#i feel like the depth of this is lost a little bit

[jweekgoji]

I just read your d-16 obsessed with famous reader and was kind of curious to think about what he would do when he became megatron like almost yandere obsessive

anyways… ily!!

Yandere!Megatron/Idol!Reader [TFO]

tw: yandere themes, obsession, possesive thoughts. word count: ~1,7k additional: gender-neutral!reader, ex-racer!reader, decepticon!reader. a/n: I did something similar before, you can read here if you want. however I would focus on different scenario here and mostly on exploring dynamic through inner feelings (if that makes sense). i think i wrote about more violent Megs before, so i wanted to write a bit softy one.

Pretty little thing.

Always on a pedestal, standing at the centre of attention, you rarely had to think about any problems. You were always surrounded by someone who would surely worry about it and solve everything at the flick of your wrist. The only thing that was needed was to just innocently clap your optics and enlighten the rest of the crowd with your beauty.

It's hard not to get used to it.

From the moment he saw you, you were amazing. No, perfect.

It seemed like every time he watched you from afar, he was looking at the brightest star in far, far away space. No matter how far away he stood, you always shined brightest for him.

Surrounded by a crowd of fans that never gave you a moment's peace, like satellites, you always stood out in the crowd. Everything in this tiny, cramped world revolved around you.

There was nothing in D-16 that could ever catch your attention, if only for a second.

And yet, he was happy. Never having seen the real beauty of the outside world, deprived of freedom since birth, at some point you always made him feel surrounded in a field of stars.

If it was safe on the surface of Cybertron again, he would surely spend cycles watching the vast sky dotted with colourful, bright lights.

‘It's not the right place for you to be,’ he would remind you every time he gets the chance of.

Away from Iacon, albeit rotten in the filth that was left behind by Sentinel the false Prime, he couldn't deny that there, you would be much safer.

Away from Iacon, you were lost. You never seemed to belong in the company of the former High Guard. Being silver spoon fed since the moment of your creation made you more naive and so painfully obvious to everyone around. It is a miracle, that there were still someone who looked after you, even though your silly little title doesn't mean here anything anymore.

He must have hated you, you would have thought. Unlike all those who joined the Decepticon resistance, everyone here was united in their hatred for the former reign of long-abandoned leader of the Iacon. Numerous attempts to hunt down, then exterminate every last one of them, only to hide the truth will forever be remembered by those whom Sentinel Prime deemed a threat to his rule.

In turn, what really united you with the idea of the Decepticons?

Did you feel as if you had been betrayed? Were born into this world only to exist meaninglessly in the depths of of your home planet, furnished for a slow, faithless death?

Something in Megatron's gaze drew you in. It was hard to tell if it was that bloodthirsty determination to free your city from the captivity of tyranny, or that look of despair and bitterness as the newly elected Prime banished him from his own city?

Either way, you followed him that day, much to the surprise of the Decepticon leader himself.

You glanced in Megatron's direction. Battered, like a wounded dog he was clenching his teeth and sitting on an equally time-worn throne. The silver frame was dotted with many scratches and dents, and the distinguished cannon still emitted a faint hint of smoke after being sliced in half.

The three members of the High Guard always stayed close by, but it seemed that no matter how hard they tried, their words always passed by Megatron's audials, that he didn't even have the slightest desire to cast his gaze at one of them.

“We can't waste time just because you're unable to move on from the last confrontation,” Starscream hissed demandingly, red optics fixed on the seated leader beside him. “We have a chance to mount a surprise attack until they secure their position in Iacon.”

The quiet scraping of metal against hard surface barely passes your optics. Fingers dig firmly into the armrests of the throne, at the mere talk about the recent defeat.

“Makes no sense. All focus should be on finding a suitable base for the Decepticons,’ Soundwave reminds, taking a single step forward towards the jet. Now, Starscream's gaze in Megatron's direction is blocked.

“So why haven't you started on this yet?” comes another, counter question. Stepping forward to meet the officer, the former leader of the guard gives his colleague only a sceptical, stern look.

“I'm working on it,” is the simple answer, not uncommon from the Decepticon's lips hidden behind the mask.

Starscream pinches himself on the bridge of his nose, closing his optics for a fleeting moment. This is what he gets after cycles of loyal service to the Primes. Total disobedience, and their new leader is hardly battle-hardened, spending twenty-four hours wasted in a pathetic attempt to soothe the yearning spark. To believe it, and this is the brat he lost to?

“Then get on it quick!” the red and white mech clucks his tongue, after which, casts a sharp glance in Megatron's direction. “If we can't keep fighting, what was the point of all this in the first place?”

Such an arrogant, son of a glitch. Doesn't know when it's the right time to shut up. That hit only deeper, after everything that happened for the past cycles. The constant whining and demands do nothing to ease his already troubled mind. He lost everything that day, the one and only time when he felt like everything. The bloody red optics darken at the words, and a soft growl escapes from him.

So, you step up.

“Soundwave is right, there will be another time for the attack, but now the top priority is to establish a base,” you raise your voice enough to catch all the decepticons around off guard. “Let our leader sort out his thoughts instead of pressing on him.”

Who could know you can speak up?

The confused sight you received from Starscream worth it in some way. If for all of Iacon you were an idol, loved by many, the old member of the high guard had no idea about you. The majority of the decepticons probably don't know either, you imagine, but does it really matter? The only look you only wanted, was from him.

An invisible, red string of fate always seemed to be tied around your wrist when it came to the unknown, small miner named D-16. After countless days of him following you around, it would be you looking out for him. How funny.

You smile.

Not a fighter, nor even build for any hard work. Your frame is neatly polished, shining pretty in the light. Even though at first of the decepticons glared and watched you with nothing but suspicion and hesitation at first, your bright charisma always let you have your way. Good on cameras, a valuable experience even at war. Somehow, you even made friends with them. You can even remember Slipstream and Thundercracker asking you about your daily polishing routine.

The same, dark red optics always trained on you. He should be glad, at least. Wasn't he concerned about your position in his new rankings? No matter how hard he tries to act so mighty and cruel, the big bad leader of the decepticons, Megatron, is still soft.

Still shy, you can add.

He's taller, stronger. If you easily towered over him, now the silver mech is the one looking down at you. It was odd, for some time. Your alt mode is build for speed, keeping you on the road and easily avoiding any obstacles that might get into the way. But with Megatronus' t-cog now, he's no longer that scrawny mech you were used to.

It must be so confusing to him, but so satisfying. It is no point in trying to hide it. With how tight his servos wrapped around your waist, holding you suffocatingly tight against his own frame. Like you'd run away or disappear if he let go. Funny enough, you'd do exactly the opposite of it.

The last bits of his own comfort in this Primus forgotten place. With you in his arms, he feels safe and loved, even though he doesn't understand what exactly this feeling means for him. He felt like that every time he was with Orion, playing that arcade game over and over, even as a miner, it was enough for him to be satisfied.

Megatron hides his face against your neck, closing his optics. Loved when he's with you. It was never this close until now. As D-16, all he had was glimpses of you on the big screen television, some rare, closed-door nights, when lucky.

He should be happy now, he thinks. No more hiding now, just you and him together. No more of this cursed society that stood in his way. Who would dare to oppose him at this moment? Tell him he has no chances of having you this close, however and whenever he wants it?

If only you just stood still and never moved an inch. He'd put you on the pedestal you deserve to be, so he could be the only one to be graced by your own appearance. A big, nice, glassy box will be good enough to cover you from the outside world, so maybe no Prime would even dare to lay their filthy hands on you.

Your servo gently laid on his back, moving in lazy, soothing circles. Both of you don't have to say a word; it was a comfortable silence between the two. After long, long and tiring days of work, he wants nothing but to rest next to you. Let himself fall in the long deserved recharge, so the constant, painful ache in his processor would be gone.

Such a peaceful sight for you. Having him this close, right in your arms. You would never dare to bother him at such a time. Even if his servos are fully covered in deep pink energon, wouldn't it be easy to just pretend not to notice it? If there's anything you're thankful for from your past career, it is the ability to turn blind optic when it's needed.

If you can't change him, you can definitely make him worse.

[cryingatwindermerepeaks]

Hi!! I have a request for a little! Rio fic! It's a little bit angsty but can you write one where Rio regresses pretty small and just wants her mama, even though she's a ghostie now? Maybe it's after the scene where she tells Billy he may go and after he's gone, she just slips and wants her mama so bad.

Little!Rio - Alone

Regressuary day 2 !!

As you can probably expect this one is ANGSTY… please be careful reading <3

Tw: brief mention of suicide, in depth discussion of death (it’s like the whole thing)

Word count: 594

————————————

Since the beginning of time Rio had presided over earth. She’d experienced life and death and everything in between a trillion times and would go on to do so an infinite number of times more. She’d seen people laugh and cry, fall in and out of love, kill each other, kill themselves. She’d been the face of fear and the hand of death to every being that’d ever existed yet somehow nothing had hurt as much as this.

As Rio stood in the dark, windy, yard, accompanied only by the flowers bloomed by her own hand, she realised for the first time the finality of death. Agatha was gone. As the younger witch had requested she hadn’t seen Rio’s face as she crossed over, and Rio hadn’t seen hers in return. She’d spent the better half of her existence loving Agatha, and a fair bit of that watching her from a distance like a lost puppy. But now there was no one to love, no one to watch. No Mama. Just Rio.

It was fitting that death was the last one standing at the end of the road. She always was. Death couldn’t cry, couldn't feel such a pitiful human emotion as grief. But somehow she did, every death she’d played a role in since the beginning of time could not compete with the pain this one death forged in her soul. There was no one around anymore, no one to keep her mask up for.

Rio began to regress, her mind growing fuzzy to block out the pain burrowing in her chest. Why was it burning there? Death didn’t have a heart. She sunk to the ground, soft moss engulfing her skeletal knees. She dreamed of a forest far, far away. One with moss just as soft and flowers twice as bright. A home she’d once shared with Agatha, a cottage in the middle of isolation where she’d thought she could live for the rest of eternity, small and safe. At the beginning of time, Rio had thought death was home, that bringing a soul to her realm was bringing them home, but now Agatha was dead and Rio still ached to take her home. Not to the land of souls that were at peace or weeping, but to the little forest with a cottage where they could just be Mama and baby.

Rio wept, though no tears came from her darkened eyes, her chest heaved and her bones rattled. She erupted with choking sounds, strangulated sobs which ached for a comfort they would never again receive. Words slipped through her lips though they fell on deaf ears. Mama. Please, I’m sorry. I want to go home. I need you. But there was no one here, there never would be again.

She dropped her face down by her knees, pressing her forehead into the dirt and moss. Death saw and heard more prayers than any god, but Rio had no god to pray to. She cried to the ground, to the flowers. Allowing her muffled sobs to echo through the soil until she couldn’t tell what was hers anymore. Her words only grew further entangled, coming out wobbly and childlike. Mama. Mama. Mama.

What was there in the world if there wasn’t Mama?

The worst part of it all was that Rio knew Agatha was out there somewhere. That if she hadn’t taken her soul it meant that her Mama wasn’t truly gone. Just hiding from her as promised. Agatha wanted nothing more to do with Rio, but Rio still needed her Mama.

[writingwhimsey]

Becoming Comtesse Ch. 11

Chapter 11

Abel and I had been on our honeymoon at the Chateau for a week. We spent leisurely days together. I had started to grow accustomed to sleeping in his arms. Today we were having a picnic by the nearby lake.

Abel wore just his trousers and his button-down shirt, with the top few buttons undone. I was wearing a simple white cotton off the shoulder dress with yellow flowers. I had on a wide-brimmed hat to help keep the sun off of my shoulders. There was a light breeze. It was a perfect day.

We were just enjoying the beautiful day together. It was peaceful…and I found myself smiling. “That is the loveliest smile, ma cherie.” Abel said to me, reaching a hand over to brush a lock of my hair back and tuck it behind my ear. “You are so beautiful like this.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Relaxed and happy.” He answered.

I felt my cheeks flushing. “Well…I do find spending time with you makes me feel those things.”

His own smile brightened. “I am glad to hear that.” He said. “Of course you also look quite relaxed and happy when you’re asleep in my arms.”

I flushed further and looked away. “You…”

“Can a man not be happy that his wife feels so comfortable with him?”

“I suppose he can.” I replied.

Abel chuckled. “I do have something for you.” He said, reaching into the picnic basket.

“Another gift?” I asked in disbelief.

“This one is special.” He replied. He then pulled out a leather bound journal and handed it to me. “For you to write in again.”

I looked at the book, opening it up to see the blank parchment. “You…”

He lifted a hand to caress my cheek. “I want to support you in whatever you do.”

I felt so happy at the sincerity of his words and the earnestness of his gift. It was so sweet and so thoughtful. “Thank you.” I told him leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

His eyes widened in surprise a moment before he broke out into a wide happy smile. “Perhaps I should buy you a library of blank journals, if I can receive a kiss for each one.”

“You don’t have to buy me anything…really.” I told him, looking into his eyes. I felt as though I could get lost in those golden depths.

“You can’t blame me, ma cherie for having such thoughts.” He teased.

“What if I told you…you didn’t have to do anything other than ask?”

His hand cupped my cheek once more. “May I kiss you, Colette?”

“Oui.” 

His lips were on mine. The kiss started gentle, just a brush of the lips, much like the kiss he gave me on our wedding day. Yet it soon turned deeper, lips opening and moving together. I could feel my heart picking up its pace. Soon his tongue prodded at my lips before slipping past them, tracing the inside of my mouth.

I found myself thankful we were sitting because I knew my knees would be giving out on me. My entire body tingled from the kiss. I felt hyper aware of every move of his lips against mine. The way his tongue caressed mine.

We were both panting and breathless by the time we broke the kiss. “Forgive me…ma cherie…I got a little carried…away…” He said, giving me a sheepish look.

I shook my head. “I do not…forgive you…because there’s nothing to forgive.” 

His breath seemed to catch for a moment and his eyes darkened a bit. “When you say things like that, ma cherie…it truly tests my control.”

My breath hitched in my throat. Images of our bodies entwining flashed through my mind, my body flushing at the thought of it. We had grown closer over this last week. I enjoyed our time together. I enjoyed his every touch…and I had very much enjoyed that kiss just now. Was I ready for more?

“May I kiss you again?” Abel asked, his eyes staring into mine.

I didn’t answer. Instead I just pressed my lips to his. He reacted instantly, his arms wrapping around me and pulling me close. I still wasn’t sure if I was ready to completely share myself with him…but I was more than happy to indulge in these kisses.

Inside the chateau…

Amelie came into the kitchen, a frown on her face. “This isn’t right, Bernard.”

“Mon coeur, what are you talking about?” Bernard asked his wife.

“Le Comte and the Comtesse.” She hissed. “I just saw them by the lake in a rather impassioned embrace.”

“They are married, I believe a passionate embrace is normal for married couples.” Bernard pointed out.

“You know what he is.” She hissed at him.

“Yes and I’ve never seen him harm anyone.” Bernard said.

“It is not natural, Bernard.” She gestured to the cupboard where the rouge and blanc were kept. “You know what is in that cabinet.”

“Yes. And I know how it is retrieved. No one is harmed. It is all voluntary.” Bernard reminded her. “And the blanc comes from a plant.”

“I’ve noticed that as they grow closer, he consumes more.” Amelie said. “What do you think that means?”

“It means he is thirsty.”

“Yes. He must want to drain her.”

“Amelie, le Comte has not hurt anyone. Has he not always been in control of himself? Has he not always provided well for everyone?” Bernard pointed out. “When you cut yourself that one time, he didn’t even react. He even treated your wound.”

Amelie huffed. “I still don’t like it.”

“I’ve seen the way he looks at her. He would sooner cut off his own arm than harm the Comtesse.” Bernard told his wife.

“How do you know?”

“Because that is the way I look at you, mon coeur.” 

Amelie’s dark eyes softened a bit. “Do you think she knows?”

“I…don’t know.” He answered honestly.

She sighed. “I don’t think she does. Else she would be afraid and run far away.”

“Or she might know exactly and love him regardless.” Bernard said. “Either way, it is not our business. Nor is it reason to worry as le Comte has no ill intentions for her.”

Amelie huffed. “I will keep silent…for now. But if I think she is in danger, I will tell her.” She then turned to head back out to finish doing some cleaning.

Later that night…

Abel and I were sitting at the table, having dinner together. I was using my knife to cut my food when my hand slipped. “Ouch…”

Abel was instantly on alert. “Ma Cherie…”

I grabbed my napkin and pressed it to the small gash in my hand. “I’ll be alright…”

Abel took my hand in his. His golden eyes seemed to be transfixed on the red coming from my hand. “That definitely looks like it hurts.” He murmured. “Allow me to take care of you, ma cherie.”

“It’s a small cut. It’s not even bleeding that badly.” I said, not wanting him to worry or fuss over me. I could just take care of it.

His eyes remained locked on my cut hand. Slowly he lifted my hand, bringing it to his lips, which parted and took the bleeding cut in between them. I felt a shiver run through me as his tongue snaked out and raked over the cut.

My eyes were locked on the way his lips were wrapped around the cut on my hand. The way his tongue moved sent shiver and shiver through me. And something stirred deep within me….all the while something pricked at the back of my memory as the strangest feeling of deja vu washed over me.

“Abel…” I said, my voice sounding surprisingly sultry to my own ears.

He looked up at me then and slowly released my hand from his mouth. He grabbed the napkin and pressed it to the wound once more. “I apologize…I was just trying to stop the bleeding…” He murmured.

“I…it’s alright…”

We rose from the table and headed to properly clean and bandage my hand. Through the process, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had licked my wound, nor the way it had made me feel. Even as his hands now moved to bandage me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that…I didn’t mind it all…nor that this was something that hadn’t happened before.

“Are you alright, ma cherie?” He asked me.

“Yes.” I answered. “I just…have the strangest feeling of deja vu. Silly, I know.”

“I don’t think it’s silly.” Abel replied as he finished tying the bandage on my hand.

Just then, Amelie was coming into the room, carrying the dishes from dinner. “Oh, is everything alright?” She asked, looking at us in concern.

“Everything is fine.” I answered. “I just had a little accident at dinner.” I held up my bandaged hand.

Amelie looked toward Abel. “And you were bandaging her wound?”

“Yes. I wanted to take care of my dear wife.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I see.”

“You know, it’s getting late and I’m getting tired.” I said. “I think I’ll go take a bath and get ready for bed.”

Abel kissed me on top of the head. “If that is what you wish, ma cherie.”

I nodded and gave him a peck on the cheek before heading upstairs. I drew myself a bath and stripped down and climbed inside the tub. I sank back into the warm waters, trying to relax myself…though perhaps I should have gotten into cold water after the way I now felt.

I let out a sigh as I leaned back and closed my eyes. As I began to relax, I felt myself being drawn into my own mind, wondering why I had felt deja vu while Abel was…licking my cut. It was then a flash image came to my mind.

A pink tongue licking a stripe across my cut palm. Golden eyes staring into mine. Something warm and dark stirring within me. It was then I saw Abel’s face staring at me as he licked my palm…but we weren’t in the dining room of the chateau…we were in the kitchen of my childhood home.

I sat up in the rub, my eyes popping open. “Could…could that have actually happened?” I muttered to myself. “Could that…have not been a dream?”

I sat there in the tub, playing that image in my mind over and over again. I then shook my head. “That’s…that’s madness.” I told myself. “I…I’m probably just confusing my dream with what happened downstairs because they were so similar. My mind probably just put his face there just now so that I could make the connection.”

There was a knock on the door then and Amelie was coming in, carrying some towels. “Are you alright, Comtesse?” She asked me.

“Yes.” I answered.

She then looked at me, concern in her eyes.

“It was just a small cut, I promise. Nothing to worry about.” I told her.

“Did anything..strange happen with le Comte when it did happen?” She asked.

“Strange?” I asked.

“You should be careful, Comtesse.”

“Why would you say that?” I asked her.

Amelie looked around. “Bernard thinks I shouldn’t say anything…but I can’t not tell you. You should know.”

“Know what?” I asked.

“Comte…he is a creature of the night…a vampire.”

Tag list:

@zulablaise @violettduchess @kisara-16 @tele86

@otomewonderland @lovely-bubb1es @lucyw260 @queengiuliettafirstlady

@obeymetalesandikemen @leiaglamela @fang-and-feather @eventinelysplayground

[faceofpoe]

Poe, I was delighted, nay, obsessed with the post you reblogged about Collapsed Coruscant. What do you think would happen there after everyone with any credits fucked off to Hosnian Prime or wherever?

Ha, hello friend! Thank you for the much-needed break from doomscrolling. XD

My morbid obsession with Coruscant has always been around how we've seen it (it's so twisted! it just keeps burying itself, layer by layer! the iconic episode 10 Luthen&Lonni shot is of course an excellent example of the old mostly-forgotten infrastructure but my favorite glimpse of the depths is actually in the final Clone Wars season (there's a fucking lake! fucking what. and even THAT is like... so HIGH relative to the surface) (the SURFACE! there's some twisted remnant of a dead planet down there!) (I have gathered through the course of researching for a TBB fic that the TCW portrayal is largely born from a canceled video game called 1313? I think? Lost to the Dark Times the Disney I imagine. Anyway I digress)(MiniPoe just came down to tell me about his Sonic Encyclo-speedia and something about Metal Sonic getting too much backstory(?)(maybe?)so I lost my train of thought)).

BUT if we take a moment to imagine the infrastructure that must go into keeping the lower levels habitable (I'm not sure what the canon (if any) on how deep one can go) with food and water and air (I mean - AIR, at some depth surely it's just suffocating surely??) -

Side tangent there was an old EU novel in the New Jedi Order bonkers era where a mass evacuation of Coruscant/collapse of the government-ish happened and the novel Traitor has a character wandering the desolation of the planet and all the destruction and I don't remember a lot from it (there were def monsters though) but it's probably where my obsession was born.

Additional side tangent one of the EU X-wing novels has a fun little bit with a star destroyer buried (somehow??? these books were written pre-prequels, mind) under the city and it blasts its way free and just MAYHEM DESTRUCTION DEATH like millions of people just -

LAST side tangent in I thiiiiink the EU Jedi Academy trilogy (do not quote me on that) (also pre-prequels days) the Very Young Solo twins wandered off and ended up finding their way to the bottom of Coruscant where they met a dude who was like... a self-proclaimed king of the underworld (I think he'd once been some govt lackey under Palpatine maybe? I read these like 14 years ago lol) and he'd fled and was ruling happily in the depths and upon being informed 'oh hey yeah it's not like that anymore the Empire is gone you can come back up now' he was all "why would I I am a KING down here?" and just fucked off back to the basement.

Point being the EU was ridiculous as all fuck but it had fun playing with Coruscant before we had a Lucas-approved visual of Coruscant.

BUT if all the wealth up and fled Coruscant after the Empire. Hm. I mean, we still see a significant govt presence on the planet a handful of years later in Mando s3 I believe? So I like to imagine there was a sense of 'hey let's not murder trillions via negligence' but as time goes on and instability heightens and whatever the fuck First Order schisming or some shit (sorry I'm the worst sort of Star Wars fan (the type who thinks Star Wars would be good if only it were good))-

I feel like Coruscant would actually become a bastion (lol (no one gets that joke probably)) for remaining (wealthy) Imperial ideologues. Like - maybe some money would flee but I actually wonder if plenty wouldn't move in and continue enjoying living atop all the poor denizens of the depths. Content to live in the shadow of former Imperial glory and leave the New Republic to its rebuilding.

Ensuing power struggle with underworld warlord sorts who have been moving up since the Empire was yeeted? Waiting until the New Republic gets bored rehabilitating the galaxy to come all the way up and claim the prime real estate?

Eventual massive division and power struggle among a bunch of chaos factions, basically, is my proposal. Eventually, winning becomes more important than maintaining the infrastructure and supply lines. Eventually, maybe, the vicious competition for said supply lines ends up severing them altogether. Plenty of safer business to pursue, in the galactic rebuilding. Coruscant slowly fades from the greater galactic awareness. Left to its madness. Left to tear itself apart. Left to rot. Eventually left, undoubtedly, by many of the same sorts who set it on its slow death spiral in the first place.

Coruscant eventually goes dark.

Coruscant eventually goes quiet.

Every new level constructed through the millennia was, of course, built to be the best, the top, built to last.

How strange to finally have one emerge the victor, standing proud atop a dead city.

But the planet is just the same thing it always was, far back as history remembers - a tomb at the heart of the galaxy.

[puppppppppy]

who up seeing their disorder in a fictional character but feel like its not their place to put a name on it

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

You are seriously my favorite blog right now. You opinions and meta for ikevamp are so spot on. You somehow are able to flush the characters more than the canon. I just wanted to say I appreciate all the time you put into your writings and I love everything you have written so far!!!!

In Comte and Leo we trust 🫡

Aww, thank you so much! 💛💛💛

Honestly I have no control over the brainworms, I feel like Ikevamp is so saturated with implications that extrapolating becomes so much natural fun for me. I started writing and analyzing (with no supervision to stop me, big mistake) and I'm still so fascinated with it. I can't believe it's been almost what...four years? Five years? Since I started playing the Japanese version where this all began. I'm frankly flattered a lot of people agree/like my takes, it makes sharing my work really rewarding in ways I never expected~

I don't always have time for more than Comte thirsting and silly quotes these days, but you're more than welcome to enjoy what I've curated here! I imagine I won't stop shitposting until the app is discontinued, and even then I'm not confident I'll shut up 🤣🤣🤣 Comte's the best baby girl I've ever known lmfao

o7 PUREBLOOD STAN OR BUST HELL YEAH!

[solcarow]

.

[seiwas]

i think i ran out of tags

copy pasting this from tag format i'm sorry this is a mess !!! shgdfvhsa

#i looove all the details of intimacy!!! knowing his fave movies and the books on his shelf. finding out his favourite food.

#how he rubs lotion onto your hands :(( & it ties in with his comment earlier :(( and just !! How all the care feels like it shouldn’t belong with the two of your together but it does and it’s calming and comforting and :(( the healing!! your hands no longer cracking. what that means!! 

#HE HOLDS UR HAND FOR THE SAKE OF HOLDING IT :((

#him choosing the colour of your eyes too :(( sdjhbfsj i looove the silent care they have for eachother. how not asking feels like that. how they protect eachother :(( im so sad 'i should have died that day i would have been more useful as legend' UUGH SO GOOD

#how he separates himself from it like a god oh thats so good that entire scene aches oh my god???? SO GOOD

#i love that beach scene i love the dialogue in this entire thing its just so raw and tender and SO MUCH in the unsaid

#the cogs in my brain are always turning when i read your stuff op and i love how there are a lot of things left to interpretation idk i have NO IDEA if how i'm reading it is correct but i love it bc it allows me to dig deep and try to figure that out!!

"you're so pretty, sometimes it makes me miserable" GODDDD how can he say that oh my GOD and and and how he tells you he'll do all the things you want to :(( 'i don't want my pieces i want yours' :(((

WAAAAH i love this so much. THAT ENDING!! GOSH. the way they see eachother :(( IM SAWBING this was so good thank you so much op, you're fantastic amazing wonderful everything!!!! as always!!!!!

ariadne's thread (3,839 words) Rating : Mature Gojo Satoru/Reader Tags : Fix-It, Jujutsu Kaisen Manga Spoilers, Major Manga Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, Are You Gojo Satoru Because You're the Strongest, Or Are You the Strongest Because You're Gojo Satoru, Reader Has a Cursed Technique (Jujutsu Kaisen), Reader is JADED, Clingy Gojo Satoru, Mythology as a Motif, Vanilla Sex

Summary: He loses himself. He finds you, instead.

Read on AO3

[fictionadventurer]

"Why would I show my daughters Snow White when Anna and Elsa exist?"

Because girls need to see more than one type of female character in their stories. We don't want girls to see "damsel-in-distress housekeeper" as their only option, but its equally dangerous to show them the currently-popular flavor of "take-charge Strong Female Character" as the only acceptable kind of woman to be.

Because Snow White is confident. While the Queen is obsessing over her own insecurities, Snow White is going through her day completely comfortable with who she is.

Because Snow White is skilled. While the Queen's treatment of her is unjust, Snow White's acceptance of her work as a scullery maid makes her, not just an idle princess, but a working woman. She has cleaning and cooking skills that are recognized as valuable contributions to society. She is then able to use those skills when she needs a place to stay--instead of just a helpless damsel-in-distress who has to beg for a place, she is someone they want to have living with them because she has valuable skills to offer.

Because Snow White is kind. She is so kind that animals immediately trust her, that a hardened assassin can't kill her, that dwarves love her. She is sensitive to the feelings of others rather than embittered by her own fears. She is friendly to everyone she meets, showing interest in their lives and concern for their problems.

Because Snow White is a caretaker. Though young and mistreated, she is always looking to care for others. She immediately comforts a lost little bird. When she finds a cottage belonging to what she believes to be lonely orphans, she takes it upon herself to make their home comfortable. She even takes this a bit too far in setting rules for the dwarves' household, which offers depth to her character. She does take charge, but instead of seizing power like the Queen, Snow is looking to serve others and seeks their good.

Because Snow White is brave. After her panicked flight through the forest, she is sharp enough to recognize that her fear made the situation worse than reality, and she consciously decides to adopt a cheerful, hopeful outlook.

Because Snow White is intelligent. She's a good-enough judge of character to recognize a worthy love interest when he appears (and unlike certain princesses, she's right about it). She recognizes when her fear makes things worse than they are and is able to make better plans for the future. She is able to coordinate a housecleaning effort among a huge variety of untrained forest animals.

Because Snow White is humble. She is willing to take on the humblest work in the castle and is not humiliated by it. She asks the animals and the dwarves for help when she needs it. She even recognizes the need for prayer.

Because Snow White is good.

Because she is innocent.

Because she is patient.

Because she is loving.

Because little girls should learn to be all those things, and Snow White is a character who shows them what that looks like.

[comfycozycrossfox]

ahaha. fuck. i ✨will not be processing this well✨

[pearlessance]

A Dance In The Dark

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: Joel has always taken care of you. Always been your kind, attentive protector. And that doesn’t change, even when you read a scene from a dark romance novel and discover your tastes may be a bit more sordid than you once thought. But even in this he wants to grant you your every wish—and when he offers to put on a mask and chase you through the woods, the opportunity is just too wicked to pass up.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content MDNI, feelings of embarrassment and shame, established relationship, Joel ties readers hands with his belt, knife play, BDSM undertones (primal play specifically), sexual aggression, degradation, fingering, p in v, hair pulling, shameless smut this is basically just pure filth

NOTE: this is a cowrite i did with joelmillersgirlfriend! we busted this out in less than two days because i was bound and determined to get this published on the best holiday of the year! please check out her stuff over on AO3 where we have several other cowrites because i love her 🩷

happy halloween my loves 🩷

Read on AO3!

MASTERLIST

You don’t tell him right away. Don’t tell him at all, really. 

Joel discovers your peculiar fascination all on his own.

He’s late coming home from work. His dinner sits on a plate in the microwave, leftovers packaged and put in the fridge for his lunch tomorrow. His lack of punctuality is nothing new, but you’ve always been good at filling the time and finding a distraction while you wait for him. 

On this particular night, you’ve changed out of your clothes and into one of his T-shirts, nestled into a soft cocoon on his side of the bed, book in hand. The tea in your mug on your nightstand has gone tepid, too lost between the pages to consume anything but the content in a timely manner. 

You’d found it in the horror section, a book written by a name you’d never heard of, a story of a young woman’s abduction with overarching themes of perseverance and self-discovery. You find it a bit graphic from time to time, the details of her torment vivid and lifelike. But that’s to be expected in a horror novel and doesn’t surprise you.

The part that does surprise you, however, is the romantic undercurrent between the woman and her captor. He makes declarations of love, fully admitting his obsession with the young woman, claiming to want nothing from her but her own empowerment.

It’s an even bigger surprise when you reach the halfway point and discover that your horror novel is also an erotica. And the text is well-written, pulling you into its depths, and you think it might be the craziest yet best book you’ve ever read if for nothing else than the way it makes your heart race behind your ribcage.

“Is it that good?”

His voice startles you so badly the book falls from your hands and into your lap. “What?”

Joel laughs, a soft sound of amusement. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, toeing off his shoes. He leans over the edge of the bed to press his lips to your forehead, and you find yourself swimming in the subtle affection.

And you know it’s because you’ve been reading smut for the last three hours straight, but the feel of his lips against your skin is heavenly. You abandon the book, tucking the edge of the dust jacket inside the pages to mark your place and discarding it onto the nightstand. It’s second nature as you twist your hands into the soft fabric of his flannel and pull him close.

He smells like pine and sawdust and sweat. His hands are rough and calloused as he cradles your face, lips turning upwards against yours. When you deepen the kiss, sliding your soft tongue against his, Joel laughs again, a little darker this time. He pulls away and the loss makes you whimper because you need him. And the bastard knows it. Because when his gaze roams over your face, lingering on your lips, there’s a heavy undertone of lust behind the playfulness. “S’alright, sweet girl,” he says gently. “None of that whinin’. M’gonna take care of you like I always do. Just wanna know what’s brought this on is all.”

You’re not sure you can admit the truth to him. And even more than that, you don’t have the words to explain that what’s got you so worked up is a scene in your book where the main character is being chased through the woods, her captor wearing a Halloween mask, under the pretense that if he catches her, he’s going to fuck her. Your cheeks warm at just the idea of such an admission, so instead you say, “I just missed you is all.”

Joel doesn’t believe it for a second. He knows you like the back of his hand and sees easily through the lie. And when he glances at your book on the nightstand twice, you know you’ve been caught before he even says a word. “Thought that was one of those scary books you like.”

“It is,” you tell him. Because, technically, it’s the truth.

He narrows his eyes at you, that all-knowing smirk still plastered on his face. “Yeah? Bein’ scared’s what’s got you all squirmy like this?”

As much as you’d like to deny it, to argue his assessment, Joel leans over a little further and his weight on top of you, heavy and sure and safe, makes your breath catch in your lungs. Warmth pools low in your belly and that low, husky tone in his voice only makes matters worse. 

“Think whatever’s in that book’s got you all worked up. What’s it about, baby? Hm?” Joel shoves the blanket out of the way and slides his hand between your body and his. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the feeling of his hands on you, the contrast of his roughness against all your softest parts. It’s like the first time every time, and you can feel the steady thump of your heart as it hammers behind your sternum.

Heat rises up your chest when his hand touches your favorite spot, already knowing what he’s going to say. You’re drenched, the insides of your thighs slick with excitement. Joel breathes out a tell-tale hiss at the feeling, pulling back to glance down at you. Humor is suddenly nowhere to be found on his face, no smirks or teasing words. Just dark, hot lust, turning Joel’s eyes black.

“Christ,” Joel groans, continuing to explore between your legs. 

You don’t want to tell him what the book’s about, and thankfully he seems to forget he’d asked the question as his long fingers find their place, curling inside of you. 

Joel keeps his promise. He takes care of the ache for you like he always does. He makes you finish on his fingers and his tongue and when he finally sinks deep inside you it feels like relief. You warm up leftovers for him afterward, and he doesn’t pressure you about talking about your book. Instead, he tells you about his day while the two of you sit at the kitchen table and the light of his love fills you from the inside out.

You finish the book in less than two days, but its content lives in your head for far longer. 

Showering, cooking, running errands - you find yourself thinking about that scene in the woods so often you begin to wonder if it’s altered your brain chemistry.

That weekend you go out for drinks with a couple of girlfriends, letting Joel know you’ll likely be late coming home. He makes you promise to call him if you need a ride and says he’s going to invite Tommy over to watch the game.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary. Joel’s little brother practically lived with the two of you until Maria stepped into the picture, and you pinky swear to call if you need him.

You don’t, though. You spend more time gossiping and laughing and catching up than you do drinking. But it’s dark when you pull into the driveway, and though you don’t see Tommy’s truck you assume Joel might have picked him up and you fully expect to see him standing in your kitchen with a hand in the fridge grabbing another beer. 

Tommy’s nowhere to be found, though. And there’s no referee calling shots on the flat screen. There’s no sound at all, in fact. At first, it alarms you. But then you see Joel sprawled out on the couch in sweatpants and a navy blue t-shirt with a book in his hand.

He glances up from the pages only long enough to smile up at you and say, “Hey, sweetheart. Have a good time?”

You hesitate, watching him from where you stand at the doorway. Joel read occasionally, but only if he needed to. If he wanted to learn a new song on guitar, if he had taken on a new car project and had to teach himself how to repair it. He didn’t read for luxury.

“Yeah, it was nice. What about you? Where’s Tommy?” you questioned, tiptoeing over to where Joel was spread out. The book was positioned in a way that didn’t allow you to see its cover, but it most definitely wasn’t one of Joel’s manuals. 

Joel turned to grin at you, his eyes scanning your body, stopping to look at the frown on your lips. 

“He canceled, ditched me to hang out with Maria,” he huffed, rolling his eyes. Your frown deepened as you moved closer to Joel, still eyeing the book in his hand that was conveniently covered by his large palms. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve come back sooner,” you said, reaching down to run your palm through his gray-streaked hair. You had convinced him to stop touching up his roots, some sick part of you loving how mature he looked. 

“I didn’t wanna interrupt. ‘Sides, I wanted to see what got you all worked up the other night,” Joel explained casually, finally exposing the book he was holding. All of the colors left your face as you processed what was happening, that he was more than halfway done with the story. Joel was well into reading the disturbing erotica, but somehow still hadn’t put it down. 

“This is some dark stuff. You’re telling me that this is what had you drippin’? Had you clenched around me, legs shaking?” Joel asked, breaking heavy eye contact with you to go back to reading.

“Come on, Joel. Give it back,” you whined, reaching down to pull it out of his hands. The word embarrassed didn’t cover how you truly felt. Mortified was a better fit.

He wrestled around in your hold, turning his back to you and shielding the book with his body. “Not yet, I’m just about to reach the good part. I wanna know what happens when he catches her.”

Maybe not mortified. You were fucking humiliated. Tears threatened to spill as you reached down, pawing at Joel’s arms to grab the book. “Stop it. It’s just a stupid fantasy, I know it’s dumb.”

Joel glanced back to see the wetness filling your eyes, instantly releasing his grip so you could take the book back. His large palm reached up to cradle your face, to comfort you.

“Hey now, I never said it was dumb. I didn’t mean to upset you. I guess I never really knew you were into that kind of stuff. Nothing’s wrong with it.”

His words are sincere and make you feel a little bit better, but you still feel ashamed that Joel had read the book. You know he’d never judge you, but it feels like your closest kept secret has been thrust into the light without your permission. Warmth spreads over your face, down your neck, twisting your stomach into knots. “I know but I…I just didn’t expect you to read it.”

“Then I won’t,” he says quickly, pushing himself up off the couch. He places a warm hand on the side of your neck and says again, “I won’t. I promise. No tears baby, alright?”

You nod and sniffle, trusting him, knowing that his words hold sincerity. Exhaling a long breath, you try to shove the mortification away and focus instead on this man before you who loves you enough to learn everything about you, even the things best kept hidden. 

Joel gives you the book and you shove it in the back of your side of the closet, hidden beneath a shoe box. He helps you out of your dress and showers with you, washing your hair while you tell him all about girls’ night and the newest gossip.

After, when you’re both cozy in bed, wrapped up tight in his strong arms, stealing his warmth with your cold feet against his legs, you think maybe you might’ve overreacted about the book. You know Joel would never judge you, not even about this. You think maybe the embarrassment comes from somewhere within, that maybe it’s more like insecurity than shame. And so you say, “I’m sorry about earlier. You can finish the story if you want.”

Joel presses a kiss into your hair. “Not really my type of book, anyhow.”

Even though he says it mostly to comfort you, the words make you laugh. You bury your face into the crook of his neck and can feel the vibration of his amusement as he shares the moment with you.

And when you both settle enough to speak again, his voice is a little quieter as he asks, “You want me to do that to you?”

This time you fight your shame. Wrap it up tight and store it away for something else, something more worthy than a peculiar taste. You think about yourself in place of the main character, running between thick tree trunks with dead leaves crunching beneath your feet. 

You think of Joel in place of the woman’s captor, mask over his face, presence dark and looming as he seeks you out. A shiver runs down your spine, so sharp and demanding that your body trembles in his hold. 

“S’okay if you do,” he murmurs. You can feel each word through his chest, a delicious tremor against your suddenly too-hot skin. Joel lifts his hand and brushes your hair gently away from your face, thumb tracing the outline of your lips. “Know it did somethin’ to you. Turned you real greedy the other day. Hm?”

Arousal pools low in your belly, and you can hear your heart in your ears. You think he could convince you to do anything when he talks like that, voice low and gravelly. “Maybe,” you say. “I don’t know.”

“Read another part,” he whispers. His thumb travels slowly down your chin, over the curve of your jaw, down the column of your throat. “He’s got that switchblade in his hand. Touches her real nice, all sweet and loving. But he keeps that blade right…” Joel drags his index finger slowly across your neck. “ Here .”

The sound that escapes you is more than need, it’s something else entirely; more like desperation. You didn’t think it was possible to want him any more than you already do but this Joel who strikes just the right amount of fear in you? He makes your mouth water, makes you tremble and shake with just the caress of a single touch.

He grips the back of your thigh with his free hand, pulling you close, pressing you tight against the growing erection behind the cotton fabric of his boxers. Joel’s always been insatiable for you, sometimes getting worked up just from staring at you too long. But you begin to wonder if this is something he wants, too. “Should take you out someplace real nice,” he mutters. “Get all dressed up. You can wear that pretty pink sundress I like. Take you out to a nice dinner, treat you so fuckin’ good…an’ when the sun sets, I’d drive you someplace real dark. Let you loose.” 

Even though he’s barely touching you, thumb stroking the skin of your hip gently, your clit pulses between your legs, hips shifting against him of their own accord. Your breath comes fast and labored and you think you’ve never been this fucking wet before—never wanted him so bad . It feels like you can’t think, can’t breathe without it, without Joel . 

“Give you a head start,” he continues. “Long enough for me to put a mask on. Wouldn’t even let you see it ‘til I catch you…An’ I will catch you, sweet girl…but you’d have no way of knowin’ who it was. Could be me. Could be anyone.”

The idea is filthy and disgusting but your body doesn’t seem to mind. Your spine arches, breasts pressing up against his chest. Joel lays there stone still, holding you, letting you rut against him like a woman starved. “ Please ,” is all you manage to choke out. He hardly acknowledges the word, but you can feel the smirk form on his lips against the shell of your ear. 

“I’d fuck the good girl right out of you,” he says. “Fuck you ‘til you’re nothin’ but a dumb little slut.”

“Jesus— Joel .” He's degraded you before, but it’s never been like this, never felt like this. You reach between your bodies and palm his cock in your hand, and a dark laugh leaves him as he helps you. 

In a few quick movements, he pulls himself out of his boxers, shoves your panties to the side, and sinks his cock inside of you, filling you so full it hurts . But you don’t care, because there’s nothing more you need than this, and thankfully he understands. Like he always does . 

Joel fucks you right then and there, whispering filthy things all the while, and you think he’s always understood you. Maybe even more than you’re able to understand yourself. Older and wiser and gracious—always giving you exactly what you need, exactly what you want. 

Before you fall asleep that night, he kisses you softly and asks, “Do you want me to tell you before it happens? To warn you?”

You’re not sure how to answer at first. Because the concept as a whole terrifies you; it’s new and foreign and dangerous. And you think you might need the warning to calm yourself enough to enjoy it. 

But you trust Joel. More than anyone else in the world, you know he’ll always keep you safe. You know he’d never do anything to hurt you. 

And so, you pull the blankets tighter around your shoulders and say, “No. I want it to be a surprise.”

That night, you dream about a man chasing you through darkness whose hands feel more familiar than your own. You think about it for the next week. Daydreaming at work, while you’re making dinner, while you’re driving to run errands. It’s all you can think about, the only thing that fills the gaps of silence in your day-to-day life. 

You wait. And wait. And wait . 

Joel tells you Friday night that he’ll have to work overtime this weekend to make up for a lost part shipment. Nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary. Saturday morning he encourages you to sleep in, kisses your forehead before he leaves, tells you he loves you. And despite no inclination from him, you have a feeling that today is the day. 

When you wake up a little while later, the sun casts shadows through the blinds, and you notice that Joel’s placed that pink sundress on his side of the bed. Laid it out for you. 

You shower and groom yourself, mentally preparing for the moment it finally happens. It has to be today. And if Joel is lucky and planned it out right, he’d find out that you opted out of wearing panties underneath the sundress. He’d find you slick, shaved, aching in anticipation. 

He notices your nervous excitement when he comes home from work, late and covered in sweat from a long day. You’re practically bouncing on your heels, having spent the entire day filling the time, waiting for his arrival. The sun had already started to set in the distance - you probably only had about an hour left of the day. 

Please, God, let it be today .

“Sorry I’m late, sweetheart. Had an electrician cancel last minute, left me scramblin’ to get the project covered. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” he muttered into your lips as he greeted you. His arms wrapped around you, his body warm and hot against the thin fabric of your dress.

“That’s okay,” you say. “Everything go to plan other than that?”

“Sure did. Finally finished up that warehouse over on Cherry Street. Figured I’d go out and celebrate.”

You find yourself deflating at the words. Because, usually, Joel celebrating the end of a big project means the involvement of Tommy, too. And if Tommy’s there, then tonight is decidedly not the night.

Joel seems to notice the change in your demeanor. He places his hand on the side of your face and drags his thumb down your jutting bottom lip, releasing it with a wet pop . “Wouldn’t be a celebration unless I had a pretty little girl to buy a drink, now would it?”

Either way, even if it’s not tonight, you know you’ll enjoy the time with him like you always do. So you shelve your disappointment and timidly ask, “Will it be…just the two of us? Did you want to invite anyone else?”

He shakes his head, a playful spark glinting in his warm eyes. “Nah. Just wanna take my baby out. Give me a minute to change and we’ll head out. Sound good?”

You know your nod of approval probably looks too hopeful, too excited, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not with this golden excitement fills you to the brim, the anticipation making your hands tingle. 

It only takes Joel ten minutes to change out of his work clothes and into a nice pair of jeans and a flannel, but it feels like forever. He asks you about your day while he drives to your favorite restaurant, and listens intently even though you have nothing interesting to say other than the fact that you’ve changed the curtain on the window above the dining room table.

He opens the car door for you and holds your hand as he directs you through the crowd at the restaurant, and orders for you when the waiter comes over. Even though you get the same thing every time, the gesture makes you feel small and safe and cared for.

You drink a glass of wine, and he tries out some sort of hoppy beer. Joel tells you about a song he heard on the radio that he wants to learn on guitar, but while you try to listen all you can think about is what comes after this.

A million thoughts run rampant through your head. He hasn’t said anything about it, hasn’t given you any hints besides laying the sundress out for you, but the rush of it all weighs heavy on your chest. Paired with the lowered inhibitions from the wine and you interrupt him to say, “Joel. Can you just…can you tell me? I changed my mind. I want to know so bad.”

That playfulness returns to his eyes. He tilts his head the smallest bit and leans over the table to hear your whispered words. “Tell you what?”

“You know ,” you insist. “Don’t make me say it here.” Despite the embarrassment that climbs your cheeks as you listen to the chatter around you, you can’t wipe the grin from your face. You try to hide it behind your hand instead. 

“Can’t say I know what you’re gettin’ at here, girl,” he says. But that knowing smirk says otherwise. You can see the challenge in his eyes, the push for you to ask the question you’ve been swallowing down all night. 

Folding your arms on the edge of the table, you lean in as close as you can and ask so softly, “Are you taking me to the woods tonight?”

He smiles—a big, toothy show of enjoyment, and leans back in the booth. Joel’s big, you’ve always known it…but seeing him now, shoulders broad and rugged, arms straining beneath the cotton sleeves of his flannel… God , he makes you weak. You can feel yourself flush beneath his scrutinization. Can feel the familiar stickiness of your arousal begin to gather between your legs, too. “An’ why would I do that, sweetheart? Ain’t nothin’ out there for a little thing like you.”

The wine is sweet on your tongue as you take the last sip and shrug casually, pretending as if your hands don’t tremble with anticipation. You try to put on a show of confidence. “Never know,” you say. “Could be a big, bad wolf out there that needs hunting down.”

Joel laughs at that, but he’s waving down the next waiter he sees for the check.

When you leave the restaurant, you realize now the sun has fully set and the darkness has descended. The moon hands high in the sky, the only illumination granted apart from the headlight of Joel’s truck. He helps you into the passenger side and buckles you in, hands gentle and caring, always taking care of you. 

Pressing a kiss to your shoulder, he asks a single-word question. One you know is likely equally for his comfort as it is yours. “Okay?”

You are. Despite the fear that begins to rise in your chest, knowing the impending events likely to unfold, despite the shadows and the traversing of the unknown, you know that you’ll always be safe with Joel. “I’m good,” you promise.

He drives for far longer than you expect. Past every stoplight, outside of the city limits, weaving through the backroads until you’re well and truly lost. Every time you pass a wooded area you think he’ll slow to a stop, but he doesn’t. And every moment fuels the adrenaline coursing through you, ratcheting both your panic and excitement to immeasurable heights.

When he does finally stop, pulling off to the side of a road you swear you’ve never been down before, your heart is beating so fast you can hear it in your ears. 

He pulls the key from the ignition and the lights cut out, wrapping the both of you in complete darkness. You can make him out just enough, though. Enough to see the predatory look on his face, enough to sense the danger you’ve placed yourself in.

Your mouth goes dry and your brain goes fuzzy as you watch Joel reach into his pants pocket, pulling out a switchblade that glimmers in the moonlight. The small knife makes a snapping noise when it opens, gleaming, taunting you. Excitement buzzed through your body, a nagging voice in the back of your head screaming to run. 

“Better get a move on,” Joel whispers, his face shadowed and lips pressed into a grim line. The energy had shifted so quickly that you were uncertain what to do. Even if you did try to run, you doubted that your shaking body would make it very far. 

A brooding intensity surrounded Joel, and even though he barely moved to reach back and grab something out of the back seat, the air still felt tense with a silent warning. In his free hand was a gas mask, worn and frayed. The round, glass eye lenses were clouded, displaying its years of disuse. He reached up with one hand to slip the mask down his face, leaving only his eyes revealed.

The white-hot heat that was burning through your veins somehow ignited even further when he finally locked eyes with you. Joel’s eyes were narrowed, carrying a different energy behind them; one that was full of mischief and lust. The moment lasted for a couple of beats…

One, two, three…

And then Joel’s hand snapped out, reaching rapidly to lock around your wrist. Thinking, breathing; none of it mattered. The only thing on your mind was running, some animalistic survival instinct that you didn’t know still existed within you taking over. Your wrist easily slipped out of his grip as you flung open the car door, escaping Joel and running into the dark forest.

There was a chill in the air that made your breath fan out in front of you while you ran, your heavy footsteps practically echoing through the woods. Every couple of moments you would stop and glance around, attempting to see through the endless rows of trees. You didn’t see anything and only heard the sound of your own breathing.

Joel could be scary when he wanted to. Like that one time, a couple weeks into knowing him. Some asshole had followed you around the grocery store late one evening, trailing behind aisle after aisle until your hands were shaking in fear. Joel was one of the only people you had befriended in town since you were new to the area. 

He’d showed up five minutes after you’d called him, despite the fact that you knew he lived over ten minutes away. Joel approached the man, and you were grateful that you weren’t the one he was speaking to. Despite not hearing his words from where you were standing, you could see the dark anger on his face, a look that made your blood run cold. 

The guy who was following you left immediately after, scurrying off with his tail between his legs. Joel followed you home in his truck even though your apartment was on the other side of town. He’d never been scary to you .

Until now. 

Joel’s body came out of nowhere, grabbing you and yanking you against him. The switchblade pressed onto your throat, your heartbeat pounding against the cold metal. You couldn’t see Joel since his vice-grip had your back pushed on his chest. 

“You call that running?” he asked, letting his fingers skate down the skin of your thigh, just under the low cut of your sundress. His calloused fingertips caught against your soft skin,  raising higher and higher.

“I think you wanted me to catch you. Here you are, lettin’ me rub on you like the little slut I knew you were. I haven’t even properly touched you yet, but you’re already spreading your legs for me.”

Your face warmed at his degrading words. He was right. The excitement of the story wasn’t only the anticipation, but it was the thrill of the hunt. As much as you wanted Joel to touch you, to make your vision blur just from using his fingers, you knew you couldn’t give in so easily. 

With all of your strength, you push away both of his hands, ripping out of his grip. He reached down to grab you but you snatched his shirt instead, pulling at it fiercely in an attempt to dodge under him. You heard the fabric rip, but you were too afraid to really acknowledge it. 

You took it as an opportunity to escape, dodging Joel’s grasp. You wasted no time in steadying yourself before sprinting away, only sparing a quick glance back to see Joel. His shirt was half ripped, the gas mask blocking any form of expression on his face. 

“Damn, baby,” Joel spoke. He stood, shrugging off his flannel before using the switchblade to finish ripping the fabric of his shirt. “If you wanted me to get naked, you should’ve just said so.”

As much as you wanted to watch the way Joel’s chest flexed in the moonlight, you couldn’t handle any distractions. You had to run.

And you did run for what felt like hours. By the time you stopped for a moment, your heartbeat was in your throat and you could feel a slick mess building between your thighs. Your legs were speckled with dirt and pieces of leaves from the way you were kneeling on the ground, searching for Joel. 

You didn’t see anything extraordinary through the branches of the forest, but you heard something. A snap.

It was enough to get you back on your feet in an attempt to flee.

You couldn’t see him, but you could feel him. Though your eyes betrayed you, you could sense his closeness, could sense the space between you lessening with each passing moment. Sweat beads at your hairline and your panting echoes between the trees.

The cracking sound of wood beneath his heavy work boots cuts through the deafening silence, and you turn abruptly and throw yourself in the opposite direction. But Joel’s fast, too fast . 

He catches up to you in a second, and you know you won’t get lucky twice, yet still you try. You push your legs as hard as you can, running as fast as you can, trying to navigate the uneven terrain.

Joel’s fingertips grasp your shoulder, and you pull away from him so violently you lose your balance, scraping your knees against the rough forest floor.

You quickly turn onto your back, kicking yourself away from him, trying to see through the thick fog of terror in your mind. His slow breaths sound mechanical through the gas mask’s respirator. He looms over you menacingly, looking every bit the wicked man you know he can be.

His shoulders rise and fall slowly, his breaths even while you struggle to catch yours. He tilts his head, a predator indulging in the chase.

And you know right then that you’ve been caught. Stuck in the spider’s web with no hope of extraction. Your voice shakes when you speak. “Joel?”

There’s no softness in him now. None of that gentle ease he always has with you. He lowers himself to the ground, knees on either side of your hips, and grabs for your hands.

You struggle against his hold, even knowing it’s useless. He wraps a calloused palm around your wrists and squeezes tight, and when you buck your hips up against him, trying to wiggle out from beneath his heavy weight, it serves no purpose but to further diminish the little energy remaining in your weary limbs. 

Joel raises your arms above your head, pushing your too-sensitive skin deep into the earth, trapping you in place. You can hear the clicking of his tongue behind the mask. “Stupid little girl,” he says. “Never had a chance. Did you?”

His voice is muffled, deeper. You know it’s Joel. Behind the fear, behind the adrenaline, you know it’s him. But it doesn’t sound like him, not in the way you’re so accustomed to, and it sends a chill down your spine.

He adjusts his position, sliding down your legs just enough to grip the bottom of your dirt-stained sundress and rip it upwards. The air feels like ice against your center, slick with your arousal. You clit pulses with need, despite the way you still fight him, struggling nonsensically in his tight hold. “Look at how fuckin’ wet you are, baby,” he says. “Haven’t even touched you yet an’ that pretty pussy’s just fuckin’ crying for it, ain’t she?”

Your spine bends, arching off the ground. The sounds that leave your mouth are animalistic, a desperate whimpering, a wanton need.

And then suddenly his hand is tangled in your hair, pulling hard at the roots, holding your head up just enough to witness your exposure. “I said look ,” Joel grits out. “Want you to watch just how fuckin’ selfish she is. You listenin’ to me?”

“Yes— yes, ” you choke out. The muscles in your neck strain to keep your head held high enough to see the moment he lets go of your hair. But you heard him loud and clear, and you do just as he says.

His hand slips between your legs, and you fight the urge to let squeeze your eyes shut as his fingers slide over your clit. He circles it roughly and you can feel yourself clench around nothing, your body begging to be filled, begging for Joel . He uses the perfect amount of pressure, deft fingers moving fast, and it takes less than a minute before that familiar warmth begins to trickle in. 

But you want more, you always want more, and so you find yourself lifting your hips upwards, trying to shift his hand lower, trying to let him know right where you need him most. 

Joel laughs. A sick, maniacal sound that sends a cold flood of terror through you. “See? What’d I say? Fuckin’ greedy ,” he says. You know it’s meant to be an insult, but there’s a strange fondness as he says it. An undertone of worship.

You sigh out his name, unable to form another word, forgetting all else that came before this moment, disregarding all things that may come after. All that matters is this, all that matters is him . 

“She wants it so bad,” he murmurs. “An’ I’m gonna give it to her.” His movements are cruel and almost painful as he turns you over, pulling your hips out from under him. Joel shifts your wrists to his other hand and sets them against the small of your back, using his free hand to force your head down. The earthy smell of decaying leaves greets you, and you greedily suck in cold breaths of air, trying to will your heart to slow its racing. 

You can’t see his movements but you can feel him shift behind you, and a second later can hear the familiar clink of his belt buckle and the swish as he rips it from the loops of his jeans. The bite of leather is harsh as he winds it around your wrists, tightening it in a familiar, practiced way.

“Joel,” you breathe out. It sounds like a plea in your ears, and maybe it is. Because everything is too much, too intense . You need all of him, you think. Need the wickedness, that dark thing he’s been hiding all this time. But you need your Joel, too. The one who buckles you in, who kisses your forehead before he leaves for work in the morning. The one you know will always keep you safe, even when he defiles you. “ Joel ,” you say again. 

His hands freeze on your hips, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his skin as he leans over and presses his cheek to yours. He waits for you to speak, giving you as long as you need to sort through the heightened emotions. 

Your brain feels like mush and you struggle to form a coherent thought that’s more than one or two words strung together. You know you’re terrified. But you know, too, that you don’t want him to stop. And so all you manage to say is a barely audible, “I love you.”

He cradles your head in his hand, thumb stroking gently over your temple. And then he runs his nose over the curve of your jaw, and though he doesn’t say it, doesn’t break the spell he’s so carefully created in order to indulge your wildest fantasies, you know that no one has ever loved anyone the way that Joel Miller loves you. 

But just as quickly as that gentleness appeared, it vanishes into nothing like the fog of your breath in the cold air.

“Gonna show you what happens when little girls roam into the woods,” he says. You can feel his erection as he presses it against you, heavier and harder than you think it’s ever been before. “Can try an’ hunt down the big bad wolf all you want. But if he catches you …”

You’re a trembling mess in his strong hands. His words are the only beacon keeping you grounded, you’re certain of it. 

The metal teeth of his zipper grate as he pulls it down and undoes the button of his jeans, pulling his cock out. He slides the head through your arousal, coating himself in your slick. “Just know, whatever he decides to do with you is gonna hurt .”

And then he’s pushing his length into you in one smooth movement, leaving you no time to adjust to the size of him. The stretch is painful and foreboding, every muscle in your body tensing up at the impact. “ Fuck— oh my God —”

“Can pray all you want, but there’s no one out here to save you,” he spits. Joel doesn’t give you a single second to breathe before he’s rocking his hips into you, setting a punishing pace. You can feel his cock throb inside you, can feel that he’s enjoying this just as much as you are. 

You grit your teeth against the pain of it, fingers flexing in his grip. “ Joel —I can’t—!”

“Yes, you can, baby,” he says, voice low and echoing. “I know you can. So shut up and fuckin’ take it.” He leans over you, pressing the side of your face into the ground. You can taste moss and earth but with each thrust, the pain is quickly subsiding, replaced instead with a blinding pleasure. 

That warmth builds again, coiling around your spine. Pressure builds quickly and you can feel yourself dripping around him, making a mess of the coarse hair above his cock. “Joel— fuck .”

He reaches on hand around your hip, easily finding your clit and strumming it with swift, practiced movements. You clench around him and he lets out a deep groan in response. When he leans forward and tells you, “Open your mouth,” you do so immediately, brain fuzzy and overstimulated, unwilling to do anything unless he tells you to. 

Joel slides two of his fingers into your mouth and shoves them so far down you nearly choke. It’s instinctual when you close your swollen lips around him and suck. 

You can hear the smile in his words as he speaks. “There you go,” he mutters. “Told you how this would go, didn’t I? Told you what would happen. Nothin’ but a dumb little slut for me now, baby, hm? Yeah?” 

All you can do is nod, unable to form a single coherent thought. Your orgasm hits hard and fast, almost unexpected. It washes through you, electricity dancing beneath your prickling skin. Your moans reverberate through the trees, and you’re suddenly glad he’s driven you so far out so no one can hear you. 

“Oh, she likes that ,” Joel says, talking you through it, circling your clit and fucking into you a little harder. “Likes the way it feels to be all full’a me, hm? Yeah, there you go. Gonna give this pretty pussy just what she needs.” 

His rhythm falters, staggering just the smallest bit. And while he’s just given you the best orgasm of your fucking life, there’s something about this that makes you feel finally satisfied, full in a way you’ve never been before.

The moment he bottoms out inside of you, Joel turns you on your back and pulls the mask off of his face. His cheeks are flushed and rosy, but there’s a sense of completion in his eyes that you’re sure is mirrored in your own. He kisses your cheeks, your forehead, the bridge of your nose. 

And all you can say is, “Oh my God.”

Joel laughs. It’s one of those full, good-natured belly laughs. Your favorite kind. “Well? Was I better than your book?”

You cover your face with your hands, muffling your giggles between your fingers. “Much better.”

[allfearstofallto]

Familiar Stranger

Yandere! Caleb x Fem! Reader

TW: Yandere, Manipulation, Restraining

“It'll be just like-”

“-old times,” you cut Caleb off and finished the sentence for him. You'd been hearing it for days at this point. Except your voice didn't have that same excitement at the expression. You were distant, angry as you spoke. And Caleb could see that. That once friendly smile, the one he wore to mask himself as the real Caleb, it vanished and his lips pressed into a thin line, eyes growing dark.

He'd done this little change multiple times over the course of days, shifting from a person you knew to one you didn't. Each time it chipped away at the joy you were feeling just to see him, only to reveal a hint of anger you'd been hiding, even from yourself. Anger because while you sat and mourned for over a year, he was aware that you were mourning someone still alive. He could have sated your pain earlier. He could've been there when you needed him. But he wasn't. And he still hasn't given a clear answer as to why.

Caleb kneeled in front of you while you sat on the couch, coming face to face with you and giving a smile that was tender. The mask was back on. But each time he slipped on the disguise, you grow less susceptible to it.

“Won't you be good for me and stay here until I get back, hm?” he asked, his voice soft, soothing, like he was trying to put you to sleep. As he spoke, he reached up and tousled your hair. A gesture that you always found endearing from him, one that took you back to a simpler time where it was just you and him against the world, “It'll only be a couple hours.”

You slapped his hand away with your own. That mask of his was tricking you no longer. His sweet words said in Caleb's voice couldn't decipt you anymore. Your trust in him, the one standing before you, was all, but gone, “I can't stay here, Colonel.”

There was an aggressive strain on each word. A desire for him to hear each syllable full of distaste and disdain. A pressure that needed to be spilled, like a shaken can ready to explode. And the usage of his title? To put some distance between the two of you. As long as your lips called him Caleb, your heart would want it to be true. But you had to nip it in the bud, he was using it against you.

He sat back on his haunches. He was looking you over, his purple eyes seeming to peer into the depths of your soul and not just meet your gaze. And it was scary. Horrifying even. In the presence of the beast, you felt your mouth begin to go dry. But you didn't back down. You watched him force a smile that didn't meet his eyes, and laugh with an unnatural stiffness.

“You can't even wait for me a little?” He said with a smirk, trying to shift the perspective, make you seem desperate for his affection. You didn't know if he was playing this ploy to trick you, or himself, “I don't have to go in today, ya know?” You felt the cold leather of his gloved fingertip tracing down your cheek, “If you're acting this needy, I could just stay home with you,”

The word “home” angered you even more. Sky Haven wasn't your home and it never would be as long as he was here. Your home was a pile of rubble and ash now, where you lost everything you loved. Including him.

You went to slap his hand away again, only to feel a strong weight against your arms. A familiar weight. One you'd felt before. Like you were being pressed under the mass of a planet. Caleb was restraining you with evol. Not even his full power, he could crush you into bits with it if he wanted to. It was just enough to hold you there, a pressure just slightly too strong for you. All you could do was glare at him.

“Don't,” he growled through his teeth. He let out a sigh, as if trying to calm himself before speaking again in a softer, still agitated tone, “Don't act like my touch disgusts you.”

A flicker of emotion crossed his eyes. A sorrowful one. One full of pain. The idea of you hating him being the only weakness he ever showed when he was like this. He pressed a hand on your cheek. Then another against your shoulder. That same hand trailed all over your body, touching you, squeezing you, even tickling you and trying to elicit a laugh. Like he wanted to force you into liking, and missing the way he touched you. You couldn't even flinch away from his hand, the force of his evol still being too strong against your arms.

“It does,” you spat at him, making his expression visibly harden. But not like he was getting angry at you, but frustrated with himself, “You disgust me, Caleb.”

He didn't reply for a while. Evol still holding you down, he sat there on his knees in front of you. His fingers twitching, lip quivering. You felt a pang in your chest as well, seeing him this way. When he was like this, he was who you knew. But all the lying and hurt he'd brought to you, you had to remember it. If not, you'd fall into that same cycle of forgiving him, just because it was him.

Caleb stood. His full height seeming to tower over you, casting a looming shadow across your features. Once more, he reached down to pat your head, this time with his right hand. He looked visibly dejected before pulling away with a sigh.

“A couple hours, okay?” He repeated. The few words made your heartbeat quicken. Just when you thought you'd made a breakthrough with him, realization hit you that he still viewed what he was doing as right even though he knew it was wrong.

He adjusted his uniform in the mirror, looking back at you with one more weak smile before walking to the door. The entire time you watched him watching him leaving, all you could think was that his silhouette was unfamiliar. Not the one you'd race to see when you saw him approaching through the window, but a stranger.

The door shut with a soft click. His evol eventually dissipated because of the distance, freeing you from your invisible restraints. You rushed towards that door with a bit of hope, not caring about what you were leaving behind, but knowing that you had to. Turning that knob, all that hope you had vanished at your fingertips. Of course, it was locked.

[solifloris]

≡;-꒰ 𝐃𝐀𝐖𝐍𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐑 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝒊𝒇 𝒊 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖

╰┈➤ ❝ dawnbreaker!zayne x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni | kinktober '24 (backlog)

tags : pwp (with some plot), kinda porn with feelings, ambiguous relationship, that one "dawnbreaker slipping into dr. zayne's life" theory, angst (but…soft???), slight nipple play, needy/desperate sex, vaginal sex, creampie, breeding kink, praise, use of "my love". lmk if i missed any tags!

wc : 1.8k

an : YELLS OK im like two days late on this… but… BUT !!! a belated birthday gift for my beloveddddd @dawnbreakersgaze !!! <333

taglist : under the cut !! (SIGN UP HERE)

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST / KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS

The Zayne you know has not been the Zayne you know...

You don't fall in love with someone in the span of a few days.

It didn't work that way—love was a fickle emotion; complicated, unpredictable… Terrifying. To approach it meant silent steps. It meant biding your time, holding out your hand, moving forward little by little…

…Ideally.

But love was powerful.

Love did whatever it wanted.

Love could take you in like a storm while you were unprepared; love could crash through your windows and hold you hostage despite your attempts to be gentle with it.

Love could turn the tables.

And sometimes that was what it felt like to be with him.

You wouldn't fall in love with someone in the span of just a few days—but perhaps, this case was a special one.

Your eyes were soft, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek. Gentle caresses moved over his skin, and you could see the way he melted under your touch. His own eyes were wide, lips trembling. An inexplicable emotion stirred within the depths of his gaze… And it was always like this.

It was always like this when he looked at you.

As if he could never believe that you were real.

"Zayne," you murmured.

He would swallow thickly, and give the slightest of nods.

"Zayne."

The same name, the same face, the same voice. Yet this Zayne, lying on top of you, caging your body between his arms… he was not the same.

Not the same… yet similar, nonetheless. A reflection of the other, you would think. He barely spoke, yet he barely looked away from you. He felt more expressive of his thoughts, but all the same time adamant on keeping them hidden. And no matter how many times you'd seen him, he felt hesitant, unsure, guilty… yet so, so, so full of the very same love that the Zayne you knew would always give.

You'd lost track of how many times this had happened.

They were sporadic, at first—moments fleeting and spaced apart, where you had learned to separate your Zayne and the other Zayne through the smallest mannerisms you'd notice to be different.

You watched the man before you draw in a sharp breath as your hand trailed down his face and over his neck, his collarbone… Such visceral reactions. He looked weak before you; so… broken. Every time he showed himself to you, there was a tense, unspoken sense of longing that hung in the air.

He was not your Zayne.

But he would reach out all the same to mirror your actions, run the pads of his fingers through your hair and down the side of your face… and you would let him.

He was not your Zayne, but he wanted to be. And seeing you in front of him made him feel so fragile. That look in his eyes told you that he could shatter at any possible moment.

"…It's okay."

Love was powerful, you thought.

He was not your Zayne, but he was still Zayne, after all.

You knew so little about him, but he was still Zayne. And if love was so powerful—then it could fix him, too. Couldn't it? Couldn't a little bit of gentleness… Couldn't a little bit of love… for him, as much as him—

Couldn't that help?

"…My love…"

Whenever he spoke, his words were short. It was hardly the matter-of-factness you were used to, hardly the witty quips and dry sarcasm that could parallel. This Zayne's words were short, his voice hoarse, and rough—as if speaking hurt him even more, as if speaking could drive him further into a puddle of guilt that he seemed to have dug himself into.

Your eyes closed.

"Zayne, it's okay," you murmured. "It's okay."

His touch grew bolder, dipping downwards, slowly pulling down the straps of your top, curling around the swell of your breasts.

Your breath hitched.

"Zayne."

He didn't speak again.

Instead, he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. He didn't kiss you, almost felt as if he was holding his breath— something small, and wet, fell upon your cheek.

Your eyes opened.

Can I have you?

He asked the question silently, stray tears rolling down his face as he looked at you. His hips pressed into yours, and the outline of his erection grinded against you.

Can I have you?

He didn't speak, but his eyes told you everything.

"Yes."

Just this once.

And the whine he let out brought a slight thrill through your body.

It didn't take long before his lips were all over you, kissing you, tasting you, claiming you—down your chest to your abdomen, inhaling the scent of your skin, before proceeding to trail wet, open-mouthed kisses back upwards. All the while, his hands remained steady on either side of your body, both a sure sign of his hesitance as much as the hunger within him that had him trembling above you.

When his eyes met yours once more, he has his mouth hovering over your nipple. Slowly, slowly, he wrapped his lips around it—it was so tender, the way he sucked on it, loving, the way his tongue would swirl as he took as much of your flesh as he could. Heavy breathing mixed in with the sloppy noises of his ministrations, and you were arching into him, begging him, encouraging him.

One more pull at your nipple until it slipped away from his lips with a wet pop, trails of saliva connecting to your bud.

"Pre...tty…" he rasped.

You felt your heart soar; for the first time, he seemed happy.

And this time it was you who didn't speak.

You reached for his hand, leaving his balance to rest momentarily on the other as you trailed it down your body. Further, and further, and further… His hand rest over your mound, gentle petting movements gliding a finger over your folds.

"Mmm…"

As usual, even the softest touch had you melting.

Zayne had always been loving , and tender, and sweet with you…

This Zayne was not your Zayne, but even the careful way he treated your body felt very much like it.

He was not your Zayne. But he was still Zayne.

A mantra you would repeat to yourself.

His movements continued, gathering up your slick and spreading them all over your folds, eyes retained on your face and your expressions.

Are you feeling good? he seemed to ask, and you smiled softly.

"Very good," you whispered.

Look… I'm so wet for you.

Though you didn't say it, you saw the way his eyes traveled down to your cunt, finger raising as if to look in awe at the sticky mess you had made for yourself.

"…Beautiful."

He spoke again.

And this time, there was little to no hesitation left in his actions before he was in you, cock nestled so warmly, so perfectly, so deeply into your core.

The intrusion had you drawing in a sharp breath no matter how used to his size you would think you'd gotten, but before you could react, he had pulled you into a tight, almost possessive embrace.

"Please," he choked. You could feel his tears wetting your skin as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. "Please… just this once… Just for the last time, just… Please…"

You clenched your walls around him, legs wrapping around his waist.

Slowly, you brought your hands up to stroke his hair.

"Zayne," you murmured. "You're still Zayne, right?"

"… Not—"

"Mine. I know. You're the Zayne in his dreams. Aren't you?"

You felt him nuzzle into your neck with a certain desperation, a whimper tearing from his throat.

It was answer enough.

Yet you moved your hips, grinding against him, urging him to claim you more, claim you deeper.

"It's okay," you repeated, softly, "you can move."

Zayne was still Zayne. You had made the choice from the start.

You wouldn't fall in love with someone in the span of just a few days—but it had taken only a few couple of meetings, barely lasting hours, barely lasting minutes.

Zayne was still Zayne.

You would love everything of him.

Your hips continued to move, bucking upwards onto his, cherishing the groans he would make into your skin. It was you who set the pace—a silent voice of permission, of pleading…

And he followed suit.

"My love…"

He began to thrust.

"…My love…"

Harder, faster.

"My love."

You gasped as he pulled away from you, panting harshly, driving his length in and out of you—desperate. Desperate.

"M- mm—!" you moaned out, arching your back. "Zayne… Zayne!"

"Can I… Can I?" he groaned above you, eyes shut in pleasure. He didn't stop—didn't want to stop. Lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin proved every bit of desire he had for you, if the image above you was not proof enough. "Please, my love…"

You held him tightly.

"Yes," you gasped. "Take me… You can have all of me, fill me up, cum inside, please—"

You mewled at a particularly sharp thrust, and your legs tightened around his waist. He was throbbing, his movements jerking erratically as you spoke your words.

"Fill… f-fill?" his eyes were wide, but he continued.

It gave you joy to know you were affecting him like this.

It's exactly the same…

"Yes, Zayne. You can give it to me. Please, please, I need it… Need it inside…" You begged, and clawed at his back, and moved to his thrusts the best that you could. "Inside, inside—!"

Please, please, please.

He whimpered as you tightened around him, urging him to spill, urging you to stuff you full like you wanted him to. His breathing became ragged, eyes nearly glazing over with pleasure at the mere thought of it.

He could claim you like this.

Even if it's not the real him, even if he's not doing this as himself—

You could see all manner of thoughts flash in his eyes as his gaze became hungrier. More desperate. More… resolved.

"I'll f-fill you up," he grunted. "Pump you… s-s-so full of me… All of me— My love, my love, my love—"

You cried out as he buried himself all the way into you, your hips colliding as hot, thick ropes of his cum painted your insides. Your body shuddered, slick trickling out of you and dripping down onto the sheets. You felt warm all felt; almost sore, your cunt pulsing around him as you tried to steady your breaths.

He collapsed against you, pulling you in for a kiss.

"If I can have you…" he breathed, "even just once… even just once, I… I'm happy…"

I'm happy.

Your eyes shone as you cradled his face, daring to place a small flurry of kisses over his cheek.

I'm happy.

This was all you wanted.

Love was powerful, you thought. And of you loved him—if you loved all of him, then everything would be okay. You wanted to believe that.

Perhaps in a fit overwhelmed by your acceptance, he gasped, and you felt him roll his hips in place—

You didn't stop him.

He could do this as many times as he needed, as much as he was here with you.

an : actually crying bc im hoping i did him justice why is zayne always so hard to write omlll

taglist! @interstellar-inn @pixelcafe-network @hunters-association @ononpetitecroissant @darlingdummycassandra @milkandstarlight @thoupenguinman @valyvinny @rafayelsheart @jellyroom2 @chemiru @ywnzn @pepprrmint @angel-jupiter @rafayelsgf @spotted-salamander @love-and-deepstrays @oharasmommymilkers00 @rafslvr @keioxo @theanbitchless

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[dobbie-doo]

˗ˏˋ ꒰JUST A LITTLE BIT OLDER꒱ ˎˊ˗ ballader

You know it's wrong. You know it, and yet you melt in his cold hands.

✧ warnings — MDNI + smut ! fem ! reader, loss of virginity, vaginal sex, scara has a dick, finger stimulation,, pet names : "Persephone" + "my dear", some fanon ! Scara, long foreplay, !! cringe !! sex with feelings and a quote at the end.. Sсara is 500 years older than the reader, so so… ✧ minors do not interact. !! ✧ a/n —I love this song (Isabel LaRosa - older) , so I'm writing a fic,, drawing inspiration from a pathetic fragment of the song. Originally, another work was supposed to come out, it's already started, but I decided that it doesn't fit the atmosphere, so… I'll finish it later.. 💋

With cold palms he goes down to your sunken belly, outlining the silhouette with his long, aesthetically thin fingers, and presses on your belly under the navel, forcing you to let out a loud sigh that fills the coastal silence in the bedroom.

Scaramouche is now a puppet master, and you are just a fool..

The divine puppet covers your thin neck with tangible, cold kisses that contrast brightly with your skin, heated with arousal. His kisses should cause you fear, disgust.. But you are silent, you enjoy. Scaramouche stops his deceptively gentle caresses, only to meet your eyes, his gaze is sly, but at the same time gentle..

You can't lie here..You admit to yourself that this puppet is incredibly beautiful, with eyes of a flawless shade - His eyes are like lightning, sparkling in the dark sky, a rich indigo shade that fascinates and attracts the gaze. Sparks of blue slip through them, as if in the depths of the ocean, where light breaks through the thickness of the water.. When he looks at you, it seems that time stops, and the whole world around loses its significance.

Scaramouche, chuckling, slowly intertwined your hand with his, bringing it up, above your head. You seem to get lost in the vastness when his other hand presses on your cheeks to force you to open your mouth, and you, of course, obey. In another kiss, you are caressing each other with your lips excitedly, colliding with your tongues, which migrate from one mouth to another, until the oxygen in your lungs runs out, Balladeer, as if feeling how you are suffocating, slowly moves away from you, smiling, What weak people are.. And even sweet in spite of, he thought.

"Every moment next to you is like a sweet sin that I want to repeat."

"You are my personal hell, into which I dive with pleasure."

You swallow nervously from these phrases, at first glance, these phrases should evoke tenderness and affection, and so it would be, if you did not know Scaramouche well enough.

You want to rise up, to bestow tenderness on his body above you, but the puppet does not give permission, whispers warm words in your ear, convincing that there is no need for that, of course, he is much older, more skilled, the puppet has lived a long life to know all the dark and pleasant corners of human lust. His hand, in the usual black glove on the wrists, with a purple puppet joint that shines so much in the dark bedroom - slides to your thigh, gently stroking. You are in love with his hands.. beautiful, strong, which you can’t tell at first glance.

"In your breath I feel the wind of change.. You are trembling so.. Is it from fear? Or from desire?"

And you are silent.. You do not answer, only moan uncontrollably, writhing under him, the Marionette makes a mocking hum, shaking his head, slightly waving his beautifully ironed blue hair.

"Hmm.. I thought so"

Your knees are shaking when Scaramouche spreads them apart, settling himself more comfortably between them, Scaramouche playfully clings to your right nipple with the pads of his fingers, in response he receives your moan, presses lightly on your pearl, caresses it with a circular motion, and enjoys your first full-fledged moans, playing a melody in his ears. He squeezes your second nipple between his thumb and middle finger, pulls it out experimentally - making sure that it does not hurt you, so that only pleasure splashes in your eyes. And you, not knowing where to place your limbs, so carefully hug Scaramouche's back with your legs. - He smiles. How charming you are.

Your left bud is in his mouth: Scaramouche licks, sucks carefully, forcing your hands to touch his shoulders. He torments your young body sweetly, with his skillful tongue and graceful lips. He wants a deep kiss - but he does not allow himself to raise his head, he retreats back to caresses, because it is too pleasant, it is impossible to tear yourself away, he wants to please you more and more.

Scaramouche is surprisingly incredible in his tenderness, bordering on frantic rudeness; all his actions are neat, thoughtful at first, but as soon as you react somehow, he begins to bite your lips playfully, squinting his fox-like eyes - he presses harder, strokes more noticeably.

You can't breathe when Scaramouche covers your lips, you respond to his kiss invariably, and you delightedly catch the fuse opposite, realizing that soon both of you will burn to ashes, both will turn to ashes. Only ashes.

"I love you," you blurted out as if in delirium, and again you reach for a new kiss, into which Scaramouche smiles with fangs.

"You are now mine, dear, until your very end," and this is much better than the insipid "me too"

The inside of your thigh is attacked by his lips, he kisses you with a loud smacking sound, and you are embarrassed by this, because in your thin underwear the excitement is clearly visible, which smears the fabric of your panties with natural lubrication. Scaramouche, finally settling between your legs, leaving the last kiss on the inside of your thigh, notices your "wet" excitement and praises you for it lovingly, looks piercingly, accompanying his gaze with a frivolous bite, and then the puppet unexpectedly presses his lips to your clitoris organ behind the thin, wet fabric, to which the reaction follows immediately: You shudder, groaning loudly, and your legs at the knees bend in convulsions. Your whole body is a solid erogenous zone; wherever Scaramouche touches, wherever he kisses, your body's responsiveness to every movement is colossal.

Prelude, prelude… stretched out for hours, pushing you to the edge time after time, and then returning to the starting point, returning, Scaramouche teases, mocks, does not let you finish. And you can no longer stand it - you whine shamelessly, you reach for the elastic on your underwear, but they squeeze your wrist, Scaramouche looks at you sternly, and you recognize this look.. Usually he looks at his subordinates like this, or some ordinary stupid people, and when you catch this same look on yourself, you involuntarily want to shrink back.. Scaramouche throws your hand back roughly, does not allow you to take control.

"Let me…" Scaramouche whispers, his gaze softening and he grins cruelly when he sees your obedience.

And you are still lying on the bed, your legs spread apart with force, you surrender to the excitement that is covering you. Scaramouche circles your virgin entrance with his middle finger, and presses very tenderly, you tremble feverishly, frown slightly, but you ask him to continue, because you want more.

Scaramouche touches your cheek with his free hand, stroking it with his thumb, kisses it softly, Scaramouche again makes his way into your tender entrance with two fingers, moving them rhythmically, smiling from the squelching sounds below, and your feminine moans.

"That's it, my Persephone, make those silly sounds for me, show me how you like it.. Show me how good my movements make you feel!

With your moans, and the feeling of wetness and tenderness of your flesh, which is squeezed around his fingers, Scaramouche feels how something begins to harden in his pants.. Hah, and he even forgot about his satisfaction, although, he does not even need it.. But he can not leave his woman in such a position, when she is already ready to give him her purity.. innocence. And he grins, how stupid you had to be to decide to give such a precious thing - your virginity, to a man like him.

You gasp when his fingers are replaced by a member, gracefully curved, and with a purple tip shining, half immersed in your pulsating heat. You scream loudly, letting the tears fall, and Scaramouche almost even vulnerablely presses himself against you, licks the tracks of your salty tears, and whispers in your ear tirelessly about how beautiful you are, how wonderful you are and how incredible. You promise him eternity, swear fidelity with all your being, and firmly say that you will never betray him.. And Scaramouche admits to himself that he wants to believe it.

His thrusts are slow, excruciatingly slow and rough, you can't breathe. At one point you even start to move your hips in response to his thrusts, and Scaramouche throws your leg over his shoulder, crashing into you at a new angle.

The slapping of skin on skin seems loud and vulgar, your loud moans and his quiet growl are lost in the depths of your apartment, and you involuntarily think that you are happy at this very moment. The man you love, exalted by you, looks like a work of art from above you, carved from marble as if by the archons themselves: his body, slender, beautiful, is hidden under the thinnest black turtleneck without sleeves with the golden emblem of the Shogunate on his chest; your man's face is unrealistically beautiful, it is incomparable to anything previously seen, it shines against the background of any celebrity in Teyvat and, in general, it cannot even be compared with the stars in the sky, because it is many times more beautiful. A lot can be said about your beloved, but is it worth it while his dick is pounding into you, tearing more and more moans from your lips?

"Ah..Kabukimono.."

Hearing his first name, pronounced from your lips, Scaramouche seemed to break loose - he began to move his hips into you harder, more passionately, more roughly, wanting to give you pleasure that you had never experienced before, you moaned in his ear so unbridled, loudly, that Scaramouche involuntarily shrank and even hissed, but did not stop pressing himself so close to you and did not slow down your thrusts.

"A-ahhhh..Kabu..Please.."

"Hmm? What are you mumbling about? Didn't you want to be mine completely? Now take me properly my Persephone"

Balladeer looked insanely pleased, fanatical in his desire to destroy and break your body, so that it could only twitch and tremble in endless orgasms, while the room was again filled with his beloved silence.

Real madness.. From the pain you have only an unpleasant memory, and the convulsions in your body are no longer from suffering - you feel too good, the feelings are too bright. It's as if you're burning before his eyes, your consciousness is losing you, already slipping away with every new wave of pleasure and with every cry that escapes your lips.

You seem to catch falling stars with your eyes when you bring your knees together and lose yourself uncontrollably and in orgasm.

And finally, he stops his thrusts and carefully pulls out of you, you're lying on the wet bed, you're all flushed, sweaty, and the balladeer doesn't give a damn! - not even a drop of sweat on him.. Scaramouche breaks away from you and slowly rises above you, his eyes gazing into every hollow of your body, every breath, every movement.

"Hmh..hmm? Hah.."

His gaze stops on a barely noticeable red spot between your legs, further testifying to the fact that you are now his. He lovingly strokes your ribs with his cold hands. Your bitten lips twisted into a satisfied smile, your head was spinning from a mixture of defamine and adrenaline.. So good..

"Are you cold, my dear?" Scaramouche softly pressed his lips to your temple when you nodded shyly, bringing your legs together. Scaramouche carefully put the sheet on you, ruffling your hair. Feeling how your consciousness slowly falls asleep, you calmly fall into the kingdom of Morpheus. Scaramouche, watching you, thought "what a wonderful creature", And even, not afraid of his thoughts, Scaramouche lay down next to you, looking at your relaxed face with awe and obsession, quietly saying;

"In a room full of art, I would still look at you.."

✧ Even the most terrible person, on the most beautiful night, says the most beautiful words..

@himasgod @shyentsfoundherink

[mmeskywalker]

|| finally mine

summary: THEODORE NOTT, your newfound lover after the whole new year’s eve fiasco, is walking you to your dorm after the party. when you get there, you see a new side of him, a caring, yet dominant side... oh, honey, it’s okay, he just wants to show you his love, the love that pours from every fiber of his being for you.

word count: ngl, i didn’t feel like finding out. it’s shorter than part one.

part one: https://www.tumblr.com/mmeskywalker/746406054677692416/new-years-and-blooming-hearts

a/n: this is lowercase intended. i kind of rushed this, so i’m sorry if it’s awful… i’ve had horrible writers block recently.

warnings: smut. rough, but caring theo. praise kink. italian nicknames. italian!theo. a little bit of jealousy.

——————————————————————————

the rain poured around you and theodore, his arms over your heads as he lifted his robe to keep from getting wet. to your not-so-utter surprise, it wasn’t working very well.

“theo, we’re still getting soaked,” you giggled, walking close enough to him to have your head under his arm—which, funnily enough, was protecting you more from the rain than his robe.

theodore shook his head, laughing softly beside you. “no, no, no, bambina, the robe is doing wonders.” he sighed before smiling again, almost as if he was lost in thought.

“i never dreamed i'd be walking you back to your dorm room on new year's eve," theodore remarked, his voice low and playful. "but i'm very glad i am now."

you looked up at him, your eyes reflecting the twinkling lights from the castle as you walked. "me too," you whispered, squeezing his arm gently. the rain continued to fall, but it no longer bothered you. you couldn’t stop smiling due to where the night was ending.

he reluctantly takes the robe off and slides it back on, the wetness no affecting him due to how wet he already was. he’s looking at you as if you were a jewel, and you smile at him. “what?” you asked.

a slow smile spreaded across his face. leaning in closer, his nose brushed against yours as if he were he breathing in your scent. "nothing… it’s just—you are everything to me, soffio," he murmured, his voice low and thick with emotion.

his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your damp hair as he tilted your head gently to the side. "you’re absolutely everything." he repeated, his eyes flickering down to your lips, a hunger burning in their depths. "and i don’t ever want to put you in a position where you think otherwise again," he whispered, before capturing your mouth in a searing kiss that left you breathless. his lips moved against yours with a passion and intensity you'd never felt before, pouring all of his love and desire into that single, perfect moment.

as theodore's lips moved urgently against your own, his hands roamed your curves, holding you close as if he never wanted to let you go.

when he finally pulled back, you were both left breathless, your chests heaving and your cheeks flushed. “come on,” theodore's eyes were dark with desire as he gazed down at you, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "let's get you inside before we catch pneumonia," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

“sounds like a plan,” you chuckled, a sudden desire arousing within you.

he took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers as he led you quickly into the entrance hall of your dormitory. the warmth of the interior was a stark contrast to the chilly rain outside, and you couldn't help but shiver slightly as the door closed behind you.

theodore noticed and immediately wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to his side. "you're freezing, bambina," he said softly, rubbing your arm to try and warm you up. "come on, let's get you to your room."

he guided you upstairs, his steps confident and purposeful. when you reached your door, he turned to face you, his hand still gently rubbing your arm. he looked down at you, his eyes soft and caring. "here we are," he murmured, glancing at the wood panel behind you. “now get inside, bella, i don’t want you catching a cold.”

theodore leaned against the doorframe, his damp chestnut hair falling across his forehead as he gazed down at you with a warm, affectionate smile. his dark green robe clung to his tall, muscular frame, the fabric glistening with raindrops. he reached out, gently tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering on your cheek.

“what about you," you murmured softly, your voice trembling slightly with anticipation, "why don’t you come inside? i don’t want you catching a cold either, teddy. besides, i don't to spend new years alone." you stepped into the room, pulling him gently by the hand.

your voice cracks, almost as if it were a plea. “please, stay with me tonight.”

theodore paused, his eyes widening slightly at your invitation. a slow, worriful look spread across his features as he gazed down at you, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. "are you sure, soffio?" he asked softly, a hint of teasing in his low, melodic voice. "because if i come in there, i don’t know if i'll be able to control myself." he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "seeing you with enzo tonight—it drove me crazy.” his other hand slid down to the small of your back, pulling your curves flush against his muscular chest. "cara mia, i yearn for you." his voice was whiny, almost as if he were about to fall to his knees, his gaze intense and filled with a quiet desperation.

“theodore," you breathed out, your eyes darkening with desire as you gazed up at him. "i’m sure. you can ask anyone we know—i've wanted you for so long.”

you slid your hands up his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath his damp robe. your fingers curled into the fabric, tugging him closer until your bodies were pressed together, your curves fitting perfectly against the hard planes of his muscular frame.

"please," you whispered, your voice low and filled with longing. "make me yours, theodore. i want to start this new year as your girl, completely and entirely yours, nobody elses." you leaned in, your lips brushing against his jawline as you placed hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of his throat.

your hands fumbled with the sash of his robe, desperation coursing through your veins as you tried to remove the barrier between your bodies. "please, theodore," you whimpered, your voice high and needy. "i need you so badly, i can't stand it."

“bella— you’re trembling,” his brows etched upward, his large hands squeezing gently at your hips. you moan against his neck, and something inside of him switches. something predatory.

you captured his mouth in a fierce, desperate kiss, your tongue tangling with his own as you poured all of your desire into the embrace. your hands slid beneath his robe, nails raking down his back as you held him close. "fuck me, theodore," you gasped against his lips. "i’m sorry for being so straight forward—but please, fuck me like you mean it, like you'll never let me go."

theodore groaned deeply as your nails dug into his back, his hips surging forward to grind his hardening length against your core. "if you keep begging like that, bella," he growled, his voice low and rough with desire. "…i don’t know what i’ll do."

“me,” you press yourself against him, your palm feeling his hard erection through his pants. “do me, make me yours, please.”

theodore's eyes flashed with a primal hunger at your desperate pleas, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "y/n, you have no idea what you're asking for," he whimpered, his hands grabbing at your hips. "if we do this, i won't be able to hold back. i'll take you in ways you've never been taken before.”

he leaned down, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your throat as he spoke. "i've wanted you for so long, bellissima. watched you with other men, imagining all the things i would do to you, how i would claim this body as mine."

theodore's grip tightened, fingers digging into the flesh of your rear as he grinded his hardening bulge against your core. "if we start this, you're mine. no turning back,” he warned, voice dropping an octave.

“i want this,” you say, surprised but not upset at his complete change in demeanor.

at that, he threw off his robe, letting it fall to the floor as he revealed his toned, muscular body to your hungry gaze. he captured your hands, pinning them above your head as he settled between your thighs, the hard length of his cock pressing insistently against your clothed sex.

it was almost as if all he needed was your approval before flipping the switch.

"i'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll be feeling it for days," he promised darkly, his hips rolling in a slow, teasing grind against yours. "i'm going to claim this pretty pussy as mine, make it mine in every way possible."

“please, theo,” you moaned, the sight of him and his dominance making you drip with desire.

he tugged your leggings and panties down your legs, tossing them aside carelessly. his fingers delved between your thighs, stroking through your slick folds, feeling your wetness. "so fucking wet for me already," he purred, his fingers circling your clit.

theodore's fingers have already slipped inside you, pumping in and out of your soaked entrance. his thumb rubbed firm circles around your clit, making your hips buck up against his hand, desperate for more. "please, theodore," you whimpered, your voice high and needy, "i need your cock inside me, i need you to fill me up."

he chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through his chest. "so impatient, amore mio. don't worry, i'll give you what you need." he withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips to suck your juices clean. "mmm, you taste so good, soffio."

he undid his trousers, freeing his hard, thick cock. it jerked against his stomach, long and heavy, the swollen head already leaking with arousal. "look at what you do to me, bella," he said softly, wrapping a hand around his length and stroking slowly. "look how hard you make me, how much i need to be inside you."

theodore's eyes darkened as he watched you watch him stroke his thick cock. "no one could ever love you the way i do, soffio," he murmured, his voice low and intense. "not lorenzo, not anyone else." his hand tightened around his length, pumping faster as he held your gaze. "i've known you for so long, been by your side through everything. i know every part of you, inside and out." he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke. "i know how to make you feel pleasure beyond what anyone else could even imagine. you're mine, and you always will be."

he positioned himself at your entrance, the thick head of his cock nudging against your slick folds. "tell me you know it too, amore mio," he demanded, his voice rough with desire. "tell me you know that no one could ever fuck you like i can, could ever make you feel as good as i do." he rolled his hips, teasing you with the promise of being filled. "say it, soffio. i want to hear you say it."

you reached up, cupping his chiseled jaw in your palm as you traced the sharp lines of his face with your fingertips. "i've never wanted anyone as much as i want you," you confessed softly, your voice trembling with emotion. "i've never felt this way about anyone before." you brushed your thumb across his bottom lip, your breath mingling with his own. "please, theodore. please make me yours, completely and entirely. i need you to fuck me like you mean it, like you'll never let me go. please—you’re the only one who could ever make me feel good, baby, please.”

theodore's eyes flashed with a primal hunger at your words, a possessive gleam that sent shivers down your spine. "that's my girl," he praised softly, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

theo's grin widened, showing off his perfect white teeth as he gazed down at you with a newfound intensity. "you're perfect, you know that? such a good girl, so eager to give yourself to me completely."

his hand slid up your side, cupping your breast and squeezing gently as he rolled his hips, teasing your entrance with his thick length. "i can feel how much you want it, how desperate you are to be filled by me. your little pussy is gripping my cock so tightly already, begging to be stretched and filled."

theo leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "you have a praise kink, don't you, amore mio? you love hearing me tell you how good and perfect you are while i fuck this sweet cunt." he nipped at your earlobe before soothing it with his tongue. "don't worry, bella. i'm going to praise you the whole time, let you know just how amazing you are as i claim this pussy as mine."

you couldn’t help the way your eyes rolled back.

theo rolled his hips again, the head of his cock popping inside your tight entrance. "you're going to be screaming my name in no time, begging me to fuck you harder and deeper.”

a breathy whimper escaped your lips as theodore’s praise washed over you, your body trembling with anticipation and desire. "theo," you gasped, your voice high and needy as you clung to him desperately. "please, i need—fuck!" your hips jerked as he pushed forward, your walls clenching greedily around his thick length as it stretched you open.

"oh fuck, you're so big," you mewled, your thighs quivering around his waist. tears of pleasure pricked at the corners of your eyes as you gazed up at him, your irises hazy and unfocused.

theodore’s eye lit up, the way you screamed for him making him almost cum on the spot.

your fingers dug into his back, nails raking down his skin as you tried to pull him closer, to feel more of his weight pressing down on you. "more," you whimpered pitifully, your voice breaking on the word. "please, theo, more. i need it, i need you so badly."

you arched your back, pressing your aching breasts against his chest as you wrapped your legs around his waist. your body was a live wire of sensation, every nerve ending screaming with the need to be touched.

theodore groaned deeply as your walls clenched vice-like around his throbbing cock, your desperate whimpers spurring on his desire. "fuck, listen to you, so needy and greedy for my dick," he growled, his hips surging forward to bury himself balls-deep inside your tight heat. "such a good girl, taking me so deep already."

he paused for a moment, savoring the feeling of your walls fluttering around his length. he leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss as he whispered against them. "you're doing so well, amore mio. taking my cock like you were made for it."

his hand slid down to your ass, squeezing the firm globe as he started to move, withdrawing until just the tip remained inside you before slamming back in, setting a hard and fast pace. "this is what you needed, isn't it? to be split open on your best friend’s thick cock, fucked so hard you forget your own name?"

he angled his hips, hitting that special spot inside you with every deep thrust. "i'm going to ruin you for anyone else, soffio. no one will ever make you feel as good as i can."

theodore could feel your body tensing, your walls starting to flutter and clench around his pistoning length. "that's it, baby. fuck, you're getting close already, aren't you?" he groaned, his thrusts becoming harder and more urgent as he chased your impending release. "come on, amore mio. i want to feel this pretty little pussy spasm around my cock as you scream my name."

he slid a hand between your bodies, his fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight circles around the sensitive nub. "cum for me, y/n. let go and give yourself to me completely. i know you need it, baby. i can feel how badly you want it."

theodore's hips snapped forward, driving into you with a force that rocked your entire body. "do it, y/n. scream my name and cum on my cock like a good girl. show me who this pussy belongs to."

your body started to tremble, your walls clenching desperately around theodore's pistoning length as you teetered on the brink of ecstasy. "theodore!" you cried out, your voice raw and desperate as you clung to him for dear life.

your hips jerked and bucked wildly beneath him, meeting his every powerful thrust as you raced towards your climax. "i’m cumming—i’m cumming!" you sobbed, your entire being consumed with the all-encompassing need to let go.

theodore's fingers worked furiously over your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "that's it, y/n. let it happen. give yourself to me, all of yourself," he commanded, his voice a low, dominant rumble. "i want to feel your cum dripping down my cock as you scream my name in pure bliss."

his hips slammed into yours one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he growled, "cum, y/n. now."

your body convulsed, your inner walls clenching like a vice around theo’s throbbing cock as your orgasm crashed over you. "theo!" you screamed, your voice echoing off the walls as wave after wave of intense pleasure consumed you.

your vision went white, stars exploding behind your eyelids as you shook and trembled beneath him, completely at the mercy of your overwhelming climax. "fuck, fuck!" you chanted mindlessly, drool leaking from the corner of your mouth as you surrendered to the blissful agony of your release.

your thighs clamped around his waist, holding him deep inside you as your pussy spasmed and fluttered around his length, milking him for all he was worth. tears streamed down your face, sobs of ecstasy wracking your chest as you rode out the intense high, your body wracked with the force of your orgasm.

theodore slowed his thrusts, his hips gently rocking into yours as he let you ride out your high, his hands stroking over your trembling body soothingly. "shhh, that's it. that's my good girl," he murmured, pressing soft kisses to your face, catching your tears with his lips. "you did so well, baby. so perfect."

when your shudders finally subsided, he carefully pulled out of you, hissing softly at the feeling of your tight walls clenching around his sensitive cock. he gently rolled to the side, pulling you with him so you were curled up against his chest, your head pillowed on his bicep.

his fingers combed through your sweat-dampened hair, brushing it back from your face as he gazed down at you with a soft, tender smile. "are you okay, baby? that was... intense," he said softly, a note of concern in his voice. "i didn't hurt you, did i?”

you looked up at theodore, your eyes hazy but filled with warmth and affection. a small, blissful smile tugged at your kiss-swollen lips as you shook your head, nuzzling into his chest. "no, not at all," you murmured, your voice hoarse from screaming his name. "that was... amazing. better than amazing."

you traced patterns on his chest with your fingertips, marveling at the way his muscles jumped beneath your touch.

theodore's eyes softened as he gazed down at your blissed out expression, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "you're incredible, you know that?" he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. "i've wanted you for so long. not sexually, just… as a whole.”

theodore gazed deeply into your eyes, his own filled with a tender, loving adoration he had never before allowed himself to show.

theodore gazed deeply into your eyes, his own filled with a tender, loving adoration he had never before allowed himself to show. "i've fallen in love with you, y/n," he confessed softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "not just as a friend, or even just as a lover. i'm in love with all of you—your brilliant mind, your kind heart, your stunning beauty inside and out." he cupped your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your skin as he held your gaze captive. "i couldn’t be more grateful to call myself your boyfriend.”

you felt your heart skip a beat at theodore's heartfelt confession, a warmth spreading through your chest that had nothing to do with the afterglow of your intense lovemaking. "theo," you breathed out, your eyes shining with unshed tears of happiness. "i... i love you too. so much."

you leaned up, pressing your forehead against his as you gazed at him with a soft, loving smile. "i never thought i could feel this way about anyone. especially not someone i've known for so long." you chuckled softly, shaking your head in amazement. "but here we are. and i couldn't be happier."

you snuggled closer to him, draping your leg over his waist as you traced his jawline with your fingertips. "you're not just my boyfriend, theodore. you're my best friend. the person i trust most in the world." you leaned in, brushing your lips softly against his in a tender kiss.

theodore gazed deeply into your eyes, his heart racing as he drank in the sight of your blissful, loving expression. "i feel the same way about you," he murmured, a note of wonder in his voice. "especially not my best friend." he smiled softly, shaking his head in amazement. "and i am so grateful that i don’t have to hide it anymore."

[nouearth]

let me in.

peter parker x male reader.

summary: peter struggles to balance between life and work, and it's ruining his relationship with you.

wc: 6.6k. genre: smut. warnings: andrew!peter, college au, established relationship, brief fighting, brief injury and blood mention (nosebleed), misunderstandings, peter reveals his identity, dry-humping, over the pants (or suit) handjob, body worshipping, lots of sweat, fingering, frotting, riding, spandex fetish, reader has a thing for peter in his spider-man suit!

You were starting to feel antsy. You could feel it—the nerves kicking in again. Anticipation—a suspension of doubt—made your hands clammy at first, but it was the time that made your hands clutch nothing but air. You rubbed the sweat off your hands onto your pants, your knees not so comforting with their pointedness.

Acceptance—when it was evident that Peter was late, again.

Birthdays have never been a big deal in your family. Sure, it was great that you had the privilege to live another year. To witness yourself grow older, to stand a few inches taller, to live a little more knowledgeable than yesterday. But growing up with parents who had to constantly work, well-late into the depths of night, it had never been more than a birthday wish that had greeted you in the mornings, and bid you slumber in the evenings. Since then, you knew not to expect anything.

If only Peter hadn’t made such a big deal out of it this year.

“Excuse me?” The familiar timbre of a voice speared your thoughts; deep and tunneling as you were transfixed on the glasses of water before you. Yours had been refilled, though a little sparse compared to Peter’s full cup.

Your eyes widened with feigned curiosity, a small smile plastered alongside to hopefully negate any annoyance from the waiter—because you expected what he was about to follow up with.

“Hey… uh,” he shifted on his feet awkwardly, eye bags weighing heavier than the last time he had checked up on you. You looked around, surprised by the amount of patrons who had filled the space around you while you were daydreaming. Laughter and smiles completely lit up the room. The dim lights were practically stationed in the restaurant for decoration, and seemingly to spotlight your ‘dinner for one’ status. “I’m sorry, but… we have no more tables to fill, and if you aren’t ordering soon, then we’ll have to give your table up for the next party...”

It was obvious that you weren’t, you hadn’t even torn into the buttery bread rolls that were piping hot forty-five minutes ago. Now, the fat had solidified into spotty, yellow clumps, though you doubt that would’ve been enough to detract from the quality of the rolls.

“Oh, I—“ You pulled out your phone to check your messages again. Nothing. Swiped down to refresh your conversation with Peter. The loading icon felt like it took forever, you half-expected that your phone was updating the thread with Peter’s messages that somehow got lost in the void of the restaurant’s spotty signal. 

And nothing.

“I—yeah… uh. I-I’ll head out.” It was embarrassing. Even if the waiter had given you a sympathetic smile, you hated knowing that you wasted his time. You hated that you selfishly occupied a seat when someone else would’ve been done with dinner by the time you exited. 

“Thanks—” 

You hated that you had your hopes up for things to be different.

Again.

The night was dreary. Not even the wind had greeted you like the others when you stepped out. Soft and fluttering against your skin, but scolding enough to make you put your coat back on. Luckily, your apartment wasn’t too far from the restaurant, a fifteen minute walk at most if you speed-walked. Shoving your hands in your coat pockets, you then ambled along the sidewalks, wallowing in your feelings with a playlist that belted in your ears once you plugged your earbuds in. 

You didn’t have the energy left to hurry home.

Once you crossed the last intersection, you felt a little bit more at ease. Seeing the familiar apartment complex at the end of the block picked your pace up a step more. You paused your music once you neared the entrance, just a turn away before you could finally bury yourself in your bed. 

You reached into your pocket to grab your wallet. The weight in your palms instantly reminding you to deposit the cash tips sometime soon before the stretch of the leather had become unbearable to fit in your pocket. 

Your walk slowed as your attention was fixated on your wallet, fumbling it open clumsily to retrieve your keycard. In midst, you caught a glimpse of a photo print of you and Peter, standing shoulder to shoulder with the biggest grins as Peter had a peace sign above your head, doubling as bunny ears. Honeymoon phase, they’d call it. Where you were beginning to discover more about Peter, and Peter was beginning to discover more about you. Likes. Dislikes. Hobbies. Memories. It felt like yesterday when you two were spending every second of your day with each other. 

Now, it would be a miracle if Peter returned a call.

With the keycard in your hand, you turned the corner, and towards the entrance, the smiles from the photo print reflecting onto yours as you could vividly hear Peter’s pleas to retake them again. The flash of the cameras always made him blink.

If only you had been focusing on where you were going instead of the still image of the first memory between you and Peter, maybe you could have avoided the collision altogether when you approached the door. You suddenly found yourself on your back, facing the night sky as clusters of stars twinkled in laughter. There was a slight throbbing to your forehead, a mark you’d reckon would appear as purple within the next 12 hours despite the painless… pain.

“Oh god— I’m so, so, so, sorry! Let me—“ If the beating your face took to the door hadn’t snapped you back to reality already, the familiar face before you certainly pulled you out of your thoughts like whiplash once he helped you back onto your feet. Your vision instantly cleared of haze, as if his simple presence was your remedy.

“(M/N)?” Peter interrupted himself, his eyes widening. You could see the wheels turning in his head when the dim light spotlighted your features: eyes, nose, lips; flesh and bone that he was well-acquainted with.

“Peter—“ You took a moment to scan him. It was like all the other times he had been late. His fringe; stuck to his forehead with a mixture of sweat and water, the latter being a last resort to clean himself up. His knuckles; bruised and torn with minuscule cuts barely able to conceal the truth behind his scars. His necktie; clumsily done with the knots coming loose. Though, whether the silk unfurled by Peter’s own sloppiness, or by the increasing frailty of his fingers that had become susceptible by even the most delicate material of neckties; it was futile to mention it to him. You knew he’d shut you down with another excuse.

“W-what are you doing here? Are you okay? I-I’m so sorry—I was on my way to you and—Oh god, you’re bleeding!“ Breathless, panting, not only because he was panicking from running late. 

But because of adrenaline. You could see it in his eyes. The alertness. The high.

“What—“ You wiped your nose with the back of your hand, only to see a smear of blood blotted across your skin. “Shit.” 

Another thick drop splattered in greeting.

“Peter, it’s a nosebleed. You’re acting like I had my arm chopped off or something.” You’ve been applying pressure to your nasal bridge, pinching it tightly to barricade the stream of blood. All while you had your head tilted over Peter’s sink, in case of the blood leaking past your hold. “And how long does it take to find a cotton ball?”

“I’m trying—“ His one-sided game of hide and seek with the bag of cotton balls was leaning in favor of the latter. Medicine cabinet: empty. Bedside drawer: foreign coins and bills. You were watching him from the corner of your eye, a small limp to his step when the lightbulb seemingly lit up overhead and had him dashing towards the kitchen. 

“Found it!”

Peter’s touch was delicate. Tender, like the forming bruise on your forehead. He was adamant on taking care of you, even if frankly—you would’ve done it much faster had it been a solo endeavor. Cotton balls were plugged up into your nose, and a warm face towel was laid across your forehead. If an intruder had the audacity to rob Peter’s apartment, you’d imagine you would find yourself lucking out. Peter joked that you looked like patient zero.

“All done. See? Nothing to cry about.” He was joking again, the smug smile across his face a clear indication of it—and the laugh that he couldn’t help but contain.

“Ha. Ha. Thanks, Dr. Parker. Now, how much do I owe you? I’m paying outta pocket.” For a brief moment, you forgot that you were upset earlier. All because of how nice it was to actually see him again. He pressed a kiss to your lips, a comforting gesture if his constant apologies weren’t enough. Stay focus. 

“So, about dinner…”

“Oh,” Disappointment softened Peter’s smile. You could see it tightening, even as he was organizing his room. Though, it was really a matter of tossing his clothes on the floor back into the laundry basket. “Listen, my… bike got stolen and—“

“Peter…” You sighed, pinching your nose bridge because you feared another avalanche of a nosebleed incoming. That, and because it helped you maintained your composure. “You said that the last time. Three times, actually.”

“Third time’s… the charm?” He was joking. Again. But even he wasn’t laughing at it because he’d been cornered. Called out. Embarrassed that he thought that would even work on you. Embarrassed that he thought he could get away with it. 

Again.

“Peter.” You called out, straightening your posture against the headboard of the bed when he sat at the end of the mattress. Shit, it’s happening.

“I… I don’t know how to…” The veins in his hands, they lined perfectly to the cuts, scrapes, and bruises on his knuckles. Clear as day now that he wasn’t hidden under a dim light. “I just…”

He had his hands around his face, rubbing his temples, his cheeks, his nose, anything that could alleviate the accelerating drill of his heartbeat. 

You were hopeful to get an answer out of him. A proper explanation. But it pained you, knowing that in a few seconds—what he would tell you would only confirm your yearning suspicions of his strange behavior.

He doesn’t love you anymore. He’s cheating. You’ve become a nuisance, an absolute bore in his life. Actually, you’re a bad influence on him. You’re holding him back. He needs to let go of you to accomplish better things. He never loved you.

It’s happening. It’s fucking happening. All he has to do is say those words. The dreaded five words you’ve heard once from him in a nightmare.

I want to break up.

“If you want to break up, just say it.” 

It sounded softer in your head, but the tears that had welled in your eyes finally bursted into droplets. They ran down your cheeks, and your voice broke during its pursuit. 

Something commanded you to let those words slip out. 

Maybe it was the ghost that you and him had been theorizing about since the night you’ve helped him move into the apartment floor above you. Carrie; you nicknamed her, and Peter would scold you for doing so because he had the suspicions that giving her a backstory would ultimately reassess his home as a possessing ground. To this day, he swore he saw a shadow looming in the corner of his room on a perfectly stormy night.

Or maybe it was the months of frustration that you had accumulated, snowballed because of your own selfish reasons to continue being with Peter for as long as you could, even if you saw the signs, because you couldn’t bear to see yourself without him. Live, when you two had promised so many futures together.

“What? No, (M/N), that’s not—“ He jolted up at the mere mention of separating from you. There was a chill. The room suddenly felt colder, and then warmer—scorching hot, when the glossiness of your gaze reflected into his. He began joining you by your side. “Hey, hey, I would never—“

He broke into a cold sweat. He’d never seen you like this. And to think that he was the root of this—of your pain—it was all overwhelming.

“Peter, there’s always something going on with you. Y-you don’t text me for days. You ignore my calls. You disappear without telling me. You’re always late. And… you’re always hurt? And you think that I’m dumb enough to not notice that you aren’t? How you’re limping? How you’re always bruised and—For god’s sake, Peter, I’m just as smart as you, we have the same GPA and—“ You took a breather, a gulp because you were rambling now. Your cheeks felt hot, from your sudden outburst and from embarrassment, because the latter half of your rant immediately negated the idea of some kind of affair.

“Okay, maybe you aren’t cheating, but—“ You felt him tug you into his arms, but you wouldn’t budge. Instead, you pushed away, edging to the other side of the bed to face him.

“I would never.” He sighed, his arms dropping as soon as you removed yourself from his embrace. 

“Then what is it? You’re leaving me in the dark here. I barely see you anymore, you know that?”

“I know.” He was biting his lips. Chewing, as if he was internally debating something. A decision that could either ruin you, ruin him, or both.

“Then?”

You waited. Watched his fingers fiddle with one another as he continued turning the screws in his head. Your heart would jump whenever he would open his mouth, anticipating whatever had caused so much turmoil in his life, but there was a last minute decision that kept him silent.

Crickets.

Nothing.

“I don’t… I don’t know what you’re doing. But you’re getting hurt and I’m just… worried.” Your gaze dropped to his hands again. Pale, veiny, and full of life yet they’ve looked like they’ve been worn out. Torn. “At least tell me it’s not gambling.”

“Well—in a way with my life, it kind of is like gambling—“ He thinly smiled, hoping it would at least make you crack a smile.

“Peter!” You scoffed, nudged his side with your elbow out of frustration, then surrendered when you brought your knees up to your chest, and buried your head in between your knees. “Not funny.”

“Okay, okay, just… you can’t tell anyone.” His voice softened.

“We all know that between you and I, you’re the one with the running mouth.” Your voice muffled in the space between your legs, hands tucked around your nape.

“I’m serious, (M/N)” Pleading now, he held your hand in hopes to get ahold of your attention again, squeezing so you’d look at him. You do.

“I won’t tell.” It was a promise. Peter didn’t need you to clarify because he could see it in your eyes, honest and sincere. Determined, as if you were willing to protect him.

“Okay… and also, don’t… freak out.” Peter was off the bed now, wandering in the middle of his room as he rolled his shoulders back, relaxing the muscles in his back like a wrestler preparing for his next fight. He gestured for you to follow him out to the stairway, out into the cold. 

“Why would I freak—“ There was something around his wrist. No, wrists. You thought they were watches, but there were two devices around him. They were strapped with a similar black leather to your wallet, to Peter’s, and a red button protruded in the middle of it. “Peter, what are you—“

You stopped a few feet before Peter, watching him closely, yet afar. Afraid, yet intrigued. Concerned, because he was on the ledge of the staircase now, perched like an animal. Yet there was a grin on his face. Not crazed like a madman considering he was acting like one, but foolish. Goofy, giddy like the times he’d hide stuff from you, and wait until you’d notice it was gone.

“Like I said, don’t freak out.” 

“Peter, what are you even—“

With that, he opened his arms like wings that spanned across his back and flipped into the air as if the wind would carry him across city to city. As if he was recruited as a sponsor to the heavenly gods with the incredible height he’d taken off in, pursuing the clouds, the wind, the stars, and the night simultaneously all in multiple slings.

Into. The. Air.

Into the fucking air.

You raced forward with a yelp, as if you would’ve made it in time to catch him. To catch his hand before he fell. To hold him one last time before he’d land on the ground and shatter every bone in his body.

If he had landed. 

No, you blinked once—twice—no, at least in the double digits because this was all a dream. It was all a dream, right? That you caught a glimpse of Peter somehow slingshotting himself from window to window, from rooftop to satellite, like it was a mundane day job one had to endure to put food on the table, to pay the bills.

Right?

You paced around the stairs, raced towards one floor to another, bending over the railings because—Peter disappeared. He was gone. If he had smashed into something, you would’ve heard him. You would’ve heard him in yelp in pain. You would’ve heard the metal railings shake. You would’ve heard him cry for help. 

Instead, you heard the sound of wind. Whistling as it sailed leaves to the west of you. 

As if it carried a hint along the way.

“Peter?! Peter—Fuck, fuck!” You followed the sound of the whistle. The source of the pitchy sound. Fluttering when your head spun closer to the note, wavering when you were getting colder, then peaking when your gaze lifted, higher, and higher, until it landed on him.

Peter.

Peter, perched over the rooftop of the apartment complex like a bug. The moonlight framed his silhouette, emphasized the texture of his suit; protruding grids that encased him like a nest; and you’ve never been more intimidated. 

Red and blue spandex tightly-fitted over the muscles and body of the man you have been more than well-acquainted with. You’ve seen it before. It was familiar. On the news, on the papers, on the internet.

“You’re freaking out!” He yelled out, clearly amused in your frozen state of shock.

He peered over at you with a smug grin, aimed directly at your bafflement before pulling a mask over his head. It was the icing on top in rendering you utterly incapable of stringing up any words. The lens of his mask reflected off of you, mirrored your astonishment in clear display, and you sensed that would be a memory Peter would be carrying to his death bed.

“What. The. Fuck.”

“Okay, so, just to clarify,” You were winded, still recovering from the heart attack Peter had nearly given you after he took you on for a stroll in the night. Into the sky.

Luckily his bed was right beside you. As soon as your legs gave out, you fell back into his mattress, and stared into the ceiling, speechless. Peter joined you after, bringing you into his arms. He’d always been aware that touching you in any way or form brought you back to reality. “You are… not a cosplayer?”

“Honestly? That would make me way more money than what I’m making right now.” You couldn’t keep your hands or eyes off of him. Peter was still in his suit, and that gave you the perfect opportunity to run your hands over the webbed texture of the spandex.

“Just a few more months until my lease is up. I can move in, and that’ll help with the rent. For both of us.” It felt like silicone, or rubber. Whatever it was, it was durable considering how thin it felt in your fingers when you rubbed it in between them.

“Just like that? You’re not mad?” Your hands came to a halt when Peter suddenly took them, and rested your palm on his cheek, coincidentally on the cut that you’ve never noticed. 

“Why would I be mad?” Quieter. Your voice mellowed into a whisper as you catalogued the amount of beatings his skin had taken. Caressed the marks you were too selfish to notice. Exhaustion wore on his face, and yet he never looked so peaceful as he gazed into your eyes. 

Pretty eyes, Peter thought. Ones that could motivate him to get back up after falling. That feels nice, when you pressed a kiss to his damaged skin. A touch that made him believe there was a reason to suffer, to be great, to be all of this.

“Well, for starters, it’s your birthday and… I completely blew it.” Peter closed his eyes when you began brushing his hair back, knotted in cold sweats, but you fanned your fingers out to undo them until they felt somewhat tidy in your strokes. Smooth and soft. He sighed, “Again.”

“Can’t entirely blame you. How would I look if I were to complain about missing you, when you’re out there risking your life for everyone?” It wasn’t a question, but you wanted him to look at you. To respond. And he does, when you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, and he returned it with a silken one, a following grin. “All I wish for was that you told me sooner, I guess.”

“Yeah,” He figured he’d save the details of the ‘friends’ he had made along the way some other time. For now, it was all about you. “Wow, you’re not even going to wish for me to be safe?”

“Hey, you know what I mean! That’s a given.” You rubbed at his chest, finding yourself quickly accustomed to the scales of his costume. The red was striking against your palms, comforting almost. 

“Still. I want to hear you say it.” Peter rolled onto his side and slipped an arm under your back, scooting closer to you. His signature goofy grin never failed to knock a similar one out of you. And unwillingly drawn out, when he began pinching at your sides in quick snips.

“Stop—“ You laughed, your hands occupying themselves to defend your body from his quick attacks. But Peter was fast, avoiding your arms and hands to find another opening that you’d abandon. “Stop, stop! Stay safe! Happy?!”

Closer and closer, you found yourself beneath him, framed by his body as he took your arms above your head and pinned them secured with his tight grasps.“Incredibly.”

Your legs spread open to make room for his body, only for Peter to wrap them around his waist, to press his body into you, kissing you like he was driven to steal your breath.

“This your way of making it up to me?” You broke apart from the kiss, only briefly, before the taste of Peter, the softness of his lips reeled you back in for another kiss. Languidly paced until one’s accelerating lust for one another had taken ahold of the wheel and shifted gears, into a weightiness that kept your mouth parted open while Peter’s impulse to explore you had become evidently clear.

“Problem with that?” He’d been driving his hips into you, grinding his front with your own. Both clothed, infuriatingly covered, but the pressure in between your bulge and Peter’s was too pleasing to ignore. Too satisfying to make him stop. “I should take this off—“

“No, wait—“ You grabbed his forearm when he reached back to unzip his suit. To be honest, you never thought about how he even got in or out of the suit in the first place, but that was beside the point. Something about this suit, this costume, whatever you wanted to call it; it was a turn-on. 

The way it fit snug against Peter’s body; how every fiber of muscle was stretching the material to its limit. Maybe you were just turned on because you associated it with him being a hero. For god’s sake, that was as much of an aphrodisiac one could be if you happened to be saved from a falling tower. 

Or maybe, it was simply how Peter looked in it. Unabashedly handsome, yet himself, seemingly courting you further into his webs, as if he hadn’t already from day one.

“Keep it on. I like it.” You muttered, fiddling with the collar of his suit. It was snapped on tight, but you managed to slip a finger or two past, to pull at it with a stretch.

“Then how are we going to…” He abandoned the few inches he had unzipped, providing a small relief to the squeeze around his body while his broad back was bare and tense towards the ceiling. 

“Then, you’ll take it off. But for now, I just want to…” One hand was on his nape, pulling him down for another heated kiss, while the other traveled south between your body and his. Further, lower, until you cupped him at his crotch. Rubbing, squeezing, and palming at the thick, growing center. “Want to try something…”

You could feel him smiling, a crooked one flattened against your own grin when he whispered, “I should’ve told you sooner, shouldn’t I.”

“You think?”

You were getting harder, your pants beginning to tighten around the center as you palmed him. It was a heavy handful in the beginning, but Peter’s bulge began to unfurl. It didn’t take long, didn’t take much of a stroke for him to unravel from his tuck and thicken into a full-blown erection towards the left side of his thigh. It pointed downwards, the plump head evident through his suit, and you were beginning to drool in Peter’s mouth at the haziest image of it.

“Come on, I need to get out of this… It’s killing me.” It wasn’t like Peter to beg. It was charming, cute, sexy, all the synonyms that could describe how you felt all day and every day about him, and you squeezed, because he wasn’t being patient with you.

“Birthday boy gets what he wants, don’t you think?” He winched into your mouth, and you swallowed him. Swallowed every ounce of breath, and breathed it back out with a kiss. Sloppy, heavy, your tongue weighing on his because you wanted to keep his lips apart, mouth open to hear his moans.

Peter grunted again once you began stroking his cock, touching him like it was a delicate plate of chin. Fingertips only, dusting him off with little pressure so he wouldn’t shatter.

“What are you going to do about it, hm?” You continued your short, limp strokes. “Just going to take it? Hm?” Your wrist was weak, lazy as it became limp to tease him even more. Peter sucked in a breath, doing his best to maintain his composure, but it was all futile, all those attempts of sucking in his lip to chew, to hold back his moans, because you’d slap his clothed cock, grasp it tight in your hand, and massage as much as you could gather.

“Fuck, baby—“ You had him under your control. Even if his hands were free, you knew he wouldn’t lay a finger on you. He knew that if he did, you’d stop touching him, stop stimulating the blood running down every vein of his cock, fueling his erection. His desires. 

He couldn’t let that happen. Not after the day, the week, the months that he’d been having. 

You and Peter eventually switched places: Peter resting on his back while you sat in between his legs, marveling at the stretch of his suit. Somehow, his cock looked bigger than you’d remember. Squished and pressed flush against his thigh like this. The suit was like a magnet, inviting your hand back to his cock and refusing to let you go.

“Just relax.” You commanded him. He was watching you slouched up against the headboard, gravity weighing his eyelids lower. With his legs spread apart, he provided you excess space as you began massaging his right thigh with your free hand. “Is this okay?”

“Mm-hm...” He knew you were talking about the pressure on his thigh, but the strokes over his cock remained supreme in his mind. Championed through as you pressed harder into the shaft, massaging tenderly from vein to vein. The protruding webbed texture of his suit pressed into him, rolled against cock like the inside of a fleshlight, ultimately adding onto the already gratifying pleasure. 

It was glorious.

“More…” Peter gritted through his teeth, a selfish need for more escaping from his lips in huffs. Grunts, when you’d fulfill his wish with two hands now, kneading his cock like dough. 

Thick, stiff, throbbing dough.

Before the complaints could come pouring in, you shimmied your pants off in a hurry, tossing it in the corner before greedily climbing onto Peter’s lap. It was like he read your mind, perhaps another secret that he’d been hiding, because he immediately took you into his arms. An embrace, a tight one that grounded you against his bulge, pressing your body weight until it restricted the blood flowing into his erection, as well as preventing an escape.

“You’re so hard…” You marveled at how rigid he’d gotten under you, grinding your ass against the large mass, beating and throbbing with every rut.

“I’m so hard.” He confirmed, complained, and bragged all in one smile. He then took you by the nape to kiss you again. Hard on the mouth, slow with his tongue to taste you and your desires, his desires. His other hand rested on the small of your back, guiding your grinds at first before his fingers looped into your waistband, tugging once before stuffing the strap under your ass cheeks. Your hard-on was the only thing keeping the cotton material from slipping off while you continued grating your hips. “Just like that…”

To make it easier for you, Peter repositioned his erection so it was facing north, towards his navel, in its sublime mass. Your briefs had been tossed to the side now, completely bare bottomed against him while you mounted over him, and rode in needy strides. It was a sight to behold, something that Peter reckoned he should savor. He folded his arms behind his head, providing a self-made cushion for the weight of it, and watched you. It was entrancing, like a dance. You swiveled your hips to a ghosting rhythm, one that could only be heard between two hearts, two parties, between the two of you, man to man.

“Like this…?” Breathless, you unbuttoned your shirt open, but left it present on your body. Sweat formed over your neck, dribbled down to your bare and exposed chest;  it was practically an open-invitation for Peter to ravish you. And so he did, with a haunting groan as he held you, contained you in the warmth of his arms as he simultaneously pulled you forward, and pushed himself off the headboard to meet you in the middle.

He kissed you on the neck, achingly hard when he sucked, and then enthralling, sweat-inducing when he bit into your skin. He couldn’t contain himself. You tasted too good, and it’d been too long since he had you just like this. “Just like that. Your cock against my cock, fuck. I love it so fucking much.” He muttered hot against your neck, panting because he was sweating too. The spandex felt tighter on his skin, constricting against him with every drop of sweat.

“Oh, fuck…” His lips had latched onto your nipples now. Peter’s tongue worked magic on your two nubs, flicking and swirling over their perkiness until you felt swollen. Raw, when he bit, pulled, bit, and bit again. You buried your face into his hair, rocking yourself back and forth with your arms holding him close to your chest, gliding your cock against his print as if a gun was pointed to your head, like your life depended on making Peter come.

You were delirious, humping Peter without a single thought other than to get him off, and you’d reckon that was the goal lingering in Peter’s head as he began rocking back into you. It took a while for him to find your rhythm, chasing after it in slower, sluggish beats, but eventually he caught up to you, snapping his hips against your own, grinding his cock against yours like two crescent moons caressing the other’s curvature.

“Close…” He muttered into your shoulder. Your shirt was hanging off, exposing more of your skin, but Peter made sure you didn’t feel a single chill with the marks he had followed up with soon after. It was like he had done it on purpose. Made you feel safe in his arms, comfortable in the warmth of his body, worshiped with the amount of care he had given your body. Frozen, when you felt something prod at your pucker. Then enraptured, when Peter pushed a wet finger inside of you. 

Tremors, chilling tremors ran down your spine as you took the single digit Inside of you with one determined push. “Fuck—“ Your back arched, chest pushed forward towards him, and your hips jolted forward in one strong, and delicious swipe against Peter’s cock. “Peter…”

It was a mouthwatering display of food before him. The perky nubs on your chest, the veins in your neck, the mole on your body, the strain of your thighs on overdrive, the swollen head of your cock; Peter didn’t know what to lay his finger on first, what to mouth on, what to kiss, and suck, and latch onto until you’d scream. Whichever it was, he knew you were desperate for him. Begging, sweating, whimpering, for Peter to lay a finger on you. Another finger inside of you now, and you rolled your eyes at the stretch he was providing you with, a fulfilling wish that startled your hips once more.

“You’re so good, so good for me…” Peter was staring up at you, marveling at the layer of sweat on your body. It glistened with every movement, dripped heavily with every thrust of Peter’s fingers, and tasted just like how he remembered. Salty when he licked up your neck, up your chest, against your nipples, and repeated. Your body was his, and Peter was determined to let the world know. Determined to remind you in case that you’d forgotten.

Your hands were wandering. Grabbing and touching at anything and everything that could linger in between your fingers. Peter’s hair, his head, shoulders, chest, your cock and his, his back. Everything. You couldn’t keep your hands off of him. Even if he was covered from head to toe, you were touching him. Because he was yours.

“Gonna come—“ You cupped Peter’s jaw to straighten his posture, to kiss him sloppily on the mouth, and he pulled his fingers out of you, resting them on either side of your hips as he joined you once again in grinding hips. The pleasure was overbearing, drilling into each individual brain until the smallest movement would render you both speechless. Panting in slurred moans of each other’s names, of profanities that you two had rarely used in your lifetime on earth.

“Me too…” Peter pushed himself on top of you now. Your arms were tied around his neck, tighter than the necktie he had on prior, and your legs; they wrapped around his waist equally secured, if not even tighter, as he thrusted against you. 

You were too distracted, unable to respond to Peter’s constant licks in your mouth. He was desperate for you, suckling on your tongue and chasing after it once it slipped out because of your moans. They were rattling, each breath immediately vaulted in the back of Peter’s throat because he couldn’t part from you. Couldn’t imagine a life where he would. And if he had to, at least he’d have a part of you inside of him. Even if it was a whisper. 

He thrusted harder, panting into your mouth, his nose practically smushed flat against yours. He wondered if you could imagine that life, a life without him.

“P-Pete—Shit, I’m—“ Your fingers dug into his nape, grounding him impossibly closer to you when that feeling had suddenly come to stun you in place. 

It simmered hard in your stomach, then to a rolling boil as it traveled lower to your pelvis. You squeezed your stomach, clenched your toes, and your eyes widened when Peter’s hips showed no signs of faltering. Your cock swelled and your balls jolted, tightened, until you finally saw stars bursting into flames and let gravity have it come crashing down on you. Shivers had you enclose your arms around Peter, holding onto him tight as you felt yourself crumble and spill all over your chest and his suit. You came with a gritted grunt of his name, sinking your nails into his nape because you had nowhere else to channel your spasms as Peter kept rocking against you, drunkenly astonished by how you came for him. By how much you needed him.

It didn’t take long before Peter came right after. He buried his head into your neck, stifling moans into the heat of your neck, clammy with sweat, yet comforting as he filled the inside of his suit with thick, large loads. You felt his cock throb against you when you reached down to help, to ride out his orgasm to the fullest. His cock pulsed as you’d imagine several thick pumps of his load would gush out and uncomfortably layer his navel. If only his suit hadn’t been waterproof, because there was no doubt that he would’ve been leaking out of it by now.

You’ve never been so jealous of spandex.

He was hot in your ear, panting, breathing you in, then breathing you out as you slowed the strokes on his softening cock. Then a sudden inhale, a jolt of his body, when you squeezed hard, to seal the deal in covering the entirety of his cock in his own cum. It was filthy. It was shameless. It was Peter.

“Driving me crazy here…” Peter sluggishly lifted himself off of you to face you, a sleepy smile plastered across his face as you kept kneading at his cock, increasingly sensitive with every second.

“Not enough to drive you away, right?” You smiled, drowsy yourself as you quickly found your high coming to a crash. Though, you mustered enough strength to hold Peter’s cheek in your palm, tenderly caressing, to which he immediately kissed as soon as it reintroduced itself. 

Peter sighed, holding your gaze for what felt like minutes, and yet you wished it could be for longer. 

It was different this time, the way he looked at you. The same amount of love and warmth, yes. But they no longer wavered, no longer tried to find something else to look at in case you were prying about. 

“Never.” 

Instead, they stilled, relaxed the longer you stared into him, into those brown eyes of his, because you were in now. 

You were finally in his life.

How much you needed him?  His question had been answered.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!