#lessons in fanfic

[cheeseplants]

STORYTIME. I am fairly new to fanfic and I committed the cardinal sin of deleting a WIP fic I was having a hard time finishing. At the time I persuaded myself noone really cared.

I got caught up thinking: it wasn't getting a lot of kudos or comments, I had rushed it, the grammar wasn't good, the story wasn't working, people didn't like my characterisation, it wasn't beta-ed etc etc etc.

I was embarrassed it sat there without me being able to finish it, because I listened to the mind gremlins that told me it wasn't good enough.

Then I deleted it.

The other day someone messaged me on another one my fics asking where that fic had gone! They were looking for it, and it had disappeared. They quoted a line back to me from that fic I deleted months ago. That they REMEMBERED.

It made me realise my mind gremlins were talking BS. Even if you have only a few subscribers or kudos or whatever, your fic could be someone's FIC. It could be one they search for, it could be one they remember lines from. They could be devastated it's not there anymore.

It's easy to get so all consumed by stats, and think that others are doing better or that your thing isn't working. But what if even with your small following, you are making someone's day!

I have learned a lot since I wrote that fic, and I have it in a Drive, and now feel motivated to go back, and fix the things that got me stuck.

BUT THE MAIN THING IS - SOMEONE OUT THERE ACTUALLY MIGHT LOVE YOUR FIC.

DON'T LET STATS BE THE BENCHMARK.

DON'T LET THE MIND GREMLINS WIN.

YOUR WRITING MATTERS.

Somewhere out there a lovely internet stranger could love what you made and that is special. ❤️

Thank you for making your art! Good job.

[artdcnaldson]

tashi in the mix to this "teach me" verse hold on because..... tashi teaching you how to move your hips on a mans cock to make him crazy, on art because patrick would try to slip his tip in 😒,,,, hands on your hips, guiding you, you can feel her nipples on your back as she helps you rock back and forth over his dick.... art slipping and sliding through your slick folds, moaning when tashi turns your head to lick into your mou- i have another idea for patrick ill be back

hiiiii 🫶🩷

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (f!recieving oral, grinding, orgasm denial)

A/N: Your mind amazes me so bad it’s crazy. Patrick’s part is gonna be so 🤭🫶 I’m excited. Anyways. Need Artashi so bad it’s clinical

When you tell Tashi, her face contorts in a mix of annoyance and confusion. At you, for you, at them— it was hard to tell.

“Jesus, you’ve just been jerking and sucking them off for weeks now?” She asks, her lips turned into a frown

“I didn’t think you’d be upset about it,” you said shyly, feeling an uncomfortable knot form in your stomach. “It’s nothing serious between us, just—“

She stops you, laughing wryly. “No, I don’t give a fuck if they’re your boyfriends or not. I just can’t fucking believe that you’ve been getting them off and they haven’t even offered to make you cum.”

You feel heat in your cheeks. “Oh, I don’t… I don’t ever ask. It’s too embarrassing.”

Tashi rolls her eyes. “Jesus, if you can suck their dicks, they can make you cum. It’s not hard.” And she’s right. It’s not like you haven’t wondered what it would feel like for their hands to fit between your thighs, how different it might feel for their fingers to be buried inside of you— long and thick, different than yours. Or their mouths— even though thinking about it makes your stomach twist with embarrassment. “Whatever. I’ll fix it for you.”

Tashi will fix it. And that’s that.

It’s not even a day later that Tashi texts you, inviting you over to her dorm. “They’re fucking chauvinists,” she explains, knees brushing yours as you face each other on her bed. “They’re treating you like a fucking fleshlight because you’re naive. But you’re not going to be naive anymore. You’re going to get exactly what you want. What you need.”

“But I like it,” you admit nervously, afraid to let her down. “Being wanted like that.”

She smiles, brushes her hand along your cheek. “We’re not quitting. We’re leveling the playing field. They’ve given you some lessons, it’s my turn.”

Art Donaldson is a weak link— needy, sweet, eager. He’d follow Patrick or Tashi off a fucking cliff if they wanted him to. Art’s so easy that it’s no surprise when he’s at Tashi’s door fifteen minutes after she texts him.

Between you and Tashi, it’s easy to get him where you want him— desperate, wanting. All it takes are a few kisses and rubbing his dick through his jeans.

He watches, almost dazed as you kiss Tashi deeply, putting all those lessons from him and Patrick to work. And she’s like a mix of the two in a way— like she’d taken the care and hunger Art kissed with and tangled it up in all of Patrick’s intensity and need.

“That’s nice. At least they’re good for something,” Tashi murmurs against your lips. You nod, mouth open, leaning back in to kiss her again. She smiles, leans back. “C’mere.”

Tashi sits against the headboard, pulls you so your back is against her chest. Art slots in between your thighs with no instruction. He tugs down your shorts and panties at once, and your face burns as your pussy is exposed to both of them.

“Look how pretty she is, Art,” Tashi says. She’s holding your thighs apart, keeping you spread open for them. Her lips brush against your jaw and you sigh contentedly. “Give her a kiss.”

Art obeys easily, and his mouth meets your cunt like he’s making out with it. Slow laps of his tongue through your slit, tasting how wet you’d gotten from kissing them. He moans softly, nuzzles closer.

Your eyes flutter, rolling back as your body melts into the new sensation— lips and tongue, the warmth and wetness and pressure. It’s better than your own fingers, or the cheap vibrator you’d gotten at the mall.

You squeeze Tashi’s hand when his lips seal around your clit, nails digging into her palm, forming tiny crescents. “See?” Tashi says. “He’ll do whatever you want, you just have to make him.”

Art’s tongue dips inside of your entrance, making you moan. Tashi relishes in it— in seeing you experience all of it for the first time. It wasn’t fair, she decided, that she’d been left out from the beginning.

“Use your fingers,” Tashi instructs. “I shouldn’t have to tell you this, Art, you should just do it right the first time.”

He moans pathetically against your cunt as she tangles her fingers in his blond curls. You’re so wet that your body accepts his finger easily, like it belongs. He thrusts it slowly, curled just enough to brush against your sweet spot.

He’s grinding against the bed— desperate, needy. His brow is furrowed in concentration, desperate to make you cum so he can be rewarded and praised. He slips a second finger alongside the first, alternates between suckling on your clit and teasing it with soft licks.

You’re so easy to get worked up, especially when you’re sandwiched between Tashi and Art. Neither of them are surprised when you cum, hard and fast, clenching around Art’s fingers, grinding against his face.

Embarrassment and arousal mingle warm in your belly at the sight of Art’s face— all slick and wet. He leans in, kisses Tashi, then kisses you. He undresses while you’re coming down from it, wanting the two of you to lave him with attention, to take care of the aching need between his legs.

That’s not what he’s there for.

Tashi pushes him down onto his back, pins him there with nothing more than a look. He lays there trying to be patient, with his cock hard and resting against his stomach. You see it twitch as she peels off your shirt and your bra, throws her own shirt across the room.

Art watches in eager anticipation as Tashi guides you to straddle him, your wet cunt hovering right over where he wants it. His head falls back against Tashi’s pillows.

“Patrick’s going to fucking kill me,” Art groans.

“Why? She’s not fucking you,” Tashi said firmly. “You’re just going to lay there and be a prop. Be a good boy and lay still.”

His chest heaves as Tashi settles behind you, pressing her body against yours. “Alright, just move with my hands, okay? I’ll show you what boys like.”

You off wordlessly as she starts guiding your hips in slow, grinding motions. Art whines beneath you, as each slow pass of your hips makes your pussy slide along the line of his cock. His head falls back, and he tries and fails to buck up against you with his hips pinned under your and Tashi’s weight.

She guides your hips in slow circles and you whine at the same time as Art. “See?” She asks. You nod, head falling back against her shoulder. “All you need to turn his brain into mush is right here.”

Soon, the pressure of her hands on you is second to instinct— she lets her hands move up your body to squeeze and cup your tits. You turn, letting her lick into your mouth, relishing in the drag of her tongue against yours.

“Can you cum like this?” She breathes into your mouth. “Just using him like a plaything?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know,” you admit.

She just smiles against your lips, leans in for another hungry kiss. “Try.”

She guides your hand to the middle of his chest, giving you more purchase. The new angle makes you moan, eyes squeezing shut as your sensitive clit rubs against him.

“Good, keep going like that.” You almost whine at the loss of her warm behind you as she moves to sit against the wall. The perfect view of you and Art, both submitting to her whims. The sight of her with a hand between her thighs, watching you with a hungry, unabashed desire makes heat pool in your belly. Her fingers circle her clit with the skill of someone who knows exactly how to get what she needs in all things. “Look at him, not me.”

Art’s a fucking mess— red down to his chest, panting and whining beneath you. Without Tashi pinning his legs, he’s able to grind up against you, to seek that friction. Moans tumble past his full lips, and god, he looks so pretty when he’s pinned beneath you for once.

When you cum, it’s with panting moans and trembling thighs. Tashi finishes at the sight, of you— grinding down against the blond, who’s just lying there and taking it. Tashi rubs your back as you come down, smiling like she’d just coached you to victory.

You move off of Art and he’s still hard, still wanting. Pouting at the loss of the warm, slick pressure on his lap.

“Okay, you can go,” Tashi tells Art, with a soft pat against his cheek. He groans, chest still heaving, pouting. Tashi sighs. “You did your job, Art. Thank you.”

You watch him redress, obviously hard in his athletic shorts. He looks back, like he’s checking if Tashi’s going to change her mind (she doesn’t).

When he’s gone, she kisses you again, easing you onto your back, straddling your lap as she grinds her wet pussy against your thigh. “You’re such a good little student,” she praises against your lips. “No wonder they like you so much.”

tashi/patrick vignette next and they will match each others freak trust 🫶

[monster-mash-m]

Fairy boyfriend.

Cw: yandere, nsfw, a bit delulu, fairies are scary

Fairy boyfriend who’s no bigger than your index finger. Ofc he’s gonna sprinkle some weird shit on your head as you sleep. Ever since he’s been visiting you in your sleep you’ve had great sleep, no bed head ever.

Fairy boyfriend who is fascinated by you

Fair boyfriend who gets frustrated that he can’t fuck you properly.

Fairy boyfriend who fucks his fist as he looks at your barely covered body as you sleep

Fairy boyfriend who pleads the fairy princess to let him shrink you down and take you as his spouse

The fairies have a few… unconventional views on romance so she was like ‘yeah perfectly normal healthy relationship here, go ahead and shrink them down with some more of this dusty shit’

Fairy boyfriend who sprinkles shit over your head again, in your sleep, finally being able to hold you in his arms and flying you away to his kingdom.

Fairy boyfriend who doesn’t understand why you’re freaking out, why you’re asking who he is and where you are.

Delusional fairy who explains that you’re lovers and he’s taken you to a paradise compared to your old human life.

Fairy boyfriend(?) who’s loving and doting as he keeps you as his now bite size human spouse.

Fairy boyfriend who’s such a gentleman and waits for you to let him take you to pound town

Fairy boyfriend who coos at you sweetly as he pounds into you with desperate vigor, saying he’s waited so long for his cock to stretch you out properly.

Fairy boyfriend who marries you and treats you like a fragile doll.

Fairy boyfriend who dotes on you and loves on you so much

What a sweet lil fella

[mrsjellymunson]

The Biology Tutor

📕 Lesson 1: Female Anatomy

Series masterlist

Continue studying: Lesson 2: Male Anatomy | Extra Credits 01: Communication Skills | Extra Credits 02: French | Independent Study 01: Art | Independent Study 02: Creative Writing

Pairing: Virgin!Eddie Munson x fem!tutor!reader

Summary: Eddie’s failing class, so you decide to offer two different styles of biology tuition, textbook-based and *ahem* practical.

W/C: something around 4k (I didn’t do a word count after editing, sorry)

CW: 🔞 18+ MDNI!, NSFW, PWP, smut with a story. Exhibitionism (f), mutual masturbation (m+f), swearing, innuendo, pet names, slight sub/dom dynamic, subtle size kink? Both Reader & Eddie are overage. No y/n. Reader’s appearance is not described, it can be whatever you like.

A/N: A cute little bit of biology lesson-based smut. I’m a sucker for virgin!Eddie and wanted to see if I could write him. Let me know how I did! 😄

My masterlist

You’ve had a crush on the guy in your Biology class since the beginning of the year when you first saw him ranting on a table in the cafeteria. There’s something about him that’s so different from the guys you’d usually go for. You run in completely different social circles, you with the academically-gifted ‘Brainy Bunch’ (an eye-rollingly terrible moniker coined by the we-think-we’re-so-clever jocks), and him with his nerdy friends. Despite this you find him unusual and intriguing, not to mention hot as all hell. You guess the ‘freak metalhead’ look doesn’t work for everyone, but his long hair and rebellious dark ink are certainly doing it for you. You really want to discover what’s underneath those layers of denim, leather and torn shirts, your imagination only able to go so far as you ponder his form late at night in your bed.

However, girls talk, and you’ve never heard of him being with any of them, or even speaking to all that many. For all his bravado and apparent confidence, you’re reasonably certain that Eddie Munson is still a virgin.

And for some reason this draws you to him even more.

You’re pretty sure you’ve caught Eddie checking out your ass as it’s perched on a high stool while he sits behind you in the biology lab. On days when you’re in this class you’ve started to wear your tightest jeans, and your shortest skirts (though if anyone asked you’d insist it was a coincidence).

Somehow you’ve become inexplicably clumsy (but only in this class, how odd…), often dropping your pencil and having to bend over to pick it up, occasionally chewing on the end in contemplation when you know he’s watching, much to the chagrin of your teacher.

“Never put anything in your mouth in the lab, you should all know better by now.”

You smirk at the innuendo in Eddie’s direction and he quickly looks away, ears exposed by his lab-regulation tied-back hair a little pink at the tips.

You also often ‘forget’ or ‘lose’ equipment, asking him if he’s got a spare, or could he please get you a replacement from the cupboards, which he’s always more than willing to do (giving you ample opportunities to observe his denim-clad ass as he does so).

“Damn, I seem to be one test tube short. Eddie, would you be a doll and get me one from the cupboard?”, crossing your legs and subtly ensuring the hem of your skirt rides up just a little more.

Eddie looks you up and down (result!) and agrees.

“Thanks, you really are my knight in shiny, um, leather?” You wince slightly at your clumsy comment, but he takes it in his stride, continuing the bit by replying,

“Here you go, your majesty”, bowing theatrically and presenting the glassware to you atop his forearm, making you grin.

In another lesson: “Shit, I tore my filter. Eddie, do you have a spare?”

“Anything for the Princess of Biology.”

He gives you a little smirk, and you feel your cheeks heat slightly. You can’t help gazing at his strong, ring-clad hands as he hands you the little circle of absorbent paper.

It becomes somewhat of a game, you playing the Princess and he the rescuing knight.

But for all your teasing you genuinely do actually want to help him pass the class. You don’t want him to have to repeat the year - you’ve seen him play at The Hideout and you know he’s meant for greater things.

It’s just biology, it can’t be any harder than what little you’ve picked up about that complicated game he plays, which seems to be all numbers, convoluted plots and organising “campaigns”, whatever they are. You’re sure he could pass if he’d just apply himself.

Or, perhaps, he just needs the right tutor…?

You’d broached it with your science teacher, offering to help ‘any students who were behind’ for extra credits. After he’d agreed you’d approached Eddie that same day, offering to come to his home and help him with his overdue assignments.

He was confused and skeptical at first, thinking this could all be some elaborate prank, but you were gentle and persuasive, and he’d agreed to pick you up later that day.

You’re sitting on his worn-out sofa, draped with a well loved but soft blanket. You’ve spent the last hour trying to get Eddie to understand cellular respiration (“Isn’t it just, like, breathing in and out?” “No, Eddie, this is cell biochemistry, it’s a bit more complicated than that”), but nothing you attempt seems to be working.

He’s despondent, won’t look at you, and seems resigned to his fate of never passing this particular subject, interjecting with statements like,

“Look, it’s just not going in.”

“I don’t know how to make it stick.”

“I don’t think I’ll get it, Princess, even if you beat it into me.”

The innuendo (accidental or not) is driving you crazy. As is Eddie’s lack of self belief.

You’d even tried explaining it by using D&D analogies.

“Think of the chemical reactions like individual characters interacting in groups. Like, if this particular troupe disband and some make allegiances with another, the group has different skills and attributes now, right?” But after a promising start even that doesn’t seem to hold his attention.

In fact, the more animated you get and closer you sit, the more distracted and fidgety he becomes, unwilling to engage fully with you and shifting uncomfortably.

You move further towards him on the sofa, determined to give it one last shot, and force him to make eye contact with you.

Their colour and depth surprises you as you look into them properly for the first time, noticing their rich, swirling chocolate and whiskey hues.

Your eyes briefly drop to his lips, the soft pink, plump, velvety pillows looking mightily enticing. God, they’re perfect.

Goosebumps rise on your arm as you feel his surprisingly soft curls tickle your shoulder.

Okay, you knew he was cute, but up close? Fucking hell…

You lean across your notes and over to the text book that’s on his other side. Your thighs are touching, and as you twist the side of your breast makes contact with his arm. If he looked slightly down and towards you he’d be able to see right down the neck of your tank top. You kind of hope he does.

Huffing, you prod at the book with your hand, hoping that the diagram on the page might make everything clearer. The movement makes your boobs jiggle a little.

You hadn’t noticed he’d stopped breathing and he suddenly lets out a huff of breath, covering it with a badly faked cough. His cheeks have flushed a light shade of pink.

So, you definitely weren’t imagining all that stuff in class.

Fuck it. You consider this might be the only opportunity you might get to do this, so decide to grab it. After all, academic tutelage was only part of your motivation to get him alone, and something you’ve been thinking about for a long time, one of the fantasies that keeps you up at night, pops into your head. One that would definitely get his attention. And if you can’t help his confidence academically, perhaps you can help with it somewhere else. Call it interpersonal tutelage…?

With as much nonchalance as you can muster, you say, “Um, maybe we should take a break. Y’know, relax a little?”

You scootch away to the end of the sofa, putting your back against the armrest and bringing your feet up onto the cushion in front of you. You grab a couple of throw cushions and slot them behind you, getting comfortable.

Eddie seems to relax a little too once you’ve moved away, but still looks uneasy.

God, are you really going to do this? What if he screams and runs away, or worse, tells his friends, or your classmates..? No, you’ve been thinking about this for far too long. Oh, fuck it x 2…

Feigning a stretch, you arch your back and place your hands at the back of your waist, pushing your chest, and breasts, upwards. Then you move them to the sides of your ribs, glancing over the sides of your boobs, seemingly-innocently pushing them together. You move a hand underneath one of your breasts, cupping it gently in the crook of your thumb and forefinger.

Eddie is still sitting tensely on the front edge of the sofa cushions, stealing sideways glances at you through the curtain of his hair.

“C’mon, Eddie, get comfy with me. It’ll help, I promise.”

Self-consciously, Eddie shifts himself and sits facing you, cross-legged, at the other end of the sofa. You give him a soft smile, which he returns with a slightly bashful one of his own, afterwards rolling his lips inwards between his teeth.

Okay, it’s now or never. Are you gonna be able to concentrate on this, Eddie?

You hum quietly, and almost closing your eyes you run a palm down your chest and over your belly. You drop one knee slightly out to the side, and run your hand down the inside of your thigh and back up it, eventually pushing your fingers between your thighs and cupping your mound with your palm.

You see Eddie’s eyes widen and hear a stifled choke.

Your hand moves to fully cup your breast, and you lightly trace your thumb over your hardening nipple whilst the hand between your legs begins to apply gentle pressure, making you inhale deeply.

Eddie watches you, agape, bringing his hands together and clasping one hand over the other in front of him, you surmise to disguise his burgeoning bulge.

You open your eyes a little, keeping them soft and half lidded, and gently smile in Eddie’s direction, ensuring he’s still watching you.

Using both hands to pop the button and lower the zipper on your jeans, you tease yourself by running the pretty elastic trim of your your panties between your fingertips, pulling it slightly away from you and letting it snap back onto your abdomen.

“Uh…”, he swallows hard, and you internally groan at the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing in that delicious neck, “What’re you doing..?”

“What does it look like I’m doing, Eddie? I’m… relaxing…”

Sighing out the last word, you choose this moment to slip your hand down the front of your underwear, sliding over your mound and dipping just the tip of one finger between your folds, feeling the wetness that’s already pooled there. Your forehead furrows a little and you let out a quiet, contented hum.

Eddie’s eyes widen further and his eyebrows disappear completely under his bangs, and he sounds a little like he’s suffocating.

He tries to move further away from you along the sofa, unsuccessfully however as he’s wedged against the other armrest.

“Uh, I can, y’know, leave, or you could use my room, or, I can take you home, or, or-”

He’s babbling, and looking everywhere but at you. That’s not what you want at all, and you’re also concerned that he looks so uncomfortable.

“I can stop, if you want…”

He rushes out a reply, almost shouting the first syllable.

“N-NO! Um, no, it’s okay, really.”

“Okay, Eddie, stay right there. Keep your eyes on me, I wanna give you a show.”

He looks even more shocked, jaw dropping open, and you think he might bolt. But after a moment it’s clear that despite being full of anxiety, fear and self-consciousness, his curiosity, hormones and horniness are winning out, and he fixes his gaze on you.

He manages to squeak out, “Ok-aay…”

You lift your hips, using both hands to push your jeans and underwear down your legs until they reach your ankles. You slowly splay your knees, finally exposing yourself fully to Eddie’s gaze. One hand comes back to your breast, and you pinch your fabric-covered nipple between your thumb and forefinger.

He takes in the sight before him, the soft fur around your core, your wet folds glistening in the dim light of his living room, your sultry gaze, the peaks of your hardened nipples now visible through the thin fabric of your top.

He lets out a stuttering breath as his hips involuntarily shift underneath him, trying to find some friction.

“Jeezus fuck, Princess, are you tryin’a kill me?”

You try to think of something that might help relax him.

“If it helps you can imagine that we’re still studying. How about a quick lesson in female anatomy..?”

You move your hand down and with featherlight touches trace your fingertips around your pussy.

“Now, this whole area is my vulva.”

Eddie gulps.

Making a vertical line you trace your fingers over your wet lips.

“These are my labia.”

Eddie’s lips press together and he lets out a stammering hum, closing his eyes momentarily before snapping them back open so he doesn’t miss a thing.

“Are you paying attention, Eddie? This part is really important. This-,” you inhale sharply as you trail your wet fingers upwards and make contact, “This is where you’ll find my clit- fuck-”

It feels so delicious you almost don’t manage to finish your sentence, and you let out a long, low hum. Part of you doesn’t want to stop, but you’ve got more planned. Moving your fingers down again, you say,

“And this, here? This is my vagina…”

With a smile, you watch him stare as you dip a fingertip into your sopping hole, letting out a low moan as you gradually slip it inside of you.

“You know what the g-spot is, Eddie? I can show you where to find it, if you want me to…?”

You slide your finger in further, curling it towards your front wall, almost managing to tickle that certain spot within and letting out a loud groan.

At the other end of the sofa Eddie gasps an inhale, whimpering slightly, and you see him press the heel of his hand into his crotch. The combination of his sounds and actions is making you impossibly wetter - the boys you’ve been with before didn’t do much of either, and you didn’t know how much it turned you on.

You watch his face as he stares intently at your weeping centre as you slowly, so slowly move your finger in and out a few times.

“D’you think you’ll remember that, Eddie?”

“I promise I’ll fuckin’ try, Jesus Christ…”

He swallows again, exhaling heavily.

Deciding it’s time for the main event, you bring the hand that was squeezing your breast down your body, moving your fingertips to your clit and applying gentle pressure.

“I want you to see how wet you make me, Eddie. I want you to know how much I enjoy you watching my ass in biology class, how often I’ve thought about it when I’m alone. How much I like checking yours out in those oh-so tight jean- oh!”

A particularly exquisite circle followed by a firm press on your clit makes you moan out loud. The combination of both your hands has you close, closer than you imagined you’d be at this stage. It takes much longer when you’re by yourself, and you’re surprised and excited by just how much you’re enjoying having Eddie watch you.

Eddie’s fully gripping himself through his jeans now and is breathing heavily through his nose. He looks big, and you salivate at the thought.

You really want to see what he’s been hiding inside that tight denim.

“Show me, Eddie, I wanna see you.”

Hesitantly, never having experienced anything even close to this before, Eddie mumbles,

“You, uh…?”

“I wanna see you. Take out your cock. Let me see all of you, please.”

He’s rubbing himself, and you can see how strained his jeans are, a wet stain now visible in the dark fabric.

Slowly, eyes never leaving your face and looking for any tiny indication that you’re uncomfortable or have changed your mind, he slowly undoes his button and pulls down his zipper.

His languid pace is killing you, but in a good way; you realise he most likely has no idea what this is doing to you.

He rearranges the front of his jeans, opening the fly wide and leaving nothing but a thin layer of checkered cotton covering his member. The tent it’s creating is impressive.

He watches you stare and run your wet tongue over your bottom lip.

Letting out a nervous breath between pursed lips, he pushes one hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, using his thumb and two fingers to hold his cock at the base. Using his other hand he slowly, agonisingly slowly, pulls the fabric out and downwards, gradually exposing his full member to the lights of the room and to you.

You pause your own movements and spend a moment taking it in. It’s long, with an impressive girth - you briefly wonder whether he knows what he’s packing - and it’s the prettiest shade of pink you’ve ever seen. Lengthy, veined, slightly curved, and thick, so thick.

Eddie watches your expression for a moment. Satisfied that you’re not freaked or about to run away screaming, he brings the rest of his fingers to join the others, wrapping himself fully in his fist and squeezing gently, causing a little bead of precum to collect on the tip.

You take in the sight before you for a few moments, then utter, completely honestly, “Eddie, in case no one’s ever told you this, you have a really beautiful dick.”

His face and neck turn the second-prettiest shade of pink you’ve ever seen.

“No one’s ever told me that before, Princess.” Adding, almost in a whisper, “In fact, no one’s ever seen it.”

He chuckles lightly through that last sentence, embarrassed at what he’s just admitted. The ego boost of your comments has clearly given him some confidence though, as he adds with a slight smirk, a little breathy as he runs the pad of his thumb unhurriedly over his tip, “You, uh, really think so?”

Oh, so he likes me watching him too?

You can’t take your eyes off of it.

“I really do, Eddie. It’s so pretty.”

As if to confirm your statement you resume your hand movements, adding another finger and resuming circling your clit with the other. You notice that Eddie’s started moving too, his hand moving over himself in a deft gripping and twisting motion, his hips bucking up every now and again.

For a few moments neither of you say anything, the only sounds in the room your combined panting breaths and the lewd movements of wet skin.

Your clit is swollen and supremely sensitive, and, pushing in a little further, your fingers just tickle that exquisite spot within you.

You moan as you imagine it’s Eddie’s pretty cock inside you. That he’s leaning over you, thrusting into you, hitting that spot effortlessly. Maybe even talking to you, telling you how good your pussy feels, how well you’re taking him…

Suddenly your eyes roll back in your head and your mouth hangs open, a gutteral moan emerging from your chest as you get closer and closer.

Bringing your attention back to him you mumble, hurriedly,

“Jeezus Eddie, I’m gonna cum, you wanna see me cum?”

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire fucking life.”

Eddie’s words come out in a spluttering rush and on his last word your breathing halts, your muscles lock and you cum, hard, clenching around your fingers and letting out an involuntary strangled scream.

Somewhere in the back of your fuzzy mind you think you hear Eddie let out a loud, “Holy shhhiiiit!”

You come down a little, opening your eyes and locking them with Eddie’s. You ride out your aftershocks, humming as you feel your fingers inside of you and your juices running down them. You eventually remove your fingers from your cunt, leaving its puffy wetness fully on display, and trace them around your lips and clit.

“F-fuck, Princess, that’s the hottest goddamn thing I’ve ever fuckin’ seen…”

Eddie’s red-faced and panting, his cock still very much standing to attention in his now vice-like grip, the tip an angry red and leaking copious amounts of precum. His eyes are blown dark, the chocolate rims almost completely obscured. His face and neck are flushed and he’s covered in a sheen of sweat, and he’s clenching his jaw, looking like he’s trying desperately not to bust.

“Are you ok over there, Eddie?”

“Shit, yeah, yes, I mean, fuck.”

Breathily, you ask him,

“Do you wanna cum?”

“Fuck yes, I just, I didn’t know whether you wanted me to.”

“Oh I do Eddie, I really do. It’s your turn now. You gonna cum for me? Please, let me see you lose it, show me everything you’ve got.”

He breathes out a loud sigh in what seems like relief. You like how good he’s being for you, learning yet more about yourself that you didn’t know before.

His fist speeds up as his other hand comes to hold his balls, deftly stroking and rolling the flesh. His brow furrows deeply and his lips clamp shut around a low moan. He’s staring intently at you, eyes flicking between your face and your still-dripping cunt.

Suddenly his expression turns to one resembling surprise, as his eyebrows lift and his mouth opens, a string of expletives leaving those perfect, plump lips,

“Fuck, fuck, Jeezus, motherf-, oh my-, fuckfuckfuuuck!”

His jaw drops as his abdomen contracts, and his eyes fix on your cunt as he jets hot ropes of white cum into the air and over his fist and t-shirt. There’s so much, and it seems never ending.

The sight is even better than you’d imagined it might be and your hips buck up into your hand, making you press your fingers into your clit again triggering another aftershock, and you find yourself moaning along with him.

For a few moments there’s more silence, aside from your panting and heavy breathing.

Eventually Eddie chuckles a little, and you huff a breath out through your nose with a smile on your face.

You’re both a sweaty, sticky mess, but neither of you care.

“Fuck, Eddie, that was…” You’re lost for words.

“Amazing? Incredible?” Seeing the grin plastered across Eddie’s face is easily as gratifying as all the other stuff you’ve done tonight.

You both giggle as Eddie says, “Fuck me, Princess, you’re definitely the best tutor I’ve ever had.”

Neither of you really want to move, but some cleanup is definitely necessary. Eddie takes the blanket from the sofa and throws it in the washer, cleaning up quickly in the bathroom, letting you know when it’s free and returning in a change of clothes, throwing the others in with the blanket.

As you both process what’s just transpired you share timid glances and half smiles.

You both sit on the sofa again as you start to pack up your notes and books. In another unforeseen realisation, you’re surprised at how much you’ve enjoyed Eddie’s company, and the warm feeling you get inside every time he looks at you is entirely unexpected.

You realise you’re gonna have to be the one to say something, and give Eddie a smirk.

“So, how about next time we do some practical revision on, maybe, male anatomy?”

He looks a little surprised, but certainly not unhappy at the suggestion that there might actually be a ‘next time’.

“You really wanna, uh, tutor me again?”

Nodding in the affirmative, you reply, “Oh yeah, I think we’ve both learned a lot this afternoon.”

Holding his gaze, you suggest,

“Same time next week..?”

Lesson 2: Male anatomy | Extra Credits 01: Communication Skills | Extra Credits 02: French | Independent Study 01: Art | Independent Study 02: Creative Writing

Series masterlist

Thanks so much for reading! 🙏🥰

A/N 2: This has become a miniseries, let me know if you’d like to be on the taglist, and/or my general one 😉

Likes are great, but please also consider supporting writers with comments and reblogs - they help fics get seen, and it genuinely means the world! 🌍 ❤️

My masterlist

[science-lings]

God, I love it when people who clearly have personal experience or expert knowledge on certain things write obscure AUs that incorporate those things so hyperspecifically that I feel like I'm learning something.

I love nurses who write hospital AUs that have accurate medical knowledge just thrown in there because they went to medical school and when people who clearly had a phase where they obsessed over a certain time period write an AU set in that time period or location it's just so fun.

Tell me about the 1950s Chicago culture and history and how the characters are interracial and how that affects their life, I love when the money is accurately converted and the personal histories of the characters are thoughtfully woven to incorporate the new setting they're put in, I love it when people care so much about making something and use their own expertise to aide them.

[struniolos]

guitar lessons.

chapter one; does he take care of you?

(you can read chapter two here!)

synopsis: you decided to take guitar lessons from your boyfriend nate’s best friend, chris, while he’s away at college. but one night, things go too far. loosely based off the song sex by the 1975.

warnings: suggestive, heavy petting.

what the fuck where you doing.

the freezing winter breeze hit the back of your neck and tips of your ears, as you knocked your heavy boots onto the porch to rid of the snow caked beneath them. it was late, the dim porch light and streetlights your only source of illumination. winters in boston were relentless, and besides the fact you had lived there your entire life, you’d never be used to it’s cold bite. it was almost as if mother nature was punishing you, and well, it was pretty justified.

you had found yourself on a familiar doorstep, one you’d been to many times, but usually with your boyfriend nate at your hip- your safety net. chris, nick and matt had been friends with nate for years and you had known the boys since highschool. you’d consider them friends, but not really your friends. they were kind, but you’d much rather hang out with your own friends. the only reason you were usually dragged along was because it was some of the only times you could be with nate. now that he was in college, an hour drive away, things had become incredibly hard between you.

it was only a passing comment you made, last week, that had gotten you into this. a regular night of driving around aimlessly with nate, the boys, and you had mentioned how you wanted to learn guitar. of course, chris had piped up to say he’d teach you, and stupidly you agreed. it god, what would nate do if he knew you were here? what was wrong with you? it was 8pm on a tuesday, you should be in bed.

you rap your knuckles on the christmas wreathe adorned door, and step back to quickly hugging your hands around yourself, your shaky breath coming out as soft puffs of smoke. the door cracked open slowly, revealing chris in a black hoodie with words you couldn’t read scribed onto it, grey sweatpants and clunky brown ugg boots.

“you made it.” he smiled, running a hand through his floppy hair.

“i did.” you smiled back, as he opened the door wider to let you in.

you knocked your boots a few more times at the door before kicking them off.

“you look great.” chris commented, seemingly just being polite.

you smiled back awkwardly, shuffling your socks on the floorboards. “oh, thanks.”

“fuck, it’s cold out there isn’t it?” he commented, as he began to walk you down the hallway. it was adorned with photos of the boys, their family and friends, that you presumed their mother had hung. you’d been here so many times, but this time it felt like you were really present, and not just following the leader. you found yourself observing much more than you usually had.

“yeah, it’s insane.” you agreed, as you both walked through the empty kitchen and dining area, with all of the lights switched off.

you wondered if nick and matt were already asleep, or if they were out and would come home any moment to see you alone with their brother. you also wondered if his parents were away, or if they too would come home to find you with their son, your boyfriend nowhere to be found. god, you didn’t even want to think about it.

you both quietly walked up the stairs and towards his room, which was the last one down the very end of the hallway. you had never been in his room, the usual hangout spot was always the living room. you felt so guilty, as you head into his room hesitantly behind him. chris’ room wasn’t what you had expected, it was quiet and cozy, a juxtaposition of himself. his double bed was shoved in the corner, with plain black sheets, and a desk beneath the window with a matching drawer set on the opposing wall, his guitar lay against the wall beside his them.

“so, did nate end up convincing you to come?” he asked, breaking the thick silence between you.

nate doesn’t know i’m here. you thought, biting your lips.

“no, actually. it was all me.“ you tell him, kicking your feet awkwardly.

“huh, i didn’t think you’d come.” he said, grabbing his guitar.

“me neither.” you chuckle awkwardly, “but thanks for doing this though, i really appreciate it.”

“all good.” he says calmly, “i did promised i’d teach you.”

“you did.” you repeat, smiling at him. you watched the way his hair was falling softly over his eyes, and he had to keep pushing it back with his hand.

chris handed you the guitar, and you sat down on the edge of his bed. you balanced it on your thigh, “is this how i hold it?”

“yeah, just make sure it’s pressed a little closer to you.” he explains, sitting down beside you. you do as he says, pressing the instrument close to your stomach, trying to get used to the feeling.

“so, how about you give me a song you want to learn and we’ll start there. one with easy chords if you can.” chris says, his voice slightly softer than usual. you wondered if it’s because he was tired, or if he truly was being patient with you, as you’d never seen him so calm.

you think for a moment, back to the songs you were listening on the drive to his house. “do you know fade into you? by mazzy star?”

“yeah that’s a good one, just give me a second to work it out.” he says, pausing as he looked to the ceiling and waved his finger around as if he was writing imaginary chords and trying to piece it together in his mind.

you admired him up close now, as you had never been able to. you always saw him in conjunction with his brothers, but never alone. you noticed how his nose differed and was slightly more button like, and his lips were plump and fuller, his hair a little darker.

“okay, that’s not too hard, but i’ll try and make it as easy as i can. you’re only going to be using C, D, G and Am’s.” he told you, and it took everything in you not to melt on the spot. god, what was wrong with you? you inhaled deeply, finding your composure.

“here, it might be easier if i show you first.” he says, softly taking the guitar from you and placing it in his own lap. he held it much more comfortably than you, and he grabbed the pick that was between the strings at the neck. he held it between his teeth briefly, as he tuned the guitar. his hair fell over his eyes once more, and you were grateful for this as he wouldn’t see you gawking at him.

eventually, he started to strum the first chords. “watch how my fingers are placed on the neck, that’s the important part.”

chris began to play the familiar opening of the song, and you’re completely mesmerised. you watched his lips mouth the words softly under his breath, as if he didn’t notice he was completely lost in the song. you sat with your legs crossed, facing him fully, and rested your chin on your palm. he looked so at peace, like this was what he truly loved doing. you knew this is how nate felt with hockey, and it made you remind yourself just how insane you were acting.

he abruptly stopped by holding his palm on the strings to stop them, and looked up at you to meet your eyes. you blinked at him, blankly.

“you alright?” he asked with a smirk tugging his lips.

you nod, looking away from him. “yeah just, out of my depth i think.”

“it’s cool. what if i show you like this-“ he starts, reaching over to put the guitar back in your lap. he crawled around to sit behind you, but his legs were crossed, establishing a boundary. one you secretly wished wasn’t there.

you could feel his breath on your neck, and the cold winter breeze was a thing of the past. he peered over your shoulder to look down at your hands on the guitar, and began to move them into place. “you’ve got to hold the strings like this.”

it was so intimate, and you couldn’t help but wish things where like this with you and nate. the way chris was so tender with you, so patient, not that nate wasn’t- things were like this, at the start. but you felt you’d grown so distant, and things didn’t get you hot and bothered like they used to. but this, this made you think thoughts you wish you could bury deep down into the pits of your stomach.

chris assisted your hands in strumming the chords, explaining to you which chord was which as you moved your fingers against the strings. his hands were so warm, so inviting, his fingers long and slender and-

“are you getting this?” chris asked, breaking you from your daze.

“um, not really.” you said bashfully, ducking your head. “i’m sorry, i just…”

chris sighed heavily, removing his hands from yours and coming around to sit beside you once more so that you were face to face on the edge of his bed.

he pursed his lips, furrowing his eyebrows. “why did you really come? because it seems to me you’re not here for guitar lessons.”

your eyes went wide, and you began toying with the guitar strings mindlessly. “i did, it’s just…”

“it’s okay, you can tell me.” he urged, and you felt your stomach drop in guilt.

“i…” you begin, but couldn’t articulate yourself. “i don’t know.”

you placed the guitar onto the ground, sighing. “i’m sorry, i guess i just wanted company.”

“is everything okay? is it nate?” chris questioned, rubbing his face.

“no, nate’s great it’s just…” you pause, truly unable to string together a sentence. not with chris in front of you, so beautiful yet so unknowing.

“are you…not being taken care of?” he asked, his voice low.

there was a thick pause between you before you answered. “how do you mean?”

“you know exactly what i mean.” chris said in a knowing manner, tilting his head.

“i’m not talking about this with you.” you huffed, trying your best to act nonchalant. to make invisible boundaries for yourself, as you weren’t so sure how long you could hold it together.

he tutted, rolling his eyes. “why?”

“i’m fine, he’s only an hour away. we have phone sex like, all the time anyway.” you were blatantly lying at this point. there was something deeply wrong, or you wouldn’t be seeking out attention elsewhere. here.

chris chuckled, crossing his arms. “i might not be a smart guy but i can tell you’re frustrated. you’re looking at me like you’re going to pounce me any moment.”

you scoffed, although he was right. “what? you’re delusional.”

“am i?” he said, smirking. he was enjoying this. and a sick twisted part of you was too.

you groaned, running your hands down your face. “i feel so stupid talking to you about this.”

“it isn’t stupid.” he assured you, “now spit it out, what’s wrong?”

chris was ridiculously convincing when he wanted to be. just like how he had roped you into coming tonight. there was something about him so deliciously dangerous, that made you question your sanity and morals.

you let out a heavy sigh before you spoke. “it’s been months.”

there was a pause, as chris widened his eyes at you once he realised what you were talking about. “months?”

“yes. it’s never been this long, but i guess it’s because he lives so far now.” you explained, your cheeks flushing at the thought. things with nate used to always be so fun, you would sleep together multiple times a week, never be apart- but lately? you felt like you’d been left behind.

“do you think it’s because he’s busy with college?” chris asked, surprising you with how seriously he was taking you.

“yeah, i mean he’s trying so hard, and there are scouts at nearly every game now so he’s thing even more. then when he’s got college break and drives down here, i think by the time he sees me he’s just exhausted.” you blurt out, beginning to feel a little less weight on your chest like it had been holding you down to keep all of this inside.

chris nods, and reaches towards you to touches your back, “it’s alright, i mean i’m sure it’s nothing against you…he’s just busy.”

“i know, but that’s the problem. i never see him, and when i do he never wants to go out or do anything because he’s always so tired. if he’s not training he’s playing, and if it’s not that he’s studying, and it takes up all of his time.” you complain, but are soothed by the feeling of his hand circling your back.

“that’s a shame, for a girl like you…” chris trailed off, like he knew if he kept talking he would be crossing the line. but the lines were blurred at this point, anyway.

his hand slowly trailed down to your lower back, the thick material of your sweater a barrier to his soft touch that you ached for more of. it was so reckless of you, to be revelling in another man’s touch- but it felt so good.

“i could make you feel good.” he continued in a subtle whisper, biting his lips as he gave you a once over, your body is basking in the warmth of his gaze. this was wrong, so so very wrong.

“chris.” you warned him, as he brought his other hand to clasp over yours which rested on your thigh.

your breath was slightly disturbed, stuttering in your throat. god, why did this have to feel so good?

chris’s hand that was on your back now trails upwards to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. you hadn’t noticed how close he was, but hated how much you loved him invading your space.

“he doesn’t have to know.” he told you, brushing your hair away from your neck, his breath fanning your skin.

“i cant.” you croaked, as he slowly pressed his warm lips to the skin behind your ear.

it’s as if your brain shut down and your body took over, letting out a soft moan as chris kissed your skin, then continuing down to the junction of your neck and shoulder. he pulled your sweater to the side, giving him better access.

“hmm, chris we can’t.” you protested, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder gently.

“shhh.” he hushed as he pulled away from you, locking eyes. “let me take care of you.”

you looked at him with so much pain, yet so much longing. he held your face gently in his hands, stroking your cheek. “he won’t know.”

chris pressed his lips to yours softly, and you let yourself sink into his arms. he helped you onto his lap, your kisses becoming feverish and desperate yet still passionate. you found your hips slowly grinding down onto his, earning deep moans and slightly more aggressive kisses. you rolled your hips down onto his growing hardness, the friction through your clothing feeling euphoric.

chris pulled away for a moment, combing your hair back with his fingers so he could look at you. his eyes were dark, pupils blown and his lips glistening and plump.

“you’re so pretty.” he mumbled, “you’ve always been.”

you wanted to die, having this beautiful man beneath you at your mercy but a loyal boyfriend waiting for you only an hour away. your mind was becoming fuzzy, blurring what your body needed and what was right. you suddenly pulled away completely, getting off his lap and holding a hand to your forehead.

“i’m sorry…i…i cant do this.” you confessed, shaking your head.

chris opened his mouth to speak, but you didn’t allow him- darting out of his room quickly and running down the stairs. your breathing was so loud it was in your ears, your heart thumping in your throat and the walls feeling as if they were closing in on you. you grabbed your boots and burst out the front door, trudging through the thick snow in your socks. you threw your shoes into the passenger seat and jumped into your car at record speed, quickly starting the ignition. chris didn’t follow you.

you drove home in complete silence, your breathing becoming more rapid and the world feeling as though it was going to collapse around you. you got home and made a beeline for your room, changing into your pyjamas at record pace. guilt riddled you as you crawled into bed, cuddling yourself under the sheets and hiding from everything and everyone. you just wanted to stay there and rot.

you found yourself texting chris, wanting to have proof that you declined. that nothing else happened. that you ran away.

you: i’m sorry, that shouldn’t have happened.

it was only a few moments before he texted you back.

chris: no it shouldn’t have.

you: that can’t happen again.

chris: not until next time.

your eyes widened, no, no no! this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. he was supposed to have regretted it to, and want tp bury the memory deep down. you ignored him, laying your phone next to your head as you tried to close your eyes, hoping it would go away. until your phone buzzed, lighting up.

chris: meet me at mine tomorrow, 8pm?

your stomach dropped, and you held your face in your hands as you let out a silent scream. no, you couldn’t encourage this. but nate was an hour away, how would he know? it could only be while he’s away, then when he gets back you could pretend nothing happened! oh god, you were going to hell.

you: okay.

(chapter two.)

[shootingstarrfish]

i love when my wife tries to kill me

[olsenmyolsen]

Swimming Lessons

Art By: @1005__H on twitter! I commissioned them after having this idea! They're wonderful!

Art By: @auroraromaximoff They're looking for more commissions and loved making this art after hearing my idea! They're super nice. Please check them out and give them a follow!

maroon master list . dark master list . request marvel master list . short n’ sweet master list

Non-Canon - Post Hawkeye - (Bishova)

Summary: Kate does her best to teach her former Black Widow girlfriend, Yelena, how to swim.

Word Count: 1.4K

Content: Yelena hates the beach, Married WandaNat, Lucky is a good dog

"Kate Bishop!" Yelena whined for the millionth time today. "I told you I don't know how to swim!"

Kate, still baffled by this recent revelation, dropped her girlfriend Yelena Belova onto her feet near the crashing waves of the private beach rented for the day.

"I still don't understand that! A part of me still doesn't believe you." Kate said through her sunglasses as she eyed the more petite blonde. "How does a former black widow assassin not know how to swim!?" Kate questioned as she threw her arms up.

With her arms by her side and green floaties on her arm, Yelena stomped her feet in the hot sand. "I told you I was a child assassin on a mission that week!"

"Ten bucks says Kate gets Yelena into the water before we leave today." Natasha Romanoff, Yelena's sister, said to her wife, Wanda Maximoff-Romanoff, as they watched the two from afar on the porch of the rental house for the weekend getaway.

Kate's pizza dog Lucky by their feet.

"Natasha!" Wanda gasped before slapping her wife's arm. "You can't do that!" She then shook her head and looked back to see Yelena lying on the sand, distracting Kate with a story about how she sniped a former secretary of state.

Wanda sighed. "Fine. You're on." Natasha laughed and sipped her iced tea. "Double or nothing?" She then asked with a coy smile. "Not a chance."

"Wow, how long did you stay in the crawl space of that apartment?" Kate asked, fully involved in Yelena's story as they slowly started building sand castles before remembering what her original plan was. "Wait- don't answer that- damn it, Yelena!" She sighed and scolded her girlfriend before standing up and shaking the sand off of her. "I'm teaching you to swim!"

Yelena looked down at the sand buildings before her and back up to her girlfriend. "But... but I'm busy." She said with a pout, making Kate grab her by her arm and hoist her up. Yelena stumbled. Always surprised by Kate's strength.

"Yelena, I didn't spend all the time putting sunscreen on you for you to not get in the water!"

Yelena crossed her arms over herself in her two-piece. The floaties on her arms making squeaking noises. "But what about sharks?"

"There are no sharks," Kate said, standing behind Yelena and beginning to push her into the sand. Yelena's feet dragged and made lines in the sand behind her heels. "You don't know that." Yelena countered.

"You don't know that either."

"Shit," Yelena whispered. "Okay but what if... what if you get swept out by a current!? I can't save you!" Yelena brought up a pretty solid reasoning in her mind.

But Kate would die trying to get Yelena to do anything. So if some all-mighty power thought that it should be because she's trying to teach Yelena how to swim, then so be it.

Although that would definitely traumatize Yelena for life.

Oh well.

"I won't get swept out, Yelena. I'm going to be with you the whole time. I promise." As those words left Kate, Yelena planted her feet into the sand and turned around to her dark-haired girlfriend. "Promise?" Kate nodded with a breath. "I promise." Yelena searched Kate's eyes for any doubt, but she knew she wouldn't find any. So she nodded, turned, and stepped closer and closer to the water.

"We can go slow," Kate said, step in step with the blonde as the tide rushed over their feet before being dragged out. Yelena jumped back. "Why is it cold!? It's in the sun all day!"

Kate couldn't help but think that that was a good point, and she didn't have an answer for Yelena. "I don't know, but it'll get warmer the longer you're in it."

Yelena looked up at her girlfriend's face before slowly lifting a hand for Kate to take. The taller of the two smiled and took her hand as her other one came to rest of Yelena's back.

Another wave crashed onto their feet, making Yelena laugh lightly as the sand was being pulled from under her feet. "That feels funny." Kate couldn't help but smile and laugh with her. "It does." She agreed as they walked further and further out.

"Damn it," Wanda said as she got up to go retrieve $10 from her purse back inside the house. Natasha watched her wife with a smile. "I told you."

"I told you." Wanda mocked back.

Natasha just shook her head and turned to Lucky, lying flat against the wooden porch. "Oof. Looks like I won't be getting any tonight."

Lucky let out an exaggerated huff from his nose before his ears shot up to the sounds of laughter coming from the shore, making him get up and run to Kate and Yelena.

Natasha watched the dog take off before her eyes found Kate holding Yelena up and over a wave.

The water now thigh-high.

"Ahh!!" Yelena screamed with joy as Kate set her back now and let a wave crash into them.

"It makes me walk funny," Yelena yelled with a smile as the wet sand below her feet gave out, making her stumble a tad. Kate nodded and grabbed the blonde's hand. "Come on, there's a sand bar a little further."

"Sand bar?" Yelena quietly asked before looking around. She didn't see any drinks or people. Yet she followed Kate as Lucky splashed into the water, swimming up to them.

Not caring about the waves.

"Oh, that's why it's called Doggy Paddle," Yelena said as she waded through the water behind Kate. The water slowly rising up her body with every step. As it got past her stomach and some faded scars that's when Yelena slowly began to worry.

"Kate, it's getting deeper..."

Kate Bishop opened her mouth to make a joke before her eyes saw the tiny ounce of fear Yelena had in them. Kate quickly moved to Yelena's side again as Lucky watched them as he swam by to the sand bar.

"Show off," Yelena grumbled, making Kate tilt her head disapprovingly. "Yelena, that's not very nice." Yelena kept her mouth closed as she slowly moved her arms in front of her with Kate's help.

Listening carefully to Kate's instructions.

Swimming more and more as, her feet began to touch the ocean floor less and less. The waves became calmer the further out they went, which helped Yelena and her nerves.

Until.

"Kate Bishop!" Yelena exclaimed as she no longer had her footing, forcing Yelena's mind to short-circuit.

This was it. She was going to drown. She was going to sink. Lucky was on the sandbar watching and was probably laughing at Yelena as she floundered her arms up and down like a mad woman. Yelena knew she had the floaties on, but amid panic, she couldn't think as her feet kicked nothing but water. She opened her mouth to call for her girlfriend's help, but the water went right down her throat due to her own body moving rapidly up and down.

(also, Kate was right there the whole time watching Yelena. Yelena made it sound WAY more dramatic.)

Yelena screamed and coughed up the salty water as Kate wrapped an arm around the blonde and moved her two feet back to where Yelena could touch again.

Yelena sighed and caught her breath again. "I almost died! That would not have been a cool way to die!" Yelena sounds almost disgusted by this. "I was right there. I had you." Kate said with a smile to Yelena, making the blonde swallow and nod while looking out to the ocean before looking back at Kate with her lips curling into a smile. "Thank you."

Kate nodded and swam beside Yelena, who floated with her arms lifted up. "Of course." Kate kissed the blonde's cheek as Lucky swan up to them. Splashing them, making Kate laugh before flicking a small wave of water towards Yelena.

Yelena narrowed her eyes after the initial shock. "Count your blessing, my widow bites are not waterproof." Kate laughs loudly at Yelena's unwavering tone before Yelena splashes Kate back.

Natasha and Wanda continue smiling while laughing and placing bets on Yelena and Kate for the rest of the day.

And when the sun began to dip in the distance, Yelena and Kate walked hand in hand along the beach.

dividers by @/benkeibear

[rawbin-hsr]

OMGGG Your latest smut fic is so amazing!!! The smut is absolutely delicious! but....the angst is breaking my heart so...could you please write a continuation or part two where the reader confronts Aventurine's dark internal thoughts and comforts them? A fic where they actually get him to believe that they love him for real, where they tell him that he's not a monster and that he wasn't ruining them.

You've got it ! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Aventurine x Reader

You treat Aventurine with more respect than he deserves. (Part 2)

Read part 1 here !

CW: dehumanisation (internal, thoughts Aventurine has of himself, referring to himself as a “monster”), lots of mentions of death, passively suicidal Aventurine, violent imagery (through metaphors, nobody is actually physically harmed), intrusive thoughts, Aventurine thinks kind of vicious things about you (refers to you as "stupid", "brainless", "naive" etc), cursing.

Lmk if there’s anything else I should warn about !!

Small note: Spoiler alert sorry, but you will not completely fix Aventurine in this fic. Making any real progress would take YEARS. The trauma he's gone through and his beliefs about his own humanity are EXTREMELY deep-seated, just one conversation would not be enough to make him truly believe he was loved. Super sorry since I'm sure that's not what you wanted (you specifically requested they "truly get him to believe that they love him for real", but this does still end on a hopeful note so I hope you won't be too disappointed (•ᴗ•,, ) )

Sometimes Aventurine gains enough clarity to remember where he stands. More importantly, he gains enough clarity to remember where you should stand. That is to say, as far away from him as possible. Unfortunately, you are never keen on doing that. 

In these moments of clarity, he distances himself. If you won’t do it, he has to. He needs to. He needs to even when he can feel the little pieces of him that you’ve managed to haphazardly glue together splinter into tiny shards again, even when it feels like every step away is a step walked on shattered glass. He can hardly be called a ‘person’ anyways, what does his suffering matter? He has already lost so many good things, why not add another loss to the tally?

He reads your texts, but he doesn’t respond. He hangs up on you the moment you call. By doing this, he makes sure you know he is alive. Both because he knows it would devastate you if you thought he died, but even more so to make sure you know he is intentionally ignoring you. He hopes at least some part of you hates him. He thinks part of him hates you.

But he can never stay away for long. Like a werewolf called by the full moon; like a vampire to blood; like a siren to a sailor. Thoughts of you always cloud his mind too much to do what is right. He reminds himself he will destroy you. He comes back anyways. He is too selfish not to. 

And you welcome him with open arms every time. Sure, sometimes you yell. Sometimes you berate him. Sometimes you cry. But he never does something beyond the bounds of what you’ll forgive, even though he tries to. You’re patient to a fault. Though he feels bad, he never takes it fully seriously, because you always hold him with so much sweetness, even when your words are filled with righteous anger and justified hurt. You always end it by reminding him that you love him. Something clenches in his chest; something that is not his heart, because he has none. He claims he is sorry, but you both know he will do this again. He always does. You know he will hurt you over and over, even if you don’t know the extent. You know he will test you, that he will ignore you, that he will cling to you and that he will taunt you. You don’t know he will drag his claws through you and tear you to ribbons; you don’t know he will sink his teeth into your neck and drink all your blood; you don’t know he will lure you to sea and drown you. You are never aware of the true danger you are in. 

Maybe that’s why you one day feel comfortable enough to corner the creature that has taken on the appearance of a lover. You sit down next to him in bed one evening after one of his many attempts to push you away, your expression grim. You look straight ahead, right into his dead eyes, unaware that a monster is towering over you. 

“We can’t go on like this,” you say. For one moment, the crushing relief and devastation threatens to consume him, and he’s not sure which of the feelings is stronger. For one moment he can’t breathe. 

He hacks our a laugh, his skin straining. Something is shifting beneath his flesh, something ugly and dangerous. He needs to leave and he needs to do it quickly. 

“You’re right, we can’t,” he agrees, his voice a lot more steady than he feels. He feels the urge to grab you and shake you until you pass out. He feels the urge to suck out your life force until your body is an empty husk. He feels the urge to slam your head into the bathroom sink in the next room over. He feels the urge to shoot himself in the head, because he does not want to do any of that. 

“I love you,” you say, unexpectedly. Or maybe it’s not unexpected. You always say such stupid, brainless things. (You say it with sweetness. The only sweetness he can offer in return is the sweetness of bacteria digesting rotting meat. Is the flesh his, or will it be yours?) He laughs again. 

“I thought we were breaking up,” he says. Smirking, as if it’s funny. (It isn’t.)

“No, we’re really not,” you say firmly. He snorts. 

“Maybe we should.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you come closer. 

Get away, he thinks. Run, you fucking idiot. 

You don’t have many flaws, but the ones you do have are insurmountably big. You are too forgiving, you are too kind, you are too selfless, you are too naive. You will kill yourself doing this one day. You will let him kill you.

Your arms wrap around him. He can’t help but relax. The thing lurking under his human disguise grows more restless. 

“I don’t hate you,” you say, unexpectedly. And this one really is unexpected, because what made you say that? Your arms squeeze around him tighter. “I thought I was being obvious enough about that, but you’re so bad at understanding it.”

The feeling he has is the same as the feeling he gets when he realises a deal is going awry. You are the highest risk stakes he has ever made a bet on: will he ruin you, or will you ruin him? What you could do to him is so much more serious than death. He knows that he is holding a losing hand. He doesn’t even know what he stands to win.

You kiss his neck. He shudders. 

“Why are you so scared of me?” you ask. 

Scared? He is not scared. What an outright laughable concept. Neither of you are scared, but if one of you was, it should be you, but you aren’t, for some reason.

“What gives you that idea?” he chuckles, but his voice is not as steady this time, and he can feel his smile slipping. (What is wrong with him? He doesn’t want to think about it. The answer is always ‘everything’.)

“Your hand is shaking.”

It is, but that is not because he is afraid. Fear is a human response, borne from the desire to live. It is instinctual. It means kicking and screaming, it means clawing your way out of hell for the chance to see another day, it means fighting for the life you don’t want to end. He cannot die, you see. Death cannot occur twice. Just because his body reacts, that does not necessarily mean he can truly fear any longer.

(Then again, maybe his reaction does not come from the thought of his death.)

“I’m not scared,” he says, and his voice sounds a lot weaker than he had expected. You pull him closer, cradling his head against the crook of your neck. His blood is pulsing too quickly.

“It would be okay if you were,” you murmur. “I know you don’t know how to be loved. That’s okay. I’ll teach you. You just have to let me.”

Squash. Slice. Tear.

Maybe you are the monster. He can feel your claws prying his chest open; he can feel your teeth dig into his flesh; he can feel something that is not air fill his lungs. The biggest difference between you and him is that he devours, while you give. You painfully shove something back into the cavity meant to contain his soul, you pump blood back into his system, and you fill whatever gaps are left in him with something that is first cold but quickly warms. 

(He realises, belatedly, that something is pumping inside his chest again. But it can’t be a heart, can it? He lost that so long ago.)

“I’ll kill you,” he manages through gritted teeth, claws digging into your shirt. It is not a threat. It is not a warning. It is just the truth.

“You think too much,” you admonish him. Your tone is as gentle as your words are cutting. “I wish you would trust me more. You’re so determined to ruin your own life, and I don’t like it.”

“That’s just how I am. Deal with it or leave.”

“I’ll deal with it, then.”

Like a werewolf called by the full moon; like a vampire to blood; like a siren to a sailor. He will destroy you. But you accept it. 

He has tried time and time again to push you away, but he is weak. So incorrigibly weak, and though your flaws are insurmountable, his are all-consuming. He is a monster in all the ways that matter. But you stubbornly will not leave despite that. 

(Maybe that makes him a little more willing to try to change his nature. Just a little. Just for you. If you will not leave anyways, maybe he could try to make his presence a little less torturous.)

“Just… please stop ignoring me,” you sigh, nuzzling into his hair. Tenderly, tenderly, tenderly, so tenderly it makes his skin crawl. Your claws are softly piercing into him and he is helpless, unable (unwilling) to fight back. “I can deal with everything else. I just hate it when you do that. I can’t keep going weeks without speaking to you. I know you have some kind of… weird ideas that I’d be better off without you, but that’s not true. I love you, and I love being around you. I can’t help you when you cut me off at every corner.”

Cut, slice, slash.

Something in him breaks. Something he knows cannot be salvaged. Something he knows you would not want to salvage. Something he is not sure if he wants to salvage either, now that it is broken anyways.

He breathes a shaky breath, his fingers — his fingers, not claws, not this time — digging into your back. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, and he does not feel the urge to bite down. Though his eyes feel wet, it would not be enough water to drown you. 

He knows your line of logic is wrong. He knows the fact remains unchanged: he is a monster of a man. He will ruin you. But maybe your presence sparks enough electricity to keep his heart pumping, just for a little while, and maybe he can wait until things actually start going downhill before he lets you go. Maybe he can remember how to be a human for a bit, maybe he can pretend he is. 

“I just… don’t want to do something I can’t take back,” he whispers. “Not with you. You’re the… the only good thing I have left. I don’t know what I’d do if I…”

“That’s sweet, but I’m not as weak as you think I am,” you reply. “I’ve held out this long, haven’t I? Put more faith in me.”

He smiles.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

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My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3 Also reblogs are EXTREMELY appreciated the final push I needed to finish this was from a very kind individual who reposted and analysed my writing I've been riding that high ever since they did that ily bro

[ao3-crack]

(x)

[aroaceleovaldez]

i honestly wish rr would just write for something that has nothing to do with pjo not the same characters not the universe just go and write something new bc i really liked daughter of the deep and i think he's wrung everything out of the pjoverse yk? he's a good writer but he needs to go do something different

I agree - the problem with Rick's writing is he's heavily reliant on his writing being derivative. He struggles to write original stuff. PJO, HoO, ToA, etc are all derivative from Greco-Roman mythology/history. MCGA is Norse mythology/history, TKC is Egyptian mythology/history. Daughter of the Deep is Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea. And he's not terrible at it! The problem is that can't go on forever. He runs out of material to work from over time and suddenly the quality of the franchise tanks dramatically. Especially as he loses overarching connecting threads to tie the plots together, so it just becomes this soup of throwing references at the wall with no cohesion to see what sticks. And it's bad!

We started seeing it in HoO, also in part due to Rick trying to combine too many disparate inspirations to the main plot to begin with and didn't know how to make them mesh well (Seven Against Thebes, Gigantomachy, Argonauts, Odyssey). TKC and MCGA were okay because they're only three book series, so that's plenty of mythology to draw from with stuff left over, and the majority of their companion novel stuff is ghostwritten anyways. The shorter series span means less filler required so less mythology is used up and there ya go. In the longer series, Rick has to spend those five books filling in the gaps of that overarching plot and he runs out of material fast - that's why by the end of HoO it was just turning into blatant Marvel references. Now that we're getting into a fourth installment in the main series collection, even though it's only a three-book series, Rick has basically written himself into a corner because he doesn't write anything else. He ran out of places to go with the franchise like two series ago! So now he's just throwing literally anything he can think of at things (literally just plucking random mythological figures and pop culture references or tropes), or if he can't think of anything, apparently just blatantly lifting stuff from the community.

At this point the only possible Greco-Roman series I think he'd be able to do without it being total garbage would be a 3-book Roman series set during SoM-TLO/The Second Titan War. I don't think he should do that and I don't want him to, but based on everything that's probably just what would have the best likelihood of success. It just seems like the only place he can go. Anything else he'd have to do something actually original, and he's shown time and time again that he's not interested in doing that and isn't very good at it anymore.

[indigos-stardust]

their autism clashes so hard (so do their traumas <3)

[artdcnaldson]

in the sex lessons au, reader was definitely introduced to porn by patrick. i bet he also gave her massages that “required” her to take off her shirt and bra and always ended up with his hands on her nipple….

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (mutual masturbation, exhibitionism kinda, more manipulative perverts but that’s par for the course)

A/N: how did you know I eat this up. I wrote a 3 part Steve Harrington fic with this exact plot like…. This is my bread and butter simply. Unedited sozz

It was easy to succumb to temptation when it was just the three of you— holed up in Art’s dorm, hidden away from the rest of the world.

A few cans of beer, cold from his mini fridge, the warm press of your legs on top of Patrick’s, of Art’s chest against your back. There’s a movie playing on Art’s laptop— some shitty action movie he’d rented for the three of you.

“Have you ever watched porn?” Patrick asks you bluntly.

Your eyes widen in surprise. “What? No— websites like that give you computer viruses, and stuff.” Art laughs, his body shaking with it. You suppose it is a little childish, but you’re being completely earnest. “What? Doesn’t it?”

Patrick laughs, shakes his head. “If that were true I would’ve gone through a thousand computers by now.”

You grimace, toss an empty beer can at him. “You’re so fucking gross.”

But Patrick just laughs, takes another swig of his beer, leans forward curiously. “So… I mean, do you just use your imagination when you’re touching yourself?”

Heat burns in your cheeks, and you roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

“Well, how do you know what you need to imagine if you’ve never seen anyone fucking? Is it just sweet kisses and hand holding?”

You kick him and Art comes to your defense like the sweetest knight in shining armor. “C’mon, Patrick, leave her alone.” Art’s hand is splayed across your tummy— firm, warm, protective. Patrick pretends like he doesn’t hear him, leans closer.

“I wanna know what innocent little fantasies you get off to. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” It’s hard to resist Patrick when he’s so close, when Art’s so close, when you feel warm and dizzy all over.

You sigh softly, relishing as he presses his warm body against your side, so it’s Patrick and Art and you sandwiched hot between them. “You realize you’re being a major fucking perv, right?” You ask in a low tone, meeting his gaze through your lashes. He nods, and you’re so conscious of his hand between your knees as his eyes bear into yours. But he wants you to continue, so you swallow and go on. “I dunno, sometimes it’s not about a fantasy. It’s just about me wanting some stress relief, or, like, my body needing it and it’s too hard to ignore.”

Art’s fingers flex against your stomach and you take a slow breath. “But, I mean, I guess I fantasize about being desired, like, taken care of I guess,” you mumble, mortified that you’re admitting it.

Patrick grins, runs his thumb along the inside of your knee. “That’s so sweet.” You roll your eyes, take a long drink, and try to ignore the heat in your stomach. “Do you want to see what Art likes to watch?”

Art’s eyes go wide, and he shakes his head. “No, no, we’re not doing that,” he says firmly. Patrick brushes him off, ignoring his pleas as he grabs the laptop and pulls up his trusty porn site. You peer over Patrick’s shoulder, eyes going wide as he opens to the home page, to all the recommended videos.

Your jaw drops, just a bit, and you let your eyes rake over the screen. It’s all right there— flagrant. Pretty girls with dicks in their mouths, pussies, hands. Lewd titles, the preview videos playing brief glimpses of obscenity.

“Aww, Art, this is so adorable,” Patrick teases as he scrolls. “Girl best friend deepthroats like a champ. Morning lovemaking ends in creampie.” Art mumbles something against your shoulder, blushing so hard you can feel the heat emanating from his skin.

Patrick clicks the latter and it opens to slow, deep kissing. A mess of tongues, rife with need. You know it’s normal to watch, to an extent— a right of passage, or whatever. But watching it feels so voyeuristic, so invasive. Especially when you’re practically in Art’s lap, when Patrick’s hands are hot against your skin.

Patrick gets bored of soft kissing and wandering hands and skips five minutes ahead in the video. By the time the buffering catches up, they’re fucking onscreen, all slow and sweet. Still kissing, still holding hands. But you also see the way the man’s cock sinks into her, can hear the moaning, the wet sounds of her body taking him in.

Art exhales a shaky breath against your skin, makes you shiver. He’s hard, you can feel that clearly against you, and you know he’s provably fucking mortified over it. But he doesn’t move to turn off the video, doesn’t do anything. His hand twitches against your stomach and you realize he’s still holding you.

The video is short— too short, you decide. The man finishes, you get a close up of the woman’s pussy, of cum dripping from her entrance. It makes your face burn, makes desire burn equally as hot as your embarrassment. The video ends, and Patrick stops auto play.

“Art, that shit is so fucking boring.” It snaps your attention from the paused screen over to him, who seems completely unaffected. You might actually believe he was unaffected if he wasn’t visibly hard.

You peer over at Patrick curiously. “What do you watch?”

He smiles, like he’d been waiting for you to ask, and grabs the laptop. Art makes a weak complaint that Patrick is going to fuck up his recommendations, but is ignored. Patrick logs in to an account and opens a tab for liked and saved videos.

Oh. You lean forward for a better look, expression twisting between shock and interest and confusion and disgust. Patrick’s tastes vary widely— venturing into areas you hadn’t even known were sexual. It’s like he had thrown everything at the wall to see what would stick, and everything just stuck.

“Oh my god, Patrick,” Art mutters, equally as intrigued as you are. “What the fuck, dude.” Art steals the laptop, scrolling through thumbnails of feet and anal and gangbangs and piss and bdsm dungeons and girls in stupid fucking schoolgirl costumes.

Patrick grabs the laptop back roughly, scrolls and clicks. “This one’s good, it’s perfect for when you just want to cum fast. Art, I know you don’t have that problem.”

Art flips him off and looks at the screen, reading the title aloud. “One hour squirting and cumshot compilation. Could you be any grosser?”

“Yes, actually. Sorry I don’t watch your sweet lovemaking bullshit.” Patrick shoves him, then Art shoves him back, and suddenly the laptop is on the floor in front of you and you’re just watching while they squabble on either side of you.

The video is exactly as described— it skips all of the pretense, all of the build up. It’s just people cumming, over and over and over. Your body feels like a live wire as you watch, lit up all over.

You squeeze your thighs together, conscious of the heat and wetness between them. Patrick clocks it— of course he does. A smirk plays at his lips.

“Maybe it’s not so disgusting, Art. She likes it.” Patrick relishes in the hazy, innocent look in your eyes as you meet his gaze. Relishes in the embarrassment and the need. “It’s good, huh? Getting to watch?”

You nod and Patrick takes your hand, slips it beneath the waistband of your shorts. “Go ahead. You want to.”

You shiver, temptation itching down to your fingertips. Sensing your hesitation, Patrick spits into his hand, slips it into his own shorts. You manage to hold out a few more seconds before you let your fingers brush over your clit.

“C’mon Art, don’t be a fucking creep,” Patrick says, moaning as he works his fist faster. Art swears under his breath and quickly shoves his own hand into his boxers.

You’re all so close, bodies pressed together hot and firm. You can feel the way their bodies move with each stroke, the way their thighs tense as they instinctually buck into their fists.

You moan, head falling against Art’s shoulder. His hand splays against you, inches up, brushing against the underside of your tit. It makes you whimper.

Patrick grabs your face, redirects your attention back to the screen. “Keep watching, it’s getting good.” His voice is strained, affected.

He usually lasts longer than this when he’s in your hand or your mouth, but maybe the video really was that good. Surely it didn’t have anything to do with you, panting and writhing as you rubbed at your clit beside him.

For once, Patrick cums first— doubling over, groaning muffled into your hair. Then it’s Art, whining so pretty, pulling you closer, mouthing at your shoulder as he comes down. And then you, overwhelmed by the two boys on either side of you, cumming with a rush of wetness that ruins your already soaked panties.

You sit there panting as the video continues playing— obscene wet, lewd sounds, wanton moans. Art hits stop, shuts the laptop and kicks it away.

You wonder why every time you hang out with them, it always seemed to end like this. And you wonder why you don’t mind, not even a little bit.

[somewhereincairparavel]

I'm so immersed in my jason grace new rome uni fic that I'm studying ancient roman law terms using this as an excuse. help.

[amazinglyashy]

Uramichi Omota Relationship HCs

Definitely inexperienced when it comes to being in a relationship, but it doesn’t show very well. He’s never had a partner really- between being too busy during his school days trying to meet insane expectations, and now dealing with his own personal issues into adulthood, he hasn’t seen a need to date. He’s probably internalized that he needs to fix whatever he has going on with himself before subjecting a partner to it. Regardless, he’s mature enough and learnt enough about the world around him to know how a relationship is supposed to vaguely go, especially the healthy ones. 

Still, the likelihood of him turning you down if you make the first move is almost nonexistent. He’ll never admit it in any way other than a dark and pessimistic way, but he does genuinely want a partner to love and be loved by. It’s impossible to resist, even with his anxiety and depression, if you’re the one approaching him. 

He’s very hands off at first, and it’s a fifty-fifty chance people can even tell you two are in a relationship at all, with how much he treats you like a friend rather than a lover at first. 

There are small signs though, pointing to him having more care for you than others. He’s much more likely to try and avoid doing things that make you uncomfortable, scared, or hurt. He also will skip a pack of cigarettes or get a smaller case of beer to buy you snacks he knows you like, or if there's something he knows you need. He'd rather at least try to be a bit healthier if it means making sure you're taken care of.

He won't tell you, though. Things will just... appear.

The same goes for if you go out with him to a bar- especially if you're a lightweight. You'll just happen to have a glass of water in your hand, a jacket on your shoulders, a seat on a crowded train home-

[struniolos]

guitar lessons.

chapter two: meddle about.

(you can read chapter one here!)

synopsis: you decided to take guitar lessons from your boyfriend nate’s best friend, chris, while he’s away at college. but one night, things go too far. loosely based off the song sex by the 1975.

warnings: smut! minors do not interact.

“what did you yesterday baby?” nate’s voice hums through the phone, as you cuddle up into your bedsheets.

you rambled to him about everything, how you’d gone to buy a gingerbread house to make with your friends, how you bought a new coat, everything other than what was gnawing at you. chris. you tried your best to act as you usually did, but made an effort to bounce the questions back to him so you didn’t have to talk about yourself.

“so, when are you coming to visit me?” you said, biting your lips.

“i’ve got to study for finals next week, so i’m probably not for another two weeks.” nate told you, making your heart sink.

the less you saw him, the more you felt yourself drifting away from him. it was a gut wrenchingly awful feeling, guilt bubbling beneath the surface of your body. in everything you did, you felt it.

you sighed into the speaker. “i miss you.”

“i miss you too, baby.” nate told you. “well, i’ve got training in the morning so i should go, but we’ll talk soon. i love you.”

“i love you too.” you said quietly, holding your face in your hands.

as the phone call came to an end, you found yourself curled in a ball under the covers. it was almost 8pm, when you agreed to meet with chris. but your heart was telling you not to go, that this was an awful idea. because it was, you had just told your boyfriend how you loved him moments before meeting up with his best friend. you decided to message chris.

you: i’m not coming, i’m sorry.

he typed back instantly.

chris: why? we can just chill :(

you: it’s too cold. i just want to stay in bed.

you try and weasel your way out of the gate you’ve opened, to step back as if you weren’t the one also engaging in this.

chris: what if i came to pick you up?

you bit your lips, sighing.

you: fine.

about an hour later, you look out your bedroom window to see the familiar black van out the front of your house, it’s headlights illuminating the icy road thats caked in snow at the curb. you grab your hoodie and put on your slippers, sneaking down the staircase to not disturb your parents as they would know damn well it wasn’t nate.

you tiptoed your way out the front door, walking the snowy path towards the van. chris had already reached over to open the door for you, and you felt yourself getting flustered. you jumped into the van, closing the door firmly behind you and looking over at chris, his hair dark and loose, his silver necklace stark against his black crewneck.

“hey.” he smiled, putting the car into drive.

“hey.” you said shyly, biting your cheek. “so, where are we going?”

“you’ll see.” chris shrugged, with one the hand on the wheel and the other propped up against the window.

you felt an unbearable weight on your chest, something urging you to stop. to tell him to turn around and take you home. but there was something about him, something that you couldn’t fight. nate was the safe option, you knew that, but chris- chris was dangerous.

the radio was on quietly, the hum of the engine and icy roads filling your ears. you both didn’t speak for the rest of the drive, in complete silence within each other’s company. you wondered if chris was thinking about nate, or if he was selfishly wanting you all to himself.

eventually, you were parked at a lookout spot at the hilled part of the neighbourhood, looking out to the thousands of houses below only specks of yellow light against the darkness. you were shielded by woods, away from prying eyes.

chris parked the car, pulling the handbreak and leaning back in his chair. he looked over at you, his eyes dark.

“i don’t know what i’m doing, chris.” you said softly, breaking the silence. “i shouldn’t be here.”

“but you came.” he opposed, rubbing his face- his chain bracelet falling down his veined arm. you found yourself eyeing his fingers too, long and slender, the dimmed light carving out his features.

chris was the one to make the first move, shifting his hand to your thigh as he held eye contact with you. “why did you leave yesterday?”

“because it’s wrong and we shouldn’t be…i shouldn’t be doing this.” you said with pleading eyes.

chris continued rubbing your thigh. you don’t stop him. he leaned over to grab your face with his other hand, his finger tracing your warm cheek and lips, his thumb prying your mouth open.

“after you left, did you go home and touch yourself thinking about me?” he murmured, looking at you though hooded eyelids.

you hated how much you loved this, how much you revelled in his forbidden touch. you knew he wanted you to suck on his fingers but you didn’t, simply kissing the pad of his thumb. “no.”

“hmm.” he hummed, grabbing your cheeks with one hand, his fingers digging into your cheeks as he squeezed them together to pout your mouth. “i did.”

you clenched your thighs together, as he kissed you deep. you moaned into his mouth, as his tongue came to lick into yours. it was messy, all teeth and tongue. you never did this with nate, it was always so straightforward. you guessed this was why chris was so enticing- he was everything nate wasn’t.

“come over here.” he whispered, grabbing your hips to help you. he pushed the seat backwards to give you both more space, as you settled yourself on his lap, straddling him.

you rubbed your palms down his shirt, breathing heavily. “what happened to teaching me guitar?

“i’m teaching you something else.” he smirked, kissing you again, this time slower.

you pulled away briefly. “and what would that be?”

“how to feel good.” he flirted, kissing the corner of your mouth, his hands greedy as he squeezed your hips and groped your behind.

“my boyfriend makes me feel just fine.” you told him, trying to elicit a reaction.

but chris didn’t react, instead looking you directly in the eyes as he tilted his head as he dipped a hand below your sweatpants. “if he did, why did you come to me?”

your lips fall apart as he began to rub circles through your panties, your sensitive bundle of nerves pulsating at his touch. your lips found each other, tongues dancing and hot air spilling from your nose as your breathing picked up. he moved your underwear to the side, his fingers collecting your slick.

“i dreamed about this.” chris told you, as he began to push his ring finger inside your velvet walls.

“you did?” you breathed, bracing your hands on his shoulders.

he kissed your cheek sloppily. “mhm, about how good you’d feel.”

you moaned at the feeling of his finger fully seated inside you. fuck, it had been so long. chris pumped his finger in and out of you a few times before adding another, your vision blurring and body heating up.

“c’mon pretty girl.” he urged you, as his fingers curled and beckoned you towards your orgasm.

you moaned raggedly into his mouth, your hips starting to grind up and down. the feeling of his lips on yours, his hand on the small of your back guiding you as he fingered you deep sent you over the edge embarrassingly quickly. you moaned and squirmed in his lap, a complete mess. he coerced your release through small praises and kisses, holding you close to his chest. chris brought his fingers to his mouth to suck clean, locking eyes with you- it was lewd, but ridiculously hot.

“i want to be inside you.” chris confessed, his lips attaching to your neck to suck bruises into your skin.

“chris.” you protested, but he continued to assault your neck, his other hand coming to cup your ass, moulding it against his hand.

“i can take care of you better than him.” he uttered, now squeezing your breasts with both hands, kneading and palming them.

you felt your pussy flutter, your core coming in contact with his hardness. you ground down onto him, the friction euphoric. “show me.”

between kisses and whispers, chris assisted you in ridding yourself of your hoodie, and pulling your sweatpants off. he tossed them into the backseat, as well as tossing his crewneck and tshirt off and shimmying down his own sweatpants, so they sat at his thighs. you continued to grind yourself down on his hardness, both of you moaning and breathing heavily at the feeling.

you couldn’t do this to nate, this would completely change things. this would break you. you knew if you continued, that there was no going back. but it just felt so good.

chris kissed the valleys of your breasts, pulling your bra down so it hung at your hips, as he continued to suckle on each one, toying with the other with his free hand. you moaned heavily, the feeling of his warm mouth and breath on you too much. chris pulled away with a wet pop, leaving your nipples peaked and wet.

“i want you to spit on my cock before i fuck you.” he instructed, and you did as you were told.

you pulled down his boxers to let his weeping cock spring free, letting it slap against his stomach. you licked your lips, as you held it in your hands, the warm weight of it enough to send you over the edge. he was definitely bigger than nate, girthier too- you knew it was going to hurt. you spit on your hand, before coating it all over his cock like lube. chris threw his head back, groaning and bucking his hips up into your hand.

chris stopped you, placing his palm on your chest. he sat himself upright, as you hovered your hips above him. he pushed your soaked panties to the side once more, rubbing the red tip of his cock against your opening. you both indulged in the feeling, pushing your lips together and your breath mingling as one.

“want me to fuck you, pretty girl?” he growled.

“please.” you pleaded, feverishly kissing him.

“you think i can fuck you better than your boyfriend?” he dares, licking behind your ear and continuing to rub the tip of his cock against your wet folds.

you shudder, biting your lips to you conceal your answer as your pussy throbs. yes, you think to yourself.

chris grabs your hips, leaving crescent moons in your flesh from his nails as he guides you. you let out an embarrassing desperate moan as you sink yourself down onto him, seated perfectly in his lap. he’s only halfway in, and the stretch is much more than you’re used to. or maybe because it had been so long? was it because he was bigger than nate? your mind buzzed with thoughts. thoughts of your boyfriend. here you where, with his best friends dick inside of you- and it turned you on much more than you’d admit to yourself.

chris kissed you sloppily as he helped you seat yourself completely on him, your pussy swallowing him whole. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly close. you felt so full, so content. you hadn’t felt this...ever.

without much time to adjust to his size, chris began thrusting his hips up into you, filling you to the hilt. you gasped and grappled onto him, anywhere you could, his hair, his shoulders, the car seat behind him. he was relentless.

“i’ve wanted to do this for months.” he whispered, grabbing a fist full of your hair and using it to pull your head back, giving him full access to your neck and chest.

all you could do was moan in response, as his hips snapped up into you at a reckless pace. he licked up your throat, and dipped his fingers into your mouth. you gagged on them, saliva dripping down your chin. it was filthy and messy and so fucking hot. you had never experienced anything like it.

“do i fuck you better than your boyfriend? huh?” he growled, as you began to meet his thrusts, desperately chasing your release.

“mhm” you muffled, his fingers dropping from your mouth.

“what was that?” he taunted, a devilish smile daunting over him.

you almost felt like you were going to split in half with the pace and force he was fucking into you. tears were almost pricking your eyes, everything just felt so good.

“yes, yes chris.” you cried, a blubbering mess as he grabbed your hips tighter to pound into you.

you grabbed his face with both hands, kissing him full of tongue and saliva. everything was becoming blurred, your thoughts of nate a distant memory as you felt your orgasm building in your stomach. your toes began to curl, your face contorting and a high pitched squeal -you didn’t know you were capable of- coming from within you.

“fuck oh my god!” you shuddered, your body beginning to convulse and shake around him, clutching onto his sweaty body tighter.

you felt your release come quicker than you’d have liked, with chris’ thrusts becoming more languid as he helped you ride out your high. his hair was stuck to his forehead, his cheeks and chest flushed red. his eyebrows knit together and lips parted as he followed close behind you, shooting his hot juices into you. you let your forehead fall to his shoulder, breathing heavily and your body shuddering.

you both sat for a while, catching your breath, with chris still deep inside you. you raised your head, looking at him with saddened eyes, pushing his hair from his face.

chris pouted at you, scrunching his nose. “what?”

“i cant believe we did that. that…that shouldn’t have happened.” you tell him softly, as the weight of the situation finally sunk in.

you had cheated on nate.

“he won’t know.” chris assured you, rubbing slow circles on your bare back.

you shook your head. “but what if he finds out.“

“he won’t.” chris said firmly, looking at you with a seriousness you weren’t used to. “same time tomorrow?”

you rubbed your forehead, looking at the man before you. he was gorgeous, all fucked out and blissful, lips kissed and hair mussed. how could you say no?

“okay.”

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