#started it last night and was nearly done but it was midnight and i was dying to i put it off till this morning to post

[idontactuallywherepjs]

Happy (late) Halloween!

hes just a silly little guy

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

i am living for some angst 👀

especially some satoru angst

Hold me. Console me.

Tags: Satoru x fem!Reader, angst, hurt/comfort, depictions of poor mental health, depiction of a panic attack, Satoru’s a little bit of an asshole here.

An: Same… same. Before you read this and blame me for how fucked this story is, know that one of my moots (cough. cough. @theuniversesnepobaby cough.) was sending me sad angsty edits last night. this is partially her fault too.

Satoru was normally a very doting and attentive boyfriend. He’s the type to beg to be in your presence. He’d kill to feel your touch against his skin. “Casual” isn’t a word in his dictionary. When he loves, he loves loudly.

So when he got quiet with his love, your body started to fill with a sense of dread. Cold and bitter feelings crawled their way between you two. No longer did you two laugh until you were out of breath and red in the face. No longer did he surprise you with gifts or try to scare you when you’re unaware of his presence.

His strong arms hadn’t wrapped around you in so long. The ruthless chill of being utterly alone plagued you, while Satoru seemed fine. He was even taking on extra hours at his job. So many nights he didn’t come back until nearly midnight.

How could he not see what’s happening? How could he not notice how much you’re drowning?

“I’m going out.” His words are flat with no care put into them. He’s telling you because he feels as if it’s obligatory — not because he doesn’t want you to worry.

“Where are you going?” So many times have you tried to reach out. It was as if you two were passing back and forth a candle of your relationship. You had ignited the flame and passed it to him so many times, but each time, he snuffs it out without a second thought — leaving you in the dark. Maybe one more time, you metaphorically light the candle in hopes to kinder your relationship…

“Out.” Flame snuffed.

“Oh.” He’s done it so many times, but it hurts just as bad each and every time. Being single wouldn’t hurt this bad. At least you wouldn’t be getting rejected by your own boyfriend on a daily basis.

“See ya.” He doesn’t even give you a second glance as he grabs his coat and saunters out the door. Another night spent alone. Another night filled with a barely eaten tv dinner and a shitty reality tv show droning on in the back while you doomscroll on your phone.

You two use to watch these reality tv shows together and laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Satoru would hold you so close to his body, and he’d whine anytime you tried to adjust. When was the last time that happened? You never suspected the end of affectionate gestures would come while you two were still in a relationship.

You check Geto’s story on instagram. Sometimes, you���d catch small glimpses of Satoru in the back. Sometimes they were at a cafe or an arcade together. Tonight, it seemed as though Suguru was at very packed party scene.

You hold your breath in your lungs as you rewatch the story again and again — searching for a white head of hair. Your boyfriend makes it too easy for you to stalk him. Though, it feels like a fitting punishment for the turmoil he’s put you through.

No Satoru in sight. You sigh quietly before you check Shoko’s story. It was less likely that Satoru would be captured there, but he has made his appearances in the past. It seemed like tonight Shoko wasn’t present at whatever rager Suguru was at. She posted a picture of her beautifully written notes. She must be studying.

Nanami never posts on his story, so you don’t even bother going to check his barren profile. Haibara never features Satoru in his stories, so you skip his as well. This leaves you with one last option.

Your hand is a little shaky as you click on Utahime’s story. You don’t know when it started, but your cheeks and ears were wet with tears already. Your body had some sort of sick sixth sense for knowing when something was wrong, and something was terribly wrong.

You had always had your little insecurities about Utahime ever since Satoru indulged that he had a small crush on her back in high school. Of course, these were just fleeting thoughts. Up until recently, you knew with full confidence that you had Satoru’s heart. He wouldn’t stray from you. 

You didn’t have that same confidence anymore. Satoru had withdrawn, and it seemed as if he took his heart with him.

You hate being right. You wish you were wrong sometimes. On Utahime’s story, she’s seemingly at the same party that Suguru’s at. Her story is littered with pictures of her with other girls that you don’t recognize, videos of the loud music and people dancing in a crowd, and there’s just one last video on her story that makes your heart sink to your stomach.

Your boyfriend’s pretty blue eyes illuminated by the flash from her back camera. He smiled and laughed as Utahime filmed him. His face was littered with wine red lipstick kiss marks. Utahime had a grab on your boyfriend’s collar, obviously trying to hold his drunk self still while she filmed his crime.

It felt like a punch straight to your gut. You couldn’t even think straight, but you knew you needed to keep this evidence in case she deletes it. Your fingers shakily screenshot the story, logging the picture of Satoru covered in someone else’s affections.

He was out there feeling an overwhelming sense of happiness, receiving kisses from another, dancing to his heart’s content, and enjoying his life while you were sat at home weeping over the loss of your boyfriend.

The tv dinner, now cold and stale, was thrown into the garbage, and whatever little bit you had eaten came up soon after.

The picture was seared into your memory. You didn’t have to look at it to know every minor detail. The way his white hair was messy. His glasses were pulled down ever so slightly to reveal his devastatingly beautiful eyes. His coat hung on his shoulders while his muscular neck peaked out from his shirt.

Every time you closed your eyes, you thought about how many kiss marks he had on his face. How many times had he allowed himself to cheat on you? Was this the first time? Had it gone farther than this? Was it Utahime or some other girl?

You cried yourself to sleep, knowing that Satoru wouldn’t even come home to try to console you.

The next morning, you were disappointed as soon as you woke up. You wished sleep would’ve taken your body and whisked it away far, far from here. Instead, you’re still in your bed, sleeping on a pillow that was stained from your mascara.

If you could, you’d rot in bed all day and try to forget the godforsaken video you saw last night, but you had to make a trip to the restroom.

Forcing your weak body out of bed, you let out a small pained moan. You haven’t eaten a proper meal in so long, and you threw up whatever you did eat yesterday. Your appetite was completely diminished. Satoru use to say that food tasted better when it was shared. He always shared his meals with you, unbeknownst to him, helping you maintain a good schedule for eating.

Your apartment was too bright when you stepped out of the bathroom, and it smelled too much of food. The sizzling on the stove finally caught your drowsy attention.

The man of the hour, Satoru, was at your stove, shirtless and cooking something. Sleeping pants casually hung around his hips, and the dimples at the bottom of his back were so graciously being shown off. Did someone else know about those two little dimples? Even though back was facing you, you could already picture his face, littered with those stupid kiss marks.

Making a b-line for the bathroom, Satoru doesn’t even get the chance to greet you. Your hands were cold and clammy as your body uncontrollably heaved over the toilet. You had nothing left to give, but Satoru was taking everything from you.

Hot tears burned your cheeks as they slipped down your face. You didn’t want to do this. You wished you would’ve never saw that fucking video last night. You should’ve given yourself plausible deniability, but now, you had to face the music.

You slowly returned back to the kitchen after trying your best to clean yourself up. Your eyes focused on Satoru. He was finishing up cooking bacon when his eyes finally met yours and drove daggers through your heart.

“Good morning, sweetness. Something wrong?” He asks with so much care in his tone. You fantasize about hitting him — just once. How dare he suddenly care when you have to check out?

You don’t even know what to say to him. Like, yes, something is clearly fucking wrong, Satoru. I’m dating an unfaithful jerk.

“What are you doing here?” You ask bluntly, wiping your face of the remnants of tears and makeup that had stained your skin. He shouldn’t be allowed to see how badly he hurt you.

“I… live here?” He responds in a questioning tone, furrowing his white eyebrows as he studies your face. “Are you okay?” If only he had asked that question weeks ago, then maybe you two wouldn’t be in this mess today.

“No, and you don’t live here anymore.” You snap, causing him to slightly flinch back — not out of fear but out of surprise. He’s never seen you like this before.

“What do you mean, sweetness? I-“

“Cut the shit, Gojo. Don’t act stupid with me. It’s unbecoming.” You interrupt him completely, not wanting to hear him try to act innocent when you have all the proof you need on your phone.

“Woah. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I don’t really appreciate the insult and the use of my government name. I genuinely have no idea of what you’re talking about.” His voice is firm, laced with sternness, so you can see that he’s not playing around with you.

You take a deep breath until your lungs burn. You want to scream at him, chase him out of the house, and light his shit on fire. Instead, you silently go to retrieve your phone. Pulling up the picture of him with kiss marks all over his face, you shove the screen in his direction.

Gojo takes a few seconds to take in the photo, and he lets his shoulders drop. “This is what you’re mad over, sweetness?” He asks in a much more calm tone, looking up at you with almost puppy dog eyes.

“Don’t call me that.” You snap while swiping your phone back from his hands. “I didn’t think I’d have to spell it out for you, but we’re fucking done.”

“You seriously believe that I would cheat on you?” He asks in that stupid arrogant tone of his, completely ignoring your blunt rejection.

“Why else would your high school crush post a picture of you with kiss marks all over your face!? You look so fucking dumb and in love. I fucking-“ Your throat chokes up as if your body was trying to stop you from saying something you didn’t mean. The words “I fucking hate you” die right there on your lips. Tears fall down your cheeks, and you place your palms over your eyes to hide yourself from his impregnable gaze.

“This, again?” He asks in a frustrated tone before letting out an exasperated sigh, He turns the stove off - abandoning his food before walking over to you. He bends his knees a bit to get on your level. “Look at me.” He demands before his hands go to pull yours away from your eyes.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You cry out, jerking back away from his presence. Your breath speeds up. The oxygen isn’t having enough time to enter your bloodstream. Your body is vibrating, forcing the air quickly from your lungs. Everything is moving so fast and why the fuck is he so close to you-? He’s suffocating. Fuck, catch your breath. Whyhim?Whyyou?Why?Why?Whatdidyoudotodeservethis???

A gush of air is blown harshly onto your face, and you can feel the bitter cold feeling of something touching your skin. Your eyes see Satoru’s hand holding an ice cube, guiding it along your warm skin on your arm. Your body is so hot that it’s melting faster than he’s moving it.

“Breathe. Match my movements.” Satoru guides in a calm yet steady tone. Your eyes find the way his chest is slowly rising and falling with each breath. You want to tell him to go play in traffic. You don’t need him to ground you. You don’t need him to do anything for you. You don’t need him.

Still, your body matches his slowly. Your breath becomes more stable, and you can feel your heart starting to settle into a more natural rhythm. Your bleary eyes meet his empathetic ones. It’s been so long since your last panic attack, but he remembers just how to calm you down.

It only makes it all hurt so much worse.

“It’s almost over. You’re doing a good job.” He takes his chances at encouraging you. It feels so sickening, more tears flee your eyes. Where had your boyfriend been, and why is he only just now back after he did the unthinkable?

“Sing with me.” It’s an odd request, but it’s something he found that grounds you better than most grounding techniques. Saying repeatable phrases in melodic tone is comforting for your mind.

“No.”

“Come on… Just one time. Your favorite.” He tries again. Metaphorically, lighting the candle and passing it back to you.

You shake your head in response. Flame snuffed. How can you sing with him after what he did to you?

“Come on, don't leave me it can't be that easy, babe” He starts with such a soft angelic voice. You fold in on yourself unable to keep the sob from escaping your throat. What method of torture is this??

“If you believe me I guess I'll get on a plane. Fly to your city excited to see your face.” He continues, lighting that same candle. It’s so small, barely there anymore from how many times you two have tried to relight it.

“Hold me, console me and then I leave without a trace.” The ice cube has completely melted, and his hand is resting on your arm. He slowly guides you to his chest, and you indulge in his warm embrace for just one last time.

“Come on, don't leave me it can't be that easy, babe.” His chin rests on top of your head. You’ve always fit so well in his arms. He’d always tell you that whatever higher power is out there made you specifically with him in mind.

“If you believe me I guess I'll get on a plane. Fly to your city excited to see your face.” His skin is so warm against yours, and your tears are sticking to your chest.

“Hold me, console me and then I leave without a trace.” You finally indulge him, softly joining in on his singing. His body slowly starts to guide you two into a soft subtle sway.

“Come on, don't leave me it can't be that easy, babe.” It’s not that easy. This fucking hurts so bad. Why would your soulmate do this to you?

“If you believe me I guess I'll get on a plane. Fly to your city excited to see your face.” You feel so pathetic — seeking out comfort from the one who hurt you this bad. If your friend could see you right now, she’d slap some sense into you.

“Hold me, console me and then I leave without a trace.”

You’re sniffling softly into his chest, and his hand carefully pets your hair. “Those kiss marks weren’t from Utahime.” He explains in a soft tone. “We were filming a TikTok. The punchline of the joke was that Suguru and Haibara were the ones who kissed all over my face.”

You look up at him with an unsure look on your face, not understanding what he meant. Satoru carefully picks your phone up, and he clicks on Haibara’s Instagram story from last night.

Sure enough, Haibara posted a TikTok of him, Suguru, Satoru, and Utahime. The camera points at Satoru, showing the kiss marks on his face, and the sound plays. “Bro, what happened to your face? Did you do that?” The camera then pans to Utahime to which she mouths the words, “I did not do that.” The camera then pans to Haibara with smeared wine red lipstick on his lips who says, “Then, who did?” The camera is then panned towards Suguru. He also had wine red lipstick smeared on his lips. “Yeah, who?” The two boys start laughing along with Satoru, and the video cuts.

It only comforts your weary heart slightly.

“It was just a stupid TikTok… I should’ve consulted you or warned you… done anything to respect you.”

“This doesn’t take back how awfully cold you’ve been over the last few weeks…” You sniffle out quietly, and Satoru nods his head knowingly.

“I know, sweetness.. I know. I’ve been terrible.” His arms squeeze you a bit tighter — frightened that he was so close to loosing you, still scared of losing you.

“That’s not an apology… or even a reason.” You try to squirm from his grip, but Satoru holds you tighter.

“I’m so fucking sorry, sweetness.” He breathes out a shaky breath, and you realize the shakiness in his voice. Glancing up at him, you feel yourself clam up with the sight of tears in his eyes. Christ, his eyes are somehow even more blue when he cries. “Shit got crazy at work then-“

“You still had time to party it up with your friends. You left me without even telling me you love me.” You finally break away from his grasp. The cheating accusation was only the surface of the main problem.

“You know I love you…” His voice is small, and he wipes his eyes of the tears that are threatening to spill.

“Do I know that?”

“Don’t… don’t say that.. I love you more than life itself.” His shaky hands go to reach for you again, but you move back away from him.

“You’re only doing this because I’m leaving you. If I hadn’t mentioned it, you’d probably still be half assed ignoring me.” You stare at him, and your eyes start to water for the nth time today.

“That’s not…” Satoru bites his tongue, and he runs a hand through his messy white hair. “I came home this morning… saw the uneaten tv dinner in the trash… Your reality tv show was still playing in the background, and I saw how you fell asleep with your makeup messed up… I realized then how much I neglected you… I planned a full day for us to enjoy each other’s presence… Please, don’t leave me for this. I can fix this.”

“How did it feel to look at me everyday when I tried so fucking hard to reach you?”

“It killed me.” He breathes out, and he tries to reach for you again. “Please, I missed you so much. Work was just so fucking much, and I don’t know why I took that out on you.”

You stare at him, and you shake your head silently. “You should go, Gojo..” Your voice cracked as it physically pained you to tell him to leave. Your body craves him more than anything else in the world right now.

“No, please, princess. Don’t do this… I can fix this. I’ll do whatever it takes… just don’t leave me…” Satoru’s on his knees, literally begging you not to leave him. Tears are falling down his cheeks as he bows his head to you.

It’s humiliating, but he’s so humiliatingly in love with you. He’s so dead serious. He’d do anything for you to stay with him.

“Toru..”

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I-I don’t know why I did it. I just pulled away from you, and I don’t know how it happened. You’re the best damn thing that’s ever happened t-to me. Please. I can’t function without you.”

You stare at your boyfriend with concern as his head literally touches the floor beneath him. You don’t even know what to say to him. The thought of leaving him hurts so fucking bad. It steals the breath from your lungs.

“Please don’t leave me… puh…. please stay with me.” He’s groveling at your feet, unable to stop the tears that escape his eyes. The thought of living in a world where you aren’t his girlfriend… he wouldn’t. He’d be a shell of who he once was. He’s nothing without you.

You slowly sit on the floor in front of him, and your hands stroke his soft hair gently. Satoru’s breath slows as he finally gets a grip on his emotions. He realizes just how pathetic he looks. He slowly leans up, and he looks at you. Both of you looked like complete messes, and it was all his fault.

“I don’t deserve you,” He murmurs quietly. “but please, I can make this better… I love you so much, sweetness… I wouldn’t dream of ever cheating on you.”

“I don’t forgive you.” Your voice is barely a whisper. The metaphorical flame is so small and shaky, but if you two both shield it from the wind, it’ll be able to grow once more. “You have a lot to prove me, Toru.”

“I’ll spend every waking minute of my life fixing this. I promise you, sweets.”

and he did. Satoru went back to loving you loudly. He didn’t merely shield the flame from being blown out, he fanned it himself so it grew in intensity. He was back to doting on you constantly, and he did frequent check-ins to make sure you weren’t feeling neglected. He took frequent vacations from work with you. He usually took you two out on holidays to wherever your heart desired, but sometimes you two would use his vacation time to just lounge around the house and enjoy each other’s presence.

Your confidence slowly returned to you over time. It wasn’t easy by any means. It took many nights of Satoru’s consistent reassurance and overwhelming love and support for you to slowly start feeling comfortable in your relationship with him.

He put in the work, nourished your flame, and he never made you feel guilty for having a second thought because when he loves, he loves deeply. Casual is not his strong suit.

[nottswitch]

doll.

summary: you had finally convinced Tom to take you to the Restricted Section. however, the outcome might not be something you had originally planned.

pairing: tom riddle x fem!reader

warning: 18+ smut, cockwarming, oral (m receiving), throatfucking, gagging, mentions of nausea (no actual vomiting), slight choking, orgasm denial? ignoring?? I think that’s all, if I missed anything, let me know!

wc: 3.3k

a/n: listen. listen. this man has been in my head for the last month, and recently he decided to come into my dream? that’s just rude, so that’s what you get as revenge. this fic is also a result of my pent up frustration at life rn, so do with that what you will. also, this is my first time ever writing smut and writing for tom, so pls let me know if it’s any good and if I shall continue on the path. enjoy <3

You had finally done it.

You had finally convinced Tom to take you to the Restricted Section with him. After the whole month of begging almost every day, he agreed, albeit awfully begrudgingly, but you were on cloud nine nonetheless. He told you some stuff about his late-night visits to the library from time to time, but you were always burning for more information, considering your own striving for knowledge. He always said the same thing, that he appreciated your effort, but if you could stop trying to make him abuse his Prefect’s power and possibly lose himself the position, it would make both of your lives easier. But you persevered and were finally reaping the rewards, sitting next to him at the table, with a stack of ancient books in front of you, sometime far after midnight.

What you didn’t expect, though, was how absolutely fucking irresistible he would look merely existing. The books were taken out, the first one was flipped through and now they sat on the table, long forgotten, as you just stared at Tom, almost devouring him with your eyes. To be fair, the sight of him was truly divine – his face calm and concentrated, hovering over a particular book he had been studying for the last week, distracted simply to switch to his journal and take another note. His hands resting on the table, holding a quill, scribbling down lines with his exquisite handwriting… They were sinful, those hands. You had to get ahold of at least one. His left hand was in the process of mindlessly caressing the corner of the book with his middle finger when your hand slowly creeped towards it. You lightly brushed your fingertips along the outer part of his hand. No reaction. You started drawing circles along the whole area, skimming along his wrist and thumb. Nothing. You decided to go further and began intertwining your fingers together.

Finally. A sigh.

And he didn’t even look. His hand grabbed yours and put it away, back on the table. And nothing, absolutely nothing changed about the focused expression painted on his face. That was really annoying, but also… hot, in a way? Almost as if he was playing hard to get. You were already aroused just by looking at him, but his silent rejection made you nearly desperate. Your panties were pretty much soaked, and he, quite literally, barely lifted a finger.

Before you could gain control over your hand, it moved dangerously close to his thigh. You put your hand a little above his knee and gradually advanced higher and higher up his leg. Only when you were caressing his inner thigh did you hear another sigh. Tom raised an eyebrow and turned his head a couple centimeters in your direction, his eyes still on the book.

“What?” he asked, the tone of his voice only ever so slightly irritated. His composure remained intact. He wasn’t even fazed by the fact that you were so close to grabbing him through his pants.

“You look so handsome like that, you know?”

You made your best attempt to lace your voice with saccharine seduction. Your hand kept stroking his inner thigh, inching further and further up with each stroke. The only thing he did was thoughtlessly nod, as if he forgot about your existence immediately after asking the question.

You started getting frustrated and even more turned on. You moved your chair closer to his and began caressing his shoulder, brushing your fingers along his neck when they reached it. You slowly moved down to his back and arm, your nails applying some pressure on his body so that he could feel them scratching his skin even through the fabric of his shirt. It had always been one of the rare things to grab his attention, and it worked this time as well. He sighed, closed the book with his finger between the right pages and turned his head to you. His expression was that of mild annoyance, his eyebrow raised again.

“What exactly was the reason you’d been begging me to bring you here? Would you care to remind me?”

You lowered your gaze and your hand on his shoulder stopped, but just for a second. Then you continued, thinking that there was no return at that point and at least you had a chance, now that his attention was on you.

“Knowledge,” you admitted.

“And what kind of knowledge are you trying to soak up right now?”

His eyes flicked towards your hand still massaging his shoulder. You rolled your eyes and shifted in your chair at the mention of the word “soak”. But it was time for drastic measures. You stood up to crouch next to him, so that your mouth was right at the same level as his ear. Your hand moved to his inner thigh again, traveling up to his crotch and back. You felt him harden under your touch and the mere fact brought you immense amounts of satisfaction.

“Come on, Tom, love, we both know what I want right now,” you started whispering, your lips nearly touching his ear. “You. I want you. On the table, on the floor, against the wall, it literally doesn’t matter. If you don’t take me right here, right now, I will die.”

The look on his face didn’t change in the slightest when he grabbed your throat with his right hand and guided you from his left to his front, tightly squeezed between him and the desk. You stayed in your half-crouched position, trying your hardest not to tremble in the knees. The corner of Tom’s mouth lifted ever so slightly while he silently studied your face and body. His grip on your throat tightened when he lifted up his hand, causing you to straighten your half-bent legs. He shot a commanding look at his lap and, guided by his hand, you climbed there, sitting down and sighing as you could finally relax your already aching knees. But your state of relaxation didn’t last, as he abruptly spread his legs, causing yours to shoot open as well and your ass to be left hanging in the air. In order not to fall to the ground, you had to lean back on the desk, propping your front upwards, towards him.

His hand moved from your throat to the hem of your skirt. With quick and methodic movements Tom rolled it up, tucking it behind the top part of the skirt, and spread your thighs even further with a firm press of his thumbs. You felt a heatwave of embarrassment wash over you as he evaluated the state of your panties, an amused smirk tugging the corner of his mouth. A spot of wetness was wonderfully visible and on display. His eyebrow went up and down as he looked up at you, brushing his thumb in a feather-like touch along the still covered surface of your cunt. You threw your head back, partly because you didn’t want to meet his eyes, partly because your own eyes rolled to the point you couldn’t see in front of you and you could barely hold in a moan as myriads of goosebumps spread throughout your body just from this simple touch.

“Look at me.”

Tom clearly didn’t appreciate the lack of eye contact. You clenched your jaw and looked back, met by the sheer intensity of his stare. The stare that had all the power in the world to melt you into a puddle at any given moment. He brushed his other thumb over the same place again, watching your face carefully as you tried to keep your composure. Didn’t help. Your bit your bottom lip, but a sound escaped you nonetheless. Tom’s smirk widened.

“Let’s see,” he quietly muttered, pulling your panties to the side. Your cunt was already slicked and throbbing, which was even more embarrassing, because he looked like he was an inspector evaluating the goods. The smirk faded from his lips as his finger rubbed against your folds, barely spreading them apart and not reaching the clit to provide the much-needed sensation. You couldn’t help throwing your head back again, almost drawing blood from the pressure of your teeth against your bottom lip.

“I said. Look. At. Me.”

Tom uttered every word in a clear, emotionless voice, but it was the very thing that meant trouble. You looked back and the intensity of his stare only grew exponentially. He reached your face with his hand and grabbed your cheeks between his thumb and index finger, squeezing them, so that your lips formed into some sort of a pout.

“Don’t make me repeat myself. Keep looking until I say you can stop.”

You quickly nodded, intimidated by his frigid dominance. His hand went back to your cunt. He slid his fingers deeper between the folds, lightly brushing against the clit. Your hips jerked up as they tried to follow the path of his fingers, but his other hand held you firmly in place, not allowing a single extra bit of pleasure. He slid them back once more and then the middle one slipped inside you, up to the very base. A jolt of pleasure shook your body, as strong as the feeling of disappointment when he quickly removed the digit. You tried to whine but another look from him quickly shut you up. Tom raised his hand, rubbed his index, middle finger and thumb together and then separated; a sticky string of your wetness was a connection between them and a blatant manifestation of your arousal.

“Soaked. Just like I thought.”

The slightest hint of a smirk returned to his lips as his fingers reached your mouth.

“Open.”

Each of his words was stern, not leaving room for any disobedience. You opened your mouth and Tom pushed two fingers inside, pressing at the entrance of your throat and instantly making you gag. He kept his fingers there for a moment while you clutched the desk behind you to stop your body from shaking as you kept gagging, but not daring to push his hand away. A couple seconds later, when he saw you were on the verge of giving up, his fingers slowly traveled back out of your mouth. You tightly wrapped your lips around them and sucked your slick off, knowing that it was exactly what he wanted you to do. After leaving your mouth his fingers cupped your chin, as his thumb glided over your lips, covering them with the rest of your wetness.

“Now,” Tom leaned back on the chair, looking you up and down, his voice suddenly smooth and enticing, but his gaze still intense, “I see you are rather bored here with me, doll.”

When he said the word, you knew that the next part wouldn’t be so much for your pleasure as it would be completely for his. It wasn’t a meaningless pet-name for him, no, it held value. It meant that you would be treated exactly like a doll: mindless and limp. He saw your eyes widen at “doll” and a faint smirk was on his lips again: he was aware of the connotation and so were you.

“And to save you the trouble of a wandering mind, I am pleased to announce that I have a much better use for a doll like you.”

He waited to continue for a minute, letting you absorb the information and your thoughts fill with speculations. His hand brushed a stray hair from your forehead, him seeming just like a caring boyfriend for a moment.

“Kneel.”

You slowly stood up from his lap, feeling your stretched out limbs relax and almost fail to hold you up, and lowered down to your knees in front of him. From this point of view, he was even more attractive, compellingly so; it was worth it standing on your knees on the cold stone floor of the Restricted Section just for this sight alone. He slowly started unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, almost as if he wanted you to enjoy the show. You drank up every single movement of his slender fingers as he pulled down his pants and underwear just enough for his cock to bounce right out, against his lower abdomen.

“You like what you see, doll?”

You fervently nodded, your mouth salivating just at the thought of being able to suck him off right then. He saw the fire in your eyes and scoffed, shaking his head.

“It is no ordinary pleasure that I want from you now, doll.”

He beckoned you to move closer and you eagerly did, your face just mere centimeters away from his length. Your breath quickened as you thought about the implication of “no ordinary pleasure”.

“Now, give me your hands, doll.”

You lifted your hands and he wrapped his belt around them, tightening it to the point when it started to hurt and you knew it would leave deep marks on your wrists. Then, you tried to position yourself in a way that would allow your hands to support you, but you could only reach the floor with your fingertips.

Tom ran his fingers through your hair, in a touch almost gentle and soothing, and then suddenly yanked you up and forward, straight onto his cock, thrusting his whole length into your mouth, the tip reaching the very back of your throat. You lifted on your knees and violently gagged at the feeling, your hands inadvertently flying up, trying to push back, but the belt didn’t let you make any substantial impact. He held you firmly in place while you kept quivering and making gagging sounds, him clearly enjoying seeing you in this state. Slowly, you adjusted to his cock filling your whole mouth and your body went weak as you lowered back down, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. You tried to look up with just your eyes, not being able to move your head; it hurt too much, so you lowered your gaze, the only thing in front of you being his lower abdomen. As you tried to shift in your place, you felt a whiff of the chilly library air against your soaked panties and the sensation drove you nearly through the roof.

“Now, doll, you have to stay like that while I keep going with my work. A fair warning out of the goodness of my heart: it might take a while.”

You blinked, trying to wrap your mind around the fact that this could continue for another hour or two. Your head was held back by the edge of the desk cutting into your nape, so you weren’t able to move at all. You were completely at his mercy, he could do literally whatever he wanted, but he chose not to do anything. As soon as he let go of your hair, he went straight back to his book, taking notes as if nothing had happened.

Time went by painfully slowly. The constant feeling of him in your mouth and throat overwhelmed you to the point when you started to twitch at times, shifting your weight to get any semblance of friction against your aching core. The position you were in didn’t allow that at all, your head being stuck firmly between the desk and his body. The most irritating thing about the whole ordeal was the fact that Tom ignored you completely, fully absorbed in whatever kind of studying he was doing. You tried to get his attention a couple of times by producing incoherent sounds and trying to tighten your lips around him, but you quickly understood that there was no use. You tried counting seconds and minutes, but your mind gave up when you reached fifteen. The only things you could think about were his cock and getting something, any type of pressure on your clit. Your wetness soaked through your panties and, you were pretty sure, was dripping down your thighs, creating a small puddle on the floor underneath you.

You didn’t know how much time had passed before you finally heard the book shut. You almost shuddered at the sound, your pupils dilating and your breath accelerating, probably close to the speed of light. Tom leaned on the back of the chair, looking down at you with one of his smirks of the devil himself. His hand ruffled your hair, pulling at it to slightly lift your head up and shove it back down, as if he was trying to gauge if you were still alive. At the sound of your muffled groan he raised his eyebrows, amused.

“The doll has some life left in her. What a pleasant surprise. You look perfectly splendid like that.”

You groaned again, the sound coming from somewhere inside your chest. You desperately wanted to look up, but your head was still pressed in its place. Tom scoffed, messing with your hair once again.

“The time has come for some more… customary activities of ours, don’t you think?”

As if you could answer. You tried to nod, but the edge of the desk only further cut into your nape, making you wince in pain.

“The doll seems to agree. Pleasure.”

He moved the chair a bit further from the desk. With more space you could finally properly breath, so you shifted in your place, your stiff legs aching as you had to follow the movement of the chair. Tom’s hand gripped your hair and pulled you upwards, releasing almost the entirety of his length from your mouth apart from the tip. The sudden emptiness made your throat clench and you felt nausea building up rapidly, although the feeling had no time to develop as you were quickly shoved down again, your nose nearly crashing against his body. Tears gathered in your eyes sprayed all over, your lips stretched even more than they already were and you prayed the corners of your mouth wouldn’t crack. The tension building up in your core was begging to be released as you were being thrusted up and down again and again, the tip of his cock stroking the back of your throat again and again, causing you to produce the most sinful gagging sounds known to man. You tried to balance on your tied up hands, but your fingertips just barely brushed against the floor as your whole body moved in unison with your head. Tom barely made any sound, a heavy breath occasionally escaping his lips. He threw his head back, his eyes closed, while you took him whole at the mercy of his hand.

At last, you felt his thrusts speeding up, sensing his release. After a couple of especially violent ones he let out a quiet groan, and you felt his hot semen filling you up and spilling down your throat as he pressed you all the way down. Your breaths were heavy but barely audible, his cock still stuffing your mouth to the brim. Tom heaved a deep sigh as you felt his grip on your hair loosening. You didn’t dare to move until he pulled you up, lifting your head with his finger on your chin, looking straight into your eyes. Your vision was blurry from tears, more of them running down your face and dripping down to the floor as they slid off your jawline. Your lips were swollen and you couldn’t properly close your mouth yet, panting in quick and dry breaths. Tom smirked, taking in the sight of your utter destruction.

“A broken doll. Truly a sight to behold.”

He leaned back on the chair again, pulling up his underwear and zipping the pants. Then, he bent down, taking your hands gently in his and undoing the belt. His fingers made their way across the deep red marks on your wrists, caressing them with utmost attention.

“You have been a very good doll for me tonight. Now, what do you say to spending the night in my dorm? The doll has to receive her rightful reward.”

my masterlist

[say-al0e]

Breathe

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18, Minors DNI!

Summary: Blowing Steve in his car. That's it, that's the plot. (Ft a prompt someone requested a million years ago, sorry!) Warnings: Oral (M Receiving), kind of exhibitionism (in his car in the woods); that's about it. Pairing: Steve x fem!Reader Word Count: 2.6k

There were only a handful of places in all of Hawkins where you and Steve could truly be alone.

Though Steve spent most of his time unsupervised, parents away and large house left empty, that rarely meant you were left to your own devices. If anything, it often seemed to mean you were bothered more frequently.

Dustin knew where to find the spare key and, if it moved, had no problem picking the lock on the sliding back door. The break room at Family Video was a no-go because Robin was never very far away and there were cameras - those were tapes that Steve never wanted Keith to see. And it seemed that no matter where you turned, there were children demanding rides or friends lamenting the lack of entertainment in Hawkins.

Steve’s car, parked at the edge of town - away from Lover’s Lake and Skull Rock, the first places bored deputies and your gaggle of adopted children would look - was the only place you could find a moment of something resembling peace.

The dim moonlight filtered in through the window, filled the front seat and illuminated Steve’s side profile as he sat in the driver’s seat. It cast shadows across the bridge of his nose, glittered in the warm brown of his eyes - highlighted the fond amusement that brightened his eyes, his near natural state of being these days - as he waved a Twizzler between quips about Dustin’s latest adventure.

“Little shit called me at midnight,” he huffed, eyes narrowing as his gaze fixed on something in the distance. “If I have to drive him to, or pick him up from, Munson’s trailer one more time, I swear I’m gonna make him start biking. I feel like I’ve turned into a fuckin’ taxi service for wayward teenagers.”

Steve swore he hated complaining - rolled his eyes any time he was forced to listen to someone else drone on about this inconsequential concern or that one, though most concerns seemed inconsequential after facing Hell time and time again. He’d promised that complaints were off the table for the night, that neither of you would talk about work or the kids, but you’d been sat at the edge of the woods, parked in his car in the dark, for nearly an hour and he’d done little else.

“I had to wait nearly an hour last week.” You knew that - he’d left you waiting at his place, lying on his couch half-asleep - but that didn’t stop him from huffing once more as he reached for another Twizzler. “Who does this kid think he is?”

The complaints - generally good-natured, never malicious as neither of you would trade your relationship with the kids for anything - were not new. Neither was this thing between you and Steve. There was a base of friendship, a closeness you’d shared for years, that made the transition from friends to more a little easier.

To know Steve was to love him, and love him you did. 

Being able to reach out and touch him, fingers brushing the soft cotton of his t-shirt or gliding along the rough denim of his jeans as you watched a movie without pulling a questioning glance from him; being able to lift your head and nuzzle your face in his neck, lips pressing to his heated skin any time you wanted - it was maddening in the most wonderful of ways.

Every moment you spent with Steve, full of half-hearted complaints or laughter or rare moments of reflection after all you’ve endured together, was worthy of appreciation - even the moments you’d rather not relive. But before you could redirect his complaints into something else entirely, a groan tore you from your pondering.

Steve frowned, slumped in his seat and brought his hand to his eyes as he rolled his neck. “I think I’m getting old,” he declared, sighing heavily before turning his head to face you.

With a surprised laugh and a roll of your eyes, you reached out to steal the candy from his hand. “You’re twenty, Stevie,” you reminded him, “you’re not getting old.”

“I’d agree with you if we lived anywhere else,” he acquiesced with a thoughtful frown, “but I think all the fights are catching up with me. I totally get what all those old people mean when they say they know it’s gonna rain because their knees hurt.”

There was something so endearingly serious about his complaint, concerned about the state of his body after years of sports and fights and supernatural dealings, that you couldn’t help the soft laughter that filled the interior of his car. It mingled with the soft music, joined Steve’s own easy huff of amusement - happy to make you laugh, to see your smile - as you shook your head once more.

Despite the heat blasting from the vents, a hint of January chill still managed to invade the cozy space. It reminded you that a whole world existed out there, beyond the comfort of the bubble you and Steve so infrequently were allowed to venture to, and you sighed as you traced the slope of Steve’s nose - the curve of his jaw, the plush of his lips, the soft set of his eyes as he returned your studying easily.

“You’re kinda pretty, Harrington.”

Even in the pale light, you could see the soft pink dusting his cheeks as he waved a Twizzler as if to brush away the compliment. “And you have been really quiet tonight. What’s up?”

Part of you wanted to tease him - remind him that it was difficult to get a word in edgewise with his dozens of complaints - but the larger part, the part that fixated on the beautiful boy sitting beside you, decided to lean across the seat and press your lips to his.

Steve tasted of artificial strawberry, soft and sweet, and hummed a noise of pleasant surprise as he dropped the candy and lifted his hand to cradle the curve of your jaw. Warm fingers splayed across your skin, tugged you closer - eager to have you near, to have his fill of you - and you let him. 

Kissing Steve was an experience you swore you would never take for granted. Now that you’d gotten a taste of him, you were hooked. His embrace simultaneously set you at ease and engulfed your body in the most pleasant warmth. Being at the center of his attention still felt just as exciting as it had in the beginning; it was indescribable and, though he could sometimes get distracted, you savored the moments you had him entirely to yourself.

The warmth of his fingers bled into your skin, warmed you from within and shielded you from the bitter Indiana cold, and you eagerly melted into him. It wouldn’t be long before his hands began to wander, fingers dipping beneath the soft material of your sweater, and you couldn’t help the contented sigh that escaped.

When you broke the kiss, desperate to take a breath and selfishly eager to catch sight of him, Steve exhaled a stuttering breath. As expected, his cheeks were flushed pink and there was a dazed look in his eyes that took a few quick blinks to shake before he fixed you with a curious look. “Not complaining,” he began, eyes dipping back to your lips, “but what was that for?”

Without thinking, you mirrored his touch - lifted your hand to his cheek, brushed your fingers along the stubble lining his jaw - and hummed. “You looked pretty and I’ve just missed you, is all.”

Steve frowned, a confused little furrow between his brows as he inched himself closer. He tipped his head to meet your gaze, no longer entirely captivated by your lips as he considered. “We’ve seen each other every day this week,” he reminded you, never stopping the soft stroke of his thumb across your cheek.

Though Steve was confident, a flirt by nature, he sometimes had a habit of taking things literally. So, instead of taking offense, you bit back a smile and hummed.

“I know.” While you both worked during the week, you still saw one another most days - on lunch breaks, after work, in the mornings when you allowed him to go out of his way to pick you up - but you hadn’t spent more than a few moments alone between Robin and the kids. So, you emphasized, “I’ve still missed you.”

“Yeah, I -“ Steve cut himself off with a sharp inhale as your hand fell to his thigh, fingers raking over the denim. He always ran warm, even in the winter, and you could feel the heat radiating off him as the muscle tensed beneath your touch. “Oh. Oh, yeah, I’ve missed you, too.”

As he shifted, eager to be closer now that your intention was clear, you bit back your laughter and leaned in to press your lips to his once more. 

The longer you spent with Steve, the easier it became to see his true self. Though he could be suave, flirty and confident, it was clear that he was nowhere near the Casanova he once pretended to be. Beneath the hair and the charming smile, he was eager - excited to love and be loved in return - and you were glad to give him all the affection he could want.

Though you were content to spend the rest of your night kissing Steve, you had every intention of taking full advantage of the precious alone time. As his hands began to wander, falling from your cheek to your neck - slowly beginning to glide down in search of warm skin - your hand drifted higher. 

When your fingers brushed at the seam of his jeans, nails raking over the zipper, Steve made a pleased noise that made you eager to hear more. Every brush of your hand, every ounce of pressure applied to the growing bulge in his jeans, had Steve shifting his hips in search of more. 

Riling him up was easy and he never left you guessing how he felt. With each experimental swipe of your hand and eager press of your mouth, his kiss grew more intense. And while you would’ve taken the time to tease him on any other occasion, it had been long enough that you were desperate. So, without preamble, you popped the button on his jeans and tugged at the zipper.

Steve broke the kiss then, a breathless laugh escaping his lips as he glanced between your face and your hand. “Shit. I’ve really missed you.”

With a playful roll of your eyes, you shifted in the passenger seat - attempting to get closer - and leaned in to nip at the hinge of his jaw. “Bet you say that to all the girls.” When he laughed, you hummed. “Your fault, though,” you reminded him as you slipped your hand into the denim and palmed at his length. “Your adopted kids keep interrupting us.”

“Even the babysitter deserves a night off.”

There was a self-satisfied smile on his lips when you laughed and you made no effort to tease him for the eager lift of his hips as you pushed past the final layer of fabric. There was a time for teasing and a time for quick release; though you wanted nothing more than to watch him fall apart completely, you would take what you could get in the moment.

Later, when the world managed to quiet around you, there would be time. You would be able to enjoy him completely, alone in the home that no longer felt cavernous when you used it as your escape, so you gave him exactly what he wanted. 

Though Steve expected a preamble, a teasing grin or laughter as he hinted at exactly what he wanted, you were more eager than he seemed to be. The moment he lifted his hips, you helped him nudge the denim down enough to free his cock. And instead of lifting your hand, spitting into your palm and beginning to work him up as he’d come to expect, a choked gasp escaped his mouth as you leaned in and traced the vein running along the underside of his shaft.

Warm brown eyes burned into your skin, watching your every movement as you wrapped your lips around the tip and lapped at the bead of precum. 

As you pressed yourself impossibly closer, ignoring the ache in your side and the uncomfortable press of the console and seatbelt buckle to your skin, Steve’s noises of pleasure made the time spent apart almost worthwhile. There was never any guesswork when it came to his pleasure, never any doubt that he was just as enthusiastic - if not more so - about the encounter as you. And his warm groan sent a jolt of pleasure down your spine as his hand fell to your head.

When you began to bob your head, setting a quick pace, Steve sighed. “Breathe through your nose,” he reminded you, fingers tangling in your hair as you pressed yourself closer and closer - a reminder he’d given you since the first time. “Just like that, honey.” He never pushed, never asked for more than he felt you were happy to give, but any time you decided to push yourself, he made sure you knew just how much he appreciated it. “So pretty, so good. Fuck.”

Steve swore, his hands flexing as he fought the urge to press - to lift his hips and control the pace, something you would’ve encouraged were it not for the confines of his car and the uncomfortable position you found yourself in - while you swallowed around his length. It was quick, eager and messy, not as common now that you knew one another so intimately. But you were delighted by the huff of your name and the moan that followed as you glanced up at him from beneath your lashes.

The week without intimacy left him desperate, eager for a release, and you knew that he would come sooner rather than later as his hips began to shift in search of your mouth. Any distance was too far, any pause too long, and you squeezed his thigh as you felt his body begin to tense.

There would be time later for him to return the favor - and you knew that he would return it with great enthusiasm - so you had no qualms about hollowing your cheeks and swallowing around him as you urged him to fall off the edge without a second thought. 

As you hoped he would, Steve came with a groan - a sound that fanned the flames already lapping at your skin, left you overheating in your knit sweater - and you hummed encouragingly as you helped him ride it out.

When you pulled away, lifted your head and swallowed, Steve readily pulled you in for a kiss. His hand returned to cradle your jaw, keeping you as close as he could for a long moment, before he allowed you to pull away. As you rested your forehead against his, he fixed you with a searching look.

“I’m totally in love with you. You know that, right?”

Steve made it a point to tell you often. “You might’ve mentioned it before. Always good to hear, though. Wanna take me home and show me how much?”

A limited as your alone time could be, there was little stopping Steve once he set his mind to something. So with a grin and a final kiss, Steve buttoned his jeans and gestured for you to buckle your seatbelt before he set off in the direction of his house. He was right; even the babysitter deserved a night off every once in a while.

________________________________________________

Author's Note: I didn't realize it until right this moment but the last birthday fic I wrote was also giving a favorite character a blowjob in a car so. Don't know what's up with that.

Taglist: @x-avantgarde-x, @thisisparadisemylove, @eddiesprincess, @slvdsjjk, @munsonlover, @tasmbestspdrman, @urofficial-cyberslut, @jxngwhore, @hopelesslylosttheway, @meaganjm, @lazuli-leenabride, @deiondraaa, @piscesmesss, @glowyskiess, @kiszkathecook, @missryerye, @solarrexplosion, @ofherscarlettwitchways, @lovedandleft-haunted, @trappedinlimbo15, @sweetiekitten, @bookfrog242, @gwendolynmary, @sage-bun, @zealouslibrariesparadiselight, @castiels-lilass, @tojis-little-brat, @emmah787, @theworldsendxx, @asuperconfusedgirl, @flores-and-sunshine, @passi0np1t, @laurathefahrradsattel, @hellf1reclub, @slut4yourmom, @niko-04, @hannirose-loves-you, @mrs-eddie-munson, @screambabe, @vllowe, @ryswritingrecord, @cheriebondy, @ryswritingrecord, @thewitchofthewilds140, @bootlegmothman420, @maruushkka, @honeymoonpython, @keenesbeans, @jess-bonn, @sammysinger04, @khaoticken21, @denkis-slut, @spiderman-berries, @lotus-es, @amortiff, @stardust-galaxies, @ure-a-sunflower, @1-800-ch3rry, @ladybeewritethings, @ynbutbetter, @hunnybunimdun, @breathinfive, @s-u-t, @s4ntacarlal0stk1d, @rae-iin, @pennamesgame, @stefans-wife, @voldieshorts, @frankie-mercury, @bbymochi1, @serendiipty, @saturnsworld01, @eddiemunson1sstuff​, @valthevalkyrie-main​, @crying-caro​, @inglourious-imagines​

[ohbo-ohno]

Johnny being allowed to fuck but not cum all week because he pissed simon off, he tries bargaining with reader at one point to just - ease the cockring off , simon won't notice it'll be fine. Reader doesn't even have a chance to consider it before Johnny ripped out of her and is muzzled because bad dogs need to keep quiet

hm. you shot me dead with this one. like. what am i supposed to do with myself now?

1.4k of smut below the cut. cw: rough puppy play, itty bitty tiny second of cbt, edging/denial, simon is real real mean to johnny

something about johnny being in trouble and not being allowed to cum in you but trying anyway.... oh he's horrible

maybe this is after he was a little too rough with you (like that ask where he fucked up your wrist, or something similar) and he's in deep shit with simon. not only is he allowed to fuck you, simon makes him fuck you at least once a day. lines up behind johnny and moves his hips for him, doesn't even let him thrust on his own, guides every tiny little twitch. tugs him out right at the last second, makes johnny watch as he comes inside you. spends the whole time calling him bad, says if he could just learn to fucking listen for once he could mount you properly

johnny spends the whole week in misery. guy can barely sit down, he just wants to hump fucking everything. simon tells him he can't sit on the furniture when he's so drippy :( makes him sit on the floor instead - or he can let you clean johnny up, but no coming. does he want to be edged again or kneel between his legs like the mutt he is?

jacks him off in the shower in the morning, stopping right before he comes. leaves him crying and makes johnny wash his hair. has you cockwarm him for a bit, to make sure he stays completely hard. makes johnny eat you out til you're nearly knocked out, jacks him off slowly and stops every time you come.

he's nearly done with his punishment when he fucking breaks. it's a night simon isn't meant to be home until after midnight. you'd gone to bed earlier than johnny, wake up to him at you back, nose nudging your cheekbone and hard cock thrusting against your back.

"just gonna- just gonna fuck you, bonnie, 'k?"

"johnny?" you murmur, still half asleep. "but... simon said-"

"simon isn't fucking here," he snarls back, and you feel his bared teeth press against his shoulder. "he won't know. i'll be quick, ok, lass? just gotta... gotta cum, then you go back to sleep, yeah?"

"johnny," you'd whine again, getting a little squirmy in your spot as you feel his hands work at his own dick, then feel him start to slide in without any prep. "john- ow..."

"hush," he breathes heavily in your ear, hips already starting to work. you can feel how quickly his heart beats against you back. "i'll eat you out after, just let me... just..."

he doesn't speak after that, and neither do you. he's fast, needy, you can tell he's only gonna last a few minutes. you're still half-asleep, lost in the comforting warmth of your blankets and pillows, can't do anything but lay limp like a doll for him and relish in the pleasure.

you don't hear simon come in. one minute johnny is thrusting away inside of you, the next he's being ripped off, a sharp yelp coming from his lips followed by a long drawn out whine.

"bad fucking boy," you hear simon snarl over your shoulder, the sound of a slap echoing through the air. "you that fucking lost in your instincts, dog? can't think with nothin' but your dick - you see a pussy and fuck it, that's it huh? can't even listen to a simple command from your master. useless mutt."

you turn your head to the side, sleep clearing from your head at the sight of johnny crumpled to his knees, simon tall and proud above him. you can see the shine of tears on johnny's cheeks with the little light from the doorway.

"simon- simon-"

"no," simon's tone is merciless, his boot coming to rest on johnny's rock-hard dick and pushing down. "that's not what bad boys get to call me."

another whine, a plaintive "master..."

you see johnny's hips work a little, tiny thrusts against the sole of the boot. simon's scowl grows, backhanding johnny with bruising force and sending him sprawling to the floor. "why are you speaking? dogs don't fucking talk."

he stares down at johnny for another moment, both of them taking great heaving breaths. finally, he sighs loud and angry. "fine. i was going easy on you, mutt, was tryin' to be nice. but clearly you don't deserve nice."

he stalks over to their closet, yanking open a drawer you know holds the mean toys - the ones you don't like nearly as much as the others. he grabs something silver and shiny, storm back over to johnny and hauls him up by the hair.

johnny scrambles to follow, but simon doesn't give him a chance to stand. just drags his weight to the bed, throws him onto his back nearly on top of your legs.

you squeak a little, simon's aggressive energy something you're not entirely comfortable being so close to. you curl your legs up, folding into a little ball against the pillows as you stare at the two of them with wide eyes.

simon glances over to you at the sound, eyes softening behind his mask immediately. "oh, love, you're not in trouble. you couldn't stop the mutt from fucking you, huh? don't worry. we'll get him punished and i'll take care of you."

johnny whines again and starts wiggling around, eyes squeezed shut as his hips desperately thrust, looking for any sort of sensation. simon's attention slams back to him, a growl rumbling from his throat as he cups johnny's dick in one hand.

"gotta get you soft, dog," he growls, and you see his hand moving around a bit until he's got johnny's balls in a vice-grip. "the ring wasn't enough for a horny bitch like you, we'll see how you like the cage."

johnny's past words, can only writhe on the bed with little animal noises slipping past his lips. simon doesn't give him any leeway, doesn't give him comfort when he starts to sob a little, just keeps squeezing.

once he's apparently soft enough, simon is quick and methodical about locking johnny's cock up. almost impersonal.

"there," he grunts when he stands up to stare down at johnny. he lands a slap to johnny's dick, gets the smaller man jolting and crying out. "in your cage now. you're not sleeping in bed with us people until you prove you can handle it."

johnny hardly struggles as simon forces him to his knees, kicking at his side to guide him to the crate looming in the corner of the room.

just moments later simon's at the bed with you. he tugs the mask off now (knows you like it sometimes, but also knows it scares you a little - rarely wears it outside of punishments) and crawls on top of you, hands soft and slow as he coaxes you to stretch out back on the bed.

"hey, baby," he murmurs, voice low and just for you. "you're a good girl. can't help what the mutt does, huh? i know, i know. i'll take care of you now, fuck you right."

there are whines from the corner as simon flips you onto your stomach. he lifts you up to your knees, everything soft as he rubs your pussy a few times before slipping his cock into you.

he's always so heavy. you sink further into the bed when he gives you his weight, little moan slipping past your lips as your eyes roll back in your head. johnny gets louder.

"yeah, there you go. good girl, baby, so good for me, huh?"

simon fucks you deep and slow. no rush whatsoever, just nice and languid. you'd probably fall asleep if not for johnny's increasingly desperate noises, the sound of his crate rocking against the wall as he does something in there.

at one point simon sighs all annoyed into your ear, pulls out without warning. you whine and he pets a hand over your hair, whisps "just give me a second, doll, gotta shut the dog up and then i'll finish you off" before walking away.

you don't open your eyes, but you hear simon moving around the room. hear him spit, "makin' me fucking muzzle you because you can't shut up. nothing but a goddamn animal, are you?"

when simon fucks you again, johnny is silent.

he brings you to a slow and easy orgasm, fingers stroking at your achy clit. finishes inside you at nearly the same time.

he tucks you into his arms after, curls you into him and sighs, the sound all satisfied man. you fall asleep like that, johnny's predicament the furthest thing from your mind.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 5

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Let's see if I make it through Monday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

At Corissa’s insistence, and against your own reticence, you have a taste of nearly every course. The fiery red head gabs animatedly in her work, to her assistants and the servers, and even to you. You feel something very peculiar; you feel included.

That pleasant sensation is as fleeting as the night. The servers bring in the dishes, many untouched, and you clean them attentively, keeping the counters clear of clutter. Corissa mutters about the waste and has the leftovers scraped into containers, promising them to her hardworking staff. She even offers you one but you refuse, you’ve indulged enough. You suspect Mr. Laufeyson would be less than pleased to see you walking out with a to-go box.

You are not requested again to tend to the diners. Voices carry from down the hall and the front door opens and shuts between farewells. Amid the hue, you do not hear Mr. Laufeyson though you try not to listen intently.

Corissa and her staff depart with their work done and you’re left to clean up. It’s near midnight. You’re surprised at how long the gathering lasted and yet, you wouldn’t know what to expect. You’d never attended anything like that. You didn’t even go to your own high school graduation.

There’s a scuff and a shadow darken’s the edge of your vision. You lift your head to find Mr. Laufeyson crossing the threshold, his polished shoes clicking on the tile. You dip your head in acknowledgement and return to stacking the dishes neatly inside the cupboards.

“Do not forget the dining room. My guests proved to be animals,” he scoffs, “though, what use would you be if they didn’t leave you some work?”

You nod again. You close the cupboard door and move to the stemmed crystal. You open the glass cabinet that holds the various liquor vessels. You set each in tidy lines, following the pattern.

You wait for him to leave but he remains. Is he watching you or are you just paranoid? You clasp the door shut and face him, though you’re not intent on him. The dining room. You hope you might finish it quickly. You glance at the clock again.

“Do you recall what I told you at the beginning of the night?” He asks brusquely.

You gulp and part your lips, your words trapped in your chest.

“Speak,” he demands with a flippant flick of his fingers.

“Yes, I do, Mr. Laufeyson–”

“Not a look, not a word,” he retorts.

“Mr. Laufeyson, I didn’t–”

“The blond man. I saw your eyes stray,” he insists, “the worst thing you can ever do is lie to me.”

“I… I apologise, it wasn’t– I didn’t mean to–”

“Ah, enough,” he dismisses your protests, “this isn’t an argument. I am merely reminding you of the rules. I do hate to repeat myself.”

You seal your lips and put your chin down in deference. You made a mistake. You’re wrong, he’s right.

“Now you know. I expect it not to happen again,” he rebukes.

His sole squeaks on the floor as he spins and struts out. You look around, time to move on to the dining room. You tiptoe out and find the hallway empty. You creep down to the dining room and find it similarly abandoned.

You enter and begin your work. You wipe down the table and tidy little bits of food and forgotten napkins. You push in the chairs and remove a broken stem from one of the vases at the centre line of the table.

The clock ticks and heightens your impatience. You have to hurry if you’re going to catch the bus. If you don’t… you don’t know if you can budget a cab.

“There is another thing,” Mr. Laufeyson gives you a start as he appears through the archway, “something forgotten…”

You look at him with confusion stitched into your forehead. He reaches into his jacket and slips out a pinkish slip of paper. It’s folded into quarters with a curl in one corner. You recognise it immediately.

“I assume you didn’t mean to leave it on the floor,” he sneers as he comes closer, holding it between his index and middle fingers, “I almost tossed it but I did peruse it in case… Well, I don’t mean to pry…”

You take it and nearly thank him aloud. You look at the folded invoice and a cringe pinches your cheeks. You didn’t even realise you’d dropped it. You would prefer to forget about it but that would hardly void the debt.

“You look well,” he muses. You flinch; what does he mean? “I did note it was for the same date you were absent however.”

You tuck the invoice into your pocket and fix another chair. He lurks close as you try not to falter. He puts his hand on the next chair to stop you.

“You may speak. Humour my intrigue. You don’t appear very sick.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. It feels as if he’s making some joke you don’t understand. Your lips strain and you stare at his tie.

“My father had an emergency, Mr. Laufeyson. That is all. He is better now.”

“Ah, a loyal daughter,” he remarks, “it is almost endearing.”

You stand in a stalemate. Your eyes drift over to the clock and back to his slender tie. You’re almost done and you’ll have just enough time to get to the stop.

“I suppose you are eager,” he steps in between you and the clock, “to get home to your sick father.”

You clutch the cloth tight and scrunch your lips. Your stomach does somersaults. You want to beg him to let you finish so you can go home. So you’re not stranded but you already made yourself pathetic enough.

“I am not a man without empathy, I would not keep you long. However, I do wish to have a proper conversation,” he declares.

You nod and wring the cloth. You dare to peek at his face and find his attention on your hands. You still them and drop your eyes again. Is he going to fire you? Rather, tell the agency of your misdeeds?

“I would assume you rely on transit. I am in a rather bright mood after my little soiree so I feel of a mind to offer a favour. One which would allow us to converse,” he rolls the button of his jacket between his thumb and index, “I would drive you home and you would listen, yes?”

You nod and he shows his palm.

“Say it.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson. That is very kind.”

“Isn’t it?” He preens and swirls away again, “ten minutes should be sufficient for you to wrap up. I will be at the door.”

“Yes. Mr. Laufeyson.”

“Wonderful,” he strolls out, his unusual glee putting you on guard.

🧹

As promised, Mr. Laufeyson is waiting at the front door. You only realise after checking the back door. You don’t feel good about accepting an unearned favour but the last bus is well and gone.

He opens the door as he sees you enter the foyer. To your surprise, he holds it for you to pass through first. You suppose it's a habit. He is fond of etiquette.

He follows and directs you to a sleek black car in the drive. You wait patiently at the passenger door as he unlocks it and lowers himself into the driver’s seat. It’s only then that you get in, gently closing the door. You put your kit between your feet and click your seat belt into place.

He turns the ignition and the engine hums quietly. It runs so smoothly, you barely feel it. He backs up before steering around the arch of driveway and towards the gate. He reaches to hit a button on the small fob dangling by the rear view and the wider gates split for him to pass through.

You wait for him to begin. He must be basking in your anticipation. Less than eager for what comes next, it's more a needling anxiety. 

“So, let us get down to it,” he begins, one hand on the wheel. The roads are near desolate in the late hour. “I’ve a proposition for you.”

You wait and listen. You assume that’s the deal still. He chuckles and carries on.

“An arrangement convenient for both of us. You see,” he pauses, exhaling as he measures his words, “I am not fond of the agency. I’ve not been for some time, neither have I had the time to search for an alternative. 

“Details are irrelevant. My ex-wife enlisted them for a maid. Just as she employed the gardener and the cook. She might be gone but her handiwork remains, though a very big void as well,” he turns down the next street as you twiddle your fingers, “that is too say, she managed the house and without her, I find myself lacking. I’ve not even the chance to acquire a house manager, but now…”

He lets his suggestion dangle but you’re not quite sure you understand. You hate to presume. Hate to think more of yourself than you should.

“What I’m proposing is that you step into her shoes. In the manner of taking on that management. The gardener, the cook, general maintenance and the like,” he explains, “but of course, you would also keep to your existing tasks, keep the house orderly in all ways.”

You still your hands and stare at your lap. You don’t really believe it. He thinks you capable of all that? Based on what? Some mopping?

“You are rather adept at following orders,” he says, “and you are in need of money, yes?”

You hunch down in shame.

“I will pay more than the agency for I would not take a cut as they do. You will be compensated appropriately for your efforts,” he assures, “as they would lessen mine.”

You look over the dash and at the road ahead. Your father will be home soon, he might need more help, and yet, you most certainly need money. You still have over a month left on probation and even after, you’re not guaranteed full-time hours.

“There would be a starting bonus,” he intones, filling the silence, “fifteen hundred. As an incentive.”

Your eyes burn. That’s what the invoice reads in red. He’s taunting you now. He knows that you need it badly. 

“This offer stands until you leave this car,” he says firmly, “so you may think about it.”

You blanch and keep your eyes forward. You can think all you want but that won’t change anything. There is no other answer. Even if it makes you nervous, even if you find that house stifling, and him terrifying. None of it matters. You need that money as much as your father needs you.

“I accept, Mr. Laufeyson,” you murmur. “I will do my best.”

He hums, a triumphant note, “I expect nothing less.”

🧹

You’re greeted by an empty house. It was too late to even think of going to the hospital. You wouldn’t want to wake your father during his recovery, and besides, his dejection sticks in your head. He told you not to come back.

You go to bed but don’t sleep very much. It’s hard in the lonely house. You want to tell your father that you got a new job. That you’re going to be able to pay for his hospital bills and that you’ll make things better. You will, when he gets home.

What has you just as wakeless is Mr. Laufeyson. He said you could start tomorrow. You’re nervous about that. Your only experience is the last month and a half of cleaning. He might expect more than you can do. Worse, you might not be able to meet those expectations.

You toss and turn, sleeping a few hours just before your alarm. You have your tea and get dressed. You bring your kit, just in case, and head out to catch the bus. You don’t like being in the house alone so you’re all too happy to get out.

You walk the block and a half from the bus stop. You realise as you come to the iron gate that you don’t have the new code. You stand cluelessly, locked out and listless. You notice the small button by the metal speakerbox. Does it work?

You tap the bell and wait. Nothing. You even lean in to listen to the speaker. It’s entirely dead. You try again. Still, nothing.

You lean in and peer through the bars, like a prisoner. The front door opens and Mr. Laufeyson appears, a harried pace with a hint of agitation. He comes to the other side and looks out at you. His eyes scan you from head to toe. He opens the gate from within.

“In, in,” he demands curtly, “are you not supposed to make my life easier?”

You step in and he swings the door shut harshly. He huffs and swiftly outpaces you back towards the door. You hesitate. You never go in that way.

“Do not waste my time,” he orders without looking back.

You jog to catch up with him. You hop up the steps behind his lithe gait and trail him inside. He stops and points to the mat. You leave your shoes on it even as he keeps his own on.

“I’ve a list made up. That is sufficient, yes?”

You nod and he sighs. He’s already moving as you slipping in an effort to keep up.

“Speak,” he drawls.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“Very good,” he praises, a lilt of condescension dripping from his lips. “I trust you sent your resignation in. I would be happy to cut ties from that cursed agency at the soonest opportunity.”

You bite your lip. You didn’t even think of that. Your silence is telling.

“Add it to the list,” he says derisively.

[stillxnunpxidintern]

I had this thought last night and went with our fav hothead for this one.

So Ace and you have an argument and don't speaking for days.

It starts out as a little silly squabble, like most couple do and some how turns in to a large argument, with shouting and pushing, with flames flaring across his back & shoulder.

They don't speak to each other for a few days and the whole crew can feel the tension, and some of them comment they could cut the tension with a knife.

So when the Moby docks, you were one of the first one off and went off on your own, to do things, so after it became dark and still you don't return, plus with it still raining heavily as it had done all day. Ace notices and starts to worry but pretends not to be too bothered though still feeling annoyed/a little angry at you.

It nearly midnight when you finally returned back to the Moby, soaked to bone, covered in mud with scrapes and bruises on your arms and legs, with some rips in your clothes.

Ace spots you instantly and all his anger/annoyance evaporates as he goes into full on worry and protective mode as he took in your current state, as he think something/someone attacked you.

He grabs your face with both hands and kisses you, before pulling back and checking you over quickly, then drags you all the way to the infirmary, despite your protest and saying that you fine and just need a good long shower.

Ace doesn't listen and plops you in front of Marco or a nurse, have them look over you.

After being looked over and being told that you would be fine, Ace again drags you away, back to yours(Ace) room and pushed towards the bathroom and told have a warm shower.

While you are showering, Ace is warming up a large towel and so when you comes out, he wraps you up in towel and then wraps himself around you, adding more heat before allowing you get dressed.

He then pulls you over to the bed, where he cuddles you and apologize for how he been the last few days and you also apologize as well.

Ace asks what happened and you tells him that you had been exploring and then it started to rain heavily and lost your footing, slipped down a deep muddy ditch/embankment and it took a while before you could get back on the path, as you kept loosing your footing cause of the rain & mud.

So once up at the top you were tired and found a large tree with a hollow opening at the bottom and just curled up in it to rest and ended up falling a sleep till it was dark and then you were got lost and fell a few times cause you couldn't see well.

After hearing what happened, Ace says he not letting you leave his slight for a good long while before spending the rest of night cuddling you.

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 7

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: I think a lot of you have been waiting on this one…and stick around after the end for something special!

Song Inspo: For this chapter it’s “Can’t Wait” by Foreigner (if you listen to it, you’ll see why).

Word Count: 5,000

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut and feels. That is all.

Part 7: Until Midnight

Two weeks later, you could admit that Ben was frustrating you in a different way than usual. 

You didn’t want to like him, or be indebted to him. But he was different lately whenever the two of you were alone. Especially at night, when the two of you often met in the kitchen. 

It was the one time where he truly seemed to relax, without his men around him. Without the Soldier Boy persona he wore like a fine tailored suit. 

One night, the two of you were once again sitting together in the kitchen after a marathon of all three Hangover movies. Now you each had a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, of which you’d convinced him to try the “Chunky Monkey” so you could have your “Half Baked” brownie pieces and cookie dough to yourself. 

Ben had all but inhaled his, while you were still chipping away at half the pint.

“You still hate me?” he asked.

You paused in delving into a thick piece of brownie to look up at his bearded face, which was deceptively nonchalant. If he was asking you that, then he really did want to know.

Yet it was a harder question to answer than you would’ve thought a couple of weeks ago. You decided to level him with the truth this time.

“Like I said before, I don’t have a personal vendetta against you or anything,” you admitted. 

Ben rose a brow at you. “But you hate me.” 

You sighed. He could be so childish sometimes.

“Have you forgotten that you’re still holding me against my will?” you pointed out. “Presumably until my team can find me, and you can pick them off one by one.”

“You fuckers came at me first,” he countered. “And I haven’t touched you. Hell, I saved you.”

Yes, he had. You couldn’t ignore that fact.

But there were other reasons that he needed to be put in check.

“You’ve killed a lot of fucking people, Ben,” you said. “I can’t imagine how many of them didn’t deserve it. And before you start, collateral damage is not an excuse. It’s murder. You haven’t seemed to care about that, or much of anyone other than yourself and your own amusement.” 

There. Cards on the table.

Ben set down his ice cream on the counter with enough force to rattle his spoon. He crossed his arms at you.

“You’re pretty fucking high and mighty for someone who probably spent the last few years up Vought’s shithole,” he pointed out, shaking his head. “Doing their dirty work. Whatever I did back then, it didn’t end with me. You were part of it too.”

You frowned in annoyance. A hot retort was poised on your tongue.

Whatever he did back then? He’d crashed a skyscraper and killed nineteen people last year! He’d taken out nearly the entire cast of Payback, his old team. However justified he felt about the latter, taking a life was taking a goddamn life!

You wanted to say all that and more…but you paused.

Because he wasn’t exactly wrong, about you at least. You knew you’d done your fair share of shit. And you had taken people out, when you’d needed to.

For self-defense, to stop a criminal, to protect someone…and yes, sometimes, you’d been part of the cleanup crew. Disposing bodies and extracting supes from “unfortunate situations.”

Those times made you feel less than human for being a part of it. And it was the main reason why you’d gotten the courage to quit Vought and join Supe Affairs in the first place…

You frowned at the trail of your thoughts, but his voice soon jolted you out of them.

“Ain’t this a bitch,” said Ben. “If you could, you’d want me dead. Even though I saved you.” 

Your lips pursed. “Dead is a strong word.” 

His angry gaze on you was unrelenting.

“Asleep is as good as dead for me.”

You stared back at him in resignation. Fair enough.

You couldn’t refute that, but you also didn’t know what he wanted from you. He was implying that he wanted you not to hate him, but he wasn’t willing to let you go either.

You got up to put your spoon in the sink, mostly so you wouldn’t have to look at him anymore.

Ben rose from his seat. You felt him approach from behind. You still tensed up as his arm reached around your form to drop in his own spoon. His arm withdrew, but he stood just behind you, at your side. His hand curled around the edge of the counter.

Letting out a discreet, steadying breath, you turned towards him and met his assessing gaze…but you soon looked away.

It was too much. He was too much. Even his musky cologne was invading your senses, threatening to cloud your judgment.  

Before you could back away, Ben grasped your chin, tilting your face up to him so you couldn’t hide. He heard your pulse picking up with his sensitive ears.

“Well, well. Your heart’s just racing away, baby doll,” he said.

He smirked at the blush rising in your cheeks, despite your defiant gaze. You might’ve said you wanted to put him to sleep, but you definitely didn’t seem to hate him. 

“You know, that offer’s still on the table,” he said. Your brow quirked, and you crossed your arms.

“What offer?”

Ben’s hand slid along to frame your jawline, his thumb sweeping across your reddened cheek.

“I can help you end that little dry spell of yours,” he drawled. “Calm that pretty head and have you sleeping soundly tonight.”

Oh, he’d help you fucking sleep, he thought.

He’d help you not be able to sit on that perfect ass for a week. He’d gladly work you up with fingers, lips, and tongue until you threatened to fucking drown him. Until you were writhing at his touch and singing just for him. Until you begged him to fuck you.

But you just rolled your eyes at his offer with a huff. Maybe you didn’t believe he was serious. Oh, but he fucking was.

Overall, you were a pain in his ass. And you had been from the beginning.

You had a dangerously smart mouth for a woman. Along with a stubborn streak to rival his, and a strangely self-righteous attitude for someone who’d mucked through the bowels of Vought and played a part in that world, just like him. You weren’t so fucking innocent either.

But he could also see that you were trying to be different. You had a conscience. A family and friends and a lot of other things that Ben didn’t have anymore. And maybe never had to begin with…

You claimed to want to bring him down, but you cooked for him, hung out with him, and he could start to believe that you actually enjoyed his company, rather than pretended for self-preservation’s sake.

You were a fucking conundrum that he couldn’t totally figure out. And all the while, you didn’t seem to realize how much of a temptation you were. 

It didn’t matter if it was that sexy red dress at the club or these plain-ass jeans you were wearing. His hands itched to mold to your curves, squeeze and tease and familiarize himself until he could find out how glorious it would be to damn near suffocate between your thighs.

Your pretty blush, however, was spreading down your neck. Ben wondered how far he could make it go as he glanced down your V-neck top. His smile edged into a grin.

“I’ll admit, maybe I haven’t been the best host,” he said, injecting some charm. “You gotta be bored as all hell by now.”

You swallowed as his hand moved down the side of your neck. His fingers slid into your hair, but he kept the smooth pad of his thumb brushing across your cheek. You didn’t want to admit that it felt nice—and electrifying at the same time.

His touch was raising goosebumps down the back of your neck, tingling down your spine.

“You might be projecting,” you managed to quip. “Is the conveyor belt of prostitutes and drugs finally losing its appeal?”

You studied his face, his smirk, and you had a feeling you had deduced correctly: he was bored too. But now you knew why he didn’t want you to hate him.

He just wanted to fuck you.

That thought wasn’t so surprising. It seemed this man could jump into bed with just about anything with a pulse. But it still made a tendril of heat lick up your spine and your face flush.

You should’ve just pushed him away already…but his nearness was mucking up your good sense.

The truth was, you weren’t afraid of him. Not anymore. And maybe you didn’t hate him.

Maybe…

“Well, what’s it gonna be?” he asked you.

Your lips parted, halting on a reply.

Ben smirked. His hand tightened in your hair, and he finally began to lean down.

But your breath hitched. You instinctively pressed your hands against his chest before he could kiss you, a firm push.

“Ben,” you uttered.

He stopped, looking down at you with knitted brows. He just thought you were being stubborn now, a fucking tease even…

Until he saw the frisson of fear in your eyes.

He quirked a resigned smile. Stroking your cheek one last time, he let you go.

“All right,” he said. “Maybe next time.”

Your heart was hammering like a Phil Collins drum solo inside your chest as you made your way back to your room.

What the hell, what the hell.

He’d teased and flirted with you before, but not like this. It wasn’t totally obnoxious or disgusting, like he’d genuinely been trying to persuade you. He’d even looked disappointed when you stopped him. And he’d allowed you to stop him.

(And you resisted a shudder at the contrasting memory of Antonio.)

When you were back in your room, you released a relieved sigh. Your hands trembled on the doorknob.

But it wasn’t fear that’d made you nervous with Ben. Not exactly. It was the insane part of you that actually wanted to take him up on his offer.

Fuck, you thought, raising a palm to your still-warm forehead. I really must be crazy. Or sick. Sick in the head.

Or it had been a stupidly long time since you’d gotten laid.

“Seriously, tell me,” he’d said once, still with a deceptively light grip on your chin. The pad of his thumb brushed your full lower lip, making your breath hitch. He glanced down at your mouth, then back into your eyes.

“How fucking long’s it been since that pretty pussy’s been touched? ‘Cause in my opinion, that’s a damn shame.”

The memory caused a delicate tingle in your lower belly, pulsing between your legs. You took in a deep, calming breath through your nose.

That’s it, you thought. I’m done with this.

So you tried for a cold shower first. For the record, you locked the bathroom door before you undressed and hopped into the shower. As the water beat against your back and you dutifully lathered soap on your skin, you couldn’t help imagining his heavy hands running over your body.

Fuck. You frowned and quickly dragged yourself out of the shower.

For a few minutes, you were too antsy to get dressed. You paced your small room wearing only a towel, not even thinking really. Just frustrated beyond belief (sexually or otherwise). The truth was, you needed something, or you were going to implode. 

With a heavy sigh, you laid in bed on your side, still wrapped in your towel. You wrapped your hair up in a loose bun and closed your eyes, just taking a few moments to breathe evenly.

Your knees were folded up, almost to your chest. But you relaxed and let your thighs fall open. With a tentative hand, you decided to slide up between your thighs, just teasing the seam of your pussy.

Then with a sigh, you delved between your folds and teased yourself, to start with. Warmth grew in your lower belly, and you sighed louder when you slid a finger inside. You were wet already just with this, and your sighs turned to shallow breaths, and even a moan once heat flooded through your core, and you were getting close…

But a knock at the door just had to startle you.

“Hey, sweetheart. You there?”

Your eyes widened with a gasp, and you moved your hand back to your thigh. Oh shit.

It was Ben. Of course it was fucking Ben.

“Ah, w-wait a minute,” you replied. You scrambled out of bed to lock the door before he tried to come in.

But just your luck, he cracked it open just as you got there. You were met with his handsome face.

His brows rose, his lips then curving when he looked down at you. Or more specifically, you clad in only a towel. You tightened it up on reflex, with a hand on the twisted part at your chest.

“Excuse me,” you said in annoyance. “I don’t remember inviting you in.”

His mouth twitched at a deeper grin.

“It’s nothing major. I just had to ask you something,” he said, with an air of nonchalance that only made you suspicious.

Your lips pressed together as you rose an expectant brow.

“Okay, ask,” you said.

Ben reached for your hand, the one holding your towel together.

“Can I see this hand?”

You yelped and secured the towel with your other hand while he examined the one he held.

“What’s your problem?” you asked, with real irritation now. Ben ignored you in favor of staring at your hand, specifically the pads of your fingers. Then his gaze cut to you slyly.

He held your middle and index finger up to his nose, with an obscene inhale.

Your eyes grew wide as your heart stuttered. He did not just…

And Ben smirked.

“I think you’re the one with the fucking problem,” he said knowingly. He took a step forward, but you stepped back. Unfortunately, that just brought your back against the doorframe. Your mouth went dry when you again looked up at him.

“I don’t know what—”

He stopped you before you could deny it further.

“You think I couldn’t fucking hear you?” he asked.

You bit your lip. Oh God.

His brows ran even higher, his smirk ever deeper. His lust-ridden eyes raked over you, but they soon met yours again. His thumb ran down the inside of your wrist, over your quickening pulse point.

“I know you’re frustrated. It’s been a while, huh?” he said. “Believe me, I know the fucking feeling. But I can take care of that little problem for you. Take care of you.”

You took in a tremulous breath. His heady voice was a curse, reverberating through your chest and running straight down between your legs, warm and pulsing. He raised your chin to make you look up at him.

“You don’t have to like me for that, do you?” he asked.

It was as honest an offer as you were ever going to get. You had to give it to him though, in this, he was a good goddamn actor. He seemed to have figured out exactly what it would take to soften your resolve.

In fact, he fucking crumbled it.

You released a shuddering breath, and tugged him into your room by his shirt. With a hand behind his neck, you pulled him down into your hungry lips.

That kiss was warm and heady, fueled with a passion that only waiting and wanting could create.

Ben took the invitation to heart, grabbing your hips and already bunching the fabric of your towel. It was thin, and he felt the soft give of your curves underneath. He hoisted you up into his arms.

While a normal man might’ve struggled, you knew it was effortless for him. You willingly wrapped your legs around his waist and held his face with both hands. You broke the kiss for a second so you could brush his hair back and made sure he looked into your eyes this time.

“I don’t hate you,” you told him between panting breaths. “I should, but I don’t.”

And that was the God’s honest truth.

Ben paused at that. He roamed your face, maybe judging if he believed you or not.

Then, his mouth curved, and with one hand he reached back to slam your bedroom door shut. It shook on its hinges, but he didn’t wait for it to settle as he walked you to the bed and laid you there beneath him. Your hair fell out of its messy bun and fanned out on the pillow.

Ben gazed down at you, enjoying the sight of you all laid out for him. You were already breathing shallowly, your beautiful eyes bright with anticipation and wild desire. They were honest, and he liked that he finally knew what you were thinking.

He claimed a tight grip on your smooth thighs, parting them so he could find his way in between. He moved his way up to claim your lips next. They were plush and pliant under his.

You sighed against his mouth, diving a hand into his soft hair and running a hand down to the buttons of his shirt. He stopped you and all but tore it off himself.

You blinked in surprise, and then giggled a little at his impatience. But it allowed you to explore the new expanse of golden tan skin, down his neck, over his firm chest and muscular arms.

He relished in it for a moment—your touch. Your hands were soft and warm, and you looked to be genuinely enjoying yourself.

He smirked at that, but he grabbed your wrists before they could venture too much farther than the trail of hair leading below his belt. He trapped them against the bed on either side of your head, and you raised your brows at him with an annoyed little frown. Ben had to chuckle.

“Did I say you could touch me yet?” he said. You met him with a challenging tilt of your chin.

“Who says you get to make all the rules?” you asked. Your calf slid up between his legs, brushing insistently against his already rock-hard length. Ben let out something between a grunt and a moan, and didn’t realize that his grip on your arms was starting to get more than bruising.

You winced, with a pained sound caught in your throat. “Ben, you’re gonna break me.”

He amended his grip immediately, frowning at himself. He knew how to control his goddamn strength, even in moments like this (usually). Maybe he was too fucking excited to finally have you beneath him.

But he soothed his thumbs over your wrists and heeded the tug of your hands down to your waiting kiss. He braced an arm above your head and all but devoured you, slipping his tongue past your lips.

He kissed you like a man starving. Like you’d never been kissed in your life, and it was all you could to keep up with his demands.

Eventually he burned a wet trail from your lips to your jaw, down the column of your neck. He inhaled your floral soap, a scent that had been driving him crazy for days.

He sucked hard behind your ear, and you gasped, thought you were going to see stars.

Unconsciously you gripped at his hair, tugging more harshly than you meant to. But by the pleased sound he made against your skin, you figured he didn’t mind.

Ben soothed a heavy hand up your side and reached between you to untie your flimsy towel. And you let out a slightly shaky breath when he took in your fully naked form for the first time.

“Hmm,” his lips slipped into a grin. “I knew it. Fucking beautiful.”

You couldn’t help but blush, but you didn’t quite know what to say. Ben noticed; it wasn’t too often that he had you speechless.

Amused, he thumbed at your lower lip once more, making you smile almost shyly. (He kind of liked that too.)

And he finally touched you, brushing a hand between the valley of your breasts before palming at one of them. You sighed in appreciation, then moaned as his lips found the other one, his tongue swirling languidly around your nipple.

You arched into his touch, gripped into every groove and dip of muscle in his arms, especially when his fingers rolled and pinched just hard enough on the other nipple.

Your thighs pressed together between the cage of his legs, trying to find friction.

Ben noticed. He let one hand sooth down your belly, half pinning you down as he continued his relentless exploration. You wanted to touch him too, but right now he wasn’t letting up. Everywhere he touched and kissed and sucked set your skin on fire, and enhanced the flood between your legs.

“Ben,” you panted into his ear. If you weren’t allowed to find out what he liked yet (though you had several ideas), then you wanted him to touch you. 

“Be fucking patient,” he said with a chuckle. “I know what the fuck I’m doing.”

You had no doubt of that. But you were becoming impatient.

“Yeah? Am I gonna be as old as you before we get to it?” you teased. Ben glanced up at you, but seeing your smirk, his own grew.

“All right you little shit,” he muttered. He moved up to claim your smart-ass lips, swallowing your giggle as he took a firm grip of your hair.

His other hand, meanwhile, slid up the back of your thigh to grip a nice handful of your ass. He ground his clothed dick into your core and made you both moan.

He slipped a hand up the inside of your thigh and brushed between your legs, making you quiver with anticipation.

He smiled and glanced down.

“Finally, something I recognize in this century,” he remarked. “A nice bush.”

Your brows raised high, both in surprise and slight embarrassment. No one had ever given you that particular compliment before. But you did pride yourself on being neatly trimmed.

“What?” you still uttered.

“Women are so damn waxed nowadays. Feels like I’m fucking a mannequin,” he said.

“Oh, yeah.” You giggled as something occurred to you. “I’m assuming you encountered some bare landing strips on your tour of Brazil.”

He snorted in response. “One girl actually tried to get me on the waxing table. Something about a ‘manzilian.’”

You couldn’t help it. You pictured how confused he must’ve been at that particular offer. How damn near offended (and possibly intrigued).

And you laughed genuinely so hard that you covered your eyes as they teared up.

It made Ben smirk on reflex, feeling pleased that he achieved that kind of reaction out of you. 

“You tapped out on that one, huh?” you asked, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye.

Ben shrugged. “Wasn’t so bad, actually.”

At that, you laughed even harder. Oh, how you wished you could’ve seen that. 

Ben quirked an amused brow at you.

“You laughin’ at me, sweetheart?” he warned. He reached between your legs while you were distracted, and thick fingers slipped between your wet folds. You yelped in surprise, but then moaned in pleasure as his thumb found your already sensitive clit.

But he, in fact, knew how to take care of you. His thick digits explored your channel and rubbed persistently against that spongey part near the back, slipping in and out with ease, and circling deliberately around your clit until your inner walls squeezed around his hand.

All the while, you held on tight to his shoulders and shuddered at the warmth cresting deep inside you.

“That’s it, baby,” he said, with a clenching hand in your hair. “Squeeze the shit out of me. Come all over my fucking hand, and then I’ll consider filling you up to the fucking brim.”

With a long and keening moan, you came apart, hot and wet over his fingers. 

“Shit. That’s a good girl,” he praised with a nod. He stroked inside you a couple more times before he withdrew his glistening hand.

You held onto his other one as you panted for breath. “Fuck.”

“Fucking right,” he said smugly.

You rolled your eyes, but you still smiled as you sat up and went for his belt. You were surprised he hadn’t fully undressed himself sooner, but he sat up and let you do it.

The two of you knelt on the bed as the belt came free, followed by his pants and underwear and socks (he’d long ago kicked off the shoes). His smug smirk came back now that he was in his full glory, so to speak.

Another blush heated your face. You’d seen him like this once before, but there had been…a lot going on that time.

This time you had him all to yourself. Your canvas to explore. You started with kisses down his neck, like he’d done to you, biting and sucking though you couldn’t leave any marks on his skin.

Not fair, you thought in disappointment, but at least you were eliciting some pleased and guttural sounds the further down you went. And then you took his hard, velvety cock in your hands.

He was big enough that you were maybe a little concerned, but not enough to deter you as you teased him with your soft hands, then squeezed and caressed experimentally. He gripped your hips tight.

“Now who’s taking a fucking eternity,” he gritted out. He encouraged you to lie back and raised your hips. You found purchase on his shoulders as your eyes met with his, and after a beat, you smiled and gave a short nod.

Ben aligned himself at your entrance and, slowly as he could manage, pushed inside you. You cried out as he stretched you, filled you deep and bottoming out with mangled moans from both of you.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You feel so fucking good already.”

You managed to smile and run a hand down his chest. “Uh, you didn’t ask, but I am on birth control.”

His brows furrowed in realization. “What, the fucking pill?”

His team certainly hadn’t supplied you with that for the past month.

You shook your head. “No. An IUD. It’s fine.”

You couldn’t believe you two were having this conversation when he was literally inside you already.

“What? Thought those died out in the 70s,” he said.

“Well, they came back,” you said impatiently. “Just fuck me, Ben!”

Not one to be told twice, Ben continued by slowly pulling out of you, nearly the entire length of his cock, before pushing back in. It was torturous for him, but he knew you needed the time to adjust. By the third stroke, however, he snapped back into you more forcefully.

It elicited a gasp and pleased shudder out of you. Grinning, he picked up the pace from there and pounded into you at a relentless clip. You held onto his arms for dear life, your nails clawing fruitlessly into his skin. You grabbed his hand when he reached a particularly good angle, moaning his name.

“That’s right, crooner. Soon enough I’ll have you singing my fucking name,” he growled. “Knew I was gonna have you just like this, fucking you raw.”

You moaned in response. His words, his voice, his touch, it was all breaking you down and taking you apart, piece by piece.

Meanwhile, your voice only spurred him on. Letting go of your hand, his reached for your cheek. Then it slid down to your neck.

“You got a safe word, baby girl?” he asked, closing a firm, but playful hand around your throat.

But before he could put much pressure, your eyes flew open. Not in arousal, but in panic. Your hands flew to grasp at his wrist.

“Don’t! Please, don’t.” 

Ben looked down at you, surprised enough to pause in all his movements. He released his hand.

He’d very rarely seen wide-eyed panic in your eyes and in your voice. And you’d never said please. 

But then, even more strange, you got embarrassed.

You looked away from him as you caught your breath. Ben called to you uncertainly, perhaps for the first time using your actual name.

You took in a deep breath and sat up. But instead of pushing him away, like he half-expected, you moved so that you were both on your knees and you were straddling his lap.

Using his shoulders as leverage, you resumed the pace of dipping his still hard cock inside you, making you both groan in relief.

Ben helped you, gripping your hips to bounce you on top of him.

Soon enough, he grunted as that familiar tightening and heat of pleasure started to make his upward thrusts wild. He knew he was close…

And he snaked a hand between you to roll over your clit, making sure you were going to get there with him.

A deep tremble went through your lower belly, tightening your inner walls around him impossibly tight as you started to come. Then he followed, finally spilling up and into you.

His arms came around your waist like steel bands as you relaxed on top of him, panting for breath and holding onto his shoulders for dear life.

You gazed down into his eyes, and then his growing, triumphant smirk. It triggered your own wry smile.

And you had to wonder, What the hell did I just do?

AN: Was it as good for you as it was for me? 😏

But ok, seriously, I'm a bit self-conscious when it comes to writing smut, so I genuinely hope you enjoyed the ride lol.

(@waynes-multiverse You probably won't see this for a while, but our convo about the Brazilian wax made it into this chapter. 🤣)

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Check out this lovely moodboard created by @chernayawidow — specifically for this story!

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Next time:

You called his name again and took his face with both hands.

“Wherever you are in your mind right now, you’re here with me. Stay with me!” you raised your voice. His skin was getting really hot.

You gasped and had to let go of him when it threatened to burn you. His chest started to glow and hum. Your eyes widened, and finally, so did his.

Keep Reading: PART 8

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[hhonghu]

Morning glory

;; kabukimono x reader

cw: fluff, ooc!kabukimono ?, mutual pining, unestablished relationship

to make up for my long absence, here is some lovey dovey thrown at your way &lt;33 i'll get back writing on what i promised soon!

knock knock!

"mmh.." kabukimono groans, rolling on to his side and pulling the blanket closer to him and burrowing his face into it. just 5 more minutes, he thought. there's nothing wrong with sleeping just a bit more. just a little more.

he and niwa spent nearly almost the entire night awake, trying to perfect the technique that kabukimono studied for forging and begged niwa to stay up with him until he got it right. after several tries and hours passed, kabukimono was finally satisfied all the while niwa was nearly about to pass out of exhaustion, giving him a shaky smile and telling him that it's late and that they should head to bed.

knock knock!

"come on, sleepyhead! wake up! the sun has risen!" kabukimono groans again, mumbling out a little "nooo..". niwa heard the little complaint and tried not to laugh. it was technically the early hours of the morning, the sun having yet to rise much. "that's what you get for staying up late. come on, get up!" second pass and still no answer. niwa sighs, about to walk away before an idea pops in.

"alright, fine. sleep in for today. you deserve it for working hard last night." niwa walks away slowly as possible, making sure his voice is still heard. "too bad you'll miss [name]. they might wonder why you didn't come by this morning and feed them."

kabukimono bolts up, eyes wide awake and sleep gone from his body. [name]! how could he forget! how could he let sleep take him over like that?

he shuffles out of his bed and opening his door, scurrying down the hallway and down the stairs, passing by niwa who was letting out a laugh. "who knew that [name] was the prayer i needed to get you to wake up?" kabukimono reached the bottom and turned his head around, sticking his tongue out a little at him. "don't get ideas, niwa."

he freshens himself up and heads to the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves above his elbows. he still had time to make you a dish, he can't miss it. he begins to work his way in the kitchen, taking out ingredients to make katsu sandwiches for you and rice omelette for niwa and starting to cook, making sure that everything is right.

after everything is done and cooked, he plates the rice omelette and calls out for niwa to come and eat while he puts the sandwiches neatly inside a lunchbox, wrapping it around with a pretty purple silk cloth. niwa comes in the kitchen, humming seeing the food on the table. kabukimono fixes his clothes, dusting off crumbs and whatnot on him. he grabs the lunchbox, bidding goodbye to niwa. "alright! be safe and tell [name] to come by and pick up some iron when they have the time!"

kabukimono waves and heads out the door, walking away from the shop and making his way to you.

what a pretty sun.

you gaze at the rising sun, slowly peeking up from the horizon. you lean your head back further into the tree, letting out a sigh of content. you feel gentle breezes pass by you, brushing through your hair. you close your eyes, letting this calm moment take you in.

while you relax, you don't notice kabukimono approaching you. his eyes lands on your relaxed face and his heart softens, his pace slowing until he takes a complete stop, just staring at you, the soft glow of the rising sun kissing your skin.

you suddenly open your eyes and slightly turn your head around, smiling as you spot him. "hm? well if it isn't my favorite boy. what kept you from me?" you tease. kabukimono's face flushes, his grip on the lunch box tightens. what kept you from me? he felt his heart start to beat a little faster, the way you just said it makes him feel so much.

"i, uhm, almost slept in.." he bites his lip, "i stayed up late with niwa last night to practice some techniques and ended up burning the midnight oil.." you let out a little chuckle, "did you now? aren't you such a hardworking student. come, sit. don't just stand there, the grass beside me feels empty without you." you pat the empty spot next to you.

kabukimono scrambles and takes a seat next to you, still holding the lunchbox. "here.. uh, i made you something." he hands you the lunchbox, his hands shaking a little. you smile and take it from him, making him jolt a little as your fingers touches his. "you know, i'm still surprised you wake up this early to catch me here." you unwrap the lunchbox, "though i don't mind, your cooking is what makes me look forward being here under this tree. it makes me feel as if it's made just for me."

kabukimono tries not to squirm, heat creeping up from his neck to his cheeks. your mouth, your words, it's making his stomach do flips. it will always be for you, no one else. "haha, well, it's a nice way to start the day, no?" you nod as you open the lunchbox and your mouth waters as you look at the meal. "are these katsu sandwiches?" kabukimono nods, smiling as you take one out and take a little sniff, he could almost see glitters in your eyes. "this smells absolutely divine. thank you for the meal." you take a bite, letting out a content moan as you chew. it was delicious.

kabukimono watches as you eat happily, resting his cheek on the palm of his hand. his eyes traces you; from your lashes to your hands, he watches in admiration as you just eat. you glance at him, seeing him staring deeply back at you. you take a sandwich and pull it in half, twisting your upper body to face him and lifting the piece to his mouth with your hand.

"here, open up." kabukimono's eyes widen, what did you mean? "taste what you cooked, it's delicious." he shook his head, "no, no, no! that's just for you. i couldn't possibly—" he pauses, your free hand cupping his cheek and your thumb touching the bottom of his lip. his breath hitches.

"now, now. just give it a try." he didn't know what got into him, he really doesn't. he slightly opens his mouth and you smile, "good boy." you put the piece in his mouth and let go, letting him chew. he wasn't paying attention to the flavor, in fact he doesn't even know what he's tasting. his focus was on you and the way you praised him, he felt his heart jump.

he swallows, finally finished eating what you gave. "how was it? good, right?" kabukimono nods, "you should be a chef instead of a forger. you could go places with these." you finish your sandwiches, closing the lunchbox and wrapping back the silk cloth around it.

"thank you for the meal, kabukimono. it was delicious." you hand back the box to him and he takes, letting it rest on his lap. "of course, i'm glad you liked it." comfortable silence fills in the air, both of you leaning back on the tree and watching the sun finally rise, basking you both in it's light.

you take a glance at kabukimono, his eyes was closed. you watched as the sun touches his cheeks, making him glow beautifully in the morning sun. you looked away and back to the horizon, letting out a small sigh and close your eyes.

what a pretty sun.

[chelseachilly]

i want your midnights

pairing: reader x ben chilwell summary: sequel to i watched it begin again - a month after your amazing first date with ben, you decide to surprise him by showing up at the same new year's party...only to soon wonder if you made a mistake and misinterpreted his feelings for you? warnings: none word count: 2.9k

author's note: a lot of people asked for a part 2 to begin again so i decided to write this little new year's fic! i planned on getting it done by the new year but life got super busy, so i hope you don't mind it nearly two weeks later haha 💗✨

-

Just over a month after your first date with Ben, you find yourself standing in front of his best friend’s doorstep with shaking hands and your heart thumping in your chest. 

Harvey is hosting a New Year’s Eve party, and although you were invited, you weren’t planning on going until today. You spent the holidays up at your parent’s house a few hours away and were planning on spending New Year’s there as well, but Mia spent the past few days convincing you to come and eventually wore you down. 

Truthfully, the only reason you were hesitant about coming is that you knew Ben would be there. It’s not that you don’t want to see him - quite the opposite, actually. The past month since you started seeing each other has been wonderful. You’ve been on several amazing dates, including a couple that ended with you spending the night. It’s been fun and passionate and exciting and unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. 

You also haven’t fully defined anything yet, still waiting for the right opportunity to have that conversation. Although you’re certain about your feelings for him, you don’t want to rush into anything after the mess of your last relationship, nor do you want to scary Ben away with asking him to commit too early. 

Which is why you’re now questioning your decision to show up here, and even more so your decision to surprise him. It felt like a good idea when he FaceTimed you on Christmas and seemed disappointed you weren’t coming, so you swore Mia to secrecy, but now that you’re actually here, it’s feeling a bit presumptuous that he would want you to show up unannounced. 

It’s too late to turn back now, though, as the door swings open and Mia and Harvey are pulling you inside.

“I’m so glad you came, babe!” Mia exclaims, hugging you tight. “You look fit as fuck.”

You’re in a little black dress and matching heels, and though you felt good about how you look when you left the house, you’re feeling more and more self-conscious.

“Thanks, you look gorgeous as well,” you smile back at her. “Thanks for having me, Harvey.”

“Of course, Y/N, I reckon Chilly will be thanking me too,” Harvey laughs. “He’s over there somewhere, he’ll be buzzing when he sees you.”

You can feel the blush creeping on your cheeks as your eyes scan the room looking for Ben. You’re not sure if you’re more nervous or excited to see him, but when you finally spot him, you know it’s the latter. He’s standing there in a group of people, smiling and chatting away with a drink in his hand, looking so gorgeous it’s honestly unfair. The same butterflies that have appeared in your stomach from the first time you laid eyes on him and every time since begin to flutter. 

It only takes a few moments for him to spot you over the shoulder of one of his friends, and you watch him do a double take before his eyes widen and a huge grin appears on his face. 

He sets his drink down and jogs over to your group, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Y/N! You came!” he exclaims, and you don’t get a chance to respond before he’s pulling you into a hug.

You hug him back, burying your face in his chest and breathing in his scent. It’s only been a week since you last saw him, but you haven’t stopped thinking about him for a single moment of that time apart. You were trying to enjoy the holiday season and time with your family, but your mind was replaying the sound of Ben’s laughter and the feeling of his kisses all over your body.

“Yeah, my plans changed,” you say with a smile as you pull back to look at him. 

“I’m so happy to see you,” Ben says, his hand lingering on your waist before dropping to his side, and you immediately miss his touch. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

You’re hoping that he’ll whisk you away somewhere for a few minutes, as you’re desperately wanting to kiss him right now but not sure you’re at the stage where you can casually do that in front of loads of people. 

“Vodka soda, right?” Ben asks, and you nod. 

You love that he knows your drink order already, but you can’t help but feel a tinge of disappointment as he walks away, leaving you to chat with your friends.

He returns a minute later with drinks for both of you, passing you the glass and clinking it with his own. 

“Thanks, Ben,” you say with a small smile, taking a sip and hoping the alcohol gives you a bit of courage. 

The four of you chat for a bit, catching up on how all your Christmases were, and you and Ben occasionally meet each other’s gaze and exchange a soft smile. You’ve spent quite a bit of time with Ben by now, but it’s a different dynamic being in a group, even if they are your closest friends. You’re having a nice time, but you’re longing for an opportunity to get him alone - not only to kiss him senseless, but to talk and maybe even define your situation a bit more.

After a while, an upbeat song comes on and you all head to the main living room where most of the partygoers are to dance. It’s fairly crowded and you end up standing close enough to Ben that you can feel his breath on the back of your neck and his chest brushing up against your back. You don’t pull away, enjoying the closeness, but still wishing he would wrap his arms around you properly. 

You turn back to look at him after a minute or two and your heart flutters when you find him looking right back at you. You wonder if he’s also waiting for an opportunity to be alone with you - and then you wonder if anyone would notice if you took him by the hand right now and led him into some quiet corner of the house. 

“Y/N…” Ben begins to say, inching closer toward you, but he’s cut off by a small squeal from behind you. 

You turn to see a rather large wine stain on Mia’s white dress from someone bumping into her. 

“Shit, this was expensive,” she sighs. “And I don’t have anything to change into.”

“You can wear something of mine,” Harvey says quickly, trying to help, but Mia immediately shoots him a glare. 

“Babe, it’s New Year’s, I don’t want to be walking around in your trackies and a baggy t-shirt-“

“Hey, it’s alright,” you interrupt, setting your drink down and grabbing Mia’s hands. “We can get the stain out. C’mon, I’ll help you.”

You abandon the guys to deal with this fashion crisis, gathering the supplies you need in the kitchen before heading upstairs to the bathroom. As you’re blotting Mia’s dress with dish soap and hydrogen peroxide, a trick your mum taught you, she takes the opportunity to interrogate you.

“So, are you finally going to tell Ben you want to make it official?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Maybe,” you say, a small grin tugging at your lips. “I want to. I’m just still a bit nervous. After everything that happened with Jack, I don’t want to get hurt like that again. And I already like Ben so much, which is terrifying.”

“He obviously likes you a lot too,” Mia assures you. “Harvey says he talks about you all the time, and did you see his face when you turned up earlier? I bet he’s just waiting for you to bring it up.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” you agree, finishing up your removal of the stain until there’s no evidence of the wine spill remaining on Mia’s dress. “There you go, good as new.”

“You’re a lifesaver, babe,” Mia smiles, pulling you into a tight hug. “I’m going to dry this off a bit, but you should go down and spend time with your man.” 

“He’s not my man,” you remind her.

“Not yet!”

You roll your eyes affectionately as you leave Mia to blow dry her dress and head back downstairs to the party, feeling slightly more confident after the chat with your best friend. 

You’re ready to march right up to Ben and finally tell him that you’re ready to make things official, that you haven’t been able to get him out of your head since your first date and that you’re totally, completely falling for him.

As you descend the staircase, your eyes scan the room for Ben until you spot him - talking to an insanely beautiful girl in the corner of the room. 

Your heart drops to your stomach as you see how he’s smiling at her while she squeezes his arm and says something that makes him laugh.

You feel like a complete idiot. 

You shouldn’t have come here tonight expecting him to be waiting around, hoping for you to turn up. You haven’t had any conversations about being exclusive, and he’s a bloody gorgeous footballer who could get any girl at this party. He could’ve invited this girl himself for all you know. 

You just got caught up in the excitement of seeing him and all the feelings that have been swirling around in your chest since you met him, not thinking about the reality of the situation. It’s been a month - an absolutely wonderful, magical month, yes, but only one month. You were a fool for getting so ahead of yourself when, truthfully, you don’t know if Ben even wants a serious relationship. You were under the impression that’s where this was going, but he never explicitly said anything.

With your eyes stinging with tears and a sudden urge to be anywhere but here, you decide to slip out the back door to the small garden behind the house. You know you could just go home, but it’s nearly midnight and you don’t want Mia to see you leaving and spoil her New Year’s too. 

You’ll just have to stand out here, shivering in nothing but your dress, until the clock strikes twelve and you can slip out without raising too much suspicion. Maybe you can get Mia to tell Ben you have food poisoning, or something - it’s less embarrassing than the truth. 

Your mind is racing with thoughts of all the moments you and Ben have shared over the past weeks, all the times you felt in your bones that this was going to be something real. 

As the clock on your phone reminds you it’s creeping closer to midnight, you hear the sound of the back door opening and closing. Assuming it’s someone coming out to smoke, you quickly wipe the tears from your cheeks and plaster on a smile as you try to think of a reason you’re standing out here alone.

Instead, you’re met with the familiar pair of blue eyes that make your heart stop beating for a moment.

Ben.

“Y/N, I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” he says with a small sigh of relief. “What are you doing out here? It’s almost midnight!”

“Just needed a bit of air,” you respond, trying to keep your voice from trembling. 

“Are you alright?” he asks as he approaches you, his eyes filled with concern. “You must be freezing, love, here-“

Before you can respond, he’s already shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your bare shoulders, just like he did on your first date. This time, he lingers afterward and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. The sweet gesture, combined with the way he’s looking at you with such tenderness and admiration, makes tears begin to build in your eyes once more. 

You never should’ve let yourself believe that he would want to be with someone like you. If you weren’t good enough for your shitty ex, how could you ever be enough for someone as wonderful as Ben?

“Love, you’re worrying me, did something happen?” Ben asks, his use of the term of endearment only making things worse.

You take a step back from him, shaking your head.

“I shouldn’t have come tonight,” you murmur. “I mean, I shouldn’t have assumed that you would want me to come. I think I just misread things between us and I’m really sorry that I-“

“Y/N, what are you talking about?” Ben interjects, his face full of confusion. “Of course I wanted you to come. I was so happy when you showed up, where is this coming from?”

“I saw you talking to that girl inside and it seemed like there was something going on, which is totally fine, I know we aren’t exclusive or anything-“

“Shit, Y/N, that was just my friend Hannah,” Ben says quickly. “She’s actually the girlfriend of one of my best mates, you remember Anish?”

Slowly processing his words, you recall briefly meeting Anish when he popped by Ben’s once while you were over. You also remember him mentioning his girlfriend. 

“I’m so sorry you thought something was happening there, I wouldn’t do that,” he says sincerely. “And not just because you came tonight, for the record. I don’t think I’ve actually even properly looked at another girl since I met you.”

Your cheeks flush red, both at his words and the embarrassment you’re feeling for overreacting to the situation. You stare down at your shoes, unable to meet his gaze, until he steps closer to you and gently cups your face, forcing you to look at him. 

“Y/N, I like you so much. You’re the only girl I want to ring in the New Year with, the only girl I want to be with period,” Ben says, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear earlier, I just thought after everything that happened with your ex you might not want to rush into something serious.”

Your heart swells with affection and you reach up to hold his forearm, both for stability since your knees have gone weak and because you need to touch him. 

“I only want to be with you, too,” you whisper, afraid your voice will falter if you speak too loudly. “And I’m sorry I made assumptions. I guess my ex did mess with my head a little bit.”

“Well, he’s a dickhead who didn’t deserve you,” Ben says, making you laugh softly. “But don’t apologize to me. We’ll just be more honest with each other from now on, yeah?”

You nod and smile at him until you’re interrupted by a flurry of activity from inside the house. Through the window, you can see people beginning to crowd together in the living room to count down to midnight. Glancing at Ben’s watch, you can see there’s only a minute left. 

“Do you want to go inside with everyone else?” you ask him.

Ben just smiles and shakes his head. “I’d rather stay out here and celebrate with my girlfriend, if that’s okay with you?”

Your heart races and your breath catches in your throat at his casual statement, the word replaying in your mind from the moment it leaves his lips.

He looks at you a bit nervously, perhaps concerned that you’ll be overwhelmed by this new title, but your lips spread into a grin.

“That sounds perfect.” 

Before Ben can respond, the people inside begin to count down from ten. He pulls you closer by the waist, thumbs rubbing circles on your hips, and you place a hand on his stubbly cheek. 

As the countdown draws closer to the end, you marvel at how safe and content you feel right now in Ben’s arms. You think about how this year was one of the hardest of your life, and how you never could’ve predicted that it would end with you being this happy, with the most wonderful man who taught you how to trust again. Who taught you how to fall in love again, even if it’s a bit too soon to say those words to him. 

“Three…two…one…”

The chorus of people shouting “happy new year!” is muffled as Ben presses his lips to yours, making you melt into him. You wrap your arms around his neck, and he sighs into the kiss when you sink your fingers into his hair. 

When his tongue slides into your mouth, you respond with equal passion, kissing him with everything you have until you’re both left breathless.

When you break apart, Ben rests his forehead against yours. Your eyes flutter open slowly and you’re met with the most amazing sight you’ve ever seen in your life.

There are fireworks above you in every direction, a spectacle of light and colour, but you’re completely enraptured by the blue eyes and gorgeous smile in front of you.

“Happy New Year, love,” Ben whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

It’s going to be a very Happy New Year indeed - maybe the happiest you’ve ever had. And as you lean in to kiss your new boyfriend again and again, you think about how despite all the pain you went through, you wouldn’t have changed a thing about the last one either. After all, it led you to this moment - it led you to Ben. 

“Happy New Year, Ben.”

-

i really hope you liked this part 2! 💙🎆 please feel free to send me an ask or leave a comment if you enjoyed, i really appreciate them!

[so-long-soldier-writes]

drabble #1 - coffee can wait

elijah mikaelson x reader

summary: cockwarming with elijah

tags: sleepiness, cockwarming, morning sex, vaginal sex

word count: 1,051

a/n: wrote this drunk, edited it sober. i’ve had writer’s block all weekend, so hopefully writing this can crack that. plus, i was in desperate need of something smutty with elijah ;)

“Are you still busy?” You poke your head into your lover’s study. It’s nearly midnight, and the man has been dutifully going over papers since after dinner. 

“Unfortunately, yes. Is there something you need, baby?”

“Just you. I can’t sleep without you.”

Elijah sighs wistfully, “come here.” He pats his lap for you to sit. 

You hurry over to him, nightgown catching a bit of air. When you reach his side, he helps position you over his lap, then holds onto your waist. You adjust your hips slightly, getting comfortable.

“Don’t move too much, baby.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Mind if I go back to reading? I should finish in the next hour or two.”

“Okay.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, head on his shoulders, and curl into him. In only a couple of minutes, your eyes are fluttering with sleepiness. But despite your exhaustion, part of you refuses to sleep. Underneath you, whether he realizes it or not, Elijah’s growing hard. He’s rubbing up on your legs, making your already needy state much worse. 

“‘Lijah?” You say after a little. 

“Yes?”

“Are you almost done?”

“Not quite.”

“Can you… can you take a break?”

“I really shouldn’t, baby.”

“But you’re… you’re,” the words leave you. Unable to voice them, you tell him by feeling a hand on his cock. 

He groans in pleasure, then grimaces. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention, and neglected to notice… that.”

“I can help,” you mumble sleepily. 

“No, baby, you don’t have to.”

“Wanna.”

“Aren’t you too tired?”

You sigh in response, knowing he’s right. 

“Let’s try this, okay?” He moves your body gently just enough that he can pull himself out, hissing when the cool air of the room hits him. “Hold on, just for a second.” You nod, and he wets two fingers in his mouth before putting them on your clit. He rubs in a couple circles before slipping his fingers inside you, testing your wetness. When he decides you’re ready, he gestures for you to get on top. 

As soon as you do, he fills you completely. If you could see it, your stomach would probably have a bulge from how big he is, and the thought just makes you wetter. You both let out a moan at the feeling, causing him to turn your head to face him for a kiss. 

“Comfortable?”

“Mhm.”

Perfectly fit, you lean back into his shoulder. Before you know it, you’re out like a light. 

Half an hour later, Elijah’s finally done with his reading. He’s about to praise you for your patience, but then notices you’re fast asleep. The sight brings a smile to his face. 

As quietly as he can, he picks you up and carries you to the bed. Without undressing from his suit, he lies down beside you. Even if he wasn’t too tired to change, changing into different clothes would require pulling out from you, and he’s too satiated for that right now. So, after one more look at your beautiful face, he lets his eyes flutter shut. 

◇◇◇◇

You wake up to the sound of birds and the smell of fresh coffee filling your senses. It’s a lovely way to start a morning, and reminds you so much of why you love living with the Mikaelsons. But then you try to sit up, and realize someone has a tight grip on your body, holding you in place. You take a relaxed breath. Elijah. Smiling, but wanting that coffee, you try to wiggle out of his grip. 

That’s when you realize… the events of last night: not being able to sleep; checking up on your boyfriend… you wiggle one more time… he’s still inside of you, too. 

Almost instantly, you feel your body getting wet again. He’s still as hard as he was yesterday, and is still in his suit, too. 

“‘Lijah,” you whisper, kissing his cheek. “Hey.”

Slowly, his eyes blink open. “Good morning, baby.”

“Good morning,” you kiss his nose this time. “Did you sleep well?”

“Quite well, did you?”

“Mhm. Woke up even better.”

“Is that so?”

You answer by moving your hips against his cock, eliciting a groan from his throat. 

“There’s coffee downstairs,” you then say. 

He glares at you, a smirk teasing his lips. “Coffee can wait.” Without any further warning, he moves fast to climb on top of you, thrusting even deeper into you. He buries his face in your neck, leaving a trail of kisses, and making you moan from the pleasure. 

“I-’Lijah,” you whine. 

“Are you okay with this?” He asks suddenly.

“Perfectly.”

“Then let me love you, since I didn’t get to last night.”

You don’t have time to answer before he turns you into a moaning mess. One hand holds your hips, while the other makes circles on your clit. He thrusts into you at a comfortable pace, still kissing all over your face and neck. You bury your hands in his hair, tugging at the ends, pulling him closer to your body. 

It isn’t long before you feel yourself getting close. You try to contain your moans, knowing his whole family is probably awake downstairs, but Elijah isn’t having it. He praises you after every loud cry, and you, desperate to please him, give in quickly.

Soon, sweat beads on his forehead, and his thrusts get more sloppy. He’s panting in your ear, sending shock waves throughout your body, bringing you closer. 

“‘Lijah?”

“Yes?”

“I’m gonna c-” You’re cut off by your own pleasure, unable to finish the sentence. “Oh god, oh fuck, fuck, ffffff-” He kisses you quiet, tongue slipping inside your mouth. Seconds later, he follows, cumming deep inside you, groaning as he does. A vibration ripples through you and you shiver. “Fuck, ‘Lijah. I love you.”

As soon as he comes down from his high, he kisses you gently. “I love you, too, baby.”

◇◇◇◇

It isn’t for another hour that you get down to the coffee. After peeling yourselves out of bed, you take a quick shower together. Things get dirty again before you get clean, but eventually you make it down to the kitchen. Of course, all three siblings are there, sipping slowly, with judging looks. 

“Busy night, huh?”

You mess up the boy’s hair playfully as you walk past him. “Shut up, Kol.”

[ghost-proofbaby]

69 + eddie munson

that number is just so fitting for eddie lmao. we love to see it. (also, are we even surprised taylor is all over my damn wrapped?)

#69: "MIDNIGHT RAIN" BY TAYLOR SWIFT (EDDIE MUNSON)

"he was sunshine, i was midnight rain."

warnings: serious thoughts of self-doubt and self-deprecation, angst?, hurt/comfort (this one ends happier i SWEAR)

wc: 3k+

There was more to Eddie Munson than what meets the eye. 

An entire town, somehow, had gotten it through their heads that the boy who lit up your days was something dark. A storm cloud, a hellraiser, a Satan-worshiper, a tornado of the utmost destruction – every nasty synonym they could roll off their tongues, they would spit at him. He was violent rain, he was uneasy nights, he was howling winds. They looked at him like an overcast for their sweet summer days, and they couldn’t be further from the truth. 

There was nothing violent nor stormy about the boy currently curled beneath bed sheets with you. Something soft and to be held – and that’s exactly what you did as the night swallows the two of you whole. You held him. His soft breaths ruffled the material of your shirt against your stomach, his curls tickling all the way up to your chest as a hand mindlessly twists at the end of a few stray strands. 

The clock on the nightstand blinks with a time far too late for you to be up, but you can’t help it. You’d woken up a few hours ago, and begged sleep to return to you, but it simply wouldn’t. Eddie had even roused at some point, twisting and noticing you awake in his half-dazed state, but his supportive state had been plagued by drowsiness, and the beckoning of his dreams won the war in the end. You didn’t mind it – it was nice to lay like this, the weight of his head on your torso and to feel his steady breathing rather than being left alone to your own thoughts. 

This town assumed Eddie was the terrible storm, but you knew better. 

He was the farthest thing from a storm possible. Even amongst his chaos, even amongst his wild demeanor, he still managed to embody the sun at the end of the day in your eyes. Warm, sought after, calming, relaxing. Bright and brilliant as ever. Those chestnut ringlets, those honeyed doe eyes – how anyone saw so much as a strike of lightning in them was beyond you. You were the one carrying storm clouds. You were the one with heavy forecasts, downpours that slaughtered in the dead of night. 

It was the thunder in your head that was keeping you awake. Not his, never his. 

“R’you still up?” he mumbles, nearly scaring you. You hadn’t even noticed that he’d awoken again, too busy staring at the ceiling as you watched shadows of the current rain trailing down the window reflected on the walls. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, looking down, moving your fingertips from the ends of his hair to his scalp before scratching in small circles, “Go back to sleep, baby.” 

“Can’t-” he starts to mutter, cutting off in a yawn as he twists so that his face is no longer buried in your chest, eyes still pinched shut for a moment before he can continue his thought, “Can’t sleep if I know you’re up. What’s bothering you?” 

Endless things. Your chest was coiled in terrible knots, strangling you on repeat with each second passing as you had been left alone with your thoughts. Haunted by every echoing step you had taken the last few days, taunted by every word you hadn’t said. 

Just how many mistakes had you made in the last twenty four hours alone? And how had they still, somehow, led you home to him? What had you done to be deserving of him?

“Just the storm,” you lie easily, keeping a soft tone, still trying to beckon him back to sleep. As if on cue, a distant roll of thunder can be heard following a brisk flare of light through the window pane. 

But his wide eyes only blink up at you, clearly awake now, “‘s that all?” 

His words are still slurring together a bit, but as he lifts his weight off of you, you know there’s no coaxing him back into rest. There’s no facing the storm alone tonight – and not the one that currently pelts the outside of the house. 

You can’t look him in his eyes. You’re terrified for him to see the rolling waves of nimbus formations behind your own. 

“Yeah, that’s all,” you say, patting your chest, trying to change the topic, “C’mere. Lay back down, there’s no use for us both to be tired tomorrow.” 

He sits up fully, your hands falling from his scalp, out of reach as he balances on his knees with a face of newfound determination, “I’m not letting you just lay here awake while I use you as my own personal drool catch. I know there’s something more than the storm bothering you.” 

Damn him. And damn his attentiveness. 

Even with the moonlight illuminating him, he emits his own specific shine that gleams golden through the dark room, striking you right in your heart. Your boy made of sunshine and kindness, good intentions and a pure heart.

Your sun. 

“It’s stupid,” you start, picking at the threads of the comforter as he settles to lay comfortably beside you. In an instant, the positions are switched, and he’s pulling you to lay on his chest, “I just… It can all get a bit loud, you know?” 

It’s not about the people in the town who talk. Not an ounce of their gossip can really get to you, hardly scratching at your skin. At most, they only leave their mark when they talk badly of Eddie. And even then, you know your truth. 

“We’re the talk of the town again, huh?” Eddie chuckles, fingertips grazing at the small bit of the nape of your neck that’s exposed from beneath the neck of your shirt. Lazy circles, wobbling triangles, hardly-distinguishable squares. All mindless shapes that he’s probably unaware of painting over your skin, and they send shivers down your spine all the same. 

It’s not the people in the town who are loud. 

It’s that voice in your head, the whisper that he’s too good for this. There is something simply so inherently good about the boy that lays beneath you. Something so golden, so warming that it aches and nearly stifles you. He deserves more. He deserves someone who can offer him the world, not someone who will never manage more than rotting away with the worms below the dirt. 

“Why did you choose me?” you blurt out before you can think better of it.

The storm outside the window picks up in pace, raindrops racing faster down the glass. You try and pick one to follow in particular, but they all disappear quicker than they appear to begin with. 

“What do you mean?” 

You can’t make sense of it, the way he loves you. As if he doesn’t see the storm always on the horizon, as if he can’t feel the sharp pain that resides permanently within your chest. A pain you were born with, a pain you’ll surely die with. The nasty thing that pangs every time you grow too comfortably, that screams for you to run when things get too good. 

You just don’t get it. 

“Everyone is always asking me why I’m with you,” you wish you could choose your words more carefully, but you can’t. They only come tumbling out, an avalanche of honesty over the crack of thunder that sounds, “Saying things like how I’m so nice, how you’re so… so… not. And I just don’t get it, because you are. You’re… everything, Eddie. You’re the sun incarnate, so good and so nice at your core. And they never have time for me to wax poetic, to go on and on about just how good you are. They always act like you’re the impending doom, and I’m always in danger, when it should be the other way around.” 

His slow motions on the base of your neck pause, “I’m not sure I’m following along, sweetheart.” 

You lift your head, look up at those eyes that could hold an entire Universe inside of them. The kind that do when the sun’s rays hit them just right in the daytime. He is everything. Every star, every first bloom of spring, every fresh breath of air. 

And you aren’t.

You’re built off of late nights and terrible troubles. Of racing thoughts and sweaty palms, and a mouth that always fumbles with its words. Something unhinged and something unattractive at its core. It’s not the outside so much, not that you don’t feel pretty enough for him, but the inside. That inner natural disaster waiting to happen. A tsunami of forces waiting to engulf you both, drown him right along with you. 

You want to run because you want to save him from that fate. You can’t save yourself, but you could save him. 

“I’m the storm, the unpredictable and violent one,” you choke out, placing a flat palm on his chest, “You’re… not. They think you are, but you aren’t. You deserve better than to sit around with me, waiting for the clock to strike midnight and for my torrential downpour to start. You don’t deserve to sit in the rain with someone who isn’t worth it.”

How many breakdowns had he already bore witness to? How many late nights had he already sacrificed his rest to spend talking you through a spiral? How many times had he given up all that he deserved, just to sit in the rain with you? 

“Quite the metaphor you’ve got going there,” he laughs under his breath, but all the joking fades when he sees that disaster-torn look cross your face, “Have I ever told you how when I was younger, and it would rain, I’d insist on sleeping with the window open?” 

Your brows furrow, “What does that have to do with-”

“You have your wild metaphors, let me have mine,” he interrupts, sitting up a bit, leaning forward until your forehead nearly bumps against his, “Wayne hated it. It would get everything soaked – the curtains, the carpet, my desk – and it would run up his electric bill. Said he’d always come into my room in the morning to find me shivering under the covers, and have to run up the heater to stop my teeth from chattering. The old man never lets me forget, either,” he pauses, and brings a gentle, warm palm up to your cheek, “But even after countless lectures, you know what changed? Nothing. Every day, whenever I saw the clouds or smelled the rain coming, I still got so damn excited. I still ran home to open up my window, and I smiled like a fool the entire fucking time. It only drove Wayne more insane.” 

“Okay?” you question, peering into his eyes, still not following, “So, you love rain. Are you trying to say you want to open the window right now? Or-”

“You’re so close to getting it,” he chuckles, closing the distance between the two of you, shutting you up with a brush of his lips against yours. 

“Getting what?” you mumble into his mouth, frowning a bit as he pulls back and his lips hover. 

That palm holds you steady, keeping you close as his other hand wanders to your hip, giving a soft squeeze to the tender flesh, “I love rain.” 

He loves rain. 

Your mind twists and gravels, tries to make sense of it when you’re still so consumed by him. The brush of his lips against yours as he whispers. The caress of his breath over your cheek, still minty from when the two of you had brushed your teeth together before bed. The warmth seeping out of his skin against yours, warming you even as the storm wages on. The smell of his sheets mingling with the damp air fighting through the vents from outside. 

He loves rain.

It clicks. 

“You love rain,” you say carefully, eyes fluttering open to find him already looking at you. 

He nods, forehead finally bumping yours. “I fucking love rain. Always have, always will.” 

The storm within your head that had been raging for hours, that had kept you up as your sunshine had slept soundly, goes still as night. It all stops – the wind, the thunder, the downpour. Every single thought halts in its tracks as you look at a boy who’s watching you with such adoration, with such promise of offering up the entire world if you asked. You have his heart in your hands, and he’s well aware you could destroy it at a moment’s notice, but he trusts you. 

He loves you. 

“Now, come here,” he insists, scooting back on the bed until his back is flush to the wall and his arms are wide open for you to crawl into. You don’t deny him. Slowly, you make your way to his chest, letting your ear press against his skin and listen to the steady and sure rhythm of his heart as his arms wrap around you, “We don’t have to go back to bed, but you do have to let me be here for you. Let me just sit with you in the rain, with the window wide open, yeah? Your storm can get the curtains wet, you can freeze me out – I don’t care. I like the storm… I love the storm,” he whispers as you settle against him. You finally glance at his old alarm clock, the one Wayne had bought him back in sophomore year when he’d insisted he was tired of waking the boy up every morning. Those blinking numbers read 12:43 just as his lips press to your temple, “I love you.” 

Such a quiet declaration. Full of meaning, full of intent. The only rain still pounding away is the one outside of the trailer, sounding off in a tinkling tune of water against metal slates. It’s almost melodic as you feel his exhale against your hairline. 

“I love you too, y’know?” you whisper right back, a hand coming up to curl around his wrist as he places his hand on your shoulder. It’s not enough to just hear his heartbeat; you need to feel the pulse beneath his skin, thumb digging in helplessly as you focus on just him and his rays of light as your clouds begin to break, “I’m sorry if I’m hard to love, or dramatic sometimes-”

“Never,” he cuts you off, “You’re never hard to love, sweetheart. Not for me.” 

No more words are needed as the seconds pass and the two of you stay like that. You, counting every beat of his heart. And him, still bleeding sunshine even in the black of night. Messy crown of curls, a smile that never quite leaves his lips. It’s impossible to wrap your head around – the boy who could light up even the darkest of rooms, who glows even at midnight, loves the rain in a way you never thought possible. Loves your rain specifically, and all the storms you always fear and battle with through every sleepless night. It doesn’t phase him in the slightest. 

“Are you ever going to get tired of me?” you ask, more out of curiosity than insecurity now as your fingers fall to trace over one of the tattoos inked into the skin of his chest, “I mean, I know you say you love rain now, but people can change. Hell, even I’m changing constantly. No two storms are ever exactly the same, or whatever the fuck they say.” 

“Do they say that?” he murmurs. You can hear the sleep returning to him, drawing him under, “To answer your question, no. I don’t think I will ever get tired of you. Change all you want. I’m just happy to be here.” 

You smile, and you know he feels it as he squeezes you a bit tighter, “What if I decide to shave my head tomorrow? Or dye my hair the ugliest shade of neon yellow I can find? Or tattoo my entire face?” 

“If you dye your hair neon, can you dye one of my strands to match?” you snort at his response, tilting your chin to catch him looking at you with a playful smile, “And I’ll still love you if you’re bald. As a matter of fact, I think I can see a bald spot already forming on the back of your head, so…” 

Your hand flies up to your hair, feeling for what he’s talking about as he descends into cackles. Head fully thrown back and eyes tightly screwed shut. 

God, he’s beautiful. Too beautiful for you to even get genuinely upset with his teasing. 

“Fuck you,” you say as you realize he’s joking, forcing a faux pout and throwing your head back down onto his chest hard enough to make him emit a small oof, “If either of us are going bald, it’s you.” 

He gasps, still dramatic even as he’s half-asleep, “How dare you. I was even going to offer up some of my luscious locks to make you a wig if you needed it.” 

“You don’t have long enough hair for that.”

“Yet,” he insists as your eyelids grow a little heavier, “I’ll just keep growing it out. You know, in case you need it, even though you were so mean to me.” 

Your body sinks deeper into him, as if you could bury you both into the safety of this mattress for the rest of your days. 

“I hate you,” you lie, half playful as the thunder outside the trailer becomes nothing more than a lullaby. 

He slips down further into the comforter, resting his head on his pillow rather than the uncomfortable wall as he holds you tight to him, “I love you, too, my little rainstorm.” 

You don’t even have a quick defense against his teasing nickname as sleep takes hold of you. You’re already far gone, eyes shut and mind slipping away as he kisses the top of your head before joining you. 

Storms are easier with Eddie. Window open and all.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Fluffvember day 14 - In the Rain

Ganondorf had to admit, he had not expected to be downright excited to be returning home.

It had been almost a year since the entire family had been together. Ganondorf had been tirelessly working with Merovar, befriending King Ozen, making trade negotiations… all the while he and his children would make sporadic visits to the desert but never together, and he would sometimes swap places with his wife, letting her visit Hyrule while he was in the Gerudo capital.

With the Festival of Colors approaching, it was time to finally change that.

The festival was a delightful time of year, filled with colors and excitement and pageantry, a celebration of the coming spring. It was a pity they could not share such a holiday with Hyrule, as it would be a good means of showing their power and splendor, but honestly he was just as happy to have this celebration at home with no Hyrulian scrutiny.

Well, there was one Hyrulian who would be there. But after nearly a year of getting to know him, Ganondorf didn’t mind.

Speaking of Orik, though, the Gerudo king realized there was an issue. His people were all returning for the festival, a fairly sizable group traveling together, with multiple tents pitched and guards posted as they made camp for the night. Ganondorf had his own large tent, the twins had theirs, and then everyone else generally shared four women to a tent.

Orik sat in the rain alone, cloak pulled over him tightly.

It was nearly midnight. Ganondorf had only noticed because he heard the rain start to fall and wanted to peek outside, sometimes enjoying the sight. He knew for certain Hemisi had to be asleep or she would’ve dragged Link into her and her brother’s tent the instant she saw him outside.

Ganondorf hesitated. He liked the rain but he didn’t want to be out in it. But he sighed, relenting, throwing a cloak on and stepping towards the boy.

“Orik,” he called quietly. “What are you doing?”

The young Sheikah warrior glanced at him, looking very small all of a sudden. He tipped his head apologetically, calmly saying, “This was the best spot for shelter with the rocks sticking out, my lord. I can move, if you like.”

What? “Where’s your tent, boy?”

Orik shifted a little uncomfortably. “I, uh, don’t have one.”

Ganondorf stared at him. This was their second night camping on their journey. What had he done the first night?? And what about— “How did you journey to the desert last time?”

The only other time Orik has been to Gerudo Desert was when he’d been introduced to the entire family after he and Hemisi had started dating, and that has been nearly a year ago. He and Hemisi had traveled together then, had they not? Had he shared a tent with her then?

“I sent Hemisi ahead,” Orik answered. “She could travel with the entourage that way. I… don’t like making a scene.”

Goddesses if that wasn’t the truth. Ganondorf couldn’t fathom it, loving such attention and very much accustomed to it, but he knew by now how shy the boy could be. Sheikah were creatures of the shadows, he supposed. But that meant the kid had been roughing it the entire journey there and back, and this time…

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he asked, “And where, pray tell, did you sleep last night?”

“The grass was really soft, Lord Ganondorf, I promise—”

“Come here,” Ganondorf immediately ordered, exasperated but not surprised. Honestly, this teenager. Didn’t Hyrule supply its soldiers with some basic necessities? Or did Orik not even think to ask? The kid was an independent warrior, he had to be at least, what, sixteen? Surely he’d gotten enough experience traveling that he should know better by now.

Orik could be a mystery sometimes. Quiet and obedient, but able to flip on a moment’s notice and cause chaos. Intelligent and seemingly not innocent of the ways of the world yet simultaneously so naive.

The teenager obeyed without any attempt at insisting he was fine, which was at least a good indication that he’d finally learned not to argue with Ganondorf. He was shaping up to be a good son-in-law, if it did eventually go that way.

Hemisi would be of age in just over a year. What a terrifying thought. But he imagined they’d have the Triforce far before that.

Disregarding such plans for the time being, Ganondorf reached out just as Orik got close enough, pulling the boy under his cloak. The kid’s clothes were soaked.

“Best spot for shelter?” He repeated, feeling Orik shiver a little.

The Sheikah halfheartedly remarked, “For the circumstances, yes. I didn’t say it was a good place.”

Humming a little at the boy’s cheekiness, the Gerudo king guided him towards his own tent. Orik nearly planted his feet in as soon as he realized where they were going, but a firm hand on his shoulder moved him forward.

Once they were inside the tent, Ganondorf slipped his own cloak off and grabbed a blanket. “Strip down, boy, you’re not sleeping drenched.”

The Sheikah watched him a moment, red eyes debating the matter. Ganondorf let him have the moment, but only briefly - if Orik wanted to be treated like a man, he needed to start taking care of himself like one. Why couldn’t he figure that out?

Sighing, the kid pulled off his cloak, and his simple folded tunic. Then he removed his boots, but left his greyish brown trousers on. Ganondorf tossed him a spare pair of Merovar’s, alongside one of his son’s tunics - his own child was bigger than the Sheikah, but it would do. And it was freezing - Hyrule’s winter was still clinging to the land, rain barely warm enough to not be ice.

Orik stared a moment longer, and Ganondorf at least granted him some dignity by turning away for privacy. When he heard clothing stop rustling, he stretched and laid back down on the large bed near the center of the tent; the center itself was dedicated to the small fire, smoke trailing to the opening cut away to sit above the rest of the roof of the canvas. There were enough blankets to even bury the large king of the Gerudo. It would do.

“Come on,” he bade, patting the bed as he turned to see the boy. “Get in bed.”

Ganondorf nearly laughed as he got a good look at Orik. The boy truly looked like a child dressed in oversized clothing, and the mild alarm at his suggestion was evident.

“Lord Ganondorf—”

“Are you arguing with me, child?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Orik’s protest stammered to a halt, but he didn’t quite look ready to give up yet. Ganondorf didn’t fault him - he too would argue over being coddled and cuddled.

For a moment, a small part of the Gerudo king wondered what it would be like, for his own father to hold him. But he pushed the thought away. He’d never known the man and didn’t need to.

Orik found his voice. “I promise I’ll be okay outside, my lord. It’s not my intent to inconvenience you so much.”

“I will decide what’s inconvenient to me,” Ganondorf fired back easily. You’ll have to try harder than that, kid.

Orik floundered again for a second, biting his lip. He seemed to be moving from surprise and mild alarm to guilt and worry, maybe even fear.

That put the Gerudo ill at ease. Taking a gentler tone, he said, “Orik, you know you’re safe here with us, right?”

Orik’s eyes widened further, catching the implication, and he hastily corrected, “Y-yes, my lord, I would never dare imply that you make me feel uncomfortable in such a manner!”

Thank Din. Fine. Not an issue, then. “Then get in bed, child. It’s cold and your lack of foresight will get you ill. I’m not having you be sick for the duration of the festival.”

Orik shifted his weight a little and then sighed, finally relenting. Ganondorf moved the blankets, letting the teenager settle on the mattress, still very obviously shivering. Slowly, the Gerudo king relaxed in the bed, stretching a little. When he saw how stiff Orik was, he hesitated again.

Having grown up in a culture of women made Ganondorf naturally far more physically affectionate. His people were very open in how they showed their care. Ganondorf had little use for such actions prior to getting married, but now he was very accustomed to it. He figured by now that Orik knew he had to be on good terms with the family, though the circumstances tonight were unusual - Ganondorf was not in the habit of letting a teenager who wasn’t his own stay with him. Nevertheless, if he left Orik to his own devices he knew the kid would go back outside and that was not an option.

Perhaps Sheikah were just cold and aloof to their children.

Ganondorf was not a Sheikah, though. So he wasn’t going to leave the kid just freezing. He cared about him too much at this point.

Sneaky little brat, worming his way into the Gerudo king’s heart. Honestly.

“If you ever wish to join this family you’d better get used to this, because I can assure you Nabooru will cuddle you to death,” he quipped mildly. “And Hemisi is far worse.”

Unexpectedly, Orik giggled at the words, relaxing a little, and it made Ganondorf smile.

Thank the goddesses this was their last night before reaching the desert. He could only be so affectionate to the kid. But…

You know damn well this isn’t going to be the only time.

No, perhaps not, he mused as Orik carefully tried to maneuver himself to be more comfortable, close enough to feel Ganondorf’s body warmth without being quite in reach.

He heard the child yawn, shivers lessening a little, and he relaxed, falling asleep.

XXX

Link listened as the rain grew heavier on the tarp above. The small fire was nearly burnt out, simmering with the occasional pop as a raindrop leaked in through the opening overtop. He felt a little uncomfortable, stiff in an awkward position as he tried to be as unobtrusive in the bed as possible.

Lord Ganondorf had insisted this was how the family would treat Link, if he were to ever…

Merovar’s words echoed in his mind, speaking of how Queen Nabooru loved him, how Lord Ganondorf…

Well, it was downright ridiculous to let his mind convince him the Gerudo king consort didn’t at least like him considering what he was doing. Ganondorf was not a very accommodating man, demanding others bend to his own will. He was stubborn and did not suffer fools. Link sometimes wondered why he was trying so hard to befriend King Ozen, considering…

Well. Link was just a guard. He knew nothing of politics. But what little he’d observed, he wasn’t entirely sure King Ozen was someone Ganondorf would respect. But he supposed that didn’t matter - one did what one had to do that their own kingdoms survived.

He was just grateful he was able to meet all of them.

But more to the direct issue, Link had never really slept in the same bed as anyone. Many years ago, in the orphanage, he’d slept on the floor with the other kids, but never shared a mattress. So while he was blessedly warm, he was… he didn’t know, he didn’t want to bother Lord Ganondorf by trying to move or stretch, and what if he had to get up or turn or sneeze or anything like that? Would the man sleep through it?

Almost as if to answer his question, the Gerudo king let out a loud snore. Link jumped, completely caught off guard, and then he almost laughed.

When he wiggled a little, though, he felt Ganondorf stiffen. Link, in turn, stiffened even more.

Sighing, he resigned himself to just not sleeping. He tried to enjoy the warmth, at least, and somehow the weight of Ganondorf’s arm over his side was grounding. Sometimes anxiety got the best of Link at night, making it difficult to sleep well, but for whatever reason that wasn’t quite the case tonight.

Instead, Link found himself thinking about what it would be like if he could just have moments like this more often. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as uncomfortable or awkward. Or maybe if it was during the day instead…

Oh stop it. No one is going to hold you just for the sake of it.

Well. Hemisi did. Link liked snuggling with her. But the King and Queen of the Gerudo?

Link knew it was silly to wish for such a thing. But being stuck in this situation, he…

He shook his head. Maybe just think about something else. There was no point mourning a childhood without parents.

But he steadily relaxed in the bed, nodding off just as the sun started to rise.

And, a few days later, when he was bedridden with sand fever, as lucidity finally came back to drag him into the daylight, he felt a warm arm around him, heard a heart beating against his ear. Link moved a little, not bothering to worry about waking anyone, just letting himself be comfortable as Ganondorf readjusted in the bed alongside him, holding him close. In that early dawn light, Link felt safe and loved and he smiled, ignoring how his eyes stung a little, chalking it up to the fever, and snuggled with his guardian.

[undercovercameron]

a helping hand

summary: a special dress for a special girl; and it's also for rafe.

notes: i wrote this a little under the influence a 2 am so it's sorta messy but i love this idea! some choking kink, brief "breeding" kink, hair pulling, etc. enjoy fellow horny people

tags: rafe cameron x reader

word count: 2492

There was this— benefit of sorts that some organization or charity hosted every two years where Ward Cameron was cordially invited to wine and dine with his fellow outstanding businessmen and local public figures. They were to celebrate their accomplishments and enter into a raffle for a motorbike. Probably a big deal to haughty, overdressed people that attend such events. Ward had three plus one tickets. 

And that meant that the individuals that were allowed to come were Ward and Rose and you and Rafe. A couples’ night out. You, dying to wear this new dress you dropped some money in the month earlier, and Rafe, an avid loudmouth dying to gas his own father up and show off some arm candy, were delighted at this invite. When Ward approached you two about it he cautiously invited you and provided numerous reasons why Wheezie and Sarah couldn’t come— he knew it would be a wild night. And wild night it was. 

“Jesus Christ,” is the first thing that Rafe says when he enters his bedroom and sees you in all your glory. 

The dress was long and smooth, a dark blue silk draping all your curves in luxurious midnight. It was fitted around the top, showcasing the tops of your tits and highlighting the single-diamond necklace you wore after your and Rafe’s six months. A slit up the side showed your freshly-exfoliated and shining legs, a part you knew would appeal to your date. It was pure sin. 

“Y/N,” he murmurs, hands coming to your waist, and you turn slightly from your place putting on the earrings to have a cheeky look at him. His lips are parted, eyes wide, eyebrows high. He looks shocked. “I don’t know if we should go tonight, baby.” He nudges you into the dresser, chest pressed to your back, and pushes his face into your hair. “You smell so good…” A large hand slides down your flank, just feeling you, and he groans. 

“Thank you.” You look at his silhouette in the mirror, fiddling with the last earring, and turn around. “When are we leaving?” You fiddle with the material of his tie, tone casual.

“Soon,” he says immediately, eyes on everything except yours. “Five.”

He stares at your cleavage, something sparkling in his eyes. You hum in apprehension and somewhat disappointment, taking in how he looks in his suit. It’s well-fitted, tight on the legs and wide up top, and you smooth a hand down his lapel. 

“You look so handsome,” you whisper, glossy lips mesmerizing in the light, and he finds your face again. “Maybe they have a family bathroom at the event.” You rub a thumb at his tie, and he nearly shivers. Again with your tone. 

He pushes your chin up with a bent finger, and bows to give you a kiss. You taste like vanilla and mouthwash. His hands slink around your hips and grab a cheekful of your ass, squeezing when you lean into him. You hook your arms around his neck, making a surprisingly high-pitched noise into his mouth when he presses a thumb right about your pantyline. You jerk, surprised at the pressure, and settle when he pulls away. 

“You have to go downstairs.” He says, lips shiny with the lip gloss transfer, and his cheeks flush. You pout, dropping your hands. “Hey—don’t give me that look.” He grasps your jaw in his palm, tilting you up for one more kiss. “I’m not done with you tonight.”

Your eyebrow slightly quirks up, but then you reach behind you for your clutch and start for the door. 

“Take your time, big boy.”

“Shut up,” he says under his breath, turning away from you and sitting down on his bed. 

(Okay, dirt bikes. Ice cream. Steak. Playing basketball. Sunrise. Fuck, you love the sunrises. God damn it. Okay. Grandma’s funeral.)

It still takes him six minutes to settle down and calm the erect situation before heading out to the car. Where you await, legs crossed politely with just a hint of a thigh garter that makes him loudly curse. 

-

“Did we buy new flossers?” Rafe asks from the bathroom, probably inspecting his perfect and flawless teeth in the mirror at close range. 

“I think so. Check the drawer,” You call back from the closet, pulling the last of the zipper and letting the fabric of your gorgeous dress fall to the floor in a heap. You step out of it, smirking at yourself in the mirror, and turn off the light. 

You’re on the bed, expertly laid down with your legs crossed on your side when Rafe emerges from the bathroom in only his dress pants and shirt unbuttoned. You say nothing, mindlessly scrolling on Instagram, as he takes a good long look at you. 

“Was this under your dress?” He asks quietly, and you turn your phone off and set it on the bedside table. 

“Maybe.” You look up at him through your long false eyelashes, eyes wide and unassuming. “You didn’t have time to see.”

“I see now,” he says, nearly under his breath, and touches a hand at your stomach. 

What you’ve chosen for this occasion is something you’ve never done for him before. You’re cinched in lace and satin, a black corset and garters to match the delicately detailed bra and panties with little midnight blue roses at the crest. It’s luxurious. A pretty penny, much like your dress, but well worth it for just the look on his face. 

He smooths his palm over your thigh, feeling the lace rub at his skin, and he closes his eyes so as to not either groan like a porn star or yell. 

“Come here.” He says, hand bracing your waist, and you struggle to sit up and crawl towards him. He takes your jaw in both of his hands, bringing you up just close enough to hover over his mouth before freezing. He takes a good look at you, mourning your non-waterproof mascara, and fixes you with a kiss so good you nearly shake. You moan immediately into his mouth, parting to move with his lips, and shuffle closer. He has his hands on your upper torso, keeping you impossibly far from him. He hums into your mouth and you groan right back. 

A hand breaks from its place on your ribs and sneaks lower, feeling your corset and the wire of it under a thumb. It passes over your hip bone and lightning-quick he shoves his hand right past the crotch of your underwear. You gasp into his mouth, back straightening at the sensation, and you feel him smile as you squeeze your eyes together. His two middle fingers rub at your slick, just liking the feeling, and you shiver. He crooks his middle finger until it is pressing up right against your clit and strokes you. 

“Fuck,” you mutter against his lips, wanting desperately to look down at his hand in your panties, but his other hand is against your neck and guiding you with the strength you know he has. 

You’re gripping at his shirt so tight your knuckles flash white, and your wrist nearly starts to shake. “Please,” you murmur, wanting to fall back and be used, but he rotates his hand on your neck to just above your Adam's apple and presses into you. You fall silent, hips moving with his two fingers now pushing through your folds and seeking the place they know so well. He brings his thumb down to your clit and showers it in the attention it deserves, rendering you in shambles. His mouth parts from yours with the help of his hand around your throat, and he just breathes you in. You gasp and shiver with your cheek against his bowed head, a hand coming up to claw at his strong shoulder, and you feel him grin. 

“Fuck, Rafe,” you nearly cry, eyes squeezing shut in a whine. 

“Sweet girl,” he whispers, just for you, into your ear. Your head tilts back in the feeling of the tips of his fingers reaching your g-spot and his thumb hammering into your clit, and you feel the sweat accumulate on your lower back. He is working you here. With a passion unseen before tonight. “There you go.”

You quake through your orgasm, trembling against his shoulder, and your flushed chest heaves with the effort. Your forehead falls towards his collarbone, and you catch your breath while breathing in his worn-off cologne from earlier. It’s sweet, and you pet his bare chest with one cool hand. 

“I want to be on my stomach,” you say, brushing past his stubbly jaw to look him in the eyes. He licks his lips, nodding, and moves to yank the shirt off of his back. You fumble to get his belt off and unzip his pants but then—

You dip, fingers tight on his dick through his underwear, and move the waistband aside to lick once at his beautifully flushed dick. You bounce back up, biting your lips and he fixes you with a look. A look that says don’t play with me right now. 

He gets his pants down and you unzip the corset, needing desperately to breathe for once. He watches you before shucking the underwear off and pressing a kiss to your mouth. You throw the corset to the right, lost in his taste, and in a second he pulls away and pushes you onto your stomach. You bounce pathetically on the mattress, exhaling in a huff that blows your bangs up and out of the way. He clambers onto the bed, nearing your backside, and grabs you by the hips to push you onto your knees. Your back arches perfectly and you cast a look over your shoulder at him. He’s, once again, admiring you. Well, more graphic parts of you this time. 

You reach an arm across your back, wanting to feel him, and he takes your hand in his. He rubs a warm thumb at your soft skin. But then he grabs you tightly and pushes into you in one swift motion. You cry out, eyes squeezing shut, and your knees wobble slightly. 

“Fuck,” you breathe, fist clenching the pillow, and brace yourself for impact. He pulls a little bit out and pushes back in, quicker this time, and you feel your eyes start to gather wetness. He’s so big, and he feels a sense of urgency at all times that forces him to fuck into you quickly and deep. It makes you clench around him and jerk your hips back, which only spurs him on.

God, the smell of you. He could have you every day like this for the rest of his life if it was up to him. The way you shudder, the way you breathe, how your abdomen shakes with the effort of seeking him. It makes him almost weak.

He readjusts his grip on your wrist, taking it in his whole hand, and pulls you back at the same time as thrusting into you. You groan into his pillow, mouth already slightly drooling, and you feel the sweat on your skin again. 

“Feels so good,” he says breathlessly, halfway into a groan, and you jerk back against him with a grunt. “Oh, yeah?” He asks, probably grinning down at you devilishly, and grabs a handful of your hair. Your neck jerks back and smarts, and your mouth parts in a silent whimper. 

“So. good.” Your eyes flutter open, staring up at the ceiling, and try to clench down on him like you know he likes. He nearly growls and starts fucking into you with purpose that bruises your hips. You just sit and take it, wrecked noises falling from your lips and your chest heaving with the effort. 

“Like that?” He asks sarcastically when he pulls you up to his head with his mouth pressed to your ear. “Just like that?”

“Yes,” you sigh, head limp against his shoulder, and squeeze again. He grips harshly at your hips and pulls you back onto him, a lewd noise echoing through the room at your skin connecting. “So good for me, so good,” you babble, voice trailing off into nonsense, and Rafe’s chest swells with pride.

Not only is he lucky to have you like this, but he’s privileged enough (that’s for sure) to draw these noises from your pretty little throat. 

His hand not currently keeping you tethered to his chest reaches down and fumbles for your clit, flicking it between two fingers lightning-fast. You groan, mouth wide, and let yourself be played like a violin. He knows exactly how to touch you and when to touch you, and it makes you even more in love with him. 

The tightness in your abdomen finally gives, and then you’re shaking around his fingers and crying out to any of the gods above. God, he gets you like this like no one else. 

“Yes, baby,” you say slowly, per-syllable, and press a hand to his hard stomach. “Please—inside me. Please.” 

You’re begging, and it only makes him curse to himself and press his forehead down on your shoulder, wet lips moving. 

“Fucking love you,” he grunts, and pushes down hard onto your lower stomach right as the dam snaps and he cums deep. You shiver, breathing hard, and just lay against him for a second. 

“Oh my, God,” you sigh, suddenly feeling all the warmth of your body rush back. 

“Mhm,” he hums, panting against you, and tries desperately to catch his breath. His palms smooth down your sides as a means of comfort, and you relish in the feeling.

He falls to the mattress with a hmph, eyes closing as his head makes contact with a pillow. His eyebrows draw suddenly, and he arches his back with a pained look on his face. “You’re killing me, sweetheart,” he says, voice strained, and you fall next to him, concerned. “My back.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, lips downturned. You curl an arm around his torso and throw a leg over his two, essentially forcing him to flatten. 

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” He looks down at you with a whisper of a smile on his lips, suddenly sentimental. “‘S not every day I get a girl like you,” he mutters.

You hum in accordance, sitting up with an elbow pressed to the mattress.

“It’s not every day I find a man who will do Cher karaoke with me.”

He groans, rolling away from you onto his side.

“What?” You laugh, grinning, and claw a hand at his bicep to tug him back. He resists.“It was one time, and I was drunk.” His voice is muffled by the stuffing of his pillow, and you can already imagine his pout. “You just won’t admit you can hit the high notes in Believe.” You whisper, and he groans so loud you spur into another round of laughter.

[angstywaifu]

The Lost Sister - Part 34

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC (Ophelia Riorson)

The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

I stand in the mirror, admiring mine and Imogen’s handiwork. It had taken us all afternoon to do it but we had done it. It was odd looking in the mirror and seeing the girl that stood before me. The last time I had seen myself like this was back in Aretia. The day I had gone off with my father. Back then I was young, defenceless and scared. Now… Now I was a dragon rider. Ready to take on anything thrown my way. And yet the thought of facing Garrick like this scared me. No. It terrified me.

”He is going to lose it when he see’s you without the red hair.” She says with a smirk, running her fingers through the hair we had left out.

We had spent the last hour working my hair into a half up half down style, with the upper half tied up in a messy bun and the lower half styled in loose waves. For the dress uniform I had picked the high neck sleeveless option and the floor-length skirt with a slit up the thigh. I high neck bodice hugged everything perfectly, and the skirt showed just enough leg as I walked. Something I knew Garrick would go crazy over. I hadn’t seen him or Xaden since battle brief this afternoon. I’d barely seen any of the other marked ones except Imogen who had already agreed to help me. It wasn’t a day most of us wanted to celebrate. Who wants to celebrate the death of their parents? I didn’t have a choice. If I didn’t show up, Melgren would not be pleased. If I wanted to keep him off our backs, I had to go.

”That’s if I can find him. He’s been MIA all afternoon.” I say as I flatten out my skirt.

”You’ll find him. He’ll be looking for you.” She tells me with a smile.

I smile back at her in the mirror. To think at the start of my time here she’d been at my throat due to Garrick’s feelings towards me. Going toe to toe on that mat with each other. And here we we’re nearly a year later. I wouldn’t say we were best friends, but we were very close. And we had Garrick to thank for that ironically. She leaves me when we make our way into the hallway, the rest of our squad already making their way to the celebrations. As I make my way over I hear rushed footsteps and a slamming door behind me. Turning I see Liam rushing towards me and the group.

”You did not try to leave with out me!” He shouts as he runs forward through the crowd, our squad turning to face both of us.

All their eyes go wide when they see me. Gone was the bright red hair I had kept all year. Now replaced with my natural black. The exact same colour as Xaden’s. Liam seems to be the only one not shocked at my appearance as he catches up to me.

”Looking good O. Suits you.” He says with his usual charming smile as he winks at me. Shameless flirt.

”I was hoping you’d been given the night off.” Violet responds as we join her. “Don’t you look handsome.”

”I know.” Liam responds smugly as he straightens his sash over a midnight black doublet. “I’ve heard healer cadets have a thing for riders.”

”Hardly.” Rhiannon says with a laugh. “As often as they have to put us back together? I bet they’re more into scribes.”

Liam looks over to Violet as we descend the stairs into a sea of black riders. “And what are scribes into?” He asks.

”Usually other scribes. But I guess riders, in my fathers case.”

Liam and I share a look as if to say in her case as well, but she had more than proven she was no longer the scribe she had been trained to be. She was a rider now.

I tune out the rest of the squad as we walk towards the courtyard. As I look around I note that there are not other marked ones but Liam and I. No surprises there. But I knew I would have to account for Xaden’s absence. No doubt receiving questions now my true identity had been revealed. By the time we reach the courtyard, the celebrations are in full swing. The sea of black now blending with the pale blue, cream and navy blue uniforms of the other quadrants. There’s easily a thousand people spread throughout the courtyard. The other quadrants overwhelming the now small sea of black. Goes to show how few sign up to be a dragon rider, and how high our fatality rate is. I had to commend whoever did the decorating for the event. This wasn’t my first time attending. But every time it always surprised me how they could transform the outdoor courtyard into somewhat of a ballroom. Everyone scatters off as we enter, but I keep close to Liam and Violet. This was the only time I had felt like I needed a bodyguard since Xaden had suggested it. None of the people around us care about Violet. All eyes are on Liam and I. Eyes trailing over mine and Liam’s exposed relic’s, before landing on the name on my sash. Eyes widening as they take me in.

”I’m so sorry.” Violet says as she hooks her arm through Liam’s. Clearly also noticing the eyes staring at Liam and I.

Liam smiles and pats her hand. “There is absolutely nothing for you to be sorry about.”

”Nothing we’re not use to.” I add as I take my place on her other side.

She shakes her head. I can feel how apologetic she feels. How sorry she feels for Liam and I. But I have no time to focus on it as I lock eyes with Melgren. His cold piercing eyes locking me in place. The rest of the room fading to nothing as we just look at each other. I can tell from here how displeased he is. My change in hair colour a massive fuck you to him. I watch as he makes his way towards us. Shit.

”Go.” Violets hisses at Liam as Melgren falls into place next to King Tauri and Violet’s mother.

Shit.

”You’re Majesty.” We all murmur, before dropping into a bow.

”You’re mother tells me you’ve bonded with no one but two exceptional dragons.” King Tauri says to Violet as they stop in front of us.

”Yes, she is quite confident in your power.” Melgren adds, as he shifts his gaze to Violet.

I can’t help but sigh at the relief of being free from his stare.

”I would not say the same at this time. I’m still learning how to wield.” Violet answers perfectly. Her years of being the General’s daughter paying off. But I can tell she’s not wanting to give away too much of what she can do. Wanting to keep eyes off her. Just like me.

”Don’t be so modest daughter,” Her mother chides. “From what the professors say, they’ve only seen a gift this powerful a few times in the last decade, in Brennan and the Riorson boy and girl.”

Despite all of us keeping neutral faces at her words, I instantly feel the distain and annoyance from Liam and Violet at how she addresses Xaden and I.

”Ah yes, I’ve heard some excellent things about you as well.” King Tauri says happily, his attention now shifting to me. “Melgren here is quite proud of how his training turned out and the signet you now bare. Probably the rarest we’ve seen if I’m not mistaken.”

”So I’ve heard. I’ve been working with Professor Carr closely to figure out what I can do.” I tell him, as happily as I can.

”Yes, from what I’ve been told he has quite a few theories about your signet. You’ll be a great asset to our forces, even if only some of those are true. I can’t wait to see what you two girls will be able to do once fully trained.” He says proudly before his attention shifts to Liam. “And you’re gift?”

”Farsight, Your Majesty.” Liam responds with his usual charming smile.

Melgren’s eyes shift to Liam’s exposed relic before moving to his sash. “Mairi, as in Colonel Mairi’s son?”

He hides it in his voice, but I can feel distrust and wariness he now feels towards Liam. If only he knew how good of a person Liam was. Damn these rebellion marks on our skin.

”Yes, General. Though I was mostly brought up by Duke Lindell at Tirvainne.” Liam responds without missing a beat as he meets Melgren’s eyes.

King Tauri nods, impressed with Liam’s answer. “Yes, Duke Lindell is a good man, a loyal man.”

”I have him to thank for my fortitude, Majesty.” Another perfect answer. Just like me, Liam knew how to play this game. And well. No doubt something he picked up from his time with Xaden.

”Yes you do.” Melgren nods as his eyes scan the crowd. “Now tell me, where is that brother of yours? I do like to lay eyes on him at least once a year and make sure he’s not causing trouble.”

Before I can respond Violet jumps in, obviously not pleased with how her mother addressed us earlier. “No trouble. He’s our wingleader, actually. He saved my life when we were on the front lines at Monsterrat.”

I note how General Sorrengail glares at her daughters statement about my brother. “Their dragons are mated.” Her glare shifting to a chilling smile. “So she’s grown quite close to him out of necessity.”

Whatever helps you sleep at night Lilith.

”That’s excellent!.” King Tauri beams. “It’s good to have a Sorrengail on lookout for us. You’ll let us know if he decides to, oh I don’t know. Start another war?”

I pick up on the subtle hint of his words. Melgren’s signet didn’t work when more than three marked ones were together. Meaning while at the Quadrant, it was quite hard to him to forsee what was coming. They we’re banking on Violet to let them know. And Melgren was banking on me. But after tonight, I’m sure he realises that is a lost hope. My black hair now a sign of who I align with.

”I can assure you, he’s loyal.” Violet responds sternly.

”So where is he?” King Tauri now scanning the courtyard as well. “I asked that they all be here, all marked ones.”

”Xaden isn’t one for parties much like myself. You’ll probably find him hiding in the shadows around the edge.” I say smuggly, Violet and Liam having to stiffle their laughter over my use of Xaden’s signet.

”Oh, look! There’s Dain Aetos!” General Sorrengail says, motioning to somewhere behind us. Obviously wanting to end this conversation as much as we did. “He’d be so humbled if you said hello.”

And with that they leave the three of us to stand in complete silence, watching them leave. All our shoulders sag as we let out a breath I don’t think any of us realised we were holding. Even though we’re no longer the focus of their attention, I can’t help but watch Melgren and the company he keeps. He had been waiting for one of us to slip up. They all had. They obviously had suspicions Xaden was up to something. But clearly didn’t have solid proof. And they we’re looking for it. We we’re going to have to be careful from here on out. I can the crowd, looking for any hint of the others. But I knew it was futile. I had hoped maybe Garrick might make an appearance tonight, but I knew he wouldn’t. He would be with Xaden. This day wasn’t easy for either of us. But I never had the luxury of being able to hide from it. Every year Melgren made me be apart of this. Every year I had to pretend. Part of me wishes I could be where ever he was now.

”Has she tried to escape yet?” Dain asks Liam as he steps back from Violet. I hadn’t even noticed him arrive.

”Not yet, but the evening is young.” Liam replies.

Dain looks between Liam and I, noting the tense lines on our faces and had no doubt noticed me looking around the room. ”The staircase is about five feet to our right. I’ll distract while you all slip away.”

I start walking, leaving Violet to say thank you for us. We all rush back to the riders quadrant, all eager to get away from the celebrations behind us. Within seconds of being back in the riders quadrant I pick up on where he is. My mind already searching for his. Violet must have been searching for Xaden as soon as we got back as she quickly turns to Liam.

”Liam, you know I adore you, right?”

”Well, that’s nice-”

”Go away.” She says before walking through the courtyard, me following right behind her.

”What? I can’t just leave you out here by yourself.”

”She won’t be, she’s got me.” I tell him sternly.

”And no offense, but I can fry this entire place with a lightning bolt if I want to, and I need to see Xaden, so go.” She says with a pat to his arm before walking off.

Liam just shakes his head at us before retreating towards the dorms, leaving me to follow Violet. Garrick and Xaden must be in the same place. As I reach out I can feel him, but he’s not as close as Garrick, or Bodhi who I have also picked up on. And as we approach the hole in the wall that open up to the Parapet, I can see two figures leaning against the opening.

”You go ahead, I’ll be over in a minute.” I tell her as we near the entry to the parapet, noting the figures of Bodhi and Garrick leaning against the opening.

She furrows her eyes at me but nods. “He’s going to love it.” She says with a soft smile before walking over to them.

I watch as Bodhi and Garrick probably warn her to leave him alone. I knew Xaden, and if he had walked out there alone, he needed his time alone. But I had faith she would be what he needed tonight. He could deny it all he wanted, but I knew he had fallen for her. And there was no denying her feelings as she kicks off her shoes and takes her first steps onto the parapet. She had come a long way since the start of the year.

Bodhi is the first to move, pushing off the opening to walk back. He only makes it a few steps before he see’s me and stops dead in his tracks, eyes going wide as Garrick slams into him.

”What the hell Bodhi? Why did you-”

A little look at what our girl looks like now.

@riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt @bbkissme99 @xceafh @leptitlu @came-to-laugh-but-cried @onthewaytotimbuktu @daardyrnitta @lovemesomevesey @mxtokko @krowiathemythologynerd @callsign-blue @1islessthan3books @side-angel @wolfbc97 @just-an-ace-elf

[overlydeniableteddy]

Fattening Valley

First pov / feedee pov / second pov feeder / intox feedism / weight gain / mention of sex

I’ve already been at the farm for quite some time, working hard to build a successful life for myself in the valley, engaging with the townspeople, pining after Harvey and slowly winning his affection…

And then one day, you come to town, taking it by storm. I offer you a place to stay in the farm house so you don’t have to worry about finding accommodation while you get settled. It’s only after a week or two that you begin to enact your master plan, only eating half of the dinner you prepared in thanks for letting you stay and giving me the rest of your portion and a few leftovers. Me being polite, I accept, not wanting to admit to you that I’m already full. You start cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner, all of them bigger portions than what I usually had. You bring me snacks throughout the day, slowing me down and making me feel more sleepy and lethargic.

The charade continues for a few weeks, a pot belly forming under my clothes, my thighs and ass looking a bit more thick and blubbery— my face puffing up slightly. That’s when you move onto the next stage, you take me to Gus’ for a big thank you dinner, all this time you’ve been making subtle moves towards me, declaring your romantic and sexual desires with me, I laugh you off and say that I’m flattered. But you don’t stop. At this dinner date, you ply me with a variation of wines and beers, getting me drunker as you flirt more and more with me, I start drunkenly flirting back for giggles. You order plate upon plate of food for me, stuffing me so full that I nearly fall into a food coma at the bar. You scoot your chair around to my side of the table, slipping your hand into my clothes, feeling the taut bloated body beneath. I rest my head on your shoulder as you make me finish every last bite. Whimpering and burping from how full I am. The other townspeople look on in confusion and worry, they thought that it was me and Harvey that were supposed to end up together… but they don’t intervene.

At midnight, Gus closes for the night. You essentially carry an exceptionally drunk me home to the farmhouse, I belch and moan the whole way back, one arm looped around your shoulders and the other resting on my stuffed full belly. Once we get back, you decide to encourage me to drink some milk I forgot to sell during the day and I comply, lusting after you with boarish desires.

The next morning, I wake up still stuffed and hungover, unable to bring myself to get up and go about the farm chores. You smile and waltz your way into my bedroom, a thick stack of pancakes and a large coffee (with some whiskey mixed in), you declare that you’ve already done the chores for the day so I should relax and take a day for myself in bed.

You start doing this more and more, always making sure I’m in a state of tipsiness at all times, it’s easier to get me to eat more this way. My bloated pot belly becomes a large hanging gut, my arms flabby sacks of fat that can’t even bring themselves to pick up even a hoe anymore, my legs thick and blubbery cellulite ridden slabs of meat. My face rounded and cherub like— constantly rosy and jolly. I’ve begun to outgrow my once baggy clothes, knitted jumpers always riding up my belly halfway, showing off a large slice of pale fat belly.

Harvey becomes worried, he sees my decline of diet and increased intoxication, he wants to confront you for my changes but I brush him off and tell him that farmers are supposed to carry a little extra thickness, it’s all just thick muscle. He’s flustered but let’s it go until I stop doing the farm work entirely, and only appear in town for our weekly date at the saloon where you get me drunker than I’ve been all week and stuffed to beyond my increasing limits.

It goes on for a year, you transforming me into a lazy, flabby pig that can’t even take care of his own farm anymore, spending his days eating and drinking in various locations— constantly outgrowing his clothes. My body truly becoming a round and blobby spectacle for the whole valley to bask in…

And then we marry, I’m yours and yours alone. Your fat, drunk piggy, a fallen vestige of a once promising young farmer.