ungravity12

[ungravity12]

forbidden fruit 2

Once upon a time there was a princess and a hunter...

snow white!reader x hunter!rafe

c/w: mentions of violence & murder, one bed (my fav cliche ever!), slightly suggestive, also if it’s not obvious this is *loosely* based on the story of snow white, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2.4k

is he warming up to her? #it’s hard to tell

series masterlist

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

“Have you ever considered a less...um, violent job?” she asks, nausea coiling in her guts at the mere thought of harming— let alone killing an innocent animal.  

The inky sky has turned into an even gloomier hue, and if it wasn’t for the luster of the moonlight illuminating their journey, they wouldn’t be able to see a thing. However, it’s still a challenge for them (her) to evade the thick roots hiding underneath the spongy moss and brittle lichen— she thinks her fingers aren’t enough to count the times Rafe has had to prevent her from toppling over onto the soil with a steadying grip on her arm.  

At this point, she can’t comprehend how he even knows where they’re going. She thinks that every rock and tree trunk they pass resembles the last but apparently, he’s using them to track the route to his cabin— something he tried to teach her about two hours ago, but gave up the moment her attention was captured by a tiny squirrel hurriedly scampering off into its hiding spot.   

“If I’m bein’ honest, I think killin’ is the only thing m’good for at this point,” he murmurs while inspecting a fallen spruce in the middle of their path. 

“I’m sure that’s not true,” she argues, rounding the obstacle while he simply steps over it.   

“Tha’s cause you don’t know me. Listen, m’not…m’not a good person, I’ve done some, uh, real shitty things, alright?” he looks over to her, gemstone eyes sullen.   

She wonders if the real shitty things include other people’s blood on his hands. After all, the queen wouldn’t have asked him to end her life if he’d never done it before. A shiver creeps up her spine when a vivid image of him doing something so remorseless flashes in her mind.  

However, it’s soon replaced by him dropping the knife and sparing her life, even if it meant complicating his own.   

“I think…a bad person wouldn’t be helping me right now,” her words are honest but he doesn’t offer her a reply, merely flits his eyes over her frame with a furrow in his brow.   

They fall into a serene silence, wordlessly treading further and further into the somber forest while she keeps getting distracted by the glittering stars above them; mesmerized by the beauty of something so far away from all the cruelty on this planet.   

However, when she goes on to take her next step, the ground (or what she thought was the ground) suddenly cracks underneath her, the partly frozen lid of the pond shattering with a loud crackle— only a surprised squeal leaving her throat when she loses her footing and tumbles right into the frigid water with a splash.   

Turns out, it’s not just some small little puddle that’s partly covered by fallen leaves and branches, but a rather deep one; saturating her all the way up to her neck as she gasps for breath when the coldness surrounds her helpless limbs.  

“Shit.”   

She hears Rafe hiss before humored laughter bubbles from his chest.  

“Rafe, this is not funny,” she complains with her teeth chattering when the icy liquid soaks through the fabric of her dress in an instant.   

“M’sorry, you jus’ look like a wet kitten right now,” he shakes his head, chuckling as he extends an arm towards her— pulling her up and steadying her with a firm grip on her waist.  

“Ow,” she cries out when she leans her weight on her left foot.   

“What’s wrong?” he seems almost concerned as he scans her for any visible injuries.   

“Think I sprained my ankle, it hurts,” she frowns, reaching for his forearm for balance.   

“Of course you did, told you to be careful,” he clicks his tongue, slightly annoyed at the fact that she really is a helpless case. “Can you walk?”   

“I don’t know…” she mumbles; face crumpling up when she tries to take a step forward.   

“Right, uh, c’mere then,” he huffs out before his hands are on her waist once more and he’s lifting her into his arms like a bag of flour.   

“Oh, you don’t have to—”   

“There’s no way you’re walkin’ right now,” he scoffs as he shifts her into a better position before he’s continuing their trek. “What would you even do without me, hm?”   

“Probably freeze to death like you said,” she pouts, eyes despondent when she leans into his supportive hold.  

“Yeah.”   

“M’sorry,” she sniffles, the ache in her foot combined with him being mad at her causing her eyes to burn.  

“Shouldn’t be that long ’till we’re there, princess. Think you can manage not to cry before we get there?” 

“I don’t know…it hurts and m’cold,” she sulks, feeling miserable, even if she knows she should be grateful she’s not dead or alone in the woods right now.   

“You’re a big girl, know you can take it. You’ll feel better soon, yeah?” he attempts to provide her some sort of comfort with his limited knowledge of handling something so fragile.   

She hums out something incoherent in response, weak arms wrapping around his neck as she takes in a shaky inhale— damp skin prickling under the chilly air that’s making the leafy trees sway back and forth, reminding her of shadowy ghosts.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -   

“Uh, think there should be a dry shirt for you here somewhere…” he trails off as he goes through his closet. “This is probably a little too big but should be fine, yeah?”   

The cabin is small and secluded; the darkened walls blending in with the rest of the forest and concealing them from the outside, making her feel strangely secure. However, his taste in decor makes her rather uneasy as she tries to desperately focus on the crackling fireplace beginning to warm up her trembling limbs and not the assortment of dead animals and their fur or other body parts on display.   

“Oh, it’s perfect, thank you,” she tears her eyes from the elk antlers presented on the wall, offering him a tense smile when she takes the cottony shirt from him; the material surprisingly soft between her fingertips. 

However, before he has the chance to leave the bedroom in order to give her some privacy, she timidly speaks up again, words clumsy and hurried. “Could you— um, could you help me undress? This corset is quite impossible to take off by myself…especially now that it’s wet.”  

“Uh, right, yeah,” he clears his throat, gesturing for her to turn around before he’s pulling her closer by a grip on her hips, the wooden floorboards creaking underneath their feet making up for the sudden silence.  

She doesn’t know why the gesture feels almost intimate or why it makes her hold her breath when he begins to unfasten the strings holding the corset top together, but a strange shade of suspense colors the air around them nonetheless. 

“A tight little thing, huh?” he rasps as his fingers deftly work on the satiny ribbons— a process that feels eternal while she tries not to pay any mind to the way her heart keeps thumping louder and louder by each passing second. 

When she finally feels the silky material loosening around her middle, she has to will her erratic breathing to slow down as he unhooks the rest of the dress— the fabric forming a pearly white puddle on the floor.  

Then, he’s wordlessly slipping his shirt over her head; the sleeves far too long and the hem fitting her more like a short nightgown.  

“Thanks,” she swallows before she’s gingerly turning around, lacking the courage of looking him in the eye for any longer than a glance.       

“Right, uh, we should get some sleep. You can take the bed ’n I’ll sleep on the floor, yeah?”  

And she’s already nodding before the words register in her disconcerted brain. “Wait, no, it’s your bed. I can sleep on the floor,” she argues immediately, momentarily forgetting why she was so shy in the first place when the weight of being an inconvenience builds up on her shoulders.   

“Nah, m’not gonna let a fuckin’ princess sleep on the floor. S’fine, jus’ take the bed, I don’t want it. Need to make sure we weren’t followed anyway,” he grumbles, attempting to leave the room once more.  

“Rafe, you need sleep just as much as I do. It’s the middle of the night, my stepmother doesn’t even know what you did yet. She’s expecting you to return tomorrow, right?” she tries to reason, not willing to give in because letting him sleep comfortably is the least she can do to even begin returning the favor.  

He lets out a weary sigh before shrugging off his jacket, far too worn out to argue. “Yeah, alright, guess you have a point.”   

- - - - - - - - - - - - -   

They end up sharing the bed.    

And once they’ve both settled into the opposite sides, she’s far too intimidated by Rafe’s disgruntled aura to utter out anything other than a whispered goodnight before it’s quiet once more.    

However, as the night stretches on, she begins to grow restless; tossing and turning on the creaky mattress and driving Rafe mad in the process.

She doesn’t mean to, the last thing she wants is to disturb his rest but her thoughts are racing and she can’t seem to close her eyes for more than a few seconds because truthfully, she feels terrible— everything familiar has been turned upside down in the span of a day and the only life she knows has practically ceased to exist. All she wants is to go home but that’s not an option anymore and it’s scary. 

“Hey, uh, you good?” Rafe’s sudden drawl makes her flinch.    

“Sorry, can’t sleep,” she peeps out, expression apologetic when she twists to face him, causing the sheets to rustle around them.    

“Yeah, me neither since you keep movin’ around like a lunatic,” he grumbles, irritation clear in his tone.   

“M’sorry. Just can’t stop thinking about everything and I just…I’ve never understood why she hates me so much,” she breathes out, features contorting into something heavy-hearted as she chews on her bottom lip. 

He blinks tiredly; movements lethargic when he runs a hand through his hair.   

“The queen? Well, in case you haven’t noticed, she’s, uh, not that alright in the head. M’sure you’ve done nothin’ wrong, okay?” he attempts to reassure her, albeit to no avail.   

“I just— just feel like...this is all my fault, you know? And now you’re in danger too because of me,” she rambles, not able to let the thought go.    

“You don’t need to worry ’bout me, princess. There’s enough people that want me dead already, what’s one more?” he lets out a dry chuckle that makes her frown.    

“What do you mean?”    

“Nothin’ just, uh, listen…the worst thing that’s gonna happen is that she’s gonna have me killed when I don’t return, ’n once she finds out you’re still alive, she’s gonna send her soldiers to bring her your—”   

“Rafe, that’s not helping. Why would say that?” she interrupts him and apparently, he finds her scowling face to be the most hilarious thing in the world because next thing she knows he’s laughing, sleepy features scrunching up as he shakes his head. 

It’s safe to say she does not understand his humor, whatsoever.    

“All m’sayin’ is that we’re gonna have to find someplace good to hide.”    

“We have to leave the kingdom?” she asks, worried.    

“Yeah, think so,” he says, sounding far too impassive for her liking.    

“But I can’t just leave, this is my home.”   

“I know, but s’gonna be okay,” he murmurs, mouth stretching around a yawn.   

“But what if— what if something happens?” she sounds panicked, all the worst-case scenarios bouncing around her skull because she’s never even been this far from the palace. How on earth is she meant to survive in the real world? 

“I’ll keep you safe, yeah? Now can you let me sleep?” he lets out a drowsy exhale, seemingly fed up with the conversation already.   

“But what if—”   

“Shh, c’mere,” he hushes her before he’s tucking her flush against his chest— a heavy palm resting on her thigh to keep her from moving because he’s exhausted and more than aware that tomorrow is going to be a long day, especially with this overthinking princess who he wishes would just shut up.   

It’s something he’d tell her outright if he wasn’t certain that she’d start crying all over again in response— the rest of the hike here with her sobs and hiccups thrumming in his ears more than enough for one day.   

And the sudden proximity seems to work because instantly, she stops shifting around; nearly stops breathing altogether when she swallows. “What are you…”   

“Just, uh, need you to calm down, yeah?” he pats at her hip before she’s clumsily humming out another apology.  

And despite the slight trace of the muddy water, her hair still smells of forest berries and wildflowers, making exasperation worm its way into his veins. He doesn’t understand why she’s trusting her life in his hands so thoughtlessly; it’s like she has no sense of self-preservation with the way she’s blindly following him anywhere, when not even a day ago he attempted to murder her.   

He wonders if she’s always been like this; naive and dumb, always seeing the good in people, even when there isn’t any. All it took was a few remotely sweet words and she’s already allowing him to hold her this close— a foolish deer resting peacefully next to a starving wolf and expecting not to get hurt.    

Momentarily, he gets the urge to just finish the job right now, wrap his arm around her throat until the flame burns out, leaving her eyes dull, lifeless. After all, it would make his life considerably easier. He can almost feel it— the moment her heart comes to a halt in her ribcage as she turns into nothing more than flesh and bones, freeing him from this burden.  

And at the end of the day, it’s part of his nature to kill for his own benefit, muscles nearly stinging with the self-serving temptation because that’s what he’s always been; selfish.    

“Rafe, that hurts,” her voice is small, nervous, nonetheless forcing him to resurface to the current; his rough fingertips mindlessly sinking into the bare surface of her thigh, harsh enough to leave a bruise. 

Her entire form is tense, breathing shallow and limbs unmoving, resembling a rabbit rigid with fear, only amplifying this ever-growing itch under his skin.  

He clears his throat.  

“Sorry,” a mutter through his teeth before she can finally feel the pressure dissipating— his thumb smoothing over the sore patch while he tries to decide what the fuck he should do with her.    

[ungravity12]

hidden 5

outlaw!rafe x pogue!reader

c/w: mentions of murder & violence, barry making an appearance, closure on the hostage/stockholm syndrome situation, slightly suggestive, 18+ mdni!

wc: 3.3k

sooo this is the actual last part! (might write some blurbs for them at some point idk) thanks for reading love u <3

also him getting jealous was inspired by this ask

series masterlist

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Consciousness drags her out of the comfort of her slumber, forcing her to blink her leaden eyelids open to Rafe’s heavy and very much naked body weighing her down against the couch cushions.

She can feel his chest expanding with each lethargic inhale he takes and she’s momentarily disconcerted while her entangled thoughts desperately try to make sense of her current situation.

However, all too soon, the memories of last night cause her to let out a tired groan. What on earth was she thinking? Why would she let Rafe of all people fuck her? And more than once. She can’t even recall how many times she— 

Suddenly, she’s reminded of the reason she stirred from her state of dormancy in the first place when she feels Rafe’s sturdy abdomen pressing down on her bladder. 

“Ugh,” she lets the back of her head hit the armrest before trying to pry him off, albeit to no avail. “Rafe? Can you...” she shoves at his shoulder once more. However, he merely takes in another sleepy breath.  

“Rafe, wake up,” she tries again, this time pushing at his face that’s resting comfortably in the crook of her neck, which causes him to let out a drowsy hum before he’s pasting a palm over her lips to make her go quiet. 

“Shh.” he silences her and she feels like slapping him because she’s about to pee on her couch and he’s hushing her.

Therefore, she has no choice but to wrap her fingers around his limp wrist and yank it away from her mouth with a huff. “I need to pee, can you get off me, please?”  

He lets out a dozy grunt before groggily raising his head to look at her—squinting due to the daffodil-colored rays of sunshine peeking from the windows and appearing just as foggy as her a few minutes ago. Then, he rubs a hand over his face while mumbling something incoherent under his breath before finally removing his limbs from restraining her capability to move.  

She merely mutters a quick thank you before getting up and scurrying off to the bathroom—hearing him slump back down immediately after.  

- - - - - - - - - - -

After rinsing off the stickiness of last night in the steaming shower and changing into something comfortable, she realizes she’s starving. Hunger is eating away at her insides and along with the graphic recollections of her and Rafe’s late-night activities vividly jumping around her skull, she can already feel a headache lurking around the corner. 

She’s in the process of cracking eggs on a pan when she hears Rafe entering the shower—the pitter patter of water droplets hitting the tiled floor following soon after. She then begins to cut up some tomatoes to add into the mixture, when all of a sudden, the doorbell rings.  

She doesn’t think Rafe hears it since the water is still running in the bathroom, which is why she’s not entirely sure what she’s supposed to do. She figures that if it’s the police again, it would seem suspicious if it took her longer than normal to open it twice in a row now. Therefore, she turns off the stove and takes tentative steps towards the door.  

Fleetingly, she wonders if she should simply act as if no one’s home since opening doors for strangers was what got her into this mess in the first place. However, at this point she doesn’t necessarily have the mental capacity to care.

She gingerly unlocks the door with her lip worried between her teeth and behind it, stands a guy with dark hair and eyes as brown as coffee beans. 

“Where’s Rafe?”

And he doesn’t seem like a cop. But wouldn’t Rafe have told her if he was expecting someone?  

“I don’t…I don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s, um, he’s not here,” she decides to play it safe, the lie clumsily rolling off her tongue. She can tell he’s not buying it. 

“You sure? You, uh, you tellin’ me he gave me the wrong address then?” he wonders with a lazy furrow of his brows.  

“Um, I don’t—” 

“Told you to call before you get here Barry,” Rafe’s low rumble suddenly interrupts her—making a shiver trickle down her spine because him being right behind her, freshly showered, reminds her a little too much of his first night here.  

“Country club! Was sure they got your ass already, good to see you not in jail,” Barry exclaims loudly and takes the liberty of inviting himself in as if her home has turned into a public building free for anyone to just come and go as they please. At least he had the courtesy to close the door.

He greets Rafe with a heartfelt pat on the back and she’s momentarily stunned when Rafe’s mouth twists into a smile that would be considered warm and genuine; something she’s never had the luxury of receiving. 

“Why you didn’t tell me you were stayin’ with a princess?” Barry pushes at his chest playfully. 

“Leave her alone, man,” Rafe rolls his eyes in annoyance.  

“I didn’t do nothin’ just stating the obvious here,” Barry raises his hands up in defense and the unexpected compliment makes her suppress a smile. 

“Whatever, jus’ get your ass here, I need your help,” Rafe grumbles while walking towards her bedroom—not even asking if they can go there because why would he? 

“Ain’t nothin’ new about that,” Barry chuckles, revealing a golden tooth that glints under the light when he grins at her. And the familiarity in which they interact makes her figure they’ve known each other for a long time.

“We have to, uh, talk about some shit. So, go do somethin’ else, yeah?” Rafe looks over his shoulder at her.

“Right, um, okay,” she mumbles before turning around to return to the safety of her kitchen.  

“Damn, Rafe. That how you talk to her even though she’s lettin’ you hide here?” Barry questions as he follows after him. 

“Shit, man, can you just— let’s jus’ get this over with, alright? Don’t have all day,” Rafe merely mutters in response. 

“Well someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed, huh?” Barry’s humorous tone is the last thing she hears before the door closes—leaving her to continue preparing her breakfast with a weary sigh.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

A few days later, she hears Rafe’s voice from the living room while she’s thoughtlessly reorganizing her closet; folding shirts and pants and taking out clothes she no longer wears, since he still doesn’t allow for her to leave the house without him. 

“Hey, come watch this for a second?” his tone sounds almost excited when she pads over to stand next to him before looking over to him for an explanation. However, he merely nods towards the television screen and turns the volume higher.  

“And then onto some more interesting news. The charges for Rafe Cameron, owner of Cameron Development, have been dropped due to no significant evidence found to prove him guilty. However, the investigation is still open and the police are doing everything they can in order to find the criminal behind the devastating murder that has shaken up the entire island for weeks now. In order to ensure everyone’s safety, we hope that you keep your eyes open for anything out of the ordinary and…” 

Everything after that turns into muffled background noise when her jaw drops.

“You’re lookin’ at a free man, puppy,” he turns to face her with a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“How did you even…” she’s momentarily stunned, words withering away while she blinks up at him in surprise. 

“Don’t want you t’worry about it, alright?” he’s quick to dismiss her before clicking off the TV. 

“I’m, uh, happy for you…even though you did kill the guy and—” 

“Already told you, he wasn’t a good person ‘n an even shittier cop, remember? And m’gonna need you to never mention that shit again, you think you can do that?” he turns serious all of a sudden; looking into her eyes with a warning.  

“Y— yes,” her voice falters when he steps closer.   

“Cause if you can’t, I’m gon’ have to do somethin’ you won’t like, you understand?” he gazes at her with such intensity, she can’t do anything but nod with tense shoulders.  

“You sure? Cause you’re kinda my only loose end here ‘n we wouldn’t want anythin’ to happen to you, now would we?” his tall frame hovers over her when he leans down to mutter out the words, causing her to flinch.  

“No, I promise. M’not gonna say anything,” she squeaks out and means it.  

Who would even believe her? After all, she doesn’t have any actual proof and even if she did, she thinks Rafe could easily just pay himself out of it—and she’s not particularly keen on finding out how far he’s willing to take his vengeance.  

“Good,” he seems to relax some but a sense of dread washes over her anyway.  

“But what if…someone threatens me or something?”

“Tha’s not gonna happen. You always worry so much, just chill out for a bit, yeah?” he shrugs it off with an air of indifference she wishes she could possess.

“But it’s a possibility. How do you know someone didn’t see us together when people were looking for you?” she asks with caution.

“Listen, if someone threatens you…you come to me ‘n I’ll fuckin’ kill them for you, okay?” he says with complete seriousness.  

“What? No! That’s not what I meant at all. I don’t want you to—” 

However, she’s interrupted by amused laughter bubbling from his chest. “M’joking. Stop being an annoyin’ pogue for one second, yeah? Think we should go out for dinner, hm? Let me, uh, thank you for your hospitality ‘n shit,” he says, smoothing a palm over his buzzed hair. 

“Like at a restaurant? You and me?” at the notion of them spending time together outside all this, confusion tangles up her thoughts—making her forget all about her previous concerns.  

“You’re so fuckin’ weird. Yes, you ‘n me. Who else? Can get whatever expensive shit you want too, how’s that sound?” he coaxes her to agree with the mellow tone he adds.

“Um, okay…sounds great?” she can’t really grasp onto his motives in the headspace she’s currently in, merely assumes he wants to be on her good side so she wouldn’t change her mind about opening her mouth.  

“Great. Need to, uh, take care of some things over at Figure Eight first, but be ready at seven,” he almost makes it sound like a threat, even if he’s not trying to scare her with a gun anymore.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

She doesn’t think she’s ever been at a restaurant this high-end, everything on the menu more than she could ever afford. Rafe practically demands her to not pay attention to the price and get anything she wants, however, it’s proving to be quite challenging while she scans over the list of dishes in front of her.

“You ready?” he asks with a hint of impatience.

“No, I can’t decide. There’s so many options and I don’t even know what half of them mean,” she mumbles out in distress. 

“I’ll just, uh, order for you, yeah?” he suggests with a raise of his brows.

“Okay, thanks,” she graces him with a grateful smile, feeling out of place with rich Kooks all around nearly suffocating her.  

Being here with Rafe, of all people, still feels strange. Not even a day ago, she was still practically held captive by him, even if the leash of his strict rules around her throat had loosened up considerably, and his overly aggressive tendencies had dwindled down to grumpy mutters and displeased glares over the course of the few weeks they’d known each other. Now, she’s only bound to him by this muddy, grimy secret that she’ll probably take down to her grave.  

And despite everything he’s done to her, in some peculiar way, she’s beginning to understand him. Because against all her morals, in a killer, someone who other people would consider a monster, she sees someone simply trying to survive in the harsh world with the crumpled cards life has dealt with him. And she isn’t all too sure how far her feelings of care towards the man branch out but what she does know, is that she doesn’t want him to go to prison. No matter what he’s done. 

And she’s never even met Rafe’s father, but she has this feeling that to be so violent and hostile, has to be learned from someone. Because no one is born evil, even if she wouldn’t necessarily describe him as that. In Rafe, she sees a boy who was forced to grow up too quick—someone with the burden of his father’s legacy weighing down on his shoulders with every breath he takes. Therefore, she can’t find it in herself to be entirely too upset with him for the way he treated her, thinks she can live with it, even if it was wrong.

“Are you guys ready to order?” the server’s voice pulls her out of her thoughts and makes her look up at a familiar face slightly covered by sand-colored curls.  

“Y/N? Long time no talk! How you doing?” Lucas, a guy she had a fling with last year meets her eyes with his surprised ones. 

“Oh, hi. I’m good. What a crazy coincidence, didn’t even know you worked here,” she forces out a strained laugh because had she known, she would’ve asked Rafe to pick another place.

“Actually, just started a few weeks ago. But since when do you eat on this side of the island?” he gives her a curious look.  

“I don’t. Just a…special occasion and stuff,“ she steals a glance at Rafe who’s quietly observing their interaction with narrowed eyes.  

And him talking to her right now feels entirely too humiliating because when she told Rafe about him, she assumed the two of them would never meet.  

“Right…anyway, haven’t seen you at the surf shop in a while, you still work there or?” Lucas continues with an enthusiasm she can’t quite reciprocate.  

It’s not like they ended up on bad terms—they weren’t even officially together to begin with—she just sort of withdrew from him because despite being an overall nice guy, she kept feeling like there was something missing.

“Yeah, yeah, I do, just had a little, um…family emergency and it was this whole thing, you don’t even wanna know the details,” she lies through her teeth, picking at the corner of her napkin as a distraction.

“I’m so sorry to hear that. Is everything okay now?” his jade eyes are sympathetic as he peers down at her.  

“Yes, everything’s good. Think I’ll be able to return next Monday,” she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and tries to appear nonchalant.  

“Cool…hey, I was actually wondering if you’d wanna catch up some time?” he scratches at the back of his head; seemingly nervous about her answer. 

She blinks. “Oh, um—” 

“You gon’ take our orders at some point or jus’ flirt with her for the next hour?” Rafe invites himself into the conversation with a scoff, tilting his head in intrigue.  

And at that, Lucas finally turns towards him. “Wait a second, weren’t you just suspected for murder?” he asks with slightly wide eyes.  

“Nah, they dropped the charges cause they were tweaking, I didn’t do shit,” Rafe huffs out, the lie rolling off his tongue far too easily.  

“Oh, right, right. That must, um, suck.”

“Yeah, yeah, it does,” Rafe mutters, and him clearly trying to fight off a roll of his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed by her, even if she’s not entirely sure why his mood has suddenly turned sour.  

Lucas is quick to fill in the silence that follows. “Right, so, what would you two like to eat?”

And after he’s left with their orders, Rafe turns to look at her with an annoying smirk crossing his features. “That the guy who couldn’t make you come?” 

“Rafe! He can still hear you,” she hisses and looks over her shoulder; relieved to discover he’s already out of earshot.  

“Don’t really care. That shit’s just embarrassin’ for him. What’d you see in him anyway? Seems like an ass,” he furrows his brows at her.  

“You’re talking as if you’re any better?”  

“At least made you come, no? Multiple times, may I add. Or you need a reminder?” he nudges her foot under the table—the self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face making her subtly kick him back. However, he merely wraps his fingers around her ankle, ceasing her futile attempt at bruising his leg with a chuckle. “You seriously jus’ tried to kick me? Didn’t seem to be complainin’ when you were beggin’ me to—”  

“Rafe! Why are you talking so loud?” she whines, trying to release her foot from where he’s captured it. However, his grip is strong and she’s not getting free until he decides she is.  

“Calm down, no one here cares. You pogues never know how to relax, do you?” 

“I am relaxed!” 

“Yeah, I can see that,” he taunts before finally letting her go.  

- - - - - - - - - - - -

“Can I ask you something?” she swallows something akin to sand in her throat—disrupting the sound of the silverware clinking against the ceramic plates while they fill up their bellies.  

“Yeah?” his eyes flicker over to meet hers. 

“After this, um, are we just gonna go back to our sides of the island and never talk again?”

“Tha’s what you want?” he raises his brows and she blinks; slightly taken aback by him not immediately answering with a yes.  

“Um, I don’t…know. What would we even do?” she takes a sip of water to appear indifferent. However, she’s failing miserably. 

“I mean, could think of a couple of things…” he trails off with a smug grin, causing her to huff out a soft laugh. 

“Thought you didn’t hang out with pogues?” she narrows her eyes, trying to figure out if he’s even taking this seriously. 

“Yeah, well, guess I could make an exception. After all, you did help a kook, so you’re not really a pogue anymore, are you?”  

“Okay first of all, that makes zero sense and I only helped you, cause you were gonna kill me,” she states, lowering her tone towards the end.  

“Stop saying that shit,” he hisses, looking around to ensure no one heard her. “Wasn’t gonna kill you, jus’ needed you to listen, alright?”  

“Well, you could’ve been a bit more polite about it,” she rests her elbows on the table, tone accusatory.  

“Listen, m’sorry, okay? That what you want me to say? A lot was goin’ on ‘n I wasn’t thinkin’ clearly. Sometimes it’s, uh, hard for me to control my anger ‘n shit,” he mutters out the last part, as if it’s difficult for him to admit.

“Yeah, I figured,” she’s smiling now, her attempt at making him feel guilty going down the drain because him trying to defend his behavior for once, is sort of entertaining. 

A scowl covers his face at the realization that she’s merely trying to make him sweat for her own enjoyment. “You know, I still think I should’ve picked another house,” he grants her a lighthearted glare.  

“Yeah, me too,” she nods in agreement.  

And at the sight of her barely contained grin, he can’t stop his mouth from curling up as well—both of them quietly giggling at the entirely too bizarre of a situation, that for some reason, feels far too much like a first date. It’s almost as if they’re meeting for the first time all over again.

[ungravity12]

hidden 4

outlaw!rafe x pogue!reader

c/w: hostage/stockholm syndrome situation, mentions of murder & violence, a surprise in the grocery store, smut: dubcon, fingering, p-in-v, size kink, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2.6k

it’s here! (one more part left!!) hope u enjoy xx

series masterlist

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“A picture provided by a passer-by has led us to believe that Rafe Cameron, the suspect for the murder of a police officer is still on the island and has possibly been in contact with the witness who now wants to withdraw his statement, not wanting to testify in court due to personal reasons. However, the investigation is still ongoing and Cameron remains the main suspect, which means that if you have any information about his whereabouts, please do not hesitate—” 

Rafe twists the car radio off with a scoff.  

“The fuck they’re gonna do with a blurry photo? Unless they find another witness or some real proof, they don’t have shit on me,” he mutters more to himself than her as he yanks open the door and lets it slam closed—leaving her to scramble after his exasperated steps through the grocery store parking lot.  

She doesn’t know how Rafe managed to discover the name of the witness or why a few days ago she sat in his truck parked outside the poor guy’s home keeping watch, but at this point, she’s decided that the universe simply must have something against her peace of mind.  

When she asked him about his visit, he simply shrugged it off with a ‘don’t worry ‘bout it, just had a little talk with him’ which honestly made unease settle into the bottom of her stomach because it was most definitely not the entire truth. Therefore, for the following days, she tried her very best to avoid his intimidating presence as to not give him a reason to get mad at her while he made several phone calls and ‘took care of business’.

However, acting as if he wasn’t there wasn’t the easiest task since her house, despite the cozy atmosphere (before Rafe), wasn’t very grand. Whenever she’d try to find sleep in her soft sheets, his heavy presence in the next room would send a shiver up her spine and erase any prospects of getting any actual rest. And when she’d try to cook dinner, he’d be looming way too close for comfort and make her accidentally drop a plate on the floor. Therefore, she’s not exactly feeling her best. 

As they step through the sliding doors, Rafe is hiding behind black sunglasses and an old baseball cap he borrowed (stole) from her; trying to keep a low profile and appear as ordinary as any casual customer shopping for essentials since he’s practically emptied her fridge at this point. 

“Do you want red or green grapes?” she inquires as she peers down at the fruit. 

“Don’t really give a shit. Jus’ get both,” he grumbles out, seemingly all too aware of his surroundings—antsy to get out of the store already. 

“That’s not very helpful,” she complains quietly, deciding on the green ones before pushing the shopping cart forward with Rafe close behind.  

And she’s all too preoccupied with picking out what she wants for breakfast when all of a sudden, he grabs her face in his big palms and presses his lips against hers.  

It causes her to let out a surprised noise that gets swallowed up by him as he slots their mouths together—her entire body tensing up in response to him pushing her against the shelves that display different types of bagels. 

Momentarily, she’s disconcerted, doesn’t remember the last time she’s been kissed like this; all rough and inconsiderate. And maybe that’s why she’s beginning to feel light-headed—every coherent thought wiped away because him kissing her makes absolutely no sense. Therefore, she doesn’t even realize she’s reciprocating the kiss before her distracted mind stirs awake and soon enough, she’s pulling away with creased brows. 

“What the—”  

However, she’s interrupted by the hollow of his hand plastering over her mouth.  

“Shut up,” he hisses lowly, eyes alarmed and shoulders tense.  

And she’s about to protest before he nods towards a couple of officers a few feet away from them, apparently having just passed them. They’re strolling through the aisle leisurely, chatting freely and not paying them any mind because why would they do anything except roll their eyes at a lovey-dovey couple making out next to the organic whole wheat toast?  

Oh. She can’t believe she didn’t notice them—coming to the conclusion that if she was the one running from the cops, she wouldn’t last a day. Before her brain has the chance to catch up and command her to scream for help though, she feels the barrel of his gun poking at her chest, forcing the desperate pleads to die out on her tongue.  

She stares into threatening larimar and blinks—far too frightened to even inhale too loud. Neither of them move until the policemen have rounded the corner, leaving her and Rafe the only people standing in the bread aisle. 

And he doesn’t think too much of the kiss, simply a means for him to stay under the radar. However, her head turns into a blank piece of paper, not able to say a word until they’re walking the grass-covered steps to her threshold.

“Why would you do that?” she’s fuming while he locks the front door. 

“Was just tryin’ not to blow my cover, calm down,” he grumbles, setting down the grocery bags.  

“By kissing me?” she snaps in exasperation.  

“Yeah, well there wasn’t exactly time to think about anythin’ else,” he seems so nonchalant about all of this, as if he doesn’t care one bit. And she figures he doesn’t because it seems that for him it’s the most tedious thing in the world to consider other people’s feelings for even one second.  

Maybe she didn’t want him to kiss her, of all things—didn’t want him to make the muddy thoughts brewing beneath the surface of her sanity any louder than they already were. Because despite how hard she’s trying to convince herself that him shoving her around and walking around her house as if he owns it doesn’t affect her, it wouldn’t change the fact that something about his dominating presence is slowly but surely making her grow curious.  

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she drops her keys to the ceramic bowl in the hallway before walking towards the living room—wanting to put as much distance between them as possible in order to have some space to think.  

“I mean, s’not like you seemed to mind too much, you kissed me back, remember?” he points out, his heavy footsteps following her.  

“I was just…in shock, okay?” she turns around, voice loud and frustrated. 

“Don’t fuckin’ raise your voice at me,” he warns her, low and gravelly, making her shiver.  

“And if you were just in shock, then why are you blushing right now, hm?” he takes a step closer, too close. 

“I’m— I’m not blushing,” she tries to deny.

“You’re a shit liar, you know that?” he chuckles, seemingly amused. “Bet you liked me kissin’ you, hm? Just bein’ too much of a stubborn bitch to admit that.”  

Her dumbfounded eyes stare at him in silence because she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say to that.  

“Usually not into whiny pups but should just fuck some sense into you so you’d wipe that stupid pout off your face, yeah?” he chuckles, looking at her with something devilish glimmering in the aquamarine of his eyes.  

“You’re a fucking psycho!” the accusation escapes her before she has the chance to stop it. She regrets it immediately when he harshly grabs her jaw between rough fingertips—mushing her cheeks together and making her teeth bite into the gummy walls of her mouth.  

“What did you just call me?”    

“Didn’t— didn’t mean to, m’sorry,” her frightened eyes widen.  

“Yeah? You’re sorry?” he dryly laughs in her face, finding entertainment in her torment. She’s about to apologize again when he speaks up once more. “You, uh, you gon’ make it up to me then?” 

The words refuse to form in her mouth.

“Cause you know what I think? I think this fuckin’ psycho orderin’ you around like a puppy gets you wet, huh? You don’t think I’ve seen the way you look at me?” he finally lets go of her jaw, tall frame towering over her. 

“I—what’re you…” she’s unable to move, trepidation creeping up her spine along with an odd form of intrigue making her respiration grow labored because he’s not exactly wrong.  

“Should we check?” he raises his brows.

“What— what are you doing?” she tries to take a hesitant step back, albeit uselessly when her back bumps against the wall. 

“That’s not a no,” he tilts his head, mocking her. And then he’s pushing his hand into her pants, past the waistband of her panties and feeling her out—fingertips finding the stickiness already there, causing her to let out a surprised gasp at the sudden pressure.

“Huh, look at that. Should’ve known you were a horny fuckin’ bitch when I first saw those stupid fake scared eyes, talking ’bout some ‘Rafe m’sorry please don’t hurt me I’ll do anything’ shit,” he raises his pitch to an overly girlish squeak, meant to patronize her—yet somehow, she can’t contain the whimper when he swipes a thumb over her clit.  

“Bet you’d like that though, wouldn’t you? If I hurt you, roughed you up a little, hm?” his heady breaths tickle her lips and it kindles a blaze deep in her tummy—arousing something novel, strange, unfamiliar. 

“Rafe…” she manages out, head spinning.  

“Tha’s right, say my fuckin’ name,” he’s chuckling as a digit slips down to prod at her opening before slowly pushing in—causing a faint whine to leave the gaps of her teeth. 

“So fuckin’ tight—been a while, huh? Not gonna lie been a while for me too…with all this shit with the cops haven’t exactly had the time to get my cock wet, you know? S’getting a bit frustrating, if m’being honest,” he rumbles mindlessly, too lost in inspecting her reactions to his fingers playing with her cunt to care about what he’s saying.  

She doesn’t respond—doesn’t think she’s physically able to when his thumbs over her swollen clit, leaving her dazed because she knows this is wrong, it’s so wrong yet she can’t deny how good it feels to have him touch her like this.  

“Now that m’thinkin’ about it, don’t think I’ve tried pogue pussy before, you wanna help with that?” his low drawl is nearly hypnotizing—turning her morals more and more hazy by the second before they evaporate into the tension-filled air surrounding them.  

“Rafe…I don’t—” 

“You’re soaked. When’s the last time you got fucked good?” he interrupts her.  

“I don’t...remember,” she mumbles out.  

“Don’t remember? Shit, puppy, no wonder you’re so wound up,” there’s a condescending lilt to his pity, making her whine when he drags his finger out before nudging it back in.  

“The guy I was with wasn’t, um, the best so…didn’t really wanna do it again and stuff,” she timidly admits.  

“You lettin’ a guy who can’t make you come between your legs? Such a shame, but not really surprised those pogue boys don’t know how to fuck—I’ll take care of it though, make you feel good, yeah?” his breathy promises try to coax her to give in. 

“Rafe, I don’t know…”  

“Listen, m’just sayin’…m’probably gonna be here for some time until everythin’ settles ‘n we gotta kill the time somehow, no?”  

“But this is wrong, you—you threatened to kill me,” she reminds him and herself with the remnants of her determination.  

“Yeah, yeah, that wasn’t very…nice, was it? But don’t act like you don’t want this. All m’sayin’ is that you’re the one dripping down my hand right now ‘n really, I’d be doin’ you a favor,” his crooked logic goes unnoticed by her when she slowly blinks up at him. 

“We really shouldn’t—” she’s interrupted by another digit squeezing into her achy cunt, making her moan out at the sudden stretch. 

“Don’t worry your little head over what we should ‘n shouldn’t do, alright? If you’re worried what your pathetic pogue friends might think, I don’t kiss ‘n tell. Can be our little secret, yeah?”

“Rafe, I don’t think we should…” she tries again. 

“Shh. What did I just tell you, hm?” he hushes her with the expanse of his palm pressing against her clit, making her suppress another whimper.  

“Promise to go slow?” she asks without a clue as to why she’s not trying to prevent this. What’s wrong with her?

“Of course,” his conformation doesn’t sound all too veracious when something hungry glints in his eyes.  

“You gon’ let a kook show you what you’re missin’ hm?” he rumbles before he’s pushing her onto the couch and following soon after—mouth sloppy as it molds over her own and tongue warm when it intrudes her mouth, before quick fingers fumble with his belt until he’s tugging on the zipper of his pants, making her eyes flicker down when he takes himself out. 

“You’re so big,” her rounded eyes stare at his cock, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip when she notices how it twitches in his hand in response.  

“Shit, you think it’ll fit?” he wonders out loud before he’s grabbing her hips and dragging her closer with strong arms. 

“I don’t know…” she trails off when he pulls down her shorts by the belt loops before the drippy tip is nudging at her entrance. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it fit,” he murmurs, and then he’s tucking himself right into her weepy cunt.

She cries out at the overwhelming stretch as she tries to accommodate to his size—thankful he’s not pushing all the way in yet because she already feels so full she’s not sure how she’s supposed to take any more of him.  

“Fuck, you really are a tight little thing, huh? Relax, yeah?” he grunts before his mouth meets her neck, pasting wet kisses and letting the flat of his tongue lave over the sensitive skin there in an attempt to loosen her up. Then, he’s moving lower while his fingers pluck at the straps of her flimsy top—letting her tits out and taking a puffy nipple between his lips.

“Rafe…” 

“What? You want more?” there’s almost a primal urge in the way he pushes in deeper—forcing a loud noise to tumble from the back of her throat when he begins to fill her up to the hilt. 

“There you go, takin’ it like a good fuckin’ puppy, yeah?” he groans against her neck when her nails sink into his back, scratching downwards, sure to leave marks. Then he’s flipping her over onto her stomach with one swift movement before pushing all the way in once more—fitting snugly inside while her walls flutter around him. 

Because of the new angle, his cock is now poking at her insides as he shoves her face into the couch cushions with each jostle of his hips. And he’s not gentle, she’s not even sure he knows what the word means as he keeps stuffing her full over and over again—making her see stars when she can almost feel her orgasm on the tips of her fingers. She feels so good she thinks she’s going to pass out. 

“Such a dirty bitch, aren’t ya? Lettin’ a complete stranger fuck you like this in your own house?” a low chuckle rumbles from his chest as he keeps nudging at the spongy spot inside her while her loud moans echo around the room.

“Should stay here for longer, yeah? Jus’ fuck this tight little cunt whenever I get bored, hm?” he pants, mouthing at her neck while his thrusts begin to grow lazy.

And she has half the mind to agree.

[ungravity12]

18+

A/N: Just a little blurb to kickstart my writing for this character off ;)

Pairings: Eric x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, vaginal fingering, NSFW.

He’s always like this with you. Gentle, clarifying your wants and desires without words — your consent. That’s never changed, even when the silence has to begin again, when no one knows how safe this island can be. There’s a stillness to your candlelit nights - this one being no different. It’s been a few weeks since you’ve settled into your small tent, most residences being established for those that have come a new.

But having a skylight zip in the roof of your tent and a relatively soft mattress, knowing you’ll have fresh water and food, light conversation in the mornings, a sunrise above water, and a makeshift family — you consider yourself amongst heavenly luck.

With Frodo out frolicking tonight with your neighbor’s cat Prudence, it leaves you and Eric alone in the tent for an hour. He’s been reading his book by the candle light, alternating between drawing his fingers down the wooden sconce, to staring at you through hooded, enriching pools of chocolate. All of this is still new, your two year long online relationship, various letters and video chats, with the arrangement to meet in New York in person, only to receive a text that sounded like a goodbye, hours after landing, but then the invasion happened and you had zero time to look for him, assuming the worst, to ultimately meeting again on the boat. He still looks at you as if he’s known you his whole life, in person. With newly shared trauma, to old shared conditions - you’re honestly not sure you’d be sane right now.

Tap. Tap.

A warm hand pinches the skin of your calve. It causes you to look up from your mindless doodling. He’s got that little soft smile, the flame of the candle dancing in the blown expanse of his pupils. His brows pinch together, his curls drooping over his forehead as he nods for a confirmation in his request. He comes closer and your agreement, knees rustling the sheets and the comforter.

He props himself beside you, one hand cupping your jaw, bringing you in to nuzzle your nose. With the exception of fires crackling, crickets chirping, some residents still up, and the distant sound of the water lapping at the shoreline — all remains a comfortable kind of tranquil. You feel his mouth on your jawline first, fingers tilting you to maintain direction. You push your book aside, listening to the light smacks of his lips as he sucks in the flesh of your neck, lightly biting down, only to release and soothe. His spare hand, it finds its way up your nightdress, resting on your knees, kneading, rolling his palm, until it splays, his dipping fingers tapping your skin.

He pulls away from the divide between your neck and shoulder, mouth red and panting, licking his teeth as his hand leaves your land and his pointer and middle finger make a spreading motion. Your heart drops into your guts, entangled and stifling the air in your lungs. You can’t tug your panties down fast enough, sliding against his chest, taking his own stubble bitten chin into your grip for a kiss as he lets his hand cup your heat, a groan slipping into your mouth. It gets harder to cover when you feel him press at your entrance, teasing the muscle, getting you so worked up that you have to stare him down with your pleading eyes that he’s so fond of. You take two digits with ease, rocking your hips, taking what you need from him, letting him spoil you.

It’s a lewd sound, one that someone couldn’t miss if they were to pass your tent. Eric’s breaths are coming out choppy across your lips, his lap swollen with need. But sometimes, it’s about giving you pleasure that gets him off the most. And you, you’re sure every creature across the world can hear how fast your heart is beating. Your body zoned out, only honing in on Eric, facing him as you near your climax.

It’s going to be strong, you both know it. He sees through his haze enough to cup your mouth with his spare hand as you tighten around his fingers, crying into his rapid pulse, that is buried beneath his wrist. You’re trembling, whimpering, and it attacks that aching fire in his belly, licking, and causes him lower his face into your jugular, warmth spurting from between his thighs and into his boxers. You hold one another through it, smiling against a sweaty daze, and he kisses you again, one finger dropping to write I Love You inside of your wrist.

[ungravity12]

how i imagine brother's best friend!eddie

warnings: this is 18+, mdni, reader and eddie are 18+, eddie's a perv, flirting, insane antics, kissing, butt squeezin', dirty talk, fondling. no smut. yet (; let me know if you guys want more! tehe

When your brother joined Hellfire Club, you vividly remember telling him he was the biggest weirdo in town, right next to Eddie Munson, the leader of the club. 

You had graduated a year before and you were familiar with Eddie and his antics. He was supposed to graduate with you but too many absences and tardies did not allow it. Plus he was just horrible at school.

Now your younger brother hangs out with him every time he had free time. Which included having him bring Eddie over to your house.

You would see him in passing, when you were heading to your late shift at the local diner, giving him a half smirk and a simple “hello”. 

Eddie was good at checking you out and making it obvious, which to you, was weird to do in front of your brother. 

Lucky for you, your brother was oblivious and idolized the super senior, not noticing his passes at you.

One night, you get home late from work and him and Eddie have the rest of Hellfire in your den. They are all loud and carrying on, so when you walk down there, demanding to know where your parents are, your brother tells you that they had to go to Indianapolis to check on your grandma at her old folk’s home and wouldn’t be home until tomorrow evening. 

Eddie’s eyes would twinkle up at you, dazed from the handle of vodka they are all sharing. “Yeah, don’t worry sweetheart, we will make sure the house is nice and secure just in time for your bed time.” You would walk over to him, snatching the handle of vodka out of his hand. “Are you getting my 17 year old brother drunk, you asshole?” “He’s a big boy, he can handle himself. No need to play Mommy tonight, sweetheart.” “I’d bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Munson?”

His face drops as all his friends hoot and holler at him, smacking his back and clowning him. He doesn’t peel his eyes away from you, smirking like a proud father. 

With that, you would hand another one of the boys the handle and walk upstairs, freeing yourself of the responsibility. You go up to your room, stripping off your work clothes, wanting to get the smell of grease off your body and hair. 

You walk to your bathroom, wash yourself clean, and then wrap yourself in a towel. You slowly creep out of the room, not looking both ways in the hallway, totally forgetting your brother’s friends could be around any corner. 

And guess who is?

“Got all clean for me, sweetheart?”

Your skin literally crawls hearing his voice, deep and husky right beside you. You grip onto the hem of the towel, making sure it doesn’t come open. 

“No, I smelled like french fries and a side of sweat. Needed to shower before I got in bed.” You side step him, heading straight for your bedroom at the end of the hallway.  “Your brother told me I could stay tonight. Is that okay with you?” “I don’t care, just don’t keep me awake.” You reach for your door handle, trying to get away from the guy. “Damn, and here I had some ideas on how I could.”

You roll your eyes, not responding. You go to your room, the word gross rattling around your head.

After settling in your pajamas, you unfortunately realize need to refill your water bottle downstairs, so you have to face Eddie and your brother’s other friends. Again.

You ran hot at night, so you were only wearing a loose black tank top and flannel pajama shorts from a matching set you got in middle school. 

When you get to the kitchen, no one is there. You still here commotion coming from the den, assuming all of the guys were settling in for the night. 

You are filling up your bottle when you hear footsteps creeping up behind you. And there he fuckin’ is again.

“We gotta stop running into each other like this, baby doll.” “You’re disgusting.” “And your shorts are dangerously short.”

You narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms over your chest. He matches you stance, almost mocking you for being annoyed. 

Maybe it was the alcohol emanating off him, but you feel buzzed being in his presence. He lights a weird fire within you.  Maybe it’s because you need to sleep.

He scans you again, his glassy eyes and flushed cheeks making you think about how you could easily shove him and make him lose his balance. 

But instead, you step towards him, your head tilted in defiance. He’s not expecting you to step up on him like that. 

You groan, rolling your eyes. “What are you even doing up here?” “I hear you, I come up. Simple.” He smiles, his eyes stuck on your legs. “Why?” He finally looks up at you, a shit eating grin plastered across his face,“I told you I had some ideas. Hoping I could run them by you.” “Why would I ever entertain that?” You scoff, even though you were kind of curious. “Because you haven’t told me to fuck off yet.” You dramatically roll your eyes, “Calling you disgusting was kinda doin’ that, Eddie.” “Say the words, then.” “What?” “Tell me to fuck off.”

It’s a stand off. You’re mind is telling you to scream it in his face and dump your entirely full water bottle over his head. 

But your body, mainly your weirdly soaked panties, are telling you to hold your ground. See where this could go. Eddie was hot. And yeah, you’ve heard he has a big dick. And you have also heard he knows how to use it. 

“Nothing? You wanna hear my ideas, then?”

You look at the door that opens to the den. 

“Go show face for a bit downstairs and then come knock on my door when everyone is asleep.”

Eddie couldn’t smile wider. He just nods, letting you brush past him and go up the stairs to your bedroom. You wait for about 20 minutes, your eyes getting heavy with sleep. The knock comes abruptly, rattling your body back to life. 

You slowly creep over to the door, opening it slowly, but Eddie’s pushing into your room like a cop raiding a drug den. Something he must be familiar with. 

He’s immediately on you, his large hand grabbing at your waist as he presses his lips into yours. You’ve never been kissed so hurriedly. His lips are plump and perfectly slot in with yours. His hands are grabbing at you so intensely, you realize how lost you were in the moment when his fingers pinch your ass. 

You push him away, dramatically throwing him back off you. 

“Are you fuckin’ insane?!” “You seemed to like it.” “Is this one of your ideas?”

He sneers, shaking his head as he wiped his lips with the back of his heavily ringed fingers.

“You and that mouth.”

You roll your eyes, unsure of how to respond to that.  But he’s looking at you like you’re his next meal, his eyes dilated, his hands ticking at his sides. You scan him as he takes a large step towards you, his thumb grazing your bottom lip. His head tilts, his curls scattering across his forehead.

“Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” “Stop with the nicknames.”

He steps even closer towards you, menacingly. His demeanor is so different when you two are alone. You are his prey, and he wants to pounce.

“I’m gonna call you whatever I want. Especially when my cock is in that mouth of yours. Keepin' those pretty lips wrapped around me instead yappin' all of those smartass remarks.”

His words send the craziest shockwaves to your pussy. You can actively feel your panties get wetter. He can see that his words have an effect on you because your nose wiggles.

You size him up for a moment, pressing your hand to his sides before slowly working towards the front of his body, across his denim jacket and tight black jeans. When your hand stops where his jeans are straining, you smirk. 

“You want my lips here?”

His dominant aura gives way the moment you undo his jean’s button. He is practically whimpering as he looks down at your actions. 

“That’s where they belong,” His voice is still raspy and steady with control. “Who says so?” His smile is so twisted. “Your brother’s best friend.”

It instantly makes you feel guilty. Your brother is literally downstairs, probably hammered and dozing off to some stupid cartoons all the other nerds watch. This was so wrong. 

But for fuck’s sake, Eddie’s clothed cock is in your palm and it’s practically busting out of his zipper. The way he looks down at you, with his lips slightly ajar as his smile fades at the realization that his words throw you off your game. 

“We don’t have to, sweetheart-” “Shut up.”

hiii if you made it here, tell me ur thots. comments, likes, and reblogs are alllwaayyysss welcome. so are asks. feel free to be a menace there.

dividers are @cafekitsune <3333

tagging ppl who wanted this and fwends (hehe love u guys): @amanitacowboy @mediocredreams @layaispunk @pedgito @chaotic-mystery @hockeyhughes

[ungravity12]

we're too young to be lonely (part one)

King!Steve Harrington x reader (18+)

This is a rewrite of a fic I wrote last year that I felt could be improved upon 💖

The King of Hawkins High had made a habit of climbing through your bedroom window every Friday night. His visits started out innocent enough, with you both commiserating about the past week of school and maybe sharing a kiss or two.

As weeks went on, and as both of your crushes grew, sweet kisses turned into steamy makeouts. He would murmur how pretty you were into your neck as he tried not to leave any hickies, though he desperately wanted to.

He wanted everyone to know you were his, but wasn't sure if you wanted to belong to him, outside of your bedroom.

It was a typical Friday night, with you laying in bed, waiting for Steve. The radio hums lowly while the dim light from your bedside lamp illuminates the room. You keep glancing up from the latest issue of Seventeen every few minutes to check the digital display of the clock on your nightstand. He's usually here by now, you think, as you're beginning to think he's not going to show.

If something changed he would've let you know, right? A horrible thought then enters your mind making you wonder if he's lost interest in you and found someone else to spend the night with. You glance at the window again before shaking your head.

After all the nights you spent together, you knew he wouldn't do that to you. At this point, you knew him better than his 'best friends' or anyone else at school did. He was different when he was with you, so sweet and attentive, you almost forgot about his famous persona.

As you wrack your brain for answers, you hear a familiar tapping on your window. You look over and see his silhouette crouching outside the glass.

With a relieved smile, you get up and cross the short distance to let him in.

He greets you with a smile and a soft, "Hi," before he climbs into your room. You feel his arms around your waist as you quietly close the window. You turn, in his arms, to face him, still with a smile on your lips.

"I was starting to think you stood me up," you say, now with a slight pout.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, nuzzling his nose against yours. "My parents came home early so I had to wait til they went to bed to sneak out."

"Oh," you breathe, as he ghosts his lips over yours.

"Did you really think I'd miss a chance to see my best girl?"

You sigh his name, already under his spell in record time.

"I missed you," he whispers before finally kissing you.

You eagerly kiss him back, wanting to make up for all the lost time spent not kissing the cutest boy you'd ever seen.

"I missed you, too," you reply, breathless with your fingers gripping the sleeves of his sweatshirt.

"I can tell," he softly laughs. "Maybe we should extend these visits to more than just one night."

You glance up at him, with a hopeful shimmer in your eyes, that makes him weak.

"You really like me that much?" You ask, earning another soft laugh from him.

"I wouldn't keep coming back if I didn't," he replies, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek. "You're, like, the only real friend I have."

"Is that how you see me, just as a friend?"

His eyes widen in panic as he stumbles through his reply: "No, I mean, at first, yeah, but not now. I like you more than that."

His thumb tenderly brushes your cheek as a goofy smile forms on your lips.

"So you like me like me, then?"

"I thought it was obvious, but yeah, I do," he also smiles, as he leans in to kiss you again.

You sigh his name against his lips as he guides you towards your bed. He smoothly slips off his Nike's before laying you back onto your sheets, all without breaking the kiss. His denim clad thighs press against your bare legs, making you feel extra vulnerable. He subtly spreads your legs with his knee, so he can nestle his hips between them. You gasp into a kiss when he grinds teasingly.

"I guess I don't have to ask if you liked that..." he pants, between kisses. "You wanna feel more of me?"

You nod, while whimpering a soft, "Yes."

"Okay, honey," he smiles, gently taking your hand and placing it between your bodies, against his growing bulge.

"Want you to feel what you do to me..." he breathes, as he nips at the tender skin under your jaw.

You palm him through his jeans before squeezing slightly. He moans into your neck as his hips chase your touch.

Moments like these still feel so surreal to you. Having Steve Harrington in your room was one thing, but touching him like this was something else entirely. Feeling him through denim wasn't enough, you wanted more.

You pull him into another kiss while your hand moves to unbutton his jeans. You feel him shudder when your fingertips graze his skin. You tease him through his briefs at first, before slipping your hand under the waistband. He whines against your lips as he feels your fingers wrap around him.

"Mmm, fuck..." he breathes, while you slowly stroke him. "I've dreamt about this."

"Have you?" You ask, between kisses.

"Yeah, been wanting you to touch me like this," he whispers, desperately trying to keep his voice down. "Its all I can think about most days."

You smile into his kiss, feeling truly desirable for the first time in your life.

"You're all I think about most days," you quietly reveal, before kissing him again, muffling another moan.

He pulls away, and sighs your name, already looking completely wrecked.

"If you keep on, I'm gonna-" he warns, before your hand stills. "And I don't want to yet, not like this."

"What are you...?"

"I wanna go all the way with you," he whispers, gazing into your eyes.

"Steve..." you breathe, his name the easiest thing for your mind to latch onto, as his admission has you reeling.

"Only if you want to," he adds. "I won't make you do anything you don't wanna do."

You notice how he's looking at you, with such sincerity and adoration, it's almost overwhelming.

"I want to," you softly reply, holding his gaze.

He smiles. "Yeah?"

You nod. "Just... not here, not with my parents down the hall..."

"You could always come over to my house," he offers, leaning in close. "My parents should be going out of town again soon and we'd have the place to ourselves."

"I actually have a better idea," you reply, with a smile. "I just remembered mine are going to a dinner party tomorrow night and will most likely be gone for most of the night."

"That is much better," he agrees, his lips brushing yours. "We can have our first, proper date then."

He feels you smile against his lips before you whisper, "Yeah, we can."

He pulls away, for a moment, so he can admire the sight below him.

"I really like this," he compliments, lightly dragging his finger along the collar of your silky pajama top.

"I was hoping you would," you quietly reply, as you watch his eyes darkening.

"Is it okay if I...?" He then asks, his fingers already gripping the top button.

Your eyes meet his as you nod. "I want you to feel more of me, too."

He leans forward again, pressing his lips to yours, as his skilled fingers unbutton your top. The lightest scratch of his nails against your stomach makes you shiver. He pulls away slightly to marvel at you again, and suddenly you feel too exposed. The look on his face instantly reassures you, as it's one of awe.

"You're so fuckin' gorgeous," he laments, leaning in close.

He nuzzles his nose along your jaw, before trailing kisses down your neck. You pull your hand from his jeans and curl it into his hair as he kisses his way to your collarbone. Soft moans of his name fall from your lips as he places wet kisses against your breast. His mouth has your back arching into him, as his teeth barely scrape your nipple. He flicks his tongue over it and you have to keep yourself from screaming.

He's presses himself against you, unable to keep from grinding, as you feel how hard and big he is.

"Fuck, I can't wait til tomorrow night..." he pants, words almost muffled by your skin. "...When I can kiss you like this while I'm buried deep inside you."

You whimper his name and he thinks it's his new favorite sound.

"You still want that too, right?" He asks, glancing up at you, his amber eyes alight with desire.

You nod, as your pretty, pink lips part with a gasp. He tries to hide his smirk before raising his head so he can kiss you again.

The way he kisses you is so deep and romantic, its unlike anything you've ever felt before. Your thoughts melt into a dreamy haze, as the only constants are how you feel about him and how he's making you feel. It's a moment seemingly frozen in time that you never want to leave.

"Can I feel more of you?" He breathily asks, with his hand hovering over the waistband of your matching silky shorts.

You hesitate, trying to catch your breath as you gaze up at him. Your hand grips his sleeve as you struggle to answer him.

"It's okay if it's too much. We don't have to -" He comforts before you interrupt him.

"I want you to touch me. I've dreamed about this, too," you admit, as a familiar heat rises to your cheeks.

"I want you to tell me about all the filthy dreams you've had about me," he smiles, as his fingertips lightly glide across your stomach.

"I might, someday," you smile, in return, pulling him into another kiss.

You feel him smiling against your lips before deepening the kiss.

He slips his hand into your shorts, and presses the pads of his fingers against the thin cotton of your panties. He softly moans when he feels how wet you are.

"You must really like me," he whispers, as he teases you with his finger.

"I do," you breathe.

"Want me to make you feel good?" He asks, pressing harder.

"Y-Yes, Steve, please..." You almost don't recognize your own voice as you've never heard it sound so desperate.

"Fuck, I'll do anything for you, honey," he replies, his own voice ragged as he slips his hand into your panties.

He slowly eases his finger inside you while his mouth hovers over yours. He whimpers over how tight you are as he begins to pump it in and out. Your eyes are already rolling back at how different and good he feels compared to you.

"Look at me, honey," he quietly commands, nudging the tip of your nose with his. "Want you to keep your eyes on me when we're like this."

You nod, obediently, as your hands claw at his sweatshirt again. His kisses are a little rougher as he adds another finger. He's already losing himself in you, in wanting to make you feel so good, you'll never want anyone else.

You body trembles underneath him, as you fight to kiss him back with the same intensity. You whine his name repeatedly against his lips and he can't help the smug look on his face as he says, "I know it's good now, but imagine how much better it'll feel when I'm actually fucking you."

You finally break eye contact as your orgasm washes over you. His lips are instantly on yours, quieting your continued cries of his name. Your fingers now curl around his wrist as his movements slow. He pulls away just enough, and once your eyes meet his, you smile so warmly at him. He leans in again and covers your face in kisses.

"You really are my best girl," he laments, gazing at you with total adoration.

It mirrors how he was looking at you earlier, but there's something new in his eyes. It's a hint of something more, something deeper that he can't find the words for yet.

He stays with you for the next few hours, as you just lay holding each other, before drifting off to sleep. You wake him up sometime before sunrise and tell him he should get home. He whines, tightening his arms around you before getting up.

You stand next to your window, with his arms around you again as he gives you a lingering goodbye kiss.

After watching his taillights fade into the early morning air, you climb back into bed with a smile. You close your eyes, your thoughts consumed with being his girl, before sleep overtakes you again.

[ungravity12]

sleeping with rafe

Rafe couldn’t sleep without you. Whether it was his bed, your bed, or even the couch, he needed you beside him, wrapped up tight, grounding him in a way only you could. Tonight was no different. The moment you slipped under the covers, he pulled you into his arms, sighing deeply as he buried his face against your chest. After a long, exhausting day, all he wanted was to be tangled up with you.

Usually, he preferred to be the big spoon, wrapping you up in his embrace like a protective barrier against the world. But tonight, he craved your warmth more than ever. He nestled his way down, resting his head on your chest, sighing contentedly as he felt your soft skin under his cheek, the rhythm of your heartbeat lulling him. His hand drifted beneath your shirt, fingers gliding over your bare skin, sending tingles through you.

“Missed you,” he murmured, pressing soft kisses against the delicate skin just above your heart. His lips traveled slowly across your chest, savoring each inch, each gentle curve. When he finally reached your nipple, he paused, eyes fluttering shut as he closed his lips around it, sucking softly, his tongue flicking teasingly against the sensitive skin. (rafe having an oral fixation > )

A shiver ran through you, and your breath hitched as you tangled your fingers in his hair, feeling the heat pool low in your stomach. Rafe smiled against you, clearly enjoying your reactions as he took his time, lost in the warmth of you. Each slow pull of his mouth was both possessive and adoring, a perfect blend that made you feel cherished.

“God, you’re so soft… so perfect,” he whispered, pulling back for a moment to watch your face, relishing the flush on your cheeks. He pressed his cheek against your chest again, listening to your heartbeat, tracing gentle patterns across your waist with his fingers.

But as the moments stretched on, you felt that familiar pressure building in your bladder, and you knew you’d have to get up. You tried to shift out of his hold, but Rafe wasn’t having it. Even as you tried to ease your way out from beneath him, his grip tightened, instinctively, possessively and with a sleepy groan.

“Where are you going?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep, his arms looping around you like a vice.

“I… I have to get up,” you whispered, trying not to disturb him too much. He just groaned, shaking his head as he snuggled even closer, tightening his hold like he thought you might just disappear if he let go.

“Just a few more minutes,” he murmured, pressing a sleepy kiss to your collarbone, his face still buried against your chest. “Stay.”

You chuckled softly, heart warming at how attached he was, even if it meant you were stuck for the time being. But eventually, nature’s call grew too insistent, and you had to put your foot down.

“Rafe, I really have to go,” you said, a bit more firmly this time. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at you, pouting slightly, as if to say how could you leave me like this?

With a defeated sigh, he finally relented, loosening his grip just enough to let you slip out of bed. But as you padded to the bathroom, you felt his presence right behind you, half-awake yet determined to stay close. You glanced over your shoulder to find him trailing you, eyes half-lidded and hair tousled, his expression one of pure sleep-addled stubbornness.

He leaned against the doorframe as you entered the bathroom, his gaze unwavering even as you went about your business. You shot him a look, but he only grinned, sliding down to sit by the door, resting his head against the wall with a lazy smile, as if this was perfectly normal behavior.

When you finally returned to bed, he wasted no time in gathering you back into his arms, settling back into his preferred spot on your chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin as he sighed in satisfaction.

“You’re not allowed to leave me again,” he muttered, voice muffled against you.

You chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, alright. I’m not going anywhere.”

And with that promise, he relaxed completely, his breathing evening out as he drifted back to sleep, held securely in the warmth of your embrace.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafecameroninterlude @sstargirln

[ungravity12]

special delivery

eddie munson x fem!reader

A quiet night at home turns into something else entirely when Eddie Munson shows up to deliver your pizza.

Isn’t this how all mediocre pornos great love stories start?

18+ MDNI┃8.1k

cw: light alcohol/weed use, discussions of poor sex-periences, bed sharing, down bad eddie, fingering/oral (fem receiving)

I edged myself a little with this, it’s like a 7:1 ratio of fluff to smut with nothing but tensionnn in between. Just how I like it.

You didn’t mind being alone. Not really.

Truth be told, you kind of preferred a nice quiet night to yourself every now and again. It gave you a chance to read without interruption; to watch a long stretch of episodes of your favorite show you had seen a hundred times before; to indulge in a lengthened version of your skincare routine.

But lately you’d been having a lot of quiet nights.

Winter had settled fully in Hawkins, the frigid weather and barrage of storms lately making it difficult to go out at night or do much of anything other than sit inside and count the walls. And with Robin gone for the whole weekend, the relentless silence of your apartment only made it worse.

You made an honest effort to remedy the situation—sending a handful of texts to anyone you thought might be available, only to come up empty. Nancy and Jonathan were out celebrating some anniversary. Steve had a date with whatever girl he had conned into thinking he was charming enough to go out with this week. And Chrissy was fully buried underneath her coursework, but she “could definitely do something next week!”

So that was that. You knew Argyle was working his usual shift, so you hadn’t bothered to text him. Instead, dialing the number for Surfer Boy as you resolved to drown your sorrows in a pizza loaded with all the toppings Robin always gagged at whenever you suggested them.

It was impossible for you not to beam when the man himself answered, the roughness in his voice indicating he was currently surrounded by a fresh cloud of his beloved Purple Palm Tree Delight.

He was now managing the franchise’s first and only midwest location they decided to open after the California chain started recording a deluge of calls from Indiana and assumed it must be some sort of untapped market. Come to find out, the people in Hawkins were just calling the number on the side of Argyle’s bright yellow van they’d seen riding around town.

“That’s all?” he chortled at your order. “One small pizza? Are you and Buckley planning some kinda Battle Royale fight to the death or something?”

“She’s gone for the weekend,” you explained.

“Oh, really? All by your lonesome then, are you?”

His typically gravelly tone was tinged with a hint of mischief, but you didn’t pay it much mind. This was Argyle, after all. You knew him well enough by now not to try and decode anything that went on inside that wonderfully weird head of his.

“Well, with you at work there’s no one to keep me company, is there?” you teased, putting on a flirty affectation you just knew would make him blush.

“Baby doll, I’ll close up shop right now!”

His deep and throaty laugh made you giggle along with him as he relayed your order to the kitchen staff and then came back on the line to assure you that it would be there “lemony split.”

With dinner ordered, you started to assemble some essentials for your wild night on the sofa— oversized blanket, extra snacks, a small arsenal of face masks and serums. You even splurged a bit and lit one of your nicer candles, the fresh scent of bergamot filling up your living room as you headed into the kitchen to clean up.

About half-way through you doing your dishes came the soft tread of footsteps on the stairwell outside, followed by a bouncy and rhythmic knock being rapped on your front door.

“One sec,” you called out, shaking the remnants of soapy water from your hands and drying them on the thighs of your sweatpants.

Your hand closed around the door knob and you yanked it open only to be bombarded by a head of dark, wild curls and a pair of deep brown eyes that instantly made your mind go blank.

“What are you doing here?”

The words just burst out of you, sounding far harsher than you intended, and Eddie Munson’s lips twitched with the beginnings of a smirk as he looked you up and down.

“Nice to see you, too,” he chortled. “That how you greet everyone who brings you your dinner?”

Your gaze fell to the pizza box he held in his hands that you had missed entirely, too distracted by his eyes and his nose and his lips and those cute little dimples in his cheeks. Not to mention his stupid big hands with his stupid long fingers that were wrapped around your dinner…

“Sorry,” you said, squishing your eyes shut and shaking your head as though it would wipe away your lustful thoughts like an etch-a-sketch. “I just wasn’t expecting you. Or, um…I meant, I didn’t know you worked at Surfer Boy.”

“It’s a new gig,” Eddie said, his smile filled with as much wily charm as ever as he handed over the box. “Argyle convinced me to come on board. Decent hours and the money’s good.”

“Oh…sweet.” 

You nodded back at him and prayed you didn’t sound half as awkward as you felt. With one hand, you balanced the pizza box on your hip while the other reached for the cash you’d set out earlier on the little table by your door. But a frown covered your face as you glanced between the bills and the box you were holding that looked quite a bit bigger than it should have been.

“Something wrong?” Eddie asked. “Aw, shit—we didn’t fuck up the toppings, did we?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” you assured. “It’s just, I only ordered a small and this one’s a large.”

“Oh, yeah. Arg had them change it after he rang it in. He just wanted you to have some extra.”

You chuckled, “Really? I don’t know why, it’s just me tonight.”

“No Buckley?”

Eddie’s brows raised slightly, disappearing behind his twisty bangs as he looked past you inside your apartment. You swayed slightly, in an attempt to block his view of the little couch nest you’d built for yourself. His gaze returned to yours, eyes flickering with something like intrigue.

“You’re flying solo, then?” he asked.

“Pretty much. I mean, I called around a bit and everyone was busy. So…yeah.”

He tilted his head at you. “You didn’t call me.”

“Oh…”

Eddie’s lips quirked in a smile that actually made your breath catch. He didn’t sound offended, not like he was accusing you of anything. But his soft voice and the feigned (it was feigned, wasn’t it?) look of disappointment on his face made your chest radiate with warmth.

The truth was, you would have loved to call Eddie. You had actually hovered over his contact info in your phone more times than you cared to admit, only to keep chickening out at the last second.

“W-well, you’re working tonight,” you reasoned. “So, we couldn’t have hung out anyway.”

“Actually… Argyle cut me early,” Eddie said. “Turned out to be a slower night than he thought, so he said I could call it quits after this delivery.”

Oh. Oh. 

“Well, do you…” You swallowed hard, trying to bring some relief to your throat that had run dry. “I mean, did you wanna have dinner? Apparently, I’ve got plenty of food.”

Another weak chuckle trickled out of you as you held up the pizza box, telling yourself it must be the heat of the pie within making your palms sweat the way they were. Eddie’s dark eyes actually danced under the harsh fluorescent lights of your building’s breeze-through.

“That’d be great,” he said, flashing you a smile that made your knees wobble. “Wayne’s gone this weekend too. Trailer’s kind of lonely without him.”

“Okay! Uh, come on in.”

The sudden shrillness of your voice made you cringe inwardly as you stepped sideways for him to pass, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or at least he acted like he didn’t. He simply smiled as he came inside, pausing to toe off his boots and shuck off his leather jacket at the door.

He’d clearly dressed for the heat of Surfer Boy’s kitchen and not the bitter wind howling outside, clad only in a red and black flannel over a gray tank that seemed to cling to his lean frame as if by static electricity alone. His ratty black jeans taunted you with flashes of pale skin peeking through the holes in the knees and the smell of oregano filled your nose as he fluffed up his hair.

He looked a lot better than you did—particularly when you were in your lounge clothes, which weren’t exactly fetching.

Baggy and oversized, worn threadbare in more than a few places from multiple wears. Splattered with a myriad of tiny mystery stains no amount of washing could get out.

Nothing to be done about it now, you supposed.

Eddie had been to your place plenty of times for parties and movie nights, but that had always been with other people around.

Never just you. Never the two of you alone.

That realization and the nerves it induced made the back of your neck unbearably hot as you set the pizza on the coffee table and headed for the kitchen to retrieve plates and napkins—all of the dignified and civilized things you’d have to use now that you had an audience.

And alcohol. Definitely, definitely needed alcohol if you were gonna even attempt to be normal.

“You want a beer?” you asked from the fridge.

Eddie nodded as he followed into the kitchen and leaned against the cabinetry. His totally calm and casual demeanor only made you more anxious, your chest getting tight and your hands shaking as you pried the caps off two beers. You clinked your bottle against his and took a long draught, heart racing as you stared at the ceiling.

Chill the fuck out, you scolded yourself. He’s just a guy. It’s just pizza. It’s no big deal, it’s no—

“You okay?” Eddie asked, making your runaway train of thought come to a screeching halt.

“Yeah, totally,” you lied through your teeth. “Um… I guess I was fully in hermit mode already. I really didn’t expect to see anyone tonight.”

Let alone you, you finished internally.

“Sorry about that,” Eddie said. “I didn’t mean to, like, crash your whole evening.”

“No, no—it’s not like that at all,” you stammered, the words tumbling out of you in a rush. “I’m glad you’re here, really. It’s nice to have company.”

“Yeah? Okay, good.” He smiled into another sip of his beer. “I’m glad I’m here too.”

Your lips spread into a smile that mirrored his and a sort of quiet warmth passed between you. You found yourself staring into his eyes, holding his gaze until it flickered down your body.

He studied you in that soul-plundering way of his that made you feel all light and tingly all over.

“Here, you should have this back,” he said all of a sudden, “I feel kind of weird keeping it.”

You looked down just as he tugged the money you’d paid him with out of his pocket. He held it out to you, only to find your hand already pushing it back, fingers briefly closing over his fist.

“Eddie, no. No way,” you scoffed. “Don’t be silly.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but you fixed him with a warning glare—a pretty withering one if you did say so yourself. One that made him nod reluctantly and sigh softly in defeat.

“Alright, at least let me contribute something,” he said, returning the cash to his pocket and instead producing a fat, pristinely rolled joint. Argyle’s handiwork, you were all but certain.

You grinned and clinked your bottle with his. 

“Done.”

Beers and plates and joint in hand, you and Eddie headed over to the sofa only for you to stop short when you remembered your former plans for the evening. He watched curiously as you cleared the table, your stomach even more unruly now with half a beer sloshing around inside of it.

”What’s all this?” he asked, indicating the various packets and bottles. You laughed nervously.

“It’s just skin stuff. I was gonna do a face mask while I watched a movie…because that’s just the rock and roll kinda lifestyle I lead.”

Your jittery attempt at a joke only made Eddie’s own smile widen as he plucked one of the packets from your grasp and held it up to read the label.

“Can I do one?” he asked.

You choked back another laugh, brow arching at him in disbelief. “Do you want to?”

“Kind of, yeah,” he chortled. “They look kinda like potions or something. Seems like fun.”

You rolled your shoulder in a shrug. “Then knock yourself out,” you said. 

And he did.

Eddie plopped himself down at one end of the sofa and ripped into the package he’d selected. It was branded as a “unicorn” mask, which really just meant it was made out of shiny, holographic paper that shone with rainbows when the light hit it. He admired the swirling colors briefly and then set about laying the mask over his face, his head suddenly turning to catch you staring.

“Am I beautiful yet?” he asked, playfully fluttering his long lashes at you.

You already were.

The thought popped into your head so quickly you almost said it out loud and you had to bite back the comment, your pulse starting to race all over again. You pressed your lips together as you nodded and focused all your attention on placing a pair of gel patches under your own eyes.

Eddie watched you tap them into place, smiling. “You do this a lot?” he asked.

“Every couple weeks or so. More often in the winter because the cold really fucks with my skin. Obviously.” You gestured at your face and sighed.

“I never noticed,” he said with a gentle shake of his head. “Always looks nice to me.”

The compliment made your face burn in spite of the cooling aloe patches and you shook your head, the tingling in your cheeks only increasing the longer his eyes lingered on you. With shaky hands, you reached for the remote and started flipping through the channels while Eddie dug into the pizza. The both of you hummed excitedly in unison as you landed on an old horror flick just as the opening credits had started to roll, the decision of what to watch made easy.

As you set the remote down and reached for your own slices, realizing Eddie had plated up two and placed them down in front of you, you couldn’t stop your eyes from dating sideways to look at him once more. But the moment you did, a loud laugh burst out and you had to slap a hand over your mouth to try and stifle it—failing miserably.

He had his tongue stretched out as far as it would go, the pink muscle wiggling wildly as he tried to guide the end of his pizza into his mouth through the too-small opening of his mask.

“Hang on, hang on,” you said, taking some mercy on him. “Let me help you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he scoffed, “I’m doing great over here.”

It only made you laugh harder watching Eddie as he kept trying to eat, now clumsily flicking out his tongue like a drunken chameleon and grimacing when he tasted some of the product on his mask.

He stilled, though, as you scooted onto the center cushion and began to further tear the slits around his mouth, your fingers trembling as they brushed the corners of his plush lips.

Too late, you realized how close your face had gotten to his. Your eyes nearly crossed you were staring at him so hard, trapped in his hypnotic gaze as his enormous eyes locked on yours. The deep brown, almost black, of them only looked more otherworldly like this, surrounded by swirls of silver and rainbows like he was some kind of alien or android. Blinking dumbly, as if coming out of a trance, you pulled your hands away.

“Um…better?” you asked, eyes darting away from his face and almost instantly returning.

Eddie tested how far he could unhinge his jaw, stretching his mouth open as far as he could, unencumbered by the chin portion of his mask. He brought his slice up to take a massive bite.

“Perfect,” he said, grinning widely through a mouthful of cheese and sauce.

You actually did manage to relax at least slightly the longer the night wore on, helped immensely by the joint Eddie lit and offered to you to take the first hit. It passed leisurely between you, each of your inhales making it easier to deal with the idea that your lips were basically touching his.

Another movie started up after the one you first put on finished, but you made no move towards the remote. Your body felt warm and relaxed from the high, limbs melding into the sofa cushions like you were becoming part of them.

And Eddie too seemed perfectly happy to spend his night exactly where he was. His unicorn mask sat discarded on top of his pizza crusts and he’d shifted down in his seat, knees spreading wide and filling your mind with…thoughts.

You kept expecting him to make some excuse to leave, freaked out that he’d caught you looking at him just a few too many times for comfort.

But he never did.

“I think this is the last of it,” Eddie said, staring at the tiny smoldering nub pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

“Take it, it’s yours,” you smiled, letting your head squish against the back of the couch. 

Eddie shook his head. “C’mon, now,” he grinned back at you. “Sharing is caring.”

He crooked his fingers, motioning for you to move in closer as he brought the joint up to his lips and steadily inhaled the last hit. He shifted onto the center cushion and you mirrored his movement, his knee bumping your calf lightly as you tucked your feet beneath you, toes wiggling nervously.

With his free hand, he gently cupped the side of your face and tilted your head to the side as his own lips parted and you leaned together. 

A stream of smoke poured out of him and you breathed it in, holding it in your chest for a few moments before you exhaled it back at him. He smiled as your breath fanned over his face, his dimples showing as his cheeks pushed up fully. The sight made your own smile spread, pulling your bottom lip back with your teeth as his thumb softly caressed your jaw.

His lips parted again, a whisper of your name falling off them, sounding like a foreign language. 

You inhaled deeply again, trying to steady your racing heart, your whole body suddenly tingling in a way that was distinctly different from the way it did from the high. It didn’t do any good, though, not when Eddie’s head lifted slightly and you swore his eyes started to close—

A loud BEEP made you jump away, the moment shattered by your phone getting a text.

You instantly felt the loss of Eddie’s hand where it had been holding you, cold now in spite of all the blood currently coursing beneath your skin. You turned and fumbled about for your phone as it beeped again, almost more insistently.

Eddie retreated to his end of the sofa and you gave your head another forcible shake, trying to rid yourself of the shivers running rampant over your body. Whatever you imagined was just about to happen was surely not going to—the weed had to have your mind playing tricks on you.

“Ugh.”

The sound popped out unconsciously, irritation flaring just at the sight of the name attached to the message and making you recoil before you even opened it to see what it said.

“Jeez,” Eddie smirked at your distasteful noise, giving you a sly look. “Who’s that?”

“Nobody,” you sighed, rolling your eyes. “Just some guy I went out with a few times.”

Eddie sputtered slightly on the sip of beer he’d just taken, a dusting of pink spreading across his cheeks and his eyes rounding slightly as he wiped his palm on the thigh of his jeans.

“Oh. Do I, um…do I need to, like, make myself scarce or something?”

A bitter laugh burst out at the implication and you started to shake your head a little too hard. “Ahh, no,” you told him flatly, “Not at all.”

Eddie’s shoulders relaxed, his smile returning, seeming almost a little pleased to hear that.

“How come?” he asked with a teasing smile, nodding at the rest of your skincare on the table. “You don’t wanna get him over here? Get him all nice and moisturized?”

“I’m good,” you assured, clicking off your phone and silencing it before laying it face down on the table. “Not exactly in the mood to beg someone to go down on me tonight, so—”

“Beg?” Eddie scoffed, taking another swig of his beer. “Who has to be begged to do that?”

Your gaze darted sideways, eyeing him curiously. 

“Uhh…all of them? In my experience, most guys aren’t all that into it. You know?”

“No, not really,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “I fuckin’ love it.”

Your own drink stopped half-way to your lips and you chanced another glance at him. Your voice went quiet. Meeker than you would have liked. Lacking all the frankness with which he spoke.

“You…you do?”

“Well, yeah,” he said. “I mean, making a girl come on your tongue is like…”

He trailed off into silence, looking up at the ceiling as he searched for the right word, but you’d jumped back in before he could find it.

“You make them come? Just…just from that?”

“Ahh…” Eddie faltered now, staring at his lap and picking at the label on his beer with his thumb nail. “Not always. It depends on the girl. But, I dunno…maybe, like, ninety percent of the time?”

“Jesus Christ,” you gasped, eyes rounding with embarrassment when you realized you said it out loud. Beside you, Eddie shifted in his seat on the couch, turning himself towards you.

“Do you not come when they go down on you?”

You blinked back at him, almost too stunned to speak. “Well…no. They aren’t usually down there that long. I mostly just need it because the spit helps when I’m not wet.”

Holy shit. That weed must have been way stronger than you realized for these words to be spilling out of you like they were. Cheeks officially a raging inferno, you focused every speck of your attention on the movie flickering on the TV.

Eddie’s eyes never left your face, though. His expression only softened as he stared at you, his words coming out in a hushed whisper.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

Your face only burned hotter from the way he said it. It’s not exactly pity in his tone, or filling his eyes, it’s more like…disappointment.

Disappointment in who, you weren’t entirely sure. And you sure as shit weren’t going to let this go on long enough to find out.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how we got on this,” you said. “This is way too much information for you.”

“No, no, that’s not what I—”

Eddie’s hand started to reach out for you, but you were already on your feet. 

Scrambling to gather up your soiled plates and desperate to look anywhere besides at him, you hurried into the kitchen to start cleaning up. The weed in your system was starting to turn on you, making your mind run rampant with competing thoughts, the most persistent of them being an echo of Eddie’s voice, hearing the same four words over and over and over again.

I fuckin’ love it.

Just the memory of him saying them made your stomach swoop and your core flutter, your hands shaking as you reached to turn on the tap.

“Can I just ask you one more thing?”

Eddie’s voice behind you made your shoulders tense, but you forced them to remain still—trying to look relaxed. The plates in your hands clinked against the sink basin as you set them down and turned slowly, resting your butt on the edge of the counter as you nodded at him.

He moved forward tentatively, setting down the beer bottles he’d brought from the living room.

“Do you like going down on guys?”

Your mouth fell open at the question and you had to quickly snap it shut. “Um…yeah,” you said after clearing your throat. “I like it fine.”

Truth be told…you really did like it. And with the right partner, you kind of loved it.

There was a kind of satisfaction you got watching even the most confident and charismatic guys be reduced to a simpering pile of putty as soon as your mouth came anywhere near their cock.

It was an intoxicating sort of power you felt when you drew the most desperate and eager sounds out of them—like when a guy slid into your mouth for the first time and just groaned in relief, like he had never felt anything as good as you in his life.

“Okay, then,” Eddie grinned, his eyes flickering as he watched your face. “So the person you’re with should like it too, right? He shouldn’t do it just because he has to. He should do it because he wants to make you feel good. The same way you want him to feel good.”

He took slow, careful steps forward as he spoke, the distance between you getting smaller with each. You felt your chest start to heave, trying to keep the furious pounding of your heart under control as Eddie’s body drew nearer.

He came to a stop in front of you, brown eyes trained on the space between your nose and chin. He licked his lips, running the flat of his tongue over the bottom one like he was imagining it was your own. Saliva flooded your mouth and you swallowed it down, lips trembling as they parted.

You thought you might be sick with anticipation, waiting for the touch of his mouth on yours. Because he was gonna kiss you, right? 

God, did you want him to kiss you…

Your grasp curled under the lip of the counter, nails digging into the wood beneath the laminate. Eddie’s eyes broke from yours, flitting down to see your hands clenched, like you were trying to rip off a chunk of it. His brow furrowed slightly and he took a step back, the absolute deflation you felt as he stepped away making your whole body slump as the tension flooded out of it.

It was so overwhelming, you had to look away, eyes landing on the clock over the stove.

“Oh, shit!” you gasped, making Eddie’s head jump back up. “Is it really that late?”

Midnight had come and gone according to the glowing green numbers without you so much as noticing. Eddie swallowed hard, his mouth falling open like he wanted to say something else, but no words came out. Instead, he busied himself with getting the emptied bottles he’d set down and tossing them in the recycling bin.

“I, um…I should get out of your hair,” he sighed, ringed hand rubbing the back of his neck.

You weren’t totally sure what possessed you to say what you did next. Something about the sight of his frowning face, the corners of his lips turned down in confusion or even disappointment, it was hard to say which. All you could think was that you didn’t want him to leave.

“You don’t have to,” you said suddenly.

Eddie’s stopped short and his spine straightened, his head turning slowly towards you like he wasn’t convinced he really just heard those words come out of your mouth. You shot him a small smile. 

“You can stay over…if you want.”

He stared back at you, doe eyes blinking at you in surprise. “Really?” he asked.

“Yeah, of course,” you said, trying not to sound like your vocal chords were in a vice. “The roads are shit and it’s late. I mean…it’s only if you want. You certainly don’t have to—”

“No, no, no, that-that would be great, actually,” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. He took a steadying breath and smiled as his eyes met yours again. “I’d really like that.”

With the sort of energy that would make a hummingbird jealous, you bustled around the apartment gathering a spare pillow and an extra blanket for Eddie while he brushed his teeth in the bathroom. You carried them over to the couch, hugging the linens tight to your chest. 

You thought about how they might smell like him in the morning. How he might wake up with his hair all big and messy from sleep, his eyes half-lidded with crust in the corners, his boxers slung low on his narrow hips, the small trail of hair that swirled just below his navel on display—

“Thanks,” Eddie said, making you jump when you realized he was behind you. 

Your heartbeat thundered in your eardrums as you turned around and held the linens out to him. His fingers met yours among the folds and you nearly jumped out of your skin at the contact.

“N-no problem,” you said, averting your gaze again as you headed down the short hallway.

You hovered at your bedroom door, glancing back over your shoulder at Eddie as he flicked off all of the lights except the one on the end table, peeling away his flannel to reveal his sinewy arms littered with tattoos. The sight made your cheeks pulse in time with your heartbeat. Among other things.

“Good night,” you said. 

Eddie’s head snapped up and he stared at you for a brief moment, his eyes running up and down your body, his bottom lip between his teeth like he was deep in thought about something.

“Good night,” he said finally. “Sleep tight.”

In bed, sleep evaded you. 

You lay there, splayed wide in the center of your mattress, arms and legs stretched out across the rumpled sheets you’d gotten yourself twisted up in too many times to count as you’d turned over and over and over and over, searching for a comfortable position. Finding none.

Any attempt at settling down for the night was impossible when you couldn’t shake this…this… incessant, obstinate, unrelenting need calling out for satisfaction. It was like your body could sense that Eddie was in the next room and was refusing sleep in favor of filling your mind with thoughts of what could happen, of what he might be doing, if you just went out there and went for it.

What if you did? Just strode down the hall and climbed on top of him in the dark? Whipped off your sleep shirt to bare yourself and let his hands and lips roam freely all over you? You could just about feel the cold bite of his rings on your skin, you were thinking about it so much.

The conversation you’d had earlier kept running through your head, his words still echoing in your mind and making you throb everywhere. 

I fuckin’ love it, he’d said. Blatantly. Plainly. Like it should be obvious. But you’d never heard anyone express that kind of affinity for eating a girl out.

The majority of the guys you’d been with, those who had been willing to do it at all, only seemed to be doing so under duress or out of obligation. Or worse, they spent the exact bare minimum amount of time down there in order to get you going, only to stop short, and wasted no time redirecting the focus to their pleasure.

Then, of course, they had all the time in the world.

It was hard to say why, but there was something about Eddie wanting to do it—even being eager to do so, that only made him hotter.

You huffed loudly and pushed the heels of your hands against your eyes, forfeiting the staring contest you were locked in with your ceiling.

This was so stupid. You were getting yourself all worked up, and over what? Eddie was most likely balls deep in a REM cycle by now, and if you went out there and made some kind of ill-conceived “move” on him there was absolutely, positively, no chance in hell he would ever—

Knock knock knock

The gentle raps on your door made you bolt upright in bed. They were so quiet, you thought maybe you might have dreamed them, painfully awake as you were. But then they sounded again, this time accompanied by Eddie’s hushed voice tentatively calling out your name.

“Yeah?” 

Your eyes zeroed in on your door knob, waiting with bated breath for it to turn, but Eddie spoke again before he dared to even touch it.

“Hey, um…can I come in?” he asked.

You tugged your sheets upwards, covering your exposed thighs as you inhaled a deep bracing breath. “S-sure,” you said, still despising the nervous way your voice wavered.

The door finally cracked open and Eddie poked his head in. A little sliver of light from the hallway illuminated your room and you could see his curls were now tied up in a bun, sitting low on his neck with a few short tendrils framing his face. It made it so that you could actually see his ears and you realized for the first time they were kind of cute. 

How the fuck could ears be so cute?

“Sorry to bug you,” he whispered. “But do you have an extra blanket or something? It’s, um…it's kind of cold out there.”

“Oh, shit,” you sighed in realization. “It’s probably the windows. One of them doesn’t close right. Uh, yeah, just let me—”

You started to climb out of the bed, only to freeze as your foot hovered over the rug. The big shirt you had worn to sleep in was long, but not that long. The hem of it barely skimmed the bottom of your ass and if you stood up, you would basically be flashing Eddie your underwear.

Maybe it was okay? It would only be for a second. And it was mostly dark, maybe he wouldn’t even notice? Or maybe you didn’t need to get out of bed at all…

“You know, um…” You licked your lips, daring yourself to look back up at Eddie. “You could just sleep in here. If you want.”

Eddie’s eyes flickered at that, dark brown irises black in the low light, filling with something you couldn’t quite place. Was it apprehension? Surprise? Excitement?

“You sure?” he asked, his voice still hushed.

You swallowed hard as you drew your leg back underneath the warmth of the blanket, nodding at him to confirm, your teeth gnawing at the fleshy insides of your cheek as you did.

He entered the room fully, revealing how he’d stripped down to nothing but his tank top and a pair of blue checkered boxers. As he pushed the door closed behind him and crossed over to the opposite side of your bed, your heart threatened to beat straight out of your chest. 

Your eyes briefly darted downwards only for you to avert them just as quickly—telling yourself it must be the dark playing tricks on you, making you think you saw his boxers were half-tented.

The mattress dipped as he settled into the bed with you and you felt a rush of heat that came off his body like a furnace as you both scooted down to lay flat. Your body was rigid as you resumed your staring contest with the ceiling, thundering heartbeat only picking up more speed when Eddie rolled over onto his side to look at you.

“Can you not sleep?” he asked, his voice coming out in a gentle rasp.

Your hair rustled against your pillow as you shook your head. “No. You?”

“Nope. I’ve, um…I’ve been thinking about what we talked about,” he said slowly. “Earlier.”

You inhaled sharply, certain he had to be able to see the effect he had on you even in near pitch darkness. But was it really your imagination that you seemed to have a similar effect on him?

“Yeah?” you whispered.

Eddie nodded, his eyes dropping to your mouth, the tip of his tongue swiping across his bottom lip to wet it as he spoke.

“I was wondering if I could…if you’d like me to—”

“Yes.”

The word all but flew out of you, filled with heat and need. And no sooner had you uttered it was he rolling on top of you, his body pressing against yours, his rapidly firming length prodding your heat through your panties. His lips descended on to yours, making every part of you heave in response to his touch. He actually moaned into your kiss, both your lips and his vibrating with the sound. Every part of him moved with yours in perfect harmony, every curve and bulge of his body finding a home against your own.

It’s like you’re warm bread and he’s the butter, spreading smoothly across you and melting into your every crease and crevice.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted this so long,” he panted out in between feverish kisses dotted along your neck, his teeth nipping at your racing pulse.

“Really?”

“God, yes,” he groaned, his hands gliding over the length of your body. “I dreamed about touching you…how you’d sound…what you’d taste like…”

“Jesus Christ.”

You had never felt like this before, your very being thrumming with energy and ready to go off like a firecracker as soon as someone lit your match. You could have chalked it up to the weed, or to the beer, or to the fact that you hadn’t been touched like this in so long—and even when you had been touched, it was nothing like this.

But ultimately you knew…the real reason was him.

“Feel good?” Eddie asked, his pink lips curled up in a catlike smile as he rolled his hips forward, pressing them against you in a filthy grind that had your back arching off the bed.

“Shit,” you gasped, breathless, “S-so good, Eddie—fuck.”

The way he was moving against you had your mind emptying rapidly. It was all you could do not to wrap your legs around his waist and squeeze him close to increase that sinful sweet pressure he was putting on your core. But Eddie was quick to give you more, pushing up on his hands so his hips married with yours and he could look down at the mess he was making of you.

“Eddie, I want you to fuck me,” you whined, voice all high and desperate. “I need it, please.”

His original offer had officially flown out of your head. All you could think about right now was him being fully seated inside of you, his cock stroking your walls, his thrusts reaching deep. He’d gotten you so wet just from kissing, him going down on you now was practically redundant.

“You want my cock already, huh?” he teased you lowly, leaning in close again, the tip of his nose touching yours. “Too bad.”

His gentle mocking tone and the way he purred so softly made every atom in your body tremble. You stared up at him with your hips squirming trying to chase the friction you so desperately needed as he started to shuffle further down the bed, making you whimper at the loss.

“What’s wrong?” he chuckled at your pitiful little sound. “You think I’m being mean?”

You nodded back at him and his giant eyes glinted in the dark, his handsome face full of mirth and mischief as his chest rumbled with a laugh. The sound of it rippled down your spine, making it go instantly rigid and then slackening like the crack of a whip. Oh, you were in trouble…

“Well, I am mean. And selfish too,” he gritted out, his fingers kneading at your waist, bunching the material of your t-shirt in his fists to pull it taught across your chest. “Because I’m gonna kiss this pussy all I want…all night long, if I feel like it.”

With his words dripping thick and sweet from his lips, he shifted even further down on the bed with a practiced swivel of his hips. He kissed his way down your body, pushing up the hem of your shirt to reveal the bare expanse of your stomach and hips, groaning again as he caught a glimpse of the underside of your breasts.

“I’ve…been waiting…way too long…to taste you…”

His voice slipped back into that lower register as he placed a line of delicate kisses to your navel in between his words. His head dropped lower, lower, lower until he met the apex of your spread thighs. A soft moan escaped your lips as he laved his tongue over your clothed slit, licking through the thin barrier until his spit had soaked through the cotton to mix with your arousal.

“Take them off,” you gasped, raising your hips to help him.

If he had decided to tear them, to rip them right from your body, you wouldn’t have minded in the slightest. But he curled his fingers around the elastic and dragged them down your legs, settling back on his calves to tug them off, the blunt edges of his fingernails raking lightly over your skin all the way to your ankles. It made gooseflesh bloom across every inch of you, all the way to your scalp as you pushed your head back into the pillow, so overwhelmed by the feeling.

He works infuriatingly slow. Teasing you, toying with you like it’s a big game. He kissed softly along your seam, nuzzling his face against your inner thighs, skimming his lips over your folds that are doused with your slick, not even bringing his tongue into play yet. It makes your clit just ache for him, the little bundle of nerves yearning for the attention he just won't give it.

Not yet.

Finally, finally, he placed one long kiss on your sensitive bead, popping off far too soon for your liking to murmur softly to you in the dark.

“Can’t believe you had to beg that loser to do this…I’d beg you just to let me do it…”

“Then do it, Eddie,” you groaned, bunching the sheets in your fists. “Please, please, just do it—”

You’re almost crying now you want him so badly, the anticipation making your chest tighten and your lungs constrict. All the amusement drains from Eddie’s face as he looks at you, doe eyes shining like they held every star in the galaxy as he studied your pained expression.

“Relax for me, baby,” Eddie soothed in a steady whisper, his palm rubbing across your stomach. “I’m gonna take care of you, okay? I promise.”

Keeping your gaze locked on his, you nodded back at him and then closed your eyes to take the deepest breath you could manage. He watched you silently, studying the way your chest rose as you inhaled, and the way you held the breath in for a five count before you released.

And just as your breath crested, just as you felt the relief of the oxygen flowing throug your body, he fixed his lips around your clit and sucked.

The noise that he dragged out of you didn’t even sound human. It was shock, it was calm, it was joy, it was confusion, it was elation, it was rage.

It was as though every emotion you’d ever felt in your whole life was thrown into a blender and that sound was the end result.

Your hips jumped, bucking into his face, but Eddie never faltered. He kept his hold on you, arms wrapped tight around your thighs to keep them spread open so he could continue to devour you. He didn’t just go down on you, his mouth and tongue and chin and nose moved together in any and every possible direction until you yourself had forgotten which way was up.

It made you doubt your very existence. No way was this real. No way could anything feel this fucking good. And yet at the same time, it was too real. The tickle of his hair on your inner thigh, his hot breath fanning over your most private skin, the noises he made muffled by your pussy lips. Every visceral detail swirled together, rushing you headlong towards oblivion.

“That’s it, that’s it,” Eddie said hoarsely. “Come on my tongue for me, beautiful. I gotta have it.”

He pulled his lips from you, his fingers plunging easily inside your gushing center, crooking up to rub that spot you only ever dreamed of someone reaching. As you clenched around his digits and he could feel how close you were, his tongue returned to your folds in long and languid swipes that ended in fluttering flicks and swirls.

He does everything so carefully, so thoroughly, that the brink he brings you to feels more earned than anything you’ve ever felt. Stars burst behind your rolled back eyes, tears squeezing out at the corners and spilling down your cheeks.

Your mouth fell open as you moaned in earnest abandon, chanting out his name in praise in between heaving breaths to gulp down air.

The aftershock seems to last longer than the orgasm itself, your legs twitching under Eddie’s firm grasp long after the explosive feeling had receded. He slid up to lay next to you, cradling you gently in his arms, out of breath himself as he watched you return to earth, his nose and mouth and chin all glistening with your spend.

“You okay?” he asked, hopeful and earnest, his cocky bravado long since dissolved.

“So good,” you gasped. “It was incredible, Eddie. Holy shit…”

His chest shook with a low laugh at your dazed expression. Your eyelids drooped, exhaustion trying to overtake you, but you forced it back. Suddenly filled with the urge to make him feel as good as you did, you let your hand drift toward his boxers, making his whole body shudder as your hand grazed across a damp spot there.

Wait…was that? No, not a chance. No way did he come just from eating you out.

“Easy, killer,” Eddie chuckled, reaching down for your wandering hand and lacing his fingers with yours to gently tug it back up and kiss it. “What do you want in there, huh?”

“Eddie, please,” you pouted up at him as your eyes fought to stay open. “I want more, I want to make you come too.”

“We will,” he assured you, his fingertips gently trailing across your forehead, down your temple, along your jaw. “Just close your eyes for a minute. Then we’ll do anything you want.”

The sigh you let out was a little huffy, but you couldn’t deny how appealing it sounded to rest your eyes—just for a minute. They start to flutter shut and the last thing you felt was Eddie’s warm breath on your ear as he leaned close to whisper,

“Good night, sweetheart.”

Sunlight came streaming through your blinds far too soon for your liking. Its warm rays splashed across your face as it rose in the sky and you withdrew reluctantly from your sleep.

A deep, blissful, fucked-out sleep like you hadn’t had in years.

Everything came into focus slowly as you woke.  The hum of the fan overhead pushing cool air down, the distant chirp of birds from the tree outside your window…the subtle weight of Eddie’s arm slung across your torso.

He was still asleep next to you, snoring softly with his face smashed into the lilacs printed on your pillowcase. You couldn’t be sure if he had fallen asleep holding you or if he reached for you at some point during the night and never let go.

Either option was equally enthralling.

His hair had come loose from his bun, curls now big and frizzy around his face like a lion’s mane. And even in sleep, there was a look of quiet satisfaction on his face. Contentedness, like he was in the middle of a really good dream. You even let yourself believe you saw the slight curve of a smile on his plush lips, one you were sure matched your own.

You reached out a hand and gently touched the fringe obscuring his large forehead, brushing them back to reveal the thickness of his eyebrows and the dusting of freckles along his nose and cheeks. Fuck him, if he wasn’t even prettier.

Moving carefully so as not to disturb his slumber, you rolled over onto your side and reached for your phone on the nightstand, looking for the time and instead finding a text from Argyle.

hope u enjoyed ur special delivery ;)

Thank you for reading. love you, mean it! 🍕

This has been gathering dust in my drafts for a minute now.

Been feeling the lack of inspiration/motivation to write lately real hard, so it was nice to go back to something that I really enjoyed writing and had a lot of fun with.

[ungravity12]

hands, that’s all

[ungravity12]

18+

Thinking about having a secret that no one in the group knows about, but you end up telling Steve when you’re cleaning him up, and all of you are changing into your new clothes for the battle with Vecna.

You really think you’ll be dying and that’s why you say it, fiddling with your fingers. He’s inquisitive, voice a low and quietly calm rasp - just for you.

“Tell me, please?” He’s begging, and underlying need to please, to satiate before this all unfolds tonight. However, still patient with you.

“I don’t want to die without knowing what it’s like to have sex. I want to know how it feels to be close to someone, and not when we’re being threatened to die by some monster.” Straight to the point with him, it takes you a few seconds to meet his gaze.

He’s thoughtfully paused, swallows a few times, making the cuts wrapped around his neck and jugular all the more visible. You ache inside, knowing how much it must hurt him. You’re not ready as his thick hand cradles the line of your jaw, thumbpad grazing your temple. It’s an unspoken agreement the moment that his dirt shaded brows raise in question. You’re nodding into his nose as it slides across your lips, two friends meeting mouths.

He kisses you once, twice, testing the waters. And the floodgates release, his spare hand cradling your nape, knees working apart so that you can slide in between. It’s a careful shift to get you onto your back, and he does it so gently that you were barely aware you hit his unmade bed at all.

“Are you sure you feel okay to —“ He breaks your shaky question with a kiss to your neck, a nose bridge to the apple of your cheek. You card a hand through his streaked, dampen tresses, feeling the nod before he speaks his words across your throat.

“ — I really fuckin’ need you tonight. Let me be the one to take care of you?”

Acceptance is given in a settled fervor. He doesn’t rush you, takes his time letting you experience how things feel, how you feel, how you’re making him feel, and what you’re doing together. He kisses your nerves and away, adds his thumb to your clit when you have trouble accepting him into your body. Words of encouragement are bestowed, only for you, shared pleas and whispers. Once he’s fully seated, he grabs your hands, mouths your jaw in a pathway right down to your lips, checking in with you.

His hips stutter a few times the before he starts. Overwhelmed with the situations, but mostly how tight and warm your body feels. He makes it last for you as long as he can, but you know he needs to let go. “Cum in me. Steve, do it inside of me.” You beg, kissing his stubble, mouths panting with need.

It happens moments later and he eases out, lets his hand drift, rubbing you through your own climax, you holding one another after. Until you reluctantly part to prepare to load the RV. He clasps a hand across your shoulder as you wipe your tears, knees still shaking from the changes of letting someone else in your body. You feel different, you want to stay with Steve - safe in his bed.

“You’re gonna be okay, I know so. When it’s all over, we can do this again. I’ll take you to bed every single night… If you’ll have me?”

You accept. And after survival, post-battle, even when everything has gone to shit, defeat present, having sunk through your muscles and settled across your bones - he makes good on his promise from that very first night on.

[ungravity12]

18+

A/N: After hours filth. Your boyfriend catching you getting off.

~*~

You should’ve known that your idea would’ve gotten you into this predicament. Caught red handed, legs wide open and knees cool from tile flooring, thighs aching with twisted blood rush. The silicone is pressed deep inside, your hands still resting on your nipples - just how he found you. It’s not hard to decipher what’s going on when he blinks the sleep from his eyes, caramel tresses in disarray, chain nestled in his overgrown chest hair, bare feet, and a pair of his black briefs, ones not concealing a damn thing, especially now.

“What’s this?” He questions, that honey heating up, rasp still clinging to his tongue.

You know he’d never shame you or control your pleasure, despite you being a couple. It’s a playful curiosity, yet one that borders on jealousy. Steve Harrington, with twitch of his jaw that makes that mole dance, those lips look more pronounced as he licks across them, tongue lolling out so far that it reaches his stubble bitten skin — is jealous of your dildo.

“My toy.” Is your soft response.

He shifts in the doorway, his length growing beneath the fabric, pressing uncomfortably. Bare feet pad on the floors until he’s kneeling in front of you, tilting his head to see you spread around it. And god, when he looks at you, nostrils inhaling, pupils blown so wide that remaining sleep curls away like wafting smoke, a thin amber ring surrounding an enriching black ink. You find yourself holding your breath as he leans in, nose nudging yours, breath hot on your mouth. His hand raises to cradle your cheek, thumb pad brushing ever-so-lightly.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” He plants a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“I…” you accidentally move on the toy and let out a gasp into him.

He pretends to mock, mouth finding that space behind your ear that makes your hands drop from your chest and reach for his shoulders, digging in.

“You, what? Hmm, honey?”

“You’ve been working, so I just didn’t want to take your sleep away from you, baby. That’s all.” It’s the truth, one that has Steve softening, his gaze filtering back to your own.

“You could’ve used your smaller toys, or your vibrator. I wouldn’t have mind if you stayed in bed with me while you played with yourself, sweetheart.”

Your legs tighten around the length, a whine escaping your throat. An uncomfortable echo. You have to move. You know what will ultimately satisfy you. He knows it too.

“Or is it that you just had to have something inside of you?”

“Steve…” you dig your nails into his shoulder blades and he takes the opportunity to move his hands, letting them slink around your lower back, before locking in tightly, pulling you up against his chest, your naked breasts dragging through the soft curls, his necklace draped across your collarbones.

Both of you so warm, panting, rocking into one another.

“Judging by the size, someone missed my cock, didn’t she?”

“I told you I didn’t want to wake you, please —“

“Shh, honey.” He presses a finger to your lips, his massive palm digging into your lower back, the other on your waist, and he’s lifting you a few inches off the toy, pushing you back down seconds later, his mouth piece finding your earlobe, letting you in on a secret. “Your pussy woke me up. So fucking wet that I could hear you in here.”

Your jaw drops open. “You know I wanted you, I just couldn’t wait.”

A nod that shakes strands across his forehead. He’s perfect as he rises above you, cheeks tinted pink, offering his hands to you, easing you off the cock as you stand fully.

“Jesus Christ, honey. Look between your legs, won’t even have to prep you.”

Embarrassingly, you do look down and catch a strand of creamy arousal drip from your cunt. But Steve loves it, hands shoving into the elastic of his boxers. You’re practically drooling, taste buds ready, saliva pooling across your tongue, settling in the corners of your mouth.

“How do you want me?” You’re immediately blurting.

Steve smirks that signature, shit eating from, strutting the two steps forward, pushing his hand across your cheek, some fingers splayed down over your neck. He taps several times, contemplating.

“I wanna see your face when I give you what you want, and I want to be the one that gives it to you until you’re asleep, for the rest of the night. Do you get it, honey? That okay with you? Just let me take care of you.”

You’re letting him direct you into laying back on the bed, legs wide open, chest exerted in excitement as you watch him peel down his boxers, sticky with desire, collecting over the head of his thick shaft. Absolutely beautiful. Red, dusted in beauty marks, that vein, all the way to those full balls surrounded by his bush. He is receptive to how your eyes light up, body shifting, face wrinkling in discomfort, the need to be taken, to have. He holds onto himself, watching you as he spreads that shine all over, working into his fist, his tongue collected at the side of his inner cheek, poking.

Both of you craving a little extra edge, he senses.

“You want this raw, honey? Just me inside of you, nothing else? Risking-every-damned thing.”

You incline your head at a rapid pace. “Make it happen, Steve.”

That’s all he needs to know.

[ungravity12]

steve jerking himself off in the bathroom, trying to be quick, and right as he’s about to cum you knock on the door. and he has to say yeah? as normally as he can while his toes and stomach twist. your pretty voice has him leaning over the edge, and he has to stifle a groan by biting on his tongue when he comes.

he takes a deep breath. what did you say? he has to get out because you need to use the bathroom, so he cleans up and acts like he wasn’t thinking of you on your back moaning his name for the last 20 minutes.

[ungravity12]

Violent Hearts (VIII)

Emperor Geta x reader

Find the series masterlist here

Caracalla does his best to ignite your jealousy and cause friction between you and Geta

Chapter VIII warnings: 18+ minors dni - minor character death, Caracalla being a dick, reader has hair that can be braided but there’s no mention of specific length or texture, mentions of forced sex work, derogatory/sexist language, kissing, descriptions of Geta with other partners, smut (finally! haha), oral (f receiving), fingering, mention of oral (m receiving). 6k

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

The newfound intimacy between yourself and Geta does not go unnoticed by those around you.

The senators try to be subtle, watching from the corners of their eyes. Spying how you now gladly seat yourself on Geta’s lap without him having to pull you. How the two of you walk the halls hand in hand when before you left a comfortable distance. Some almost choke on their wine at the first dinner where you lean across and press a kiss to your husband’s lips.

You know they are glad of it, if only for selfish reasons. After all, Geta will never have heirs if you refuse to touch one another.

And the development in your relationship has sweetened their leader’s mood. He scowls less. Speaks more respectfully. Small inconveniences no longer send him into rage fuelled meltdowns.

You have no doubt that the strong willed, stubborn man still remains. But you have softened his edges, as he has yours.

There is one left dissatisfied at your public shows of affection.

While Geta mellows, his brother only becomes more volatile, a change you hadn’t even thought possible.

You’re unsure of what makes Caracalla so furious.

It is clear he is not jealous that his brother has you, his distain for you is obvious. You suspect that it is the lack of attention that riles him so. He cannot stand the way others fawn over you and Geta. Loathes how your happiness seems to bring joy to those around you.

Caracalla craves power. You know that the two brothers are at each others throats constantly, a never ending battle to rule over the empire they are forced to share. But you fail to see how your marriage affects it at all.

You ponder as such aloud while Claudia styles your hair.

“I think it is not so much your marriage that causes him concern, but any future heirs you might bring.” Claudia muses, sliding a pin into place to secure your braids.

“How so?”

“Everything is a competition between those two. I can imagine that Caracalla is furious that Geta has taken a wife before him. Now if he also beats him to producing heirs, it will only enrage him more. Imagine how insignificant he will feel, knowing that if anything should happen to the pair of them, the fate of the empire will rest entirely in the hands of Geta’s child. His name will eventually fade to nothing.”

“Hmm. Perhaps he should hurry to find a wife.” You grin.

“I would feel terribly sorry for whoever must suffer that fate.”

“Let us pray for her sake she is blind.” You say.

“And deaf.” Claudia adds.

The two of you dissolve into a fit of giggles.

Your laughter is cut short by the door to your room slamming open.

Geta looks disheveled, his hair a mess, cheeks red and eyes glassy.

“Leave us.” He barks.

Claudia nods, hurrying to make her escape. Usually you would scold him for talking to her in that way, but you can sense the tension rolling off of him in waves.

“What is wrong?” You ask.

Geta does not speak. He kicks the door closed, crossing the room and scooping you up in his arms. His face presses into the crook of your neck.

Then he begins to cry.

“Prisca?” You whisper.

Geta whimpers, nodding against your skin that is now dampened with his tears.

“Oh. My love, I am so sorry.”

You realise your mistake as soon as the words leave your lips. You had never used that word before with Geta, had never even thought it. But it had slipped free so naturally, without so much as a second thought.

Thankfully, Geta doesn’t seem to catch it. Too lost in his grief. He falls to his knees, his arms winding around your middle. You run your fingers through his curls while he sobs against your stomach, a few tears of your own escaping to roll down your cheeks.

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

You are grateful to learn that Prisca’s death was peaceful.

She passed in her sleep, the nurse sent to attend to her in the morning finding her unmoving in her bed.

It offers little comfort to Geta. Despite your reassurances that he did everything he could, offering her dignity and safety in her final days, he beats himself up thinking that somehow he should have been able to save her. To keep her in his life for just a little while longer when he has spent so many years without her.

You remain patient through his grief. Allowing him space when he needs it. Taking him in your arms without comment when he needs to be held.

The arrangements of her funeral brought more conflict between the emperors.

While Geta had no expectations of grand public processions for Prisca, he was insistent that she receive more than a commoners burial outside of the city walls.

Caracalla argued that anything more was improper. A waste of time and resources.

You were at first confused why he cared so much. Why he could not put his need to dig at his brother aside for even a moment, to let him mourn in the way that brought him comfort. It seemed that there was no limit to Caracalla’s cruelty. He was only making a fuss because he knew it brought his brother pain.

Geta got his own way in the end. Caracalla was enraged, refusing to attend the service held for the woman who raised him. In all honesty both you and Geta were glad of his absence.

The service was simple and small. With no family to mourn her, the job of celebrating Prisca’s life fell largely to Geta, and to the few colleagues of hers who still worked within the emperor’s home.

A single goat was sacrificed, wine and figs left along with it as an offering to Dis Plater, in the hope that Prisca would travel safely to the underworld. When it was over, her body was taken for cremation, and you and Geta returned to your room. That evening was the last time he allowed himself to shed tears for his loss.

A few days later, Prisca’s ashes were delivered to Geta.

He placed them on the dresser, sitting motionless on the bed, staring across at the bronze urn.

“I do not know what I should do with them.” He admitted.

“We can keep her here if it will bring you comfort.” You offered.

After a moment, Geta shook his head.

“No. I do not think it will. They are just ashes. The memories I have of her are all I need.”

“Well, then perhaps we should let her rest somewhere peaceful.” You suggested, running your fingers through your husband’s curls.

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

The last of the summer heat lingered as you wandered through the gardens. Geta clasped your hand firmly, the urn tucked under his other arm.

It was the first time you had returned since Geta found you half way to drowning in the pond. A part of you worried that the place would be tainted by the memory, that perhaps you would be reminded of the fear you felt by going back there.

But it was every bit as lovely as you had remembered it being.

With Geta by your side you were unafraid. The breeze rustled the branches of the trees like a hushed greeting, welcoming your return. The two of you walked around the edge of the water, across to the largest cypress tree that grew beside the abandoned temple.

It was there you spread the ashes.

Letting them fall free from the urn, scattering in the breeze and mixing with the grass and wildflowers that sprouted there.

You spent the rest of the afternoon laying back on the pillow soft grass, your head tucked against Geta’s shoulder. He quietly reminisced on his childhood, focusing only on the pleasant memories with the only person who had ever shown him kindness and love. You drank in every word, feeling grateful to hear them, to know him better. And particularly grateful for the gentle kisses he would press to your forehead between tales.

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

Some weeks later the summer fades, autumn bringing with it a chill in the air, and a wash of warm colours. Every tree turning bronze, the sunlight more golden than the bright white heat of the previous season.

It had only been a few short months since you had arrived in Rome. But how quickly you had found yourself settling in.

The fears you once had now felt like distant memories. The days with Geta were pleasant, the nights even more so, filled with his tender kisses and soft words. Still no more than that, but what you had was enough.

You had a good friend in Claudia, someone to talk openly and honestly with, without fear of judgement.

You had even begun to take her advice, finding allies within the senate. Some of the more open-minded men did not look down on you simply for being a woman, valuing your wit and intelligence. Their wives were less empty headed than you had first assumed, and while they would never be as dear to you as your ornatrix, their company was welcome during the various feasts and celebrations held in your home.

It’s at one such dinner in mid September, when someone unexpected approaches you, taking the empty seat at your side.

“Imperator.” You sneer in greeting, shifting in your chair to put as much distance between you as possible.

Caracalla offers no reply.

Your eyes flit to Geta. He is across the room, in an intense discussion with a general, not having noticed that his brother now sits at your side.

“Are you with child yet?” Caracalla asks.

You almost choke on the wine you sip, forcing yourself to exhale steadily through your nose and swallow the mouthful.

“Not yet.” You reply.

Caracalla hums, an amused sound.

“Strange. You have been married for three months, no? And yet there is still no sign of an heir.”

“I did not think it would be something that caused you concern.”

“But of course it is.” Your brother in law grins, something twisted and hateful swirling behind his eyes.

“The future of our empire is entirely my concern.”

“Well I will be sure to inform you when the time comes imperator.” You snarl.

“Let us hope that the time does come. Perhaps you are barren.” He says coolly, as though he were discussing something as mundane as the weather.

“Or perhaps it is my brother that is the problem. You know he has had most in here.” Caracalla continues. He gestures to the meretrices around the room, twelve or more beautiful young women waiting to be snapped up by the high status men.

“He has certainly had a lot of.. experience. And yet there are no little bastards running around with red hair and dark eyes.”

Something bitter stirs within you. Like a snake, venomous and spiteful. It coils and knots around your ribs, biting at your heart with fangs dripping hate.

“I’ve been told you share your bed most nights imperator. If that is a problem for Geta perhaps it is one you both share.” You snap.

Caracalla laughs.

“I have had my share of mishaps. Just because I don’t keep the bastards around does not mean they did not happen.” He says coldly.

His words send a shiver down your spine. You don’t want to consider what becomes of those illegitimate children. Or of the women who birth them.

“Maybe you have chosen the wrong husband.” Caracalla continues.

“If you were mine you would already be swollen with my child.”

You suppress a gag, the thought of him touching you in that way making your skin itch.

“You forget that I did not choose imperator. I was chosen by Geta. Although I must say I am grateful. Had you been the one to claim me I would have hung myself with my bedsheets on my first night here. Death would be preferable to you making me your wife.”

Caracalla growls, his lips pulling back in a sneer.

“Move.” A familiar voice spits. Geta stands before you, glaring disdainfully down at his brother.

“What a pleasant greeting.” Caracalla drawls sarcastically.

“I was just enjoying a conversation with my sister in law.”

“And now the conversation is over. I wish to spend time with my wife.” Geta says, his possessiveness obvious.

Caracalla rises to his feet, chin jutting up as though to give him the extra inches of height he lacks to stand eye to eye with Geta.

“As you wish. I am sure I have given her plenty to think on anyway.” He says, pushing past Geta with a rough shove.

Your husband takes his place at your side. When you refuse to look at him he takes your hand, unfurling your clenched fingers until his can slide into the spaces between.

“Out with it.” He snaps.

“Out with what?” You reply.

“With whatever he has said to sour your mood.”

“My mood is fine.”

“Like hell it is. Look at me.”

When you ignore his order, a rough hand grabs at your chin. Geta turns your head, an irritated glare matching your own.

You despise yourself for your jealous nature. You do not care about Caracalla’s insinuation that Geta was unable to produce a child. What has you so riled is his mention of Geta’s experience.

You are not stupid. You know he has been with many before you, not that he has even been with you. It has your stomach in knots, and that hateful serpent in your chest hissing and snapping.

All these women in here, how many had known Geta in a way you still did not?

You saw the way they looked at him.

Although they were not here through choice, there was certainly a desire for Geta’s attention that was plain as day on the faces of those girls. Being the emperor’s favourite had its advantages, the slightest hint of power for those who usually had none. They would all likely jump at the opportunity to fill the space in his bed. A space that was now yours, although he was still yet to do anything about it.

“How many of these women have you had?”

Geta’s brows raise in surprise. His shocked expression fades quickly to a knowing smirk.

“Oh. I see what is happening here.” He says.

“Answer the question.”

“Why? The answer will only upset you.”

“I want to know.” You insist.

Geta’s lips stretch into a wide grin.

“Fine. I will play your game dove.” He says. He glances around the room for a moment, before turning your face to a pretty young brunette in the corner of the room.

Your stomach drops. Her face stands out to you amongst the sea of others for one reason.

She was the only one who was not here before you, having first arrived just a few short weeks ago. If Geta has been with her then it is confirmation of your worst fear, one that you keep closely guarded.

The fear that he is not faithful to you.

“She is the only one I have not had.” Geta says.

Relief floods over you, but it is short lived. He had not had her, but she is the only one. Every other meretrix in the room is familiar with your husband in ways you can only imagine.

You suck in a sharp breath, teeth grinding together. It seems to delight Geta, your obvious jealousy only fuelling him further.

“See that one over there?” He asks, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. You follow his gaze to a dark skinned girl, radiant and curvaceous, long braids hanging down her back.

“Her mouth is astounding. I swear I saw heaven with her lips wrapped around me. She could take me all the way down her throat without so much as a gag.”

The way you squeeze Geta’s hand has his bones threatening to turn to dust. Your fingernails bite meanly into his flesh, little half moon’s indented in his skin. But he does not stop.

“And that girl, the one talking to Senator Aeneas?” Geta continues.

You spot her across the room. Sitting on the senators lap, long legs as pale as milk dangling over the arm of his chair. She twirls a golden curl around her finger, blushing when the man whispers something in her ear.

“She may look shy, but don’t let it fool you. She’s a wild thing. She scratched my back so deeply I thought I would bleed. I had to tie her wrists to my bed posts just to keep control of her. And my god -“ Geta groans.

“Her cunt was like a vice. Milking me for every drop.”

You wrench your hand from his so hard the rings adorning your fingers are almost pulled off and sent flying.

Heart pounding, you hasten to leave the room, not missing Caracalla’s satisfied smirk as he watches you flee.

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

Geta gives chase, his footsteps following you through the corridors as you head back to your room. He just manages to catch the door before it slams back in his face.

“Whatever is the matter dove?” He mocks.

“You know damn well what!” You hiss.

“I only answered your question.”

“I asked you how many. I did not ask for the sordid details of-“

“But you want to know.” Geta says, cutting you off. He looks all too smug as he approaches you, stalking slowly while you step back, until the dresser behind you prevents you from moving further.

“You are curious. I see it in the way you look at me dove, I feel it in the way you kiss me. You want to know what I am capable of. You want to know what it would be like to give yourself to me.”

Geta’s chest touches yours. Lower down you feel another part of him, hard and throbbing, pressing against your belly.

“I’ll bet,” Geta whispers, sweeping his fingers along your jawline.

“That if I slipped my hand beneath your skirt right now, you would be dripping for me between your legs.”

You gasp at his lewdness, face burning with a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

“I - I am not. I do not-“

“You want me dove. Just admit it. You are jealous of all those girls I have had before.”

“There is nothing for me to be jealous of.” You snarl. You shove hard at Geta’s chest, sending him stumbling back a few steps.

“You expect me to want that? To be jealous of those whores, to want to lay back and let you use me for your pleasure like you did them? Why would that possibly appeal to me?”

Geta tuts, tilting his head to look at you with a cocky expression.

“Do you think it was only for my pleasure? Do you think I do not know how to please a woman?”

“How would I know?” You snap.

“All you’ve talked about is how it felt for you. I should not be surprised at all that you are a selfish lover.”

“I am far from that.” Geta smirks.

“Would you like me to tell you dove? All the things that I did to them. All the ways that I made them tremble, had them crying out my name while they writhed on my sheets?”

You hate him.

And you hate yourself.

Because you’re so confused, all your emotions mixed up and turned upside down. Fury still courses in your veins, a hot anger that makes your heart beat faster.

But beneath it there’s something else. That warmth you’ve become acquainted with when Geta kisses you in the night. Arousal pooling low in your belly.

“I do not wish to hear it.” You say, wincing when your voice comes out as nothing but a weak whisper.

“I could show you.” Geta murmurs.

His voice is low and salacious. Dangerous. Sirens sound in your head in warning. You stammer helplessly, feeling any semblance of control slipping away.

“You know I won’t fuck you.” Geta says, grinning at the way you twitch from his vulgar words.

“I’ve already told you what you would have to do to earn that. But there are other things I can do. So many ways I can play with you that you will enjoy.”

Your thighs press together, an action that Geta catches, his eyes flitting down momentarily.

Do you want this? To be a play thing for the emperor?

Yes, a voice whispers in the back of your mind.

Yes you do.

“Fine.” You shrug, feigning indifference. Anything to feel like you hold the power here. But the look on Geta’s face tells you that you’ve already lost this game.

“Get on the bed.”

It’s an order, not a suggestion. No barking tone, but it’s still firm. You war with yourself a moment longer, debating on whether you should protest further. But your body seems to have decided for you, your legs carrying you to the bed. You perch hesitantly on the edge, looking at Geta expectantly.

“Lay back dove. Get comfortable for me.” He says.

You do as you’re told, cursing yourself the entire time. Laying flat on your back, your head resting against the pillows, you keep your arms by your sides, fiddling with the material that covers you.

Geta climbs onto the edge of the bed. You feel yourself go rigid, anticipating his next move.

You don’t expect him to crawl up the length of your body, ignoring the place that aches between your legs entirely. When his face hovers over yours he smiles softly, cupping your cheek.

“Relax mellitus.” He whispers.

His kisses are slow. Almost lazy. Your lips part on a soft sigh, Geta licking gently into your mouth.

Your body melts, all the tension draining away while you lose yourself in his kisses. He uses the opportunity to nudge your knees apart with his own, his thigh sliding up to press between your legs.

A gasp is pushed out of your lungs, an unfamiliar sensation making your entire body jolt. Up to now your only relief from the ache in your core has been tightening your thighs, a quick squeeze of pressure to dull the feeling. You have never dared explore further. Feeling too embarrassed to try touching yourself there, knowing your inexperience will only lead to frustration.

But now Geta’s thigh is firmly pressed against you, providing sweet friction. Your hips buck up into his touch, sensitive skin catching on the fabric trapped between you.

“That’s it.” Geta murmurs against your lips.

“Let me make you feel good.”

You rock against him again, harder this time. In response he presses harder, positioning his leg so that you can rut against his firm muscles. Pleasure runs up your spine, a welcome shiver that ripples through your body. It feels better than you could have ever expected. The ache is getting worse, but somehow you like it.

You want more of it.

When Geta pulls away the sensation dies instantly. You whine, mortified at the needy sound, but so desperate not to lose the high that was building that you can’t help but grab at him in an attempt to pull him back.

“It’s alright. I’ve got you.” Geta says calmly.

He shuffles down, pushing your knees apart with warm hands. Grabs fistfuls of your tunic, dragging it up slowly. You feel your face burn when the small shorts you wear beneath the dress are revealed. It’s stupid, the way you squirm. Geta has seen you naked, and now you are still dressed. But this is intimate in a way you have never experienced.

You don’t know what is coming next, only that there is no way back from it once it has happened.

“Can I take these off? I want to see you.” Geta whispers, his fingers curling into the waistband of your shorts.

Him asking for your permission catches you off guard, and you find yourself unable to answer, your tongue feeling swollen and heavy in your mouth. So you simply nod your head, lifting your hips to aid him as he slips the garment down your legs.

“I knew it.”

It sounds more like Geta is murmuring to himself than talking to you. Still, you crane you neck to look down at your body, to the spot where Geta’s dark eyes are now locked.

Your sex is swollen and glistening, the skin at the top of your thighs sticky and wet. It is an unfamiliar sight, something that confuses and excites you in equal measure.

“Dove.”

You tear your eyes away, glancing nervously up at Geta. His pupils are blown, black threatening to swallow the last of the bronze that remains.

“If you want me to stop, you must tell me.” He instructs.

“O-okay.” You breathe. You don’t know why you trust him. Perhaps you shouldn’t.

But you do.

Satisfied with your answer, Geta lowers himself further down the bed, until he is laying on his stomach. A flutter of nerves swoops in your belly. His face is so close to down there, and it makes you want to hide. But Geta won’t allow it, his hands preventing your legs from closing. They slide up from your knees, massaging the plush flesh of your thighs, rough fingertips gently kneading soft skin.

“So pretty.” He comments lowly.

Anticipation builds, your body burning hot as his hands get closer to that throbbing place. He traces a fingertip carefully over the edge of your cunt. It dances through your folds, exploring you, dipping down to where you are most wet.

“Look at how she weeps for me.” Geta whispers in awe.

“So needy. She is practically begging for me dove.”

It should disgust you, the way he speaks. But it only further fuels your desire, your breathing coming in quick, shallow pants with every stroke of his digit on the most intimate part of you.

Geta’s fingers brush over something at the peak of you, a spot so sensitive that the faint pressure has you choking on a cry.

“Oh! Wh-what are you doing?” You whine.

Geta scoffs in disbelief, his smile never faltering.

“My god, you are going to be so fun to play with. This is your clit dove. I’ll bet no one has ever touched you here before, not even yourself.”

Condescension drips from his tone, but you can’t find it in yourself to be annoyed. Not when he circles your clit with a firmer pressure, your toes curling and fingernails clawing at the sheets.

“It’s a special spot for me. Just for me. Does it feel good?” He asks.

“Yes. It f-feels so good.” You whimper shamelessly.

Geta chuckles.

“Then I’m sure you will love this.”

He withdraws his hand. Before you have even a second to protest, you feel a wash of warm breath over your sex, Geta’s head dipping lower. He presses a kiss to you, the heat of his open mouth stoking the flames that burn within you.

A moan rings out in the room, a sound so foreign it is hard to believe it has come from you. Geta’s lips are soft as they drag over your flesh, his tongue lapping at the wetness that now threatens to pool beneath you and stain the sheets. He kisses you there much like he does your mouth, just a little sloppier, his jaw open wide while his tongue snakes through your folds. He flattens the muscle, dragging it up slow, catching on your clit and making your whole body shiver.

Every swipe of his tongue over the bundle of nerves has your muscles tensing, an unfamiliar sensation growing in your abdomen, like a coil winding tight. You’re lost to the sensation, only vaguely aware of the way your hips rise to meet his mouth, your hands grasping at his hair in a desperate attempt to keep him where you need him to be. Your fingernails scratch at his scalp meanly, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Geta seems to understand, knowing what your wordless responses are begging him for. He seals his lips over your clit, sucking hard, and you are done for.

You come with a strangled yelp, pure pleasure fizzing in your veins. It’s a dizzying rush that leaves you light headed. Your body convulses, thighs clamping shut around Geta’s head, but he doesn’t stop, content to continue lapping at you, even when your weak legs finally fall apart, twitching with the aftershocks.

When your pleased moans dissolve into whimpers of overstimulation, Geta finally relents. He sits up, smiling down at you with glossy lips, even his chin and cheeks shining with your essence. He appears pleased with himself, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at his smug expression.

“What’s that look for?” He laughs.

“I am just waiting for you to start gloating.” You tease back breathlessly.

“There will be plenty of time for that when I am done with you.”

You tilt your head at him questioningly. Geta clambers back over your body, holding you close while his lips meet your neck. His tongue traces a line up your throat, lips finally settling on a sensitive spot beneath your ear, sucking the skin so hard it will surely bruise.

While you’re distracted by his mouth, Geta snakes an arm down, his hand cupping over your bare pussy. It sends another jolt through you, your hips unsure if they should thrust into his touch or pull away.

“Mmm. Geta, I can’t.” You half heartedly protest.

“Yes you can.” He replies.

“You can. Be a good girl for me dove, and take it.”

How could you say no? Your body was still trembling from the first orgasm you’d ever had in your life, yet you could feel it - the heat that refused to fully dissipate. The way you grind down shamelessly so that the heel of Geta’s palm bumps against your clit, providing just enough stimulation.

Something prods at your entrance, a finger sweeping delicately across that space that’s never been explored before. It sinks in slowly, and you brace yourself for pain, but it doesn’t come. You’re so wet that Geta slides in easy, silk walls squeezing around him when he curls and presses on a place that has every nerve in your body alight with pleasure.

“Oh.” You sigh, head lolling back against the pillows.

“Are - are you..”

“I’m inside you mellitus.” Geta confirms, his lips ghosting across your cheek.

“God you feel so good. I cannot wait to feel this pretty little cunt wrapped around my cock.”

You don’t chastise him for his filthy words, too busy moaning at the image they paint for you. Geta’s finger pumps steady and slow, the rough pad pressing the sweet spot inside you while his thumb dances over your clit.

“But I will wait. Tonight I want to make you feel good.”

“You are. It feels so good.” You whine.

“Yeah?” Geta grins.

“You believe me now? That I know how to please a woman?”

The reminder of your earlier conversation has you gritting your teeth in spite of the pleasant sensations washing over you.

You don’t want to think about it, about how Geta got to be so adept at touching a woman. You don’t want to think about them in this moment, and you certainly don’t want Geta thinking about them either.

A second finger pushes in with the first. This time you gasp, a little sting mixing with the pleasure, your body trying to adjust to the intrusion. The stretch hurts, but it feels good too, the way you’re full of him now.

You turn your face to Geta in hopes of a kiss, but find him staring down at you with that familiar mean glint in his eyes.

“They loved this too you know? I’ve been told I’m gifted with my hands.”

“Sh-shut up.” You hiss.

“Why? That is what got you so soaked for me in the first place isn’t it? Me telling you all of the things I did with the meretrices?”

He’s trying to anger you. Even now, with his hand buried between your legs, your husband is trying to goad you into an argument.

“Don’t talk about them. D-don’t even think about them.” You snap, fighting the way your back threatens to arch like a bow.

“No? Can I not talk to them, if they approach me?” Geta asks.

“No! If you so much as look at them I’ll - I’ll kill-“

Geta chuckles, speeding up the thrusts of his fingers.

“Are you going to kill me dove?”

“Not you. Them.” You spit out.

You swear you see something flash in Geta’s eyes. Something dark and predatory, but it doesn’t scare you. It only infuriates you more.

“I’ll kill them all. E-every last one. There won’t be a girl left in Rome. I’ll slit the throats of any whore who so much as dares to b-breath near you.”

“And why’s that dove?”

Geta’s hand is now a blur between your thighs, his thrusts rough and fast, pushing you dangerously close to the precipice of another release.

“Because you’re mine!” You cry out.

You feel it come in waves, that sweet warmth that ripples through you. Your walls grip hard to Geta’s fingers, the muscles spasming around him as you push back to meet his thrusts, prolonging the pleasure.

“That’s right. And you’re all mine. My perfect wife.” Geta murmurs, peppering kisses across your face, smearing the perspiration that beads on your forehead.

Entirely spent, you fall limp against the mattress. Your body feels boneless, your head swimming in a haze, like you’re out of your body and drifting in some ethereal place.

Through heavy eyelids you watch as Geta brings his hand to his lips, sucking his fingers clean and groaning at the taste of you like it’s honey.

The reality of what you have just done, of what Geta has done to you, leaves you feeling exposed and vulnerable in a way you’re unused to. Your heart aches in your chest, your voice a pathetic whine when you finally speak.

“Am I really yours?” You ask.

Geta blinks owlishly, looking at you in disbelief.

“Of course you are.” He says softly. He lays down beside you, letting your body curl into him, your face pressed to his chest. It feels easier to not look at him. If you do, you think you might betray yourself with tears.

“Those things I said, I was only playing with you dove. I do not want another. There is no woman in the world who could turn my head when I have you at my side.”

“Besides,” he says, hooking a knuckle under your chin to raise your head.

“I can’t risk you slaughtering every meretrice in Rome. Imagine how upset the senators would be.” He laughs.

“There would surely be riots.” You smile.

“You are not wrong.”

You bask in the sweet afterglow, your breathing returning to normal, your heart slowing its race behind your ribs. You kiss your husband tenderly, tasting yourself on his lips and finding that the flavour is not unpleasant as you had expected.

It makes you wonder what Geta tastes like.

He had said something earlier, about a woman putting her mouth on him. You push down the jealous beast within you that begins to stir, instead imagining how such a thing could work.

“I want to touch you.” You whisper.

“Will you let me?”

“It is a little late for that dove.” Geta says softly.

“It is not that late.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He smiles.

He takes your hand, guiding it down to cup his crotch. The flesh there is softer than you anticipated. When you squeeze a little, you feel how damp his tunic is, a sticky mess staining it from the inside.

“What.. when did you-“

“Right around the time you were threatening the lives of every woman in Rome.” Geta grins.

“Hmm. You certainly are a strange one.” You say.

“You love it.” He laughs.

And it’s funny really.

You think he might be right.

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

Translations:

Dis Plater - god of the underworld

Mellitus - roughly translates to ‘sweetened with honey’, so in this context it’s like calling someone sweet

Meretrices - prostitutes (meretrix is singular)

Tags:

@ghoulsgraveyard @rxqueenotd @sashaphantomhive @chaoticgood-munson @aurora-austen @supernovaofthoughts

[ungravity12]

Violent Hearts (VIII)

Emperor Geta x reader

Find the series masterlist here

Caracalla does his best to ignite your jealousy and cause friction between you and Geta

Chapter VIII warnings: 18+ minors dni - minor character death, Caracalla being a dick, reader has hair that can be braided but there’s no mention of specific length or texture, mentions of forced sex work, derogatory/sexist language, kissing, smut (finally! haha), oral (f receiving), fingering, mention of oral (m receiving). 6k

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

The newfound intimacy between yourself and Geta does not go unnoticed by those around you.

The senators try to be subtle, watching from the corners of their eyes. Spying how you now gladly seat yourself on Geta’s lap without him having to pull you. How the two of you walk the halls hand in hand when before you left a comfortable distance. Some almost choke on their wine at the first dinner where you lean across and press a kiss to your husband’s lips.

You know they are glad of it, if only for selfish reasons. After all, Geta will never have heirs if you refuse to touch one another.

And the development in your relationship has sweetened their leader’s mood. He scowls less. Speaks more respectfully. Small inconveniences no longer send him into rage fuelled meltdowns.

You have no doubt that the strong willed, stubborn man still remains. But you have softened his edges, as he has yours.

There is one left dissatisfied at your public shows of affection.

While Geta mellows, his brother only becomes more volatile, a change you hadn’t even thought possible.

You’re unsure of what makes Caracalla so furious.

It is clear he is not jealous that his brother has you, his distain for you is obvious. You suspect that it is the lack of attention that riles him so. He cannot stand the way others fawn over you and Geta. Loathes how your happiness seems to bring joy to those around you.

Caracalla craves power. You know that the two brothers are at each others throats constantly, a never ending battle to rule over the empire they are forced to share. But you fail to see how your marriage affects it at all.

You ponder as such aloud while Claudia styles your hair.

“I think it is not so much your marriage that causes him concern, but any future heirs you might bring.” Claudia muses, sliding a pin into place to secure your braids.

“How so?”

“Everything is a competition between those two. I can imagine that Caracalla is furious that Geta has taken a wife before him. Now if he also beats him to producing heirs, it will only enrage him more. Imagine how insignificant he will feel, knowing that if anything should happen to the pair of them, the fate of the empire will rest entirely in the hands of Geta’s child. His name will eventually fade to nothing.”

“Hmm. Perhaps he should hurry to find a wife.” You grin.

“I would feel terribly sorry for whoever must suffer that fate.”

“Let us pray for her sake she is blind.” You say.

“And deaf.” Claudia adds.

The two of you dissolve into a fit of giggles.

Your laughter is cut short by the door to your room slamming open.

Geta looks disheveled, his hair a mess, cheeks red and eyes glassy.

“Leave us.” He barks.

Claudia nods, hurrying to make her escape. Usually you would scold him for talking to her in that way, but you can sense the tension rolling off of him in waves.

“What is wrong?” You ask.

Geta does not speak. He kicks the door closed, crossing the room and scooping you up in his arms. His face presses into the crook of your neck.

Then he begins to cry.

“Prisca?” You whisper.

Geta whimpers, nodding against your skin that is now dampened with his tears.

“Oh. My love, I am so sorry.”

You realise your mistake as soon as the words leave your lips. You had never used that word before with Geta, had never even thought it. But it had slipped free so naturally, without so much as a second thought.

Thankfully, Geta doesn’t seem to catch it. Too lost in his grief. He falls to his knees, his arms winding around your middle. You run your fingers through his curls while he sobs against your stomach, a few tears of your own escaping to roll down your cheeks.

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

You are grateful to learn that Prisca’s death was peaceful.

She passed in her sleep, the nurse sent to attend to her in the morning finding her unmoving in her bed.

It offers little comfort to Geta. Despite your reassurances that he did everything he could, offering her dignity and safety in her final days, he beats himself up thinking that somehow he should have been able to save her. To keep her in his life for just a little while longer when he has spent so many years without her.

You remain patient through his grief. Allowing him space when he needs it. Taking him in your arms without comment when he needs to be held.

The arrangements of her funeral brought more conflict between the emperors.

While Geta had no expectations of grand public processions for Prisca, he was insistent that she receive more than a commoners burial outside of the city walls.

Caracalla argued that anything more was improper. A waste of time and resources.

You were at first confused why he cared so much. Why he could not put his need to dig at his brother aside for even a moment, to let him mourn in the way that brought him comfort. It seemed that there was no limit to Caracalla’s cruelty. He was only making a fuss because he knew it brought his brother pain.

Geta got his own way in the end. Caracalla was enraged, refusing to attend the service held for the woman who raised him. In all honesty both you and Geta were glad of his absence.

The service was simple and small. With no family to mourn her, the job of celebrating Prisca’s life fell largely to Geta, and to the few colleagues of hers who still worked within the emperor’s home.

A single goat was sacrificed, wine and figs left along with it as an offering to Dis Plater, in the hope that Prisca would travel safely to the underworld. When it was over, her body was taken for cremation, and you and Geta returned to your room. That evening was the last time he allowed himself to shed tears for his loss.

A few days later, Prisca’s ashes were delivered to Geta.

He placed them on the dresser, sitting motionless on the bed, staring across at the bronze urn.

“I do not know what I should do with them.” He admitted.

“We can keep her here if it will bring you comfort.” You offered.

After a moment, Geta shook his head.

“No. I do not think it will. They are just ashes. The memories I have of her are all I need.”

“Well, then perhaps we should let her rest somewhere peaceful.” You suggested, running your fingers through your husband’s curls.

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

The last of the summer heat lingered as you wandered through the gardens. Geta clasped your hand firmly, the urn tucked under his other arm.

It was the first time you had returned since Geta found you half way to drowning in the pond. A part of you worried that the place would be tainted by the memory, that perhaps you would be reminded of the fear you felt by going back there.

But it was every bit as lovely as you had remembered it being.

With Geta by your side you were unafraid. The breeze rustled the branches of the trees like a hushed greeting, welcoming your return. The two of you walked around the edge of the water, across to the largest cypress tree that grew beside the abandoned temple.

It was there you spread the ashes.

Letting them fall free from the urn, scattering in the breeze and mixing with the grass and wildflowers that sprouted there.

You spent the rest of the afternoon laying back on the pillow soft grass, your head tucked against Geta’s shoulder. He quietly reminisced on his childhood, focusing only on the pleasant memories with the only person who had ever shown him kindness and love. You drank in every word, feeling grateful to hear them, to know him better. And particularly grateful for the gentle kisses he would press to your forehead between tales.

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

Some weeks later the summer fades, autumn bringing with it a chill in the air, and a wash of warm colours. Every tree turning bronze, the sunlight more golden than the bright white heat of the previous season.

It had only been a few short months since you had arrived in Rome. But how quickly you had found yourself settling in.

The fears you once had now felt like distant memories. The days with Geta were pleasant, the nights even more so, filled with his tender kisses and soft words. Still no more than that, but what you had was enough.

You had a good friend in Claudia, someone to talk openly and honestly with, without fear of judgement.

You had even begun to take her advice, finding allies within the senate. Some of the more open-minded men did not look down on you simply for being a woman, valuing your wit and intelligence. Their wives were less empty headed than you had first assumed, and while they would never be as dear to you as your ornatrix, their company was welcome during the various feasts and celebrations held in your home.

It’s at one such dinner in mid September, when someone unexpected approaches you, taking the empty seat at your side.

“Imperator.” You sneer in greeting, shifting in your chair to put as much distance between you as possible.

Caracalla offers no reply.

Your eyes flit to Geta. He is across the room, in an intense discussion with a general, not having noticed that his brother now sits at your side.

“Are you with child yet?” Caracalla asks.

You almost choke on the wine you sip, forcing yourself to exhale steadily through your nose and swallow the mouthful.

“Not yet.” You reply.

Caracalla hums, an amused sound.

“Strange. You have been married for three months, no? And yet there is still no sign of an heir.”

“I did not think it would be something that caused you concern.”

“But of course it is.” Your brother in law grins, something twisted and hateful swirling behind his eyes.

“The future of our empire is entirely my concern.”

“Well I will be sure to inform you when the time comes imperator.” You snarl.

“Let us hope that the time does come. Perhaps you are barren.” He says coolly, as though he were discussing something as mundane as the weather.

“Or perhaps it is my brother that is the problem. You know he has had most in here.” Caracalla continues. He gestures to the meretrices around the room, twelve or more beautiful young women waiting to be snapped up by the high status men.

“He has certainly had a lot of.. experience. And yet there are no little bastards running around with red hair and dark eyes.”

Something bitter stirs within you. Like a snake, venomous and spiteful. It coils and knots around your ribs, biting at your heart with fangs dripping hate.

“I’ve been told you share your bed most nights imperator. If that is a problem for Geta perhaps it is one you both share.” You snap.

Caracalla laughs.

“I have had my share of mishaps. Just because I don’t keep the bastards around does not mean they did not happen.” He says coldly.

His words send a shiver down your spine. You don’t want to consider what becomes of those illegitimate children. Or of the women who birth them.

“Maybe you have chosen the wrong husband.” Caracalla continues.

“If you were mine you would already be swollen with my child.”

You suppress a gag, the thought of him touching you in that way making your skin itch.

“You forget that I did not choose imperator. I was chosen by Geta. Although I must say I am grateful. Had you been the one to claim me I would have hung myself with my bedsheets on my first night here. Death would be preferable to you making me your wife.”

Caracalla growls, his lips pulling back in a sneer.

“Move.” A familiar voice spits. Geta stands before you, glaring disdainfully down at his brother.

“What a pleasant greeting.” Caracalla drawls sarcastically.

“I was just enjoying a conversation with my sister in law.”

“And now the conversation is over. I wish to spend time with my wife.” Geta says, his possessiveness obvious.

Caracalla rises to his feet, chin jutting up as though to give him the extra inches of height he lacks to stand eye to eye with Geta.

“As you wish. I am sure I have given her plenty to think on anyway.” He says, pushing past Geta with a rough shove.

Your husband takes his place at your side. When you refuse to look at him he takes your hand, unfurling your clenched fingers until his can slide into the spaces between.

“Out with it.” He snaps.

“Out with what?” You reply.

“With whatever he has said to sour your mood.”

“My mood is fine.”

“Like hell it is. Look at me.”

When you ignore his order, a rough hand grabs at your chin. Geta turns your head, an irritated glare matching your own.

You despise yourself for your jealous nature. You do not care about Caracalla’s insinuation that Geta was unable to produce a child. What has you so riled is his mention of Geta’s experience.

You are not stupid. You know he has been with many before you, not that he has even been with you. It has your stomach in knots, and that hateful serpent in your chest hissing and snapping.

All these women in here, how many had known Geta in a way you still did not?

You saw the way they looked at him.

Although they were not here through choice, there was certainly a desire for Geta’s attention that was plain as day on the faces of those girls. Being the emperor’s favourite had its advantages, the slightest hint of power for those who usually had none. They would all likely jump at the opportunity to fill the space in his bed. A space that was now yours, although he was still yet to do anything about it.

“How many of these women have you had?”

Geta’s brows raise in surprise. His shocked expression fades quickly to a knowing smirk.

“Oh. I see what is happening here.” He says.

“Answer the question.”

“Why? The answer will only upset you.”

“I want to know.” You insist.

Geta’s lips stretch into a wide grin.

“Fine. I will play your game dove.” He says. He glances around the room for a moment, before turning your face to a pretty young brunette in the corner of the room.

Your stomach drops. Her face stands out to you amongst the sea of others for one reason.

She was the only one who was not here before you, having first arrived just a few short weeks ago. If Geta has been with her then it is confirmation of your worst fear, one that you keep closely guarded.

The fear that he is not faithful to you.

“She is the only one I have not had.” Geta says.

Relief floods over you, but it is short lived. He had not had her, but she is the only one. Every other meretrix in the room is familiar with your husband in ways you can only imagine.

You suck in a sharp breath, teeth grinding together. It seems to delight Geta, your obvious jealousy only fuelling him further.

“See that one over there?” He asks, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. You follow his gaze to a dark skinned girl, radiant and curvaceous, long braids hanging down her back.

“Her mouth is astounding. I swear I saw heaven with her lips wrapped around me. She could take me all the way down her throat without so much as a gag.”

The way you squeeze Geta’s hand has his bones threatening to turn to dust. Your fingernails bite meanly into his flesh, little half moon’s indented in his skin. But he does not stop.

“And that girl, the one talking to Senator Aeneas?” Geta continues.

You spot her across the room. Sitting on the senators lap, long legs as pale as milk dangling over the arm of his chair. She twirls a golden curl around her finger, blushing when the man whispers something in her ear.

“She may look shy, but don’t let it fool you. She’s a wild thing. She scratched my back so deeply I thought I would bleed. I had to tie her wrists to my bed posts just to keep control of her. And my god -“ Geta groans.

“Her cunt was like a vice. Milking me for every drop.”

You wrench your hand from his so hard the rings adorning your fingers are almost pulled off and sent flying.

Heart pounding, you hasten to leave the room, not missing Caracalla’s satisfied smirk as he watches you flee.

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

Geta gives chase, his footsteps following you through the corridors as you head back to your room. He just manages to catch the door before it slams back in his face.

“Whatever is the matter dove?” He mocks.

“You know damn well what!” You hiss.

“I only answered your question.”

“I asked you how many. I did not ask for the sordid details of-“

“But you want to know.” Geta says, cutting you off. He looks all too smug as he approaches you, stalking slowly while you step back, until the dresser behind you prevents you from moving further.

“You are curious. I see it in the way you look at me dove, I feel it in the way you kiss me. You want to know what I am capable of. You want to know what it would be like to give yourself to me.”

Geta’s chest touches yours. Lower down you feel another part of him, hard and throbbing, pressing against your belly.

“I’ll bet,” Geta whispers, sweeping his fingers along your jawline.

“That if I slipped my hand beneath your skirt right now, you would be dripping for me between your legs.”

You gasp at his lewdness, face burning with a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

“I - I am not. I do not-“

“You want me dove. Just admit it. You are jealous of all those girls I have had before.”

“There is nothing for me to be jealous of.” You snarl. You shove hard at Geta’s chest, sending him stumbling back a few steps.

“You expect me to want that? To be jealous of those whores, to want to lay back and let you use me for your pleasure like you did them? Why would that possibly appeal to me?”

Geta tuts, tilting his head to look at you with a cocky expression.

“Do you think it was only for my pleasure? Do you think I do not know how to please a woman?”

“How would I know?” You snap.

“All you’ve talked about is how it felt for you. I should not be surprised at all that you are a selfish lover.”

“I am far from that.” Geta smirks.

“Would you like me to tell you dove? All the things that I did to them. All the ways that I made them tremble, had them crying out my name while they writhed on my sheets?”

You hate him.

And you hate yourself.

Because you’re so confused, all your emotions mixed up and turned upside down. Fury still courses in your veins, a hot anger that makes your heart beat faster.

But beneath it there’s something else. That warmth you’ve become acquainted with when Geta kisses you in the night. Arousal pooling low in your belly.

“I do not wish to hear it.” You say, wincing when your voice comes out as nothing but a weak whisper.

“I could show you.” Geta murmurs.

His voice is low and salacious. Dangerous. Sirens sound in your head in warning. You stammer helplessly, feeling any semblance of control slipping away.

“You know I won’t fuck you.” Geta says, grinning at the way you twitch from his vulgar words.

“I’ve already told you what you would have to do to earn that. But there are other things I can do. So many ways I can play with you that you will enjoy.”

Your thighs press together, an action that Geta catches, his eyes flitting down momentarily.

Do you want this? To be a play thing for the emperor?

Yes, a voice whispers in the back of your mind.

Yes you do.

“Fine.” You shrug, feigning indifference. Anything to feel like you hold the power here. But the look on Geta’s face tells you that you’ve already lost this game.

“Get on the bed.”

It’s an order, not a suggestion. No barking tone, but it’s still firm. You war with yourself a moment longer, debating on whether you should protest further. But your body seems to have decided for you, your legs carrying you to the bed. You perch hesitantly on the edge, looking at Geta expectantly.

“Lay back dove. Get comfortable for me.” He says.

You do as you’re told, cursing yourself the entire time. Laying flat on your back, your head resting against the pillows, you keep your arms by your sides, fiddling with the material that covers you.

Geta climbs onto the edge of the bed. You feel yourself go rigid, anticipating his next move.

You don’t expect him to crawl up the length of your body, ignoring the place that aches between your legs entirely. When his face hovers over yours he smiles softly, cupping your cheek.

“Relax mellitus.” He whispers.

His kisses are slow. Almost lazy. Your lips part on a soft sigh, Geta licking gently into your mouth.

Your body melts, all the tension draining away while you lose yourself in his kisses. He uses the opportunity to nudge your knees apart with his own, his thigh sliding up to press between your legs.

A gasp is pushed out of your lungs, an unfamiliar sensation making your entire body jolt. Up to now your only relief from the ache in your core has been tightening your thighs, a quick squeeze of pressure to dull the feeling. You have never dared explore further. Feeling too embarrassed to try touching yourself there, knowing your inexperience will only lead to frustration.

But now Geta’s thigh is firmly pressed against you, providing sweet friction. Your hips buck up into his touch, sensitive skin catching on the fabric trapped between you.

“That’s it.” Geta murmurs against your lips.

“Let me make you feel good.”

You rock against him again, harder this time. In response he presses harder, positioning his leg so that you can rut against his firm muscles. Pleasure runs up your spine, a welcome shiver that ripples through your body. It feels better than you could have ever expected. The ache is getting worse, but somehow you like it.

You want more of it.

When Geta pulls away the sensation dies instantly. You whine, mortified at the needy sound, but so desperate not to lose the high that was building that you can’t help but grab at him in an attempt to pull him back.

“It’s alright. I’ve got you.” Geta says calmly.

He shuffles down, pushing your knees apart with warm hands. Grabs fistfuls of your tunic, dragging it up slowly. You feel your face burn when the small shorts you wear beneath the dress are revealed. It’s stupid, the way you squirm. Geta has seen you naked, and now you are still dressed. But this is intimate in a way you have never experienced.

You don’t know what is coming next, only that there is no way back from it once it has happened.

“Can I take these off? I want to see you.” Geta whispers, his fingers curling into the waistband of your shorts.

Him asking for your permission catches you off guard, and you find yourself unable to answer, your tongue feeling swollen and heavy in your mouth. So you simply nod your head, lifting your hips to aid him as he slips the garment down your legs.

“I knew it.”

It sounds more like Geta is murmuring to himself than talking to you. Still, you crane you neck to look down at your body, to the spot where Geta’s dark eyes are now locked.

Your sex is swollen and glistening, the skin at the top of your thighs sticky and wet. It is an unfamiliar sight, something that confuses and excites you in equal measure.

“Dove.”

You tear your eyes away, glancing nervously up at Geta. His pupils are blown, black threatening to swallow the last of the bronze that remains.

“If you want me to stop, you must tell me.” He instructs.

“O-okay.” You breathe. You don’t know why you trust him. Perhaps you shouldn’t.

But you do.

Satisfied with your answer, Geta lowers himself further down the bed, until he is laying on his stomach. A flutter of nerves swoops in your belly. His face is so close to down there, and it makes you want to hide. But Geta won’t allow it, his hands preventing your legs from closing. They slide up from your knees, massaging the plush flesh of your thighs, rough fingertips gently kneading soft skin.

“So pretty.” He comments lowly.

Anticipation builds, your body burning hot as his hands get closer to that throbbing place. He traces a fingertip carefully over the edge of your cunt. It dances through your folds, exploring you, dipping down to where you are most wet.

“Look at how she weeps for me.” Geta whispers in awe.

“So needy. She is practically begging for me dove.”

It should disgust you, the way he speaks. But it only further fuels your desire, your breathing coming in quick, shallow pants with every stroke of his digit on the most intimate part of you.

Geta’s fingers brush over something at the peak of you, a spot so sensitive that the faint pressure has you choking on a cry.

“Oh! Wh-what are you doing?” You whine.

Geta scoffs in disbelief, his smile never faltering.

“My god, you are going to be so fun to play with. This is your clit dove. I’ll bet no one has ever touched you here before, not even yourself.”

Condescension drips from his tone, but you can’t find it in yourself to be annoyed. Not when he circles your clit with a firmer pressure, your toes curling and fingernails clawing at the sheets.

“It’s a special spot for me. Just for me. Does it feel good?” He asks.

“Yes. It f-feels so good.” You whimper shamelessly.

Geta chuckles.

“Then I’m sure you will love this.”

He withdraws his hand. Before you have even a second to protest, you feel a wash of warm breath over your sex, Geta’s head dipping lower. He presses a kiss to you, the heat of his open mouth stoking the flames that burn within you.

A moan rings out in the room, a sound so foreign it is hard to believe it has come from you. Geta’s lips are soft as they drag over your flesh, his tongue lapping at the wetness that now threatens to pool beneath you and stain the sheets. He kisses you there much like he does your mouth, just a little sloppier, his jaw open wide while his tongue snakes through your folds. He flattens the muscle, dragging it up slow, catching on your clit and making your whole body shiver.

Every swipe of his tongue over the bundle of nerves has your muscles tensing, an unfamiliar sensation growing in your abdomen, like a coil winding tight. You’re lost to the sensation, only vaguely aware of the way your hips rise to meet his mouth, your hands grasping at his hair in a desperate attempt to keep him where you need him to be. Your fingernails scratch at his scalp meanly, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Geta seems to understand, knowing what your wordless responses are begging him for. He seals his lips over your clit, sucking hard, and you are done for.

You come with a strangled yelp, pure pleasure fizzing in your veins. It’s a dizzying rush that leaves you light headed. Your body convulses, thighs clamping shut around Geta’s head, but he doesn’t stop, content to continue lapping at you, even when your weak legs finally fall apart, twitching with the aftershocks.

When your pleased moans dissolve into whimpers of overstimulation, Geta finally relents. He sits up, smiling down at you with glossy lips, even his chin and cheeks shining with your essence. He appears pleased with himself, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at his smug expression.

“What’s that look for?” He laughs.

“I am just waiting for you to start gloating.” You tease back breathlessly.

“There will be plenty of time for that when I am done with you.”

You tilt your head at him questioningly. Geta clambers back over your body, holding you close while his lips meet your neck. His tongue traces a line up your throat, lips finally settling on a sensitive spot beneath your ear, sucking the skin so hard it will surely bruise.

While you’re distracted by his mouth, Geta snakes an arm down, his hand cupping over your bare pussy. It sends another jolt through you, your hips unsure if they should thrust into his touch or pull away.

“Mmm. Geta, I can’t.” You half heartedly protest.

“Yes you can.” He replies.

“You can. Be a good girl for me dove, and take it.”

How could you say no? Your body was still trembling from the first orgasm you’d ever had in your life, yet you could feel it - the heat that refused to fully dissipate. The way you grind down shamelessly so that the heel of Geta’s palm bumps against your clit, providing just enough stimulation.

Something prods at your entrance, a finger sweeping delicately across that space that’s never been explored before. It sinks in slowly, and you brace yourself for pain, but it doesn’t come. You’re so wet that Geta slides in easy, silk walls squeezing around him when he curls and presses on a place that has every nerve in your body alight with pleasure.

“Oh.” You sigh, head lolling back against the pillows.

“Are - are you..”

“I’m inside you mellitus.” Geta confirms, his lips ghosting across your cheek.

“God you feel so good. I cannot wait to feel this pretty little cunt wrapped around my cock.”

You don’t chastise him for his filthy words, too busy moaning at the image they paint for you. Geta’s finger pumps steady and slow, the rough pad pressing the sweet spot inside you while his thumb dances over your clit.

“But I will wait. Tonight I want to make you feel good.”

“You are. It feels so good.” You whine.

“Yeah?” Geta grins.

“You believe me now? That I know how to please a woman?”

The reminder of your earlier conversation has you gritting your teeth in spite of the pleasant sensations washing over you.

You don’t want to think about it, about how Geta got to be so adept at touching a woman. You don’t want to think about them in this moment, and you certainly don’t want Geta thinking about them either.

A second finger pushes in with the first. This time you gasp, a little sting mixing with the pleasure, your body trying to adjust to the intrusion. The stretch hurts, but it feels good too, the way you’re full of him now.

You turn your face to Geta in hopes of a kiss, but find him staring down at you with that familiar mean glint in his eyes.

“They loved this too you know? I’ve been told I’m gifted with my hands.”

“Sh-shut up.” You hiss.

“Why? That is what got you so soaked for me in the first place isn’t it? Me telling you all of the things I did with the meretrices?”

He’s trying to anger you. Even now, with his hand buried between your legs, your husband is trying to goad you into an argument.

“Don’t talk about them. D-don’t even think about them.” You snap, fighting the way your back threatens to arch like a bow.

“No? Can I not talk to them, if they approach me?” Geta asks.

“No! If you so much as look at them I’ll - I’ll kill-“

Geta chuckles, speeding up the thrusts of his fingers.

“Are you going to kill me dove?”

“Not you. Them.” You spit out.

You swear you see something flash in Geta’s eyes. Something dark and predatory, but it doesn’t scare you. It only infuriates you more.

“I’ll kill them all. E-every last one. There won’t be a girl left in Rome. I’ll slit the throats of any whore who so much as dares to b-breath near you.”

“And why’s that dove?”

Geta’s hand is now a blur between your thighs, his thrusts rough and fast, pushing you dangerously close to the precipice of another release.

“Because you’re mine!” You cry out.

You feel it come in waves, that sweet warmth that ripples through you. Your walls grip hard to Geta’s fingers, the muscles spasming around him as you push back to meet his thrusts, prolonging the pleasure.

“That’s right. And you’re all mine. My perfect wife.” Geta murmurs, peppering kisses across your face, smearing the perspiration that beads on your forehead.

Entirely spent, you fall limp against the mattress. Your body feels boneless, your head swimming in a haze, like you’re out of your body and drifting in some ethereal place.

Through heavy eyelids you watch as Geta brings his hand to his lips, sucking his fingers clean and groaning at the taste of you like it’s honey.

The reality of what you have just done, of what Geta has done to you, leaves you feeling exposed and vulnerable in a way you’re unused to. Your heart aches in your chest, your voice a pathetic whine when you finally speak.

“Am I really yours?” You ask.

Geta blinks owlishly, looking at you in disbelief.

“Of course you are.” He says softly. He lays down beside you, letting your body curl into him, your face pressed to his chest. It feels easier to not look at him. If you do, you think you might betray yourself with tears.

“Those things I said, I was only playing with you dove. I do not want another. There is no woman in the world who could turn my head when I have you at my side.”

“Besides,” he says, hooking a knuckle under your chin to raise your head.

“I can’t risk you slaughtering every meretrice in Rome. Imagine how upset the senators would be.” He laughs.

“There would surely be riots.” You smile.

“You are not wrong.”

You bask in the sweet afterglow, your breathing returning to normal, your heart slowing its race behind your ribs. You kiss your husband tenderly, tasting yourself on his lips and finding that the flavour is not unpleasant as you had expected.

It makes you wonder what Geta tastes like.

He had said something earlier, about a woman putting her mouth on him. You push down the jealous beast within you that begins to stir, instead imagining how such a thing could work.

“I want to touch you.” You whisper.

“Will you let me?”

“It is a little late for that dove.” Geta says softly.

“It is not that late.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He smiles.

He takes your hand, guiding it down to cup his crotch. The flesh there is softer than you anticipated. When you squeeze a little, you feel how damp his tunic is, a sticky mess staining it from the inside.

“What.. when did you-“

“Right around the time you were threatening the lives of every woman in Rome.” Geta grins.

“Hmm. You certainly are a strange one.” You say.

“You love it.” He laughs.

And it’s funny really.

You think he might be right.

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

Translations:

Dis Plater - god of the underworld

Mellitus - roughly translates to ‘sweetened with honey’, so in this context it’s like calling someone sweet

Meretrices - prostitutes (meretrix is singular)

Tags:

@ghoulsgraveyard @rxqueenotd @sashaphantomhive @chaoticgood-munson @aurora-austen @supernovaofthoughts

[ungravity12]

        BOYFRIEND!RAFE x ANXIOUS!READER

WARNINGS .ᐟ protected p in v, oral (f! receiving), established relationship, loss of virginity, reader and rafe being dorks, slow sex, these bitches do not shut up, reader is very insecure about her body and of course, has anxiety

NOTES .ᐟ this is representation for all my anxious and insecure girlies who giggle and blurt out random stuff when they're nervous (aka me)

You and Rafe were both on his bed making out, him laying underneath you as you straddled his waist—his idea, of course, citing that it would be more comfortable for both of you that way. "You better just have something in your pocket," you jokingly mumbled against his lips, feeling something distinctly hard and suspiciously close to his dick pressing against you.

You had a tendency to make a lot of dumb jokes and laugh when you were nervous, blurting out whatever came to mind before you could decide against it, which was ironic since overthinking was a second nature to you. You were shy and got nervous a lot, especially around Rafe. He was your first boyfriend and the hottest guy you'd ever laid your eyes on, neither of which helping your nerves.

Rafe's hands slipped under your shirt to touch your bare skin, holding you firmly on his lap. "Wouldn't you like to know," his smirk was teasing as he pulled back from the kiss to peer up at you.

"Uh, yeah, that's kind of the whole point of asking," you also pulled back, sitting up as you smiled down at him. You liked it when Rafe went along with your stupid jokes, bantering with you to put you at ease. He never made you feel weird or awkward for using humor to cope with your anxiety.

"Well, if you must know, I'm packing heat," Rafe quipped with a mischievous grin, his grip on your hips tightening.

You gasped exageratedly, feigning shock. "You have a gun?" You knew very well what he meant, but when did that ever stop you from saying something stupid?

He snorted, his blue eyes shining with amusement. "Yeah, I have a gun in my pants because that makes so much sense," he replied sarcastically, finding your nervous humor endearing.

"Okay, Mr. Sassypants," you rolled your eyes playfully, your palms resting on his chest as a smile pulled at your lips.

"Mr. Sassypants?" Rafe repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You know, that's not a very nice thing to call your loving, patient, and amazingly sexy boyfriend."

"Well, I can't help that my loving, patient, and amazingly sexy boyfriend is such a diva," you grinned, feeling his chest rise and fall, his heart beating steadily under your fingertips.

"Diva?" He gasped in mock offense, his hands sliding up your sides. "I'll show you a diva." In one swift motion, he flipped your positions, pinning you beneath him.

You laughed, looking up at him with a smile despite the anxiety gnawing at you. He had a way of putting your mind at ease with just one look, and the soothing circles he was rubbing on your skin were definitely helping. He stared back at you, his gaze softening. He loved your smile and the way your eyes sparkled when you laughed. Truthfully, he loved everything about you, even your innate ability to make everything a tad bit awkward.

His eyes searched yours intently, searching for any signs that you wanted him to stop. Noticing his serious turn of demeanor and his intense gaze, you felt your cheeks heat up. "Oh, cmon, don't get all serious on me now," you rolled your eyes, trying to lighten the mood.

"Well, I take my role as your boyfriend very seriously," he grinned, leaning down to kiss your neck. "And, it wouldn't be very boyfriendly of me to let you go on without knowing the wonders of sex."

"Oh, right, of course, it would be for my benefit," you giggled, your heart racing at the idea of being intimate with him. You weren't exactly against the idea, but you were still a virgin, and the idea of being with someone like that was undoubtedly nerve-racking.

You could feel Rafe smile against your skin, his hands sliding farther up your sides. "Uh huh, always thinking of what's best for my girl."

"Wow, who knew you were so selfless?" You giggled, biting your lip as he nipped as your skin. Your fingers slotted into his hair as he continued to kiss and suck at your neck, his hot breath fanning against your heated skin.

"I'm a saint, what can I say?" He mumbled, his tone teasing. He was being careful, trying to reassure you without actually saying anything because he knew you'd prefer to keep things as lighthearted as possible to make you forget about how serious the moment actually was. He could tell you were nervous, and he was determined to make you as comfortable as possible.

"Uh huh, a saint," you smiled as he slowly, tentatively pushed your shirt up your body. He was giving you time to tell him to stop, maybe even slap him if you wanted to, but you didn't. As much as you felt like you were going to die on the spot at the idea of him seeing you naked, you trusted him, and you wanted this.

"I am but a humble servant of my sexy girlfriend," he pulled back from your neck to search your eyes again, pausing for a moment before your shirt revealed your bra. You gave him a small nod, and he smiled, tugging the shirt over your head as you leaned up a little and lifted your arms to help him. He threw the shirt aside, eyes roaming your skin, as if memorizing every detail. "God, you're beautiful," he breathed out.

"Shut up," you said bashfully, your heart beating faster under his intense gaze. There was a voice in the back of your head telling you that you weren't pretty enough for him, that he would hate how you looked, and that was why you preferred to fill the silence with easy jokes and stupid quips. It made it easier to silence that nagging part of you that thought you weren't good enough for him.

"No, I mean it," he insisted, his fingers slowly tracing the lace edging of your bra. "You're like, way too pretty to be real. I mean, look at you." There was a sincerity to his words that he couldn't fake, an edge of awe and pure unbridled devotion that made your head spin.

The way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered, the way he touched you like he worshipped every inch of you—it was all overwhelming in the best possible way. It had you scrambling in your mind to say something, anything, even if that something was a dumb dick joke.

"I bet you're thinking about saying something stupid, aren't you?" he asked, a knowing smirk on his face as he leaned down to pepper kisses over your collarbones and down the swell of your cleavage.

"I never say anything stupid," you breathed out, as he kissed the skin that wasn't hidden behind your bra. It made your heart flutter that he knew you so well, but it also made you realize how awfully predictable you were.

"Uh huh and I'm the Queen of England," he retorted sarcastically, reaching up to slide one of your bra straps down your shoulder, kissing the bare sliver of skin that was revealed.

"Oh my God, you are?" You gasped, his remark loading you with the perfect ammunition to say something stupid. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, your highness."

"Mmm, flattery will get you everywhere," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin as he continued to kiss and touch you, slipping your other strap off. He slowly unhooked your bra, his eyes meeting yours as he paused, asking for silent permission. You bit the inside of your cheek nervously before nodding.

He pulled your bra off almost instantly, his gaze sweeping over your bare chest. You felt so vulnerable beneath his gaze, resisting the urge to cover yourself. "Okay, your turn, pretty boy," you swiftly said, trying to ease your nerves and figuring you might be a little more comfortable if you weren't the only half-naked one.

"Yes, ma'am," He smirked, leaning back to pull his own shirt off, revealing his muscular chest. You couldn't help but stare, eyes roaming over his abs and the way his muscles flexed as he tossed his shirt aside. He settled back over you, his hands sliding up your sides. "Better?"

"You are annoyingly hot," you huffed, finding it completely unfair that someone as perfect as him could even exist, let alone be on top of you right now.

"Aw, you're just saying that because you want in my pants," he teased, his hands sliding up your sides to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples. "But I can't blame you, I am pretty irresistible." He leaned down, swallowing the small gasp you let out at his touch as he captured your mouth in a deep, heated kiss.

"That's slander," you mumbled into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck and curling your fingers into his hair as you pulled him closer.

"Mmm, then sue me," he murmured against your lips before trailing kisses along your jaw and down your neck, slowly making his way to your chest.

Your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of his soft lips on your skin. He was ridiculously skilled with his mouth, knowing exactly how and where to kiss you to drive you crazy. "Yknow what, maybe I will," you retorted breathlessly, your chest rising and falling a little faster.

"I think we can come to some sort of settlement out of court," He paused, his hot breath washing over your skin before he slowly, deliberately wrapped his lips around one of your peaks, swirling his tongue around it. "What do you think?"

Your lips parted at the feeling, intaking a sharp breath of air. "Uh, yeah, yknow that could work maybe," you grinned, your fingers gently tugging at his hair as he ravished your tits with attention.

"Mmm, I thought it might," he hummed with a cocky grin, switching to give equal attention to your other breast, your back arching ever so slightly, urging him closer. He smirked against your skin, making his way lower and leaving a trail of wet kisses in his wake. His hands slid down your sides to your hips, fingers curling around the waistband of your pants.

"Hey, wait, I don't want to be naked first," you protested, only half joking. You would rather die than be fully naked in front of him while he sits there with his clothes on.

"Oh, trust me, I have no intention of leaving my pants on any longer than necessary," He assured you with a mischievous grin, slowly unbuttoning your jeans, his knuckles brushing against your skin.

"Yeah, 'cause you're a freak," you grinned, moving on to the making fun of your boyfriend portion of the program in an attempt to soothe the pit of nausea in your stomach. You were kind of scared, not that you wanted to be lame and admit that.

"Hey, I resent that," He protested, but his tone conveyed the opposite message as he tugged your jeans and underwear down your legs in one smooth, expert motion, his gaze never leaving yours. "I'm just enthusiastic, that's all."

"Enthusiastically a whore," you snorted, letting your head fall back, staring at the ceiling. You'd really rather not see yourself naked right now, not with the amount of anxiety already coursing through your veins. You did not need a reminder of what Rafe was seeing.

"Whore?" He teased, his fingers dancing along your inner thighs. "I think you mean an amazing boyfriend who loves you and wants to make you feel good."

You hummed thoughtfully. "Uh, no, I'm pretty sure I mean whore," you grinned, reluctantly looking down at him despite yourself.

"Well, this whore is about to rock your world," He smirked, slowly trailing kisses up your inner thigh, gripping your hips. "Just relax and let me do all the work." His voice was low and seductive, his intentions clear.

"You're such an idiot," you laughed at his cheesy choice of words, a little nervous that the witty banter would have to be put on hold. He can't exactly respond to your sarcastic remarks with his mouth occupied.

He hummed, his breath hot against your core. Your breathing picked up, and you were unsure whether it was anticipation or if you were on the verge of a panic attack.

He slowly dragged his tongue along your slit, groaning at your taste on his tongue and the subsequent gasp that fell from your lips, making his painfully hard cock twitch in his jeans. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them further apart and opening you up to him. He had dreamed of this moment, imagined this exact scenario about a half a dozen times as he got himself off, and now that it was actually happening, he was going to relish every moment.

He began to eat you out like a man starved, his tongue delving deep inside your tight heat, familiarizing himself with every inch of you. His nose nudged at your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through you that pulled a low whine from your throat. Your fingers threaded into his hair, moaning at the unfamiliar pleasure.

His fingers replaced his tongue, his mouth moving up to the sensitive bundle of nerves and sucking it into his mouth, determined to send you over the edge. He pushed his fingers deep inside and curled them, finding that spot that made your back arch and your hips buck against his mouth.

"Rafe," his name left your lips a breathy whimper as your head fell back against his pillows. Rafe was no stranger to having women under him, writhing and moaning his name, but something about it being you made him crazy. It took all his self-control not to blow his load in his pants right there and then.

He redoubled his efforts, eager to make you cum, rubbing that sweet spot inside you with ruthless precision and sucking on your clit, his tongue swirling around your sensitive nub. Another moan fell from your lips, your grip on his hair bordering on painful as you felt your orgasm wash over you, your legs practically shaking at the intense pleasure.

He groaned as he felt you spasm around his fingers, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to catch your breath. He slowly pulled away, grinning as he took in your dazed expression. He carefully slipped his fingers from your quivering hole, bringing them to his mouth. He couldn't help the moan that rumbled low in his throat as he tasted you on his tongue. God, you were perfect.

His eyes flicked up to yours as his tongue darted out to lick his lips clean. "Good, huh?" He asked, his tone smug. He knew it had been good, but he wanted to hear you say it.

"I'm gonna slap that stupid look off your face," you playfully rolled your eyes, your skin practically burning up with embarrassment.

"I think that would take our case from a civil lawsuit to a criminal assault charge," he grinned, calling back to your previous joke about taking him to court. He positioned himself over you again to press his lips against yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

"It's my first offense and a misdemeanor," you mumbled into the kiss, cupping his face. "Worst I'll get is a fine, so... totally worth it."

"Okay, smartass," he pulled away, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, gazing down at you lovingly.

"Just saying," you smiled softly up at him, his hair falling into his face and his blue eyes sparkling. He really loved you, and it was evident just from the way he looked at you. He'd never felt anything like it before. He loved you so much it terrified him.

But, of course, you had to ruin the moment of peace because shutting up was not something you were wired to do, especially not in the face of such charged silence. "Your little friend is poking me again," you blurted out the words before you could stop yourself. Little friend? You really couldn't have come up with anything else?

Rafe couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips as he rocked his hips against you, making you gasp softly. "He's just happy to see you." His eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned down at you, his fingers absently tracing along your side.

"Okay, well, can you tell him I don't really know him like that, so maybe he should calm down a little bit," you couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, but you loved it, and you loved him. He understood you in a way you never thought you'd be understood by anyone.

"He says he's not planning on staying a stranger for much longer," he smirked, his hips rolling against yours.

"This is actually so stupid," you giggled, your hand covering your mouth as you laughed beneath him.

"Oh, now it's stupid?" He rolled his eyes, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. "You're the one who started it."

"Shut up," you smiled, leaning up to kiss him. "Okay, okay, you can... start now, I guess," you said awkwardly. There was only so long that you could stall with stupid dick jokes. Besides, you felt a little bad that he had been so patient and undoubtedly, extremely hard.

"About time," he murmured with faux annoyance, his voice low as he fiddled with his belt buckle and pulled it through the loops, tossing it aside before popping the button on his jeans and slowly unzipping them.

You sucked in a breath, trying to calm your nerves as the sound of him pulling his jeans off seemed to echo through the room. You wanted this. You knew you did, but you couldn't help the pit of fear in your stomach.

He paused, feeling your body tense beneath him as you took a deep breath, a sign he knew all too well. "Hey, look at me," he coaxed softly, cupping your face and stroking your cheek with his thumb. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do. We can wait if you're not ready. Just tell me to stop, and I will, no questions asked, no hard feelings. We can just forget all about it," he reassured you.

Your heart fluttered as you heard your boyfriend's words, meeting his gaze and seeing the sincerity behind his eyes. "No, I- I want to. I'm just... scared, yknow," you bit your lip nervously, mentally kicking yourself. You always seemed to be scared. There probably wasn't a single thing in the world that you weren't scared of.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay," he soothed, pressing gentle kisses to your face, your neck, your collarbone—anywhere he could reach. "There's nothing wrong with being scared. It's your first time. If you weren't scared, that would be a little concerning."

You laughed softly at his words. "You just make sure you wrap it up. I don't know where you've been," you joked. "Safe sex is great sex as the Lil Wayne once wisely said."

He chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "Lil Wayne, huh? I didn't know he moonlighted as a sex ed teacher." He reached into his bedside table, pulling out a foil packet and waving it in front of your face. "But don't worry, I'm always prepared."

"Jesus, that's a lot of condoms," you said, peering into his drawer and seeing way more condoms than you realistically thought one person would need. "You are a whore of massive proportions. Like, literally a menace to the female population."

"Oh, hush," he grinned, tearing open the packet and rolling the latex down over his length. "I bought them in bulk. You know, for... emergencies," He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, leaning back down to press kisses to your skin once more.

"Eugh," you giggled, your face scrunching up in disgust. "I genuinely do not want to know what a sex emergency is."

"Hey, a guy's gotta be prepared, okay?" He murmured against your neck, his breath warm. "Now, are you going to keep talking, or are you going to let me kiss you and calm you the hell down?"

"Yo, I am literally so calm," you rolled your eyes, lying through your teeth in the name of comedy and also not sounding like the total little loser virgin you were. "So calm and so chill. Literally have never been calmer or chiller in my life."

"Uh-huh," he hummed, clearly unconvinced as he pressed a soft kiss to your jaw, his fingers slowly trailing down your side, his touch gentle. "Because nothing says 'calm and chill' like sex jokes and rambling like you're on speed."

"Well, I can't help that I'm the funniest person alive," you argued, the realization dawning on you that you were naked, and he was naked, which meant there was only so many more sex jokes you could make before the sex actually commenced.

"You're not even in the top five funniest people I know," he teased, his fingers reaching your hip as he slowly pulled you closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours.

"Oh, you got jokes, huh?" You grinned, nervously giggling when you felt his tip nudge at your entrance. "You better take that back if you wanna get laid tonight."

"I think I'll stick with my original statement," he said, his voice low and husky as he pressed forward, the head of his dick pushing into you slowly as he rubbed soothing circles on your hip. "You're just not funny enough to make the cut, sweetheart."

You sucked in a sharp breath through your teeth, wincing at the painful sensation. You grabbed his bicep for support, digging your nails into his arm. "Liar," you joked weakly, your chest heaving as you breathed through the intrusion.

"Shh, just breathe," he whispered against your neck, his voice low and soothing as he paused, letting you adjust to the foreign feeling. "You're doing so good, baby. You're taking it like a champ."

"Okay, don't call me champ while you're inside me," you grimaced, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted as you slowly adjusted to having him inside you.

"You okay, baby?" He asked softly, pushing the slightest bit further into you as he examined your reaction closely.

"Oh, yeah, just peachy," you said sarcastically. The pain was gradually starting to fade, making the whole thing more enjoyable by the second. Though, the pressure between your thighs was intense.

"Mhm, you're a real ray of sunshine," he chuckled softly, pushing the rest of the way into you, his body shuddering as he bottomed out. He was as deep as he could go, his hips flush against yours.

You gasped as he pressed all the way into you, your grip on his bicep tightening. "You're gonna look like you got mauled by a lion after this," you panted out, apologetic for the involuntary response.

"I'd wear that badge of honor proudly," he said, his voice thick with amusement as he slowly began to move, his hips rolling against yours in a gentle, soothing rhythm. "Now, shut up and let me make love to you."

"Don't say 'make love' either. That's so gross," you giggled softly, a breathy moan falling from your lips as he set a slow, pleasurable pace.

"Then what would you prefer I call it?" He murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he continued his steady movements, the friction building between your bodies. "'Coitus'? 'Intercourse'? 'Fucking'?" He punctuated each word with a sharp thrust of his hips.

You moaned, your head falling back against the pillows and brows pinching in pleasure. Okay, you were definitely starting to see what all the fuss was about. "Let's just not refer to what's happening right now as anything at all."

"Mhm, I can work with that," he hummed, his pace picking up slightly as he felt you start to relax more, your body welcoming his thrusts. "Just focus on how good it feels, baby. Let me take care of you."

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours and kissing you deeply as he continued to fuck you with a pace that demonstrated his love and devotion to you. He never thought he would be one for slow, romantic sex, but he didn't think he was into a lot of things before he met you. You had a way of making him discover things about himself he was completely clueless to.

As he kissed you, he slowly shifted his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts to hit that particularly sensitive spot inside you. He felt you tense up, a sharp gasp escaping your lips into the kiss, and he smiled against your mouth. "You like that, huh?"

"You're such an ass," you grinned, your fingers curling into his hair, back arching into him as his tip continued to hit that spongy spot inside you, the pressure low in your abdomen building.

"Maybe so, but you love it," he smirked against your mouth, his hands gripping your hips as he increased his pace, his hips snapping forward in a steady rhythm. "And you're gonna come for me again, baby. Aren't you?"

Your mouth fell open in pleasure, your breath hot against his lips. "uh huh," you nodded, your eyes fluttering shut. He was a cocky motherfucker, but he was hot and he put up with your shit, so it was only fair you put up with his in return.

"That's my girl," he purred, one hand sliding down to rub tight circles on your clit as he continued his relentless pace. "Come on, baby. Let me feel you. I want to watch you fall apart for me."

You gasped sharply at the added stimulation, his name leaving your lips in a whine as you tensed around him, sent over the edge for the second time.

He groaned as he felt your walls clench around him, the sensation of you practically choking his dick sending him into his own release. "Fuck, you feel so good," he panted, his hips stuttering as he spilled himself into the condom with a low moan of your name.

Your walls pulsed around him as you slowly came down from your high, relaxing into the mattress. Your chest heaved as you caught your breath, your whole body on fire and coated in a thin sheen of sweat.

He collapsed on top of you with a satisfied hum, peppering gentle kisses along your neck and collarbone as he softened inside you. "I love you, you know that?"

"Good 'cause otherwise this would be pretty awkward," you laughed breathlessly, gently raking your nails over his scalp soothingly. "But, seriously, I love you too," you added quietly after a beat of silence.

tags .ᐟ   @starkeysprincess / @cometmultiverse / @iheartjjmaybnk / @all4l0vee / @kissesfrmriri / @xoxohoneymoongirl / @bradshawed /

[ungravity12]

reader giving bsf!jj a handjob

warnings: smut, edging,

wc: 400

this was inspired by this meme because why on earth would i get ideas the normal way when i can get them from memes

jj sending you stupid memes wasn't uncommon; exchanging them was pretty much a daily occurrence to you both, the two of you even doing it when you were in the same room sometimes, the other one snorting slightly from the other side of the room.

but when he sent you one about 'reach around handjobs', quickly following it with the message 'jk', you couldn't help the small glint of mischief in your eyes.

honestly, the last thing jj had expected was for you to take the meme seriously; yeah, he'd always thought you were hot and would've gotten with you in a heartbeat, but you two were always jokingly flirting.

so, even though your hand had been stroking his cock for an excruciating hour already, he still wasn't sure if it was a dream or a reality.

he was sitting inbetween your legs, his back relaxed against your bare tits and his head resting on your shoulder, jj's cock released from the boxers that rested on his thighs, covered in a mixture of sweat and precum that had leaked from his tip.

you'd been stroking him for the past hour, and every time he had been close to coming, you'd stopped, instead focusing on some documentary you'd put on tv while he whined in your arms.

he'd tried to jerk himself off, but you'd simply grabbed his wrist and looked at him pointedly, saying, "if you do that i'm never touching you again."

jj's eyes were closed, your hands moving up and down on his cock in a tortuously slow pace, every slight movement, every little noise, every small sensation all felt magnified, the drop of sweat running down his chest, the noise of the tv, every small kiss you pressed on the curve of his neck, the way you brought your thumb to the head of his cock when your hand reached it, gathering some of the precum you'd milked from him.

but the moment you even slightly started picking up your pace, he could felt the knot in his stomach tightening, his breathing picking back up.

"i can feel it." you whispered in his ear, "you're close, aren't you?"

jj couldn't speak, nodding his head profusely while small whines escaped his lips, his head completely in the clouds, biting down on his lower lip harshly while he kept his eyes so tightly shut he could feel tears stinging them.

"you wanna cum, hm? want me to make you cum?"

he let out a whiny "yes...!" before you could even finish your sentence, and you chuckled, squeezing his cock a bit more firmly while you picked up your pace, leaving small bites on his neck that caused his breath to hitch, and it wasn't long until your best friend's cock was spilling out heavy spurts of cum, painting his abdomen and his boxers white, the boy letting out loud moans.

[ungravity12]

Imagine sucking frat peter off and him gripping your hair and calling you princess or baby and him stutteringgggg uuhuuuuuu

End Of Semester Stress (And Relief)

--genre + trope: SMUT!!! MINORS DNI 18+, NSFW, college!au.

--pairing: frat!tasm!peter parker x college!f!reader

--word count: 1.0k

--summary: stress has creeped up on peter. balancing the end of the semester and his frat has not given him a break. noticing his unease, you visit him at the delta chi house and give him some well deserved relief from this crazy time.

--warnings: SMUTTT, oral sex (m!receiving), a heated makeout, fluff, cum eating, reader has hair that can be put up in a ponytail, peter has a messy-ish boy room, slight hair pulling, language.

The end of the semester made Peter’s life a living hell, to say the least. Like any college student, finals have seemed to arrive sooner than expected. Not only his academic life but organizing end-of-semester events for Peter’s fraternity has consumed his entire life. He knew that the only way to forward was through, and that killed him. 

The Delta Chi house was quiet this time of day. Most of the guys were in class, or making their way back from their set of morning lectures. The sunlight of the early afternoon danced on the water spraying from the sprinklers dancing on the front lawn. As you make your way to the front door and ring the doorbell, the face of a semi-familiar face greets you with a grin. There were no words needed as he turned back towards the stairs and shouted, “Yo, Parker! Your girl’s here!” Opening the door wider, you step into the familiar foyer of the house. Looking towards the stairs, you see a disheveled version of your boyfriend descend. There’s a moment right before he recognizes it’s you where his face changes from a deep pout to a satisfied smirk. Peter wastes no time before he makes his way towards you and wraps you in a bone-crushing hug, “Hey bug, what’s up?”

“Nothing, I just missed you today,” you reply as he pulls away to grab your hand. 

Still holding your hand, he leads you up the stairs towards his room. Locking the door behind him, he takes a quick scan of his room like he hasn’t been in there all day. There were a few piles of paper located on his desk, some clothes on his floor, and his unzipped backpack lying on the floor near his door. “Sorry for the mess,” he starts sorting the paper on his desk into neater piles, “the end of the semester is killing me.”

You let Peter fix his desk before speaking, “It’s alright baby. It’s a lot, with finals and the frat, I don’t blame you.”

“Yeah, it’s getting pretty crazy,” he groans as he runs his hands across his face.

“Let me take your mind off of things, yeah?” you suggest, walking over towards him. 

He finally sits down on the bed before he grabs the remote next to him, turning the TV on, “What kind of moving were you thinking-”. You cut him off with a deep kiss as you straddle his lap. His hands immediately make their way to your hips. You’re lost in his lips as you bring your hands weave their way through his thick brown hair. A smirk rises to your features as you pull away, a soft whine escaping Peter’s lips. 

“Shhh,” you whisper as you caress his cheek, “be patient.”

Slowly crawling off of his lap, you sit on your knees between his legs. The second you reach for his belt, he reaches down swiftly to take off his boxers and pants in one fluid motion. Now that he knows what you’re doing, he can’t stand to wait another second of you not touching him. 

Taking his still-soft cock in your hands, you bring the head up to your lips and lick his slit, rubbing the tip against your lips painfully slow. In your peripherals, you can see Peter’s head being thrown back as a lengthy sigh leaves him. His now, hard cock, aches to be touched. His head is now a pretty pink color. You admire his sluggish state for a second before pumping him a few times, still so very slow. 

Just when he’s about to open his mouth to interject, you take him entirely in your mouth. Taken back by your sudden eagerness, he speaks, “Oh fu-fuck, baby…” This time it was his turn to push his fingers through your hair, pulling the messy strands away from your face, and gathering them into a messy ponytail for him to hold onto. As one hand holds your hair in place, the other is slowly brought down to hold the side of your head, his thumb gently moving back and forth as you slightly gag on him. A silent encouragement. 

The only way you knew when Peter was close, was when he began to ramble. Mostly incoherent words are heard throughout the room, but sometimes a rare full sentence reaches your ears. “Oh my god, princess…I’m gonna,” he takes a sharp breath, “I’m gonna cum.” His words are so breathy as he’s right on the edge, that it makes your heart explode. 

His hips snap forward as he cums, and the warm feeling of his seed leaks down your throat. You notice a deliciously sharp feeling fluttering throughout the skin on your scalp, Peter is gripping your hair as he starts to come down from his high. As you carefully rise from his cock, the pull on your hair loosens until his hand falls onto his side. Pushing yourself off of your now aching knees, you crawl back on the bed on top of him, caging him in your arms. 

Leaning down to give him the gentlest peck on his lips, his honey-brown eyes fluttered open to meet yours. A satisfied smile creeps onto his face, “Where’d that come from baby?”

“You work so hard for others,” you push the hair off of his sweaty forehead, “ you deserve something sweet, especially after this crazy week.”

“Well…I definitely feel better, baby.”

Falling by his side, he reaches a hand over to pull your face closer to his and places a delicate kiss on your forehead. “Okay, now,” he mumbles into your skin, “what movie do you want to watch?”

For the rest of the day, you remain nestled into Peter’s side. The thoughts of finals and Greek life were placed somewhere far away in his mind. All of his thoughts are consumed by you. 

--author's note: GUYS...thank you for these asks!!! i love them so so much! frat!peter is my weakness right now holy shit, i need him so bad...ANYWAYS! don't forget to support your writers by liking, commenting, and reblogging! my asks/inbox is open, so feel free to send anything!! im all ears for requests and if you just want to chat, im here for that as well!!! ok, ily bye<3.