#this was supposed to come out on Halloween but shut up | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

olivia-anderson-fanfic · 7 months

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Have you never heard of such a thing, darling?

There is an abrupt cut to a classic YouTube channel intro. It’s the name ‘The Gotham Files, with Tim Drake’ in a metallic font, bouncing around to royalty-free, terrible dubstep music while fake strobe lights dance in the background. It is impossible to tell whether this is ironic or not. Assumedly yes, though, because then it cuts to a blank title card that seemed to have been ripped right off of a PowerPoint presentation that reads ‘Also Marinette is here’.

(The Timari Buzzfeed Unsolved Au)

Chapter 1: The Mysterious Case of Wayne Manor

A boy sits in a nondescript white room, on a white sofa, in a white shirt and black slacks. This could have all been controlled, of course, however, even the boy himself is not the most colorful – his skin is pale, his hair jet black, and even his eyes are a seemingly lifeless grey. He smiles at the camera, but there’s something unsettling about it. He shows off way too many teeth.

He waves jerkily. “Hello, everyone! I’ve gotten a lot of new subscribers since my last video hunting down the demon known as Poison Ivy –.”

There is an abrupt cut to a new bit of footage, in black and white to signify that it was from the past:

“If you’re a demon then you have to curse me,” the boy is saying from behind a camera.

A seemingly normal woman, though admittedly she is covered in enough dirt to make you wonder if she had just come back from digging up a grave, gives him a blank look. “Why would I do that?”

“You gotta.”

“I’m not going to.”

“Lame.”

The woman’s face drops into the annoyance that had clearly been threatening to appear for a while, and she starts to stand. The boy makes a squeaking noise and immediately runs in the opposite direction.

“– who was not a demon, she was just a regular lady who was really obsessed with poisoning rich people. Which is perfectly understandable and could happen to anyone.”

He nods sagely. There is no reason for this. He simply does. And does it for too long. It gets uncomfortable very quickly.

“But, this does not necessarily mean that ghosts and demons do not exist!”

He smiles.

“Now, in this episode, I am going to solve the mystery of whether Wayne Manor is truly hauhahaha–!”

He breaks character abruptly, bursting into laughter, covering his mouth with his fist in an attempt to smother it. A flush spreads across his cheeks, finally adding much-needed color to the room. “Sorry, I can’t – I can’t do my usual intro with you there.”

A person behind the camera giggles. “Aw, am I distracting you?”

“You were looking at me like you thought I was possessed, of course it was distracting.”

“You looked possessed, I don’t know what to tell you –!”

He laughs at her and makes a spinning motion with his pointer finger. “Oh my god, Editor!Me, just roll the intro here.”

On cue, there is an abrupt cut to a classic YouTube channel intro. It’s the words ‘The Gotham Files, with Tim Drake’ in a metallic font, bouncing around to royalty-free, terrible dubstep music while fake strobe lights dance in the background. It is impossible to tell whether this is ironic or not.

Assumedly yes, though, because then it cuts to a blank title card that seemed to have been ripped right off of a PowerPoint presentation that reads ‘Also Marinette is here’.

When the white screen disappears, the viewers find Tim standing alone in front of a wrought iron fence. The plants at the fence’s feet are overgrown, weaving intricately around the poles and climbing up the sides.

Tim had also climbed up the fence, evidently, seeing as he was still breathing a little heavily. The boy looks more normal now, wearing an old hoodie and jeans and smiling in a way that shows off his dimples. His cheeks have far more color in them now, but that just might be due to overexertion.

“Hey, so, GCPD – I know you watch my videos because Poison Ivy got arrested like a week after I posted – I would like you to know that I’m not actually trespassing. In order to trespass, there have to be people living in the place you’re supposedly trespassing in. Probably. I don’t know the law. But you guys don’t, either, so!”

He flashes a finger gun with the hand not holding the camera and attempts a wink. Unfortunately, Tim is unable to wink, so he just ends up blinking aggressively at a camera lens.

But that’s beside the point! He turns the camera around to point it at what one would, politely, call an abandoned mansion.

Less politely, it would be called a safety hazard. Half of the building looked like it had caved in on itself, graffiti covered the previously pristine white walls, and plants climbed in and out of every window. The back door hangs half off its hinge, and Tim doesn’t even want to imagine what has taken residence in the place since the Wayne family’s unfortunate passing.

“Everyone ready for another day of probably getting tetanus?”

There is no answer. He is talking to a camera.

Said camera speeds through the next few minutes of Tim exploring. Stagnant water and mold, dust bunny families and spiderwebs, a raccoon that Tim runs from immediately, rusting cookware still left out on the counter for a family that would never get to eat it, a moment to linger on Tim when he stubs his toe on a loose floorboard and heaves a deep sigh, a portrait that was peeling out of its frame, a broken grandfather clock, Tim posing in front every graffitied penis he could find, ransacked closets and cabinets…

He stops in the middle of the mansion, smiling widely when the camera is spun back to look at him. “Well, no ghosts yet, but we can’t rule them out. I guess.”

He takes off his backpack and begins rifling through it until he finds his Spirit Box.

“Now, I’m sure that most of you know what this is, but just in case you don’t: a Spirit Box will cycle through local radio frequencies at a rapid speed. The theory is that ghosts can string together these snippets of words to speak or answer questions.”

He shrugs his shoulders.

“Or, at least, that’s what people say. I’ll believe it when I see it. Until then, I’m going with a healthy mix of the ‘lucky coincidences’ and ‘confirmation bias’ theories.”

He flicks the nob to turn it on, and the radio immediately begins to cycle through vague sounds, the box crackling.

Tim shuffles a little, letting the box run as he shrugs off his jacket and sets it down so he can have a clean spot to sit for a while. He props up the camera on his knee and angles it up to show his face as he lifts the Spirit Box to his lips.

“Is anyone there?”

“Ye –!”

Tim looks unperturbed. “You said there’s someone there?”

The box sputters out an indecipherable string of sounds. A fluke, then.

He gives a small hum. “I see, I see.”

There is another moment as the box continues to make sounds. They’re deeper in tone now, but no closer to human language.

“Well,” he says. “If there is anyone in the room with me, I’d like to ask you to show yourself in some way. Possess something nearby, move something, make a sound –.”

The door slams open, and Tim instantly jumps to his feet, the camera catching a terrible view of the underside of his chin for a moment when he hugs it to his chest. Don’t worry, though, dear viewer, for he soon remembers that he is a YouTuber and quickly readjusts, pointing the camera at the door.

There is no one there, but a brilliant light illuminates the door opposite the room they are in.

“Wha…?” Tim says, his voice a whisper, only barely caught by his mic.

There is a person talking just outside the room. They are speaking in tongues.

Or perhaps in French, it is often hard to tell.

Regardless, the captions at the bottom of the video say that it is French and that she is apparently saying a vast quantity of demonetizable words that Editor!Tim could not write out.

The gist, though, is that she is apparently there because of a bet and not happy about it. Hence the many demonetizable words.

After a few seconds, Editor!Tim apparently gives up on censoring individual words, and instead chooses to bleep out the entirety of what she was saying. For the sake of monetization, not because he’s a stickler for rules or anything.

You might think that demonetizable words should be allowed when you are hunting ghosts and demons and the like, and Tim might agree, but he actually likes money, so...

What was the point here?

Oh, right.

Slowly, a girl makes her way into the room, her phone out in front of her like a pitifully tiny shield, the flashlight nearly blinding Tim.

She stares at him for a long few moments. She mumbles something to herself, but even in editing Tim had been unable to decipher it. So, yellow question marks litter the screen.

“Uh… hi,” Tim says, lifting his hand in an awkward wave.

[Ew, an American.]

Tim’s eyebrows shoot up into his hair. [You realize that you’re in America, right? Most people here are going to be Americans.]

Her eyes widen. “You… you speak French?!” she asks in heavily accented English, seeming mortified. Not because she felt bad about insulting him, but instead that she had been caught doing it.

[Obviously.]

Her face reddens, and she tries, unsuccessfully, to hide it with her free hand. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Are you really?”

She seems to consider this for a few moments, before shrugging. “I guess not.”

Tim should probably be offended. He isn’t, though. At least she was honest. Eventually.

She sticks a hand out. “I’m Marinette.”

He shakes it, smiling. “Tim.”

There were a few moments as they looked at each other, unsure what to do.

“I think your radio is broken,” she says finally, pointing at the Spirit Box. It lay on the floor, abandoned, just barely vibrating from the force of its own sounds. “Or, at least, it’s not getting any reception way out here. Keeps saying ‘Hi’.”

Tim frowns. “What time is it?”

“Like…” she looks at her phone. “About seventeen…”

She catches on to his blank stare. She glances behind herself, further into the house, as if considering braving the ghosts.

She is not brave.

She closes the door behind herself, smiling. “Right. American. Five in the afternoon.”

“Oh, that’s because everyone is getting off work and they’re greeting the sudden influx of viewers.”

“I have literally no clue how that correlates.”

“It’s ghosts,” he says, rolling his eyes.

She either does not understand sarcasm or simply does not want to risk it, because her shoulders hike up to her ears and she looks around quickly. “I’m going to kill Alya,” she hisses.

“If you hate ghosts that much, I don’t think that’s in your best interest. Because killing someone would lead to more ghosts, you know,” Tim points out.

Despite the fact that he keeps his tone as gentle as he can while breaking this news to her, she looks absolutely devastated.

Slowly, Tim picks himself up off of the floor, turning off the Spirit Box as he goes. The Spirit Box gives a high whine before sputtering out, but he pays it no mind, so this must not be important. He stuffs it in his bag and heads over to Marinette, slinging an arm over her shoulders and starting to lead her away, out of the room and through the many, winding hallways.

“Know what will calm you down? I’m going to tell you all about the family that once owned this place, and their unfortunate demises.”

“Are you streaming?” she asks, eyeing his camera warily.

“... does the way that I answer this affect whether I’ll die here or not?”

She giggles and does not answer. He does not seem assured by this.

Still, he points the camera at themselves and begins to explain: “The Waynes were a lovely family of philanthropists, and the town lost quite a lot when they were tragically shot after their family outing to the theater. To this day, twenty years after that tragic night, Gotham has yet to recover.”

A few moments of silence swallow them.

Text at the bottom of the screen says that this is not an editing mistake, and instead a choice made to respect the dead. There is also a timestamp where a person can skip to the next bit of ‘content’ if they so wish, and they would go on with their day none the wiser of the fact that Editor!Tim had called them a ‘limp noodle of a person who would not know morality if it walked up, introduced itself, and then punched them in the face’.

But, again, those people would be none the wiser, so…

Tim smiles charmingly at the camera, as if he had not just insulted a large portion of them without their knowledge. “Now their house is a prime hangout spot for dumb teens, such as Marinette and me.”

“I’m not dumb,” she huffs halfheartedly.

“You believe in ghosts.”

“Well, yeah, duh, I’d be stupid not to, seeing as my house is haunted.”

“You’ve seen ghosts?” Tim says, skeptical.

“You don’t see ghosts,” she sniffs, in that tone people use when they are offended by the stupidity they are being presented with. Tim gets this a lot, but never has he ever felt it was so unwarranted. “You just know they’re there. Like when they knock over your cups for no reason.”

Briefly, the image of a cat flickers on the screen. Because that is what she is describing. A cat.

“Okay. Unrelated question, is belief in ghosts common in your culture? Because they won’t treat you if it is.”

She shoots him an annoyed scowl, but there is something amused tugging at the corners of her lips regardless. “You’re the absolute worst.”

He grins. “Glad you think so. I put lots of effort into making people hate me, you know. It’s nice to have my efforts appreciated for once.”

“I wouldn’t say appreciated…”

“No no. I’m appreciated.”

“Okay,” she says easily.

They reach the front doors, and Marinette raises an eyebrow.

“You know, if you wanted me to leave, you could have just told me. I would have left.”

“I couldn’t just leave a woman in need alone,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest.

She looks unimpressed.

“... and, besides, I was pretty much done here, so…” he shrugs. “Figured I’d escort you out.”

She looks at her phone for a moment before shaking her head. “I appreciate it, but I can’t leave for another… twenty-three minutes.”

He thinks this over for a few moments, frowning. He glances back the way they came, as if considering hanging around for longer. And then he decides against it with a tiny shake of his head.

“You know, it’s illegal to be here,” he says.

“You’re here. And filming yourself doing the illegal thing. I think that makes what you’re doing way worse.”

Tim’s eyebrows knit together. “I mean, touche and all, but I was just saying that you could tell your friend that to get out of this.”

“... oh.”

He snorts into his hand. “Oh my god, did you really not realize?”

“Shut up! I hate you!” she whined. “I’ve had a lot on my mind, you know!”

“Yeah. Like cups falling off of tables, apparently.”

She punches him in the shoulder lightly, and he only laughs more openly.

Still, ever the gentleman (even while laughing at her misfortune), he opens the door for her. Still, despite her supposed hatred of him, she rushes through all too eagerly with a murmured thank you.

He only gets a second to follow after her before the door slams shut behind them, so close to hitting Tim in the back that the force of it makes his hair blow in his face.

Marinette throws him behind herself immediately, her hands up in a fighting position as if she intends to fight the ghost for him. Not that it would help, probably, but the thought was still there.

Tim looks a little touched as he rests a hand on her shoulder comfortingly.

“Don’t worry about it, the place is old, and the loss of weight is probably just throwing everything off balance.”

“... is that supposed to make me feel better? Because all I’m hearing is that this building is super unstable.”

“Then it’s a good thing we’re outside now, isn’t it?” he says, grinning cheekily.

And, despite herself, she smiles back.

His expression drops immediately as something hits him to make up for the door’s near miss. He groans and falls to his knees in utter devastation. “I left my jacket inside…”

“It’s the ghosts’ jacket now,” she says, patting him on the back in a way that really isn’t as consoling as she seems to think it is.

Tim starts to fake cry.

There is a hard cut. Tim is back on the couch he had been on at the beginning, but his posture is more relaxed this time and his smile is actually normal.

“Well, as usual, there was no ghost to be found. Because they don’t exist.”

A pillow sails across the screen, very intent on hitting him, but he bats it away easily. Because it’s a pillow.

“But maybe the real ghosts are the friends we made along the way!”

Marinette groans off-screen. “Don’t do this to me. You’re going to make me have an existential crisis.”

He hums a little, his eyes gleaming as he leans back, letting himself sink into the plush couch. “So, as usual, there isn’t much to go over…” He smiles. “I guess I can talk about meeting Mari, though. My first thought when meeting Mari was…” He trails off, visibly mulling it over in his mind with pursed lips. “Well, my first thought was that she looked scared and it would probably help her if she had someone to do this with.”

Someone behind the camera coos, not noticing the way his lips begin to tug upwards into a smirk.

“My second thought was ‘The people like it when I have guests on. I can capitalize on this’.”

Marinette makes a sound incomprehensible to human ears and rushes into frame, a new pillow raised. Tim screams.

The scene cuts. Marinette and Tim are sitting on the couch together, now. Their hair is a little messy from the unshown pillow fight. Marinette is lazing across the sofa, her legs thrown over Tim’s lap, so it was safe to assume she had won.

“You want to know what I thought when I first met you?” Marinette wears a slightly sheepish grin. “I thought ‘Oh my god, why is the ghost so tiny? He needs soup.’”

Tim snorts. “No way.”

She nods, trying and failing to keep her expression neutral. She turns to look at the camera dead on. “And, if you guys at home don’t want to be mistaken for skinny little ghosts, then you should hop on over to the website of our sponsor, Hello Fresh!”

Tim rests his arm over the top of the couch, smiling openly. “We’re actually sponsored by Raid: Shadow Legends.”

Marinette snaps her fingers in her best overdramatic ‘awwwww man’ gesture, shaking her head. “God dang it. It was worth a shot.”

“Eh, I’ll still use it as an excuse to do my ad read now.” He turns to grin at the camera, opening his mouth –.

As one, everyone watching leaves the video.

~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2

#maribat #timari #timinettte #timmari #this was supposed to come out on Halloween but shut up #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #red robin #tim drake

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ace-with--a-mace · 2 years

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end of the jason marsden era beginning of the miles morales era

#they needa stop delaying the movie because miles is my guy and it was supposed to come out by my bday 😤#l speaks #shut up l #but lil ghosties from ghost choir song for Halloween #keeping the dark blue background cuz its easy on the eyes and it matches the graveyard :)

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strangersteddierthings · 1 year

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"Look, Steve, I don't have any bad feelings towards you," Eddie says, has been saying, talking nonsense, like he and Steve weren't anything more than fuckbuddies, like he isn't breaking Steve's heart. "I used you too, y'know?"

It's then Steve rears back like he been slapped. Or punched. It feels more like a gutting. Joke's on him, he supposes. Once again, he wants more than the other person. He wanted a boyfriend, Eddie'd wanted sex. Why does he keep trying? When Steve finds his voice to speak, it comes out flat and dead and not really like a question at all. "Used me. Like you think I've used you?"

Eddie shrugs, looking for all the world like he's not bothered by that statement. "We had fun, right? So it's all fine in the end."

"Fine," Steve repeats, hollow. They're in his house but Steve feels the need to leave, to run before the reality of how unlovable he truly is sticks inside him forever.

"But I think we should stop while we're ahead," Eddie continues and Steve wonders if Eddie is listening to him at all, or just saying his piece before he goes. Can he not hear Steve's heart breaking? "I want to... I want to find someone to love."

If Eddie's previous words felt like being gutted, these ones feel like cement. Heavy and solidifying. Trapping in the truth of Ever Unlovable Steve. He doesn't even feel heartbroken anymore. Just numb. Dead inside. He should say something encouraging. Let Eddie know that all he's wanted was for Eddie to be happy and loved. But words seem impossible, so he gives one jerky nod of his head. An understanding.

"Right," Eddie says, returning the nod before turning away, towards the door, "I'll just go now. Umm, see ya later, Harrington."

Facing the horrors of the Upside Down should feel like the scariest thing he's ever done but it doesn't. Watching Eddie walk away does. Steve should be able to hold it together long enough for Eddie to leave. He's the tough one. He can hold himself together no problem-

"Why can't you love me?"

Eddie whips back around, an expression on his face like confusion and anger mixed.

It's only then that Steve realizes he spoke. He hasn't meant to. He was going to let Eddie walk away but now his voice has been freed from the cement. His heart has shut down his brain it seems because he just keeps talking, voice flat and hollow, "why can't you love me the way I love you? What is so broken and wrong within me that no one loves me back? My parents, Nancy, now you. Why can't- I thought that we were- where did I go wrong?"

"What?" Eddie asks, and the anger is gone from his face but now he just looks horrified. Which is understandable. It's horrifying to be loved by Steve Harrington. "What did you think we were?"

Boyfriends. Together. Going steady. At the very least, dating without labels. But none of those very reasonable, normal answers come out of Steve's treacherous mouth. Because Steve can't seem to be a reasonable, normal person. He's got to be too much, too soon, too clingy. So, instead, he says, "In love."

Eddie looks like he's just received the worst news of his life. In fact, he looks a little sick. "Oh fuck. Jesus Christ. I can't- I thought- Fuck!"

Steve just nods along. He hadn't actually said I love you to Nancy that night at Tina's Halloween party, but he imagines if he had, the beginning of the bullshit conversation would have sounded much the same as Eddie does now; like anger and regret, the starts and stops. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have- if you want to go, you should go."

Eddie crosses the room back to Steve in half the steps he took when he first walked away, hands reaching to grab Steve's face between them. He speaks quickly and sounds panicked now. "No, no no no. I fucked up, misunderstood. I don't know how I got it so wrong. I don't want to go. I never did."

"What?"

"I am in love with you, sweetheart. I just- I didn't know you loved me back. I thought you didn't- that we weren't..."

"I thought we were boyfriends."

"Jesus, please let me fix this. Let me stay and make it up to you. I'll be the best fucking boyfriend you've ever had."

Steve thinks if he had any shred of self-worth he might step back, make Eddie explain himself, but as it is, he steps into Eddie's space and kisses him, hands pulling him as close as he can get. He doesn't want to think about the cruel things Eddie's said, about using each other. Maybe one day they'll have to hash that out, have that conversation, but Eddie says he loves him too, and that's all Steve's wanted.

#steddie #my fic #angst with a happy ending #or like maybe bittersweet end 'cause of Steve's headspace #i dunno #just a little ficlet as warmup writing #so i thought i'd share

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ellieslittlewh0re · 7 months

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Tʜᴇ ᴄᴀʟʟ ɪs ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ғʀᴏᴍ ɪɴsɪᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏᴜsᴇ

〚 𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝖺𝗆𝗌 �� 𝖿𝖾𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 〛

〚 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒 〛𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖽𝗎𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗃𝗈𝖻 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗅, 𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗍, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

〚 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗌 〛𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉, 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝗅𝗅𝗒, 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺, 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖼𝗎𝖿𝖿𝗌, 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒, 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅 (𝗋! 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀), 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖻𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 (𝖾!)

〚 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 〛 this was supposed to have more smut and be way more raunchy but I literally didn’t have it in me so if it feels rushed I’m sorry!!

You hummed quietly, bare feet pattering against the wood floors as you paced in the kitchen, waiting for the popcorn to stop popping in the microwave.

It was late- way past the time that any more children would be at your door demanding for candy. Everything had quieted down for the evening just in time for your girlfriend to come over and have a slasher movie marathon.

You had everything set up- your favorite mugs filled with hot chocolate on the coffee table, various snacks in bowls- now all that's missing is your girlfriend- speaking of, she's late.

Your phone rang as a stray kernel spilled onto the counter as you were dumping the snack into a bowl.

You picked up your phone that read "Els🩷", immediately accepting the call and held up to your ear.

"Hey babe, where are you? I already picked out a movie."

"Shit, I'm sorry-" she breathed into the phone as she apologized, and seemed pretty pissed off. You can practically picture it- her rubbing her brows, and pinching the top of her nose bridge in annoyance.

"-something came up at work. I can't make it tonight."

"Oh.." you sighed quietly, "it's okay, can you come by tomorrow?" You pepped, not wanting to make her to feel bad because you know she didn't have much say in the matter.

"Yes of course. I promise I'll make it up to you."

You two exchanged goodnights, I love yous, and be safes before ending the call.

It was quiet now- too quiet as you stared at the popcorn before looking at the tv.

It was Halloween after all, might as well watch the movie anyways.

Popcorn bowl half empty and a pillow clutched in your arms, peeking over the top of it because it had been one jump scare too many.

You watched with anticipation as the girl on the screen walked around the house, clutching a knife to her chest, but knowing it was too late. The masked stranger was already inside, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

"No,no,no-" you whined, squeezing your eyes shut as the glint of the knife in the killers hands rises and comes down to the girls chest, her white shirt now soaked with blood. You shuffle for the remote on the couch before clicking it off.

"Okay- that's enough of that for tonight." You said to yourself, but pretended it was your girlfriend you were talking to because to seemed to help calm your nerves.

You rub your eyes sleepily, dragging your feet along as you turned off the overhead light. You were just about to retire to your bedroom when your phone rang. You jumped, practically throwing the device from your hands before looking at the screen.

𝖭𝗈 𝖢𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗋 𝖨𝖣

You almost laughed to yourself, the movie must've gotten to you more than you thought.

You pressed decline without much thought, turning around to proceed down the hall when it rings again.

𝖭𝗈 𝖢𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗋 𝖨𝖣

You stare at it as it continues to ring, thumb hovering over decline, but on the last ring, you answer.

"Hello?"

Your voice carried through to the other side, but all you were met with was static.

"Hello?" You say again, but this time with much more agitation in your voice.

Faintly, you hear something else- breathing.

"Oh, ha ha- you got me. Who is this?" You pulled the blinds back to peek outside your front door, scanning your eyes for anything- or anyone out of place, but nothing seemed to be.

The breathing in your ear was cut abruptly as the call ended.

Paranoia set in, making you double check the locks on all the doors and windows before you head to bed. You thought it could be your friends pulling a dumb ass prank- I mean, for the sake of your sanity, that's what you HAD to believe.

You tossed and turned, your mind coming up with the most fucked up dreams imaginable which thankfully woke you from the nightmare.

You turned on your back, rubbing your eyes before opening them. Something was off, and it took you a second to realize- your bedroom door you had sworn you closed- was now open, leaving nothing to divide you between yourself and the portal of void that is your hallway.

Your first reaction was to call out your girlfriends name, hoping that she decided to come stay the night after all, but you're met with silence.

You sat there, clutching your phone in your hands as you stared into the hallway- too paralyzed to move. Surely, you're being ridiculous. You probably didn't latch the door fully and a draft had blew it open, but still, you called your girlfriend anyways.

It rang and rang and rang- each passing ring made you feel more and more stupid. Of course, she isn't going to answer, it's almost 3 in the fucking morning.

A huff passes your lips as you push yourself off the bed, stomping over to the door to shut it, but just as you turn around, you hear the distant sound of floorboards creaking.

Suddenly, you were incredibly cold- like standing outside in a blizzard with soaking wet clothes kind of cold.

You released the doorknob from your hand, and slowly backed away from it, still holding your phone to your chest.

This is when a persons fight or flight instincts are supposed to kick in, but yours must be broken because you couldn't move, breath- you couldn't do anything except stare at the door, half expecting to see the door knob turn from the other side, but it doesn't.

Eventually, the gears in your head started to turn again, unlocking your phone, and began to call 911 but couldn't bring yourself to finish the last number because there was still no solid proof that anyone was in the house except yourself.

You know that feeling where you're so scared that you're actually kind of pissed? Well, you were pissed- pissed because you had watched a scary movie alone, knowing damn well it would fuck with your head, and the unsettling feeling you had could have been avoided if your girlfriend had stayed over like she had promised.

Maybe this, plus the lack of sleep, had led you here- pen in hand (because it was the only weapon you had in your bedroom) and your phone in the other, tiptoeing down the hall and towards the kitchen where you thought you had heard the noises.

The house was pitch black, but if it were an actual intruder, that would benefit you because you know the layout of the house- little did you know the "intruder" also did.

You raised the pen in your fist, facing the pointy end out like you had seen in the movie as you made your way further into the center of the house. You squinted your eyes trying to adjust to the dark, barely enough to make out shapes of furniture and other things.

Living room- clear.

Kitchen- clear.

Dining room- clear- wait. The sliding back door was opened, not by much, but still a few inches.

"Hello? Ellie?" You called out stupidly, but it was out of hopeful desperation that this wasn't real, and it was just your girlfriend trying to scare you.

When no one answers your cries, you take a few steps towards the glass door, closing it shut and locking it. The deadbolt rang a sound as it locked in place throughout the otherwise still house, but still, there wasn't a trace that anyone had been here other than yourself.

You chucked to yourself, already picturing the conversation between you and Ellie about how you almost scared yourself to death while turning around and started back down the hall, but then, your phone rang, freezing you in place as you held it up.

𝖭𝗈 𝖢𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗋 𝖨𝖣

Your hand shook as you held it up to your ear, "h-hello?"

Your fears were only confirmed as you listened- no talking, just breathing- like before, but this time much heavier.

You held yourself as you kept listening, and looked around at your surroundings, "seriously, this isn't funny, I'm going to call the cops if you keep doing this." You pulled yourself together to sound as serious and unshaken as possible, all the while scrambling to every window, trying to catch a glimpse of whoever was behind this.

A few beeps could be heard through the line, indicating the call was ended, but luckily, you had remember that *69 was a thing.

You held the phone up to your ear, almost relieved because you thought this would put an end to the torment and it would just be a bunch of stupid kids on the other end pulling a prank, but your stomach sank as you heard ringing coming from down the hall.

Fight or flight came a second too late because now you were struggling- a hand covering your mouth from behind, muting your screams.

Your wrists were held together by a hand on your lower back as you’re forced down the hallway until you reached the bedroom.

You're pushed into the room, pleading with them to find mercy on you as tears streamed down your face.

The all black figure turned to face you after closing and locking the door, reveling that they were wearing a mask you had recognized from a popular movie franchise.

"P-please, don't hurt me." You cried even harder as the masked figure steps towards you. You backed away each time they did so until you felt the bed frame against your legs, gravity forcing you to sit.

You felt weak, defenseless. You could try fighting back, but they've already proved they're much stronger than you.

Your head was tilted up by your chin, forcing you to look up. They lifted the mask, just enough so the bottom part of their face was exposed.

"It's okay. It's me, baby." Ellie said as she kneeled before you, placing her hands on your knees.

"Ellie? What the fuck-" you started to freak out, trying to gain distance from her by moving further away on the bed, but she holds you there.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you this much," she rubs her hand over your knee, "- tell me if you want me to stop."

You furrow your brows, trying to understand what she meant, but quickly it was made apparent as she reached behind into her back pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

She stood, staring into your eyes through the soulless mask, "lay on your back."

You hesitated before doing as you were told, scooting yourself into position until you were laying in the center of the bed.

Your head swivels as you watched her circled you, finally stoping as she reaches the end of the bed. The mask tilts as she looks at you, examining, and plotting before turning around and walking towards the closet. She pulls out a backpack that you recognized as hers, but don't remember her putting it there.

She tosses the bag on the bed, jolting you as it lands between your feet. She opens it, pulling out various tools. At first, it was tame- more pairs of handcuffs, but your breathing intensified as she pulled her switchblade.

Your thighs instinctively squeezed together as you watched her hands handle the items- the handcuff hanging off her long fingers, the veins on the back of her hand popping out as she laid it all out.

"How long have you been planning this?" The quietness of the room made the tremble in your voice all the more apparent.

Ellie chuckled a muffled laugh behind the rubber and plastic, "remember when we had that conversation about you wanting to try new things in the bedroom?"

The way she said it made you swallow hard- mockingly, almost like she held onto some sort of resentment for the fact you had brought it up to her.

She was going to prove herself tonight, make you regret for ever doubting her skills- push you so far to the edge that you'll be begging to feel her gentle touch again, well, that was her plan anyway.

Your elbows propped yourself up, her fingers dancing lightly over the top of your foot, and down to your toes, and then the feel of her skin was replaced with metal- cold, sharp, and not so gently fastened around your ankle.

She did the same with your other foot, yanking you down by your ankle so the handcuff reached the bed post. A small yelp passes your lips as she does this, and she's quick to ask if you're okay. You reply with a small nod, which wasn't good enough for her.

"Ah ah-" she shakes her head slightly, walking around the bed until she was standing beside you, "I need to hear you say it." Her voice was firm, cold- not something you were used to.

"Yes-" you swallowed, watching her closely as she grabbed your wrist, and brought it up to the headboard.

"Yes what?" She asked, her tone unwavering from what is was previously. She closed the cuff around your wrist, squeezing it like a zip tie until it was snug against your skin. "Ouch" you say under your breath, looking up at the pale ring forming around the cuff before looking at her.

"Yes, Ellie."

She kneeled beside you, dancing a finger over your torso and up between your breasts, "Good girl."

Your breath hitches in your throat, squirming on the bed because you just wanted to taste her- to feel her lips on yours, but tonight, things were going to be different.

She started small- a simple finger that hooked the hem of your already exposing nightgown, pulling up to reveal the cotton underneath. She lets out a hum of satisfaction and feathers her fingertips up your inner thigh, grazing your entrance through the thin fabric.

A tight-lipped moan reverberated in your throat as you tried lifting your hips to get her to touch you harder, but each time you got closer, she would lighten her touch even more.

She'd pull her hand away, mocking you in a whiny tone, "What's the matter, baby?"

You were frustrated, to say the least- huffing and puffing- pouting your lips with a scrunch between your brows, begging in the same whiny voice she used to mock you.

Turns out, she was being dead serious about not giving in to you, even though you made that incredibly hard on her. With your whining, and pathetic excuses to get yourself off against her hand even if she was giving you next to nothing to work with.

Her fingers skillfully circled over your clit, applying less pressure the louder you got until the teasing started to feel like a punishment for the both of you.

"Fuck this-" she gritted, using her hand to lift the mask off and over her face, baby hairs sticking to the dampened skin, "I give up. You win."

She kneeled on the bed before reaching behind to pull something out of her pocket, the familiar sound of it locking in place as the blade swung open- her switchblade.

You opened your mouth to protest, but it came out as a squeak as she put her hand over your mouth.

"Do you trust me?" She asked now fully on top of you with her legs straddling your waist, holding the blade at a safe distance away before lowering it to your throat.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, and hesitated before you gave a small nod.

The weight of her hand disappears from your mouth before she leans in close enough that you think she is going to kiss you, but she doesn't- she stops millimeters away, her breath fanning your lips, "such a good girl."

She firmed her grip on the knife, trickling it down your neck and chest, watching closely between your facial expressions and how your chest heaved shallow breaths. She used her other hand to slip the silky material of your dress up, exposing your stomach, and almost reveling your tits, muttering curses of arousal under her breath along with other things that weren't meant for you to answer.

"Fuck.. you're so sexy like this."

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

"Are you scared?"

She carried the knife until it reached the waistband of your panties, the tip tugging at the cotton before snapping back.

Even though you had won, Ellie still took her time with you- slowly unwrapping you like a present which only got her all the more worked up. Maybe having some discipline was worth it after all, but she was leaking- her heart thumping out of her chest and her mouth filling with saliva just at the mere thought of your taste.

She had enough of this weird edging tactic she was using on herself, whether Ellie was aware of it or not- so she took action, holding the underwear where it had previously rested against your hipbones, slicing through it until it popped free. She did the same for the other side, and pulled the tattered cloth from under you, making a mental note to pocket it for the sake of memorabilia, and definitely not for the sake of beating off material.

Cautiously and without hesitation, she closed the switchblade and tossed it to the side since she no longer had any use for it. Instead, she used her hands, squeezing and pulling at the flesh between your legs, opening you up for her to see.

You squirmed beneath her, trying to close your legs, but you were powerless against her.

She shifted her knees between your legs, forcing you to widen your position. She then placed her hand just below your lower stomach, using her thumb to glide between your folds, "holy shit babe-" she scoffed, "-you're soaked. Do you like getting tied up this much?" Her tone indicated that she didn't expect a response, more like she wanted to embarrass you, humiliate you, and it was working.

Cheeks surly red, you barely could make out your sentence with her thumb circling your clit.

"It's b- because it's you, Ellie.. only you."

She paused briefly, her brain short circuiting- she slid her longest finger between your lips, coating it before poking your entrance, "oh yeah?" She glanced up to meet your eyes through a darkened lens before looking back down to watch her finger disappear inside you. You breathed out a moan mixed with relief, and tucked your bottom lip between your teeth before giving her a nod.

Not happy with your lack of communication, she curled her finger inside, rubbing it against your spongy walls, "You're mine. Say it."

You wined, furrowing your brows upwards like a puppy who had just been scolded. "I'm yours Ellie, m' all yours."

If you thought she got on top of you quickly, you should see her now- full throttle, damn near tripping over her own feet to undo the cuffs from both your ankles and wrists, but you weren't free yet. The relief you felt from the pressure dissipating from the cuffs was replaced with her hand, squeezing your wrists together above your head.

She kissed you. It was hungry and impatient- eating each other's soft moans without a care if it was messy, but the taste from your lips was not enough. She was more interested in the taste that came from further down.

She quickly made her way down with her lips, kissing and sucking your neck, collarbones, and down your stomach, occasionally sucking and licking to the point every hair on your body stood straight.

Finally, she was there, between your legs, like it was the only place she was supposed to be, the place she was made for, her tongue, lips, and fingers, all designed for you.

Her nose nuzzled against your clit as she lapped your sick, juices running down her chin and cheeks, and her breath fanning over your cunt when she'd occasionally break away panting, "taste so good, fuck-" she'd grit before flattening her tongue over your folds, licking a stride as far as she could reach before coming back up, "such a pretty pussy, all mine." She mumbled to herself before flicking her tongue over the swollen bud, reaching her hand down her own pants, and past her soiled boxers.

Your moans synchronized with hers as you tangled your fingers in her hair, squeezing slightly at the scalp which caused Ellie to rut her hips harder against her hand.

A tear spilled from the corner of your eye, and your breathing became much faster, her tongue working like a heartbeat, sending pulses to your clit and into your lower stomach.

You squeeze harder at the follicles, thrusting yourself against her mouth, "el-ellie, I'm com- Oh fuck! Oh- oh my god.." you cry out, arching your back, and squeeze your eyes until you see painted fireworks behind your eyelids. She continues to lightly trace her tongue sporadically, thrusting herself harder and harder against her hand until she breaks away to rest her forehead against your thigh.

After a few rounds- you couldn’t remember how many, the room became quiet, minus the sounds of heavy breathing that you two shared. She straightened her self after a few seconds, immediately leaving the room only to come back a few minutes later with a damp washcloth in hand.

She sat beside you, lifting your legs up and over her lap to run the cloth between your thighs. You hum to her, too exhausted to speak to let her know that it felt good. It was an unspoken language between the both of you, quiet and at peace just being together even if no one said anything.

When she ensured you were thoroughly wiped down, she got into bed and brought the covers over your body and hers. Your head instantly found sanctuary on her chest, the same way her arms did around your body.

You fell asleep to the rhythm of her heart while she exhausted herself with all the thoughts she had of you- your smell, your voice, and how you would look walking down the aisle, wearing white, flowers in hand, and ready to take her last name.

♡ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 @machetegirl109 @bambiesfics @robinismywifee @aouiaa

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reiderwriter · 8 months

Text

Elevator Pitch

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 2k!!

Warnings: Smut, fingering, semi-public sex/ foreplay, praise kink-ish, some pet names completely ignored Spencer's germophobia to make this work 18+ MINORS DNI

Summary: Getting trapped in an elevator is never fun, but at least the attractive you're sharing the metal box of death with has an interesting idea about how you can pass the time.

A/N: This is just a really quick drabble for @imagining-in-the-margins Meet Cute challenge for this month!! I have an idea for another one that I'll post closer to Halloween too, so look forward to that alongside all the kinktober fics 👀

Check out my masterlist here!

You weren't planning on running late on your very first day on your new team, but here you were. You were scheduled to meet Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner in his office at 9 a.m. sharp, and here you were at 8:57, trapped inside an elevator. At least you weren't alone, but alone with a stranger, and one who seemed to be talkative in the worst way wasn't exactly ideal either.

"Hey, don't panic. There are about 6 elevator-related deaths per year and about 100,000 injuries. I'm pretty confident about those statistics." He said, taking a sip of his coffee as he stood calmly by the door, pressing buttons and waiting for something to happen.

"Oh god, I'm gonna die in here." You whimpered a little bit, falling to your knees and screwing your eyes shut.

"No, I said we're not gonna die. Or its at least very unlikely."

"And I'm supposed to trust you?"

"Yes, I'm very good with numbers. Elevator accidents account for 0.00024% of all elevators in service in the US. There you don't have to panic anymore." Almost punctuating his words, the elevator gave a low groan and fell an inch lower, pushing him off balance and toppling to the floor right next to you.

"That was just unfortunate timing." He said, his breath hitting your face. Your eyes opened again finally, and you noticed that due to his topple, he was way closer than before, face merely inches from your own. Whoever this overconfident stranger was, he was attractive. Distractingly so, as you didn't respond to his sentence the entire time he was there in front of you, words suddenly escaping you as you stared into his dark, wide eyes.

"Mechanical issues are the cause of about 15.3% of elevator incidents. Since we're in Quantico, we can probably rule out foul play, which means that they'll probably have us back up and running in around 27 minutes." Opening his mouth ruined the fantasy for a minute, waking you up to the reality of your situation.

"Did you work an elevator case or something, why do you know so much about this?" You regretted the question as soon as you asked it, as he launched into another speech.

"I read the statistical reports published by the CPSC and the OSHA. It’s really interesting stuff actually, there are-”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way but I need you to shut up. I don’t think I can take any more statistics about my inevitable death by elevator. Can we do something else instead?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Can you… Can you hold my hand?” You felt yourself flush red the second the words left your mouth, and suddenly it was your turn to talk too much. “My mom used to do it when I was scared as a kid, and obviously you’re not my mom, and you don’t even know me, but I thought it could help comfort both of us. Human contact and touch is supposedly comforting in times of distress so I just thought…” He cut you off by silently grabbing your hand and settling into a seated position beside you and you sent a little prayer up to god to spare both your soul and your heart.

Because Jesus Christ it was beating hard now.

“Oxytocin,” he said and you looked up at him with a questioning look. “Oxytocin is released when you come into contact with other people, it’s the reason newborn babies benefit from skin-to-skin contact and why humans enjoy petting domestic animals so much. And the whole sex to destress thing.” He nodded and looked away, but you could have sworn the oxygen was completely sucked out of the room when he mentioned sex.

“Sex?” He turned to you as you said the word, as if processing the conversation you were in the middle of it.

“Yeah, never heard of it?” You rolled your eyes and squeezed his hand in your own for a second, but his body was leaning closer into yours now, his entire attention on you, as if he expected you to answer the question.

“Of course I have.”

“And what do you think? Can it help you de-stress?”

Your mouth moves before you can stop it. “Can we stop talking about this please, I’m already scared, I don’t need to be scared and horny.” You close your eyes and groan as his widen again, and suddenly you’re praying again, but this time you wouldn’t really mind if you became one of those six elevator malfunction deaths.

“I don’t know, maybe it would help you. There are some studies that show that stress can have aphrodisiacal impacts in women, you know?” His voice was light, but your entire body stiffened as you looked into his eyes, trying to gauge what this stranger was offering.

“So what, you’re suggesting I just get more and more turned on until I’m not worried about death?”

“No, I’m suggesting I close the gap between us and distract you for a while.” You spared a glance down to his lips then, his tongue darting out to lick them and pulling you in closer. You nodded quickly, a small movement and he pushed his lips down into yours.

He was soft at first, and you almost felt like pulling away and scalding yourself for engaging in risky behavior during a near-death experience. But just as you moved to pull away, his hand came up to your hair and you melted right back into him, the kiss deepening as you slanted your neck up to give up more of yourself to him.

You barely feel his hands pulling you into his lap, but you’re suddenly there and so happy you are. Your free hand wanders up to his chest as he squeezes your connected digits again, sending your heart into a fit of palpitations. In a panic you pull away, groaning a little as you can feel his not stiff member poking between your legs.

“Sorry, I don’t think we exchanged names. I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N..”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” His lips fall down to your neck as he whispers the words into your skin, and you let your head fall back as his hands untangle from you and fall to your hips, encouraging your movements as you begin grinding over him.

“And you said we had twenty-seven minutes before we’re free, right?”

“Whose the one talking too much now?” He bit into your neck sharply then, and you moaned out, battling the urge to let him take you there on the elevator floor. From it’s perch on your hip, his hand slips down and pops the button in your pants, pushing inside and finally touching you through your panties.

“That’s it, good girl, just keep grinding down on me.” Unconsciously, you press your hips into his hands, the pressure leaving you letting out a whistful sigh of relief.

“God,… Should we be doing this here?” Your words were unsure, but your movements weren’t as you pushed yourself into him again and again, desperate to feel more of him as he rubbed circles into your clit, driving you closer and closer to your peak.

“Let’s assume for now that the elevator malfunction has wiped out the CCTV,” he says, lips pressing against your skin as you lose yourself in his touch again. “We absolutely should be doing this.”

His words fell straight to your core, and you felt yourself grow more aroused as you pondered being caught in such an intimate position with a stranger.

“You think you can cum right here, baby? Think you can give me one soon?” His words almost sent you over the edge, his smile widening as your hips twitched over his.

“Fuck, yes, yes, please, don’t stop.”

“Not so scared about this elevator anymore are you? Or did you want to spend your last moments coming undone in my hands?” With his words, you lost the ability to speak, simply moaning out your agreement to his every word.

“I think I can hear someone talking through the walls, baby, you’re going to have to cum now for me, can you do that?” You nodded to him as he increased his pace on your words, and within seconds, you were letting it all out, head falling against his shoulder as you twitched through your orgasm. He pulled his hands out of your pants quickly and pressed a kiss to your lips, pulling you up to a standing position and making you look presentable as the doors to the elevator were finally pried open from the other side.

“Hey, how are you guys holding up in there?” The call came from the maintenance staff, and you were sudden;y thankful that he’d finished you off when he did because as horny as you’d been, actually getting caught like that was something entirely different than the fantasy of it.

You’re almost sorry that you have to leave when you do, suddenly absolutely involved in helping him “destress” the same way he’d helped you out. But he removes his hands from you and strikes up a conversation with the maintenance staff working to get your elevator level with the floor doors. You gravitate to the back of the stall, gripping the railing while your brain catches up to the circumstances.

In no time, the elevator is back in working order, and you and your stranger are stepping foot on steady ground again, and saying your goodbyes.

“Aaron Hotchner’s office is through those doors. Up the stairs to the left.” He smiles and nods at you before turning down the corridor and leaving you there by yourself. A glance at your clock tells you you’re too late to question his words, and how he even knew where you were going. You take off down the hall, ready to profusely apologize to your new boss and pledge to take the stairs for the rest of your days.

When Hotch finally greets you, he has already heard about the elevator malfunction, and all is thankfully forgiven. You have to bite your tongue before asking if everyone on this floor is psychic. But you’re still late, and you have a case, so your introductions have to take place in the briefing room and you half-run, half-walk behind the older man as he makes his way down the hall.

“Everyone we have a new team member today, please help her out for this first one and show her the ropes.” He introduces you by name, and you’re suddenly doing your best to memorize the names of a Prentiss, a Rossi, a Morgan, a JJ, and one Penelope Garcia. They seem to be waiting for someone else, but with the clock ticking, Penelope begins debriefing you on the next case.

“Sorry I’m late,” a voice calls from the door, and you feel the hairs on your neck stand up in shock as everyone slowly turns to greet the newcomer.

“What time do you call this?” Morgan laughs as the familiar man approaches, and a quick glance around tells you that the only seat left at the table, which had been so obviously reserved by the pile of paper files in contrast to everyone else's digital alternatives, was right next to you.

“Spencer, we have a new team member, this is Y/N. She’ll be joining us on cases from today onwards.” Hotch quickly says, and you lock eyes with the man just as he falls into his seat.

“I think we’re acquainted. Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Spencer Reid.” The room falls silent as he holds out his hand for you to shake, and you do your best to not show your shock and embarrassment on your face. You let your hand fall into his, the same one that you’d held earlier, the same one that had worked you up to the edge and then helped you pour over it, the same one that had pulled you together afterward. You said nothing after you’d finally pulled apart, waiting for him to make the next move once again.

“I look forward to working with you.”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds smut #meet cute #mentioningmargins

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cloudybarnes · 7 months

Text

Couples Costumes

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

Summary: Draco promised he would dress up with you for Halloween, but when you see him without his costume, you get a little upset

(from the prompt list I reblogged. feel free to send in requests)

Word Count: 1k

Masterlist

also gif not mine

✰ ✰ ✰

“Malfoy!�� You shouted from down the hall.

Draco was leaning against the wall in the hallway near your potions class, laughing with Mattheo when you yelled. As he turned to look at you, his eyes widened in fear.

You stormed up to him, the heels of your barbie costume clacked down the hallway. When you finally got up to him, you gave his shoulder a little nudge. “You lied to me!”

You crossed your arms and angrily tapped your foot against the floor. Draco had agreed to dress up for Halloween this year. He knew it was your favorite holiday back in the muggle world, and as your boyfriend, he agreed to dress up with you.

Unfortunately for you, Draco did not hold up his end of the deal this morning. He was supposed to be wearing his Ken costume to match your Barbie.

“I thought we agreed we would both wear our costumes to celebrate!” You huffed. “Even ‘Mione is wearing her Halloween costume.” You sadly added.

Draco’s eyes softened as your anger turned to hurt. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. I totally forgot what day it was, I’m sorry baby.”

He grabbed onto you and pulled you into a hug. His arms wrapped around your shoulders as he held you.

Mattheo clapped Draco on the back. “I’ll talk to you later, mate. See ya, (Y/N).”

You mumbled a goodbye to Mattheo as you nuzzled your face against Draco’s chest. “You’re a butthead, you know that?”

Draco chuckled and started rubbing his hands through your hair. “I’m sorry, darling. Really I am. I completely forgot about my costume this morning.”

You pulled away from his hug and looked up at him. “Well, it’s still morning,” you offered with a small smile, “let’s go up to your room and get your costume!”

Draco rolled his eyes with a teasing smile. “Will that make you happy, baby?”

You nodded your head, gently biting on your lip to hold back your grin.

Draco sighed as a grin took over his face. “Alright! Alright,” he put his hands up in mock surrender, “I’ll put it on for you, doll.”

You squealed and took his hand. “Yay! Let’s go, let’s go!” You pulled him behind you as you speed-walked down the hall towards the Slytherin common room.

Draco chuckled as he trailed behind you. The two of you half jogged all the way down the corridor where the Slytherin door was. You pushed through the door and pulled Draco up to his room.

“Okay! Let’s get you Ken-ified!” You giggled as you eagerly sat on his bed.

Draco smirked with a shake of his head. “You’re something else.”

He opened up his closet and pushed past all of the button up shirts and dress pants to get to the very end where his Ken costume hung. He pulled out the hanger and held up his costume for you to see.

You squealed as you clapped your hands. “Oh, you’re gonna look so cute dressed as Ken, Draco. You’ve got the most perfect hair for this costume.

Draco chuckled and brought his outfit to the bathroom with him. “Thanks, darling. Be right out.” He shut the door and started getting changed into his costume.

You couldn’t handle the anticipation. You loved Halloween, and you were so excited to finally get to celebrate with someone else. Most of the other wizards you knew, even some muggle born, didn’t even care about Halloween.

You’re just so thankful you’ve got a boyfriend who cares about you enough to do silly things like dress up with you.

Walking out of the bathroom, Draco did a little spin to show you his Ken costume.

“You look so cute!” You gushed. You stood up to walk towards him. Your fingers trailed over his shirt collar fixing things as you went.

“I’m not cute, I’m sexy.” Draco teased. He kissed the top of your head and laced his fingers in yours. “Come on, sweetheart, before we’re late to next class.”

You giggled and let him put you out of his room. “I think we’re already on the verge of being late, Dray.”

That didn’t stop him. He kept walking all the way out of the Slytherin room and out to the main hallways. “Yes, yes, I just want everyone to see our matching costumes.”

“You do?” You smiled. There weren’t very many people in the hallways, just a few stragglers who were slowly making their way to next period.

“Of course I do.” He reassured. As the two of you arrived at your shared next class, Draco took a minute to stand outside the door with you. “I am really sorry I forgot this morning. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to dress up with you. I’m not entirely sure how I forgot, to be honest, but I hope this can make up for it, darling.”

You smiled up at him. Draco was really sweet when he wanted to be. You giggled and reached up to ruffle his hair. “I’m not mad at you, Dray. Thank you for putting the costume on with me. I’m really happy to be celebrating with you.”

“Anything for you, darling. Now, let’s show everyone how kickass we are as Barbie and Kev.”

“It’s Ken, Draco.”

“I’m better than him anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

With a roll of your eyes, you let Draco pull you into the classroom.

He really was sassy, and a little full of himself, but no one could say he didn’t care for you. You felt really lucky to have a boyfriend like him.

868 notes · View notes

cherry-titz · 7 months

Text

Hi friends! @1800titz here. This is my contribution to the collaboration, and I’d like to start off by saying that I am so, so, so beyond excited to work with the immensely talented @cherryjuiceblues!! Thank you for working with me Soph :’)

We have loads of goodies planned, and we’d like to kick things off with Mr. Hitchhikerry. (Sidenote: he’s a little late to the party, this WAS supposed to be a spooky piece for Halloween but SHDJDJCJDJD don’t worry about it. Life got in the way a bit, but he’s finally HERE so WOOOO). A little idea based on this reddit post. This one has great big warnings. DARK HARRY. VERY DARK HARRY. With a piece like this, I want to really emphasize: this is purely for entertainment purposes, and there is 0 correlation intended to the real Harry Styles <3 just a spooky faceclaim.

With that disclaimer out of the way, here’s some content warnings: dom/sub themes, choking, (light) spanking, degradation (and praise!) ((some good ol’ LET’S PLAY SIMON SAYS)). THE WOOF WOOF is for humiliation purposes only <3 GREAT BIG WARNING FOR A DISTURBING CONFESSION OF INTENT TO HARM.

Also, I writhe in my seat as I write, wanting to put in lengthy context of prediscussion and safewords and aftercare and everything important I always talk about, BUT. You’ll see. He’s an …interesting character and I tried to keep hitchhikerry true to himself.

PLEASE DON’T HOOK UP WITH STRANGE MEN YOU PICK UP ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD AT NIGHT. PLEASE DON’T PICK UP STRANGE MEN ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD AT NIGHT. Enjoy ٩(◕‿◕)۶ (WC is 11K)

She doesn’t do hitchhikers.

Not figuratively, not literally.

Y/N was raised outside of the scope of the seventies, post-Bundy and his hitchhiking antics, and since the evolution of serial-killer lore, she’s never been fond of a stranger hopping into her passenger seat and then cutting her up into itsy-bitsy parts to hang around his back garden like string-lights, or something. An ear there, a palm with crooked fingers there. Morbid stuff.

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers, but she doesn’t think about that, hurtling down some back-country road, a poorly lit vale through a field of tall, boundless grass. It’s not the first thought budding behind her skull when she sees his silhouette through the shone of her pearly brights — a blip by the line of tall shrubbery — even a good distance away. And from her distance, he’s just a little blip in a cream, hoodless sweatshirt, feet planted into a bed of patchy grass. Her first sane thought, as she squints through her windshield, has to do with why someone would be out on this road, at this time of night, with no feasible form of transportation, and how. As her Honda nears and passes some fork off, a dirt bend of clearing into the winding field of nature, the man’s hitchhiking, signature thumb morphs into a wave of his arms, and his foot steps out, toying at the edge of the road. It doesn’t quite breach the threshold, but her speedometer decreases enough for her to catch baggy denim, distressed at the knees, and a slow wave of his arms, raised. He doesn’t launch at her car, forlorn, as she passes — thank Christ. But even then, his frame swishes by, out of sight, coated by darkness. She casts her gaze to the rear-view, and the image of him scrubbing over his face with an exasperated palm shrinks in size the further she gets.

The young woman gets about a hundred feet before she nudges the break with her foot to a halt, sighing as the car settles with a subtle lurch. She makes another glance to the rear-view. Now, she can’t see him, not in the shroud of night, but she squeezes her eyes shut for a second, and then twists the wheel until the car curves. A tire slips off onto gravel and grass with the U-turn, but she steers herself back onto the road and drives into the same direction she’s just come from.

He looks surprised to see her reverse, form pivoted toward the same headlights that’d just passed him with a crease over his brow bone. Y/N slows and breaks as she nears, absent-mindedly pressing a fingertip over the lock button on her door. TV Girl is still playing quietly from her car speakers when she cracks the window, stopped beside him across the road, and beckons with her chin raised just enough for her cadence to seep through the opening, “Do you need help?”

“Yes, yeah, I—“ the man makes a quick glance towards the side of the road where vehicles would be incoming, a sharp turn of his chin, and then a step towards her parted window as Y/N twists over the volume toggle. “I just— my car broke down,” he raises an arm and points towards the dirt clearing that slips into the field, “I was coming this way, and my phone’s died—“

He pauses, shaking his head down at his converse, his voice a baritone croon with charming, foreign dialect, “I know this is so odd, and you probably don’t want a stranger in your car. But f’you could just order an uber or something, I could give you the cash for it?” the girl watches his ring-clad palm disappear into the front pocket of his denim hastily, only to retrieve a wallet, “—If that’s alright?”

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers.

And still, her pupils rove over the charming stranger, trailing from his soft dark curls, swiping over his lashes as his head ducks, down the slope of his nose, to the cushiony pink of his lips. Irises graze down his neck and catch a white tee under the collar of his cream pull-over, and they brush down his denim, to his battered, white converse. The young woman watches his hand stretch out, cautiously, a wad of neatly folded cash cupped by pads of fingers with short, yellow-lacquered nails.

“No, don’t— …I can give you a ride,” Y/N tells him, her tone soft as her gaze wanders over his frame.

A downward shift plucks at the corner of his plush mouth and his jaw flexes, a hesitant look shaping over his features, “It’s— I couldn’t— s’like a thirty minute drive, and I don’t wanna take you out of the way…”

His large hand is still stretched out toward her, and she admires the cross inked over the back of his hand, on the fleshy area between his thumb and forefinger. Her brows pinch together, and the window whirs as the glass partition sinks. The girl raises her hand and points back with her thumb.

“Are you going in that direction?”

Wordlessly, the attractive stranger nods — a single dip of his chin.

“I’m going that way, too. I can give you a lift.”

Another look of hesitancy flits over the curly-haired stranger’s face, a soft, dubious touch to his facial features. He purses his strawberry mouth.

“If you’re sure.”

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers.

And still, she slips her hand over the unlock button, and the doors click to signal unshuttering as the man culls his wallet and stuffs the cash back in, sticking that back into his jeans. She watches him wind around her car, his gait trailing behind, and her eyes follow his side profile, bathed in the red of the brake lights, through the rear-view. The passenger door slips open. She rolls her window the rest of the way up.

“Thank you,” the man tells her in his low baritone, raking fingers through his curls as he slides into the seat beside her and shuts the door.

He smells heady and fresh — expensive. But it’s not overpowering, by any means. A blend of tantalizing notes; cologne blotted in increments that mesh well with his natural musk. The pleasant scent is the first thing she notices when he climbs into her vehicle. The second is the sculpt of his side profile — lengthy lashes over the crest of his cheekbones, his nose, a plush, pink mouth, a stray curl splayed over his forehead. He’s a little older than her, at least by a handful of years; there’s this innate, aged quality to him, and she can witness it in the shape of his features, in the soft dusting of stubble over his jawline. Y/N catches glimpses of his side profile discretely as the music track shifts, eyeing the bob of his Adam's apple as he cranes his neck back against the headrest. The screen over the center console reads 1:02 AM.

“Long night?”

It’s a shit attempt at small talk, but the young woman turns the wheel in her palms, hopeful that the man is interested in something more than an awkward silence, sparsely filled with the mellow keys of electronic-indie leaking from the speakers. She heard him expel a breath more than she sees it in her peripherals, and as the car embarks on another U-turn, he tells her, with laughter suffusing his cadence, “Yeah. Yeah, s’been a long night.”

She does make out that he pivots a bit towards her, and his tone is earnest when he says, “But it’d be a little longer without you, I think. Thank you, again. Feels like I can’t say it enough.”

Her mouth quirks softly. The young woman keeps a haphazard left hand on the wheel, vision bouncing from the poorly illuminated road ahead and the phone in the cupholder. The LED display lights alive as she swipes her thumb over the lockscreen and toggles onto the maps app, cueing him by nudging the electronic in his direction.

“Um. If you could just type in the directions— I’m sort of shit in these parts, to be honest.”

She casts a brief gaze toward him and sees a soft divot pinch into his cheek as the corners of his mouth crook up. His fingertips, warm and rough — calloused — brush over the back of her hand with the handoff, and then his thumbs are working over the screen before an address and a winding blue line of directions with an eta of thirty-four minutes teems the screen.

“Hi, by the way,” the man says in his honey-smooth cadence, “My name’s Harry.”

“Hi,” Y/N grins, shooting a bashful glance into the attractive stranger — Harry’s — direction, before fixing her irises up ahead. “I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N,” the man parrots — God. She could listen to him drone on about the most monotonous topics in that voice. He doesn’t. Instead, he uses that same timbre again to say, “S’a pretty name.” And she has to ignore the flurry of butterflies that swarm her innards at the entirely innocuous compliment and the heat that suffuses her cheeks. “Are you from around here?”

“Ish. Sort of,” she slows at a curve through the field. Her brows pinch, “I mean, I’ve lived here for a bit now, but I moved from Oregon.”

“Oregon? That’s sick. Any particular motive?”

Y/N lifts a subtle shoulder, because there isn’t. She pauses before she answers. “Dunno. Just needed a change of scenery.”

Harry twists the ring over his pinky and nods down at the motion, lips pursed with intrigue, “Adventurous.”

The young woman’s mouth crooks, because he’s, evidently, from the opposite hemisphere.

“That’s admirable,” the man motions with his chin.

Her mouth is still smiley when she rounds another curve, in the opposite direction, and mirrors his dialogue, “What about you? Any motive?”

“My motive?” his inflection is cheeky and playful, “You don’t think I’m a native?”

The girl makes a wry sound of amusement; an obvious inclination of disagreement. The handsome man grins, all raspberry-tinted lips and friendly teeth. “Just …visited, and never wanted to leave,” he declares with little expansion on the topic. Simple, short, sufficing.

There’s a little moment of lull between them when she straightens the car out and the track slips into the chorus.

Harry shifts in the passenger seat and asks, in that same deep timbre she could sink into and drown in, “Where are you headed from?”

Where is she headed from? Y/N blinks at the road ahead, digits flexing over the steering wheel. Truth be told, it’s a late hour to be out and about, especially in this deserted neck of the woods. Every cozy little farmhouse in these plains, distant beyond the fields of grass, has lights off. No other car passes.

“I was on a …date,” the young woman tells him.

Harry nods and swivels in his seat to face her a bit. “Good date?”

Y/N pauses, the fragments of the story rolling around behind her skull. And truth be told, …it wasn’t a very good date. But it wasn’t a date to begin with. In all honesty, she’s not about to tell this attractive stranger that she’d driven forty minutes for a routine hook-up with an old tinder match, only to be stood up outside his door.

He was a character whose path happened to cross with hers for purely carnal purposes, and their flings were like rolls through seasons, rendezvous blotted into her timeline where either had a smidge to make room. She’s not going to talk about that. It’s piteous, basically. The young woman doesn’t risk side-eyeing him. This man seems like he’s well off in that department, and she doesn’t want to discuss her shit intimate life and the way that Cody decided, last minute, that he was more interested in going out for miller lites with his buddies than entertaining the idea of sleeping with her.

He didn’t even have that impressive of dick game anyways — that’s the brutal candor. It wasn’t that he had this particular lack of satisfaction guarantee, but the sex was okay. It didn’t tick all the boxes or leave her fulfilled, not in the real sense, but it was sex, and it was decent. Maybe the most brutal part is the way she’d driven all the way to see him, even knowing that the sex wasn’t going to be top notch.

Apparently, her silence stretches too long, and the pause gives away the answer she mulls tactics over hiding.

“Bad date,” the girl hears from beside her — it’s in this thoughtful sort of way, like Harry’s slotting puzzle pieces together in the lull.

Y/N shifts her fingers over the wheel, the sound of skin sliding over leather meshing with the starting notes of a Cage the Elephant track. Her thumb toggles over a button on the wheel. She skips it.

“No,” the girl responds, eventually, but she doesn’t even sound fully convincing to her own ears. There’s this high note to her cadence, and she hears it in her own waver of honesty. She wants to cringe up, a little, at the sound. “Not …bad. Just. Well, you know. What about you?”

For the first time since she’d gotten back onto the road, Y/N casts her gaze to him. A glimpse, a twist of her chin, enough to take in his side-profile for a smidge of a second, more in a way to incite switching the topic and pivoting the point of conversation than the inconspicuous stare she’d made appreciating his features. The corner of his plush mouth curves up, and he makes a little sound; a puff of air through his nostrils like he’s bridling mirth.

“Was my date bad?” Harry says, in this playful sort of way. Like he’s teasing her.

“No— your— whatever you—”

Y/N huffs. She rolls her shoulders back against the seat, a heat teeming over her cheeks. Why was she so nervous? Why did he make her so nervous? Harry makes another sound of amusement, the cushion of his lips unsealing to display straight white teeth.

“I was at a friend’s,” Harry expands, opting to stop drawing out the teasing, enough for Y/N’s shoulders (that’d grown rigid) to relax a little against the seat. “Was actually having a good night, believe it or not. And then, you know.”

Unfortunately, she does know. He’s sitting in her car, after all.

“Do you know what went wrong with it?” she ponders.

“Well,” Harry the pads of his fingers over the door, and it takes every fiber in her not to sneak a glance at the motion, not to admire the yellow polish, washed with darkness, dim in the car, “the check engine light was on for a bit, to be honest. But— no,” the man pauses with a little simper, shooting her a glance, “Cars aren’t my specialty.”

They talk about loads of things — she learns all about his friends and the sort of outing they’d had (game night it’d been, Uno, and he’d beckoned her opinion on a debate that’d arisen — whether a draw four could be stacked onto a draw two). That had spawned another conversation on card games —

(“Is it like Go Fish, then?”

“No,” she snorts, “not at all.”

“Not at all?”

“There’s a board and it’s— more complicated.”

“There’s a board,” Harry parrots, shifting with his elbow brace on the center console like an armrest, “And it’s just, like. Cards, like, in a deck of cards?”

“You’ve never played cribbage?” Y/N repeats in disbelief.)

She learns about his job, and his cat, and his collection of vintage vinyls. He’s amiable, and he answers every question she directs his way with this smooth sort of charm. He’s easy to talk to, and the span of the drive cuts shorter and shorter through intriguing conversation. But she leads the way for the majority of the inquiries.

It’s not until they’re at the halfway mark before he asks his own, rather than redirecting one of hers.

“Can I ask you something?” Harry drums his fingertips over the plush of his mouth, and Y/N struggles to fix her eyes back onto the road once she’s spared him a glance.

It takes her a second to hum out an agreement, too.

“It was a bad date, wasn’t it?”

The girl expels a breath and drums her fingers over the wheel, casting her gaze onto the screen of directions.

“It wasn’t even a date,” she confesses, “he was like—“ she blinks, lashes fluttering as exasperation at the reminder leaks through, “A tinder hook up, and we didn’t even end up hooking up.”

Before he can interject, Y/N tacks on, begrudged, “He wanted to hit the bars with his posse of Mag-con wannabes, instead.”

And then there’s this sort of pause that has Y/N thinking that maybe she’s overshared. The man with the sun-polished nails isn’t an old friend she’s having a gab with, catching up on the phone — he’s a stray man she’s plucked up off some deserted road, and if he judged her for her choices, it’d kind of be justified. Namely, the one where she’d driven out in the middle of the night for impromptu cock.

And anyways, this all feels a bit surreal — the beginnings of a therapy session with a stranger who’d hopped into her sedan for a lift, filling the void of a psychologist in a great, big leather armchair.

Except Harry sounds earnestly disbelieving when he says, “You’re kidding.”

She purses her mouth and readjusts her fingers over the steering wheel. “He sort of …canceled when I was already at his door? Forgot to text me that the plans changed. That’s what he said.”

“What a dickhead.”

“Mm,” Y/N hums.

“He’s a moron for passing up the opportunity,” Harry tells her. It’s not in an awkward way, or anything creepy, either. He’s got this air to him, she finds — an ability to make a comment like with effortless delivery of charm. He’s not even looking at her when he says it, only risking her a brief glance that she catches in her peripherals. She still side-eyes him from her seat in surprise, the edges of her mouth curling up bashfully.

“M’serious,” Harry says, dimples pinching into place beside the upturned-curl of his plush mouth.

And the thing is, Harry is so friendly. He’s kind, and interesting, and despite the way Y/N had assumed allowing for his presence in her car would be the world’s greatest chore, she’s pleased to be in his company.

That’s why she lifts a wry shoulder and tells him, “The sex was bad anyways.”

The man’s face pivots to face her, then. “Yeah?” he coaxes for expansion in his molasses-slow croon of a timbre.

“It was just a little boring.”

“Boring?”

“Not— maybe not boring. Just, you know. There was nothing…” Y/N drums digits over the steering wheel, “I don’t know.”

The man beside her clears his throat.

“Was he a missionary in the dark type of bloke, then?”

“Yes,” she responds, almost instantly. Because missionary in the dark is, perhaps, the best way to describe Cody’s sexual nature. Down to the T, practically. She can’t fathom how many times she’d lay there, hoping he’d switch up into something different, something where his hands weren’t resting shallowly on the bed sheets beside her shoulders, something where his face wasn’t tucked into the crook of her neck, his mouth biting back everything but soft hisses of air as his hips rocked at an mediocrely slow pace.

Harry’s mouth quirks.

“But not even that, it’s like. He wasn’t bad at foreplay, or anything. It wasn’t the best. But, you know. It was all sort of… plain.”

The young woman pauses before she continues with an apathetic, one-shouldered shrug, “And there’s nothing wrong with plain. It gets the job done, and, you know. That’s what some people like.”

There’s a shift in energy, from there. It’s subtle, but Y/N can feel it, and she wonders whether the morph is a one-sided experience. It happens with the honesty of the context, with the way she swears jade winds over her figure from beside, with the rasp of his voice beckoning something playful.

“But that’s not what you like.”

Y/N takes a second to answer. “No.”

“What do you like?”

Maybe that phrase is where it hits her. Where she recognizes that the subtle shift in energy is not one-sided. Not by any means.

Y/N risks a haphazard glance into his direction.

“Not …that,” the girl laughs. It’s a nervous, giggly kind of sound, but it’s not because of him.

It’s different now, she thinks. He’d been so timid at first — all bashful gazes through lashes glimmering under the beam of headlights, hesitancy shaping his features. Friendly dialogue — alluring, but curt in anything beyond friendly. This is different. This is blunt and forward. This is his eyes raking over her, this is his tongue swiping out over the plush of his pink mouth, this is his dimples peeking as the corners edge up.

“What do you like?” Harry asks again, a note of flirty, lighthearted amusement to his smooth cadence.

Y/N sighs, the corners of her mouth tipping up. “I don’t know. Oh my God. Why are you interrogating me?”

Harry laughs. His brows rise, and he tips his chin down so the green sparkles at her. “You don’t know what you like?”

“I don’t know,” she huffs, good natured. And then she gives. “Something… rough. Something exciting. I don’t know, pull my hair, make it hurt a little. Don’t… lay there in the dark and…” her speech morphs into giggles, “Groan into my ear about how tight I am while I’m laying there like a dead fish.”

Y/N doesn’t know how she ends up pulled over in some deserted parking lot. She doesn’t know how her headlights end up off, how the stranger’s hands sew into her hair, how his lips mesh softly with hers, hungrily. Well. She does know, but she doesn’t care about the details in between. Because he’s hot, and he tastes of mint, and the tips of his fingers press into her scalp and tug a little when they brush through, when he slips a palm over the nape of her neck through the work of his cushiony mouth. It’s thrilling, and it’s sexy, and it’s dangerous, she thinks, but that thought becomes clouded and pushed back to the dells of her mind.

“Such a pretty little thing,” Harry murmurs when they disconnect, fingers splaying over her cheeks. Her heart hammers in her chest, and his irises trail after the motion of his thumb, bumpily dragging over the side of her lips, all the way to her cupid's bow. That same pad of his thumb pauses and tugs, drawing her bottom lip down to show the slightly parted seal of her teeth.

And then he’s taking his thumb away and nudging the tips of his index and middle finger, coaxing, “Open your mouth, open your mouth.”

The pads of his digits meet the tip of her tongue and prod in, brushing over her taste buds, until he’s tapping onto the center of the muscle and crooning, “Stick it out. Tongue out for me.”

A little hum escapes her, plucking at her vocal chords when she complies, only for him to trace further with his fingertips and nudge until he strokes the back. He holds them there and makes a little motion with his chin and a soft tut when her irises stay pinned on him, glazing with a sheen of watery protest at the depth of the intrusion.

“Ah— don’t you gag,” he tells her softly, every syllable of every word coated with these notes of dominance that almost seem …innate — like the headspace is a pair of shoes for him to slip into with ease.

It’s filthy, it’s so filthy — this stranger’s fingers in her mouth, this man she’s never seen a day in her life, a complete, nameless stranger, not even an hour prior, prodding into the warm wetness behind her lips. And her, following his aimless direction, just to please him. She doesn’t gag through the way his fingers crook, her tongue twitching and her throat bobbing, her sight growing blurry with the coating of sheen. It’s worth it, immensely, when Harry hisses out a soft curse and groans softly, his brows pinched.

It’s worth it when he takes his fingers away, and Y/N’s jaw is coated with her drool, when her tongue is still out, when Harry says, in this soft, strained voice, like it’s praise, “Christ, you’re a filthy thing.”

She finds that this impromptu rendezvous sort of gives her whiplash. She’s parked in some empty parking lot with her lights off, and an alluring stranger’s just untucked his fingers from her mouth. Maybe someone would deem this a new low — having a shag with some hitchhiker she’s scooped off the side of a back-country road. But he’s eyeing her like she’s prey, and he rolls from one action like pages flitting and flipping in a book, and every detail keeps her on her toes. She can’t keep up. Y/N pants wetly, like she’s not sure whether to slip her tongue back into her strawberry mouth, because she’s not.

Not until he swipes another thumb over the tip of the lax, twitching muscle and beckons, like he’s a little amused, “Aren’t you?”

Slowly, her tongue retreats, and that’s when his hand slips and cups over her throat, and that’s—

Her pulse thunders like it’s straining to beat out from below her skin, and Harry adjusts his grip, that same, wet thumb drawing short, slow lines over the point like he wants to test the race of her heart, like he wants to know that the pattern has skyrocketed since his palm has made homage over her windpipe. The man hums, pupils trailing and lingering slowly.

“Tell me—“ Y/N shifts in her seat, spine straightening out against the cushion, and something wracks down every individual knob when his blown gaze pins her the same way his palm pins over her neck, “Tell me you’re my filthy plaything.”

The press of his hand isn’t harsh by any extent, not until she parts her lips to answer — that’s when he nudges a little firmer. A little harder. He cocks his head at her in this condescending way — like her stifled sound of surprise entertains him, like the subtle, almost unnoticeable jolt of her eyelids, widening, pleases him. Judging by the slight quirk at the edges of Harry’s plush mouth, it does.

Her tummy coils with unanticipated desire. This feels almost scary. This feels like traipsing over a rope, like teetering over dangerous territory, and the sudden spike of adrenaline only has her thighs clenching together harder. Because this is sweet Harry, the friendly hitchhiker, in his cream sweater with his nice smile, and his charming dimples, and his loose, clean curls, with his warm palm cupped over her throat and the pad of his thumb digging into her pulse. He looks fucking hungry.

“I’m—“ her statement’s muzzled by the press of his hand, an increase in only a slight increment. It’s enough to wrest a garbled sound from the back of her throat. He tips his head.

“What’s that?”

“I’m your…” she pauses when he presses harder, again, and this time’s enough to have her feeling lightheaded, her bleary eyes wandering over his face and every muscle of her face battling the light flutter of her lashes. She thinks a dimple peeks from his cheek. Harry lets up.

Y/N siphons breaths like her lungs have been deprived for ages, and not just partly for the timespan of a short fifteen seconds. Still, his palm is glued over the front of her neck — just there. His thumb strokes over her pulse gently.

“I’m your …filthy plaything,” the young woman confesses in this pathetic little voice that’d have her ashamed in every other setting. But in this one, it doesn’t.

Arousal creeps through every fiber of being, instead, crawling through her arteries and settling into her veins like a twisted, dark goo. It thrums through her and sinks through to the trench of her tummy, frothing as chills teem down her back. He’s got this glint in his eye, like a dance around a bonfire in the deep of the night — but it’s just a stray street light that casts its shone as a spotlight when he ducks forward a tad, just enough for it to. When he tips forward, his gaze growing half-lidded, lower and lower the closer he gets, it feels like he starts to siphon every breath from her own mouth as his cushiony lips ghost over her cupid’s bow. Even for the smidge of the second it takes for their mouths to mesh again, it feels like the movement is in ultra slow motion.

The mold of their mouths together, this time, feels a lot less like she’s got her hands on the wheel — the first time had been almost testing, sweet — something soft that’d shifted into something headier, something firmer. This feels like something he guides, something he takes the clear lead in, from the pace of his hungry lips to the exploratory nudge of his tongue against the seam of her own mouth. Her fingers flex over the center console aimlessly, palm straying, and fingertips catching on a part of his cotton sweatshirt. They twist into the fabric softly when Harry’s tongue strokes over her own. A hand settles onto her thigh. It’s not her own.

“Get in the backseat,” he hums into her open mouth, squeezing over her flesh when she doesn’t immediately comply. He’s got this way of dulling her reflexes, crumbling the semblance of her mind to mush, and Y/N is convinced it has more to do with his touch than it has with the time of night, despite the way exhaustion wears at her tired muscles. “Get in the fuckin’ backseat.”

When her arms strays and she reaches for the door handle, though, he squeezes at her thigh again, and hums out a displeased note of disagreement. “Not like that.”

Bemused, Y/N shifts in her seat. A glint of something playful glows in the jade when Harry tells her, “You can find another way, can’t you, pet? Go on.”

Y/N sits in confused silence for all of three seconds before the man sits back a tad and cocks his head, irises flashing towards the backseat with a playful, little grin quirking at his lips. Like he’s suggesting.

It takes her longer than three seconds to clamber into the back from the driver’s seat, through the slot over the center console, but it satisfies Harry, evidently, judging by the way he palms over the globes of her backside through her stretchy mini-skirt. It’s not very graceful, and if she was less aroused she’d probably find it in her somewhere to be a bit embarrassed, but. She doesn’t. She wriggles over the cushion, instead, settling back.

Harry has smarter ideas. He toggles the gear on the side of the passenger seat and sets the whole top of it back, like a makeshift day-bed, and scoots into the back of the sedan through the opening. And there’s not much leg room — not for the two of them, not with the whole back of the seat splayed — and there’s not much room for their heads, either, but they manage to squeeze back, and he’s gripping onto her shoulders and twisting her on his own whim before the young woman has a chance to shift around, herself.

“Get—“ the way Harry manhandles her with a grip on her hips, (once he’s got her slumped, at least somewhat) — with ease, like he’s flipping a page in a book rather than rearranging her whole position in the cramped space of a sedan backseat — that lights something fiery in the pit of her belly. “Hands and knees, baby,” Harry tells her, grunting softly while her limbs scrabble over the pleather. He pulls her back into him, by the hips as she’s physically molded into it, parroting, quieter, “hands and knees.”

“Itsy bitsy skirt… so easy to just—” Harry hums, this sort of mischief to his cadence — and it becomes blatantly obvious, the reason for it, when his digits creep under, from behind, and his colossal palms hitch it up, “Oops.”

She’s wearing tights under it. They’re not the fleece-lined kind, despite the bite of chill in the air outside, but they are there, and Harry spans the pads of his fingers over the barrier like he doesn’t have plans to discard them the practical way.

He doesn’t. The man stripes a fingertip down her core, from behind, over the fabric and the faint hue of cheeky purple that peeks through, and makes this devious sound of mirth when her whole body twitches. And then he draws the same fingertip back up, in the same line, and nudges a bit.

“What am I gonna do with you?” Harry coos. The third, slow drag has her arching her hips back. “Hm? What am I gonna do?” He takes almost a thoughtful second, tongue peeking out to swipe out over the cushion of his pink bottom lip, before Harry splays his palms over her bum, “Pretty girl… pretty arse…”

And it’s so calm — he’s so calm, so casual, so nonchalant — Y/N doesn’t even sense it coming until he sighs, and then he’s digging the tips of his digits into the nylon, stretching it from her core, and just tearing. Casually. Nonchalantly. The sound of fabric ripping apart coaxes her jaw to slip open, and her pupils stick to the inside of the door, unblinking, as he just tears, and tears, and tears.

And she’s not even upset, is the thing. She’s not irritated that this stranger’s just torn the crotch of her tights apart — she can’t be, not when he hums devilishly and strokes over her core, a layer closer. Maybe that’s pitiful. Maybe that’s sad, that she’s so fucking horny that she doesn’t care that her tights have been split open with no prior discourse on the topic, but this direction of impulse — the way she’s not even able to try and guess his next move, it kindles something hot and hungry.

And if she ever has Cody to thank for anything, Y/N thinks maybe it’d be that he’d inspired her to shave and slip on a pair of decently attractive underthings.

“These are pretty, too,” Harry tells her, thumbing at the crotch of the thong, just over one side. The young woman gives this dreamy little sigh and arches back up into him further. “What d’you want, sweetheart? Want me to give some attention …here—“

Her spine jolts when he nudges the pad of his index right up against her clit, lightly, over the purple fabric, “Maybe? Is that it? Eager girl.”

He draws a featherlight circle over it, and then another, and another until her thighs are trembling. The tip of his digit taps. She nudges back, and he takes it away altogether. An amused sound slips from his mouth.

“Say please,” Harry demands.

Y/N jumps as his fingertips trail to her inner thigh, crooking and tickling in the line they draw.

“Please.”

Again, he makes a disapproving tut, and Y/N rolls her cheek onto on a forearm, tucked over the seat.

His eyebrows climb up his forehead, and his fingertips drift up and down the back of her thigh, drawing closer and closer where she needs him most with every lap. Each word is covered with notes of firm dominance. “Not like that. Like you mean it — like you’re pleading.”

Y/N mulls over the words, her heart thundering.

“How d’you beg?”

It takes a second for his words to sink in, but then when they do, she croons out, softer, more desperate, “Please.”

There’s a soft sound of a breath being expelled, the seat crinkling quietly as, she assumes, Harry sits back on his haunches, head ducked. Like it’s not good enough. Her tongue traces out over her lips and she beckons, “Please, please,” each plea prompting a spiral of unfamiliar humiliation — glazed with arousal — to unfurl.

“Please, please, please—“ each word emphasized with a rock back of her hips. And finally, he touches her.

His palm cradles a cheek, and he doesn’t sound even slightly impressed. Instead, his voice comes out exasperated when he tells her, “That’s not convincing. You’re desperate. You want something — you need it, you’re pleading.”

“Please— please—“

“Louder,” he scoffs, “Beg. Beg.”

“Please,” she tries, desperation creasing her voice strained on the syllable, and Harry drags fingertips, airy, across her inner thigh, from bottom to top. “Please, please, please—“

And finally, something clicks. Something slots together, at some point, when she ditches the inhibitions and her cadence starts to border on a delirious sort of desperation. Finally, something works.

“That’s better,” Harry says softly, swiping his thumb over her clit, “Much better.”

She doesn’t pick up on that, though, and she’s still begging, pleading, quietly. Quieter, quieter, quieter — the words growing more sparse the longer he spends time honing on her clit, the firmer his touch becomes.

“Good girl,” Harry coos, his fingertips latching up under the hem at the crotch of her panties, before he tugs, “Good girl. You ask nicely, and I’ll give it to you. S’that easy.”

He slips a thumb against her gushing entrance and drags it down, tracing careful shapes over the bud of nerves, before he tugs down on the hood and emphasizes on the new exposure by reigniting the touch with the thumb on his opposite hand. Two hand task — very dedicated.

“S’this all for me?” the man teases, pinching her clit, lightly, between the pad of his thumb and the side of his index. He sounds a little self-satisfied when he declares, quietly, “I’m flattered.”

Her lips part as a silent, breathy moan wrests from the back of her throat. It happens when the pad of his long middle digit prods at her entrance and nudges in. The thumb on his other hand sweeps, side to side, over where she’d most sensitive, and he stuffs into her further. And they are lengthy — his fingers. She’d seen them drumming over the center console, and smush over the raspberry tint of his lips, felt them coat her tongue, and felt them press against her throat. They can reach further than her own, crooking against her spongy walls, curling when he adds a second before straightening out and scissoring for the stretch.

“Christ, you’re gushing,” Harry says, and as if on cue, the pornographic squelch of his fingers working crowds the cramped space, “Jesus— d’you hear that?”

Y/N buries her face in her arms to muzzle the little sounds of bliss that he pries from her mouth. It’s not until he’s proper fucking into her with his digits, the pad of his thumb dragging tight, little circles over her clit, that those sounds escape her. And when they start, they pour in a flood. Because he works so expertly, so deftly — from the pace, to the angle, to the way he hones on her clit with his other hand, and the filthy dialogue he spews in his honey-smooth baritone. It’s everything, everything, and it prompts the coil in her belly to circle and squeeze, tighter, tighter — a telltale prior to its inevitable snap. She clenches over his fingers helplessly.

But then he just— stops.

The nudge of his digits skirts to a stand-still within her, and his thumb stops drawing circles, and Y/N just squeezes over him like a silent plea. He makes this sound — this mirthy, deviously pleased hum, like her displeasure at his pause amuses him. It’s pure sadism.

It’s not until she rocks her hips a bit, a shallow, desperate kind of back and forth, that the amusement seems to slip from his tone.

“Don’t—“ Harry tuts sharply, taking his thumb off her clit altogether to grip at her hip harshly, “Stay still. Naughty, little minx.”

And she does. She stays still when his voice gets hard like that. There’s a bit of quiet between his snap and the subtle freeze-up of her rocking. Soft breaths sew through the lull, but then he talks again, his tone a little nicer.

“We’re gonna play a little game, yeah?”

That’s …intriguing. Y/N shifts over the cushion. His grasp over her hip has softened considerably, but there’s still this humiliating heat that swarms her face at the fact that the crotch of her panties is still tucked against her skin, that everything’s out in the open, that Harry’s practically ogling in lieu of touching her.

“It’s a bit like Simon Says. Except, when you play Simon Says, you hesitate a little, right?”

The man’s thumb presses back to her clit, and she buries her face in her folded arms.

“And I don’t want you to hesitate. I’ll tell you something to do, and—“

His fingers sink into her, and her shoulders grow tense from the bliss. Y/N muzzles her groan.

“You’ll do it. Sounds easy enough?”

It does. It’s easy enough instructions, and when Harry pats at the same hip he’d been clutching over and beckons, “Hands back here,” Y/N obliges easily enough.

Her cheek presses to the cushion, cool against the warmth teeming beneath her skin, and she lets him manhandle and move her splayed fingers to his liking, arms stretched behind.

“That’s good,” Harry croons in his low timbre, the warm, lewd praise of it drawing chills up the nape of her neck, “Now spread a bit for me.”

Y/N does that, too. Her finger pads nudge and press into her flesh, coated with the tights, and her digits crook as the tips dig in to splay — to follow his direction, to please him. And it’s shameful, a pinch in her shoulders as her arms reach back, fingers twitchy, imprinting into her own backside with little divots as she opens herself up for him to do nothing. But his satisfied little hum sends an unfamiliar sense of accomplishment spiraling through her veins. The way his warm palm rests on and pets over the back of her thigh along with it feeds something new and starving.

“Good girl. There you go. See? S’easy.”

Y/N makes a little sound into the seat, and her fingers flex as Harry pumps his own digits, a steady rhythm of in and out, paired with a hum from him that sounds absolutely pornographic.

“Such a good girl,” the man tells her, fingers crooking, but the praise isn’t enough to muffle the bemusement that wracks her when he says in this devious hush, “Let’s try another. Bark.”

Bark.

It takes a second for the command to register past the immediate threshold of the pleasure curling in her belly as he strokes at her spongy walls. And when it does click together, his word settling past the membrane of bliss, her initial thought is that she’s definitely misheard him. Because that’s …sort of a ludicrous request. The young woman sounds strewn between groggy and muzzled when she cranes her neck a bit over the cushion and beckons with a confused hum.

“Bark,” Harry repeats, “like a dog.” Simple and nonchalant.

Bark like a dog. She’s midway through creased brows, a strained raise of her head, and a baffled what, before the man stills his fingers and takes a grip over her wrist, sliding her hand away.

And then he smacks her, hard, with his palm on one side, in the same place where her digits had dug in to spread herself open.

It’s loud, and it stings, and it sends a shockwave through her nervous system, strong enough to have everything buzzing on alert as her forehead pastes to the seat and the parted gap of her mouth struggles to mute a gasp. Maybe the most surprising part is that the hurt feels good, that the sting morphs into something else as it fizzles and ebs, that the hammer of her heart spikes this famished, unfamiliar arousal coursing through her when he doesn’t even bother stroking over the bruised skin. It’s definitely hard enough to leave a ruddy mark under the tights, and Y/N blinks down at the faux leather, wordless and a little gobsmacked.

And then Harry sighs in this way that’s so …disappointed. And the calmness of his inflection, grouped with the irony of the harsh hit… that has a chill climbing up her spine.

“That’s not how you play the game, pet.”

He says it in this eerily nonchalant note of disdain, like he’s not just casually tattooed the shape of his hand onto her backside with a blow. Like he expected better. Like it’s a little mishap they’ll gloss over. She doesn’t even realize she’s still got a vice clamped over his fingers until he shifts the digits in her, coaxing her core to flutter around him. Harry sighs again.

“Did you forget the rules, baby?” he asks, cadence soft and basked in condescension. The man strokes over the heated skin, the same spot where Y/N is sure a subtle welt has peaked to the surface below the thin veil of the sheer tights, “I tell you to do something and you do it, right?”

Her knees are starting to ache a little, a soreness settling into the joints, but she doesn’t even mind it when his fingers pump again, slowly.

“That’s how the game goes. Right? I need an answer.”

She makes a soft sound. A little sound that’s not protest. A little sound that’s not outright agreement. It’s a whimper into a void, but everything about him and his touch lights something alive in her. And she wants more. She’s dizzy off of it when she manages out a breathless, “Yes.” It’s a short word that comes out in a breath, like she’d been holding the air in her lungs.

Maybe that’s why she’s dizzy.

“Are we on the same page? Let’s try again, then. Bark.”

Y/N shifts over the seat. The hand he’d moved has splayed helplessly to her side, and the fingers curl and uncurl as the weight of the suggestion hits her. Because that’s— it’s humiliating. It’s demeaning, and it’s strange, and the fact that he demands it has the tips of a fire licking up at her insides. The young woman makes an uncharacteristically pathetic noise.

Harry sighs.

The split second of hesitation is enough, apparently, for another slap, just as hard, in the same spot. It has her rocking forward and clenching over his digits again. Harry’s quick to correct her posture with a hand on her hip, guiding her back in a way that lacks gentleness.

“I said, bark.”

This time his voice is harder. Meaner. Y/N gives.

She gives because the tips of his fingers prod at this heavenly spot inside her, because her skin smarts in a way that has her practically drooling, because she’s dizzy, and hungry, and desperate. Her thighs are quivering when she gets out a half-hearted woof, her lips shaping over the word like the task is a chore to get out.

“Better—“ another slap, aimed lower onto the back of her thigh, has her hips jutting and the straight line of her spine twisting up, “—but not what I’m looking for. Try again.”

She doesn’t even aim to please, is the thing, when her yelp overlaps with another smack. But it morphs into something surprised and deliciously pained, and evidently, it’s enough, judging by the way his touch smooths over the stinging skin.

“Oh, baby,” Harry tells her, his fingers stroking like he’s smudging the pink-tinge of bruising, “That’s pathetic.”

And it dawns on her then, that there’s no winning with this game. When he tuts and tells her, absolutely patronizingly, “So desperate for it, she’s barking like a stray.”

It dawns on her that she doesn’t want to win. She doesn’t care, because his filthy dialogue, as demeaning as it is, just draws her wetter and closer. As if to highlight on it, Harry crooks his fingers and tacks on, “You’re leaking all over the seats, pet.”

And she is, she’s sure. It’s a dirty game he plays, and she loves every part of it and more. It has her writhing when he draws circles over her clit, it has her aching for more when he guides her hand back to her backside with a squeeze and a wordless coax to keep spreading.

“Gonna let me fuck you?” Harry pulls the digits out, dirtying what’s left of her tights and smearing sticky wetness over the back of her thigh, “Hm? Gonna let me—“ his belt clinks as he unbuckles it, and then comes the soft sound of a zipper, its teeth unlatching, “—fill you up?”

“Glovebox,” Y/N mumbles, hips shifting back when he pets at her thigh.

His pupils flit, sticking to the back of her head, before they jump back down to his handiwork. Harry’s tone sounds absent-minded and mirthy when he asks, “What’s that?”

“There’s condoms in the glovebox,” she expands, a little louder than her prior murmur, bracing on her forearms to cast her gaze back at him over her shoulder.

And he looks rugged in this boyish, youthful way, then, is the thing. The corner of his mouth jolts, lopsided, and a stray tendril has flopped over his forehead. His hands are on the undone buckle of his belt, and his fly’s down, and he sounds absolutely amused when he says, “Are there?”

There are.

“You’ve prepared for this, then, have you?” Harry sets a palm onto her hip, squeezing as a dimple pinches into his cheek, “Condoms in your glovebox …like a proper dirty whore?”

Coyly, she blinks, cheek nuzzled to the seat, and she watches him stretch his arm out for the glovebox as he knees away.

“I’m always prepared,” Y/N settles on, softly.

The glovebox slips open. There’s rummaging — his torso turns to face it entirely, and then he gleans a shining, golden little packet, tucked between the pads of his digits. The young woman wriggles her hips. There’s this glint of fiery …something. Something playful, something lewd, something hungry in the jade, when he clambers back over, steadying himself with a palm on her tailbone. It coaxes her spine into a pretty, sharper arch.

“You do this a lot, do you?” Harry teases, “Pick up strange men, let them fuck you?”

She hums in agreement as the man takes the little gold square, snug between his teeth, fingers working quickly, pushing buttons through slots and tugging his cock out.

“Maybe I do.”

He tears at the wrapper with his teeth. She knows, because his next words come out a little muffled.

“Is that right?”

It’s not. It’s so out of the norm, so far from the usual, but Y/N would be a masochist to string out the arousal that’d built between her thighs in lieu of letting Harry span his palms over the globes of her ass in the backseat. Harry, with his cheeky smile and his sunshine, short-trimmed nails. Harry, with his denim-tethered bulge dragging over the back of her thigh and his filthy tongue shaping crude dialogue.

She doesn’t see him as he tuts from behind, but she can picture it; his palm cupped over the base of his shaft as he rolls the condom over and then presses the tip against her teasingly.

“Wanted to be fucked like a dirty whore, is that it?”

Her “yes” stretches and ebs and splinters into a whispery hiss when Harry nudges forward and stretches her out. And then he’s beckoning for her hands, one hand splayed over her hip and the opposite coaxing at her shoulder, tugging and jolting in gentle nudges, mouth shaping over firm, “Hands, hands, give me your hands — behind your back— that’s— just like that.”

Barred from scratching at the seats with his firm, warm grip binding the joints hostage, Y/N presses her cheek to the cushion. She slumps into his willpower, gives into him, the smush of her face sweaty on the cushion, jolting with every rock forward. The young woman clenches over him helplessly. Soft sounds slip past her lips, pried out by the nudges of his hips, over and over, again and again. Her fingers stiffen and flex, and the arch in her spine shifts when the head of his cock bumps that delicious ridge so deep in her — and it’s like Harry senses it, the way her entire body grows taut like a string. He goes at that too, prodding, again and again, until a whine plucks at her vocal chords. Every shallow jolt of his hips sends waves of paralyzing bliss licking over her insides. Every nudge forward has her slumping more. And when he talks, Y/N barely registers it over the rush of blood in her own head.

There’s been little things that fall from his mouth — soft curses and hisses as he slides in, hums and groans when he bottoms out, readjusting his grasp over her wrists. Words, though — now he’s saying words. They’re still in that gentle baritone, this sort of luring croon.

“Come on, baby. Come on — got a stranger’s cock in your pretty, little pussy—“ Harry’s voice catches on a strained note as he pulls out—

…A sigh as he rocks back in, “—and …you’re not gonna struggle?”

A warmth stems from his grasp, behind her back, and as if on reflex, her digits crook and flex. The danger of the words don’t even register. Because, yeah, he’s right. She’s got a stranger holding her restrained, rocking up against her, and all that peaks in her at the filthy dialogue is a bud of deranged arousal. She doesn’t shoulder forward though, doesn’t try to pull her hands apart, doesn’t sag forward, not even a little, too concerned that even a minute shift will alter the delicious intensity of the angle.

“Not even a little bit?” Harry tuts, grinding forward, one more time, slow, and then he squeezes over her wrists hard and picks up in pace. Just until he settles into a hard tempo of short, deep thrusts, and her shoulders are aching from the way he pulls her arms back.

His words blanket her with this patronizing sort of humiliation — the kind that has her spongy walls pulsing over his length and chills erupting from the nape of her neck to the creases between her shoulder blades. “You make it so easy.”

So easy for a stranger to fuck her — so easy, pulling over in some desolate parking lot. So easy, letting him wrap a palm over her throat and stick his fingers past her lips. So easy, following his every command for the reward of his hips pummeling against her own.

And it’s easy to get close with the way he works into her, tip bumping into a spot that sends waves of pleasure coursing through every millimeter of her nervous system. The kind that has every muscle stiffening to stone until the wave ebs. It’s so easy to lurch higher and higher, closer and closer, when his touch digs into her joints, rendering her helpless to his crude affections. When strained grunts and sordid words fall from his mouth, when his other hand slips from her hip and knots into the hair, at the roots, on the back of her scalp, only smushing her cheek into the seat with more pressure.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, the pace of his thrusts stuttering as he picks up the tempo into something merciless, his digits flexing into her hair and his body weight sagging onto her frame.

Every time his balls slap against her clit, teasing where she wants that attention the most, she feels the spring draw tighter, lips smushed to and gaping against the seat. And then he readjusts his grip, lets one of her hands free while he keeps the other pinned, and he coaxes, “Touch your pretty clit, baby. Make yourself cum all over my cock.”

Y/N makes it to the crest before he does. It’s her fingertips sloppily winding loose shapes over the bud of nerves, it’s his cock hammering down into her, it’s the pinch in her shoulder, and the way Harry’s grip grows harsher over the hand he still has pinned, the closer he gets himself. The way his digits are still flexed at the roots of her scalp, the way his moans and curses are garbled with pleasure with each pump. The way her helpless fluttering, when she tips over the peak, draws this long, sordid groan from him as he cranes his neck back. And then he slows, ducking his chin to watch below through slow thrusts.

“Dirty girl, cumming all over a stranger’s cock,” Harry swipes with a thumb where the mesh, toying at the seam of her hole when he goes deeper, again, slow.

And then his grip on her wrist gets hard again as his fingers flex, and he holds onto her hip and guides her in a steady-paced, back and forth bounce over cock. He chases his own releases, every motion rough, and full of control, and so brimmed with this unfamiliar hunger. She’s mush by the time his head tips back, and he gushes ribbon after ribbon into the condom. She’s mush when his grasp over her wrist grows lax, when he knees back clumsily on his knees, when he discards the condom, wrapping it into the confines of its wrapper, when he fixes her purple panties back over her crotch and strokes over the back of her thigh with an amused huff.

“Alright?” Y/N vaguely hears Harry say from behind when she doesn’t instantly sit up, his voice bordering on amused.

That’s. Yeah, Y/N thinks. She’s great. There’s still this rush of blood in her ears, and an ache in her joints that interweaves with the soreness of her muscles, but it’s all in such a good way. She makes a barely coherent hum of agreement and rolls her shoulder forward, planting her palms onto the seat to sit up and glance at the time over the display in the front of the car. It’s nearly three in the morning now, and it hits her then, that she’s so tired. She’s so tired, she feels like every piece of her energy had been strewn up and pulled tight on a rope, and now it’s all wasted away.

Harry gets it. Or he seems to, at least. Sleep beckons her with a whispery croon and a soft touch. The corners of his mouth crook up, and he pats at her hip.

“Hop up, pet. D’you want me to drive the rest of the way? S’just a little bit, now.”

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers. She doesn’t let strangers into her car in the middle of the night from some empty road, she doesn’t fuck them in the backseat, and she certainly doesn’t let strange men drive her car to some unfamiliar location, only lacking being undisclosed from its visible street name on the GPS. Y/N doesn’t do any of that. But she nods weakly and lets their roles flip. She’s mid-raising the back of the passenger seat by the time Harry jogs around to the driver’s seat and slips in.

In the rear-view, her reflection greets with her unshed tears and bloodshot eyes, mascara smudged below. He turns to face her and strokes a hand down her thigh. He picks the same hand up and sets it onto the gear-shift. Switches to reverse.

The first thing he says from the front of the car, strawberry mouth quirking as his eyes direct to the back-up camera, is, “I’m sorry about your tights. I hope that was alright.”

When they pull up to the motel, Y/N doesn’t ask questions. There’s only been a span of, maybe, ten minutes passed between the parking lot and their final stop of the night before Harry pulls into a parking spot and shuts the car off.

He tells her, “This is my stop.”

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers, and exhaustion wracks at every sinew of muscle in her body. She half-expects him to wordlessly hop out of the car. He doesn’t. The man fixes her with a smile, and says, “Could I get your number, maybe?”

It’s not an odd request by any means, but if she weren’t so tired, maybe she’d ask more questions. Her pupils would wend over the shoddy motel sign, and the shit cars parked beside them, and she’d wonder what the hell they were doing parked in front of some abandoned-looking motel. She’d ask why this was his stop, and not a home. Instead, she pulls a napkin from her glovebox and digs for a pen. She scribbles her digits and hands them off. In the brush of the cool air, from the night, when she clambers out to swap spots with him, she wraps her arms about herself. When she takes a seat into the driver’s side, she expects him to walk away. He doesn’t do that either. Instead, she rolls her window down when he beckons, and Harry leans onto the car and tells her, “Get home alright, yeah?”

It’s a miracle when she hobbles up the steps of her apartment complex, when she pries open the front door and crashes into her sheets. The blankets envelop her like a warm hug, and she doesn’t even bother pulling off her tights.

It’s a week before she gets a phone call. There’s no texts, and the morning after, when she’s greeted with radio-silence, she thinks that maybe she’d dreamt the whole thing.

Her tights, ripped at the crotch, prove otherwise.

She’s in bed, days later, when her screen lights up with a call. It’s an unfamiliar number, and curiosity peaks before she swipes over the answer toggle.

“Hello?”

A gap of silence, a breath, and a familiar, smooth baritone on the other end of the line.

“Y/N.”

There’s a little sound of the bedsheets stirring as she freezes up. He’s caught her off guard. A little laugh plucks at his vocal chords, tinny on the other end of the line, like he’s amused by the stretch of lull. Her lips part, the corners of her mouth inching up as she hears a sigh from him that seeps in all the way to her eardrum. But she doesn’t have time to contemplate what to say or how to say it, because he doesn’t let her get a word in before he’s talking again.

And his next words are not a playful jest at her lack of response, or anything friendly, really. In fact, the confession, said so nonchalantly, causes chills to erupt down her arms.

“I was going to kill you that night.”

The chills aren’t the initial reaction. The initial reflex is the crook of her mouth to morph bemused, the pinch between her eyebrows, and this sullen feeling of dread that twists up in her stomach. A laugh bubbles in her chest, because, what the fuck?

But then he keeps talking.

“Thought about draining the life from those pretty eyes the second you rolled your window down,” the voice on the other end sighs, and it’s got this sort of …reminiscent quality to it. Like he’s tracing the steps of the night back to its starting point. Reliving it when he tells her, “It’s such a thrill, you know. Taking that from someone. So intimate.”

The young woman doesn’t make any sounds, kind of appalled by the sick joke. Because it is sick, it’s disturbing, and it’s a twisted way, at the least, to strike up a conversation if he’s …looking to do what they did again. This isn’t the Harry she’d met on that night. This isn’t the same one who’d worn the cream sweatshirt, and talked all friendly with this smooth, wholesome charm — this wasn’t the man she’d let into her car, this wasn’t the man she’d let do all those filthy things to her, in the backseat of her sedan. This doesn’t feel like the same man at all, and she wishes she’d been aware of the sick sense of humor to his character before she’d let him …violate her. Y/N’s just about to budge in with a disgusted comment, tell him off for calling her so late at night to mess with her, but he beats her to the edge of the gap, yet again.

Except this time, he sounds sort of frustrated, and the phrase comes out like a scolding, the tone of his cadence firm and irate. “Didn’t your mum ever tell you not to talk to strangers? …Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to trust strange men on the side of the road? S’just …bloody stupid.”

He laughs. It’s this soft sort of chortle she’d been so charmed by that night — it’s identical, except then, it was this sweet sound full of wholesome mirth. Now, it feels cold. Odd and detached. Surreal.

“But you… you made it so easy,” Y/N listens to every word that comes through the line, hanging onto every syllable of the empty threat as dread churns her stomach. His words from that night crowd behind her skull. You make it so easy. “So friendly, so sweet. Just wanted to chat on and on. I was going to kill you, and you wanted to have a shag—”

Harry tuts. Her heart hammers behind her ribcage, and she only realizes that her breathing has slowed and that her grip on the smartphone’s grown white-knuckled when it shakes against her cheek. She’d let him drive her car. She’d let him get into her car, she’d let him lure her into pit-stopping in a deserted parking lot, she’d locked the doors, and dimmed the lights, and let him open her up with his fingers and his cock. And then she’d let him drive her car, and take down her number. There’s a moment of mortifying silence.

Harry sounds deadly serious when he tells her, “Don’t you ever pick up another hitchhiker.”

The line goes dead.

Y/N calls back. The number she reaches belongs to a payphone, unanswered.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles halloween #dom harry styles x sub reader #harry styles one shot #dark harry styles #harry styles one shots #harry styles writing

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nouvellevqgue · 7 months

Text

WHO'S FRED? ✷ ﹙ MAX VERSTAPPEN﹚

SUMMARY: other than being his cat lady, his girlfriend got her master in halloween dress-up too.

A SEQUEL TO: MISS CRAZY CAT LADY. . .

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ⋆｡✦

OCTOBER 29, 2022

yourusername

liked by maudeapatow, anadearmas, sabrinacarpenter, and 792,513 more

yourusername 🍃🌿

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replying to: yourusername

sorry sweetheart, i promise next year

yourusername replying to: maxverstappen1

don't promise something you can't fulfill, you know.

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ⋆｡✦

OCTOBER 2023

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, dakotafanning, badgalriri, and 859,712 more

yourusername waiting on my mystery machine... 🚘👻

view comments...

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ˑ⭒ʚ ִtwitter ݁.٭

ˑ⭒ʚ ִinstagram ݁.٭

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, pierregasly, and 989,857 more

maxverstappen1 funny how it's supposed to be spooky today...

view comments...

yourusername the caption is quite cheesy though...

⤷ maxverstappen1 i know, charles tell me that

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⤷ maxverstappen1 an attempt has been made🤷

username but look at them in both twitter and instagram. they're having the best time of their life like damn i want it too

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⤷ yourusername [pierre's voice] oui 🥐🥖🍷

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#✶!#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen smau #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x female reader #f1 x reader #max verstappen #f1 imagines #f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #max verstappen fanfic

1K notes · View notes

oneforthemunny · 1 year

Text

funny bunny |older!dilf!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: a halloween couples costume that's inspired by yours and eddie's relationship, and his special nickname for you.

@eddiemunsons-missingnipple big creds for the older!eddie pic used in the header!!!!

contains: age gap relationship. eddie is 43, reader is 26. everything is consensual. language, drinking, filthy filth ahead MINORS DNI 18+, oral fem receiving v and a, ass play, plugs, fingering v and a, praise kink, p in v sex, creampie. role-play-ish. not really rough mainly just kinky freaky but some aftercare after.

"You look so good!"

You squealed from your place at your vanity, pulling the hot rollers out of your hair.

Eddie pouted slightly, brows creased in a deep furrow on his forehead. Looking down at the Burgundy, velvet robe with black trim, he let out a small huff. "I look ridiculous." He muttered.

"No, you don't." You giggled, running your hands over the silk trim, fixing the collar. "This looks so good. I can't believe how close it looks to the real thing." You grinned, eyes gleaming when you looked up at him. "You look just like Hefner."

Eddie scoffed, shaking his head slowly so his curls bobbed, inked hand rubbing across his beard. "I think that might be more insulting than you mean it to be, bunny." He grumbled, plopping on the edge of the bed. "I'm not that old."

You laughed, sitting in his lap, arms around his neck with a wide smile. Eddie couldn't help but smile back. How could he not? With how your warmth just radiated out of you and into him. Infectious happiness.

"I meant the robe." You reassured, running a hand down his chest. "We're going to look so good tonight. Steve and Nancy aren't gonna know what hit them!" You squealed, smacking your lips to his cheek in a quick, loud kiss before scampering back over to the vanity.

Eddie groaned. It had taken you weeks of convincing for him to agree to this costume. Hugh Hefner and a Playboy Bunny; a classic- well, maybe more for frat boys, but when the idea came to you, you just had to do it. A light jest to the clear age difference in your relationship, a way to poke fun at the obvious, but also a nod towards your beloved nickname Eddie had given you: bunny.

A sweet, innocent little nickname, that had been given to you at a completely un-innocent moment, and it had stuck. You were Eddie's little bunny, his golden girl. His.

"Will you promise you won't post any pictures tonight?" Eddie asked for the tenth time that night. "I don't need Brielle seeing that shit or- fuck- or Gina. She'll probably take me back to court."

You nodded. "Eddie, I promise, baby, I won't post anything. I don't need to get fired over a Halloween costume. You know how those parents are." You teased, looking at him through the mirror. "And I highly doubt you'll be deemed an unfit parent for a Hefner costume."

Eddie nodded, looking down at his watch. "You almost ready? We're supposed to be there at seven."

You sprayed the final spritz of hairspray around yourself, smoothing and setting your styled hair. "I just gotta get dressed." You grinned, slipping towards the bathroom, throwing him a playful wink. "I'll be right back, Mr. Hefner." You dropped your voice to a sultry, low voice, batting your eyes before shutting the door.

Keeping your costume a secret for as long as you did was the hardest part. Eddie had agreed, eventually, but only with some persuasion, bribery. He had been dying to see your costume since you first announced it had come in. While his costume was nice, very close to the replica robe that the Playboy founder always wore with a matching pipe, it was nothing compared to yours.

Black nylon tights that were just sheer enough. Black pumps that Eddie loved on you anyways, he loved how they made your legs look- long and endless, his hands always trailing up your calf, squeezing your ankle. The corset, body suit was risqué. High cut and covering just enough of your ass that it could pass as barely not lingerie. Strapless and low in the front, tight enough to hold your breasts up in just the right way. You'd ordered white cuffs and a bowtie cuff choker to really complete the look, the authentic Playboy Bunny look.

Then of course, what kind of bunny would you be without ears and a tail? Black, silk ears that stood tall and slightly crooked on the headband, adjusted so it bent just barely. The tail, a black, faux-fur attachment you pinned just on your tailbone.

Your heart thumped rapidly in your chest, smoothing your clammy hands over your bodice. You had been so excited to show Eddie just moments ago, but now... you wondered if it was too much. If he'd like it. If he'd yell at you, accuse you of wanting unwarranted attention that wasn't his, demand for you to change, tell you that you're embarrassing him like your boyfriends in the past did.

"You need any help in there?" Eddie's voice called from outside the door, making you jump slightly, ears falling forward gently.

"No! Just finishing up." You grabbed the hair pin, securing the ears back into place.

You checked your reflection one last time. Hands smoothing down the corset, turning in the mirror to make sure your attached tail was in the right place. Your heels clicked across the tile floors of the bathroom.

"Close your eyes." You called, barely cracking the door before you walked out. Eddie chuckled lightly and you could hear the bed creak, shifting his weight on the mattress. "Are they closed?" You asked, squinting out the small sliver through the door.

"They're closed, baby." Eddie reassured, his voice low and gravely. It made your stomach flip. "C'mon, show me Playmate."

Pulling the door open slowly, the hinges creaking ever so lightly, you stepped on to the shag carpet, steps muted by the material. You walked slowly, hands twisting and wringing in front of you before stopping in front of Eddie. You knew by the way his smile grew, dimples deep in his scruff and lines by his eyes crinkling, that he could feel your presence.

"Ok, open them." You smiled, placing your hands on your hips playfully.

Eddie's eyes opened, brows raising in amusement. "Oh-oh-oh, bunny." He laughed, moving closer, his hands reaching out for yours. You blushed under his gaze, how he roamed over your legs, tongue poking his cheek in a sideways smirk. Eddie looked at the cuffs, took extra time looking at your bodice and collar, calloused hands gliding over you.

"You've outdone yourself." Eddie smirked, looking up at you from his place on the edge of the bed. "Definitely getting the front page."

"You didn't even see my tail." You grinned, spinning and shaking your hips towards him, the attached tail bouncing with the movement.

Eddie groaned, low and deep, but playful. "Jesus, baby bunny, you're killing me. You know that?" He smacked your ass playfully, right beneath the tail, making you squeal. "I don't know if I'm gonna make it to the party with you looking like this."

"We have to go, Eddie." You pouted. "Or else no one will see our costumes, and I worked so hard on them."

Eddie rolled his eyes, but stood, his hands still not leaving your waist. "I'd be alright with that." He laughed. "You could get me out of this robe and show me why you're called bunny, hm? Ride me all night, how's that sound?" Eddie nipped, tongue tickling the shell of your ear making you squeal and squirm against his hot breath.

You let out a nasally laugh when he squeezed your waist, hands gliding over your hips and tummy on the corset. He kissed right above your collar on your neck. "Eddie," You whined, thighs clamping. "Stop, we've got to go."

Eddie sighed, gently but not angry. He looked at your with soft brown eyes that had you melting. "I promise, when we get back I'll put on my real costume for you." You bit your lips, eyes meeting his, playful and alluring.

Eddie's brow quipped. "This isn't your costume?" He asked, hands trailing down your waist.

You shook your head, ears bouncing. "It's one of them, but I have a special costume just for you, Mr. Hefner." You purred, leaning forward so your lips barely brushed his. Eddie growled, tattooed fingers gripping your hips, digging into the nylons.

"But," You pushed back on his chest lightly. "We have to do this first." You lifted a finger towards him. Eddie groaned, head falling back. "Put your hat on Hef, we're late." You grinned, tossing him the captain's hat and slipping on your coat.

***

"Woah-ho-ho," Steve Harrington cackled, leaning in the doorway of his Hawkins McMansion. His amber eyes were wide, amused. "No fuckin' way. Hef and a Bunny?" He laughed, clapping his hands together.

You grinned proudly, arm lacing with Eddie's as you adjusted his hat, straightening it on top of his curls. "His favorite Playmate." You winked, giggling when Eddie's hand squeezed your ass.

"That's a fuckin' classic, holy shit." Steve laughed, shutting the door as the two of you walked in. "Nance, look at this!" He called into the living room where the party rage- well, as raging as a middle aged Halloween party could be. King Steve still did his best, even without the keg, you'd give him that.

Nancy gasped, Robin trailing behind her. "Oh my God, this is fuckin' amazing!" Robin laughed.

"How did you even think of this?" Nancy laughed, looking at the two of you, touching your cuffs on your arms.

You shrugged, biting back a smile when your eyes met Eddie's. "I dunno, just seemed kind of fitting." You laughed. "Brielle and I were actually watching House Bunny and it hie me, honestly."

Nancy laughed, shaking her curls that were piled high and teased. "That's genius, honestly. Way better than the Top Gun idea." Nancy rolled her eyes, glaring lightly at Steve, or Maverick, as he was supposed to be.

Nancy and Robin pulled you into the living room, offering to get you a drink while you chatted. Steve smirked, clapping Eddie playfully on the back. "Munson," He laughed, shaking his head.

Eddie grinned, shrugging as he watched you walk away, little fur tail bobbing with every swing of your ass. Steve snorted. "Hey, you think you can talk to your girl? See if she could convince Nancy to wear something like that for next year?" Eddie laughed, rolling his eyes, following you into the living room.

***

You were tipsy, but not drunk. You'd controlled yourself, despite the flowing drinks that Nancy kept offering you. You had a promise to keep.

You sat on the bench in Eddie's truck, hands in his, thighs touching, sharing small kisses at red lights. His hand cupped your thigh, thumb rubbing small circles on the nylon.

Every passing red light, his grip got tighter on the wheel as they inched closer and closer back to home. If your current costume was any indicator of what was to come, Eddie couldn't wait. He pressed the gas further, fake pipe lying next to his cigarettes in the cup holder, captain's hat resting on the dash.

Eddie threw the gear into park, the truck stopping with a jostle that had you giggling, his hands rough and pressed against your cheeks, pulling you into a harsh kiss. You could taste the beer he'd drank on his tongue, roaming in your mouth, hands moving down your jaw to your collar.

You giggled when Eddie pulled you inside, pinning you up against the door, hands in a tight grip on your waist, his lips on your jaw, kissing just below your ear.

"Wait, wait, wait!" You squealed, eyes rolling back when he sucked on your neck. "Wait! I have to change, Eddie. I have another costume." You giggled, pulling back, your head resting against the cool wood of the door.

Eddie's shoulders fell slightly. "Bunny, this costume is more than enough." He pouted. "I've been ready to fuck you all night."

You rolled your eyes, stepping out of his grasp. "Just wait right here." You scampered down the hall towards his room. "I promise it'll be worth the wait."

And, oh, was it.

Eddie waited for twenty agonizing minutes, hearing thumps and movement from behind the closed door of his bedroom. His leg bounced, hands pressed together. He'd ditched his clothes, well, except for the robe. It was comfy, and if you were going to stay dressed up, he figured he would too.

You beckoned Eddie in, squirming with excitement, kneeling on the edge of the bed. Eddie laughed when he walked in, eyes lit up and excited. "Shit..." Eddie's eyes roamed over your frame, your sheepish smile.

You knelt, waiting in what Eddie thought was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. Black lace lingerie that left you exposed, completely see through and vulnerable. He could see your pebbled nipples through the cups, your exposed slit through the cut middle between your legs. The back was low on your spine, but high cup on the side, resting just above your hips. The best part- the slit went all the way up to your tail bone, leaving you completely exposed.

You finished off the look with two accessories just for him. A pair of matching lace ears, flimsier than the ones of the other costume, but complete with a small veil that covered your eyes, hitting the bridge of your nose. You'd tied your hair up, securing the ribbon underneath the ponytail.

Eddie's eyes traveled down next to you, where you giggled in excitement. Laying on the towel beside you, his real treat. A little tube of lee from his bedside drawer, and a fluffy, black tail attached to a plug- your bunny tail to complete the look.

You knew better than to put it in yourself and deprive him of his favorite part.

Eddie's tongue trailed over his bottom lip, picking up the shiny plug, rolling the cool metal around his fingers. You grinned, excitedly. "What do you think, Mr. Hefner?" You teased, cocking your head to the side. "Think I'll make Playmate of the month? Cover?"

Eddie laughed, deep and dark. "Oh, bunny," He brought the fur part to your now exposed neck, ticking over your collarbones so you shivered. "I think you're close, but you gotta show me you really want it." His eyes darkened, making you blush under his gaze.

"You ready to show me?" Eddie asked. Your head bobbed eagerly, obediently.

Eddie smirked. "That's my girl. Roll over for me, baby. All fours. Stick that pretty little ass up for me."

You shifted quickly, arching deep and low, pressing your hips up and your shoulders flat against the mattress. You could hear Eddie behind you, rummaging through his drawer.

"Gotta find my fuckin' camera, holy shit." Eddie muttered, pushing his socks and belts around in the drawer. "Gotta capture this, bunny. Can't believe you did this for me. All for me, huh?"

Your thighs clenched together, throbbing at the praise. Eyes pinched and you were sure he could see your slick already spreading, the cool air making goosebumps trail down your shoulders and spine.

Eddie pressed the film in, the whirl of the Polaroid starting up. He moved to the front, kneeling on the bed, camera pointed at you. "Look at me, bunny." You lifted your eyes, rounded and awaiting for him. The flash of the camera blinded you for a moment, making you blink under the lace mask over your eyes.

Eddie chuckled to himself, shaking the photo a few times before setting the camera back on his nightstand. "'M keepin' that for fuckin' ever." He groaned, hands trailing over your thighs and hips. "Gettin' that shit tattooed on me right now."

You giggled, arching into his touch on your ass. His hand trailed down your thighs and towards your aching center, gasping when he slid his pointer finger through your slick folds. Eddie hummed, pressing his face forward, licking a long stripe from your clit to your ass, collecting every drop of you and his tongue prodding your tightest hole.

You gasped, low and growling, clenching around nothing, head tilting back. You fisted the sheets, pushing your hips back even further when his touch returned to your aching clit, circling it with just the right pressure and speed that had your head spinning.

Eddie toyed with you, kneeling down with a groan, knees cracking so he was eye level with your sopping cunt. He pushed his fingers in, two pumping slowly. His other hand pulled your ass apart, tongue lapping and sucking at your clit.

You whined, legs trembling and clenching as he sucked and curled at just the right pace. He always had you coming undone so easily when he wanted, like he knew exactly what to do to make you wild. He did, clearly, playing your body perfectly like it was his guitar.

Your high pitched whiny cries floated towards the ceiling, head tilted back so far you were sure you'd just bend in half. Eddie's free hand caught your release on his fingers, spreading them over your ass hole, circling it gently before barely pushing the tip of his finger in.

You two had plenty of experience with ass play since the first drunken night, a favorable past time for the tow of you. Eddie had bought you toys, trained you up until you could finally take his cock. You loved how good he was at it, too good. You weren't exactly sure how someone could be so good at everything, and when you told Eddie that he laughed, telling you, "been around the sun a few more times than you, baby, I've got some more experience than others."

Your eyes pinched, falling face first into the duvet. The lace of the mask over your eyes rubbed against your lids and forehead when you pressed yourself against the bed, writhing and crying out when he pushed you over the edge again. The sensation of his fingers and tongue on both your holes mixed with your previous orgasm had you cumming quick, gushing around him.

Eddie grinned, standing with a low huff. Your knees were falling underneath you, leaving you spread, nearly rubbing against the duvet. "You ready for your tail, lil bunny?" Eddie asked, popping the top to the tube open. The plug looked small enough he could probably have you stretched out with just two fingers to the knuckle and the lube.

You sighed, whining slightly as you shifted, wiggling your still shaky legs back up into position, Eddie's hand on your waist guiding you back up gently. He ran a hand down back gently, pressing a kiss to space of your spine where the lace of the lingerie and exposed skin met.

Eddie squirted the cold lube making you clench. He cooed softly, trailing kisses down the dip of your spine over your hips, finger circling your tight hole. "You gotta relax, remember?" Eddie cooed when you clenched, pressing a kiss to your hips, his scruff tickling the delicate skin. "You need me to loosen you up a little more?"

You shook your head, dazed and hazy, pushing up on your forearms gently, looking back at him. "'M ready, I promise. 'M ok." You muttered, giving him a small smile.

Eddie returned it, leaning forward to kiss you, hard and deep, teeth clashing. "Fuck, bunny, you're too good to me." He muttered, lips still brushing yours, rubbing his nose to yours.

You looked at him, glassy eyed and dazed already even through the veil he could tell that, lowering your back so your ass arched farther, pressing your face to the side of the mattress. You watched him through the vanity mirror, the low lights of the room illuminating his figure.

Eddie pushed his first finger in, slow and gentle, circling you just expertly to get you ready. You moaned, clenching your legs when you throbbed. Eddie grinned watching you grind down, slowly wiggling back for more before he added the second, getting you nice and loose.

Eddie leaned forward, muttering in your ear little praises while he pushed in the plug, his lips against your lace covered temple. Eddie looked back when you shifted, the little puff of fur plugged in you making the cutest little tail.

"Look at you," Eddie cooed, laughing to himself, he kissed you deeply, wiping his hand on the towel you laid out. "God, baby, stay right there, ok? Arched just like that."

Eddie grabbed his camera, the flash going off rapidly. Eddie was making sure his spank bank would be full for a long time, drooling over you. He tossed his camera carefully, before climbing on top of you.

You twisted, his lips crashing and needy into you, grinding yourself down on his bare, inked leg when he wedged it between you, hands moving down to his boxers. You could feel his cock straining against his black briefs, hard and begging to be released to you.

Eddie moaned onto your mouth when you squeezed him through his underwear, your tiny hands expertly rolling and working him through the fabric. You could feel his pre-cum seeping through the material, leaving a wet patch.

Eddie's hands moved up to your tits, palming them through the material, squeezing and rolling your nipples. You whined, grinding down further on his leg. "Fuck, bunny, I gotta get this off you." Eddie muttered, pushing the straps down to your waist, leaving your top part exposed.

He kissed, sucked, bit all the way down, leaving trails of little bruises and red marks onto your skin. Your neck, collarbones, chest, breasts, tummy. He wanted to kiss every inch of you after you'd done all of this for him.

You whined when he turned you over, hovering so you were on your back, the tail of the plug shifting and moving with the duvet. Eddie pulled you carefully by your waist, brows furrowed slightly. "Here, let me help you out of this alright? I'll be careful."

And he was. So caring and gentle, pulling the straps of the lace down your body, until it was a puddle on the ground. You told him he didn't have to be so careful, but your heart was swelling at the gesture, how sweet he always was to you.

You went to move the ears off, but Eddie stopped you, running a hand down the nape of your neck. "Leave that on, please." He asked, eyes dark and lust blown. You just nodded, mouth salivating when he pulled his boxers down, throwing them next to your lingerie.

He pumped himself, pushing himself to the headboard, leaning lazily against it, lip tucked beneath his teeth. You blushed, squirming under his hungry gaze, slick and throbbing, nails digging into your palms as you shifted from foot to foot.

Eddie grinned. "You gonna show me why you're my bunny, aren't ya?" He asked, cocking a brow. You nodded. Eddie moved his hands, cock freeing from his grasp and lying against his tummy.

You grinned when you climbed on top of him, straddling him gently. "You wanna see my tail while I ride you?" You asked, loving the way his Adam's apple bobbed when you did.

"Fuck, please," Eddie groaned watching you shift, moving so you wiggled your ass in his face, squealing when he cracked a hand down on your cheeks.

"You better ride me good, lil bunny." Eddie warned, gripping your hips. "You want the front page, you better show me how badly you want it."

You giggled, looking over your shoulder, pumping his cock in your hands. "I will, Hef, I promise." You sunk onto him slowly, squeezing his dick the whole way down.

Eddie groaned loudly, grip on your hips tightening when you ground against the hair on his base. "Fuck, fuck, just like that." Eddie groaned when you started circling slowly. You always started slowly like this, working him up before you really rode him.

Then you lifted slowly as you bent forward, gripping Eddie's knees lightly when you lifted off of him, bringing your hips up and down over and over again.

"Fuck bunny, just like that, bounce on my cock, baby. You're just so good aren't you?" Eddie sucked in a breath, hands pulling your cheeks apart so he could get deeper.

The scene in front of him was too much, he was ready to bust already. Your little plug, bouncing and moving, tickling his pelvis with extra deep strokes. Your creamy spend smearing over his cock already, excess from the lube mixing with your slick pussy making the room fill with the squelching sounds.

You could feel his hips meeting yours, squeezing your ass, stroking your tail and moving it so you'd moan deep. You dipped lower, nearly lying between his legs, crouching so you lifted quickly and deeply.

"Fuck, look at you go." Eddie laughed in between a low growl. "You are my little bunny. My perfect little bunny. You just love bouncin' all over my cock, don't you? You'd bounce for hours for me, wouldn't you?"

You whined, his words making you clamp and gush, his cock brushing the sensitive spot deep inside you with the position. "Yes." You cried out. "'M your bunny."

Eddie grit his teeth, coil in his belly getting tighter and tighter with every pump of you around him. "Fuck, bunny, wait," He huffed, chest heaving. "Turn around f'me, ok? Let me see your pretty face."

You stuttered in movements, pushing up with shaky arms, squeezing with him still inside you. You pulled off just for a moment, adjusting yourself carefully so your legs were on either side of Eddie's hips. You lined him back up inside you, sinking down much faster than you did last time.

Your nails dug into Eddie's inked chest, clawing into him when he gripped your ass, hips thrusting up to meet yours. Your mask and ears were starting to slip, you were sweaty on your hairline under the band of the material, but you didn't care. Your hips lifted, slamming back down on him, pressing into his chest with a cry.

You kept your pace, fast and quick, Eddie's hips meeting yours. "Y'a little jack rabbit for me, huh? Bounce and bounce and bounce, look at you." Eddie cooed nearly mocking through grit teeth.

You whimpered, eyes pinching together. You were so close, the coil in your belly growing and growing. "My little bunny just loves to bounce all over my cock, doesn't she? Just my cock, right?" Eddie growled. You nodded, whimpering. Your thighs burned, but the burning in your belly was worse, hungrier. You slammed faster, desperate to chase that high that you were so close to.

Eddie was close, teetering on the edge, but he wanted you to finish first, you always finished first with him. "Look at me." Eddie grit, hand finding your jaw, holding it lightly. He moved the veil up when your eyes met his, seeing your rounded, desperate eyes, glazed over and nearly teary.

"Y'gonna cum? Cum all over my cock? Yeah? Go ahead, you earned it, bunny." Eddie grunted, lifting his own hips to meet yours, punishing pace meeting yours.

You cried when his calloused thumb circled your clit, nearly falling on top of him with how your legs shook. Eddie held your hips, fucking up into you. He didn't mind the burn forming in his lower back, especially not when he emptied himself in you, warm, thick ropes spurting deep inside of you.

Your chest heaved together, his breath, your exhale, sharp and desperate. It was like you were sharing breaths with each other, and maybe you were. Sticky, sweaty skin, hot and molted together. You slid further into his lap, the top of his thighs, Eddie's hands moving to cradle you instinctively.

Your ears were around your neck, still tied but fallen to hang off your shoulder. Your plug was sticky with his cum when he pulled out, wetting the bottom of the faux fur. Your face was on his chest, his heartbeat thumping against your ear, his rough hands on your back.

Neither of you spoke for a while. Small shallowed breaths, deep sighs, little groans. You looked up at Eddie, feeling his gaze on the top of your head. His hands untied your ears, unraveling the ribbon so it fell beside you. He grinned down at you.

You blinked up at him, swirling with emotions and warmth. "Did I make the cover, Mr. Hefner?" You grinned.

Eddie snorted a laugh, stretching to grab the developed polaroids on the bed side table. "You sure did, bunny." Eddie smirked, showing a rather vulgar photo of you, arched with the plug in your ass, pussy shining from the flash, and ears high over your ass. "This right here? This one's the cover."

You laughed, pushing up on his chest, moving so you hovered over him. He looked at you, gooey and lovestruck, pushing a hair behind your ear. "Thanks f'dressing up with me." You smiled.

Eddie gawked lightly. "I think I should be thanking you." He chuckled. "Thank you for dressing up for me." You giggled, his lips capturing yours sweetly.

Eddie pulled back, nose to nose with you. You could see his wrinkles, the grey hairs in his temple and in his eyebrows. His skin showing signs of age, freckles from time in the sun. His beard was scruffy, a little longer than usual but trimmed. You ran your hand down it, trailing your thumb over his bottom lip.

"You're my best bunny, you know that?" Eddie whispered.

You pulled back, raising a brow. "Best? I better be your only bunny, Mr. Munson." You looked at him carefully.

Eddie smirked. "So I'm not Mr. Hefner anymore?" He asked playfully. You shook your head. "Good. That motherfucker wasn't nearly as lucky as I am."

You howled in laughter, blushing and rolling your eyes at the cheesy line. Eddie helped remove your plug, cleaning you up gently in the bathroom, soft kisses and little giggles echoed through the space. You pushed the top sheet off, hoisting it to the laundry room to deal with tomorrow, Eddie bringing in two spare blankets from the linen closet.

He smelled like the cigarette he'd been smoking outside, the comforting scent lulling you to sleep, while Eddie snored beside you, arms wrapped around your waist, heavy like weights on you but comforting.

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queenimmadolla · 7 months

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𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You surprise Eddie with your baby's first trick-or-treat costume. Spoiler alert: she's adorable.

a/n: for maisie 🩷

more penny and Eddie here

“I’m waitiiiiiiiiing.” Eddie sang out from the couch, tugging at the neck of the cream colored turtleneck you’d guilted him into wearing. It wasn’t as bad as the sweater he had to wear with it. Truly the ugliest thing he had ever seen.

It was so ugly, it offended him and he was a little grumpy about it, which you teased was appropriate considering he was supposed to be dressed as Bert from Sesame Street.

Yeah. Sesame Street.

The (totally) gay puppets.

“You’ll have to get close.” Eddie had threatened when you pulled out eyeliner, not to line his eyes like you did before one of his shows or a date night, but to link his brows together in the most unrealistic looking unibrow ever.

Once upon a time, up until like two Halloweens ago, Eddie had used this day to be completely and thoroughly chaotic. Messy. Well, as messy as the social pariah could be on Halloween. So just really drunk, maybe high—sometimes both—making out with someone who wouldn’t acknowledge his existence the following day (and he was very grateful for you for breaking the curse on that last carefree Halloween). But that was the old Eddie Munson.

Gone was the Eddie Munson that either went all out–in leather, eyeliner and fake blood–or barely tried with some devil horns and a bad sense of humor for halloween to deal weed and drugs, smoke weed and drink til he threw up, or get fucked. Granted, he wasn’t going through this change alone.

Your opportunities to party on Halloween night with your friends–having all gotten ready together for the big, slutty night out–drinking ‘til you were stupid only to wake up on your bedroom floor (sometimes not even yours and on one year, the top of your neighbor’s car) with no real repercussions were no more.

Your days as primarily careless teenagers and now young adult were over, replaced with enjoying the night in a way you were both surprised to find that you didn’t hate, even as early twentysomethings.

Hell, the both of you were eager–even if Eddie had to wear a lame costume. He’d wanted to be Ernie, at least.

“Shut up!” You called back from the bedroom. Eddie snickered at the amusement hidden under your voice and shifted until he was lounging on his side, arm propped up with his hand.

“Still waitiiiiiiiing!”

You’d been hiding a certain costume from him for the past three weeks, and the anticipation was killing him.

“You are the most impatient man I have ever met.”

“I just gotta have you, baby.” Came his immediate response and his grin widened when he realized he didn’t even have to think up replies for your quips, it just came natural now. He knew you that well. Still made him giddy and want to kick his feet in the air.

He loved being married to you. Sue him.

“Okay, here we come!” You announced and Eddie scrambled to sit up straight, eagerly leaning forward to get an early peak.

You walked down the short hall, dressed in a striped sweatshirt, jeans with the bottoms rolled into cuffs and a pair of red converse. Ernie. But Eddie already knew what your costume was, it was a couple’s costume and you were indeed a couple.

It was who you were glancing back at, just out of his line of sight, that held his curiosity.

“C’mon, baby. Go show daddy!”

At your prompting, your baby–just a couple of months over a year old–came waddling out, footsteps awkward as she got used to the orange duck feet covering her own and the padding and stuffing of her yellow duck costume, clutching a bottle you’d given her to keep her from fussing while you got her dressed. Her curly little head and chunky cheeks were framed in the hood of the costume, with the duck’s head resting on hers.

“Are you kidding me?” Eddie asked, mouth dropping open as his eyes darted from his cute little spawn in her adorable costume to your smug expression and back, “Are you joking? OH MY GOD!”

Eddie reached his arms out to Penny, fingers curling into his fists as he made grabby hands, “You are so precious, my little baby, come to daddy!”

Penny was delighted with his praise, drooly mouth dropping open and big brown eyes sparkling as she rushed forward. Her lack of coordinated motor skills paired with the duck feet and the padding of her duck bottom throwing her equilibrium off meant she immediately lost her balance and you and Eddie both inhaled sharply, quickly rising to attention as she wobbled forward briefly, then fell back on her cushioned tail feathers.

It was far from a dangerous fall, so you and Eddie stood frozen, waiting for her response so as to not sway her to have a certain response, having taken her to the doctor’s after a fall once only to learn she was perfectly fine and had only started crying because you had.

You both learned real quick to wait for her response after falling, sometimes she cried and had a boo boo that Daddy and Mommy could fix with some first aid and a kiss, and other times she'd run right into the wall, get up, and walk away (albeit while muttering in angry baby gibberish).

Penny blinked once, eyes flying from your face to her dad’s before she wiggled her bum against the floor, set her bottle down next to her and tried to stand up.

You both let out matching sighs of relief before Eddie darted forward to scoop her up.

“Are you rubber ducky?” Eddie asked once he had her situated in his arms. All she did was give him that big, beautiful smile of hers (no longer gummy with the teeth she had coming in but thinking about that made Eddie teary eyed) before her attention strayed to his long curls and her chunky little fist flew out to grab some of it, staring it down before she put it in her mouth.

“Say, yes, baby.” You encouraged her after picking up her bottle, hand tucking in one of her curls peaking out.

“Yesh.” She parroted, mouthing aggressively at the hair in her fist. While she was distracted, Eddie took the opportunity to press kisses into her cheek, smothering her in them until she grew annoyed and snapped her head in his direction, mouth wide in protest.

“Sor-ry!” He huffed, still grinning as he pressed another one into her soft cheek. She was all talk and no bite. Mostly.

“What does the duck say, baby?” You asked, trying to prompt her. She could do some of the animal sounds and she’d gotten the duck right a few times.

“Moooo.” And sometimes she moo’d.

“That is one interesting duck.” Eddie commented and you shushed him.

“No, baby. Quack.”

“Cack.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. “Okay, that’s a little too close to–we’ll stick with moo.”

You grabbed her trick-or-treat bag, a disposable camera and a couple of other things you thought you might need to take her trick-or-treating for the first time, while Eddie continued to coddle her, only putting her down when you were all ready to go.

Penny was little miss independent until she caught sight of the steps outside of the trailer. Then she whimpered, dropped her bottle and turned to Eddie, shoving herself at his legs as she reached her little arms up to him.

“Up! UP! Up!”

It was mean of him, really it was, because Penny was genuinely afraid of the steps but that also meant she demanded her daddy hold her in his arms, and that wasn’t really a loss for him so he hoped she’d hang onto that fear for a while before she got inventive and found another way to climb down them without him.

Eddie picked her up and she curled into his chest, chin on his shoulder as she clung to him with the duck head on her hood hitting the side of his face. He was trying to hide his smile but it was much too large to conceal and you glared at him with no malice, more amused with Eddie than anything.

“It’s okay, sweetpea. Daddy will protect you from those big, mean steps.”

He cackled as you shook your head with a smile.

“You are so messed up, capitalizing off of her fear.”

“Hey–it’s easy for you, she still demands and needs your boob. Did you see her refuse my kisses in there? I’m fighting for her affection here. And I’m gonna keep doing it, as soon as she gets over her fear of steps, I’m telling her a monster lives underneath them. Now, let's go get some candy I’ll also eat on her behalf.”

He bounded cheerfully out the door, Penny bouncing in his arms while you locked up behind him and called out in your laughter.

“And using your baby for candy–oh, you’ve got to choke tonight. I’ll save you, but you’ve got to choke.”

Eddie paused, waiting for you to catch up as his lips curled into smirk in a very Grinch like manner and you groaned, eyes squeezing shut as you realized what he was implying without having to verbalize it.

“I mean, I’d be happy to arrange that–”

“Keep walking, Bert. We only have an hour and a half so we’d better get a move on if you want a decent amount of candy to steal from your own baby.”

“I’m not above taking candy from any baby.” He confirmed leaning down just as you leaned up to meet in a kiss, the both of you smiling into it. It was brief, ending when Penny accidentally pecked the both of you with the head of her costume.

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solarmorrigan · 7 months

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TW: Brief description of a panic attack, mentions of PTSD

Post-S3 AU with Steve who, after much badgering (and minor bribery) agrees to drive The Party out to The Good Haunted House outside of town a little before Halloween

He doesn't plan on going in, because after what happened over the summer, having people jumping out at him and screaming while possibly brandishing weapons seems like a bad idea. But then he sees the kids walking off into the dark, swarmed by people who look intentionally threatening, leaving his sight, and he decides "fuck it" and goes in after them

Unfortunately, he was correct, and being in an enclosed, poorly-lit space with occasionally flashing lights where people jump out and scream at him is, indeed, A Bad Idea. Worse, their group gets turned around and Steve gets separated from the kids, and then he's alone, he has no idea where in the house he is, or where the kids are, and he's panicking

It really sets in that he's kinda fucked when he stumbles into the the "haunted hospital" themed room and nearly decks the mad doctor in a bloody face mask and apron that comes out wielding a chainsaw. He catches himself in time, but it still makes Steve feel worse, because it's not this guy's fault that Steve can't handle a jump scare, it's not this guy's fault that Steve shouldn't be here at all, that he's fucked up and he should have known better than to come in, and Steve doesn't want to hurt anyone but he doesn't know how the fuck he's going to get out of there, he really doesn't, and -

Enter haunted house actor Eddie, who is used to being threatened with violence (and has, in fact, been punched once before), but who is less used to people having literal heaving breakdowns in the middle of his room. People get scared, yeah, but this - this is another level. This dude looks like he's about to pass out. He doesn't even really look like he's present; the look in his eyes is uncomfortably distant

So Eddie puts down the chainsaw, pulls off his mask and gloves and approaches Steve slowly. The room is fairly quiet without the revving of the chainsaw, so he manages to get Steve's attention, and asks if he wants Eddie to get him out of there

Steve can only nod

Eddie gets him out the back way, the way customers really aren't supposed to go through, but it's faster, and then they're out in the open air and Steve can almost breathe again. Eddie asks him what he can do, and Steve asks him to talk. To remind Steve of where he is

So Eddie talks; he tells Steve he's somewhere outside of Hawkins at a haunted house, tells Steve what it's like to work there, filling the space with funny stories, and it grounds him. By the time Steve feels like the world isn't caving in on him, he can hear the kids shouting from around the other side of the house, looking for him

He has just enough time to thank Eddie before The Party falls on him and he puts his attitude back on, herding them back towards the car with promises of dinner on the way back "if you can all shut up for five minutes"

In the back of his mind, though, he's wondering if he might just drive back out here on his own tomorrow night. Not to go back in--god, no--but to maybe ask at the front who the mad doctor is. Steve thinks he'd like to thank him for his kindness properly

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steve & the party #eddiesteve #I dunno man I wish I had the energy to write this in full but here's a little steddie halloween thought #solar wrote #long post #tw panic attack #sorry for tagging triggers after the fact my brain was all over the place this morning

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slayfics · 7 months

Text

Spin the bottle in the U.A. dorms on Halloween night.

Warnings: NSFW themes

3,200 words~

You plopped down on the couch in the common room after finishing changing into your witch Halloween costume. Due to the League of Villains still having it out for your class, the whole school wasn't allowed to go out on Halloween.

As upset as most students were, your class still decided to dress up and celebrate in the dorms. Your class had decorated the common room with pumpkins and bats and the lights were lowered and flickering to make a spooky atmosphere.

"Alright finally got him to come down!" Eijiro exclaimed excitedly. You turned around to see him in a shark onesie standing next to Katsuki who was just wearing all black.

"Aww, you're a shark Kirishima! How cute it suits you... and Bakugo, what are you? A grumpy U.A. student?" You teased him.

"Shut the hell up! I'm going back to my dorm," he yelled.

"Oh no, you promised!" Eijiro said, blocking his friend from walking back to his dorm.

"Ugh fine," Katsuki grumbled and sat down on the couch next to you.

"Don't worry I actually have the perfect costume for you, you even dressed up perfectly in all black!" You exclaimed.

"The hell are you talking about? "Katsuki asked, irritated as you pulled out black cat ears from your bag and placed them on his head.

"There- I'm a witch and you're my black cat!" You smiled at him letting out a giggle at how cute the cat ears looked on him.

"IN YOUR FUCKING DREAMS!" He yelled trying to snatch the ears off his head but you and Eijiro pinned his arms down.

"He's an angry kitty isn't he?" Eijiro laughed.

"LET GO OF ME EXTRAS I'LL EXPLODE YOU BOTH TO HELL!" Katsuki yelled, struggling under your and Eijiro's grasp.

"Come on Bakugo, they are just ears and they look really cute on you!" You said struggling to keep him from removing them.

"Fucking fine, just let go of me," He said shrugging both you and Eijiro off. "But don't expect anything else from me today. This shit is so dumb."

"Hey you guys not getting started on any fun stuff without us are you?" Denki asked as he and Hanta made their way to sit on the adjoining couches.

Denki was wearing all yellow with some pointy yellow ears, and Hanta had a sheet over him with some eyes cut out.

"Aww, Kaminari are you supposed to be Pikachu?" You asked.

"Yeah! You guys always call me that so I thought why not," He shrugged.

"Oh you forgot something though," You said moving over to him.

"Hu what?" He asked, confused.

"The red cheeks!" You yelled and pinched his cheeks tightly.

"Hey stop!" He laughed trying to push you off.

"Ok there, now your costume is complete," You let go and sat back down on the couch laughing at Denki's now reddened cheeks, half red from your pinch and half red from a bright blush.

"You guys are so dumb," Katsuki mumbled, resting his head on his hand and leaning into the arm of the couch.

"Ugh I'm so bored this is so lameeee-" Mina said coming over to join your group wearing an alluring angel costume. "I wanna do something!" She said kicking her feet a bit.

"Oh uh-" Eijiro started to say but then stopped and looked away from Mina.

"Spit it out," You said, nudging him. Everyone's attention now turned to Eijiro making him more flustered.

"Nothing I- uh- was just gonna say that's a nice costume Ashido," he said and looked away again hoping the attention would turn away from him.

"Thanks!" Mina replied, smiling up at him. "Now what should we do? Tsuyu and Uraraka are carving pumpkins, but I want to do something more exciting!" She said, pumping both fists into the air.

"I know what you can do," a familiar pervy voice called from behind. The group turned around to see Minoru who was wearing a twister mat as a costume. "You girls should play twister and use me as your game board," Minoru said, lying down on the floor and spreading his arms out.

"He's never going to stop is he?" Hanta asked, letting out a sigh.

"Oh- that's actually a great idea Mineta!" You said walking over to him as he looked up at you from the floor. "Close your eyes though, ok? I don't want you to see up my dress," You said.

"Of course, my witch queen," Minoru responded, practically drooling. He shut his eyes tightly for a moment and you motioned for Katsuki to come over.

"Hu?" Minoru opened his eyes after not feeling you or Mina start the game. He opened his eyes to the sight of Katsuki above him lighting up an explosion in his hand. "Wait wait!" He called his arms failing in front of him as Katuski exploded him knocking him unconscious.

"Fucking perv," He grumbled and sat back on the couch.

"As much as I hate Mineta, a game isn't such a bad idea!" Mina said excitedly.

"What kind of game?" Eijiro asked.

"Hmmm..." Mina placed her finger on her chin as she thought. "I got it! Spin the bottle!" She yelled, throwing her hands in the air again. Everyone else including you just stared at her with a blank expression and slightly flushed faces.

"Fuck no." Katsuki spoke.

"Come on you guys! We can't go out and do anything else and that game is like a right of passage for teenagers! Let's do it! I'll find some other girls to even it out!" She said and ran off.

"Wait, she was serious?!" Denki asked, his face pale white.

You laughed, "You looked whiter than the sheet around Sero! Don't tell me after all that big pervy talk you've done with Mineta you're scared?" You teased him.

"I'm not scared! I just-" Denki began to say but was interrupted by an irritated Katsuki.

"I'm leaving, I'm not doing that dumb shit," Katsuki said, getting off the couch to leave. Eijiro quickly hurried after him. You turned around to see what looked like Eijiro pleading with his friend to stay.

"Maybe Kacchan's right, we could go play Super Smash Bros instead," Denki said to Hanta who seemed to be on board with leaving as well. Denki stood up just as Mina came back.

"Ok! I got Jiro and Hagakure to agree to play!" Mina said excitedly. Denki looked at Kyoka who was wearing a Bride of Frankenstein costume. His face flushed and he silently sat back down on the couch deciding to stay.

"Hey Hagakure, what is your costume?" Hanta asked, looking confused at Hagakure who was just carrying around a mirror and wearing a red cape.

"I'm a vampire and vampires don't have reflections in mirrors so... I thought that was funny with my quirk and all... since I'm invisible..."

"Oh! That's really smart." Hanta laughed.

Eijiro finally came back dragging Katsuki who was uttering curses under his breath.

"That's the spirit boys!" You said laughing.

Mina instructed the group to sit on the floor in a circle as she placed a bottle in the middle of you all.

"Ok there are a lot of different ways to play but this is what I think sounds most interesting. One person spins the bottle, and then whoever the bottle is pointing to gets to decide what happens. Any questions?" She asked.

"Yeah, what do you mean by deciding what happens?" Kyoka asked.

"Well that person can decide on either a kiss which can be wherever they choose or seven minutes in heaven," Mina explained further.

"Uh, what's seven minutes in heaven?" Toru asked nervously.

"It means I'll lock you both in the hall closet for seven minutes!" Mina said, laughing devilishly.

The group shifted uncomfortably at Mina's explanation of the game.

"Oh don't look so nervous you guys, it'll be fun! Sero start us out!" Mina said excitedly.

"What? Why me first?!" Hanta asked anxiously.

"Because I said so, that's why, now go!" Mina said harshly.

Sero shakily spun the bottle that was placed in the middle of the group. Everyone watched with eager eyes as it began to slow until it eventually stopped pointing at Toru. Once the bottle stopped everyone looked at Mina for guidance.

"Ok now Hagakure you decide what happens," Mina encouraged.

"You can kiss my cheek, Sero," Toru said sweetly.

"Uh right-" Hanta replied as he shakily moved over to Toru planting a kiss on what he assumed to be the invisible girl's cheek.

The group watched as Hanta's face lit up bright red.

"Oh!" Toru exclaimed. "That was not my cheek."

"I AM SO SORRY! I COULDN'T SEE!" Hanta apologized frantically.

"It's ok Sero," Toru giggled.

The rest of the group eyed each other curiously but were too shy to ask what exactly Hanta ended up kissing.

"Ok um- well.... it landed on you so that means your turn to spin Hagakure," Mina said, breaking up the awkwardness.

"Sure!" She said and the bottle began to spin seemingly out of nowhere as the invisible girl spun the bottle. The bottle spun until it landed on Mina.

"Oh um- is there a rule about that?" Toru asked.

"Hm- nah we're all-inclusive here," Mina shrugged. "You can kiss my cheek too if you're comfortable."

"Ok," Toru said as her cape, which appeared to be floating, moved toward Mina before returning to its original spot as she planted a kiss on her cheek.

"My turn then!" Mina said excitedly and spun the bottle. The bottle spun for a few moments before landing on Eijiro.

Eijiro's eyes widened at the bottle pointing directly at him. He was seemingly frozen staring at it.

"Um hello Earth to Kirishima," Mina said, waving her hand in front of his face. "You have to choose what you want."

"Me? I uh-" He stuttered as his face began to tint a slight pink. "What- what- do you want me to choose?" He asked.

"It doesn't work like that Kirishima, you have to choose," You said, reminding him of the rules.

"Oh man," He spoke seeming to shrink into himself with nervousness. Eijiro grabbed the shark hoodie of his onesie and covered his face with it.

Mina laughed, "Don't be so nervous Kirishima, just tell me what you want me to do." She encouraged him.

Eijiro mumbled from under his hoodie.

"Speak up shitty hair, we can't hear you," Katsuki yelled, annoyed at his friend's sheepishness.

"Ugh this is so unmanly," He mumbled again from under his hoodie.

"Come on man hurry up!" Denki said, nudging him.

"Just kiss me!" Eijiro said, voice loud and shaky under his hoodie.

"Ok, where though?" Mina asked, tilting her head and moving closer trying to get a look at him from under his hoodie. Eijiro squirmed more under his hoodie the closer Mina got.

"For fucks sake just tell her you want a real kiss dumb ass!" Katsuki grumbled beside his friend.

"Is that what you want?" Mina asked curiously.

Eijiro nodded his head from under his hoodie as a response.

"Then stop hiding silly," She said, pulling his hoodie back on his head as she moved closer and planted a gentle kiss on his lips, causing Eijiro's face to light up an even brighter red than his hair.

"Tch-" Katsuki let out an annoyed puff of air.

"Oh man, your face is so damn red!" Denki said laughing beside him.

"Aw come on man, leave me alone," Eijiro said, pulling his hoodie back over his face to hide from his friends.

"Don't hide yet, it's your turn!" Mina said giggling.

"Oh right-," Eijiro quickly stuck his hand out and spun the bottle.

You all watched as the bottle stopped spinning and landed on you.

"Uh-" Eijiro quickly stole a glance at Katsuki who looked away from the group feigning disinterest.

"Here," You laughed, holding out your hand.

"Oh uh- so formal," Eijiro laughed, feeling less nervous as he placed a kiss on the top of your hand.

"Alright, then my turn right?" You asked looking at Mina for confirmation.

"Yup!" She said, nodding enthusiastically. You spun the bottle and waited for it to stop spinning. The whole group's breath seemed to catch in their throat when it landed on Katsuki. Everyone stared at him with wide eyes waiting for his response.

"Tch- whatever let's go," Katsuki said, standing up and motioning for you to follow him.

"What?" You asked confused.

"Wait, you're choosing the closet?!" Mina asked, stunned.

"Yeah, let's just get this over with," He said, annoyed.

"Wooo! Our first seven minutes in heaven players!" Mina said excitedly, pumping her fists in the air. She quickly made her way to the hall closet, opened it, and motioned for you both to come.

"Hurry up now! I'll start a timer on my phone and we will all wait here for you both," She said, winking and shoving you both inside.

"Wait what you all just wait out there?" You asked nervously.

"Well yeah, we can't keep playing with you two missing. Have fun now," She said as she slammed the closet door shut.

The closet was pitch black with the door shut, and smaller than you anticipated, causing you to be just inches away from Katsuki.

Katsuki lit up the room with his quirk using his hand to create some light without an explosion.

"So you wanted to spend some alone time with me, hu?" You asked, teasing him.

"Shut the hell up, I just didn't want to do anything else in front of those other extras. This shit is so dumb and I don't want the attention," he replied back sounding frustrated as ever.

"Then why did you choose to play?" You asked curiously.

"For Kirishima obviously. He wanted to play and was too damn scared to do it without me here," Katsuki said as if it was the most obvious explanation in the world.

"You really expect me to believe that? You never do anything you don't want to do. Especially for the sake of someone else. So tell me, what did you want to happen? Who were you hoping to get stuck with?" You pestered him more.

"Fucking no one. You think I actually care about any of these damn extras," Katsuki laughed off your question.

You ignored his response and looked at his hand curiously as it illuminated light without an explosion. "I didn't know you could do this with your quirk. Is it warm?" You asked, touching his hand.

"I can do a lot of shit with my quirk dumb ass," He responded as he watched you graze his hand with your finger.

You looked up and noticed a slight tint on his cheeks. "No way are you blushing?" You laughed.

"The hell? I am not!" He yelled defensively but extinguished the light from his hand right away bringing you both back into darkness so you couldn't look at him anymore. "I'm not some fucking loser you know. I wouldn't blush from you just touching my hand."

You leaned a bit closer to him, almost brushing up against him as you did, "What would I need to touch to make you blush then?" You whispered.

Katsuki tried to back away from you but hit the wall of the closet instead, "Cut that fucking crap out," He said through gritted teeth and smacked your hand away from him. "Why the hell did you play this game? What did you want to happen?" He asked.

"This," you answered simply and honestly.

"Hu?" Katsuki exclaimed, sounding surprised.

"Why do you sound so surprised?" You asked.

"You don't have to fucking lie just because we're stuck in here you know. I saw you flirting with spark plug out there. Pinching his cheeks and shit," Katuski answered, still not believing you.

"Kaminari? No," You laughed. "I only mess with him because he gets riled up so easily, plus... I like how it pisses you off. Do you think I didn't notice how you grit your teeth and furrow your brows even more than usual when I do," You teased.

"Tch, whatever. If I'm really what you wanted- then get over here. Prove it. Do what you say you've been wanting to do," Katsuki said, challenging you.

You moved almost instantly, pressing yourself into Katsuki and colliding your lips with his. Your hands went up to wrap around the back of his neck and as they did. Katsuki's body went rigid for a moment, stunned that you actually attacked him so suddenly. Then as if coming back to life after processing the situation, he pushed you back against the wall roughly pinning you between his arms. Causing a loud thump to echo through the closet.

"You didn't think I'd really just let you have control that easily did you?" He whispered in a lowered voice, his words rumbling in his chest.

Everyone outside turned and looked at the closet following the loud thump.

"Should we be concerned?" Kyoka asked, looking around the group for consensus.

"Nah," Denki, Eijiro, and Hanta all said in unison. The girls eyed them curiously.

"It's just uh- Bakugo wouldn't hurt her or anything. Trust me," Eijiro said, his face tinting red a bit again as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"Hm ok- well they do only have 3 minutes left so... I suppose it's fine," Mina said, eyeing her phone.

Back in the closet, Katsuki had pressed his lips to yours forcefully as you were pinned between him and the wall. You pulled him even closer to you.

"You like when I press into you like this?" He asked in your ear breath running down your neck.

You nodded, and Katsuki responded by grabbing your leg and wrapping it around his waist in order to press into you deeper while keeping his hand around your thigh for support. In this position, you could feel his growing bulge pressing into you.

"You know you're right," He spoke again into your ear. "It does fucking piss me off when you flirt with dunce face. Don't even fucking look at him anymore," he said and ran his other hand through your hair grazing your scalp as he tugged on your hair. "Keep your eyes on me, you understand?"

You nodded again but this time grabbed his face and pressed a deep kiss into his lips spreading them apart with your tongue.

"Fuck," he moaned into your mouth.

Katsuki's hand moved down from your hair to your chest grabbing a handful of you.

"The hell is with this skimpy ass witch costume, it's sluttier than your damn hero costume," He groaned and moved down to trail kisses on your neck while continuing to press his now full-grown bulge into you.

"What? You don't like it?" You asked teasingly.

"Mm- fuckin' love it," He growled while kissing further down your neck making his way to your chest ensuring to taste all of your exposed skin.

"Alright times up," Mina yelled, throwing the closet door open without warning.

"Oh shit!" You exclaimed, placing your hands on Katsuki's shoulders to push him off but he didn't budge.

"Holy shit-" Denki exclaimed before being at a total loss of words.

Everyone stared with wide eyes frozen at the sight.

Mina slammed the door back shut.

"Uh- maybe we leave them with their privacy," She said, her face flushed. "Let's just- um go back to the game," she stuttered.

"Yeah good idea," Eijiro nodded, as everyone awkwardly made their way back to sitting in a circle.

Thank you for reading everyone!

Tags: @unofficialmuilover

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frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 3 months

Text

good morning!! it's @henderdads' birthday!!!! happy happy happy birthday to youuuu cass!!!

The minute Eddie Munson turned 18, he could see it; the only color he would see until he and his soulmate kissed for the first time.

Yellow.

Rays and rays of warm yellow sunshine, the middle light (and middle light only) of the one stoplight in town, one half of their school colors, the dandelions spotted agross the grass between the trailers, the stubborn daffodils that keep reappearing in Ms. Wilson’s garden though she’s long since passed…

The half-toned things he’s told are green, half yellow, half blue, and that he got lucky his soulmate’s favorite color wasn’t black or gray (then he felt glad he’d settled on a different color than either of those by time he was older, he didn’t want to subject his soulmate to more black and white..

After Steve Harrington turns 18, he can see the color of the lipstick his mom wore in their last family portrait, the color of the punch that gets spilled all over Nancy’s shirt at Tina’s halloween party, the stripes and piping on his godforsaken Scoops uniform, the red of his own blood rushing down the drain beneath his feet.

The dark tone puddled beneath Eddie’s limp body in the Upside Down.

The same color splashed onto Dustin’s arms and legs.

Pressing his hands into it to stop it from spreading, to start it flowing again, Steve presses his lips to Eddie’s once…he hasn’t done CPR since he worked at the pool….twice…”C’mon man, don’t leave him like this.”....

The third time is when it happens.

The feeble beat of Eddie’s heart starting again, the push of breath into his lungs, the sudden flood of cool, dark colors around them.

“Eddie? Eddie! C’mon man, stay with me.”

It looks like it takes a herculean effort to do so, but Eddie’s eyes open. “H–hey, Harrington. Wh–”

“I’m going to pick you up now, Ed,” Steve says, doing just that, tucking Eddie into his chest and starting for the trailer. “El is keeping the gate open for us but we gotta hurry.”

The four of them manage to get him out through the gate and into the RV, this time with Nancy behind the wheel.

Having to let him go at the doors to the ER is one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do, but he manages, Robin telling him over and over again that she’d already called Eddie’s Uncle and that he’d be safe.

While they’re waiting, filthy and exhausted but victorious nonetheless, Nancy says to him: “It’s blue, by the way. The…everything down there has some sort of blue tinge to it.”

Steve doesn’t ask how she knew, just appreciates that he can look at something and she’ll tell him the name of the color.

The pattern of the chairs is orange and purple, the plant in the corner is green (“All plants are some shade of it for the most part.”), the wallpaper is his favorite though.

“It’s yellow.”

“I guess I know what color Eddie’s been seeing the past few years..” It’s the first and last thing he says until Wayne Munson comes to get them.

“You three need’ta be looked at too. Not jus’ Henderson.”

He leads them back to a room, and Steve recognizes Dr. Owens there waiting for them.

They get looked over, they get cleaned up, and Steve gets a shot of something that’s supposed to help stave off anything those flying rats may have given him.

And for the next week, he stays.

He and Wayne maintain a constant vigil at Eddie’s bedside. Wayne leaves for his shifts when he has to, Steve is allowed to stay because of his soulmate status, and Eddie wakes up a little more than a week later.

Wayne had left a couple hours ago, so Steve will have to call him at the plant but first: “Steve?” Eddie manages to croak out when his eyes crack open the first time.

“Hey Eds, welcome back to the world of the living.”

Eddie shuts his eyes and huffs a laugh, then cringes, “Still painful as always, I see.”

“Oh yeah? What else do you see?”

Steve watches his brow furrow as he tries to make sense of the question, watches as he opens his eyes again, a bit further this time, and when they widen in amazement as they travel around the room.

“What–? What the hell..?” The heightened beeping of his heart monitor makes Steve feel almost giddy, getting to watch him see this for the first time. “What nurse kissed me while I was out?” He pauses, staring down a painting of colorful wildflowers on the opposite wall before turning back to Steve. “And can they come back so I can get more pain meds?”

Steve chuckles as he stands stiffly from the hospital chair he’d been all but glued to for the last week, reaching over Eddie’s head to press the call button.

“What’s so funny?”

“You, of course.”

“Thank you, I try, but what’d I do this time?”

“It wasn’t a nurse, Eds.”

Eddie blinks at him for a moment, confused, “I don’t quite have the brainpower for riddles, Stevie.”

Steve’s stomach flips at the nickname, “It wasn’t a nurse, it was when we were still in the—down there.” he pauses, feeling suddenly embarrassed. Did Eddie want it to be him? His first assumption was one of the nurses… “Someone had to give you CPR.”

He watches as Eddie scrolls through what he can only assume is a roster of their “Team Vecna”; Nancy? It’s been known that she’s been able to see in full color since she and Jonathan got together. Dustin? Yeah..no. Ro–

“And it wasn’t Robin.” Steve says when he sees Eddie’s lips curl into an ‘R’.

“Then who—”

It dawns on him at the same time the summoned nurse arrives with a new shot of whatever it is he needs.

She leaves with an excited “We’ll call Wayne!”, and Eddie drops his head back to his pillow.

Steve’s stomach twists anxiously. “Eddie?”

“So you’re telling me that the one and only Steve Harrington gave me the kiss of life and also the gift of colorvision, and I wasn’t conscious enough to experience it properly?”

Steve ducks his head, scratching behind his ear nervously. “Uh…yeah…? Sorry Eddi–”

“Can you do it again?”

His head snaps up again, “Huh?”

“And preferably before I lose the battle for my consciousness?”

Eddie’s face is soft and open, a smile quirking the pink of his lips and crinkling those dark eyes of his…Who is Steve to tell him no?

He smiles softly in return and stands.

Leaning forward with his weight braced to one side of Eddie’s head, the other hand coming up to cup his uninjured cheek, Steve kisses him properly for the first time.

The first of many many many more to come.

eeee i hope you liked this little thing!!! i've never written anything w soulmates before!! 🥹 i hope you have the most bestest day today, friend!! 🫶🫶

#i looked back at your trope tier list for this 👀#damn was that tag game useful or what?#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #soulmates #st #stranger things #eddie munson x steve harrington #steveddie #eddeve #noelle writes

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pia-nor481 · 7 months

Text

A Halloween special

Daniel ricciardo x reader smut 18+

1.7k words

"I don't get it sweetheart." Daniel said looking, down at his girlfriend. She'd been invited to a house party on Halloween by a few of her friends, who insisted she bring her boyfriend. They were told to dress up for the night of drinking. Daniel had the idea of going as the joker and Harley Quinn. Although she shut him down immediately, she had a much better, dirtier idea. "It's fine if you don't get, almost everyone else will." She laughed lifting the make up brush higher on his leg. "Could you at least tell me why you're painting my leg black. I already have a tat of my other thigh." He said, watching her paint the letters on. "Don't get me wrong, I love seeing you in a short skirt and showing off your tits, but it don't know who I'm supposed to be." She was wearing thick framed glasses and had her hair tied up high. A slutty school girl costume was easy to come by this time of the year. "Baby, I'm gonna freeze. I'm going out wearing just as black shirt and boxers. Not to mention, you usually steal my jacket when your cold, which you will be considering you're wearing next to nothing." She stood up quickly going for a kiss.

"It will be fine, we are inside the whole night and we'll be drinking." She spoke quietly, fingers brushing through his curly hair, his hands made way to wards her waist, pulling her closer. "You are so hard to resist right now." He huffed out, running his hand all over her sides, slipping them below the red school skirt briefly. "I can tell." Dropping down to her knees to finish painting his leg, Daniel let a out a groan at the sight, clearly expecting her to suck him off, disappointed when she picked up the brush. "Oh, don't tease me like this, everyone will be able to see." She gave a small giggle and a smirk as a response. Once finished, she stood up, dragging him in the direction of the door.

"You fucking minx." He let out with an exaggerated sigh, helping her down the steps of the house, guiding her towards the car. While diving, Daniel kept looking over to his girlfriend, he couldn't spend hours admiring her like he wanted, so he had to settle for a glace every minute or so. The drive was long, maybe an hour or so of torture for him. He couldn't even touch her for long as his hand needed to be on the gearstick, cure the manual car. They could hear the music from the end of the road. Daniel felt his anxiety rise slightly, he didn't anticipate this party being so big, it was like something from a film. "You will be fine, Danny, I promise." It was like she could read his mind, always knowing how to make him feel better. He parked the car opposite the door a few houses down the road, most of the space already being used.

As soon as she got out of the car, grabbing his hand, she dragged him through the door. He was happy to follow, as always. They quickly reached the kitchen, looking for alcohol. Daniel's hand's remained on her body the whole time, many of the other guys in the room couldn't keep their eyes off her; he felt the need to protect her more than ever, she was his, no one else's. He was the one she spent hours on the phone will, he was the one she came home to, he was the one making her cum. Doing shot after shot was easier than nursing a full drink, so they felt the buzz a lot faster than usual. She always got handsy when she was drunk, Daniel was aware of this, and he didn't see a problem with it. So he walked her to the living room, where the music was coming from. He was immediately bombarded with the smell of green; But he couldn't care when she was feeling him up until she could feel the beat of the song in her whole body. "Owen Grey and a slutty school girl, that's quite funny." She turned her head to the side, upon hearing her friends voice. It had reached a point where she got giggly, so out of it that she couldn't articulated a proper sentence. She was right, Daniel didn't know who he was dressed up as, but her friends did. "I'll be right back, I'm getting another drink." He didn't like her going off on her own in in a situation like this, but he had so many questions for her friend.

"Who is he?" Daniel shouted over the base. Her friend have him a weird look, painted with confusion, Daniel clarified, "Owen gray, considering I'm dressed up as him and she's not told me who he is." Her friend giggled, pulling her phone out and heading straight to safari. "You seriously don't know?" Daniel gave her a look of disappointment, this amplified after he saw what was on her phone. She laughed out watching him walk away.

Blood rushed through Daniel's body, he was scanning the room for her, he wasn't furious, but almost jealous. He couldn't believe his girlfriend dresses him up as a pornstar to go to a Halloween party, it was unbelievable. He was slightly out of breath when he reached the kitchen, from walking with so much pace. She looked so inviting, if he wasn't on a mission now, he would have sweetened her up a little bit, maybe even played with her hair just because she was so stunning.

"I can't believe you, sweetheart. Honestly I'm shocked." He said, placing his hand on her lower back, as she took another shot and poured him one. "What?" She was clearly more than a little tipsy and Daniel planned to join her. Her hands quickly made way up his chest, pulling on his shirt once she reached the collar. She was intoxicated with him, she wanted him there and then, he would tell. "Come on, before I fuck you right here."

They hurried off up stairs, Daniel let her up before him, claiming he was there to catch her if she slipped or fell, and with those shoes and the volume of alcohol she had drunk in the time she was away from him, it was very likely, he also wanted to enjoy watching her. He could see up her skirt from this angle, and he could see where her stockings met and it only got him hard. Daniel smacked her ass once she reached the top step, her gaze shifted left and right, searching for the bathroom.

Once inside, he pushed her up against the door by her neck, careful to not restrict her breathing. Their lips connected quickly as she pushed her pelvis towards him. Daniel’s hand slid up her thigh and into her underwear, feeling how wet her cunt was. “You are fucking soaked baby.” She whined into his mouth, struggling to breathe. It wasn’t rare for Daniel to get rough with her, they had long conversations about what they enjoyed or wanted to try in the bedroom. This was definitely on the list.

“Come here.” Daniel said, walking away from her and towards the mirror. She was keen to follow, not wanting his hands away from her, even just for a second. He pushed her against the counter, with just seconds for her hands to support her weight, she looked up at him through the glass. Daniel always liked to take his time with her, so he began to undo the buttons of her shirt, as she pushed back slightly, pressing her ass against his cock. Normally he tell her off for this but he was becoming too desperate, this was made apparent by the tent in his boxers.

“Be good. Yeah?” Daniel rasped out, pushing her skirt up and pulling her underwear to the side. She arched her back as he pushed his cock in, not wasting time in teasing her. Her head dipped low, looking down at the sink with closed eyes as he began to rock his hips back and forth. She moaned rather load and quickly tried to cover her mouth with her hand. “No. None of that. Not after today, making me dress up as a porn star. Do you think Owen Grey could fuck you as well as I can?” She clenched upon hearing the name and stayed silent, choosing to focus more of the sensation he was giving her. “Answer me.” Daniel enjoyed being dominant, it quickly became second nature when they were together. “No, Danny. Only you could.”

“That’s what I fucking thought, baby.” Wherever Daniel said something particular harsh or degrading he’d follow it up with something sweet, to ease the pain just a little. She began to get drunk on the feeling, the buzz was quickly approaching so she pushed her hips back on his to meet the thrusts. She wanted him deeper. “That’s it. Good girl. Make yourself feel good on my cock.” His hand edged slowly back towards her underwear. Wanting to rub her clit. He wanted to feel her clench around him, he wanted to hear her voice as she neared ecstasy, he wanted to see the pleasure he was giving her.

Her moans got louder, the faster he began fucking her. She was so close, so close to the edge that her eyes began to roll to the back of her head. As a response Daniel grabbed her hair and pulled so she was looking at the mirror; looking at him. “Keep your eyes on me baby, you’ll cum.” It just felt too good, too much for her. The risk of getting caught mixed with the alcohol made it all so much more pleasurable. “Please Danny.” She spoke, cumming hard and fast, shaking in his grip, struggling to stay up right. Daniel followed soon after her. The look on her face, the fact she was on cloud nine just sent him over the edge.

Her makeup was smudged and the glasses she was wearing were no where to be found. She noticed a few buttons on the sink as he pulled out of her dripping cunt. “I know, baby, I know.” Daniel said stoking up and down her sides with his tattooed hand. They kissed briefly again, not wanting to break contact. He pushed her underwear into the right place before tucking himself back into his boxers, letting out a light laugh. “Let’s get home sweetheart.”

If this looks or feels a bit rushed that’s because it is. If there are any mistakes let me know. <3

#f1 x reader #f1 x reader smut #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #daniel ricciardo smut #daniel ricciardo x female reader #daniel ricciardo x reader smut #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel riccardo x reader #daniel riccardo imagine #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel riccardo smut #daniel ricciardo #danny ric #f1 fic #DR:3

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cupid-styles · 8 months

Text

aren't you hungry?

the vampy h blurb!!!!! yay!

in which y/n's never been chosen as a feeder before, but harry changes that and things get... messy.

word count: 2.8k

content warnings: vampire h, blood, smut (dirty talk, impact play, thigh riding, slight pain kink)

masterlist | talk to me

fall/halloween blurb masterlist

. . .

"One of our members has requested your presence."

Y/N's eyes widen slightly at the well-dressed man standing in front of her. He'd tapped her shoulder, pulling her from giggling with her friends on a break from the dance floor. She'd expected some guy trying to buy her and her friends drinks, or maybe a drunk girl who lost her own friends — truth is, she'd never expected to see one of them behind her.

She's only visited this club a couple of times and she wasn't chosen the first time. It was fine with her — she figured she wasn't their taste and she was alright with that knowledge, especially since the kid in her class who mentioned this mysterious spot told her to keep her expectations low. He'd mentioned that he'd only seen a few people get picked before, regardless of how pretty or handsome someone was.

She and her friends kept coming on occasion, though, mainly when they'd had busy weeks and needed somewhere fun to unwind. It was a little far from the college town they lived in, a 30 minute drive or so, and it was less likely to see anyone they knew from school. For that reason, Y/N felt more comfortable letting loose and taking on a persona she normally didn't have.

She felt sexier here. Hotter. More confident.

And there's a twinge of anxiety plucking at her stomach when she realizes that she has been chosen. Her friends are equally as surprised but with raised eyebrows that say you better tell us everything, they encourage her to follow the man out of the main area and up to the private section upstairs.

He doesn't say anything else — no other details are revealed about who wants to feed on her, instead just guiding her away from the crowded, sweaty room. They step into an elevator and she watches as he presses the only button on the panel, folding his hands neatly in front of him. When they arrive, she follows him down a hallway and finally, stops in front of a closed door. He knocks once and walks away.

With a fluttering heart and sweaty hands, Y/N swallows harshly as the door swings open, revealing a tall man with long, curly brown hair. He looks only a few years older than she is, though she knows the age difference likely teeters on one hundred.

"Hello," he greets curtly, stepping aside to let her in, "How are you?"

She mumbles out a "good" as she nervously brushes past him. She's not sure what she was expected, but it looks like any old hotel room, just a lot darker — there are blackout curtains and plushy bedding in a deep red hue folded onto a large mattress. There isn't a television or any mirrors (she wonders if that old myth about vampires is true, then), and it doesn't look like the man who's requested her has spent any time at all here. Everything looks completely pristine.

She hears the door click shut behind her and she turns around to take him in. He's beautiful, but she's heard that most of them are. His face is angular, his stature intimidating, but she supposes that's not out of the ordinary for his kind. It's the first time she's ever been alone with a vampire.

"I take it you know why you were asked up here."

She takes a shallow breath, suddenly self-conscious of her rapid heartbeat, knowing that he can probably hear it from a foot away.

She licks her dry lips and nods, "I think so."

He nods, thumbing at the top buttons on his silky shirt, "Can I answer any questions for you?"

She shifts from foot to foot uncomfortably. "You're... you want to drink my blood, right?"

"Yes," he says with a slight smirk, "Anything else?"

"Why me?"

He furrows his eyebrows, a look of confusion painting his face as he sits on the edge of the bed.

"I'm not sure I understand. You know what this club is for, I'd assume."

"I mean, kind of, I just heard about it in one of my classes," she replies with a shrug, "I've just been here a few times and was never chosen before and I was wondering... like, why tonight, I guess. I figured I wouldn't be picked after that first time."

He nods slowly. "Can I ask for your name?"

"Y/N."

"Y/N, I don't come here often. I don't fancy the thought of feeding on desperate humans in a sweaty club, especially if they're poisoning their bodies with alcohol and drugs and whatever else. And on the nights I do come, maybe once or twice a year, I've never asked for anyone."

She swallows at that, her pulse quickening as he leans back on his elbows, the expanse of his chest shimmering through the soft fabric of his shirt.

"But the second you arrived tonight... I could hear your heartbeat and smell how sweet your blood is," he murmurs, pinching his bottom lip between his fingertips, "I couldn't fathom the idea of letting you go without getting a taste."

Her heart is beating even faster in her chest now. Everything about this situation should be triggering her fight-or-flight response, but instead, she's entranced. She doesn't know if it's because he has some strange vampire powers over her and yet, even if that's the reason, she can't find it in her to care.

"I apologize if that makes you uncomfortable. I hope you know you're not expected to do anything — to give me anything — if you don't want to."

She shakes her head quickly, the sudden thought of not allowing him to pierce her skin her worst nightmare. "No, I... I just don't understand what's so special about me, I guess."

He shrugs. The quick turn to nonchalantness bothers her.

"It may not be anything that you do or don't do. A lot of it comes down to biology. But if I'm being completely honest... I spent the first hour or so watching you downstairs with your friends," he admits, making her face warm, "You're kind, very considerate and sweet. Gorgeous, of course. It just made me want to know more."

"And you're not just saying that to drink my blood?"

He chuckles. "No, Y/N. I'm not just saying that."

"What's your name, then?" She asks, sitting down next to him and crossing her legs, "Since you know all this stuff about me."

He resists the urge to roll his eyes and laughs lightly. "Harry."

"Harry," she repeats, allowing the syllables to roll off her tongue. She can feel him watching her, his neck turned slightly to keep his gaze on her side profile. "And how long have you been a vampire?"

He contemplates her question, lulling his head to the side as he does some mental math. It's been awhile since anyone asked him any personal questions, especially because the people he does hang out with on occasion have been around just as long.

"I think I turned sometime in the early 1900s, though I'm not entirely sure. The first few years are a bit of a blur."

Her heart speeds again, and his smiles to himself when he hears the swift pitter patter pick up.

"How do you normally feed? Since you said you don't come here often."

"Vampires have different ways of eating, similar to how humans do," he replies easily, flexing his ring-clad hands out in front of him, "I tend to favor blood banks, but other vampires will feed from animals. And some just prefer this, or having consistent feeders in their rotation."

She nods her head and purses her lips before turning to him, a defiant look on her face.

"Okay, then. How do you go about feeding from me?"

Harry quirks an eyebrow, surprised at the sudden change of subject. She's more... flighty than he anticipated, but he likes that about her. He thinks.

"Generally... I can feed from anywhere, but the neck is one of the more... sensitive spots that humans enjoy," he murmurs, eyes flicking to the soft skin covering her throat, "Um, it'll hurt at first, when I puncture. But it's quickly replaced with a euphoric sensation. I should warn you, some humans can... orgasm while they're being fed from."

Her eyes widen, "Really? Has that ever happened with people you've bitten?"

"Yes," he nods, quickly blinking away images of her desperately rutting against his thigh as he sucks at her neck. "It depends on the person. It has nothing to do with me, but again, it's a very pleasurable feeling. That's why humans enjoy doing it."

She nods her head and swallows, trying her best to seem cavalier about the situation. In reality, she very much wasn't — it was all very out-of-character for her, but there was still something pulling her in and drawing her to Harry. Thinking about how she was moments away from offering her neck to him and potentially orgasming in front of him was... overwhelming and nerve-wracking, but... what? Intriguing? She wonders if this is scratching some sort of itch she has for a one night stand. She knows Harry is an immortal supernatural creature, but she's only human.

His deep voice breaks her out of her thinking.

"If that changes things for you, please tell me. I won't be upset."

"No. I want to do this," she suddenly decides, "Aren't you hungry?"

If she thinks she's attempting to be flippant, Harry takes the cake time and time again. He shrugs his shoulders and presses his lips together in a thin line.

"A little, but I can go without."

A stroke of bravery strums through her body. Harry had wanted her up here. He's the one that made this happen. He requested her.

She understands he's probably fibbing for her sake, and she can appreciate that. But if this was going to happen, he needed to be clear.

Y/N straightens her posture and flips her hair to the side, her neck bare from any jewelry or marks. He notices a few beauty marks smattered along her jaw and chest — he thinks that if he was breathing, the oxygen would've hitched in his throat.

"Do you need me?" she asks, trying to ignore the twinge of embarrassment she felt at attempting to seduce a vampire, "You had him bring me up here. You watched me. Do you need me?"

If he's stunned, he maintains his composure well. Instead, he clears his throat, running his tongue over his teeth, feeling where his fangs threaten to jut from his gums.

"It's a yes or no, Harry."

His resolve is quickly crumbling and it warms Y/N's body to know that she finally has the upper-hand. He thinks for a moment, but the selfish, primal side of him that's desperately craving the taste of her blood is stronger than the sensible part he typically relies on.

"Yes." he finally answers, breathing out harshly through his nose, "Yes, I need to taste you."

"Do it, then."

When he receives her consent, everything moves lightning fast, making her head spin. Before she even realizes that he's touching her, she's being pulled into his lap, his strong arms wrapping her thighs around his waist. She gasps and he shushes her, the small expression of dominance making her core flutter.

"You're going to get a little floaty," Harry advises softly, ducking his nose into the crook of her neck. He inhales, using his last few moments of consciousness to counsel her through it. It makes her lips part but he squeezes her hip, bringing her back. "It'll be hard for you to know if it's too much or you need me to stop, and I promise to show as much self-control as I can."

"O-okay," she mumbles, tilting her head back slightly. He scowls into her neck, his other hand forming a tight fist in his lap.

"If you need me to stop, squeeze me or hit me or do something. Got it?"

She nods, already feeling entirely overwhelmed by his entire being. It's all uphill, she realizes when he noses deeper into her skin, and before she has the chance to process it's happening, he does it — two sharp punctures into her throat, a sting of pain making her gasp followed by the most intense, full-body ecstasy she's ever felt.

She's immediately floating on clouds of pleasure, whimpers falling from her lips as he sucks at her messily. Her eyes are shut but if they weren't, she doesn't even think she'd be disgusted by her blood trailing down his chin. Everything is lovely, shades of reds and pinks stroking her vision as she squirms in his arms, holding him impossibly closer as he drinks and drinks and drinks.

It all ends too quickly, she feels, but the cloudy sensation prevents her from realizing he'd been drinking from her far longer than he would've liked. When he pops off, licking at the wound to quickly repair it, she's still drifting with hazy eyes, helplessly rubbing her core against his thigh.

"Are y'alright?" he slurs, using the silky sleeve of his blouse to clean off his mouth. She bats her eyes open and nods slowly, unaware of the arousal steadily leaking from her. He can smell it, and it makes him swallow harshly.

"Why'd you stop?" she asks.

"Don't wanna hurt you, angel."

She pouts, wiggling in his lap. "I didn't cum. I would've if you kept going."

He's heard of this before — he knows humans can feel painfully horny after getting bitten, too, but it's never actually happened to him. When he's heard his mates talking about how they just had to get their feeder off after sucking at their necks, he always assumed it was some stupid way to brag about getting laid.

But now he believes them, because Y/N looks desperate with her moony eyes and sodden panties. He can feel her warmth through them and he grits his teeth, wanting nothing more than to keep biting at her skin, even if he knows he can't.

She doesn't say another word before she's grinding her hips against his, riding the thick of his thigh and pressing her clit into it. She gasps from the friction and it makes him feel insane.

"You're rutting against me like you're a puppy in heat," he mutters, steadying her hips with his hands, "Do you really need to cum that bad?"

She nods quickly, moaning when he stops her from moving. "Please. Feels so good, I-I need it."

"Can fuckin' smell you dripping down your thighs," he says, moving her dress up her legs and plucking the width of her panties to the side to reveal her swollen pussy. He groans at the sight, using his thumb to teasingly stroke her sensitive skin. "Go on, then. Make yourself cum. Show me."

It's somewhat humiliating to have him watch her get herself off, but she's not in a mindset where embarrassment exists, so she does as he says. The slick leaking from her pussy makes a mess on his trousers but he doesn't care. How could he, when he gets to watch this beautiful girl chase an orgasm?

"There you go," Harry encourages, separating her pussy lips to expose her clit. He thumbs at it, eliciting a load moan to fall from her mouth. "Did I find your sweet little button, baby? Is this what you need to cum?"

"Yes!" she exclaims, panting desperately. The coil in her tummy is getting tighter, threatening to explode as he presses small circles into the swollen bundle of nerves. It's so good — she's never gotten off so quickly before, her eyes misting at the overwhelming bouts of pleasure funneling through her bloodstream.

"Show me how pretty you look when you cum," he demands, winding his other hand behind their bodies. He grabs at her ass, giving one cheek a full squeeze before smacking it harshly, the slapping sound echoing through the room. She moans loudly and he smirks, doing it again. "Does my little slut have a pain kink?"

She nods helplessly, broken whimpers falling from her lips. She can barely even speak from the all-encompassing bliss.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Harry mutters, switching to her other ass cheek to slap that one, "Getting off on some stranger biting at your neck, sucking your blood. Such a naughty little puppy, hm?"

She squeezes her eyes closed and he growls, shaking his head as he lifts his hand, smacking her cheek and roughly grabbing her cheeks, smushing them together. "Eyes on me, slut. Keep them open while you cum."

It's the final bit of roughness that does her in; her pussy fluttering and contracting around gushes of arousal that seep from her hole and onto the fabric of his pants. He groans out as he watches her, never ceasing the movements on her clit. She's drooling down her chin when her orgasm finally subsides and he smiles, patting her cheek lightly.

"I'm gonna keep you, puppy," he murmurs, nosing at her jaw before pressing a soft kiss to the skin. She nods, panting loudly. "Yeah. You're mine now."

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