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issues4him · 8 days ago

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MANIAC — R.C.

ex-bf!rafe x reader

summary :: at a party, rafe corners you after hearing the rumors you’ve spread—mocking you sweetly as he reminds you exactly why you keep coming back.

🎵 :: maniac — conan gray

cw :: lewd language, suggestive, mentions of sex, mentions of alcohol, toxic rafe

“tell all of your friends that i’m crazy and drive you mad , that i’m such a stalker, a watcher, a psychopath”

the house is packed with warm bodies and red solo cups, bass vibrating through the floor, the haze of weed clinging to the walls like wallpaper. someone spilled a drink on the stairs, someone’s crying in the bathroom. it’s chaos in the way every figure eight party is—and you’ve done everything you can to blend in.

but you know he’s here.

you knew the second you walked in. you could feel it like static on your skin. you haven’t seen him yet, but the energy’s off. your shoulders are tense, your drink’s untouched in your hand, you keep scanning the room without meaning to. he’s here, watching.

and then you hear it. your name, then his name. “she told me he followed her home last month. like—full-on stalker shit.”

you’re standing just outside the kitchen. Two girls you vaguely know are tucked in the corner, whispering, giggling. “i mean, even she’s said rafe’s a total psycho. he’s hot, but like… insane. like, she literally called him a maniac. said being with him was like dating a loaded gun.”

you close your eyes, and swallowed hard. you thought the rumors would blow over. that people would stop bringing him up. that if you just kept your head down, if you didn’t respond to his texts, if you pretended not to care, then maybe he’d disappear. but rafe cameron doesn’t disappear. he hunts.

“psychopath’s a little harsh, don’t ya’ think?” the voice is right behind you, low, smooth. the kind of voice that makes your blood run hot and cold all at once. you turn slowly, and there he is.

rafe fucking cameron.

he’s wearing a black t-shirt, backwards hat, a faint red mark on his cheek like he’d been in a fight earlier tonight. his jaw is tight, smile razor sharp, and those ice-blue eyes were unfortunately locked on you. he leans in just enough for only you to hear him over the music. “so you’re telling people ’m a stalker now?” his brows lift slightly. “that’s cute.” you try to walk past him, but he shifts, casually stepping into your path. you bump his chest—solid, hot, heart pounding beneath the fabric. “y’know, baby…” he murmurs, lowering his voice even further, “maniac is real funny, especially coming from someone who used to moan my name every night.” you stiffen. his eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise, “oh? that didn’t make it into the group chat?”

you glance around—the hallway is full but tight, people pass, brush against you. the lights are dim and flashing pink-blue, pink-blue. and rafe’s not letting you leave.

he backs you into the wall beside the staircase with a lazy kind of control, like this isn’t the first time he’s had you pressed against something. “tell ‘em whatever the fuck you want,” he says, voice low, lips brushing your ear. “tell ‘em i’m sick in the head…that i’m crazy,” his hand skims up your thigh—slow, deliberate. “but don’t lie to me.” you suck in a breath, body tensing as his fingers toy with the hem of your skirt. “you knew i’d be here. you wore this little outfit. walked in all soft and sweet like you didn’t leave scratch marks down my back the last time i seen you.”

you shake your head. “that was a mistake.”

he tilts his head. “no, baby. talking about me like i wasn’t gonna find out? that was the mistake.” his lips quirk up into a dangerous smirk. then he laughs. not mean, not loud, just… entertained. like your attempt to paint him as some unhinged monster is the funniest thing he’s heard all night.“you like me crazy,” he whispers. “you like that i show up, and then don’t let you go.”

the worst part is, is that it wasn’t false. your heart is racing, your thighs are clenching. and he hasn’t even kissed you yet.

“you tell them you hate me and dated me just for laughs , so why do you call me and tell me you want me back?”

you’re panting, gasping—fucked out before he’s even pulled you upstairs. and, God, does he love it. not in the way most guys would love it. not in that cocky, shallow, frat boy way. no—rafe cameron loves it in that slow, sick, twisted way. the kind that coils around your ribs and squeezes.

he steps back just a little—not enough to let you go, but enough to look at you. your lips are parted, your lashes heavy, thighs pressed tight together like your body’s trying to remember what his fingers felt like the other week. you looked wrecked.

he lets out a soft breath, shakes his head with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “damn,” he says under his breath. “not even five minutes.”his tone is light, almost impressed—fake impressed. “you really do love making a show of yourself, huh?” he murmurs, voice low and lazy as his thumb brushes your cheek. “lookin’ at me like that? careful, now, sweet cheeks… people might start to think you actually missed me.”

you flinch at the sound of a door slamming nearby—suddenly aware of how not alone you are, how someone could’ve seen, could’ve heard. and rafe sees that panic flicker across your face.“oh, don’t worry, baby,” he says, leaning in closer, tongue in cheek. “i’m sure no one noticed.” he lets the silence sit. lets you catch your breath. lets you hope he’s done.

“y’know…” his voice drops, sweet and slow and poisonous. “i keep hearing that i was just a game to you. like i was somethin’ to laugh about.” you freeze. he pulls back just enough to look at you, his smile sharpening as his hand trails down the front of your skirt. not touching—just reminding. “you really told people you hated dating me?” he asks, soft as ever. “it was just for laughs?” he chuckles low in his throat. “nah, that’s good. that’s really good.” he shifts his weight, one hand braced on the wall beside your head. “but… when exactly were you laughing?” he asks, voice still laced with fake curiosity. “was it when i had you in the backseat of my truck begging me to choke you?”your breath catches in your throat. “or maybe it was that night at tannyhill. you remember that, right? in the bathroom, fucked you right on the counter?” his lips graze your ear. “you were screaming then. but, hey—maybe that’s just your sense of humor.”

you press your palms to his chest, trying to push him away. he doesn’t budge. “and what about last weekend?” he asks, tilting his head like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “i didn’t really hear you laughin’ when you called me at two in the fuckin’ morning.” he mimics your voice, soft and pathetic, “rafey, please. i just need to see you. i can’t stop thinking about you, i miss you so much.”

you close your eyes. “stop—”

“‘i miss how you touch me.’” he’s grinning now, so cruelly. “‘no one else can make me cum like you, not even myself.’”

you shove him harder this time. Still doesn’t move. “crazy how fast the story changes when you’re not the one in control of it, huh?” his tone is light. his eyes? not.

and then he laughs—just once. quiet and cold.“but hey,” he shrugs, stepping back with that shit-eating smirk, “thanks for the laugh.”

#rafe cameron

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55sturn · 5 months ago

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✮ RUNNING INTO EX!CHRIS STURNIOLO AT A PARTY

inspired by + creds to: everyone that has written the ex!triplet au!

disclaimers: swearing, angst, mentions of drugs + alcohol, allusions of cheating [ no cheating ever happened ], chris is so in love with reader

you didn’t wanna be here in some dingy kitchen, complete with a slightly (severely) outdated interior, mismatched furniture in heinous colours that didn’t pair well, tacky printed wallpaper that mirrored the weird carpeting from the hotel in the shining, every surface in the house sticky with various spilt liquids, crushed cans and solo cups crunching beneath the platform of your doc martens with every step you took, and drug paraphernalia laying around everywhere you looked. you could even spot the cocaine straws and leftover residue of the white powder on the brown countertops. truthfully, in hindsight, it was not the best setting for two kids that just got scouted and eventually contracted for some of the best college hockey teams in the state.

but still, you plastered a smile on your face and showed up, for matt and chris, despite that you and chris had broken up a couple months ago. you know and witnessed firsthand how hard they worked to get this far in their hockey careers. and this party was being thrown to celebrate and commemorate their shared dreams coming to fruition.

the air was thick with weed and cigarette smoke as you made your way through the house, your eyes and throat burning with each blink and breath. the smell of skunky ass weed alone could give anyone in attendance the worst case of cotton mouth. you fought the urge to gag at the sight of couples and people who were obviously seeing one another shotgunning smoke into each other’s mouths or even just straight up swapping spit and dry humping one another.

you knew you were being a hypocrite and a bit condescending, considering that you were in those girls’ places less than six months ago. you and chris constantly put on a heavy show of pda, not caring who was around. but as you kept pushing through the crowd of people, your best friend stopped in her tracks, turning to face you so fast you’re shocked she doesn’t get whiplash.

“chris is head of the drink table tonight.” she hums right against the shell of your ear, and you’re quick to stiffen. this is the first time you’re going to see him since the breakup, and it’s not going to be easy considering how harsh the breakup was.

“fuck, i need a drink.” you groan, trying to come up with some way to get a drink without your ex seeing you.

“i’ll get a drink for you, wait here.” she smiles, turning and walking away just as fast as before, and you didn’t even have a chance to tell her that when chris is head of the drink table, he’s quick to limit a person.

you wandered aimlessly around the equally dingy living room, the soft LED lights making your head throb slightly, and you swore could feel the thump of the bass bumping in your blood stream. you knew you needed a drink if you were going to tolerate this any longer, so you took a deep breath before turning around and pushing toward the drink table. you felt your hands begin to tremble as you got closer to seeing chris with each step. you weren’t ready, and you didn’t think you were ever going to be. the fight had been a clash of angry words and deep cutting insults thrown at one another, most of them directed at you.

you stand on the side of the drink table, opposite of chris as he talked to one his buddies, contemplating turning around and pretending you were never there, but his friend taps him on the shoulder and nods toward you, and before you could leave, chris turns around, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second before looking away, only for him to look at you again.

“yo jason grab me a fruit punch truly.” chris calls over his shoulder, and the fact that he stills know what your go to drink has your stomach churning with nostalgia and something a bit more heartbreaking.

you’re quick to take the drink from him and walk away, but he’s quicker, much quicker to tap his friend into their shift and tag along after you, he’s one step ahead of you figuratively, always has been, it’s almost as if he could tell what you were thinking before the thought fully formed in your mind. and he’s quick to catch up to you, to gently grab your arm, pulling you back to face him.

“can we talk?” the words slip out of his mouth before he can even really think about them, and your body goes rigid as you look at him, the question you wanted to avoid had finally settled into the air, thick as the smoke that hung amidst the crowd of partygoers. and you go against your internal wishes as you nod, walking behind him as he pulls you to one of the bathrooms on the top floor, and you don’t question him as he sits on the counter across from the wall you’re leaning against partially to respect his space, mostly because his cologne is intoxicating and you fear that if you sit next to him, you’ll make rash decisions that wouldn’t be fair to either if you.

after a pregnant pause coupled with him watching your face intently, he hums a simple question that hurts more than it should.

“how ya been kid?”

“i’ve been okay, just trying to push through the rest of the semester, you?” you whisper, scared to break the rather agonizing and bittersweet tenderness that clings to the atmosphere.

“i’ve been, well, if i’m being honest, i’ve been a wreck. i miss you, y/n. more than i know i should given what led to us fighting and breaking up, but i don’t want to lie to you. but it’s fuckin’ with my head, you fuck with my head.” he sighs, fiddling with the silver bracelet dangling off his wrist.

“what do you mean?”

“i’ve been benched more these last few weeks than i have in my entire life playing sports, i’ve gotten enough penalties to be threatened with suspension because i’m angry and i hurt every day and i just want to believe that this is just some fucked up dream and that it’ll finally end and i’ll wake up next to you, but it’s like i’m stuck in a loop that started the day you walked out.”

“you mean the day you told me that i’m too much for you? the day you said that you could get with any girl you want, that you almost cheated on me?” you spit, not meaning to sound so angry, but the fact of the matter is, his words killed you. they hung over you like a dark grey cloud, repeating on an infinite loop in the depths of your mind every time you doubted yourself.

“yes. and i regret those words every single second. i’m not trying to justify it, but i could feel myself cracking under the pressure from my coach, under the self inflicted pressure of wanting to prove myself to you, to prove i was still worthy of your love. i wish i had asked for space that night, it would’ve given me a chance to take a deep breath and collect my thoughts instead of spewing hateful lies your way.” he murmurs, his eyes glossing over with tears as you watch him, your own eyes stinging ever so slightly.

“chris-“

“i don’t want to be one of those pathetic guys that begs a girl for another chance after doggin’ on them but god kid, i am so in love with you, you’re the girl i wanna marry, and if i don’t sit here and beg for one more chance, i’ll hate myself until the end of time. i don’t want us to end because i fucked up when i should’ve just taken a step back, i want us to end together, in rocking chairs on our deck when we’re eighty, with grey hair and wrinkly skin.” he pleads, climbing off the counter and dropping to his knees in front of you, his arms wrapping around your hips as he presses his forehead to your stomach, and as mad as you were and as much as his words hurt, the idea of not being able to love chris or feel his love again hurt just that tiny bit more.

the idea hurt enough to make you drop down to his level, your hands cradling his face as you promise him one more chance, but on the condition that he starts communicating with you, because you don’t want to lose him permanently to something that could’ve been so easily resolved, but you also don’t want to go through another night of hearing such painful insults thrown at you by the person that’s meant to love and cherish you. so you let him in again, because you love him, and you know him, you know his heart. because sometimes loving someone, means giving them another chance to prove themselves, it means forgiving their mistakes but not excusing them, and giving them an opportunity to heal and grow from them.

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luvrgirl4roman · 3 months ago

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Party of Three

Roman Reigns X Solo Sikoa X Sequoia (OC)

Warning: 18+ Smut, cussing, unprotected s*x, mention of the N word, Threesome, Oral (woman giving and receiving), cum swallowing, creampie

Authors Note: This is my first fanfic in 15 years. I used to write them in HS.I'm nervous posting, but I'm just doing it. The bloodline and reading y’all fanfics inspired me. I hope y’all enjoy. If you have any tips, please let me know.

For two hours, I lingered at the hotel bar, numbing my boredom and disappointment with margaritas and tequila shots. Another work party, I had to fake a smile and pretend to give a fuck about my colleagues, especially since I didn't get the promotion I was overqualified for. At this point in the evening, the drinks were catching up with me. The bright lights of the bar, the black-and-gold wallpaper, and the feel of the black marble bar top had me feeling grown and sexy in my strapless black cocktail dress adorned with rhinestones, complemented by matching black strappy heels and a full 4C black fro.

As my finger twirled the rim of my margarita glass, I scanned the bar and locked eyes with a gorgeous Samoan man in a tailored grey and black Gucci suit. I shyly smirked and raised my hand to wave at him. He walked over, the black loafers clicking on the hardwood floor, and joined me on the bar stool next to me.

"Hello, gorgeous. What's your name?" he asked in a deep, sultry voice.

"Sequoia," I replied shyly.

"Pretty name for a pretty lady. My name is Roman. What brings you here?"

"Eh, just a work thing. What brings a sexy man like you here in that great suit?" I asked.

"Thank you. My cousin got married," he responded as he blushed.

As I enjoyed small talk with this beautiful man, I started to notice details about him: his salt-and-pepper wavy hair styled in a bun, a luscious beard to match, a chiseled jaw, and a smile that could light up the night.

While we enjoyed each other's company, a bearish-built Samoan man in black slacks, a turtleneck, a black suit jacket, and gold Cuban link jewelry with a black-and-blonde low-cut mohawk approached us.

"Sorry for interrupting—" I barely caught what he was saying after that because his scent was mesmerizing.

A good-smelling man is everything to me, and he was wearing Jimmy Choo Man Intense. The hints of floral and lavender had me squeezing my thick thighs together as I grinned. I noticed Roman watching my response to mysterious man.

"So, I have to tend to something with my cousin, I would love it if we could meet up later." Roman says

The mysterious man extended his hand to shake mine, offering a soft grip and a nod. "Nice to meet you, ma'am. I'm Solo."

"Nice to meet you too, Solo. I'm Sequoia." He smiles and nods at me. Roman and I exchanged phone numbers, he paid for my drinks, and then they disappeared from the bar.

I wobble up to my two-bedroom suite on the 10th floor. Upon entering, I’m greeted by the sight of a sleek black table centered in the main room, with fresh flowers in a gray vase that add a touch of elegance. I set down my black Coach purse and phone before heading to the shower. After drying off, I apply deodorant, smooth on body cream, spritz on some Valentino perfume, and slip into my silk black robe, layering it over a white tank top and black lace boy shorts. To complete the look, I slide on fuzzy black slippers, feeling both luxurious and relaxed.

As I sat on the balcony, enjoying the summer breeze and the soothing sounds of the ocean, I couldn't get my mind off those two big Samoan men I had met earlier and how I wouldn’t mind enjoying both of their company tonight. That must be the tequila talking, as I’ve never had thoughts like these before.

After about an hour, my phone lit up with a text from Roman asking if I was still at the bar. I was so excited to hear from him! I replied I wasn’t, and he asked if he could come up to my room and hang out. I quickly replied yes, and within 15 minutes, he was knocking at my door.

I let my robe hang off my right shoulder to casually reveal my white tank top and hard nipples. I opened the door, and there he stood. "Hey Sequoia, how are you?" he asked.

"I'm much better now," I replied, scanning his body as he towered over me. He had brought a bottle of Patron tequila, a Walmart grocery bag, and had changed into a gray Nike Dri-FIT T-shirt that hugged his bulging muscles, along with gray sweats that outlined his other bulge.I moved out of the doorway to invite him in. As he entered, I noticed his scent of YSL—a manly woody fragrance that immediately caught my nose and turned me on.

"So you're the reason I couldn't book this suite," he joked.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't pass up the view," I replied, laughing. We both settled onto the black leather couch in the front room, and he pulled some shot glasses from his bag. "You done drinking for the night?" he asked, raising the shot glasses.

"Hell no," I replied, grinning.

As I downed the shots, all I could think about was how I wanted this man to dominate , and slut me out all over this suite, and I wouldn't mind if his cousin was there helping too. After about five shots, the conversation turned personal. He began asking about my love life and the last time I had sex. The tequila had me spilling my guts about my ex and my last sexual experience.

"My ex was a fuck nigga who cheated on me, but he wasn't the last time I had sex. I had a friend I used to see between boyfriends, and we had fun, but that was three months ago. It wasn't that good; he finished quickly, he didn't want to help me finish, so I kicked him out."

"I'm sorry you had to deal with that," he said sympathetically.

"Enough about me—what about you?" I asked him.

"I just broke up with my girlfriend three weeks ago because we weren't sexually compatible."

"Please elaborate," I urged, pouring another shot.

"Well, I like to dominate women in the bedroom, she didn’t share that preference further along in our relationship."

"What are some of the things you like?" I asked, intrigued.

"I like to tie them up, swat them with whatever’s handy or my hand, and I really enjoy edging. That really turns me on. Do you know what that is?" he inquired.

"Yes, I do. I've never tried it before, but it sounds frustrating," I said with a nervous laugh.

"If you give it a try, you'll find it greatly enhances your climax experience," he said to me.

"I'll definitely keep that in mind. Did you handle everything with your cousin Solo?"

"Yeah, we did. He's down at the bar getting drunk right now. Is it cool if he comes up here with us?"

"Yes!" I replied excitedly. Roman made the call, and within five minutes, there was a knock at the door.

I opened the door to find Solo in a red Nike tech suit and the Cuban link chain. He smelled amazing; it instantly got me excited.

"Hey Sequoia, nice to see you again," he said in a sultry voice as I allowed him to enter the room. He and Roman exchanged a dap before Solo took a seat on the couch while I sat at the table.

"We were just drinking and talking about sex." Roman explains.

"Well, pour me a double shot because this sounds fun!"

"She hasn't had sex in three months, man!" He blurts out to Solo.

"Awww, no, that's not good," Solo replies.

"I know, but it’s not that bad. I might need that double for my trouble," I blurt out not knowing it left my lips.

Their eyes light up with excitement, and Roman asks, "Are you serious? Have you done something like this before...having two men at the same time?" At this point with this Tequila in me, I'm ready for whatever.

"Yes, I'm serious, and no, I haven't. But I'm willing to try anything once, and what better way than with you two gorgeous men?"

"We'll make you very comfortable, baby," Solo replies to me.

Roman takes me by the hand and leads me to the bed and sits me on the freshly washed, soft white sheets while Solo grabs a chair from the front room and positions it toward the bed. Roman begins opening my robe and exposing my hard nipples through my tank top and boy shorts, which are snug against my thighs.

"She’s beautiful, isn’t she?" Roman asks Solo, caressing my face with his hand.

"Hell yeah, Uce," Solo replies in a deep tone.

Roman removes my robe, then my tank top, rubbing my breasts gently. His hands move lower to my panties, and he pushes me onto my back, lifting my legs to remove my boy shorts. He drops to his knees and buries his head between my legs, beginning to taste me. He lifts his head, grinning, and says, "She tastes good too, Uce!" As he rolls his tongue over my clit, I feel a surge of heat spreading through my body. Before I know it, I feel my breasts being grabbed and sucked on, and when I open my eyes, it's Solo.

Looking down at these two men pleasuring me simultaneously sends a rush of ecstasy coursing through me. Roman is now sucking on my core while Solo takes one nipple in his mouth and plays with the other between his fingers. With three points of pleasure stimulating me at once, I can feel the tension building inside me as I begin to tremble and shake.

Sensing the vibration of my body, they lock in their movements, working in harmony to bring me closer to release. Suddenly, I feel like I'm losing control—my heart races, and my breaths turn shallow. "I'm about to cu—" I moan, but before I can hit my peak, Roman pulls his mouth away from my dripping center and says, "Not yet, baby."

I let out a whimper, and Roman sits up, his beard soaked with my juices. He looks up at me and smiles before pulling me in for a kiss. Behind me, Solo rubs my back and plants soft kisses along my skin.

"Are you ready to serve us like a good girl?" Roman asks. I nod, locking eyes with him as he towers over me. The combination of their colognes and the faint scent of the ocean air envelops me, making me willing to do anything to please these men.

Roman grabs my hand, stands me up, and turns me around for Solo to admire. He runs his hands from my thick thighs to my wet pussy, squeezes my belly, and cups my 44DD breasts, beginning to jiggle them. Solo's dark eyes observe me with a mix of desire and appreciation.

Roman then wraps his hand around my throat and asks, "Are you ready for us to have our way with you?" I let out a faint "yes," and Roman grins. Solo stands up, and he and Roman start to strip off all their clothes. They stand before me, their bodies adorned with tribal tattoos—Solo's covering his full chest and arms, and Roman's ink etched across his right arm and pec. Solo is stocky, with a thick, girthy 7-inch brown dick. Roman is muscular, his 8-inch dick prominent, veined, and looking eager for me. I am in awe of these sexy, bare men in front of me, and all I want is to be used by and please them.

Solo slides onto the bed, his back against the headboard, and I position myself between his legs. Roman slides behind me, pressing his long fingers into my voluptuous waist.I start to kiss Solo's pretty brown tip, and then I stretch my mouth wide enough to take all of Solo in. I'm feeling my body tense as Roman thrusts his 8-inch dick into me. My pussy grips him tightly the deeper he goes inside. He lets out animalistic grunts, speaking to me, "Look at you being stuffed both ways. You're so beautiful in this moment, taking both of us. Look at you creaming on my dick, such a good girl."

The moans from both men are loud as Solo fills my mouth. Roman goes deeper, and they start to move in rhythm. As I am tugged back and forth, the faint sounds of the ocean mix with Roman's aggressive grunts and Solo's deep moans. My gargling throat struggles around Solo's manhood while the slapping of Roman's balls against my clit, along with his hand on my ass, drives me crazy. Tears begin to form in my eyes as I am filled in two of my holes. Roman's large brown hand slaps against my ass, the sting sending waves of arousal through me, and I feel myself on the verge of exploding. I start to feel lightheaded, struggling to breathe with Solo's thick 7-inch member taking up space in my throat. "I promise I will let you cum this time if you make us cum," he says, pumping deep inside me. I nod my head, my throat too occupied for words. Solo runs his fingers through my 4C fro, placing a grip on it and increasing the pace of my head bobbing, signaling that he's getting close.

I'm trying to stay focused on Solo, but Roman digs his nails deep into my waist and quickens his thrusts inside me. Suddenly, Solo lets out a whine and holds my head still while his cum coats my throat. I swallow his hot, mixture of salty sweetness and redirect my attention to Roman. I begin to take control, throwing my ass back against him, showing that I can handle each pound he's giving me. He takes it as a challenge. "You think you can take me, huh?" he growls.

In an instant, he flips me over, dragging me to the end of the bed. He lifts my legs onto his shoulders and shoves his dick back inside me. "Solo, pin her arms down; I don't want her running from me." Solo grabs my hands, and Roman wraps his hand around my throat. "Damn, baby, you’re so damn sexy like this," he moans, a sound that makes me wetter.

The smacking sounds of his manhood slamming into me intensify as he hits my G-spot, creating an overwhelming sensation throughout my body. "Tell me how bad you want my cum, baby," he asks, shortening and quickening his strokes. "I NEED YOUR CUM, DADDY, PLEASE!" I scream out. He releases his hand from my throat, and at that moment, Solo begins to suck on my breasts, causing my body to shake uncontrollably from the combined sensations of Roman's dick and Solo's tongue flicking on my nipples.

"I'm cumming," I cry out while my body is convulsing. While I come down from that intense release, Solo begins stroking my face and says, "Good girl." Shortly after, Roman lets out a huge grunt and says while pinning me down, "Stay right there, stay right there." He slows his rhythm while sliding in and out of me, letting out a loud moan. I look down and see that his dick is coated with my juices and his cum. Once he fills me up, he grabs my face and says, "You did good, baby."

I lie back, trying to lower my heart rate and rest my body. After about 15 minutes, I get back up, robe on, ready for another shower, and Roman and Solo are fully dressed again.

"Did you want us to stick around?" Solo asks.

"Nah, baby, I won’t hold you. I have an early day, so I need to sleep," I reply.

"Okay, we definitely wouldn’t be sleeping tonight if we stay," he says to me.

I walk them to the door, and Roman turns and says, "If you want to have fun again, don’t hesitate to call, baby." He and Solo kiss me on the cheek and leave. I close the door with a smile and head for the shower.

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns smut #roman reigns x black reader #solo sikoa #wwe fanfiction #the bloodline #daddy reigns #roman reigns fic #smut #roman reigns x plus size reader

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imaprettygirl · 1 year ago

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An act of submission

(Emperor Zhongli x gn reader)

"They say that a good servant reflects the personality of its master…" Zhongli chuckled as he traced the brim of his cup with his finger. Despite maintaining a calm facade, the corners of his lips occasionally twitched upwards into a smirk, yet he was trying so hard to hide it—a futile exercise in suppression.

"Erm… excuse me, what?" You replied. Was he complimenting your guzheng or was he throwing shade at you for imitating him? It wasn't your fault, but you couldn't help but think that it was the result of being by his side for a long time. Putting on a private solo concert for the Emperor was nerve-wracking: one wrong mistake and there goes your wrist. One thing you didn't know was that you had managed to plant the first seeds of obsession in his heart which resulted in keeping you by his side and dragging you along everywhere he went. Too bad the amount of love he shows you is just the surface of it. You never know how deep the ocean is, hm? During the time spent with him, your brain had subconsciously picked up his habits, resulting in you emulating him sometimes. How very bold of you to assume that he hadn't noticed it.

"Erm…" A small, soft sound slipped out of your mouth. It was really obvious that you were trying to ease the awkward tension between you two.

Upon hearing the soft sound of your voice, Zhongli paused and gently lifted his gaze from his cup. His eyes full of adoration and love wandered across your features. Such beautiful features which he wished to preserve forever. If his mind were a room, you would undoubtedly be the wallpaper, your presence permeating every space, reflecting the depths of his fascination for you.

There it was, the reaction he was hoping for. That expression which was akin to a baby deer in the headlights. Your eyes were wide in confusion and your lips were slightly parted but wide enough to let out an ‘eh?’ sound. Zhongli chuckled, amused by how your face had gone red. Possibly because of the steam from the tea or him making advances on you- oh, how he wished that he was the reason of you being so shy and flustered. The soft glow of the red lanterns cast a warm light on your face highlighting the contours of your profile, giving him the opportunity to observe your facial expressions in detail. To be frank, he was proud of himself for bringing a reaction out of you. He may have experienced joy and pleasure throughout his life but they all were nothing compared to the happiness he gets from your smile. He was slowly plunging himself into the spiral of obsession but he didn't know it.

"Ah, nothing. According to what I said earlier, I put the musical instrument in the position of the servant while you are its master. The strings of it bend to the will of your hands to produce such beautiful sounds… Not to mention, the songs produced by it are as gentle and soothing as you. It reflects your personality, don’t you think so?" Zhongli replied in a genuine voice but the predatory glint in his eyes gave it away.

“Thank you…” Your voice trailed off at the end as you were unsure of what to reply

“No need to thank me, I was just stating facts” He brought his cup to his lips as he said so. Zhongli’s gaze fell upon your hand wrapped around your tea cup. “Do you mind if I take a look at it?” He raised an eyebrow, his eyes lingering on your left hand. Even though it seemed like a request, you knew that it was an order. Your hand shot up immediately even though you were praying desperately that he wouldn’t chop it off for accidentally playing the wrong note earlier that day. A soft hum left his lips as he lifted your hand higher to the level of his mouth.

“Do you only plan on plucking the strings of your instrument for the rest of your life?” The emperor caressed the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Erm… maybe. What’s there to pluc-”

“There are many things you can pluck, my dear. For example… my heart. You can pluck it out and I would thank you for it” The way he said it so casually shocked you for a moment. Zhongli eyed the ring on your index finger which you inherited from your mother. Your heart was thumping loudly that his words were drown out. “Y-Your majesty…” Your face was as red as the lanterns hanging above both of you.

His lips hovered above your ring for a while to toy with your conflicting feelings at the moment. After what seemed like an eternity, he brought his mouth down to leave a kiss on it. “A jade wrist loses to a golden cup, so slender, so slender, it’s the passing of youth…”

-Irene Callista

#yandere zhongli #zhongli x reader #HELPP I'M NEW TO TUMBLR #SOMEONE TEACH ME HOW TO ADD PICTURES 😭#I have a test in like 14 hours and here I am on my knees for this mf #My first fanfic so uh.. pls don't mind any possible mistake one could detect 😅#IreneCallista

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superblysubpar · 5 months ago

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vampire!eddie munson x somekindofslayer!you / partner!steve

2,653 words

warnings: other than kind of like, illusions to some spicy things/slight implications of dubcon, not much in this little snippet | vampire things? Idk how to tag that ya'll? like weapons, blood imagery, etc? | oh also I think modern AU but also like ST things happened but also like the party is all in the modern AU except Eddie? Idk I haven't decided, don't think too hard about it

A/N: okay, so this is a little snippet of something I started *last* October and I lost the will and love to write and I've been returning to it frequently and I think I'll be posting the full thing soonish. I hope you enjoy it (and yes, I'm cheating and counting this as 3 days)

a blurb for the "Trick or Treat, Freak?" event

It feels wrong.

There’s no better way to describe the feeling that weighs heavy on your shoulders and pricks at the back of your neck as you weave in and out of the too loud crowd.

Spilled beer and red plastic cups at your feet further marking up and ruining what you’re sure was once beautiful wood floors. Spray painted images and words foul and rude against walls with chipped paint and frayed wallpaper that hold a history people have forgotten too quickly.

Your fingers glide over the banister, the tipped cup to your lips flashing red in the dingy mirror on the grand father clock as you ascend the stairs.

The celebration below softens to a dull murmur of a crowd, the low rumble of bass as you take the last step and your lungs deflate with an exhaled breath of relief. Each door you pass is open, revealing dust and cobwebbed covered furniture and art, rooms frozen in time as the world around it kept going. You were surprised to find that none of the pop culture clad couple’s costumes had made their way upstairs this evening to make use of the more private rooms.

Perhaps there were still some things here that people didn’t want to disturb.

The claims that this home held ghosts, made you see things, the history of what once happened in this town, hadn’t dissuaded the night from happening as you had hoped. The possibility of all the sinister and spooky things the home brought only served to be fuel for a Halloween night party and practically dared the teens to host it there.

Which is probably exactly what he wanted.

Your hand discards the now empty solo cup on a dark wood buffet, finger leaving a clean swipe to it’s surface as you tilt your head to listen for anything out of the ordinary while the heels of your boots slow, then stop in front of the only closed door on this level.

The knob of the door twists easily underneath your palm, and as the door creaks open, soft light flickers above from a room you can’t quite yet see. With a deep breath, you close the door behind yourself as quietly as you can, the noise of the party now almost nonexistent. The only clue to it the vibrations from below your soles as you carefully start the climb of this second staircase.

While equally stuck in the past, this attic is littered with frequent use.

Recent too.

Candle’s wicks flicker around the room, all of various heights with melted wax now solidified in drips down their sides, which tells you they’ve just been lit, but not for the first time ever.

There’s a dark line in the slat flooring, like it’s been ripped in half and then clumsily pushed and glued back together. Something inside jars glint in the moonlight shining in from the small window on the opposite side of the room.

“Nice costume,” a deep voice from the shadows calls. A flick of a zippo sounds before the flame sparks, illuminating a figure leaning against the wall. Broad shoulders long hair falls against and a cigarette dangling between plush lips just made out in its glow as he lights it. The metal clicks together, returning him to the darkness. The end of the cigarette burns red at his side as a puff of smoke floats into the air with his words, “Buffy, right?”

Your throat feels dry as you risk a glance down at the costume, as if you need to remind yourself what you’re wearing. Little black dress, emphasis on the little. Your tits shoved up and out with a cross hanging heavy between them and little left to the imagination between the short hem just covering your ass and the tall knee high boots.

“You’re just missing one thing, vampire slayer,” his voice makes you jump, an instinctual step back only to find you’re up against the banister and he’s right in front of you now.

He hadn’t made a single sound.

“Yeah?” Your voice betrays you, cracking as the weight of something inside of your boot scolds you for not having it out and ready as he leans in, eyes on the cross on your neck as you try to sound more confident than you are, “What’s that…sorry I didn’t catch your name? And who are you supposed to be?”

In a flash, he’s across the room, twirling something between his fingers you can’t quite see as he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and paces.

“Wow, you don’t recognize me?” The chains against his jeans click as he spins with a dramatic sigh, “It’s okay, I wouldn’t remember me either.”

His leather and denim clad shoulders rise then fall in a shrug, the devil on his chest pulled tight as he stretches his arms out as if to say “ta-da”, and his tone sounds like he’s doing just that when he says:

“I’m Eddie Munson. The guy who made this place famous.”

Your heart thuds in your ears, tongue suddenly taking up too much space in your mouth as your stomach clenches.

“Yeah? That your name or your costume’s?”

“Oh,” he laughs, “Think you already know the answer to that.”

He whistles to get your attention when you look down, now acutely aware of the empty space between your calf and boot.

He waves the wood stake in the air, teeth gleaming white in his smile that brings a dimple out you can see all the way across the room.

“Looking for this, princess?”

“I’m not a vampire slayer, Mr. Munson,” you start, fingers behind your back working at the discrete silver bracelet on your wrist.

Eddie’s lips purse, amused as he leans against the windowsill, completely at ease as he watches you take a cautious step forward then another.

He grins at you when you take a third step and nods his head, encouraging you, “That’s it. Get closer. Promise I won’t bite…” he winks, “ ‘Less you want me to, of course.”

“Lotta girls take you up on that offer Mr. Munson? That what you were hoping for tonight?”

His smile grows wider, his tongue pokes at a canine that’s suddenly grown longer.

“First of all, Mr. Munson is my uncle, please,” he sticks his hand out now that you’re close enough, like he intends to shake yours, “It’s Eddie. And second, you vampire slayers…” he sighs, “Always all business, never any fun, huh?”

“Right, Eddie,” you concede, whispering, now close enough that you know he could easily do what’s in his nature. “And I thought I told you, I’m not a vampire slayer.”

His eyes flash when your hand wraps around his in a firm shake. His adam’s apple bobs with a large swallow as you take a step even closer, body between his spread legs, your neck and chest right where he’d want it. Eddie’s eyes are tinged with red, but he starts to pull away, breathing heavily.

Your eyes are on your hands still locked, and your entire body warms, heartbeat racing as his thumb swipes over the back of yours and his eyelashes flutter when you moan at the tingle the contact of his skin leaves against yours. Like the good kind of heat from a bonfire, any closer and it’ll start to burn, and any further away you’d be too cold.

Static crackles in your ear, “Um…whatcha doing, killer?”

Eddie looks directly at your left earlobe at the sound, and it all snaps you back to attention. Your silver bracelet in your other hand quickly locks around his wrist in your grasp.

Eddie blinks at you, each drop and lift of his eyelids growing heavier by the milliseconds as his hand slips from yours.

“Fuck,” he laughs, like he’s a little tipsy, head knocking against the window behind him as he looks at you from under his lashes, smiling. “You got me, slayer.”

“Not,” you swallow, taking a larger step away from him while trying to fight the urge to take off the bracelet subduing him, “Not a vampire slayer.”

He hums, rolls his eyes like he doesn’t believe you as footsteps creak loudly on the stairs behind you and your partner’s winded breath calls out your name.

“You smell good,” Eddie mumbles as you pull him to his feet and sling his arm over your shoulder, his head falling into the crook of your neck makes your entire body freeze.

His nose drags along your pulse, his lips follow, and a chill races down your spine, skin on fire where he’s pressed against it and you have to stop your teeth from biting on your bottom lip too hard or you’ll draw blood and who knows what’ll happen then. Maybe he’d lick it off your chin, maybe he’d-

“Did I just witness what I think I just witnessed? Were you gonna let him-”

“Don’t,” you gasp as Eddie sighs against your throat. “Not another word, Harrington.”

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you wide eyed and with his mouth hanging open as you shove Eddie’s weight to him and right yourself, fixing the hem of your dress and yanking your stake off of the ground. Doesn’t say anything while you check around corners and you pretend to be three drunk idiots stumbling to a car in case any one sees. Doesn’t say anything until Eddie’s passed out in the backseat and you’re looking in the rearview for the third time in less minutes, wheels spinning against wet black top and taking you past the: “Now Leaving Hawkins!” sign.

“What the fuck-“ he starts to hiss.

“I don’t know. Just…don’t. Okay? He touched me and…and…” your heart starts thudding harder. “I choked or something. It happens to the best of us.”

Steve licks his lip before it prods at his cheek as you grip the steering wheel tighter and he looks over his shoulder.

“Compulsion?”

“Maybe?” You shrug, though not believing it one bit.

“Imprin-“

“Don’t. That’s a myth.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds and then Steve’s lips twitch.

“Horny?”

He laughs when you groan and swat at his chest. “Shut up. You’re such an asshole.”

Steve snorts, looking out the window, mumbling, “That wasn’t a no.”

You flick his eyebrow that time.

“If that is the case, I mean, there are plenty of us who’d love to help you out. You don’t gotta stoop to being sucked on by vamps if you’re feeling-“

“You want me to use the stake on him?”

The car swerves at the sound of his voice, your heartbeat in your ears as you return to the correct lane safely and see Eddie sitting up in the backseat in your mirror.

“Fucking Christ,” Steve gasps, holding his chest and facing the back now.

Eddie visibly winces at the use of the name and Steve perks up.

“Woah. That’s real?” He leans forward, eyebrows raised, “Christ, Christ, Christ, Chri-“

Eddie’s fangs sharpen and descend and he starts to growl low from his chest, eyes flashing red. Steve’s lips twitch but he raises his hands in surrender when you hiss for him to knock it off.

“Of course,” he looks at you then the backseat, “I’ll stop bothering your little toy, honey.”

Your gaze slices over to him as Steve holds his silver stake over his chest, keeping his back to the dash and eyes on the now alert vampire in your backseat.

Eddie lifts his wrist up, “What the hell is this?”

Steve smiles. “That, is a Henderson original. Powerful enough to subdue even the strongest of ghouls, goblins, vamps and any other weird ass creatures we come across - quickly and temporarily in case of emergency. A smaller version of his version of that trap thingy and that gun thingy,” he snaps his fingers and looks at you, “What are they again? In Ghostbusters?”

“The Proton Pack”, you say as Eddie asks at the same time,

“The Super Slammer Muon Trap?”

Eddie clears his throat, adjusts himself in the back seat while rubbing his neck and your eyes return to the road after making eye contact in the mirror again.

“You, uh, you like Ghostbusters?” He fiddles with the rings on his fingers.

Steve’s lips twitch when you grumble to yourself though you know they both can hear it, “Of course I like Ghostbusters, what am I, a moron?” You frown as you sarcastically add on, “And nobody’s impressed by your use of the name of the trap from the video game. It’s just a ghost trap.”

It’s like you feel his laugh inside your own chest. Warm and flowing over you like sunshine on your face after a really long, gloomy day. You tilt your head into it, eyelashes fluttering.

“Yeaah,” Steve draws out the word, clears his throat. “Those. Cause she couldn’t really go in with the big, real deal. Good thing it worked on you though, fast, too. Hepburn here was about to willingly be your human juicebox.”

“I was not-“

“Hepburn?” Eddie asks as you start to protest something you’re not even sure you can. “Is that your name, slayer?”

“Not a slayer,” you clarify again.

“And that didn’t answer my question,” Eddie raises his eyebrows in the mirror, gaze on the back of your ear, your throat. If you couldn’t glance up and see where he was looking you were sure you’d be able to feel the heat of his stare anyways.

Warmth prickles at your skin, and goosebumps rise to the surface in a trail from your ear, down your throat, across your collarbone as you imagine his mouth following that same-

“Can we,” Eddie clears his throat, he pulls at his collar, “Can we open a window or something?”

“Did you…” your breath comes sharper, words caught in your throat before you can ask him anything about the sensation on your skin. You grip the steering wheel tighter when images of his mouth moving lower break up the two lane highway in flashes.

Steve’s lips twitch when your body shivers, and you beg through gritted teeth, “Steve. Put a second bracelet on him.”

“I’m not…I’m not doing, it’s you…I won’t hurt…” Eddie puts his head between his legs and groans, like he’s in the worst pain of his life, or like he’s in the best-

“Fucking hell. Sweetheart, relax. Your pulse is…”

Steve’s lips part as your head hits the back of the seat, your neck extended as your mouth falls open and your leg flexes when you swear you feel a prick on your neck and you whine.

The bright yellow lights of a familiar restaurant break up the dark sky and road and your speedometer drops quickly from the 90 it had climbed to as you signal your exit despite no cars being around, whipping the car onto the exit ramp.

“What are you…” Steve starts, stopping when Eddie sits up again and pokes at his teeth with his tongue, wincing as he grips the edge of the seat.

“Steve? That’s your name?” He gasps, blinking rapidly, “Put the second bracelet on me, man.”

The car slams to a stop in front of the Waffle House and you toss the burner that had been in the cupholder to Steve.

“Call Hop. Tell him he needs to send someone else to drive him or pick me up. Now.”

When you step out of the car and the cool Autumn air does nothing to soothe your skin that’s slick with sweat, you slam the driver’s door. The minute it closes, it’s like a switch is flipped and when you look in the backseat, Eddie’s shoulders visibly relax at the same time yours do.

Steve’s mouth moves, and you can’t hear it, but you know he said exactly what you’re thinking.

What in the actual fuck just happened?

thank you for the original request for "ghosts" with eddie - I know it's not *technically* about ghosts and the creel house is just barely a part of this, but I promise Jason and Eddie/reader/Jason things will be a theme in the full story

#superbly subpar's writing #trick or treat freaks 💛#eddie munson #vampire!eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #stranger things fanfic

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gomibuuh · 3 days ago

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Look of Love

Mire el reto en twitter/x y sabía que debía hacerlo con ellos dos aaah, algo soft y con brillos; solo para los bobos enamorados sí, sí. Disfrute mucho dibujarlos (﹡ˆ﹀ˆ﹡)♡

Aquí la versión que tiene las letras, lo hice tamaño wallpaper para que fuera más lindo y utilizable ✨

#fluffynight #fluffymare #ccino x nightmare #nightmare x ccino #nightmare sans #ccino sans #my art #dreamtale #fluffytale

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groovesnjams · 1 year ago

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youtube

4 / 50

"Entombed in Ice" by Avalon Emerson

DV:

If there's one thing I love about pop music above all else, more than singalong choruses and emotionally-wrenching details in the second verse and even synths themselves, it's nonsense words. Put "Da Doo Ron Ron" on my grave. So while MG and I both loved Avalon Emerson & the Charm's album, and we nearly put "Sandrail Silhouette," (which has a second verse where Emerson calls her friends' daughters "a reason for an optimistic view," an incredible line) on this list, that song was fundamentally outmatched when up against "Entombed in Ice" and its "Ba da da-da-da-duh." This song addresses someone, a former friend, maybe an ex-lover, fondly but without remorse for what once was. And it gives them direction, if not directions. This is a post-breakup song, maybe the year's great anomaly, full of love but not in love. It's a harsh message delivered in the gentlest way possible. "There are some things you can do for yourself now," repeats Emerson, leaving the things up to our imaginations. But only a little: "rotten hearts will decay" is where the first verse starts, and the blanks are easy to fill in. This song's subject has some shit to work through. But maybe they can! The bridge's "Ba da da-da-da-duh" echoes like freedom. It's possibility, not condemnation. Avalon Emerson stretches to the top of her range, echoing and melting into a short guitar solo, unencumbered by words and saying so much without them. We all have something we can do for ourselves; those syllables sound like they believe.

MG:

Avalon Emerson’s Soundcloud DJ sets are a staple of my household – like toilet paper, iced coffee, or a bed, she is both a necessity and a presence. But also! We only even made acquaintance with her work at the beginning of this very year via both Four Tet and Gorilla Vs. Bear putting “Sandrail Silhouette” on their playlists. I had no idea who she was but it felt like when I first got Napster and I’d search for something and only one, single user had uploaded it – you just know this thing that you haven’t even heard yet is cool. And yes, Avalon Emerson is very cool, so if that’s your criterion, please, stop here and make friends with the whole of & The Charm immediately. I wish I could be like “but if you must know why she’s cool, read on” but some of it eludes me to this day! Not in the emperor’s new clothes way where there’s no cool but I want to project cool on to her so badly that I’m making shit up, but in the way where you start scratching at the surface of a piece of art and it just starts yielding all these layers, some dense and some flaky and some immediately understood and some fleeting wisps of recognition. I continue to be stuck on this interview she gave to Pitchfork where she says (and I will quote the whole thing, not just the part relevant to me):

Since I’ve been involved in dance music, there’s been this arms race toward harder and faster, and it’s not really something that I identify with. This cathartic release that people seek when they go out clubbing, I get it and I respect it, and I participate in it as a DJ. But when I’m listening to music, my idea of a perfect record is a Cocteau Twins record, things that are soft and beautiful. I wanted to make this a soft, pretty record, but lyrically, the things on my mind are dark and sad, and very black-pilled at times. That juxtaposition is important, because something beautiful can also be coming from a place of pain. I think that’s where most good art lies, to be honest.

If anything, I find the way she describes her own ideas here reductive. But the part about it being a contrast to the “harder and faster” of club music is what’s relevant to me. I think “Entombed In Ice,” composed as it is of fragmented thoughts and ideas and sounds and bits that wander in and do their thing and dissolve into vapor or fade into the wallpaper, is a contrast to that club sound but it also does the thing that club music does, it provides a “cathartic release.” To talk back to Avalon Emerson, I’d say that as a culture we’re very hung up on this idea of catharsis as a WHOOSH or a BANG and then silence, nothingness, ending. But I think since we all keep going afterwards, since catharsis is an ending but not the ending, we must also listen quietly for those fragments and appreciate their soft approach and disappearance because that very gentle, loping cycle is also cathartic and we need little catharsis as much as big catharsis. Now back to you, reader. You have to keep listening to “Entombed In Ice,” you won’t get all it has to offer once through. That’s part of what’s cool about it, but just a part.

#gnjsoty2k23 #avalon emerson & the charm #avalon emerson #entombed in ice #music

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