.

"Yes. I am from the Dark Moon Pack. Yes, I have been hiding it."

A collective round of gasps comes from the crowd.

"Ash..." Daemon starts, looking terrified that I've revealed myself.

But Theo was going to do it anyway.

Then I do the one thing that I never thought I would do, especially not in front of this many people.

I take off my shirt.

I strip the fabric off me that always acted as a protective covering, bearing it to the world... my Dark Moon pack mark and the horrible scars that will never go away as long as I live.

I'm hyperventilating, my mouth and throat gone dry.

There's no going back in time. Everyone's seen it.

People will always know.

They'll know about the one thing I used to swear I would keep secret the rest of my life.

All the disgusting abuse I went through, the physical evidence forever on my body.

I take a deep breath.

"I ran away from Dark Moon," I say, looking around as everyone stares with wide eyes.

"Because in that pack I was abused every day of my life. On the night I left, the person who was supposed to take care of me hurt me so badly I was going to die."

"I would've," I look up at Daemon, my lip trembling. "But my mate saved me."

His eyes are filled with emotion as he takes me in, letting me put my hand in his.

He squeezes it tightly, as if saying

"I'm here," and it's all the comfort I ever needed.

He lets me speak my truth.

It was my decision to make. Silence.

The council members faces have gone slack in awe and sadness.

Even Theo's goons seem to have regained some of their humanness back, a glimmer of emotion flickering in their eyes behind the blank stare.

"So you can punish me. I am an enemy in your territory, after all. Do whatever you want to me," I exclaim.

"Ash..." my mate tries to stop me, obviously not liking what I'm suggesting.

"But don't hurt Daemon," I shake my head, tears rising to my eyes,

"He did nothing wrong. All he ever did was protect me... protect his mate like I know any one of you would have done if you were in his position."

"See?" Theo turns towards the council.

"Traitors. Both of them."

[kingkatsuki]

Congrats on 30k!! I'm not surprised though, your writing is *chef's kiss*

Can I please request some rough, daddy filled tent sex with Bakugou and you have to keep quiet because your friends are camping literally right next to you? 🥵🥵

Here's to the next 30k!!!

Thank you so much for the request!

tw: use of the word daddy.

“Better be quiet, princess.” Bakugou’s warm breath fanned your face from his position above you, his cock stretching you out around him as the thick veins that scattered along his length dragged against your silky walls.

“Fuck,” You cried out, feeling him bottom out inside you as the blond tufts of pubic hair that sat at the base of his cock brushed against your clit. It didn’t even feel like you were that loud, a cloudy haze captivating your mind as you felt everything.

“What did I just fuckin’ say?” Bakugou snarled, his large palm moving from the back of your knee as he pressed it against your mouth, effectively silencing your moans, “Shut the fuck up.”

Bakugou began a harsh pace inside you, each forward motion had his balls slapping against the curve of your ass as he tugged the sleeping bag further up around his waist, trying his best to muffle the noise even though the tent was hot. Your skin sticking to his almost uncomfortably as he kept your legs pressed towards your chest. Your breasts bouncing in tandem with his thrusts, the only light coming from the fire that was still gently burning outside as your friends sat around it allowing you to just about make out his vermilion eyes as he glowered down at you.

“Love daddy’s cock that much don’tcha?” Bakugou grunted, his fingertips digging into the soft skin of your thigh, the other still placed firmly against your mouth, “I fuck you so fuckin’ dumb that you can’t follow simple instructions.”

Your lewd cries continuing to be muffled against him, the sounds vibrating against his skin and making his hand warm. Uncaring that you were practically slobbering against him as he fucked into you hard, drool escaping your mouth and dribbling down your cheeks. Bakugou bit down on his bottom lip at the sight of you looking so debauched beneath him, his lip ring jutting out slightly as he kept his pace.

“Unless you want to get caught, is that it?” He continued, the thought making your cunt clench around his cock, “Want everyone to see how good daddy fucks you?”

Your eyes rolled back at the thought, feeling yourself hovering on the edge of your release as he continued to run his mouth, the feral sound of his voice doing nothing but work you towards your release.

“Is that right?” Bakugou persisted, “Maybe I should unzip the tent and show them, hah?”

You knew he would never, that you were for his eyes and his eyes only. But the sheer implication had you keening against him, your body convulsing as you felt the dam inside you break, your toes curling as your orgasm flowed through you in harsh waves.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ.” Bakugou’s eyes widened slightly at how loud you were, even with his palm pressed against your mouth.

His thrusts were unrelenting as you continued to milk his cock as your cunt pulsed around him, working himself toward his own release as he continued uttering filth in your ear. The air in the tent humid from the small space and stickiness of your bodies, making it difficult to breathe as your chest heaved beneath him. It was all too much, too intense.

Burying his face in your sweaty neck as his pace faltered, his hips stuttering as he came to his own end, coating your inner walls with white-hot ropes of his release as he let himself drop down on top of you. The weight of his body atop yours made you feel safe, your fingers stroking along his back in random patterns as your skin stuck to each other with sweat. Keeping himself buried inside you to enjoy the way your tightness fluttered around him in the aftershocks of your release. Your mouth finally free as gentle gasps left your lips as you tried to regain your breath.

There was no way that your friends hadn’t heard you, even if you’d managed to stay silent throughout, the crude sounds of Bakugou fucking into you would have been enough to alert them to your activities.

“Always so fuckin’ noisy.” Bakugou murmured, pressing his lips against your pulse point as he felt you throb around him, the metal of his piercing grazing against your skin, “Gonna have to fuck you face down next time.”

დ 30k music event.

[cynettic]

I just read Kitsune reader x yan Scaramouche's fic, may I have gotten hooked on it? and of course, it's just perfect and that's why I'm here to lose a part two with nsfw, thank you in advance and understand if you refuse:3

Link to Part 1

Summary - Taking you captive, Scaramouche continues to see you as a pillar of support. Coming back home to have you there, always. Even if it meant chaining you up.

Pairings - F!Kitsune!Reader x Yan!Scaramouche

Warnings - Smut, slight noncon ( I tried to make it as consensual as possible but its difficult with yandere themes ), fingering, electricity play

Rating - NSFW

Penpal - Ahhh I'm actually beginning to get attached to this series, might end up writing a couple more posts with different hc and stuff. I hope you liked the post though, have a great day <3

A/N - The literal definition of the ‘stoic cruel boy who’s mean to everyone but you.’ Oh well, Scaramouche is ooc af, but I did change a few things in his backstory so its supposed to make sense for this story ;) Also- since we dont know Scaramouche’s actual name, I have the reader still… yknow, call him Scaramouche. Which is kinda weird cause its his harbinger name but oh well. Also, credit to @cycletr4in for proofreading it ;3

Taglist - @cursedraiden

Stay with Me pt.2

Scaramouche was a gentle captor.

In contrast to piercing eyes and harsh stares when it came to others, he had a soft spot for you. Like the ice that encased him whole melted at your touch, craving for the warmth only you could give him. For your arms around him, to play pretend and imagine he were a child, free, fearless, unbound. A child in your arms, safe and protected.

But you were held hostage, which meant that the chains around your wrists and legs held you down and secured you. Like you were bound to one spot like you’d always been, except this time you didn't have a choice.

You weren't waiting for the Kitsune Saiguu.

Hell, you didn't even have your vision.

This brought on resentment for the dark haired boy. You hated him, you despised him for holding you down under his own judgment. But at the same time, all you saw in him was a child, a little kid who hadn't had the time to grow up. The one who refused to do so because it was his only way to survive in the type of world he lived in. Hide behind that same facade he developed as a kid, snide remarks and unrelenting cruelty.

Just to come back to your arms, sobbing because he was still that child. Sobbing because he was still hurt. Sobbing because you were still his beacon of light, of hope.

He depended on you.

And as much as you built up harsh words to use against him, they dissolved in your mouth when you saw him. His vulnerability that he saved for you and you only. A deep part of you cared for him, a little too much.

Gentle fingers brushed through the locks of Scaramouche’s hair, twirling it around and playing with the strands. It was smooth, a small detail no one would have the chance to notice from the distance he put around himself and others. A quiet hum left his lips as he leaned against your chest, eyes fluttering closed against the soothing feeling of you against him.

The lavish silk sheets were soft against your skin, pillow pushing your form to sit up. Just enough to have Scaramouche in your arms, knees on either side of his body as his head rested under your chin. His chest rose and descended, almost on beat with yours, if not just a tad slower.

You hoped he wouldn't hear the way your heart thrummed against your chest.

Warmth, his body flushed against yours, the luxury of a bed and the small candlelight on your bedside. Different from what you’d grown into just on the side of the trail, sitting for decades. Or with your time with the Kitsune Saiguu, it was never this warm, never this gentle.

But this warmth ended at your beating heart, furiously blazing. Sending an urge of adrenaline through your body, whispering ‘run’ through your veins. A primal urge that would've had your hands around Scaramouche’s neck, till he was wrangling and dead.

Till you could escape.

Hand slowly sliding down his jawline, you let your gentle fingers ghost along the soft skin of his neck. Claws outstretched and ready, sharp and pointed with a deadly intent to kill. You could end him so quickly, overturn his trust and make an escape. You deserved it, you deserved freedom. Not a delusional boy who thought himself protector against someone who’s lived decades more than him.

Jolting at the sensation of a soft grip on your wrist, you watched with idle fascination as he simply cupped your wrist in his hold. Not stopping you, not restraining you, he simply brought your hand to his face. To his lips where he pressed the softest of kisses into your palm. So heartfelt and genuine that all you could do was freeze, not even considering clawing his face.

“I love you.”

You both stayed in that position for a few moments more, silence cradling the tension that slowly dissipated from your body. Forlorn eyes watching as he shift the angle of your wrist to kiss your fingertips. He wasn't waiting for an answer, basking in these soft moments where he could hide in your hold. Like a child, forced to grow up too quickly, yearning back for his foolish naivety, yearning for the childhood he missed.

You were that childhood.

Which is why he clung to you so dearly, showed expressions he didnt know he could make, hold you captive under the impression that it was ‘right.’ What he was doing was okay.

Claws retracted, you pursued your lips, holding back the tears of frustration that burned at your eyes. You hated him, hated him for the chains on your wrists, for the disappearance of your vision that you’d given so much value to. Hated him for the warmth he still made you feel.

You hated him.

You felt like a housewife in some respects. Not with the cleaning and cooking part, and of course no children were part of the equation. But in terms of support, you stayed rooted to that room, loose chains too strong for you to break or tug holding you down. Window was too far, and you were stuck moving around the bed and the desk that sat just a little farther away.

Attempts at having your vision back or more freedom in movement had been discussed with Scaramouche, but as childlike and free as he acted with you, he was not an idiot.

“I don’t plan on underestimating you,” was his answer, head resting on the plush of your chest. “You’re strong, always were. But I have to take extremes to make sure you don’t get hurt, some people out there are stronger than you.”

You wanted to point out that there were a ton of people stronger than him as well, but you kept your mouth shut. “Can I at least see the house? I’ve been cooped up here for so long…”

And he cant say no to such an innocent request as that right?

So he unlocks the chains, the vision at his side reminding you that he was strong. You solely knew that he’d been tough as a kid, and under the intensive training he’d seemed to endure, he was much much stronger. You werent willing to give it a go and lose his trust just yet.

Not like he really trusted you anyways-

At the very least, you’d hoped to get some sort of blueprint of the house, and all you’d received was confusion and your mind making up that the house itself was a maze.

“Didnt we… just pass through here?”

Glancing at the obvious frustration on your face, Scaramouche chuckled, pulling your arm through the hallways you swear you’d seen three times prior. “Nope, most of the hallways look pretty similar. The house wasn't built for dumbasses.”

You flashed him a look and were about to make some snideish rebuttal before you saw the smirk. You knew what he was doing, trying to comfort you with casual arguments you both used to have. Consisting of you telling him to work on his people skills, and him calling you a lazy ass. Of course you missed it, but you also knew you couldn't go back to it.

And then there was the issue when you learned that he was a harbinger.

A scene you didnt want to replay in your head, when a maid burst into your room, Scaramouche acting a tad more intimate. He had an awful tendency to do that, hug your waist and press his face against the crook of your neck. Press gentle kisses down the length of your shoulder that had you shuddering. You weren't used to intimacy, and considering you’d watched him grow up, it was just weird.

Stuttering, the maid had demanded that he was requested by the Tsarista. You’d seen the fear in her eyes when Scaramouche slowly turned to her, seen the unshakable immobility of standing under his gaze.

“Do not enter.” He said, “It’s on the door.”

That was the first time you’d seen Scaramouche kill.

You hoped it’d be the last.

But you’d seen death before, so much death in the time of the Kitsune Saiguu. And for a few seconds, you found yourself fearless as you yanked against the chains, yelling at his figure at the doorway.

“Tsarista?” You snarled, standing just a few feet away from him. His hand on the girls neck, clenching around the pretty skin of hers. Disgusted, the chains that held you back from closing the gap and throwing the girl away from him were impossible to overcome. “Why the hell does she need you?!”

‘Let go,’ you wanted to say. ‘Let her go, she’s going to die.’

It worked, because the ironclad grip was gone, the maid tumbling to the ground lifelessly. You’d been too late, and now her blood was on his hands, your hands. This was your fault and you had half the self control not to thrash against the chains with sharp claws, hands on his neck.

The hard steel gaze vanished in an instant, and like he’d regained his senses, he took a few steps to you. Hands clenching to fists before loosening to fingertips brushing against his palms. Confusion, regret and guilt clouded his features like a child waiting to be reprimanded. You didn't back away, stood firm and fierce when standing and keeping a tough front.

You wanted to cry.

“Its… its a long story.” He finally stated to your question, and when you didnt budge, he took a deep breath. In control again, he closed the distance between the two of you, “I’m sorry.” And that same thrum of electricity jolted through your body, sending you into a spiral of the girls lifeless eyes and Scaramouche’s childlike eyes. Till everything went black.

You woke up with the body gone. Scaramouche was gone as well.

You learned that Scaramouche liked to have things his way. Which meant that he was always in control, always had control of every situation.

Even in those short stretches of vulnerability when he rested in your arms, he still held something over you. And you had to adapt, shift for his wishes, coddle him and stay as his beacon. Because he was stronger, and even if you’d find some way to escape, he would find you.

It was odd, and you slowly let go of the image of him as a child, you knew he was a lot older. He’d probably reached the age your body was stuck in, and with every sweet kiss he pressed to your lips, you knew he saw you as some sort of lover. But as someone who wasn't in control, you simply had to play along, just until you found some way to make your escape.

Without killing him.

_-_-_-_-_

“Strip.”

Laying on one side of the bed, your eyes jolted open at the commanding voice. Slowly, you sat up, eyeing the dim figure at the doorway. Without the help of a candle or the moonlight at the window, you could distinguish Scaramouche at the doorway, taking off the large headpiece as he flung it to the ground.

“Excuse me…?” Your voice was soft, rusty after an evening nap.

“I’ll make you feel good,” was his only answer. Slowly making his way to the bedside till he could properly face you. His eyes were soft, but there was an odd sort of determination that you hadnt seen before. You held back his stare, confusion lacing your features when he suddenly started pulling off loose decorations that hung on his clothes. Just till he unlaced the vest and slid off his shirt. “Don’t worry.” But you didnt know quite what he meant until he leaned further to you, catching you off guard.

So you yelped when his hands suddenly slammed down on your shoulders, shifting you to have access to the buttons of your top layer. He was quick when undoing them, simply swatting away at your hands when you protested and tried to pull him away. Throwing it to the edge of the room when he was done, you could only thrash in horror when he undid your trousers just as quickly, pulling them down before you could grab them back up.

“Scaramouche? Hey-”

And then he threw you down on the bed, exposing you in your undergarments in the cool air of the room. Shivers crept up your spine and bristled across your skin, and before you could curl up to at the very least hide away, you felt a tug at your chains. Fear finally settled in when you saw Scaramouche attach the chain to the bedpost, until your hand was lifted up and he began to do the same to the other.

“Wait wait wait, stop and explain what you’re-”

Only then did he pause from what he was doing, slowly looking down to properly face you. His eyes slid up and down your body, and he took a step towards you. “I’ll make you feel good,” were his only words, and you were forced to take them as all he was planning on giving you. Only when he sat on the bed next to you did you realize what he meant, hand settling on your shoulder, waiting.

“Alright,” you said slowly. Painfully, the words bit your tongue, but you were merciless against someone who had control against the situation. You could say no and you knew Scaramouche would stop, he was gentle to you and you only. And even if he’d been firm just before, you knew that he’d still stop if you asked him to.

A part of you felt thrilled to have that power over him.

Another part of you just wanted to escape.

But you didnt have any hope to do so unless you were willing too give him everything. Because he expected everything and would do anything in his power to obtain it. You’d let him fiddle around with this delusion, thinking that he had control. Until he didnt.

Which is why you didnt flinch when his hand gently slid up your stomach, cold against the warmth you’d had under the blankets. Rubbing gingerly against your skin and drawing smooth shapes over before he slowly slid over your body. His eyes seemed to glint under the darkness of the room, lust filled and wanting.

You didnt shift uncomfortably, you pretended to be that doll he expected you to be.

Just staring up at him as he slowly leaned down to kiss you. His lips felt like snowflakes on a winters day, idly swaying side to side to catch one in your mouth. Jolting like electricity when they melted into your touch, red and swollen when he pulled back. You now vividly felt every touch, as if a current flowed and static jittered in the places he briefly brushed his fingertips.

“You always take such good care of me,” he breathed, lips slowly drifting down your chin. Just past your jawline and right on your neck. The space between your head and shoulder, a soft vulnerable spot that had your lips humming at the affectionate pressure. “Its my turn to take care of you.”

And then his lips were everywhere, collarbone, shoulders, cleavage. Just until his teeth were tugging off your bra, face nuzzled in between both breasts. Both of his hands now resided on your hips, grabbing both thighs to hold them up and against him. You could feel him hard, pressing so close to your heated core.

You managed to keep your reactions in check.

Just until he slowly grinded against you, mouth on your breasts as he again pecked the soft mounds, molding his lips against them as if he could remember the texture, memorize the feel. It was just to that point that mindless sounds slipped past your lips, turning to gasps when his hands on your thighs suddenly buzzed, and static rushed in. Your legs felt weak, entire body thrumming in response to the electricity he sent jolting.

He was using his vision.

The realization was numb against his lips on your breasts, hands slowly stroking the skin of your sides, travelling up. He hovered over you for mere seconds before mashing his lips against you once more, different. He was no longer gentle, and it was with the contact on your tail that you lost all control. When he gently moved it out of the way, backing up.

You were a mess.

Not that you tried to be, you’d been doing your best not to enjoy his touch. But it was hard when your core heated up so fast, mashing both legs together in hopes he wouldn't notice. You knew he would, any action beyond that was just you trying to save your dignity.

He sat there like he was enjoying the sight, the first time you’d seen him actually portray any visual confirmation of satisfaction towards the chains. He’d drink dry any ounce of control you gave him, and it was impossible not to give him it all when you were visionless and vulnerable.

But the dignity you struggled so hard to keep shattered when his hands brushed against your inner thigh.

Fingers slowly made their way to the padded fabric of your undergarments, two digits rubbing the area slowly with expertise. You bit your lip, muffling any groan of anticipation, hiding the way your hips tried to rock back into the gesture. Desperate, oh so desperate. Hiding back the whimpers as he slowly quickened the pace of his fingers against your garments. “Archons Y/n,” he murmured. “I haven't even put anything in and you’re already a squirming mess.”

“Shut u-up,” was all you managed, trying to shift away from the pressure against your clit. But his other hand was on your hip, holding in place. You could only watch and press your thighs tightly together as he slowly slid down your panties, resuming hovering over you. Distracting you with kisses, his fingers gently stroked your core, two fingers slowly sliding into your cunt using your juices.

He was gentle when pumping both fingers in and out, too slow when you thrust your hips to meet his fingers, pleading for him to go faster. But he liked hearing your cries, slowing down when you begged, quickening when you whined and just lay there, taking it.

You shuddered the first time electricity jolted from his digits.

It was when he had three fingers that he sent the static up your body, back arching with such intensity that it even had him chuckling. “Oh? You like it that much?” And then it is like something buzzed against your body, fingers vibrating against your clit as your thighs tightened around his hand. So much that you thought you’d crush it, but it didn't matter, not with the electrifying feeling against your body. It felt so odd, so overwhelmingly good that it had your legs sliding up and down the bedside, toes curling as the static grew and you fell paralyzed to his touch.

It didn't take long with his fingers thrusting in and out of you to cum. Moaning mess when he gave you the time to breathe, teeth biting your bottom lip and then mashing against yours. Your eyes grew fuzzy and most happened in a haze, and all you knew the entire time was that you’d given yourself to him, and that it felt good. You couldn't see the childlike wonder in his eyes anymore, not the need of a beacon or of support. No, the look he shared was feral, the smile tinting his lips almost scary. But it felt too good to care, and you let yourself enjoy his ministrations.

He pulled out and suddenly his own shorts were undone, boxers thrown to the side of the room just like all your other clothing. You didn't see how big he was, just felt his hard shaft against your throbbing cunt, pussy dripping and legs open wide and tired after your first go at it.

You expected him to be gentle like he’d been with his fingers. But he pressed the tip against your core, and in one full motion he was in. Teeth grinding against each other, you held back a scream, shock coursing through your body, overwhelmed with pain and discomfort. It hurt. But it was quickly overshadowed by his movements as he slid in and out of you, slow when pulling his hips back, and rocking himself completely inside you each time. A pattern that let you catch your breath and lose it all the same. Like he was continuously having a go at hitting the deepest parts of you, pulling back before fully thrusting into you and sending waves of pleasure and pain alike.

It was expected, but you couldnt hear yourself.

Not with your mind trapped in a haze of how he felt, body still buzzing after how he’d pulsed his vision through you. And now you were at the mercy of his member, hips swaying along with his, no energy for you to rock with him and try to push him deeper.

Archons, you didn't even think he could go deeper.

But you were proven wrong again and again as he kept the steady pace, hands clawing at your ass and hips. Stabilizing himself and trying to press himself against you, as far as he could go. Slowly, his hands drifted up to your hair, playing with the soft sensation of your furry ears. Pinching and rubbing, fingers coaxing the back of them like a massage. So gentle, but it paled in comparison to the harsh treatment of his dick.

You came first, gripping the chain with your hands in an attempt to stay stable. Walls clenching around him one last time before you got your release, your moans turning into cries when he continued to thrust into you. Your body felt numb, all nerves centred on the way he pounded into you, chasing his own release.

When he did, he pressed his head into your chest, his own breaths heavy with pleasure. Not pulling out, you could only lay there helplessly as his seed filled you, warm in contrast to the electricity he’d shot up your body just earlier. He didnt pull out, and laying in your chest, your heavy breathing didnt stop until he was asleep, collapsing on you and using you as support yet again.

Taking only a minute later to regain control of your senses, you shifted uncontrollably at his member inside of you, sending waves of pleasure every time you moved. Your wrists were restrained and you were stuck in this position till morning.

Achingly, you looked down at the boy, wondering how you would ever manage to escape.

[buckyownsmylife]

sunrise - ransom drysdale smut

The one where Ransom doesn’t care who sees you fucking

warnings: this is dubcon bordering on noncon, so please beware, public sex, office environment, kind of humiliation based on those two other things, jealous!Ransom, probably degrading names at least in thought, smut (p in v), crying during sex

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I knew he was pissed, I just never imagined he’d be this pissed. Not pissed enough to invite me to his work, urge me to disturb the meeting he had planned for weeks, force me to bend over the table and take me right then and there.

“See this? You guys see this face? This is mine, just like this pussy. No one else can make her look this fucked out. No one else can fuck her like this. No one. Tell them, baby.” And then he pulled me up by my hair, forcing me to stand up while still getting impaled by his dick.

“No one…” I gasped, instinctively moving my hips back in an effort to keep getting some more of that delicious friction that was driving me mad. “No one else can touch me, Ransom. Just you.” And just to make the whole scene even more debauched, and because slowly wasn’t something Ransom could do, he tore off the front of my blouse with one hand, exposing my breasts for his colleagues to see.

“That’s right, sweetheart. No one else can have you. You’re mine.” A choked out sound escaped me as his warm mouth closed around my earlobe. All around the room, I could see their eyes on us, drinking me in, taking advantage of this opportunity of having my naked body exposed since they knew - now they knew - they would never have me.

So much for keeping our relationship a secret. So much for reminding Ransom again and again that I might be his in the bedroom, but in this building, I was the boss. Here I was, submissive personality exposed as Ransom’s cock drilled me again and again, making sure to engrave this moment in every single man’s mind,  so they’d never forget who truly owned me.

“Now tell them how good it feels, baby girl. Describe exactly how having my huge cock fucking you has ruined you for anyone else. I want to make sure they won’t joke about getting you in their beds anymore.”

Oh, yes. The reason that has brought me to this specific position. The fact that boys had to be boys and talk during their lunch break about how much they’d like to have me on my knees for them. Ransom assured me that he wasn’t jealous, but I should have known better. I had seen the way that the veins on his neck and forehead had pulsed when he recounted the story. I had suffered through the release of his frustrations as he tied me to the bed and fucked me until I passed out. Still, stupidly, I had believed that would be the end of it. And now, I paid the price for my own stupidity.

“Tell them,” Ransom ordered, a quick slap over my pussy making me scream in frustration, in desperate need of a release. I scrambled to try to find my own voice, knowing it’d come out hoarse and whiny and in a tone no other man in the room except for my boyfriend had ever heard coming from me.

“I-It feels so good, sir.” I didn’t have to see him to know that Ransom was sporting the cockiest of grins at the appearance of the nickname he forced me to address him with. The lines between here, where I was “ma’am”, and our bed, where he was in charge, had officially been blurred. “I-I’ll never want another cock again. You have ruined me for everyone else.”

“Damn right I did.” A particularly harsh thrust against my cervix had me cumming loudly around Ransom’s cock, and I could hear from the depths of my own mind the river of expletives that he was spilling in an effort to control himself. “I bet you all thought she was this innocent little thing, huh?”

It took me a while to be able to focus on the sound of his voice again, instead of the overpowering thunder of my heartbeat and the filthy noises that our debauchered activities produced. When I did, it still took me some time to comprehend that his attention had moved to the company we had in the room, the captivated audience that still hadn’t seemed able to divert their gaze from the live porn happening before them.

“Or maybe you thought she’d be bossy even in bed. What a fucking disappointment, huh? Knowing that she’s just a little cockwhore for the guy that works in the reviewing department. That’s all you are, isn’t it, kitten? My personal whore.”

“Y-yes.” He didn’t need to remind me to answer this time. I craved his approval, I desperately needed the sweet rewards that he oh-so-graciously granted me when he considered that I was being his good girl.

And I knew that he was pleased with my instinctual need to please him, because a hand found its way between my legs, caressing the spot precisely above where he met me. “That’s my good girl,” he acknowledged, and I melted in his embrace, trembling in his arms at the second crescendo that promised to overthrow me.

“What? Does that feel good?” He knew it did. He knew. So it wasn’t that bad that I wasn’t able to find my own voice then, and answered only in whimpers and moans. He didn’t mind. Instead, I heard and felt the rumble of his laughter as he kept his punishing thrusts while still rubbing my needy pussy.

“C’mon, baby. I know you can do better than that. Really show them how I make you feel. Scream for me.” And scream I did, right as another wave of suffocating pleasure managed to drown me, my body falling slump over the table as the last of my energy was drained. Behind me, all Ransom gave me as a response was a dark chuckle, that paired with the feeling of his hand running down my back until it met my ass had me shivering against the cold wood.

Ransom’s P.O.V.

“You turn them on without even intending to…” I was simply voicing my own thoughts now, carefully taking inventory of every inch of precious skin available to me and only me, while I knew every single man in this room desired to be in my spot. “I bet they want to join us, sweetheart. I bet they’d give anything to be the ones thrusting their miniscule cocks into this sopping tight pussy. I mean, look around…” Gathering her hair on my fist, I forced her to raise her gaze to see her subordinates, some already blatantly touching themselves to the sight in front of them. “They can’t tear their eyes away from you. They want you so badly.”

Raising her to give a quick kiss to her wet cheek, I managed to catch a tear before I pushed her down against the table once more. My little cockslut, always so desperate for my cock, couldn’t even stop rocking her hips back instinctively to meet mine, even despite the state of overstimulation she certainly found herself in by now.

“And all you want is me, isn’t that right, kitten? No one else can make you feel this good, no one.” The pure, unadulterated power that I felt coursing through my veins as I fucked her in front of every single one of my colleagues was finally catching up to me, and I hissed as I felt myself about to spill inside of her.

“I’m going to breed you, baby. Right here, in front of everyone.” She whined as I felt the overwhelming rush of owning her on such a deep level, pulling her up and keeping most of her weight on me so I could nuzzle her neck while we gathered our breaths.

“See what you do to me?” I whispered, hands slowly caressing her exposed breasts while I made sure all of my cum was kept inside of her. “You make me lose all of my senses, sweetheart.” I knew I’d never hear the end of it later, but honestly, it wasn’t like she gave me much of a choice, with that idiotic decision of keeping our relationship a secret.

Now, this would never be a problem anymore.

I was awakened from my thoughts about our future as I felt her try to curl in on herself, hide her body from the still-there prying eyes. Her hands came up to cover her face and I had to laugh as I realized she could probably start crying anytime.

“There’s no reason to be shy now, kitten,” I admonished, pulling her hands from her face and keeping them behind her back so I could nip on her jawline. “There’s nothing left to hide. Now they know.”

[sohin-ace]

Dio - Stolen Dance

For immersion, listen to the Dark Waltz Music - Vampire masquerade collection on youtube. Oh boy

Especially 'Tonight Ve' Dance' that shit hits the spot for this fanfic. Trust me.

"Would you honor me with a dance, Y/N?"

'Hell no', was what you craved to answer to this charming yet cruel man. Dancing with him meant selling your very soul. You were about to dance with the Devil.

But you had no choice.

You tried to run away from him, from his toxicity, from his poison, but he always managed to get you back and trap you in his web. And now he offered his warm, destructive hand for a dance, just a single dance with him.

And you had no choice.

You could not refuse. You had no right to. It was oh-so reluctantly that you had put your trembling, cold hand over his possessive one. He pulled you towards him as the music played in the luxurious ballroom.

He laid his large hand around your corseted waist, pulling you to him and bringing your bodies a little too close for your own comfort. Way too close for a gentleman to conventionally be from a lady.

But he didn't seem to care one bit as your heart pounded heavily in your chest. He could probably feel it from this proximity. And he most definitely drowned himself in it.

You hesitantly, and regrettably put one hand over his broad shoulder in what you could only call a ghostly touch. You barely wanted to touch him and potentially show him a form of validation from his wrongdoings.

He engulfed your other hand in his own, relishing in the adorable yet terrifying size difference. If he wanted, he could just close his entire hand on yours and claim it as his. Just how he could easily close the distance between you and claim you just the same.

People were around. The ladies and gentlemen of the World. High class society, partying mondanely through the night. Couples dancing, businessmen meeting, Madames chatting.

Oh but in these decorated mansions, the families yearned to see newfound lovers, for what a sight it was.

Some were watching you in earnest and maybe even admiration, glad to see how the charming, handsome Dio Brando of the Joestar Estate was gracefully swaying in rhythm with the gentle, beautiful Y/N L/N, daughter of the Lord L/N.

Your face felt warm, burning almost and it was not a comfortable feeling. Maybe it was the close proximity between him and you, maybe it was all the unnecessary attention you were receiving, putting pressure and forcing shyness upon you.

Maybe it was the rising anxiety that built viciously within you and made yout heart pump violently in your chest, or maybe it was the pure hatred you felt towards the blonde man holding you captive within this very dance.

It didn't matter what it was, it felt horrible, suffocating. You could barely breathe, the room was spinning.

You were always taught to look at your partner in the eyes when dancing, but now your partner wasn't just anyone. It was Dio Brando. There was no way you could look up at his soul-piercing amber, no, crimson red eyes. Like gems of blood.

If you looked at them, if you even glanced at them...

"You are quite tense, dear." He released your hand briefly to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, letting cool air hitting your now more exposed cheek and temple. "Relax and follow my lead."

You wanted to scoff at his words. How could you relax when your only wish at the moment was to run away from him? Your family was nowhere to be seen, Jonathan was nowhere to be seen. No one was there and no one would help you.

"You stole this dance, Dio," You growled quietly, not wanting to gather even more attention to yourself. "But it will be the last thing that you'll steal from me. Heed my words."

You finally met his eyes to grace him with a glare and he only looked down on you with mockery and a hint of fondness. As if your anger was endearing to him. He hummed in amusement.

"Hmmm...? Do I take it that everything else will be graciously given to me...?"

Before you could even gasp at his scandalous assumptions, you missed a step and fell forward, right against his solid chest. He of course didn't waste a second in wrapping his strong arms around your small form.

You could hear the other guests whispering and chuckling, probably drinking in the sight and preaching how cute you both were. The beautiful Y/N L/N clumsily falling into the arms of the very handsome Dio Brando.

Like a princess and her prince, right from a romance story. It was really fresh to witness and people just couldn't wait to see you both engaged, you looked so perfect together. After all, in this mondane society, it was all about looks.

If only they knew the truth.

You tried to push yourself off of him as you laid your palms flat on his chest, but he held you there firmly. A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest and the blonde leaned down to whisper in your ear.

"Let us go somewhere more private darling. I am tired of those curious eyes."

You felt like you were about to faint and really wanted to get out of that busy room, but surely not with Dio. As you didn't have much of a say in this, you let him guide you away, to one of the many chambers in the mansion.

He opened the door wide for you and you entered the empty, cold room bathing in darkness, not sparing him a single glance and went straight ahead to the large windows that lead to a beautifully decorated balcony.

You stayed inside though, as Dio closed the door behind him and went on his way to light a gas lamp that was laid on a night stand.

You gently pushed the silky curtains aside to glance at the moon outside. You stared at her magnificent silver light, completely forgetting where you were and that Dio was still in this very room.

You sighed, comforted by the moonlight. The moon was full on this cold night, it was the end of the year and it felt like the nocturnal satellite decided to show off all of her magic tonight.

Sometimes, you envied those legendary creatures who lived solely by the moonlight. Fantastical beings who could see the moon through all her phases and for as long as they lived. Werewolves, Vampires...

"...Beautiful, isn't it?"

You gasped, startled by his sudden deep voice so close to your ear. You swiftly turned around and glared at him, offended that his appearance tore you off your pleasant rêverie.

"Oh, please do continue. The moon reflects so deliciously on your skin, it is beyond mezmerizing."

"Yo-... you're losing yourself again, Dio!" You tried to sound strong and composed, but you couldn't help the slight whimper from escaping your throat.

"Maybe..." He lifted his large arm next to your head to fully open the curtain behind you, the sudden position flustering you as you felt trapped yet again.

You looked down as you contemplated fleeing. How many attempts was it now? You stopped counting after the 20th, but you wanted to flee again.

Not bearing the sight of his broad chest in front of you, you turned slightly back to the window and side-glanced at the beautiful garden.

There was a large maze in there. The thought of maybe trying to lose Dio there was very appealing. It turned your once melancholic and lonely expression into a softer, more relaxed one.

The moonlit maze alone filling your heart with an ounce of hope, the ghost of a smile reached your lips and eyes.

"What a sweet expression you are sporting, my love." The blond devil put his large hand on your cheek and turned your head to face him as he purred. "Although I delect myself more from your despaired expression."

Disgusting. This man was disgusting. You put a hand over his large wrist as a sign to tell him to let go of you, which he patently ignored.

He leaned forward, hovering dangerously over your face as he lifted your chin up, a soft smirk stretching his lips.

"Now tell me... what could my dove possibly be thinking about to make her look so beautifully blithe?"

You looked downwards to the red brooch on his tie, the ornament suddenly more distracting than his dominating burning gaze on you.

"I was thinking of getting away from you. It gets me going." You spoke the unfiltered truth with bitter sugar dripping from your voice.

The man before you froze upon hearing those words. Were you challenging him? Him?! The Dio Brando?

You drove him so crazy. Oh you drove him to such unfathomable frustration. His blood was boiling and pumping ferociously in his veins.

His entire body cringed, his fists balling tightly. He ground his teeth as his eyes widened in pure rage. Or was it rage? No it was deeper, more twisted than that.

It was lust.

He needed to gather all his self-control to prevent himself from breaking something or rather someone right this instant.

Yes... He could break you. Oh and it would be so easy and so satisfying, too. Nothing could quench his thirst more than destroying every inch of you at that moment.

You were such a nasty pest, you were so terribly problematic, no wonder he was so infatuated with you. So obssessed with you.

You were bad, maybe as bad as him. You pushed on all his buttons like no one ever did and yet, you played the cute little perfect girl in front of everyone else.

You made him so insane, so mad. He wanted you all to himself. He yearned for you to get your revenge on him, to be infuriated with him. He craved you right here, right now. He loved that you hated him.

Swiftly, he pressed his weight against you and pushed your body flush against the window as you gasped in surprise, barely able to even react at the forceful contact.

He was quick to catch your wrist and pin it next to your head as you tried desperately to push him away, your other hand uselessly resting on his much stronger arm.

You tried to squirm away, but his body meddled with yours in an emprisonning cage. You couldn't hide your panicked pants anymore.

"You damn woman..." He breathed in a shaky hiss right next to your heating ear, his tone way darker now and his eyes half-lidded. "Do you even realize what you are doing to me?" He spat with venom but also with dripping excitement. "You are in deep trouble, darling."

He nuzzled his face in your exposed neck, drenching himself in your sweet scent and you shuddered, his hot breath on your skin making the hair at the back of your neck stand.

Your heart hammered alarmingly inside your chest as his malicious hold triggered your Fight or Flight response. This was bad. Real bad. You struggled against his grip, writhing and pushing him.

But struggling against him was futile, useless. So useless, useless, useless...

"I hate you, Dio Brando. There's not a single piece of you that is remotely redeemable!" You growled in his ears through exhausted pants. "Hear me when I say this, I despise every inch of your disgraceful being, Dio-ugh...! I hate you with all my might...!!"

"Yes!" He grunted hungrily as he put his free hand around your hips, leaving no space between your body and his, feeling all of yourself against him. "That's it, that's what I want to hear! One more time... Scream it."

"You disgusting bastard... You have no shame..." You squeezed your eyes shut, you refused to cry. Never for him. He didn't deserve it.

"Y/N, Y/N, Y/N... Please." He was crazed, Dio lost himself, yet again. "Sweet Y/N, let me make you mine... Be mine... I know you want this..."

Just like that, the man above you craddled your body like his most prized possession, teasing the pulsing point of your neck with his lips, tongue and teeth. He clutched your hips and wrist in a bruising grip and you knew there was nothing you could do.

"I'm going to ravish you, destroy you..."

And so he did.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Hiya when u gave the time can you please a continuation of the luke from skins one where they were in Morocco and they are both back from Bristol now and they see eachother again and it’s a smut where they r high and kinda intense if that makes sense 😂 ❤️

What Happens in Morocco, Stays in Morocco

This is part two to this imagine, find it here

Pairing | Luke x reader

Summary | perhaps, you were wrong. Not everything stays in Morocco. It is a tradition for things to come back to bite you in the ass, more so when you have been forced to be clean, and kept away from any kind of drugs.

Warnings | use of drugs, addiction, smut, it’s bit dark so read at your own risk, this is a warning so please keep that in mind,

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

An insatiable stirred within your gut, pelting you with reminders of what you had lost after Morocco. The love of your life had been departed from your shaking grip, the people that claimed to care about you forcing you to be sober off the high that it gave you. Drugs. It was your only desire, but you stayed strong as you walked back from college, even as you saw a dealer out of the corner of your eye, trading his special product with someone in your English class, that sat two seats to the right of you.

Licking your lips, you held onto the straps of your rucksack tighter, hoping that the weight of all the items within it would succumb you under the lenient pressure that it composed against your spine, pushing you into a lower station of dwelling, so that you would feel nothing, and the emptiness sure as hell would not be burdening you with satisfactory mockery.

At such a young age, you had found a friend, even if it be absorbed into a conversation through digestion or clouded fumes. And without its presence you were someone else, a stranger trudging hopelessly through the ambient streets of Bristol, lost and in need for a high. That holiday had been the end of you, your friends didn’t say it, but you were more than certain that they were thinking such a spectacle.

Whilst you were amped up on various chemicals that engorged your veins with images of new possibilities, you were far from a sullen composure; you were happy. You had no problem speaking to Nick’s brother, though everyone seemed to be wary of him, and listening to Grace talk about her various recitals, and the strictness that her father intended upon her. To everyone you had been a breath of fresh air, until that place that they called rehab.

In there they had starved you from the one thing that you had truly craved. Even the security guy wouldn’t trade a blowjob for a little picking of white powder, and it showed you how messed up their priorities were. Morocco, it had been an escape, something you were sure it never feel again, but you wanted to, so desperately.

“If it isn’t the wisp of the waters, in the flesh, and looking like she could use a pick me up.” A blonde male asked, he couldn’t have been much older than yourself. There were scrapes adorning his pale complexion, brandishing his cheek with what could only be seen as battle scars from a testosterone endorsed fight.

“I’m sorry, but who the fuck are you?” You roughly spoke, having no recollection of ever meeting this man in your life, though, half of your memory was boggled. Going cold turkey appeared to have had that affect on you, but a deep internal part of you was warning you to leave now, and conserve your own safety from whatever offer he was about to propose.

Sure, you’d have once done anything, but the possibility of danger preached louder when there was nothing numbing your blood stream, and dirtying the contents that ran through it. A small snicker fled from the boy’s mouth, revealing that he was much amused by your naivety. He tilted his head, observing you with a lick of his lips, plodding closer as you froze.

“We’ve met before.” He toyed inside his pockets, extracting a clear bag that contained a couple of vibrant yellow pills that had your heart beating promiscuously against the captivity of your ribcage. “In fact, we got to know each other very well darling, your manners weren’t so spectacular then either, though they sure were better. It appeared as though you rather enjoyed the attention and now you’re here, looking like an innocent doe under the flare of headlights.”

“I don’t do that kinda stuff any more.” But you wanted to. It didn’t matter what prospects spewed out of your mouth in the form of conjunctive excuses, it was more than clear that you were aggressively attracted to the small spheres that had caught your attention fast. “I’d find the next girl to corrupt, because I’m clean and intend to stay that way.” Did you?

“You’re already corrupted, there’s no point in dismissing this, because it is what you want. But you’re denying urself from the simple luxuries of life, all because ripple; family, friends, think its better for you. They want you to be healthy, though that entails you perceiving though life as someone that you aren’t.” He sighed, rolling his shoulders slightly as his eyes bore around your sullen demeanour, recognising every trace that your body showed of restraining itself. “I’m Luke. And you, you are y/n, aren’t you? I’m sure I heard your friends call you that on holiday.”

Gulping, you realised that this must have been the boy that fucked with Frankie’s head, and made one of your group disappear, all whilst Grace was away, and in intensive care. As soon as it all clicked, you felt overwhelmed. There was nothing that you could do against him, he had already broken everything around you, whether that was his intent or not. Without thinking at all, you snatched the self made packet out of the clasp of his fingers, emptying the contents into your palm, throwing them into your mouth.

“Good girl.” It felt like a taunt, he was messing with you, you knew that. But it wasn’t his fault that you were messed up; all that was on you. “Don’t you want some water with that, it might make it wash down easier?” To answer him, you swallowed the pills dry cocking a brow at him as he pulled out another clear sachet of impulsive medications, taking it himself before you could whisk it away and endure further affects yourself.

Luke, feeling the tingle himself, pulled you down the alley that he was occupying, pressing your numbed back against the wall, his mouth running along your cheek as you felt swarmed with various desires. A part of you wanted to push him away, and beat him until he could no longer walk, but the other wanted nothing more than to feel his toxic skin dragging along yours, increasing the high that was spurring around your lungs until you felt like you could no longer breathe.

Your hands were uncertain of where they were supposed to be, and thus they roamed around his thin arms, grasping at his shoulders as his face sunk into the crook of your neck, his hands daring below your skirt, and feeling you up over your panties. Every touch he presented upon your burning flesh induced sparks to collapse in your mind, displaying through each of your appendages. “Fuck me, or I’ll find someone else to a better job.” You snarled at him, growling as he chuckled at your desperation.

“Now I recognise you, instead of that good girl facade.” He nipped at your neck, dropping his preppy slacks as he grasped his cock, thrusting your panties to the side so that he could penetrate your cunt, a cry abandoned your throat, echoing around the nearby streets. Your walls convulsed around him as you felt full and completely satisfied with the sensation. The memories of him flooded back into your mind as you pictured Morocco. He had stalked over towards you as though you were his prey, and it seemed that he had continued to hunt you down.

The thought was kinda hot, and thus you clenched your teeth, succumbing to an orgasm around him, whimpering as he slipped himself out, jerking his length so that he spilled his seed over your legs. “I have more of the good stuff back home, you fancy coming over?” Hazily you nodded, as his wobbling hand grasped your face, smashing his poisonous lips upon yours, suffocating all the good that you had been laboured into, making you swim in the darkness of his pupils as the two of you wobbled away from the scene, his cum still painted upon your legs as the two of you slowly headed towards his flat.