#david sweat smut | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leclsrc · 9 months

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more than anyone ✴︎ cl16

genre: childhood friends to enemies to lovers (a mouthful), smut, humor, Fluffff!!!!, angst

word count: 13.7k

You moved out of Monaco at fourteen with an unrepaired friendship hanging by a thread. Ten years and a whole lifetime later, you’re forced to work with him confront it all over again.

auds here… hi hi hi!!!! HAPPY 4k to us guys!!!!! i am so insanely thankful for all of u and i will make this a longer note when i wake up tomorrow because i have so much to say but have this for now. i hope u like it,i love love love u guys forever also i changed the banner because i wanted to

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, semi public sex, praise central, size kink (pretty tame smut in auds world)

You know it’s bad when your assistant-and-friend-aka-friendsistant (her vernacular) Rachel walks in with a free coffee without a quip about how dependent you are on this exact order of coffee (she’s a millennial, so caffeine and lack thereof are in her arsenal of Funny Jokes). You fear you didn’t correctly anticipate just how bad it was going to be when she stays instead of leaving to work on your schedule, combing a few fingers through her fringe and sitting herself on your couch stiffly. Maybe you’re intuitive, maybe you spend too much time with Rachel and you can spot the way she scratches at her eye, maybe both—but it’s bad.

You don’t take a sip from the Starbucks that sits idly on the coaster, opting to watch the latte sweat instead. You do stare, though, at Rachel’s stagnant posture, scrutinizing her every movement. She takes a few deep breaths and drops the bomb.

“David sent me to tell you he has good news. But there is, um. Bad news.” Dread writhes through you at the mention of your manager with bad news, and you clear your throat to compose yourself.

“What’s going on?”

She purses her lips. “He’s on his way over here. Just…” She cocks her head sharply to the glass door of your home office, expression antsy. “Sorry. Wait for him. I can’t tell you anything yet.”

You take a swig from the pity coffee. “Am I getting blacklisted?”

“God, you dumbass, no—” She makes an incredulous noise, but before she can open her mouth to elaborate, your manager walks in with an excited expression on his face, pocketing his Juul to take a seat by your table. His smile is the radiant one of a man over forty with a comical amount of Botox.

“Rachel told me you had”—you stifle the adjective—“news.”

“That I do, yes.” He hums, tracing the edge of your table. “Did you enjoy Paris Fashion Week?”

Beside the brash Frenchmen, God-awful timezone differences and consequent calls at half past three, hungover show attendances, posing for pictures until your ankles blistered, and a temporary diet of black coffee, cigarettes, and stale croissants—sure, it was fun. It was your job to attend anyway, your obligation to shake hands with important people and be photographed in designer clothing and benefit from the PR, but how often could people call work fun?

“Sure.” You take another gulp off your coffee. “It was… fun.”

“Well, since your movie’s doing well,” David pauses and hums, “how do you feel about another few weeks of fun?”

“Like Paris Fashion Week—weeks… this month?” You frown, eyebrows knitting together. Is this a new Vogue thing? You’re not sure how many updates they give the schedule, but you wouldn’t mind too much if you could travel again for a little bit. “So soon after spring? Did Anna want this?”

“Iiiit’s, er, Vogue’s new project. Capsule shows in Europe, coastal and summery. She wanted an exclusive guest list. She asked for you by name,” David says smugly. “Well, she called my office, granted. But to ask for you—”

“Are you fucking serious?” You stand up, and if you hadn’t had some fix of coffee you would’ve gotten dizzy. “David, tell me you’re serious.” Time seems to have suspended itself as you await his answer—which, if affirmative, would be a pretty big deal to you.

“Yeah, I am.” He plays off a grin. “She loved your movie with Greta, and would love to send you to Europe to do PR on a few shows and pair up with some guests on a couple features. Exclusive stuff.”

You sit back down, mouth slack. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe it.” Your eyes dart to Rachel, who’s caught between a smile and an awkward purse of her lips. “Fuck! This is huge, David.”

“Yeah—okay, yeah, it is.” David shifts in his seat and crosses, then uncrosses, his legs, then his arms. He stutters for a second. “Good and bad news, remember?”

You blink a few times. You’d nearly totally forgotten the fact that this good news—and it is overwhelmingly good—comes with a bout of bad news, so bad apparently that it’s noteworthy enough to state alongside this massive deal. But it’s. Fine. It’s whatever. Worst case scenario, you’re going to need to fucking swim to Europe sans oxygen canister.

“So… the shows? Events, and shit?” He watches, waiting for you to signal that you follow. When you nod, he continues, averting his gaze to the face of his Patek. “They’re all in Monaco.”

Wrong.

“Monaco.” You repeat, deadpanning your delivery. It’s not out of the ordinary, the glitz and coast of the city being a perfect venue for high fashion. But Monaco is different for you, vastly different, and you tend to avoid the place to the best of your abilities. “Monaco. Are—you’re sure?”

“Mmm,” he hums in affirmation. “I know, I know you’re not exactly privy to Monaco because, bleh, childhood shit, whatever. But this—like you said, this is huge! And I don’t think we should jeopardize that.” He pulls a piece of paper from the folders tucked in his arm and waves it around.

“Well—yeah, I suppose. I’ll deal with it.”

“Yeah.” He sucks his teeth, eyes gliding over the scenery of L.A. that your window offers. “Okay, that’s it, so. Byeandhaveagoodlunch.” He slams the paper onto your desk, jostling you a little, but as he makes his exeunt, Rachel raises her arm to stop him.

“Is that it, David?” She asks, an edge to her voice.

You pick up the paper as they make hushed, stifled conversation, and find that it’s a call sheet of sorts, listing all the collaborators traveling to Monaco and what or who they’re in charge of, or paired up with, there. Models, athletes, celebrities, influencers—all making TikToks, or appearances, or brand deals, or interviews, or YouTube videos, the whole shebang.

“Yeah,” says David dismissively—nervously? “That’s it.”

You search for your name. “Okay. Um, hey.” Rachel turns to you, trying to catch your eye, which is busy scanning the sheet. “Did, um—did David mention you’re paired up with Charles Leclerc for a feature? Because you are. Paired up with Charles Leclerc for a feature, I mean.”

David sucks his teeth. “Thank you very much for graciously reminding me of that, Rachel.”

Still half-distracted and growing increasingly worried with the exchange happening in front of you, you make haste in your search—eventually, you find your name, printed in plain letters beside one you’ve wished to never read over ever again.

“Wait, my Charles?” You pause and look up, suppressing a yell as your eyes widen, and you blunder over a pathetic self-correction. “I mean—no, sorry—Charles, as in Charles Leclerc? I can’t work with him, you know this!”

“Wh—well, Vogue apparently wanted a really good Monaco-born pair and they seriously lucked out on you two. Also,” Rachel says, adamantly defending herself, “you’re always saying you can work ‘with anyone’!” She raises two comically vigorous air quotes to further her (moot) point.

“I didn’t ev—I never say that,” you lie straight through your teeth, mouth dry. You definitely do. You can place all the exact moments. “I would’ve known if I did. Rach—David—I cannot, absolutely cannot work with Leclerc. He’s my… we…” You shut your eyes and sneak two fingers upward to massage your temple, slowly caving into defeat.

David makes an oh well face and shrugs passively. “Fine. Then it’s either Anna Wintour’s special job that will help the Academy campaign or not meeting the ex-bo—”

“—friend.” You look up to cut him off, eyes narrowed. “Ex-friend.”

“Alright, kid. Suuuure.” David leans against the back wall of your office as Rachel comes to comfort you, her eyes already sympathetic and droopy. It shouldn’t be so bad, right? She asks sweetly, nudging the latte closer to your catatonic figure. You have seen him since, anyway.

With a despondent gaze, you just remain silent, refusing to state the negative aloud, opting to stare at the latte. At your disagreeable silence, Rachel continues, tone anxious: You have seen him since. Right?

You moved out of Monaco at fourteen, right after the school year finished and your father had gotten the opportunity to transfer out. The whole thing would’ve—should’ve, even—been a sentimental affair, full of tears and dramatic caresses of your bedroom wall, whispering thank yous to the city air in French and Italian, but it wasn’t. Months prior, you’d been preparing yourself for this kind of goodbye; but when it came to it, you merely kissed your extended family goodbye and slept en route to the airport, silk sleeping mask pulled taut over your shut eyelids. The only thing you left in the city was a letter written only to Gi and Cha about how much you’d miss them, with your email address scribbled at the bottom for an added touch, in case they felt like sending you longer messages.

“Do you two at least get along?” David asks, noting how genuinely aghast you appear.

“It’s not that simple.” You tap a nail against your desk a few times. “But I think it’ll be fine. I hope, at least. We used to be… good friends? As teenagers.”

You feel like an alien hearing yourself talk about it, talk about him and the whole circumstance a decade later. Your friendship with Charles was the only thing that mattered to your adolescent self, all lemonade stands and long car rides and stealthy conversations about your futures (racing and acting, respectively). It was happiness, in what you consider to be its truest form, it was lovely and real. And it ended abruptly, no goodbyes, no nothing.

“So it’s a no.”

“I’m just saying it’s impossible for me to work with him, and in Monaco no less?!” Your eyes are wild with frustration and anxiety at the prospect of your past whipping you in the face, full-fledged. “I don’t even talk about the guy or the city, how can I spend time with him there?”

“Are you seriously going to junk this amazing fucking opportunity just because of some petty childhood fight?” David’s tone is comparable to that of a dad’s, scolding and horrified, almost. “Look. If you don’t take this, career-wise, it doesn’t mean much. You get paid a shit ton, you’ll survive—you’ll do well. But emotions-wise? Maturity-wise? Be the bigger person and do it—I mean it.”

You stare back at him because you know he’s right. “Maybe it won’t be a big, long feature?” Rachel offers as some advice, some comfort. “If you reject it, his team will know, and so will he.”

And yes, you were fourteen, and yes it was petty and unexplainable even for fourteen—but there was a catalyst to all of this, a reason why the move became easy and forgetting childhood memories became second nature. A reason why you’re selective with who you make contact with from home. A reason why Giada and Charlotte are selective with topics they choose to bring up with you.

So, fuck it, really. That’s how you end up in Monaco, booked for the next three weeks, sharing a studio and public appearances and a 24-hour shoot with the last person you’d ever want to be in a room with. Ten years later—the person still is, and no doubt will always be, Charles Leclerc.

—

“MAMAN!” Charles’ voice was loud, loud, and so incredibly loud. You followed not far behind, legs running at full speed to try and leap onto his lanky figure and wrap an arm around his head to quiet him. It’d been futile: he ended up at the dining table facing his family with a victorious smile on his pink face. He breathed heavy, waiting for everyone to turn their attention to him.

“Charles,” you chimed in warningly, breathing even harder with the effort you had exerted to chase him from the sidewalk to here. “Don’t.”

“Guess who got the lead spot in the recital.” He slowly turned to point at to your angry face, and then bent, rifling through his already messy, grubby knapsack for something that he raised with glee: a headress that read…

“But-ter-cup.” Hervé sounded amused when he looked at your fuming expression. “You?”

“Yes, Papa! Maybe, just maybe,” he sing-songed, using the term wrong yet again, “she got the titular role!” He walked over to you and placed the headress square on your head, beaming.

“There is no titular role in a school recital,” you seethed, burning with embarrassment. Your stellar academic record had apparently granted you incentive to be centre stage during the routine year-end recital, where years were lumped into twos or threes (in your and Charles’ cases, Years 8 and 9) and the student body would dance or sing a variety of teacher-selected music.

In your case, it was Build Me Up, Buttercup, complete with choreography you’d be practicing over the next month and a half. Charles laughed at your pouting expression, didn’t stop laughing even when you’d both sat down and twirled through forkfuls of spaghetti, didn’t stop chuckling even when Lorenzo got the turn to speak and he started talking about how Bringing Up Baby was his movie of the month.

You allowed him to laugh—even laughed yourself at some point—because all day, you’d been absently wondering how you’d break the news about your moving away to him.

—

Charles is not okay. He’d gotten off a red-eye from a short vacation stint, and now he’s back in Monaco, sleepy and a bit jetlagged, being briefed on brand deals and press junkets he has to accomplish by three p.m. today. “On the dot, sharp,” said his assistant, like the two didn’t just mean the same fucking thing. He’s patient, though, smiling through the exhaustion, through the dressing room, the tape around his waist and legs to measure clothes for this fashion… thing.

“A meeting for Ferrari, two TikToks, a vlog for your personal YouTube channel, three stories by noon… oh, and in the next few weeks, you’re going to film a Vogue-sponsored 24 Hours With… with—”

“D’accord, thank you,” he cuts in, already exhausted from the spiel alone. He’s a professional; no matter what people believed or what gossip rags liked to say about him, he maintains a well-kept reputation of being polite and kind to people he works with. Maybe it’s the jetlag, maybe it’s the lack of sleep, maybe it’s the heat outside, but today he just wants to close his eyes and sleep for days.

But the assistant follows, clipboard and Excel sheet and all, still spouting all his media obligations lest he forget (and mark his words, he definitely will). “Sorry,” he says. He’s new, probably assigned as a part of the Vogue team, lanky and tall and nervous looking. “I’m new. I’m Greg.”

Briefly, Charles is left alone to stare at his tired reflection while the assistants reconvene and connect. There’s several of them, each assigned or already committed to a different celebrity. Charles should know more details, but there’s only so much reading of a call sheet he can do before he’s conked out on Ambien; he trusts he’ll be around people much more famous than he is, probably American or English, actors and athletes alike. He’ll figure it out.

Yeah, she’s almost ready. Is Charles here? One of the assistants says, a bright-eyed American. They need to be introduced before 11. Her voice is quiet, quick and hushed, and Charles has to focus to hear what she’s saying. Greg chips in with something he can’t decipher; in response, the American whispers, Yeah, I’ll get her to sign it for you. Bring Charles out in five.

In five, he is indeed being brought out to the lobby of this hotel; the outdoor area is decked out with models, cocktail tables, Vogue signage and a carpet for pictures. It’s even busier inside, wait staff and event coordinators conversing in angry, aggressive French—table settings, mineral water, extra forks are needed. Greg keeps a steady pace transporting Charles through the indoor throng, and at 10:59, Charles is outside, by the pool.

“Um, right, yeah. Okay, uh—wait here. Your partner—not really partner, but like, mate? Fuck, definitely not. Um, partner. She’s on her way heeere…” He checks his phone. “Okay. You caught her name, right?” Charles nods to fend him off. “Okay. So, wait here.”

There are cameras taking pictures of him when Greg departs, some microphones waved his way; in the distance he spots fans waving crazily, sporting Ferrari merch. Charles is doing what he’s told (waiting, maybe posing a bit) when an even bigger crowd appears, surrounding one person; with their arrival, ameras click even faster, and an uproar follows. Greg waves him over, pointing at the person frantically, so Charles smiles, extends a hand, and when the crowd parts—

There you are, in all your glory. Pink dress, hair clipped into a bun, a tanline on your exposed skin, lithe hand coming up to shake his. Your eyes are flat but the lack of expression doesn’t inoculate them from beauty; they remain sparkling and pretty all the same. Cameras snap the interaction, seemingly innocent, seemingly the first.

He fights, he really does, to keep his hands shaking yours. He forces himself not to hug you, press a kiss to your cheek even if that might look friendly, caress a hand across your cheekbone, brush the tendrils of hair out of your eyes. It’s a valiant effort.

A valiant effort that pays off because, as soon as you’re ushered into a room by yourselves, your smile turns into a scoff; your hands are kept to yourself, slipping a pair of sunglasses on, and; underneath them, your eyes begin to roll. “I need a drink,” you huff, not even looking at him.

You’re on two couches opposite each other, in what he assumes to be a foyer to a hotel room that’s much bigger than the one he was in earlier. A-list fame and that. The girl he’d seen earlier scurries off, mumbling something about a martini. Greg, beside him, goes: “Do you need a drink, too?” But he shakes his head.

“Are you voluntarily working for this guy, Greg?” You refer to his assistant by name, offering a sarastic, honeyed smile. You adjust the strap of your dress and he blinks his gaze away.

“Oh, no. I mean—yeah. Kind of. I was assigned to him.”

“It’s okay, I don’t expect you to do it of your own will,” you joke, crossing your legs.

Charles laughs dryly. “Who asked?”

“So he speaks…” You ping off his retort without missing a beat, a sardonic smile playing at your lips.

“In the two minutes we’ve been around each other, you’ve insulted me and my assistant. I’d prefer silence, your highness.”

“Aww, did my joke and asking Greg a question piss you off?” You suck your teeth. “You must be fun at parties.”

“Do you two, um. I don’t want to, like, overstep, but do you know each other?” Charles notices that Greg’s forearm is signed by you and realizes he has no allies here, with an inward grimace. “Or if you don’t, like, are you two just… not in good moods or something?”

The girl comes in then, saying here’s the martini and catering you a sweaty glass with a smile. You offer up the empty space beside you, patting the white leather for her to sit down on. Your eyes meet his again briefly, catty and a bit challenging, before you turn back to the girl. “Sit.”

Maybe Charles spends too much time with Max, because he’s starting to become more and more inclined to getting the last word in lately. “Bossing people around, eh? Fame really does change you.” He offers a smile of his own.

“She’s my assistant, Rachel,” you say sweetly, but your smile is gritty. “We need to check my schedule.”

He wants to slap himself. “Too busy to open your calendar?” Nevermind, he’s a god.

Your sarcastic smile drops. “And what’s on yours? P6 this week, P7 next, DNF after?”

Fuck. The tension is so thick at this point, it’s almost steaming hot. Both the assistants stare at you, waiting for Charles to wedge something in, but he bites himself back. Thankfully, right as the silence just begins to settle like oil on water, the door swings open and one of the coordinators steps in, noisily rattling off the week’s plans and proclaiming you’re both free for the remainder of the day before things pick back up—Schiaparelli show at noon, both of you, front row—tomorrow.

The four of you filter out of the room, and you make a quip about your autograph on Greg’s arm, which grants your assistant some face time with Charles. She turns to him, combing a hand through her hair and furrowing her thick eyebrows. “Hey, I’m Rachel, by the way.”

“Charles.”

“I know,” she says sheepishly. “Listen. I know you two have history, she—we—she’s, um, told me about it before. I don’t know the whole story, and I’m not… like, I’m not saying I do, so I respect it, whatever it is. But I hope you can find it in you to work with her properly. It’s a huge gig for you both. So—yeah, uh. Great job, and good luck.”

She smiles with a nod before exiting the room, leaving Charles alone and stirring with thoughts and memories woken from wild unrest.

—

“Alors,” Charles had said, not turning from his position in front of your vanity mirror. He’d been picking at his face, stopping only when you tsked at him not to. “What is the problem?” His eyes flicked over to you, your lying figure on the bed exhaling little puffs of frustrated air to the ceiling. “Are you missing the recital?”

“Quoi? Non.” You gnawed at your lip, accepting your defeat. You couldn’t lie for much longer, not when you’d been keeping this under wraps for two months. “Listen. Charles.” He nodded, clearly preoccupied with something. “Charles.”

“Hmm?”

“Can you ple—look at me.” Your voice hardened.

He’d noticed it then, the curt cutoff of your voice, the absent look in your eyes. He knows you even through a mirror, even in the low light of your room. “Desolé. This pimple won’t go away.”

“Charles,” you said, groaning but allowing yourself to laugh. “Listen.”

“Okay.” He turned to face you, a spot on his chin red from how long he’d been scratching at it.

You shrugged then, suddenly scared to deal with the realness of it all. You didn’t understand why you felt so torn. “It’s something to do with me,” you said.

“Yeah.”

“I’m moving.” You rubbed at your nose, the cold draft coming in through the window causing you to sniffle. “Out of Monaco.”

A beat. “What?”

You closed your fingers around your necklace, scratching absently at the divots of the pendant. One, two, three little dips in the gold locket, tiny but comforting. “Yeah. In a few months, like, after school. It’s Papa—his job. It’s a whole thing.”

“Europe?” You shook your head. America.

“What… well, what does that mean, then?” His expression didn’t waver but if anything did, it was his eyes—desperate, seeking more answers, wanting them with a guttural, belly-deep desire. You’re his best friend, so if he has to let you go in this life, he at least needs to know everything about the move.

“We’ll keep in touch,” you reassured, kicking your leg to further your point. “You were bound to get busy with karting anyway, so it’s like. Ça revient au même.”

“It isn’t the same,” he said, his voice thin and cracking.

“You’ll be fine.”

“You have a very misguided idea of who I am.”

“Shut up. Come off it,” you laughed, sitting up straighter. “We’ll call everyday, and I’ll meet all the famous people who’ll get me a real acting job, and I’ll come for the holidays or summer or something. Things won’t change. Not that much, at least.”

“Maybe, just maybe.” He pauses. “Will you be here for my birthday, at least?” He’d made a big deal all year of his turning sixteen on the sixteenth.

“Charles,” you sighed.

“No, yeah. I get it.” He looked down, rubbing his thumbs together, like he’s just been hit across the face. He will tell you one day it felt infinitely more painful than that. But at the time he shook his head and looked up at you, reached his pinky to yours, a thin slip of paper around the finger that matched your interlocked one, and didn’t say anything else.

Just: “We’ll be okay.”

—

You could pin a lot of adjectives on Monaco: picturesque, without a doubt; warm, glamorous, but you’d sooner die than pin the word home over it. The city is sprawling even with the little surface area it possesses, and only few things seem familiar. Your lodging is a hotel in Monte-Carlo, a penthouse suite that requires you to travel very little. It feels like a vacation.

And you embody the role of a vacationer very well—the first five, six days of your stay in Monaco went great, mainly appearances that lasted a few hours at most and several junkets to promote Vogue and your latest film, before you were free to do whatever you wished. You’d gone the touristy route already: shopping more times than you could count, trying your immense luck at the casinos, and eating at Michelin-starred restaurants; eventually all the fun blurred into each other and you found solace in naps instead.

Your troubles are not far behind, however, and they finally come after you on Day 7. The event coordinators had informed Rachel, who in turn informed you, that the first of next week’s agenda would be a photographed tour of the Musée Océanographique de Monaco, a grand seaside building right at the edge of the water. Today is, apparently, a day for you to “fraternize with” Charles, which meant you would once again need to put a façade over your less-than-kind appearance toward him.

Those are the concluding words of David’s very firm text, encouraging (read: coercing) you to settle things with Charles into some approximation of civility. You resolve things by calling him to skip over the awkwardness that comes with texting. It takes you all of twenty minutes and twice your body weight in courage to press the green telephone button.

“B’jour,” he goes, his voice quick. French people (he will hate that you called him French, even if it was just in your head; you relish in this) always talk rapidly. After some silence, he clears his throat: “Hello?”

Butterflies—some form of them, whatever—flutter in your stomach. “It’s me.”

He drops formalities and adopts a disinterested voice. “Huh. What do you want?” The butterflies have rotted to death.

“I need to talk to you.”

“To insult me again?” He sounds a little amused even over the phone, a breath of laughter landing in your ear. “Bah, I get it. We are enemies. You have no interest in reconnecting, et cetera. C’est tout ce que tu as à dire? I gotta go.”

Your face warms at his accusatory tone. “Wow, leave it to a guy to be charming, huh?”

“Why should I be charming with you?”

“At least be polite,” you taunt, but your voice lacks its usual edge. On the other line, Charles lets his own defiant tone ebb downward.

At least be polite. It’s the least he can owe you after ten years of forgetting. It wasn’t as if you two had a mutual agreement then, in 2013 when you moved away, to stop becoming friends. For months before you moved out, he completely stopped talking to you, like he’d forgotten you two were even connected, were even friends. What little words you two shared became petty and abrasive, and suddenly Monaco lost its color. The closeness you had with him, which for so long you’d convinced yourself was once-in-a-lifetime, was ripped from you, robbed from you—by him, no less, which hurt all the more. You’d given up on finding out why at some point. You waited for him to reach out. Maybe, you told yourself, just maybe, it would take a few months, a year.

Ten years of radio silence. He owes you that: politeness.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say to nobody in particular, in an effort to segue into the topic of your choosing. “Look, we’re supposed to be friends. In… on camera, at least. It’s disastrous if we look like we, you know, hate each other. We need to be professional.”

“For the cameras,” he says back, solemn.

“Yeah.” You wind a finger through your hair. “Just… for the sake of civility.”

You hear his little hums of consideration. “D’accord,” he says after a few minutes. “Truce, then.”

“Sure.” You smile a little. “I have to go.”

—

You were halfway through your mess of clothes when your mum peeked through your door, her hair held back by a headband. “Call you yet, poppet?”

“Non,” you said, decimating your voice to a monotonous murmur. You looked up from the dress you’d been folding and offer a half-hearted, sardonic smile. “Je t’ai dit qu’il ne le ferait pas.” You were right: he wouldn’t call. What difference did a month make, anyway? This time, though, the usual victory of being right settled into an ugly disappointment in the pit of your stomach.

You wanted so badly to be wrong. To clamber to the telephone, to your Skype, to your cellphone, any of the three, and see his name flashed across the helm or his voice in your ear. Maybe he was dialing your number now, to ask if you wanted to grab dinner after the year-end recital, or to update you on karting, or to tell you Pascale wanted lunch.

She could tell, as all mothers can, that you’d been upset. The knit in your brows that didn’t go away, the bottom lip being chewed, the tight clutch of your fingers over the already-folded dress. She sighed. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“It’s fine.” Your voice came out sharper than you intended and you have to roll it back, recede it, to sound more relaxed, more at ease. “It’s… fine. I’m fine.” She knew better than to pry, closing the door softly to continue packing up the living room.

You heaved a dry sigh to express the nausea that came with his absence. It began a month ago, two days after you first told him about it and poked at the zit on his chin. He’d buried his head in your shoulder until tears seeped into the cotton sleeve of your shirt, and you let him. You felt guilty, after all, for keeping it a secret for so long. You would leave in September, you told him. We have time.

Two days later he walked you home as always, on the “dangerous” side of the street, lanky legs skipping to the tree in front of your house. You pointed at the beginnings of clementines on its dewy branches, smiling, inviting him in, but he remained leaning against the trunk, playing with his mop of hair that covered his forehead.

“Bah, trop dramatique,” you said, poking fun. Lorenzo had showed you both some art house films he studied in class, and with the bout of French cinema, you and Charles had grown obsessed with making fun of overdramatic stills that often included the classic leaning-against-a-surface. “Come on, Mum made bouillabasse, I smell it.”

“We need to talk,” he eked out awkwardly. “I have something important to tell you.”

You dropped your knapsack, leather scratching against the concrete of the steps to the front door as you walked over to him. “Ouais?”

“I…” His lips moved, wobbled, but nothing left, so he shut them and his eyes, like he was considering something. His breathing slowed into one rhythm you find yourself unconsciously matching, just two kids looking at each other in the dusky breeze of Monaco, the orange sun casting shadows over the clementine tree. You closed your hand over his, a tight clamp over his knobby wrist with certainty. “I…”

“Say it.”

“I want to.” His eyes were shut. Exhale. Inhale, open. “I… I’m going… going home.”

You breathed out apprehensively and relaxed. “Oh.” You blinked. “That’s it?”

“Ye—ouais. Yeah. I gotta.” Already he was climbing to the gate, waving a half-hearted goodbye. “Save some for me, oui? Bye.”

“Charles,” you warned after him, voice tinged with concern. “That’s it, promise?” Your hand flexed around air.

“Cross my heart!” The last thing he ever said with any bit of something genuine.

—

You reunite with Charles at a meeting; under the guise of your truce, he makes the barely-necessary small talk. The rest of the staff file out of the restaurant in due time, but you both stay. You ask about Lorenzo and Arthur, leaving out questions you’d rather not listen to him answer, and he tells you they’re both alright. That his mum asks about you sometimes. That makes you smile. He asks if you’re still dating the guy you’d most recently been partnered with in Us Weekly.

“God, no. We never even dated, the… um, tabloids always make shit up.” You purse your lips. “Anyway. Is Lorenzo still in film?” You ask, turning your head a little. You don’t think you’ll ever forget his affinity for cinema.

“Not professionally, but I still sit through hours-long… you know, reviews, and stuff.” He laughs when he sees you laugh, eyes half-closed and meeting the ceiling.

“He introduced me to some of my favorite movies, especially when I got into acting and I was kind of… like, I wanted some inspiration, acting-wise. But not my actual favorite movie.”

“Which is?” He segues into a more personal topic. “Is it still Bambi?”

“Oh, it was, for the longest time!” You almost squeal with excitement. “Not anymore, though. It’s been dethroned, ha ha. I think it’s… I’d say it’s maybe Casablanca now.”

“How American.”

“Shut up.” Your face warms. “It’s so romantic. When he says—when he goes, um. We’ll always have Paris. And then, God—when Ilsa goes, I said I would never leave you—and Rick goes, And you never will… isn’t it so classic? Romance movies nowadays are—I, I, I… I get scripts sent to me that are just so bad, and they’re either too idealistic or too pessimistic, or too indie or too commercial, and.” You sigh. “It’s like nobody gets love right anymore.”

“Us Weekly disagrees,” he says weakly, after a period of silence.

“Stop,” you laugh warningly. “And don’t act like you’re not being paired up with different girls, too.”

For a minute you sit with the realization that you’ve both been keeping tabs on each other all these years, even just a little bit. It’s a bit jarring, it’s a bit warm, it’s a lot confusing. You make a move to ask for the bill but Charles is quicker, opens his mouth to implore your presence.

“Come see me tonight.” He says it like he didn’t mean to, like it escaped him on a whim, a blurted out confession born out of your memories and conversation. His voice is dreamy, faraway. “Earth to…?”

“Wh—sorry. Fuck.” You clear your throat and deduce your next words. “Where?”

“I’ll text you. A club, near your hotel.”

“Yeah… yeah, sure.” You hum an affirming noise.

—

Your name is on the list, though you’re sure it doesn’t matter whether or not it was. No ID is needed, and paps catch a bouncer being dispatched to guide you through the nightclub toward the elevated area with significantly less people. It’s low-lit, smoky, vaguely blue and purple, smelling of flows of alcohol and fresh ice. An Azealia Banks song is playing, pounding through your head.

Tabloids don’t care about nightclubs. They care if you come out drunk or with a smidge of snow under your nose, neither of which have happened to you; entering is fair game, a fun affair, especially in a district like Monte-Carlo. You don’t have any explaining to do, not even to questions like are you clubbing with your professional Vogue collaborator, Charles Leclerc?

The collaborator in question is the first to greet you, getting up and approaching you with a smile so obviously tense. The picture in front of him is like if he’d conjured up a forlorn fantasy of his to life—your hair fell loosely over black lace, a hand pinched around the hem of your dress. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“So.” He realizes he’s in charge of the socializing, and turns to properly introduce you. “Um, guys, this is my—friend—you already know”—he fusses over your name, which everyone in the world knows, anyway—“and these are my friends. Pierre, Alex, George, Lando, Daniel… you know Joris.” He points to each guy's face as he goes, eliciting a beam every time he gestures.

You wave with a polite smile before you station yourself beside the only one you know: Joris, with whom Charles shares a longtime friendship. He greets you first, with a side hug. “Long time.”

“Yeah, it’s been.” You watch him turn toward the low table, and back around with two shots, offering them to you with haste.

You thank the Lord that he makes quick, dextrous work of it, and before long you’ve downed a glass or three of some strawberry four seasons thing, socializing with the different people around the table. One of them, Lando, talks about your latest film for five whole minutes (“I rated it five stars on Letterboxd. I left a review, if you wanna see”) before he leans close and asks: “Are you his girlfriend?” His is obviously referencing Charles, and you pull back from the proximity to shake your head.

“No,” you holler to emphasize it. “We used to know each other. I grew up here.”

“Oh shit! Native!” He whoops, offering you another glass. This must be your fifth, maybe, fifth G&T or Cosmo or something or other of the night. You take it, drinking as you walk, planning to collect your bag to take with you to the bathroom—another hand takes yours, though, dragging you down the steps. Halfway through, you realize it’s Charles.

“How’s the drink?” He asks, brows straight.

“That’s all you wanted to ask?” You raise your voice above the bass. “Someone needs to teach you fucking… proper small talk.” A laugh involuntarily bubbles past your lips, eyes crinkling.

He laughs, too, despite himself. “Non, I was—I was just asking. We should—I brought you over here to—so we could…” He realizes he’s been talking too fast without getting to the point and pauses, resetting himself with a pinched sigh. “Dance.”

Your heart pulses. Dance? You hear yourself ask. For wh…Why?

“For the sake of the truce.” His voice is light. “We should try being closer.”

“We were close once,” you say, loose. “Did you forget?”

He’s looking right at you, and you’re warm all over. “How could I?”

It feels too real. Not the words—yes the words—but the alcohol, the alcohol is what you’re referring to, and all those shots and drinks suddenly seem not as harmless as they’d seemed earlier. You scan the periphery for the WC sign and try your best not to look deranged on your way there, offering the same pretty smile to recognizing passersby. Behind you, Charles calls out; but you wave him off, heaving dryly.

The restroom is clean because the nightclub is outrageously expensive; you push yourself into the available stall that’s in your direct path and crumple above it. You heave. Heave some more. Nothing comes. The nausea rises and recedes, so you decide to wait it out.

The bathroom door hauls open, bringing with it a few seconds of noise before it swings heavily onto the frame again, sealing the sterile silence. The momentary return of the bass from the dance floor sends your head spinning all over again and you freeze, willing yourself not to wind up hurling your guts into the toilet. It’s a futile effort, though, because you’re feeling nauseated beyond your limit again, and you need water and maybe a salve or something.

“This stall is open,” somebody says, a chipper American voice that grows in volume as it nears you. A gasp follows, and then: “Oh, my God. Are you okay?”

You turn, your face flushed and lips parted. “I’m so sorry. I just—I’ve been nauseous all night.”

“I have water,” she answers, reaching her arm outward, as if seeking it. “Carmen, the water!” A bottle of Evian is thrust into her hand by another girl (Carmen, you presume), and she doesn’t hesitate to bend next to you to feed it into your mouth. She stares for a second, then goes: “On the off chance I’m lucky, and you’re the famous actress, by the way, I just want to say I’m a huge fan of your work.”

Eyes wide, you lock eyes with her and pull away from the water. “Oh, God. Yeah, that’s me. I’m so sorry—this is so humiliating.”

“It’s not—it’s normal,” she assures, nodding. “We’ve all… y’know, puked into a club toilet before.” From the stall doorframe, Carmen nods. “What’d you drink?”

“Fruity stuff,” you recall, eyebrows knitting at the memory. “And shots.”

They both grimace at the same time, knowing the exact feeling, the exact taste, it seems. “Are you heartbroken or something?” Carmen asks; Lily shoots her a look that can only really mean don’t ask the world-famous actress if she’s heartbroken. But you laugh it off, shaking your head.

“No. There’s a guy, though, and he’s… we’re… it’s a lot. I think I thought alcohol would absorb all of it, but… clearly, it did not.” Your lips simmer into a straight line and you’re quiet for a few moments before remembering you’re on a dingy club floor being supported by two nice girls who are strangers. “Anyway! Sorry. I’m clearly, um, delirious.” You get up on semi-wobbly feet, swallowing the nausea as you go.

You walk to the sink, and behind your back, the girl and Carmen share a telepathic exchange (should we ask her to elaborate? Yes! Should we really? Fuck, no.) You rinse your mouth out, washing your hands and focusing on your reflection—your tired eyes, your smudged lip gloss, your fussed-up hair. You turn after rinsing, offering a small smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” says the first girl, offering her hand and a tube of lip gloss. “I’m Lily, by the way. And just so you know—I’m so sure that guy has nothing on you.” Carmen, beside her, nods in solidarity, and your heart blooms.

Your smile grows as your hand shakes hers, accepting the lip gloss. “You’re too kind. Thank y—”

“Lil? Baby, are you puking?” Comes a disembodied male voice from the door, ajar ever so slightly. Lily visibly cringes and walks over to the door, pulling it open further. On the other side—the detective of sorts—happens to be Alex, who you’d been introduced to a few hours ago. At the sight of you, his eyes widen with recognition.

“We’re fine. Leave us alone,” replies Lily in a conspiratorial whisper. “Carmen and I have a new friend.” She doesn’t even need to drop your name; your face alone is enough to make people recognize who you are.

Alex, however, refuses to admit defeat. “Try harder next time.” He pumps his eyebrows. “We were introduced earlier.” He looks up and waves to demonstrate his truth; when you smile back, Lily’s jaw drops as she turns to her boyfriend again, aghast.

“What the hell? How?” A pause. “No offense. It’s like. Two levels of fame, right there.”

He makes a pinched face. “She’s Charles’… friend? I don’t—coworker? Something, something. They were both vague about it. Actually, George and I were talking about it, and we both think something is up. With them.”

“Wait—you might be right.” Her eyes are hyperfocused, and her voice drops to a whisper for a second. “Let’s talk about it at the hotel.”

You and Carmen watch their hushed exchange, and eventually Alex leaves you three alone again with a loud goodbye, which allows Lily to rejoin your conversation. “Sorry,” she says with a smile. “That was my boyfriend, Alex. I didn’t know you two were introduced! He told me you knew Charles?”

“Oh.” Your shoulders relax. “Yeah, um. We knew each other as kids, but I moved away and we kind of—we drifted apart, so. I’m here on a business trip, and he’s just welcoming me.” You try to reduce the decade-long mess into a sentence.

“So you’re friends?”

“Yeah.” You feel like vomiting all over again.

—

The sky’s a searing blue at noon, silver clouds lining the horizon. Charles has to press a finger to the high point of his cheek to test if he’s sunburned from the heat, and the cameras catch it; he doesn’t doubt the fans will spin that into something cute later. You’re somewhere else on the property, this big, massive thing of a museum that’s crashed into by the waves.

He remembers Andrea first telling him about this whole arrangement. He and the team had deliberately left out any mention of you, like they could predict the immediate veto. He wonders if you knew, or if you, too, had been surprised when seeing him, a ghost of your past looking into your eyes. He wonders if you, too, are now in this endless emotional turmoil. Inside there’s a photoshoot ongoing, with you but also with some models in varying aquatic-related poses to convey the intent of the building; he’s done his share of pictures already, just needs to sit down with you for an interview.

“And a B-roll of you guys, um, like, walking, like—around?” Greg’s voice invades his head again, the nervous man beside him running through a to-do list like this is boot camp.

You’d left him hanging at the club—he couldn’t blame you though. A truce hardly called for the bringing forth of memories you two are now supposed to have buried beneath you. Memories he buried first. But alcohol had loosened him, and maybe you had, too, your eyes in the vaguely bluish light and your smile.

He wishes to apologize. He makes up some excuse and finds you nursing an Evian by a faraway corner, against a screen of stingrays. Your eyes widen when you see him, in recognition. He waves and then, with a thumb, gestures to the catering outside.

You end up by the water eating one of the caterer’s churros, a recommendation he deems “very special.” (“Have you worked with these caterers before?” “No.”) It’s also his excuse to cheat on his diet and eat a churro or three—chocolate dip included, always. You rave over the taste, smile, enjoy the view. Charles realizes this looks deceivingly like a date, and at the same time realizes he would not stop to correct someone if they assumed so.

“Our truce seems to be working.” You say in-between chews, voice flat but eyes bright.

“It seems so. I owe that to my personality.”

You really laugh at that. “I didn’t know you had one. It’s very fit for someone as unapproachable as I am.”

“Who said that?”

“No, noth—nobody.” You comb a lock of hair behind your ear. “Aw, putain. I’m ruining my lipstick. Pat’s going to kill me. I look awful.” There are no reflective surfaces around you to affirm your statement, but you sound so sure of yourself.

He smiles. He enjoys the illusion, the mask that you two seem to wear, albeit involuntarily. The chocolate syrup he squeezes on your little paper box of churros. The muttered back merci when he’s finished. Your flushed face, eyes darting from the delicacy to the ocean, eyelashes fluttering, lips smiling, curving into a laugh at some random realization. Briefly he imagines what he might tell somebody if they stopped to ask if you were dating.

Some old woman, French accent and short in stature. You two are so cute. Si mignon! And she would ask how you two met. Charles would tell her the story. But that is imagination. He blinks out of it and focuses on the beauty in front of him, so very real.

“No. You are very pretty, you know.” He says then, and it’s taken him all his nerves and then some just to wrangle it out of his mouth and past his lips. Anticipatory, he watches you, waits for your response.

You comb the hair out of your face messily, licking over the cinnamon sugar on your lips; then you smile up at him, turning your head in question. “Sorry,” you laugh, and his heart’s frozen because it’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard. “What did you say?”

The wind roars in his ears, so Charles barely hears himself when he says, stuttering, “What? Nothing, I said nothing.”

You make a face—confused, suspicious—but all your allegations quell once you bite into another churro, stepping yourself a path along the area. Having blocked off the building, production staff and models are all that populate your surroundings, big headphones and even bigger cameras, rolling around racks of monochrome and Hermés, Birkins to match Loro Pianas. It’s easy to get lost in a crowd—in a city—where everyone looks the same, and knows the other’s name. Perhaps that’s also why, even at fourteen, you were excited to leave, he thinks.

“The coast was always my favorite part about the city.”

He notices. The way your eyes have softened, become more fond than when you’re in the centre of it all, in the bustle. Here it’s busy, but less busy; the distinction, perhaps, matters. Your gaze is not one of distaste, of disdain. It’s nostalgic, homesick, yearning. He supposes he describes this gaze so well because it’s the way he catches himself looking at you over the week.

“I wanted to…” He trails off. “I wanted to talk to you because, ah. I’m sorry. It was foolish of me to put you on the spot last night. I should’ve been more… yeah. I’m sorry. I hope you’re okay.”

You stare at the sea and nod quietly. Instead of responding, you launch a story: “I always…” You’re clearly lost in a different sphere of thought, and you have to fall quiet while finding the right words to say. “I remember, um. In Year 3, we—I came here with my mum. And I was super mad, because I got, like, three mistakes on my Maths paper?” You laugh and he does, too, but more because your storytelling is so effortlessly enthralling and funny and he needs to shut himself up.

“Anyway.” You pace around again, and he follows. “So, I’m mad, and she’s trying to cheer me up, buys me glace and everything, but no. So I go sit myself on a random bench. It must’ve been around here, I think.” You look around and point at an empty area. “There. But it’s—they must’ve ripped it out. Whatever. So yeah, I’m sitting there, and moping, and all of a sudden All You Need is Love by The Beatles comes blaring into the entire area.”

Charles’ eyebrows knit confusedly. “What, the bench area?”

“No—the whole pier, I guess? Like, it was loud, I almost jumped. And then this guy comes in holding this huge—this, um, board? Sign? Poster? And he’s got half the pier in on his whole thing, and I’m totally… it was just… yeah.” You smile. It’s the biggest smile he’s seen on you since you got here and the fact that he’s even around to see it gets him all warm.

“So what happened?”

“It was a flash mob. You know those—yeah, they’re usually insufferable, but that one was a little calmer. Nobody was, you know, dancing and yelling. It was just a bunch of people cheering and all, and the guy was actually proposing to his girlfriend. It was so cute.” You sigh a little, a brief exhale of air, and it turns into a smile. “I’d love that.”

He raises his eyebrows and, despite himself, laughs. “Vraiment?”

You turn to him, ready to defend yourself, mid-laugh. “Heeey. Everyone says they find big, romantic gestures cheesy, but I think deep down, if you trust the person enough, you’ll like it. Maybe not a proposal, though—can you imagine the pressure?” You pause. “But I don’t know. There’s something so nice about just knowing that person loves you so much they think it’s worth it to share it to everyone around you. So even if it’s cheesy, I wouldn’t mind much. You?”

“It’s cheesy for me,” he disagrees, shrugging. “But I see your point.” Truth be told, he didn’t see you as a romantic type—but all he’s ever seen you do lately is work, and even back in childhood, all you ever did was study. He likes learning these little facts, ones you wouldn’t share in interviews—likes knowing you feel comfortable enough to share with him. “Dancing is a bit overboard.”

“Oh, definitely.” You throw your head back to laugh, eyes half-shut and crinkled and reflecting the sun. Would you look the same if he was dancing to The Beatles, proclaiming all the words he hasn’t had the courage to say?

—

Next question is who your first love was—we’re rolling in three…

“First love?” You laughed a little, facing the camera to continue your Screen Test interview with W. The questions had been candid and lovely, but they were about your career, which you answered with familiar ease. First love is different—uncharted, private territory. But you’d realized all this too late, and the director called go, and you let words spill out of you like a bag popped open.

“I want to be funny and witty and say acting, but that would be a lie. Um, my first love was a childhood friend. We lived near each other, our parents were friends, and I… I really did, I liked him a lot. But these—there were so many factors at tension with each other, like me moving away in 2013—that’s, what, six years ago now? And us being young and not really knowing how to communicate. When you’re a teenager, you’re kind of just like, oh, no worries, um, that’ll sort itself out, and then you grow up and look back and realize, these things never do. But I miss him a, a, a… a lot, and I think of him always.” Your smile didn’t reach your eyes when you looked at the camera again. “We learn a lot from childhood loves.”

Cut. Lovely. Just lovely.

“Thank you, Lynn,” you said with a small smile. A pause as silence creeps up onto the room, and then, quieter: “Could we omit that? I—sorry. I could answer anything else. First kiss, or something? I’m sorry, I just. Sorry.” For the first time in five years, you realize, you’ve conjured his memory again.

—

“Okay. What else do you remember?”

“I… do you remember the recital song?”

“Of course I do! The dance is… that’s a different story.” You’d been at Charles’ hotel room earlier to go over some video shoot regulations for a 24 Hours With video you’re doing in a few days. You stayed because—that’s beyond you at this point, and you’d rather not delve into the rationality of it all. You’re content with thinking about how nice this conversation is, a trip down memory lane.

“The dance, mon dieu, the dance.” He smothers a hand over his face, smiles fondly. “You were at the center!”

“Stop. Stop,” you protest, letting laughter settle into quiet. “It’s crazy, you know? How we… like, we share a life. Not—but like, we had a whole childhood together.”

“And nobody knows.” It’s not something you keep a secret on purpose—it’s just that neither of you feel like name-dropping the other. Some stories have surfaced, but none of you have fully commented. Somehow, that’s a good thing for you.

“Do people ask?”

“People ask, yes.” His accent is a reminder of your past—you’d once had the same thick wraparound, the loose reign over English you’ve now grown to master. Now your accent is a lot thinner, to the point where it’s barely perceptible, and if it is, your coworkers and fans call it cute, chic, use it as a jumping off point to ask where you grew up. But in this hotel room, legs folded underneath you and glass of wine in hand, you have no coworkers or fans, it feels like; no one to perceive you but Charles. Charles and his accent, nostalgic and so very his, which you wouldn’t describe as anything but home.

“What do you tell them, then?” Quickly, you add: “The truth, or…?”

“That we knew each other as kids,” he says, smiling absently. “That is the truth, no?”

You cover a smile with the rim of your wine glass, nodding. There’s no revisionist history in that statement, but it hides a lot of the truth, the nitty gritty of it. You know it, he knows it, you both know it. “What would you want me to say?” His voice is soft and thin and imploring, so different from the boisterous voice he uses in public, from the slurred voice you heard in the club. This sounds real. This sounds like a conversation you would’ve had years ago in your childhood bedroom before everything went—

“Nothing, that’s fine.” You cut your own reverie off, clearing your throat. You even laugh, to alleviate the tension, but he sees right through you so many years later. “Unless you’re privy to telling people how we didn’t talk for months before I left.”

He blinks, smothers a palm over his face again, and sighs, eyes meeting yours. “I’m sorry. I don’t—I… I’ve wanted to bring it up.”

“I’m not mad.” It’s a half-lie. “Okay, no—I am, a bit. It just—it would’ve been nice to hear it two weeks ago.”

“I know.” He doesn’t even need to say it, but him saying it sends a low thrum of reassurance in you. Charles has found, in the two weeks of being in your company, that he accomplishes a sense of self—a sense of quiet, a sense of privacy—when he’s alone with you. Perhaps it’s your natural ability to bring out the best in people, to talk and loosen tongues and make everyone around you feel safe. Or, and this is on a likely front, maybe he misses being one of those people.

He pretends he’s back to last week after another club rendezvous left you tipsier than the first time, dropping you off at your hotel room with two hands taut at your shoulders, one pinching a keycard. You’d been muttering something under your breath, stumbling as you went—you weren’t tripping too much, really; he didn’t need to hold you, but he told himself he had to—and leaning against the doorframe of your room, staring at him blankly. When he met your eyes, you said: maybe, just maybe. Just those three words. If he tries to remember right, you’d been smiling, but he was sufficiently tipsy, too, so he could just as well be wrong.

He does remember a few things right. The eyeliner smudged across your lower eye, lipstick smacked to a point where it looked like you wore none, beads of salt by your lip, your hand wrapped around your necklace.

The silence is anything but awkward; still, he resolves to break it. “When you were drunk last week.” He looks up. “You said—you kept saying, maybe, just maybe.”

A laugh escapes you, stilted and a bit nervous. “Oh. That was—yeah, okay.”

“What’s it mean?”

“You seriously don’t remember?” You’re laughing for real now, your hair bobbing with it, eyebrows furrowed to emphasize your confusion. “Oh, my God. Charles, it’s all you ever said in Year… what, 7? I don’t… anyway. But when we were maybe twelve, I…”

Momentarily, you’re stunned by the memories of him—you’d forgotten they were even there. You press a few fingers to your lips and clear your throat. “Sorry. Yeah, I, um—I think you heard it in a movie or read it somewhere, and for ages it was your favorite saying. Maybe, just maybe.”

“I don’t underst—”

“—You were always just saying it,” you cut in, laughing, your voices layering as you discuss the origin of his former favorite term. “No, you really—”

“I don’t—I do not ever remember say—”

“—Well,” you say, “I remember.” He stays silent for a few seconds, the intensity of your stare and the little smile on your face and everything beating down on him. For a split second he thinks of opening his mouth and getting on his knees and telling you everything, all the apologies, all the things unsaid in the months and years you became strangers. He seriously does. The pressure is almost physical, beyond overwhelming.

“I have to go.” You swallow the lump in your throat, disentangle your legs and clamber off the couch, setting the empty glass on his coffee table. “Good?”

“Yeah,” he says, blinking. “Yeah. Take care. Should I drive you?”

“God, no.” You laugh breathily. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He closes the door after you leave, stares at it, as if that will conjure you back to him. It occurs to him, jolts him almost, that he’d almost let slip a quiet utterance of love you as you slipped out. His stomach boils. With thankfulness over not having said it, he wonders—or with regret?

—

“Best friends now, are you?” Lily, Carmen, and Rachel look up to the sound of your voice, their serious faces breaking out into smiles. If you could chart the time you spent here, there are definitely people you’ve spent the most time with—these three are at the top of the list. You hang your coat and drop your Chanel bag on the entryway seat, already picking up on the British noises of Love Island UK from the telly.

“Wait, so she’s hooking up with him?” Lily asks, confused; her train of thought is cut off by your flopping onto the bed. “Hiiii. Where’ve you been?”

Muffled by the bedspread: Charles’ place.

Silence. The television switches off and you hear the precarious preparation of three girls readying themselves for a debrief-or-sobfest of a lifetime, a noise you’ve heard and partaken in countless times over your life. You suddenly feel too watched, too spectated; you break the quiet by looking up, displaying your tear-streaked face.

“Talk to us,” Rachel encourages, her voice raspy with unuse (Love Island will keep one occupied and quiet for hours on end). Three of them are touching you in some way or other, reassuring grips on your hair or shoulders. “Did you two fight?”

And, oh Christ, fight? It’s not like you’re dating. You aren’t even halfway to that (not that you want to be, but that’s a discussion for another time). The idea of a fight with him is so terribly juvenile, so horribly reminiscent of secondary school and Monaco and being together and being friends. You can’t fight with a guy who’s not your boyfriend. You can’t fight with a guy you’re not close to, for Chrissake. You squeeze your tears out of your eyes and breathe hiccups out.

“Do you want gelato?” No, no.

“Love Island?” In a minute.

The truth is, you want both, but you really just want to sort everything out with Charles. It was no use—hating each other was futile, but pretending everything was fine in some pathetic attempt at a “truce” seemed even worse. You just want to talk everything out, even if it excavates feelings you’d once been able to suppress.

“What kind of crush doesn’t disappear after ten years?” You ask through tears. It’s almost funny, but the question comes straight from the heart. “I’ve dated guys, lived across the world, started a whole new life pretending he never—pretending we were—fuck. Pretending he didn’t exist. It was—I’m not lying, it was easy, pretending. But one glimpse—I see him one time and suddenly it feels like all of it was in vain. It’s the same crush I had before, coming back, like it’s never going to leave me alone.”

“Maybe it’s not a crush,” says Lily, slowly.

“So what is it then?” You ask, hopelessly. What is this—this revival of memories? This little feeling, this sense that no matter where he is or what he’s doing, you’ll be just as in tune when you reunite even if it takes a decade? A decade spurred by months of being given the cold shoulder? What kind of magic is that?

She doesn’t answer, because you already know.

—

“Hey Vogue—I’m here with Charles Leclerc, and we’re here to take you along with us on all our little adventures here in Monaco.” Your smile is rehearsed, the perfectly-orchestrated blend of fun and serious, and when the cameraman calls cut, it falls into a more natural resting face. It’s the one Charles turns to and observes for any signs of a grudge.

The day is busy, which is precisely why it was chosen as the film day: three shows in the morning, press junkets for your movie and Charles’ season in the afternoon, and then a gala in the evening, hosted and attended by Anna Wintour herself.

The day’s business is only trumped by its tension, which reaches its crescendo in the janitor’s closet of the fourth floor of your hotel. It’d begun with a fight over the color palette, then a fight over last conversation you shared, then a fight over him fucking up the color palette, and then kissing against the door. Ironically enough, this floor houses a fair number of honeymoon suites.

It’s ironic beause hardly anything about this is or should be romantic—it’s a temporary fix, a pause from the turmoil, his hand squeezing your thigh. He’s gentle but you feel his possessiveness, lingering longer, higher and higher up until he’s playing with the high hem of your skirt. You knot your fingers in his hair, smell the shampoo and hairspray and cologne in the wispy curls there.

He kisses your jaw, then downward, until he’s licking, nipping at your throat. Charles.

“Yeah?” His voice is rough against your pulse point.

“Make it—we gotta—quicker.” Your hands tremble, heart hammering loud and bold in your chest. His voice is sure, gravelly, quiet, and you have to focus on something—so you centre on his hands, up your thighs and slipping under the lace of your skirt, bunching the fabric up around your hips. His hands, big and calloused, fingers resting on your hipbones, on your ass.

He’s hard against your thigh, straining against his jeans. You could cry. “I want more.”

“I know, baby. I know.” The pet name, so new but so natural, sends you into a dopamine rush.

You squirm when he doesn’t let up on his touches, over every inch of your body, groping you. He wants to take his time—he hates that he can’t—and counts on the possibility of a next time. You pull him in for a spit-slick kiss, needy and whimpering, sloppy and tongues knotted. It feels good—fuck, it feels like this was all you were ever made for, his touch.

You buck your hips into the air desperately. “We really—fuck. We don’t have time.” Cameras, a shoot, a video; reminders ring in your head like alarm bells. He nods, goes I know, and you pick up the strain in his voice as he tugs his jeans down just enough to rub his clothed cock under your entrance, hard and drooling through the fabric.

You moan softly. “Please, I can take it,” you breathe. You’ve never been this wet, this worked up, this teased. You need to feel him, be full of him; he presses you flush against the door with a hand at the small of your back to keep it from aching too much, and drops forward as he pushes into you. Your noses brush and he goes deeper, air thick and muffled with little moans and whimpers.

His mouth is against your jaw, thrusting slowly to get you used to the size of him. The angle gets you dizzy, draws a burst of wetness out and gets you clenching around him. You’re flushed and sweaty, moaning. Feels s’good. So good, Charles, so, so good. He fucks harder, the door rattling, dirty talk cooed from his lips to your ear: Yeah? Feels real good? You’re so good for me, baby, come on.

Your needy voice, needier movements, are driving him crazy, getting him to fuck you harder, licking over his lips as he watches you fall apart on his dick. Relax, he slurs. You squeeze around him and moan, wretched and raw. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re so big. You’re getting his dick wetter and wetter with every thrust, shiny and drooling with cum.

Yeah? He says it so well, the best kind of reassurance. Come on, we don’t have time, baby. Let me feel you cum.

I know— you whine. I’m cumming—it feels too good—

You cum first, thighs shaky around him and lip curling into your teeth. You lean forward, mouth to his shoulder, and bite at the cotton. Fuck, he grunts, and releases then, a groan spilled into your hair. You watch, laughing breathlessly, and feel the world click into something different.

You two will do anything, apparently, but talk this all through.

—

The gala is big and extravagant and you’re seated not with Charles this time, but with a roster of celebrities straight out of an LAX red-eye. Anna is at the table adjacent, andy you were able to talk to her about the experience, though not without leaving out bits with Charles in them.

You’re beside Florence and she’s talking about something, about a new movie she’s working on, and you chip in with jokes and laughs but your smile doesn’t really reach your eyes. You’re still caught in a web of fragile confusion. “I need to excuse myself for a moment,” you say after a while, after you’ve done nothing but smile and push broccoli puree around on your plate.

Consolation comes with isolation, at least tonight, at least right now. You find an empty balcony on the third floor, stare into the black sea. You try and try to remember what life was like three weeks ago, but it’s irrevocable now, the change that’s come since then. You tap the glass of your beer bottle against the marble banister, solid and probably expensive—a match for the rest of the hotel, you realize. It’s starkingly clean and smooth, and white, the kind of things you’d only say about a marble banister when you’re trying to avoid an adult introspection.

Behind you: “Are you okay?”

In response, you say, “We shouldn’t have had sex.”

Charles settles himself into a spot near you, not totally beside but not too far—he, too, holds onto a bottle of beer. There are fancier drinks around, but somehow the dry taste of ale is all that brings you comfort right now. Your gears turn and, without prompt or question, you spill yourself forth.

“It was hard, when you didn’t… when we didn’t talk, and you didn’t ever tell me why, so I didn’t know anything. I keep remembering it, even now, what—ten years later, ha ha, even after… I don’t know, after the fact. We’re supposed to have moved on from shit that happened to us when we were fifteen but I’m finding it to be the hardest thing in the world. It was so… like, I had no trouble saying goodbye to anything else but you. And I’m famous now, my life is a whole thing, a—this whole party, and I’m supposed to… fuck.” You shut your eyes, and you can feel, through the thick fog of embarrassment and delirium, the tears that stain your cheeks. “It’s like. You know when you’re a teenager and you see all of it in movies and TV, this, like, moment where you’re staring at someone from across a room, and you’re smiling and talking to other people and you’re happy because you know in a few hours, you’ll be with that person anyway? At home, rearranging furniture, feeding the dog, eating leftovers? That… I always thought you’d be that person for me. Maybe because you were the only—you know—the only love I ever knew, and now, what. Four? Boyfriends and ten years later, you might expect me to feel differently—hell I expect myself to feel differently, but, unfortunately for you and me, I don’t. Sorry. I’m not—I’m not drunk, or anything.”

He stares at you, his expression soft and unreadable. It feels like it’s just the two of you in the world today, twenty-somethings, ten years later, unearthing all you left buried. “I…” he says, before pausing. “I’m sorry for leaving.”

You nod in response.

“I always thought you would forgive me.” His face is sullen and handsome and your heart seizes. “I wanted to be your person.”

“How could I forgive you without an apology?” Your voice comes out fragile. “I leave in three days. You’ve fu—you’ve… you’ve kissed me, had sex with me, flirted with me. You’ve done everything but that.”

“I did apologize. I don’t think it was enough, but—”

“But you didn’t,” you reply, a jagged response. “You never said anything.”

“I wrote you.” His eyebrows knit. “I wrote you.”

“You wrote me.” You repeat, deadpan. Your head spins with it. “What, a letter?”

“An e-mail. Before your first film came out—2014? A year after you… yeah.” He’s quiet and timid and nervous. “I forced Gi to tell me your address.”

“I didn’t… I wasn’t using that e-mail anymore. I haven’t in years.” You pinch your nose and let the silence settle like fine dust onto the room, an unspoken bomb that explodes over the both of you, raining regret and unsaid words. “I have to go.” You push yourself off the banister, turning already to the doors of the balcony. He stops you before you can step any further, a hand closed over your wrist, rough and warm.

“If you find the message,” he says, “will you read it?”

“I don’t plan to,” you lie. “Goodnight.”

—

From: Charles Perceval Leclerc <[email protected]>

Date: 14 October 2014

To: You

Subject: Urgent!

hey buttercup, I asked Giada for this email address. my bday in 2 days. Will you be home for Xmas this year btw? ill show you some new places that open ed + we can bike around. mum misses u a lot too. parfois je souhaite que tu ne partes pas… not sometimes but always. i think i need to edit this a little let me try ag

From: Charles Perceval Leclerc <[email protected]>

Date: 14 October 2014

To: You

Subject: Buttercup

j’appellerais mais je ne pense pas que tu veuilles répondre. it’s been more than a year since you moved out, in two days i’ll be celebrating my second birthday w/o you. i’ve been karting a lot, things are looking up, just like we always said they would :) just want to say i miss you a lot, and i hope you’re doing good. i would say i hate radio silence but i know it’s my fault all this happened in the first place. i’m sorry i stopped talking to you last year when you were moving away. i was being childish, but the truth is it was the only way i could handle it - by pretending we werent friends at all… i don’t want to make you pity me or anything (ne pense pas que je suis) but yeah you’re my best friend and you always will be. i’m sorry for being a knot head.

i was always scared to tell you but it’s been there since forever: i love you. i should’ve enjoyed your months here instead of leaving you in the air. i know i ignored you but it’s the 1 thing i regret. should’ve done a lot more, i know.. but i didn’t. we have a lot of promises i broke because i was being selfish. i kept the paper ring to remind me. remember that? we had a “playground wedding” when we were 5/6?

tu ne me dois rien - i just want you to give me a chance to make you happy, even if it’s just in the way we’ve always been (as friends). if you write me back i’ll try and fly there. mum is always asking me if we’ve talked yet. if not, that’s ok. i love you all the same and i will love you as you reach your dreams. this will never change.

charles

p.s: est-ce que je te manque?

p.p.s: call me if you can and wish me a happy birthday?

—

“Rachel, I would sooner die than wait another two hours for the tarmac to clear again.” You try to up the firmness in your voice but it fails, only serving to make you sound less angry and more agitated. When all you get in response is a muffled I’m coming! you grumble and hang up the phone. Your plane was delayed all of three times, and the instant it arrives and is scheduled to take off on time, your friendsistant is nowhere to be found.

Lily and Carmen had thrown you a goodbye party the night prior, with sprinklers and music and cocktails, and promised to be on the next flight to L.A. Vogue and David had emailed you for a job done spectacularly, and to watch out for the videos and interviews’ release dates. Twitter is raving about your movie. Everything should be good, and yet, it’s not.

You check your inbox. IM COMJNG LILTIERALLY IM RUNNING THRU AJRPPRT!!!!!! You scoff again, hoping the plane doesn’t somehow take off for the fourth time, and take a seat on the VIP waiting area sofa again, shaking your now-empty chai latte. The room, sectioned off from economy and business, is fairly full.

A woman paces over to you, a bright grin on her face. “Hi. I’m a huge fan.”

“Thank you,” you smile, despite your tiredness.

“This is so embarrassing—but do you happen to have the time?”

“Sure”—you tap your phone open—“half past four.”

“Great,” she says. “Thanks, Buttercup.”

You’re opening your mouth to say you’re welcome, but it catches like cotton in your throat. You watch her depart like nothing happened, a strange feeling settling in your chest. You have barely any time to answer it, because a flight attendant is tapping you on the shoulder, addressing you by name, thankfully. She maintains a tone of professionalism all throughout her announcement that the aircraft under your name will have to evacuate the runway in ten minutes or less.

“I know, I know—I’m just, um. I’m waiting for somebody. She should be near now, though.”

“Tremendous. Merci, Buttercup.”

“Wh—” You stutter, blinking and watching her leave. “What?”

She doesn’t turn, walking to the kiosk to exchange information with her coworkers. You look around the airport, for a camera hidden somewhere maybe. Perhaps you’ve been unknowingly listed in some Impractical Jokers skit.

Rach hurry you text instead, leaning back and hoping you’re in some grandiose delusion. Your phone dings. Omw promise! It reads. Then: Look up buttercup

Your head snaps upward faster than you can register what you’ve just read, matching the opening notes of a song you’ve grown all too familiar with in your lifetime. The opening beat to Build Me Up, Buttercup flows like honey through the room’s intercom and floods it with life.

Mouth agape, you watch as the staff and guests perform the routine you’d learned at fourteen, complete with hops and turns you were too embarrassed to do even then. They’re smiling and whooping themselves and each other as they go, finishing the entire first verse before turning collectively to the entrance of the room. There, in all his glory: Charles, wearing an entirely too-small headdress that reads Buttercup, worn dusty from years of being stored away.

He’s dancing, too, closer to you. You refuse to budge for the express purpose that he dance some more, which he complies with, though not without an eyeroll and an exasperated sigh. Your heart beats with something irregular and warm. You’d told him about this before. He’d listened.

The music settles for a little and the dancers do, too, so he takes the time to raise his sign. Will you forgive me? It reads. No pressure. Except kind of. You laugh, throwing your head back at the gesture, at this entire affair that must have taken some amount of effort to prepare. As the lyric comes on, so does his sign: I need you… more than anyone, darling.

He drops the sign when you approach him, arms crossed over your torso. He removed the headdress and places it gingerly on yours. “I believe that belongs to you.”

And, hyperaware of all the eyes and yet the complete lack of cameras—you’re grateful for it—you finally, finally, finally pull him in for a kiss. You’ve kissed before, done your worst, but still means volumes to the both of you.

In-between kisses and cheers (from voices belonging to Lorenzo, Rachel, Lily—so many familiar ones), he says it again: “I’m sorry. I’ll make it all up to you.”

“You better,” you tease into his lips, smiling. “I know. I love you.” Ten years later—your person still is, and no doubt will always be, Charles Leclerc.

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader

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foxigemini · 4 months

Text

Home Is Where The Heart Is (Orm Marius x Fem!Reader)

Summary: A one-night stand leads to something more.

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex.

Author's notes: This is a request from an anon. I changed the setting, I hope you don't mind. Maybe it's a bit of cliché, but I just found this easier to write. Takes place before the first movie and after the second.

"C'mon, y/n. Cheer up a little, we're gonna have fun!"

That what's your best friend Maria had said earlier that evening and she always managed to convince you somehow. And she was having fun alright. You sat at the bar and glared over at her dancing with the guy she had been flirting with for the past hour, totally forgetting about you.

You sighed and returned to staring into the empty glass in your hand. It was never you finding someone to flirt with. Maria was the beautiful and confident one. All the guys were always looking at her.

Orm lifted his chin and wrinkled his nose as he entered the establishment the surface dwellers called a club. Ugh, this place reeked with sweat and alcohol. It was worse than the Sunken Citadel. He watched the drunk surface dwellers on the floor, grinding their bodies against each other. Was this what they called dancing on the surface? Orm scoffed. So unsophisticated. Orm sighed over the fact that he needed to be here. But, it was important to study all of the surface dwellers behavior, to form the best strategy against them. Sure, he could have sent someone else to reconnaissance, but he only trust his own judgment. And from what he'd seen so far, it would be easy to defeat them. They were so arrogant about their own supremacy in the universe.

Orm scanned the area and located what must be the place where he could buy something to drink. He definitely needed it after spending time on this ugly surface. Thanks to his human associate David Kane, he had obtained currency so he could spend a few days on the surface.

"A glass of your finest red wine," Orm ordered the man behind the desk. The man obliged and placed the glass in front of him. Orm paid what he owed and took a sip.

"Yuk," Orm grimaced at the sour taste. This was the best they had to offer? A giggle next to him made him look to the side. There, he met a pair of sparkling, beautiful e/c eyes looking back at him.

"I know the feeling. I ordered the same," you said with a smile and raised your empty glass.

The blond man quirked an eyebrow and eyed you up and down long enough for you to feel self-conscious. You wouldn't normally call a man pretty, but this man was just that with his stunning eyes blue as the ocean. His physique was slim yet muscular in the black trousers and white shirt he was wearing. You smiled awkwardly and fluttered down your gaze. Okay, didn't this guy know when it was time to stop staring?

Orm had seen many surface woman during the past days he'd spent here, but none of them measured up to your beauty.

"Uhm...so, I haven't seen you here before. Are you knew in town?" you asked to break the awkward silence, cringed at your lame pick-up line.

"Yes. I'm just visiting for a few days. Business," the man replied and finally looked away from you. Not that you really mind him looking at you.

"I see. Welcome to town, I guess. I'm y/n," you smiled and reached out your hand.

The man looked down at your hand like he wondered what he was going to do with it, then he took it in his and you shook his hand.

"Orm. My name is Orm."

"Nice to meet you, Orm."

The man finally smiled and you were lost. "Nice to meet you too, y/n."

You didn't know how you ended up at his hotel room. Maybe it was the bad wine clouding your judgment about whether a one-night stand was a good idea or not? Or maybe it was the fact that Orm was so damn charming? A bit arrogant yes, but definitely charming.

Clothes were quickly discarded, both of you eager to feel the warmness of each other's bodies. Orm smirked up at you as he pushed your legs apart, his curls tickling your inner thighs as he opened you up, licking along your inner lips. That first touch of his tongue sent sparks throughout your body and you moaned, your body jerking at the contact. You were already swollen, warm, and open for him. Orm explored your pussy, running his tongue up and down, slowly and deliberately, leaving out the most sensitive parts.

Arousal kept building up in your core, your pussy clenching with need to be filled and satisfied.

Orm sucked your inner folds between his lips, tugging at them, then repeated this on the other side, working his way towards your clit. You grabbed his head, burying your fingers in his curls as your eyes flew open, your body ready for the oncoming pleasure. But just when he was almost at your clit, he worked his way back again and you let out a desperate whine

"Orm, please...," you mewled, bucking your hips against him as his tongue swirled around the entrance of your pussy.

"You want to come?" he asked in a teasing tone.

Glaring down, you met his amused gaze and bit your lip as you nodded, your pussy clenching as he smiled up at you. Orm smirked and lowered his head, sucking your clit into his mouth and massaging it with his lips, rolling it gently, teasingly.

"Oh, yes!" you gasped and bucked your hips against him. Orm grabbed your hips and held you tighter as your squirming became more urgent.

He circled the entrance in small, swirling motions, licking the juices leaking from it. Then, without warning, he pushed his tongue in as deeply as possible. You moaned, a combination of relief and anticipation of the coming pleasure. The low moans escaping from your throat spurred him on. He stopped tongue fucking you and licked his way up to your clit, closing his lips over it. You could feel his tongue swirl around in slow circles, with an occasional flick against it as it protruded from behind its hood.

"Fuck, I'm so close...," you bit your lip and cupped your breasts, squeezing your nipples hard. Orm's only response was to begin sucking on your clit to push you over the edge. Your body tensed and your moans became louder, pleasure washing over you as you came against his mouth. Your orgasm was slowly subsiding when you felt Orm spreading you open and pushing two fingers inside you. You were so wet with arousal and saliva that he easily slipped inside.

Orm looked up at you and met your lustful gaze as he turned his fingers upward, the thick pads toward your belly. Soon he found your g-spot and started to put pressure against it in circular motions, a smirk spreading on his lips as that spongy flesh began to swell.

"Oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!!!" you cried out as you came again, your body convulsing as his fingers buried deep inside your pussy gave you the most intense orgasm of your life. Your convulsions began to subside, and at that moment, Orm pushed inside you, all of his thick, hard cock filling you up completely.

"Oh, fuck!" you gasped and grabbed his arms as his cock made your body quiver.

Orm groaned and pushed your legs up to your chest, his eyes feral as he started pounding into you at a ruthless pace that took you to your third orgasm within seconds. Orm continued to fuck you through your climax, his grunts filling the air, growing more erratic with each thrust.

"Fuck, I love how tight you feel around me," Orm mumbled and clenched his jaw as he came, his gaze never leaving yours as he filled your womb with his seed. Leaning down, he caught your lips with his, kissing you softly as his cock continued to twitch inside you. You sighed contently against his lips and slid your hands up his broad frame, neither of you contemplating the risks of what you just did.

~ Some years later ~

The next day, Orm was gone and you couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed about it.

"What are we doing here?" Orm asked after Arthur knocked on the door to the house they were standing at.

Arthur looked at his brother with a big smile. "We're at an old friend of mine. She always said that if I ever needed it, she would have a spare bed for me. So I thought, what better place for you to lay low than here?"

Orm raised an eyebrow. "She?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "It was never like that. She's just a friend."

Orm gave his brother a meaningful glance just as the door opened. He turned his head around, his eyes widening when he saw the woman standing there.

You were surprised to see Arthur outside your door.

"Arthur?" you said and smiled at your old friend. "What are you-" You stopped mid-sentence when your gaze landed on the man standing beside him. Your eyes widened when you looked into the familiar, blue eyes and a pang of heat rushed through your belly.

"Orm?"

Arthur looked between the two of you in confusion. "Wait a second, you two know each other?"

Both you and Orm looked away flustered and Arthur immediately understood the situation. He chuckled delightfully. "Really? You two? When?"

"A couple of years back," Orm answered and rubbed his neck, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I was on the surface, doing reconnaissance."

"On the surface?" You frowned as you looked at Orm, your eyes widening when you realized what he was saying. "Wait a minute...are you like Arthur?"

"I'm his brothe-"

"Mommy, mommy!"

Orm stared at the little boy running up to you and taking your hand, a pair of bright, blue eyes staring back at him with wonder. It felt as if all air had left his lungs as he slowly processed what was happening.

Arthur stared at the blue-eyed boy with golden curls then at his brother, then back at the boy again, not being able to find his words for the first time in his life.

"I-I...I didn't want you to find out like this. I searched for you for a long time, but it was like you never existed. Now I understand why," you said with a bitter smile and looked down at your son. "And now I understand where Ozia's strength comes from."

"I...I have a son?" Orm asked in stunned shock as he looked up at you then back at the little boy.

"Yes, Orm." You smiled and picked up your son in your arms. "Orm, this is Ozia. Ozia, this man here is your father, and this is your uncle."

Ozia stared at Orm with big eyes and Orm gave him a nervous smile.

"Nice to meet you, Ozia."

The boy didn't reply, only hid his face against your chest.

"He's a little shy with strangers," you said and smiled. "But hopefully you won't be a stranger for long. If that's what you want? To be in his life?"

Orm looked at you and the boy in your arms, and a sensation he'd never felt before spread in his chest. Was it...true love?

"There's nothing I want more," Orm replied and smiled. For the first time in a long time, he felt warm and safe, like he found the place where he belonged.

Thank you for taking your time to read ♡

Tagging: @alishaslibrary

#orm marius x reader #orm marius x you #orm x reader #orm x you #marius x reader #orm marius smut #orm marius fanfiction #king orm x reader #orm marius #orm marius imagine #aquaman fanfiction #aquaman the lost kingdom #patrick wilson

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lokisgoodgirl · 8 months

Text

All I Need [Loki x Fem. Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: There's only one way to end a night on the town with Loki. (w/c 2.1k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Heavy smut. Dirty talk. Drunk Loki (reader not specified) A/N: Thank you to @earlgreydreamreplies for popping the mental image of club bathroom shenanigans with L in my Askbox and gave me the green light to run with it :) You're wonderful. I hope this further fuels your daydreams.

Every beat of the bass shook your chest. Strobe lights pulsed behind your eyelids as your face turned to the ceiling. The DJ slipped into a new sound, euphoria bubbling beneath your skin as you let your head fall back to Loki’s chest.

All I need, is your love tonight…

He was looming, waxy curls wafting against your forehead. You knew the look that would be swimming in his eyes. The fire. The need. Completely entranced in the hedonism of the night.

All I need, is your love tonight...

The god’s hands balanced on your hips, grinding you deeper against him. Against the insatiable demon that lay in wait, concealed in luxurious fabric and impeccable tailoring. His hips moving against your spine so close that you were sure his buckle would bruise.

All I need, is your love tonight...

He swayed back and forth, guiding you. Fingertips dug into the dip of your hips, thrusting against the curves. More strands of his hair fell against your cheek as he skimmed his skin to yours.

All I need, is your love tonight...

The beat dropped, just as Loki’s parted lips fastened to your neck. His tongue swathed across your skin in messy circles, ravenous. Teeth scraping against moist skin. Licking.

He was drunk. On you. On liquor. On everything.

Your hand raked past his temple, combing through sweat-damp hair which stuck to your fingertips. Pressing him closer to the curve of your neck, you felt the vibrations of his growl through tight shirt cotton. His cologne stung your nostrils, warm cedarwood that had been overrun by the tang of cheap vodka and second-hand smoke. Heat from his skin pulsed against your neck, a thin sheen of sweat coating his own as he worked his lips over yours in a swallowing kiss.

Bodies shifted all around you as one.

It was tight. And hot. Loud.

But when he spoke. There was only you.

“I want you,” he rumbled hot and wet in your ear. Loki dragged your hips to the side, colliding against the thick cock snaking against his thigh. Hard, of course.

All I need, is your love tonight…

An unseen smile tugged your lip as you slid your hand over his delicious cheekbones, spinning to face him. You wrapped your arms around his waist, tugging with a jolt. It shrugged him forwards, catching him off balance, perfectly timed as you leaned in to his ear. “Come on then big boy,” you hissed playfully. There were barely a pause as your fingers intertwined with his, leading him the well-trodden route of your youth to the bathrooms.

God, this place was a fucking dump.

You smouldered back to him as the music thumped, bodies parting like smoke to let you and your god through. Even intoxicated, even dishevelled and sweaty and mute and flushed; Loki Laufeyson was a titan among men. Your stomach fizzed as you watched each set of eyes in the heaving mass track his approach, and his departure.

They devoured him hungrily, from the endless depths of his transfixed stare, to cut of his jawline under the strobes, to the open buttons of his shirt, to the pull of cotton against taut flesh as he followed your lead. Black spindles stuck to his cheekbones, curls winding down his neck and cast over his shoulders. They spread against the white shirt like splattered ink.

They all wanted him.

Every single fucking one of them.

There was no need for pretence in a place like this. Better to be bold. And tonight...who cared. Loki’s free hand wandered to your ass as you emerged from the crowd, grasping needily beneath the hem of your dress as you walked with purpose towards the bathrooms. The approach was littered with loo roll and discarded cups, your heels sticking more with each step.

His arm shot out in front of your face, pushing the door ajar.

Smeared lipstick kisses coated the mirror, the smell of cheap perfume and fake tan. The place was windowless, tiny; a set of four cubicles that had seen far too much lined against the wall. Music from the main room seemed to shake the air.

The hand holding Loki’s was suddenly yanked backwards, pulling you to his chest. And then, he was upon you.

The god’s palms cupped your jawline firmly, pressing your lips to his. His tongue invaded your mouth, uneven pants and murmurs of desire sliding down your throat as he walked you backwards into the end stall. The door flew closed, locking of its own accord.

“You look so fucking...uhm, incandescent? Uh,..g-gods, in that dress I cannot,” Loki slurred between kisses as your fingers grappled with his belt.

He released your face, starting to undo shirt buttons.

“Don’t take your shirt off!” you giggled, as Loki’s eyebrows rose apologetically. “Wha- I’ve never done thish before,” he scoffed, fumbling with a button. A lazy smile flexed the corners of his mouth, eyes sparkling with life.

It was too much.

You launched at him, pressing him against the wall. Fingers tangled in hair, a violent hurricane of tongue and teeth clashing. With a gasp, the flat of your back pressed to the tile as he switched your places.

Loki’s forearm was flush above you. His brows knitted together, piercing you with the trademark smouldering eroticism that made your thighs tremble. “This place is filthy,” Loki growled, lowering his zip with painful slowness, “but darling, we’re filthier,” he winked. It was slower than usual.

He slid you up the wall, making sure that the ascent of his hands caught every curve of your body in that tight dress he loved so much. His fingers worked beneath the fabric, snapping the band of your underwear.

You sank down, the walls of your adrenaline-soaked pussy gaping for him. All of him. The tip of his furiously hard cock squeezed inside, making you wrap your legs tight around his hips. He bottomed out as wide palms held your ass tight, spreading your cheeks. Sometimes with Loki, all there was to do was hang on. So you slid your fingers over his shoulders, dug in, and did just that.

Loki threw his head back, ruined curls falling away as his face scrunched to the ceiling in pained pleasure. “Ah...f-fuck,” he gaped, “Norn-s, urghhsh...feelsh so good,”

There was something primal about this. Something that drilled right down to your core; past your pussy and your feelings and Loki’s pretty words and your fragile little future hopes and dreams.

Something dirty, filthy. Something animal.

Raw.

His stumbling curses of approval rang around the empty bathroom, your soft little moans that he adored spurring him on in the haze. Like a dog, inflamed by the dying cries of a rabbit. His open buckle clanged with every messy thrust, sopping cock squelching deep inside your little cunt.

“Why..does t-this feel so..good,” he slurred into your open mouth, half-lidded eyes boring into yours. “Because-we- shouldn’t-be-doing- it,” you replied though winded breaths.

“Ohhhh...thas it,” Loki chuckled, before another groan ripped from the back of his throat. You ran a hand through his hair, gathering a clutch in your fist. “Yeah, that’s it...fuck me baby;” you moaned; bucking against him, “fuck me like... an a-animal, all I need...yes...yes...f-fuck me, King-”

Loki’s grip tightened on your thighs, bruising tips sinking into hot flesh. You tugged his hair, a wet snarl erupting from his lips. His breaths were ragged, eyes flashing dangerously. There was no blue in them. No green, either. Just wide, lust-soaked darkness.

Beads of sweat had gathered at his hairline, his hot breath misting against your cheek as he took his pleasure. And yours.

“You’re mine, aren’t you-” he murmured, punctuating the rhetorical question with a wicked smile. You gasped, feeling stars begin to blossom in your centre. “Mmmm,” you managed, tightening your grip of his hair. “And you’re mine,” you hissed.

Loki’s lazy smirk of approval almost sent you over the edge. You were surprised you even heard the gaggle of women stumble through the bathroom door over the blood thundering in your ears.

Immediately, Loki’s palm pressed against your mouth. He winked again, even slower than before. You clenched around his cock in response, a soft ooo wisping from his lips as his eyes narrowed. He stepped in closer, torso pressed tight against your own. You heard the stick of his shoes against the grimy floor, the smacking of toilet cubicles and locks and laughter making you dizzy.

And then, slowly, he began to thrust.

It was shallow. Tight. Devastating. His public hair scratched against yours as he took you deep with shallow rolls of his hips. Sharp, jagged inhales and exhales through your nostrils were all Loki would allow as he fucked you deeper against the wall. His fingertips sank into the curves of your thighs. Hair fell around his face, sticking to his forehead in tangled threads.

He was panting.

So soft and low and wet.

“Uhh-h-h,” he gasped, catching in his throat as his lashes fluttered closed.

The fingers of the hand holding your body to his pulsed against your skin, spasming with the pleasure building inside him. Over the girlish chaos now filling the bathroom, you hear the increasing speed of Loki’s balls slapping against your wetness, the slurp of your arousal welling against his cock with every buck of his hips as he got faster. Greedier. His eyes rolled back, mouth hanging open. He began to moan softly to the ceiling.

“Wo-ki…” you chided, muffled by his hand. He focused back on you, pupils blown wide. In a flash, the world changed again as he gracefully moved you from the wall with the force of a gust, spinning your body. Your hands flew out, gripping the cistern as the toilet lid slammed shut. A gasp rattled the air. You didn’t know if it was you or him as he sheathed himself to the hilt.

Fingers gripped the porcelain, rattling suspiciously with each mind-bending fuck that sent shock-waves to your depths. The orgasm bubbling inside you reared with renewed intensity as you realised Loki’s fingers had slid from the back of your neck to rest over your lips again. He curled against your back, shirt buttons cool against the flushed heat of your shoulders.

“Quiet, my temptress of the night…” he growled with a silent chuckle, powering his thighs up into another squelching thrust. Brushing your hair aside, his tongue slathered against the back of your neck. Saliva pooled, his drooling panting animalism taking over as modesty was forgotten. His dishevelled, quiet groans of desperation.

Seizing the opportunity, you captured one of his fingers between your lips. Loki shuddered against your ass. He let the finger slide on your tongue, the thick digit following the path his cock always took to the back of your throat.

“F-ffuck,” he slurred, the utterance no more than a whisper.

Another finger joined it.

And then, you began to suck.

Saliva welled at the creases of your mouth as he brought you closer to the edge, his free hand grasping in lazy handfuls of flesh. Your ass, your thighs. Yanking at the dangling sides of your dress and the pathetic last vestiges of your underwear. He was needy. Groaning in huffing exhales and shallow breaths as the ridges of his fingertips traced the point of your tongue.

“Gonna-ing to- cum,” he moaned wetly against your back.

You heard the scuffle of his dress shoes on the floor as he tried to get his bearings, the appendages dripping inside the heat of your mouth and the tight of your cunt too much for him to bear. You felt his glistening forehead rest against the slippery nape of your neck, damp hair mingling in sluttish waves with your own.

His mouth was open, saliva strands sizzling against the skillet of your skin as he tumbled over the edge with a broken cry of ecstasy. Your arms collapsed against the cistern, the weight of the god bottoming out inside you all you ever needed to feel whole.

“Nornsh…” he grunted quietly. There was a bang on the door, followed by a raucous round of laughter.

“You okay love?” an inebriated voice announced, “need anything?”

More laughter.

Loki shook his head against your back, nuzzling the skin with a shaking sigh. “I’m fine,” you said; far more composed than you felt. “Thank you.”

The gaggle of clicking of heels and sudden blast of music signalled their departure.

Loki drew up to his full height, sliding his cock out with an obscene slurp. Cum immediately began to drip in thick rivulets down your inner thighs. Usually you would clean it up. But not tonight.

You spun to face him, stepping out of your ruined underwear and pulling the dress down your hips with a mischievous smile. The underwear disappeared from the floor in a flash of green.

Loki winked, patting his heart twice with a shocking lack of characteristic rhythm. “A memento,” he explained with a flourish of his hand. A beautifully dreamy grin had begun to spread across his face.

“Home, my queen?” he postured, beginning to re-tuck his shirt and doing an incredibly bad job of it. You zipped up his fly, pausing to inhale against his collar. Faint traces of cologne wafted in tendrils up your nostrils, masked by the heavy smell of sex and the night’s vices.

“One more dance,” you purred, intertwining your fingers with his. You guided Loki’s hand to the mess coating your inner thighs, dragging a digit lightly through your plump folds, soaking with him. And you.

Loki smiled. “Filthy,” he growled, before he bringing the fingers to his lips with a gentle suck.

Tags @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @lokischambermaid @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @presidentlokis-hornyhelmet @thenotoriouserg @fandxmslxt69 @unlucky-number-13 @use-your-telescope

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sunkendreams · 4 months

Note

You’ve got me absolutely melting for David!!

How about him and something with edging, because he’s an asshole who would def love your needy frustration🥴

flesh for fantasy.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. | david (the lost boys) x fem!reader.

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓. | one-shot — requested.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. | 8.3K (not sorry!)

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. | SMUT! (mdni), vampire antics, gore/violence (people die), very mild seduction/hypnosis, edging, rough sex (david is not gentle at all), missionary and from behind, biting, bloodplay (he’s a vampire), choking, hair-pulling, david is mean, blowjob, cunnilingus, dirty talk, pet names (kitten, sweetheart), clothes ripping, fingering, teasing, david is extremely possessive, begging, crying, etc. this fic is nasty & david is an asshole

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. | w h e w — here we are AGAIN. I promise that there will be a marko fic guys !!! I have so many lost boys projects going rn that the content is endless at this point! thank you so much for your support, requests, love, etc. I literally adore y’all so much you don’t understand :)) hope you guys enjoy!

David had become a fever that you couldn’t sweat out — your pale-headed, blue-eyed infatuation. Even in your moments spent alone, his voice rang within your head, echoing like the lull of a siren. His sly laughter, his smirk — they were embedded into your brain. It was almost like some fog had come over you, and he was the only thing on your mind, the only thing that you were permitted to think about.

After that night spent within the darkness of the boardwalk’s endless carnival, he wanted you to meet him at the beach, shrouded by the cover of dusk. It had become easier to fib to your mother about where you were going at night — it was always a rotation of excuses. Friends, a beach concert, or another group hangout.

Frilly, pastel-yellow fabric clung to your frame, a sundress that billowed in the cool, night breeze of Santa Carla. It was covered in a ditsy floral pattern, something sweet and a little innocuous. The boardwalk was always congested, crowded with waves of people that swarmed you wherever you went.

You hadn’t pinpointed exactly where you were supposed to meet David, so you joined the massive herd of people that were partying around the current concert. The noisy thrum of rock music floated through the air, and you blended in seamlessly with the rest of the crowd. He would find you eventually — he always did.

Even through the midst of music, you could still hear David, always buried somewhere within the recesses of your mind. You had no idea how you’d become so enamored with him and so quickly, but you didn’t want to go against the grain and fight your feelings. He was naturally charming and enticing — you assumed that you were just smitten and awestruck.

Someone bumped into you, prompting you to shift elsewhere, toward a wooden ledge that seemed less populated. You watched the concert with idle interest, flesh erupting with goosebumps as a gloved hand grabbed at your waist. You shivered, whirling around to find David’s smirking countenance.

He was close, wedged behind you with a devious grin, pressing a brief kiss against your neck. “Found you.” He chuckled, circling you like a predator would prey as he searched for your hand. “Were you hiding from me?” David inquired, wanting to tease you a little bit. You were always so flustered and smitten — it was difficult not to find enjoyment in it.

Your lips parted, skin crawling with heat as it licked across the column of your spine. As David took your hand, he began to lead you from the crowd and into the unoccupied, sandy shores. There was a spacious staircase that led back up from the boardwalk and a terrace above.

“Never,” You protested, and that was enough to earn you a laugh from David. It was ominous and enticing, like the encroaching darkness — your curiosity was insatiable. You followed him as if you were in a trance, spotting the pack of ragtag motorcycles and the boys you’d encountered before. “Where are we going?”

David stopped midway atop the steps, guiding you forward until you were pressed against him. Your scent invaded his senses, thick and saccharine as that familiar pang of thirst scratched within his throat. He towered over you, brushing his thumb along the curve of your jawline. “Somewhere special.”

A brief laugh escaped you — he was going to keep you in the dark until you arrived. “Okay,” You hummed, gaze glued to his features as he playfully squeezed at your hip. His touch was incendiary, and you wanted to feel him anywhere and everywhere. “No hints?” You asked, listening to his sly chuckling.

“Not this time, sweetheart.” David mused, briefly nipping at your lower lip before coaxing you up the stairs again. You followed, rounding the grated bannister as he released your hand. The pack of boys were all waiting on their bikes, and the one you’d spoken to before, Paul, winked and waved at you.

You hesitated, poised along the edge of the walkway as David sauntered toward his bike, a dust-laden Triumph, taking a seat atop the vehicle as he revved the engine to life. He then peered toward you, expectant and unusually patient. Those crystalline, pale eyes shamelessly roamed across your body, drinking in the look of you in that sundress.

“Are you coming?” David asked, gesturing toward the empty space behind him. Even from the few feet of distance between you both, he listened to the excited, erratic beating of your heart. His lips twitched into a smirk, knowing that you’d go with him anyway.

“Not yet, she’s not.” Paul guffawed, releasing a series of wolfish whistles and howls. The other curly-headed blonde laughed along with him as the two smacked at one another.

David’s gaze narrowed slightly, but this sort of crass behavior was to be expected. He’d keep you safe. Finally, he extended his hand towards you, head cocked to one side. He was silent, enticing you through eyes and expression alone. Part of him wanted to utilize persuasion, but he thoroughly enjoyed whenever you chose him of your own free will.

The desire to leave the boardwalk behind for a night to spend it with David was much too tantalizing to ignore. Your feet shuffled forward, and you finally reached him, taking a hold of his hand. “I’ve never ridden one of these before.” You were a little concerned — motorcycles weren’t exactly the safest option.

Wordlessly, David coaxed you onto the seat behind him, craning to look over his shoulder at you. “Just hold on tight, kitten. I won’t let you fall.” He sneered, and to add fuel to the fire, he tilted backward, mouth sloppily landing against your plush, sweet lips. That devilish grin appeared again, prompting you to wrap your arms around his midsection.

As the bikes roared to life, David made sure that you were clinging on before spinning around within the patch of sand, making it fly across the boardwalk. He revved the engine, signaling for the rest to follow as they flew down a set of stairs, making you gasp and rock forward. David sped out onto the stretch of open beach, laughing and howling.

You hadn’t seen him like this — wild and carefree, screaming into the dead of night. David was often calculating and methodical, but you enjoyed seeing this other side of him, this primal, unrestrained edge he now possessed. The more he drove, the more comfortable you became, leaning up to get a better look of your surroundings.

As he drove toward the pier, you gasped, fingers twisting into his coat as he went straight through the wooden rafters underneath. Dangerous and daunting — but that pang of fear inevitably dissipated into excitement and sheer exhilaration. You glanced over your shoulder, watching the other boys close in behind you.

Santa Carla’s shoreline inevitably stretched into cliffsides and a wilderness of cypress trees and dirt, which is where David veered off into. Paul playfully wove his bike a little closer to you, letting out a series of whistles before David inevitably got bored of his antics, applying a barrage of pressure on the gas.

The night sky was uninhibited by clouds — it was endlessly clear, marked by a smattering of millions of stars and the silvery glow of a full moon. Forest dwindled the closer you got toward Hudson’s Bluff, waves crashing against the rock. Along the small patch of shoreline near the old lighthouse, there was a group of people partying around a small bonfire.

“Hold on.” David cautioned, swinging his bike around as he drove down a steeper incline. The bluff had an old, rocky dirt path that climbed down to the mouth of a cavern at the very bottom. It was surrounded by a mess of ‘DO NOT ENTER’ signs, barricades, and old paneling, now rotted from the ocean’s encroaching tides.

You rocked forward, colliding with his back as he made it towards the very bottom. It was a relatively wide patch of dirt and rock, where the rest of the pack promptly parked their motorcycles, draping tarps over them. The group surrounding the bonfire didn’t seem to pay any of you much attention at all.

David helped you off of the bike, grasping ahold of your hand as he motioned toward the dark entrance of the cave. The rest of the boys began to whoop and laugh as they barreled down the path inside of the cavern, torchlight diminishing as it left you and David alone outside of the cave.

He was bathed in moonlight — flesh unnaturally pale, eyes vibrant, hair turned to tresses of silver. His musculature pressed into your side, gloved palm calmly cupping your cheek. “Come with me,” He murmured, lips ghosting above the shell of your ear. “Be with me.” David’s voice had become sultry, and it almost held some sway and power over you.

A shudder rattled the length of your spine, goosebumps following suit as they coalesced across your body. David gingerly turned your face, forcing you to look up at him as he stroked his thumb against your chin. “Of course, David.” You were intrigued by what awaited you within that cave — you assumed that it was their hangout, a place to simply exist.

With a sly chuckle, he led you into the shadowed maw of the cavern, and you were launched into a place unlike any other. Dim torchlight illuminated your path as David coaxed you into their lair, where moonlight pooled onto a massive, stone fountain in the very center. It looked old — the architecture was dilapidated and crumbling, but it was all decorated with whatever they enjoyed.

Paul made himself at home, perched atop the edge of the fountain as Dwayne climbed up toward a nook carved into the rock, retrieving a case of what appeared to be alcohol. Marko came up to David, murmuring something in secrecy. Both pairs of eyes momentarily darted toward you, until David’s lips twitched into a smirk.

Marko gestured towards Paul, and the pair exited the cave, laughing and howling their way back out into the cool, oceanic dusk. You wondered what that was all about, but decided not to question it as David motioned to your newfound surroundings.

“This was the hottest resort in Santa Carla about eighty-five years ago,” David released your hand, idly sauntering around the central fountain as he prodded at the dangling fixtures of shells and bone. “They built it right along the faultline, and once the ground opened up?” He trailed off, rounding the stone until he made his way back to you. “Swallowed it whole. Now, it’s ours.”

You were intimately familiar with Santa Carla, but not enough to fully comprehend the immense amount of history lying around. You leaned over, sweeping your fingertips against the massive chandelier, rotting away within the basin of cave water. A wad of cobwebs stuck to your hand.

“It’s pretty. There’s so much to see here, too.” You chimed, peering toward the cavernous roof of the cave, where slats of moonlight pooled through, right into the center. “Where did the others go?” It was odd that they’d left so soon after just arriving.

David chuckled, knowing the gravity of the situation that you would soon find yourself caught within. If you weren’t exposed to them now, it would become increasingly difficult for him to suppress what he really was. “They went to get dinner.” He stated, which, in some twisted sense, was the truth.

With a brief laugh, you decided to pass off David’s statement as humorous, studying the intricate details of their home-away-from-home. You noticed the dangling sculptures made of animal bone, seashells, and various pieces of sea-glass. A massive banner of Jim Morrison hung on one of the rocky walls, another of Motley Crüe.

Vulnerability seeped from every pore, and David knew that he would have you — soon enough. He followed closely behind you, letting you explore as you pleased, wandering about the cave. You felt his hand press against the small of your back, gloved digits idly massaging into your curves, easy to feel beneath your sundress.

As you stepped toward a collection of chairs, you noticed one with a very high back, made of mahogany and velveteen cushions, layered in a fine sheen of dust. David moved around you, sitting down with a huff in that seat, head cocked to one side. “Don’t be shy.” He uttered, patting his thigh with a gloved palm.

Heat swept through you, crawling across your flesh as you hesitantly wandered toward David. You were a little nervous, considering that the boys were around, but he seemed entirely unbothered by this. He was smirking at you, patiently waiting until you lowered yourself into his lap, feeling him anchor an arm around your hips.

Your scent was intoxicating — heavy and warm, like the innocence of springtime. David absentmindedly licked his lower lip as he played a dangerous game, leaning in to press a kiss against your bare shoulder. Teeth momentarily grazed flesh, causing you to shudder as you made yourself comfortable.

Sounds of rancor and laughter reverberated throughout the cavern, prompting you to glance up at the rocky incline. Marko and Paul returned with two strangers — a younger couple who seemed intrigued by their surroundings.

Confusion flickered across your features, but you let it subside, assuming that they wanted to make it a party of-sorts. David held you close, practically pinning you against him as he idly caressed along your supple curves. He knew what was about to happen — your terror would come to a head.

“Wow! Look at this place, Con!” The girl echoed, hanging onto the arm of her boyfriend. They were your age, if not a little older, oblivious as to what was about to happen. Dwayne hopped down from the nook above, gaze bristling with a thinly-veiled hunger.

“Good choice.” David mused, grin becoming devilish and wrathful as he leaned forward within his chair. “I don’t think our guest will be very hungry. They’re all ours.” He assured, giving your hip a playful pat. He had no intention of turning you — not yet, anyway.

Paul and Marko began to snicker, with Marko cocking his head to one side before he gestured to you. “Off limits?” He’d ask, evoking a rather visceral response from David, whose eyes were akin to frozen pits full of ire and protectiveness.

“Yes.” David quipped, able to taste the bewilderment and confusion that dripped from you. It oozed from your pores — he could smell that surge of nervousness looming about you. It produced a peculiar pheromone that he could detect, something akin to uncertainty. You were something that he had no desire to share.

You belonged to him, now.

With a brief bout of laughter, your brows furrowed together. “Hungry?” You’d ask, unsure of why David was referring to food when there wasn’t a lick of it in-sight. The atmosphere began to shift — instinct and foresight told you to flee, but there you sat, glued to David’s lap like a good little human. He knew you’d stay.

Dwayne let out a thunderous growl, grabbing the man by the collar as he thrust him toward his knees as if he weighed nothing at all. His girlfriend yelped and squeaked, wriggling around as Paul and Marko sprang forward, keeping her restrained.

This felt wrong.

“David, wh — what’s going on?” With a strained tone of voice, it hopped up an octave, laced with fear. Anxiousness swirled within the pit of your stomach, and you shuffled within David’s lap, prompting him to press his digits into the swell of your hip.

You became uneasy, looking to David for something — protest, a command, anything. Instead, he was grinning like a cheshire cat, the apex predator, visage taking on some leer of amusement as he peered toward you. “I told you, sweetheart,” He began, pressing a kiss against your jaw. “Dinner.”

It was as if everything happened all at once, your world beginning to spin so fast that you very nearly fainted, but David was keen on keeping you safe. Dwayne’s hands would rend and tear into the man, razor-sharp incisors suddenly sinking into his jugular.

You watched with shock and horror as Paul and Marko bit into the throat and shoulder of the woman, callously tearing at her flesh, crimson spurting into the open air as it pooled around her clothing. They were laughing, akin to a pack of slavering hyenas as the girl went down into the sand-laden dirt.

Their faces transformed, no longer the boyish visages from before — they were glistening with a sweat-like sheen and wolfish, with eyes like the sun, a liquid-gold adorned in a red ring, like a halo. Fangs protruded from their canines, and the air began to smell pungent, thick with the coppery haze of blood.

You yelped, immediately attempting to scramble off of David’s lap, but he kept you pinned, now fueled with inhuman strength in the presence of prey. That dark, sly laughter of his rang within your mind and throughout the cave, and again, you tried to throw yourself onto the ground. You feared that you would be next.

“Easy, easy,” David purred, grabbing your hips as he crushed your back against his chest. “I’ll keep you safe.” He uttered, and as convincing as it sounded, a sliver of you didn’t want to believe him anymore. Then again, it was solemn — it lacked that coy, cajoling tone from before.

A pair of fangs scraped across your neck, threatening to break the skin, and you realized that it was David. Your throat felt too thick, even if you wanted nothing more than to scream. Finally, he released you, watching as you immediately fled in the opposite direction, sundress snagging on a rock.

David chuckled, gracefully pushing himself out of the chair as he sauntered toward the now-mangled body of the woman. He knew that you wouldn’t be going anywhere — he had very little to worry about. Marko and Dwayne were having their fill of the man, whose body was as limp as a ragdoll, flesh an ashen pallor.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the sight of David sinking his fangs into the collarbone of the woman, drinking straight from the source as he and Paul drained her life away. You felt lightheaded, on the verge of collapsing as you tried to climb away, only to fall right back down into the dirt.

“David?” You croaked, attempting to push yourself up from the dirt, knees wobbling. The world felt as if it’d been turned upside-down, and you were simply along for the ride, dizzy and delirious. The four were in the midst of feeding, stained with red, glowering at you through the dim light of the cave.

As you stood upright, you began to sway, but before you could collapse and hit the ground, David caught you, mouth drenched in crimson. His tongue lashed across his fangs as he ogled you, letting out another chuckle. With a bow of his head, he kissed you, and you gasped when you tasted that swarming sting of blood.

With a swift and eager tongue, he lapped at the traces of scarlet left behind from his feeding, greedily hauling you in for another lewd, passionate kiss. He was surprised to find that you weren’t recoiling, hapless within his embrace as you let out a shrewd, agonzied whine. Even if what they’d done was terrifying, you still couldn’t keep yourself away from David.

You poor thing — scared to death, trembling within his arms. Without pause, he picked you up, cradling your warm body as he carried you toward his wing of the cave. He could sense that you were on the verge of passing out, and as soon as he’d placed you onto his bed, you fainted.

Be with me.

A strangled gasp tore past your lips as your eyes shot open, swiftly surveying your surroundings. Your heart began to beat erratically, threatening to rip free from your collarbone. David’s voice was still reverberating within your mind — the screams had drowned out from the cave, leaving you with the distant lull of Billy Idol and the cavern’s ambiance.

You were swaddled in a thin shawl, made of white silk and embroidered with silver stitching. The mattress you were strewn across smelled like spiced cigarettes, cologne, and that familiar twang of copper. You traced your fingers across the ages-old, ruffled blanket. Clearly, this bed was barely used.

“You’re awake,” David murmured, perched by the foot of the bed within the blink of an eye. His vampiric features had dwindled, leaving the man you’d become infatuated with standing there, icy hues and all. “I wondered if it would be too much for you.” For a moment, he worried that they’d scared you into a comatose state. “Now you know what we are.”

Admittedly, part of you was enticed and intrigued by what he was. It was hard not to be. “You’re not going to do that to me, are you?” You pondered aloud, shuddering when his countenance contorted into a look of agitation and disdain.

“No,” His voice was sharp, like the edge of a blade. “I’ve never wanted to hurt you, sweetheart. Though,” David’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “I do enjoy your taste.” He’d tasted your blood on multiple occasions — it was sweeter than anything he’d savored before.

You were his forbidden fruit.

Heat crept through you, and you knew that you shouldn’t have been so calm about this, but it was still David — nothing changed about him. Your feelings certainly hadn’t diminished, either. You felt his gloved palm cup the curve of your jaw, thumb tracing over your cheek. “What — What are you?” You asked.

Your question lacked malice or anything accusatory. In fact, it was nearly a whisper, soft as could be as he pulled you up and against his chest. David chuckled when you shivered in his grasp, especially when he flicked a single digit over the strap of your sundress.

“A creature of the night,” He could smell the sudden pang of arousal that struck between your thighs, savoring that scintillating aroma. It made him want to tear you apart — make you scream for him. “Something that you should be terrified of.” David huffed, holding your chin in-place.

When he touched you, it only made that yearning grow tenfold, opening the way for desire to fester through you like a raging fire. You careened into his embrace, unable to pry yourself away from him. David was dangerous, but he wasn’t terrifying — he was still the same. “It won’t change how I feel.” You mumbled.

David’s eyes became bright, ignited with a sudden fire and glittering desire. “Is that so?” He purred, lips curling into a wolfish grin. “How do you feel, kitten?” His voice was a borderline snarl as he grabbed at your hips, hard enough to leave behind bruise-like imprints.

A soft, stuttering exhale escaped you as you leaned up upon your toes, pressing your lips to his. The gesture was unusually soft, but it swiftly turned into something salacious. David held you tightly, gloved digits beginning to curl into the fabric of your sundress. It was all tongue, teeth, and sheer want as he nipped at your lower lip.

He dragged you with him, using the rocky wall of the cave as his perch, mouth still fixed to yours. He tasted like the bitter bite of copper, something that you would inevitably grow accustomed to. His grip became unnaturally ironclad, clinging to you with a firm grip as he tugged at your dress. A noise skin to stitches being ripped filled the air.

“You don’t mind, do you?” David chuckled, causing your breath to hitch within your throat. With a forceful tug, he rucked your dress into a state of dishevel, ripping one of the thin, cloth straps in the process. A growl emanated from deep within his chest as he stepped back, sinking down into an old, velvet chair.

Goosebumps gathered along the nape of your neck, sending an excitable chill across your flesh as you stood in front of him, between his legs. “I want you,” You whined, desperate for him even after everything you’d witnessed. Did it make you depraved for still desiring him? Sick, perhaps? You weren’t sure. “David, please.”

Precocious, furtive laughter escaped David — he knew exactly what he wanted from you. “I’ve got something you can have, sweetheart.” He uttered, icy hues flickering over your body, shamelessly admiring your curves. That sundress flattered your frame — a shame that he was about to tear it to shreds.

Wordlessly, David coaxed you onto your knees, completely at his mercy as you swallowed the growing lump within your throat. He trailed a hand across your jaw, squeezing on either side as he splayed his legs apart, lounging in the chair with some domineering edge. His lips curled into a devious grin.

You knew what he wanted — it wasn’t hard to tell. With a shiver of anticipation, your hands moved toward his waist, slipping underneath the coat and hem of his sweater. “Aren’t you going to take anything off?” You’d ask, voice innocuous and sweet as you fumbled with his belt, attempting to quell your nerves.

“No,” David mused, watching you with hungry eyes. “You’ll have to use your imagination.” With a liquid-smooth, alluring tone, he let you go at your own pace — which was undeniably sluggish. Your mind was racing, a tangled web of lascivious thoughts that made him sneer.

A soft huff escaped you, but you continued, loosening up those leather pants of his with nimble digits. Nervousness swelled within the pit of your stomach, afraid of disappointing David with your inexperience. A hiccup rippled through your throat as his erection fell against his clothed thigh.

In an attempt to soothe your nerves, David trailed his gloved fingers throughout your tresses, caressing your scalp. “So pretty,” He purred, smirking when he could smell that pang of arousal pooling between your legs. “Go on, kitten.” He encouraged, thumb sweeping over your lower lip.

His hand cradled the base of your skull, strong enough to crush you in one fell swoop if he chose. Instead, those digits idly massaged into your hair, tensing into the formation of a grip as your palm closed around his cock. You stroked him off with a few slower pumps, absentmindedly wetting your lower lip.

David began to read your mind, raking through every thought that manifested. A low growl reverberated from the back of his throat as you opened your mouth, cock flat atop your tongue as you began to suck him off. You were sweet about it — with those doe-like eyes and uncertain hands.

As you bobbed your head back and forth, creating a little rhythm for yourself, David guided you with one hand, the other clutching at the mahogany arm of the chair. It was steadily splintering underneath his ironclad grasp. “Good girl.” He purred, a husky sound escaping him as he pushed his hips forward.

Watching you suck his cock was mesmerizing — in a rather crass way. He exuded control over you, crystalline eyes drinking you in as you hollowed your cheeks with certain strokes, tongue lapping at the swollen head. Pearls of precum oozed from his length and into your maw, and you tried your best to maintain your composure.

Heat burned right through you, consuming your body like the crash of a tidal wave as you pressed your thighs together. No amount of smothering the warmth would mask your smell. You brought your head back, sliding back and forth along his cock, tongue flicking along the underside of his length.

A grunt escaped him as you pressed forward, hands hesitantly perching atop his thighs, to which David tilted forward once again. Your lips felt incredible, but more importantly, you were enjoying yourself, too. That initial sting of anxiousness melted away, feeling David’s hand twist into your tresses.

You took more of his length into your mouth, becoming a little bolder as you sucked and licked wherever possible. David wasn’t loud — his volume was all restrained, manifesting in the forms of rumbling grunts or brief, husky sighs of pleasure. Your nails dug into his leather-clad legs, shuddering when he let out a snarl.

With another jolt of his hips, you nearly recoiled when the first rope of hot seed landed upon your tongue. You hastily swallowed, but David had different intentions, ripping you off of his cock as he painted your poor chest and clothes with his seed. It was deliberate, and you could see the pearlescent gleam of his wolfish grin as he came.

“Sorry for the mess,” His apology was sardonic, spoken through his sultry lull as he wiped away a tendril of drool from the corner of your mouth. “You look pretty like that.” David sighed, icy-blue hues flashing with a momentary spark of gold. You were sweet enough to buckle him back up, too.

With a chuckle, he watched with amusement as you sheepishly cleaned yourself up, flesh crawling with warmth as his hands locked around your hips again. “David,” You sighed with passion, feeling his face press into your stomach. He could smell you — it was overwhelming. “Need you.”

Another low, sharp growl escaped him as he clawed at your dress, causing the fabric to tear, stitches coming apart at the seams. “My turn.” He uttered, and in one swift movement, he had you pinned on the bed, crawling down until his scruffy visage was nestled between your legs. He sighed, fighting off the urge to tear into you.

A strangled gasp tore past your lips, stomach erupting with butterflies as your vampiric paramour knelt between your legs, pressing a string of greedy kisses along your thighs. The burn of his beard was beyond pleasant, keeping you grounded as his hand snatched at your sundress.

“You were made for me,” David hissed, tone raging with possessiveness and a borderline obsession. There was a fire within his eyes that you hadn’t seen before, and you were now a witness to his strength as he tore your dress asunder. The fabric was ripped away entirely, leaving you in your frilly brassiere and panties. “Mine.”

Again, he continued on his warpath, letting out a delightful chuckle as he ripped your panties off, too. Your eyes flew open, watching as he tossed the now-destroyed remnants aside. David removed his gloves for this, allowing his icy flesh to melt against your warmth.

“David, I—“ You shivered when his teeth grazed along your inner thigh, able to spot those fangs of his. They were as sharp as razors, teasing your soft, fragile flesh. You wondered if he was going to turn you — if he truly wanted to, he would’ve done it at the boardwalk. “Are you going to …”

“Not yet,” David intercepted you, making it clear that your thoughts were no longer safe. He invaded your mind, and it was so very enjoyable. Your fantasies laid bare, stripped to the bone, all belonging to him. He leaned in, cold palm resting just above your breast, able to feel the erratic beating of your human heart. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” He uttered, pressing a kiss along your knee. “To be mine — forever?”

There was something enthralling about the way he spoke to you — perhaps it was his voice or the piercing, calculating stare he gave you. You wanted nothing more than to become his, to feast in this supposed immortality, but you wanted to enjoy humanity for a little while longer. “Yes,” You whispered, reaching for his hand. “I’m yours.” It was an unspoken promise.

His fangs disappeared, but his grin did not, still present as he began to kiss along your leg once more. David kept quiet, gaze burning with lust as he nipped at your thigh, and then bit down. No fangs — just teeth. A little yelp escaped you, and he began to lap at the newly-formed bite mark, which would certainly leave a bruise.

He stooped lower, body nearly flat against the rickety mattress as he inhaled your scent. It only served to spur him on as another growl rippled through him. “Aren’t you going to use your manners?” David mused, tormenting you again with his teasing, but you weren’t above begging. He pinned your writhing hips down with one hand.

“Please,” You babbled, a strangled whine escaping you as David’s tongue briefly flicked across your slit. “Please David, please!” It was the worst form of torture, but you hoped he would continue, hands clamoring as you clutched onto the sheet in fistfuls.

“That’s better.” With another sharp nip against your soft flesh, he immediately went to work, dragging his tongue along your wet cunt. He was vigorous, passionate — you almost expected him to tease you, but you were pleasantly surprised. He gripped your thigh, keeping an arm hooked underneath for leverage.

Warmth pooled between your thighs, manifesting in the form of arousal. David was more than pleased to lap it all up, throat vibrating with an occasional grunt or growl as he flicked his tongue across your clit. One hand would snake down to assist, fingers working in-tandem to stroke at your cunt, intending on working you open.

Your back arched slightly, a myriad of moans leaving your parted lips as David touched you. His mouth was mesmerizing, dutifully lapping along the length of your cunt, taking a particular interest in your clit. When his lips pursed around that bundle of nerves, you nearly cried out, legs wobbling.

His tongue raked hot embers across your cunt, causing you to tremble and quiver, hips attempting to jolt forward again. You could practically feel David’s smirk as he buried his face between your thighs, beard scratching something ragged against your silky flesh.

Another moan left you when he began to suck on your clit, adding that little graze of his teeth. Your flesh felt so sensitive, crawling with goosebumps as David began to curl his fingers just slightly, making you whimper and twitch, legs accidentally pushing against his head.

David found enjoyment in making your writhe and squirm, your saccharine scent swimming around him like a thick fog. He could tell that you hadn’t done this before, judging from your constant whimpering and canting your hips forward. Nails buried themselves into your thigh, leaving behind angry impressions as he sunk two digits into your cunt, listening to you gasp.

A thin layer of dewy perspiration broke out along your flesh, provided by the continuous wave of heat drifting between the both of you. David was cold, like the bitter sting of winter as he soothed your feverish heat. “David!” You whined, cunt clenching around his digits as he pistoned them in and out of you.

All tact had dissipated as he began to submit to feral urges, another snarl rippling within his throat. His body shook from the noise, poised and leaning into you as he raked his tongue over your cunt. David’s hands kept you locked into place as he suckled on your clit again, causing you to cling to the sheets.

“David, m’close,” You huffed, eyes fluttering shut as you reclined on the mattress, allowing yourself to sink inward, hips occasionally attempting to twitch and jolt forward. As your head lolled to one side, your half-lidded stare drifted toward David, whose eyes were unnaturally vibrant — two liquid pools of gold. “David.”

His mouth worked with an unrestrained ardor, interlaced with a sinful hunger. Of course, he longed for your body just as much as he desired those sanguine rivers that pumped through your veins. With another purse of his lips and flick of his tongue, you were trapped within the throes of bliss.

Pleasure unfurled from the pit of your stomach, bristling through your body as it devoured you whole. You swore that you saw stars as a white-hot wave struck you again and again. David’s muffled laughter reverberated from between your thighs, prompting him to trace his tongue over your cunt again.

“David!” You moaned, feeling as if you were set ablaze, hips bucking off the bed just a little bit. Your orgasm ripped through you, sending shivers down your spine as you recovered. You tasted divine, able to hear his cacophony of soft grunts as he lifted his head, tongue lashing across his lower lip.

At last, he withdrew, dragging those sharp fangs across the inside of your thigh. A singular pearl of blood blossomed across your flesh, prompting David to swipe at it with an inhuman haste. His hands languidly groped and caressed along your haunches, yanking you toward the edge of the bed.

David stood between your legs, dark and towering like a pale-headed shadow, eclipsing all light from your view. The sight of you, blissed-out with a wet mess between your legs and a heaving chest was enchanting. Even he felt that rush of arousal as it all came crashing in again. Silently, he gestured toward his belt, waiting for you to come down from your climax.

With a soft huff, you sat up on your elbows, hands fumbling with his belt and leather pants again. You nearly jumped out of your own flesh when he grabbed your neck, dragging you in for a heated, messy kiss. David had little desire to be rough with you — this time, at least. He allowed his tongue to momentarily clash with yours, freeing his cock as he pressed closer.

“You ready, sweetheart?” David uttered, sluggishly pushing the head of his cock against your slick cunt, beginning to test the waters. His lips twitched into a devious smirk, filled with a twinge of desperation as he grabbed at either of your thighs.

You nodded, chewing at the inside of your cheek. A sloshing warmth filled the pit of your stomach as he pushed his cock inside of you, deliberately feeding you every inch of his length until he was buried at the base. You were tight, lips parting as a strangled moan escaped you.

A low growl ripped through David’s throat, feeling your sweet cunt clench pathetically around him. Sharp nails briefly dug into the pliant flesh of your hips as he thrust forward, causing you to gasp. He wasn’t exactly gentle, but his restraint was borderline, ready to crack and splinter at any moment.

His longing, whilst initially subdued, was now on full display. David’s eyes glistened like a feral animal, countenance contorted into an expression of need and desire, hips snapping forward as he began to bury his cock inside of you. You whimpered, legs threatening to slip around his waist.

“David,” You huffed, nearly squeaking when he stooped over, much closer to you. Any tact and sensuality dissipated as David began to rut into you, cock pistoning in and out of your tight cunt. His rhythm was swift and all-consuming as he held your hip with an iron grip, fingers leaving behind bruises. “Feels so good.” Your voice escaped you in a garbled slur.

Your hands fluttered from the sheets to him, gliding against his chest as they slipped upward, grabbing fistfuls of those platinum-blonde tresses. A grunt left him as heat blistered between the both of you, more from you than from him. Fire would meet ice as he pressed close, nipping at your lower lip as you urged him in for a kiss.

There was something primal and hungry about his kiss, as if he’d been completely starved of all contact. It was teeth and tongue colliding as he roughly gained entry into your mouth, teeth scraping across your lower lip, growling into your mouth. His pace seemed to match that sensation, brutal and unrelenting as he hammered away at your poor cunt with no sign of slowing down.

The contact was short-lived as David brusquely jerked backward, pulling his cock out of you. That emptiness made you whimper, desperate for him to continue — and he intended to, but in a different way. He turned you over, manhandling you onto your stomach as he grabbed your hips, shoving his cock back into you.

His cajoling laughter reverberated throughout the alcove, making your mind go fuzzy as he fucked you within an inch of your life. You felt David’s hand tangle into your hair, pulling at the roots with a firm grip. Another hapless whine left you, cunt clenching pathetically around his cock as he filled you to the brim, thrusts becoming a little more animalistic.

“David!” You cried, no longer able to see your vampiric paramour, but you could feel him. Even with your eyes closed, his voice reverberated throughout your mind, burnished-gold hues emblazoned into your brain like a hot brand. He fucked you senseless, chest bursting with a cacophony of growls and snarls.

It was almost overwhelming — your poor cunt was being pounded away at by David, who was eager to release for a second time. Your climax would be secondary, if he was feeling generous. You clawed at the sheets, grabbing it in fistfuls, hips pushing backwards into him. His fingers were so forceful, leaving behind angry imprints on your flesh.

You were desperate, body convulsing with pleasant spasms, legs struggling to keep yourself propped up. It all felt as if you were turning to mush, crawling with heat as David bit at your shoulder. He didn’t want to keep holding himself back, using your hair to roughly tug you backward. The firm musculature of his chest pressed into your back.

“You belong to me,” David snarled, sharp teeth mere centimeters away from the shell of your ear. They danced along your neck, hovering above your pulse point. It would’ve only taken one bite — he didn’t want to lose you so quickly. A turbulent wildfire of possessiveness surged inside of him, violent as ever as one of his palms clasped at your neck. “Say it!” He sneered.

A shiver passed through your body, lips parting as a myriad of needy, noisy moans escaped you. David forcefully parted your legs with one knee, grunting into your ear. The sounds were delicious — terrifying when you realized what he was. You could barely form the words, clutching onto his forearm.

David’s abrasive behavior might’ve been off-putting to many — but not to you. Deep down, it aroused you to no end, producing another wave of molten liquid within the pit of your belly, oozing between your thighs. “Going silent on me, kitten?” He chuckled, nipping at the sensitive flesh just beside your jugular. “Where’s that pretty voice of yours?”

Another whine tore past your parted lips as you sucked in a sharp breath, nearly crying out when his cock slapped away at your cunt. Any semblance of compassion had been exchanged for roughness and pure lust, as if you were a plaything for David. “I—I belong to you,” You slurred, attempting to move your hips in-tandem. “David, please!”

There would be no divide between you and David, no more distance. He’d keep you here in the cave, his precious mate, and when he felt like you were deserving of it, he’d make you like him — immortal, eternally trapped within a state of youth. You surrendered yourself completely, feeling him drive his cock into you again until he could go no further.

You were chasing after every sensation, set ablaze in the fire of David’s insatiable desire, gasping when his hand squeezed around your throat. The pressure caused you to shudder, cunt clenching around his length as you sought your release. When you sneakily attempted to shove your hand between your legs, he stopped entirely.

“What do we have here?” David admonished you, clicking his tongue with a mocking hint of disdain. “Trying to speed things up?” You felt cold, almost a little delirious as he simply dropped you onto the mattress, pulling himself from you. “If you’re so desperate, you can finish yourself, kitten.” He sneered, eyes a burnished amber, nearly a golden-red.

“Wh—Wait!” Being denied so close to your climax made you feel clammy, as if every wisp of air had been ripped from your throat. “D—David, I’m sorry! Please keep going!” You didn’t think he was serious, watching him stand at the foot of the bed, towering over you with a rather sardonic expression, full of rebuke.

“If you want to cum, you’ll have to beg.” David clicked his tongue, grabbing at your legs as he pulled you close again. “Why should I let you after that little stunt? Not good enough for you?” His voice surged with agitation, and you couldn’t discern if it was genuine or fabricated to fit his lust and appetite.

You nearly sobbed when he brushed his thumb over your clit, so feather-light that you wouldn’t have felt it if it weren’t for your constant squirming. “David, I — Please fuck me, please keep fucking me,” You babbled, tears stinging your eyes. The denial blistered through you, coupled with your own desperation to continue. He’d fucked you so good — it’d ruin you to stop now. “P—Please!”

David smirked, gazing down at you with a look of faux pity and want. Of course, he had no desire to simply abandon you here and now — but it was fun to play with you, poke and prod for a reaction. “You’re lucky, sweetheart.” He crooned, digits deliberately sliding across your clit again, causing you to let out a noisy whine.

“Please fuck me, please,” Your stammered, stumbling over your words as a coo of delight left you. “David, I need you.” With a trembling exhale, you continued to murmur something about wanting him. His laughter floated above your head, sinking into your very bones.

“Good girl.” David’s praise was spoken upon a silver tongue and dark eyes as he hastily shoved his cock back into your tight cunt, resuming the brutal pace he’d set before. You were on your back again, hapless beneath him as he railed you into a blissful oblivion.

He exuded dominance — he exuded a calculating control that you bent to, so very easily. David’s brow furrowed, countenance drawn into a look of rapture. He would never admit it, but he was thoroughly enamored with you, be it your sweet demeanor, your body, or your blood. Each thrust hit you hard, making you see stars.

One hand clutched the meat of your thigh, the other wrapped snugly underneath your throat, wedged against your jaw. He fucked you at a near-inhuman pace, rough and needy, causing you to part your legs just a little further for him. You huffed, a mess of moans and whimpers; his snarl was a familiar one.

David grunted, letting out a bestial hiss as he reached his peak, allowing himself to cum inside of you for a second or two, but that was painfully short-lived. His cock fell onto your stomach, painting your abdomen and breasts in ropes of hot, sticky seed. You shouldn’t have been so surprised — he got off on it.

His pearlescent grin glinted within the flickering candlelight as you came soon after, thanks to that generous caressing of his thumb pressing into your clit. You were spent, body spasming and quivering as you reached your peak, orgasm just as insanity-inducing as the last.

Warmth cascaded through you, goosebumps coalescing down the length of your spine when David caressed your jaw. He was stroking your silky flesh, head slightly cocked to one side as he watched you ride out your orgasm. You had gotten a little embarrassed, but he thought very little of it, peering towards the tattered remnants of your clothes.

“You’ll need something to wear.” David hummed, briefly correcting his attire as he found one of the many articles of clothing he’d collected in his immortal lifetime. It was a mahogany-hued sweater, something he lacked any attachment to, but you’d have his scent. He tossed it toward you, letting it land next to your head.

His callous behavior afterward was certainly something you’d have to get used to, but you decided to play one of the cards you had up your sleeve. “David,” You murmured, reaching for the ruined scraps of your dress to clean his cum off of you. “Come here?”

David paused, wondering if you were expecting a little tender, loving care afterwards. If that was what you wanted, it was best if you asked Paul or Dwayne. He decided to indulge you, stepping closer until he was back at your side again.

Wordlessly, you stood up, now shrouded in his sweater, which seemed entirely too big for you. He thoroughly reveled in that — your scent intermingled with his. It was a way to keep you close, now that you belonged to him. You rocked up onto your toes to kiss him, something that he reciprocated.

He felt your lips quirk into the ghost of a smile before you crawled back onto his mattress, both physically and mentally exhausted. David’s tongue swept across his teeth as he watched you lay down, and instead of leaving entirely, he turned, taking up residence in the rickety, velvet-cushioned chair he’d been in earlier.

As he struck his lighter, David placed the cigarette between his lips, ogling you across the way. It was difficult not to be a little soft on you — though, if you were to become an immortal, you had so much more to go. Initiation was far from over, but for now, he let you rest. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” He exhaled, tone saturated with an edge of mockery.

As sleep claimed you, your dreams were only filled with him — and that distant scent of blood.

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siriusleee · 7 months

Text

shot through with gold

“I smashed the whole house to bits,” Johnny keeps going, turning to put the milk in the refrigerator. “Had to get Simon over here to help me put it back together. It was his idea by the way. To get the mug fixed. He said you’d be mad if it was gone when you came home.”

tags: coming back home, implied torture, capture, smut, riding, reader is afab, mentions of medical procedures, mentions of blood word count: 7.7k author's note: This was a commission by the best and brightest @gazs-blue-hat. If you'd like to commission a fic, visit my ko-fi for more information. Also, I refuse to disgrace the good country of Scotland by attempting to do the full Scottish accent. Readers call sign is Sparrow, but it's only used once.

The room is heavy with dust; small puffs cloud around Johnny’s boots as he pads across the plush carpet. The summer’s oppressive heat makes the walls sweat - you’d be worrying about the mold forming in the drywall if you could see it. But Johnny doesn’t think of the way his handprints smudge on the paint you spent weeks agonizing over or the way your perfume lingers in the still air even after all this time.

His singular mission - to grab a few shirts he needs and leave - is the only thought he allows himself to think about, hands combing through the dressers and eyes trained downward, away from all the pictures hanging on the wall. He avoids your side of the dresser, avoids the lace that still peaks out from your top drawer.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, Johnny ignores it as he pulls the shirts he came to look for out of the dresser drawer, tucking them beneath his arm. He follows his tracks in the dust back out, eyes cast down at the carpet. The whole trip takes less than 10 minutes; he doesn’t let himself look up until he’s slamming the passenger door of Simon’s truck shut behind him.

“Got everything?” Simon asks, shifting the truck into drive.

Johnny sits ramrod straight in the seat, eyes avoiding Simon’s as he buckles in.

“Yeah, got everything.”

Your fingers trace over the marks you’d carved into the soft stone wall. You’d tried to keep a tally mark of days, but time slipped by in odd increments within your cell. Some days you’d watch the sunrise from the cracks in the ceiling and after just a blink, the inky blackness of night would be seeping in. Sometimes the sun hung in the sky for months before finally falling to the full moon. No matter how hard you tried to decode the pattern, the moment you had it everything would reset.

The guards were in on it; they had to be. They’d bring your meals at odd times - sometimes you’d still be full from the moldy slop they shoved in between the cell bars, spilling it out onto the floor like you’re an animal in a cage, and sometimes you’d be so hungry that you could barely crawl to eat.

It was supposed to be someone else - you were pulled for guard duty after another soldier slogged off and broke his foot doing something stupid while training. You’d finally been pulled to work with Johnny, three days away from being a full transfer to the 141 when your C.O. had appeared at the door of your bunk, new orders in hand.

A simple guard duty: get the guy to where he was supposed to be going, hand him off, and fly home. Your transfer could wait an extra forty-eight hours. But your plane was shot down somewhere over the middle of nowhere - you had told your C.O. that flying that low was a risk, but the desert was empty and the plane was old. They’d been making the flight for weeks, ferrying men back and forth with no hiccups. Your flight should have been no different.

It should have been someone else.

You couldn’t remember what had hit your small passenger plane: but the ground was David, and you were Goliath. You’d hit the ground beside the pilot’s head, his mouth formed in a soundless scream, and after a quick flash of black, had woken up to a bucket of water being poured across your face.

Whatever language your captives screamed at you, you didn’t know it. And if they knew any of the ones you screamed back at them: Spanish, Arabic, German, they didn’t let you in on it. You couldn’t figure out what they wanted until they’d ripped the Union Flag from the breast of your vest, a quick picture on a Polaroid camera snapped above you before you realized what they wanted.

Blood dribbled down your chin when you laughed at them: the government didn’t even pay for soldiers who got captured at war. What would they pay for your half-broken body to get shipped back in a wooden box? A simple mistake that could be written off as a plane malfunction.

The anger had come first, feet and fists slamming into the men when they appeared at the cell doors. Nails ripped from their beds when you tried to claw at the seams in the walls. It had cost you a few teeth and a pound of flesh. And then, when you were tired of the endless beatings and anger that went nowhere, you begged them to kill you, to do something to end the torment. By the marks on the wall, it took months before you first asked to be killed, and only weeks later for that to end, each request met with silence and a sneer. Now you lay in the corner, waiting for the few moments when they’d let you out to see the sun glinting off of the mountain ranges, the clouds threatening to storm in the distance.

Those quick trips seemed to come with less frequency as time slipped by.

You trace the tattoo on your thigh; they’d cut through it once after you kicked one of them in the chest, his ribs caving beneath your feet, but even beneath the dried viscera and matted dirt that covered your skin, you could still see Johnny’s name there.

You wonder if he’s picked a gravestone for you yet.

The two of you had talked about it, once. It was the nature of your jobs - to be prepared for everything that could come your way. Your wills were done: 75% to Johnny, 15% to your sister’s kids, and the rest to a local charity. Johnny wrote in that you were to get 100% of everything he owned, and you had chided him about it.

“What about your mom? Your sisters?” You had asked across the steam from your cup of coffee. Johnny had shrugged, dropping the black pen onto the table with finality.

“Already taken care of, birdie.”

After that had come the talk of headstones and burial plots. Of missing bodies and cremation. You had told Johnny that whatever he thought you’d like, to pick out. You weren’t picky about it.

You wonder if the military let him put his last name on the stone.

A decidedly male voice shouts from around the corner, and you pull back into the stone wall. Seconds later, fetid food falls through the bars. The man shouts at you, pointing at the food on the ground. Lazily, you turn your head towards him, watching the way he sneers at you through the bars.

They must be getting angry then. No ransom came through after all these months.

You bare your teeth at him.

You’d rip his throat out if you had the strength to do so anymore.

Johnny’s fingers don’t shake like they used to when he buckles the strap of his helmet, the night vision goggles weighing him down. He’s tired - exhausted. The entire convey smells of cigarettes and sweat. Heavy men in heavy gear press around him; across from him Gaz’s eyes shine terribly bright in the darkness. They press in on Johnny, forcing him back into his seat heavily.

Price’s voice is loud in his comms, intermingling with the sounds of the Marines and the whir of the mechanics beneath his feet. Johnny can’t make out the details over the sound of the truck rumbling beneath him.

“Steady Soap?”

Gaz knows - Johnny doesn’t know how Gaz can do this kind of job with the way he fucking oozes empathy. Or sympathy. Johnny could never remember which one was which, he always had to ask you which one to use. Gaz had been the only one who’d asked him if he was alright; Simon had lingered at the edges of rooms Johnny was in to keep an eye on him, and Price tried to give him an extended leave. Johnny had refused.

But Gaz had been waiting until Johnny was sitting outside of some bar a group of Seals had taken them to - a celebration for a job well done months after you were gone, after Johnny's failed attempt to find you.

“You good?” Gaz had asked, fingers twirling a cigarette he would never light.

“O’course.”

It had made Johnny feel like shit to lie to Gaz, and the same feeling washes over him as Gaz’s eyes linger on Johnny.

The warm summer air washes over them; sweat is starting to coat his lower back, his fatigues keeping him too warm. The smell of the desert, of warmed sand keeps him grounded, reminds him of where he is - what he’s doing here.

In the glint of the moonlight, the mountaintops shine at him.

The first few missions had been difficult: he’d fought like hell to try to search for you, fuck the regulations. He’d resign if it meant finding you. The rest of the fucking government didn’t care: no one on the plane was as important as anyone else, not to the officials anyway. Johnny had done just that, his resignation had landed heavily on Price’s desk, only to land in the trashcan a moment later.

Gaz volunteered to follow Johnny, but Price had cut that off quickly. It was to be Johnny and Simon only. They had five days, a week at most before they had to be back home.

The farthest they got was the plane wreckage, a little burnt-out village miles away, and sheep that stared at them from the sides of the mountains. But he couldn’t find a trace of you or a singular person who even recognized the photo of you he kept tucked inside his gear. Even after Simon had disobeyed Price’s orders to return home now after weeks had passed. They didn’t find anything.

Johnny knew that’s why Price had volunteered the 141 for this mission - a small-time terrorist cell hiding out in a country they didn’t belong to, a small promise of the bodies of missing soldiers hidden somewhere.

It was something.

The guards are panicking; the dirt walls shake around you. You can’t guess what it could be: American pilots doing a blind bombing, Russians pretending to send help only to rain down hell on the perceived innocent. Maybe God’s here to level the land and flood it. Try again. Do something different this time.

He could start with your cell, you think, scraping at the dirt on your leg. Underneath the sun-starved skin is paler than it should be. If you ever leave, you think, the first thing you’re going to do is eat a fucking steak in the sunshine. The bones that refused to set correctly ache beneath your bruised flesh.

The sound of gunfire pierces the inescapable silence. Your captors yell, screams punctuating between the bursts of firepower. Good, maybe they’ll tear each other apart and leave you here to die in peace.

Maybe it was a poker game gone extremely wrong. Someone asked to strip when they should have been ponying up the cash.

Smoke pops in the hallway outside, you don’t run from the white creeping in on you, just pull the rags that were your shirt over your mouth to try and keep breathing. It overtakes your cell; you watch as the smoke creeps through the cracks in the ceiling.

The sounds of war flood the small cell - the taste of blood and gunpowder in the air around you. You can taste the iron when you breathe in. It coats your tongue. You run your teeth across the chipped and broken enamel, mixing the taste of other’s blood with your own.

Someone shouts so close this time you can almost make out the words - American accent thick and heavy in your ears - and it stirs something inside of you. You try to navigate the cell through the smoke, rolling painfully off of the pallets your captors had so kindly turned into a bed for you. Crawling across the excreta and mud you try to make a sound, but you haven’t spoken in months.

Your throat is raw, and the sounds that come from you are barely human. You’ll be surprised the men even hear you, let alone notice you there on the ground. You try to pull yourself up at the bars, but the fracture in your ankle that healed up wrong weeks ago keeps you on your knees.

“Hey-” you finally croak out loud enough for one of the men to cast his eyes down at you. “Please.”

He’s so familiar, the softness in his eyes tugging at something familiar inside of you, the sharpness of his shoulders calling to you. You pull yourself up, leaning heavily on the bars and the one ankle that doesn’t scream at you, hands slipping through the bars to try to reach towards him.

His gun drops, swinging loosely on its strap as he steps towards you. His fatigues are filthy, and his nose wrinkles beneath the cloth mask covering his face. You know you smell terrible, and you want to apologize for it, but you can’t make the words come. He looks so tired as he steps towards you, hands reaching out to grip the bars between the two of you.

“Sparrow?”

“Johnny?”

It takes days for you to make it home: IVs from field medics who barely know what they’re doing, anti-viral meds, shots, stitches. They don’t even let you take a real shower until you’ve landed at a base you barely recognize. It’s a painful process, a female nurse wiping at you gently, but still peeling away layers of skin with each pass of the washcloth, your sobs muffled by the shower.

Johnny waits for you on the fringes of all the people that press around you, poking you, prodding you painfully until finally, you find yourself slammed into a British hospital bed.

Johnny comes in the moment they let him, hands held behind his back in a mock parade rest. You barely recognize him, his mohawk almost completely grown out and bags under his eyes. You know you don’t look much better; you’d caught sight of yourself in a mirror before they’d forced you into bed. Ruined was the only word to describe what you saw. Too thin, too broken. Too torn apart to be stitched back together. At least not without all the types of therapy a military doctor listed out to you: hydro, occupational, physical, mental.

Neither of you know what to say, so you start with the last thing the doctor told you.

“They’re going to rebreak my ankle tomorrow,” your voice is still thin, full of isolation. You’d tested it out on everyone who’d been in to work on you, but it didn’t sound right at all. Johnny shuffles nervously where he stands, and then rushes forward to sit in the chair beside your bed. He’s moving wrong, you think, like a wind-up doll. Too slow and then all at once, too fast.

“Why?”

“I healed up wrong.”

Johnny’s hands play with the edge of the blanket that dangles off of the bed, eyes trained on the fabric. He’s not going to look at you. At the ruin you’ve become. You press yourself down harder into the thin mattress, hands tucked beneath your thighs to keep them still.

“Is it going to hurt?”

You can’t help but smile at his question, your toes twitching beneath the blanket that feels so out of place across you. How many months had they had you? A year? No one had told you yet.

“They said I’d be fucked up on medicine. But probably, yeah."

Johnny’s hands aren’t still against the blanket, instead reaching out towards you. The movement startles you, and you jerk to the opposite side, nearly pulling your IVs out. Johnny pulls his hands back, crossing them across his chest.

“When you -” his voice breaks, just a moment before he put it back together, eyes finally meeting yours, “when you come home I’ll bring the bedroom downstairs so that you don’t have to walk far.”

You have the nagging suspicion that he changed what he was going to say at the last moment.

"Are you going to sleep on the couch with me?" You try to tease, but your voice falls flat, unpracticed. But it still makes Johnny smile, sharp incisors digging into his chapped lips.

"I'll sleep wherever you tell me."

The two of you are surrounded by the sounds of the hospital: the beeps of the heart rate monitors, the sounds of the nurses' quiet conversation outside of your room. You trace your hands across the blanket, grasping Johnny’s whenever your fingers collide with each other.

For a moment, neither of you move, just languish in the feeling of each other’s skin; you’re too busy tracing Johnny’s palm to notice him pushing himself closer to you until he kisses you, softly but with a tight undercurrent of desperation, his hand tightening almost painfully on yours.

The feeling of someone touching you so gently after weeks of rage and anger nearly stops your heart. The monitor goes crazy; Johnny pulls back, just the hint of a smile on his lips.

It takes four weeks for Johnny to get the go ahead to bring you home. Each day you were in the hospital he would come for a quick chat before work, bringing you breakfast he picked up. Every day after, he would collapse in the chair beside your bed, smelling of sweat and gunpowder.

The smell made you recoil when he tried to kiss you, and he didn't try again after that, even after you tried to stutter out a why. But the day the doctor tells Johnny that you can go home, you awaken to Johnny outside of the hospital room, arms crossed as he speaks to the head doctor - Johnny looks more serious than you’ve ever seen him off the battlefield.

Everyone rotates around you as if you’re not there, packing the room up, pulling your IVs out, fingers prodding and poking you until a nurse aide wheels a wheelchair into the room for you.

”Ready?” She asks, locking the brakes. She looks at you from across the room, and you know what she wants. Starting the day after they rebroke your bones, they made you get up and start walking, and you push yourself off of the bed, walkable cast heavy against the tile floor.

Johnny’s in the room in a second, catching sight of you whenever he sees you stumbling over your cast across the room. The aide lets him push her out of the way, his hands gripping the wheelchair as you lower yourself down.

“I can walk out, you know.” You grumble at Johnny as he tosses a heavy folder into your lap.

“Hospital procedure, birdie.”

Simon’s truck is waiting for the two of you in the parking lot, Simon in the driver's seat. He throws a glance at you as Johnny helps you clamber into the backseat, crowded around by grocery bags.

“Hello, Luv.”

“Hello, Simon. Thank you for the ride.”

Simon opens his mouth to speak, black hospital mask sliding up, but he’s cut off by Johnny clambering into the passenger seat.

You watch Johnny from the backseat, foot propped up beside you. His hair has grown out too long, the Mohawk nearly disappeared and his beard has started to grow in. In all the years you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him anything other than clean-shaven; even in the field, he'll butcher himself with a knife before he lets it grow in.

He’s thinner than he should be, too. You wonder if he’d been eating like he was supposed to.

The drive home is disorientating, Simon taking turns too sharply, too quick for your still queasy stomach. By the time Johnny helps you climb down from the truck, dropping your hands quickly when both of your feet are on the ground.

The house is clean, too clean for Johnny to have been here alone. Like he can sense you'd skepticism, Johnny speaks from ahead of you.

“I’ve hired a cleaner,” Johnny says, holding the door open for you. “So don’t worry about anything.”

It’s odd to be back home; you trace your fingers across the knick-knacks you’d collected throughout the years, the furniture you’ve spent years picking out. You have memories of sitting here with Johnny, memories of Simon and Gaz laughing from the kitchen. But now all you feel is lost, a bottle floating in a foreign ocean.

You wander into the kitchen, fingers trailing against the wall - there are no dirty dishes in the sink, no food in the cabinets; Johnny wasn’t living here.

The only dish you recognize is sitting on the counter, you pick it up, feeling the unfamiliar weight in your hand.

“It’s called Kintsugi.”

The Japanese word rolls heavily off of Johnny’s tongue, your fingers pause tracing the golden lines that cut through the mug. It was your favorite, a gift from when you and Johnny had first met. The two of you met at a diner, out with mutual friends. You’d thought it was cute, the name of the diner printed across the front in vintage lettering. Johnny had swiped it for you, hiding it beneath his jacket until the two of you parted ways at your doorstep.

“What happened to it?”

“I broke it,” he admits, dropping the grocery bags onto the counter. Your fingernail can’t find any snag in the glaze, any sign that the mug has never had the golden lines cutting through it.

Johnny busies himself with unloading the bag, speaking without looking at you as he confesses.

“After you were taken, I spent weeks searching for you until Price forced me to come home. I was angry, and I smashed it.”

You can feel the frown sketched onto your face; you don’t look at Johnny as you set the mug down on the counter.

You lean against the counter and watch Johnny busy himself with the groceries.

“He was right,” you admit, feeling silly over the sadness that fills you over the broken cup, “but maybe that’s something Simon has a lot of experience with broken things ya’know.”

You and Johnny orbit each other for weeks: he’s there every day until you begin to question if he’s gotten himself fired to stay home with you. He drives you everywhere, and if he can’t, Simon waits for you just out past the front gate, no doubt on Johnny’s orders.

“I had a lot of time off,” he says one day, elbow-deep in the laundry that he dumped between the two of you, eyes cast on the television. “Never had a reason to take it before.”

Your hands smooth the wrinkles out of one of Johnny’s shirts, fingers picking at the loose string. Today had been talk therapy, recommended by the SAS doctors. They were strict about all the requirements you had to meet if you ever wanted to go back, and laying on a shrink’s couch for two hours a week was one of them.

The graying doctor had asked you if you had spoken to Johnny about the anger that still wells up in you, the dreams you have of tearing your captives to pieces with your hands, the internal self-flagellation you went through every night when you thought about the career you’d worked so hard for, and have now lost.

You had spent the rest of the day thinking about what he said, even when it meant not paying attention to the medical doctor’s order when they were cutting your cast off, but Johnny took in every word.

You almost say something then, tossing Johnny’s shirt onto his pile, but the wrong words come out.

“You need a haircut.”

“Yeah?” Johnny’s hands still around a pair of your shorts, you feel him watching you in his peripheral vision. “You want to cut it?”

Of course, you did; you spend more moments than not thinking about how his hair must feel like long if it’s still soft. But every time the two of you tried to touch each other, the other pulled away.

So when Johnny takes your hand, and pulls you up the stairs, you let him - hand heavy and warm in your own.

Johnny lowers himself onto the closed toilet seat; you feel unsteady as you approach him, clippers in hand, and you’re not sure if it’s from the closeness or the weight of your cast being removed.

“Are you sure you trust me to do this?” You ask again; since you’d come home your fingers had been a kind of clumsy they’d never been before.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Johnny keeps his eyes trained on you, fingers tapping against the tight denim stretched across his jeans.

“I can scalp you bald,” you admit, switching the clippers on, “and then you’d look like a Q-Ball for eight weeks.”

“I’ll be the best damn Q-Ball anyone’s ever seen,” Johnny says, beard twitching as he smirks at you. If he notices the way your fingers tremble when you take his jaw in your hand, he doesn’t say anything.

His eyes close at the feeling of the clippers cutting through his hair, no doubt the feeling of the weight being removed was comfortable for him.

“You didn’t do this while I was - while I was gone?”

Your therapist says you shouldn’t shy away from calling your kidnapping what it was, but you still can’t form the words in front of Johnny.

He hums at your words, never opening his eyes as he speaks.

“I don’t let anyone else touch my hair, birdie.”

“What about your beard?”

Johnny snorts, eyes meeting yours as you maneuver his head to the side.

“You don’t like it?”

You like the way he feels against your skin, you want to tell him. But you can’t make the words form, can’t spit them out. Johnny watches you chew on them for a moment before he lets out a sigh. His hair is scattered on the floor around the two of you, more than you’d thought he’d had.

You swap the guards to shorten his mohawk, pressing yourself in between Johnny’s knees so that you can reach the nape of his neck.

His hands wrap around your thighs, light and warm against the skin that peeks out beneath the shorts you hadn’t taken off since you’d left your cast removal this morning.

Your skin is on fire at his touch, you try to ignore it as you clean up his neck; Johnny buries his face in your shirt, breath warm against your stomach. His fingers trace light patterns on your thigh and it takes every ounce of willpower to keep the clippers from straying.

His fingers trace the scar that covers his name, and you jump back like you’ve been shocked. Your back hits the wall, knocking the decorative towels you’d spent days choosing to the floor. Johnny’s hands linger in the air between the two of you as you try to catch your breath.

“Sorry,” you pant out with a heavy swallow.

Johnny pushes himself up, eyes watching you like you’re a wild animal ready to run.

He reaches out and brushes some of his fallen hair from your shoulders, electrifying your skin again. His touch is hesitant as he traces up your shoulder, fingers cupping the back of your neck.

He’s fire as he presses himself against you, lips brushing over yours just quick enough to light something up inside of you before pulling away with an apology. He loosens the clippers from your hands and shoos you out with a promise he’ll clean the hair up himself.

A storm rages outside, threatening to cut the power at any moment. You watch it throw around tree limbs and leaves through the front window. Behind you, the television casts soft shadows on the walls.

“Still pouring out there?” Johnny asks from his spot on the couch. Your answer is the curtain falling back into place. You pad back to your spot beside Johnny; he holds the blanket up for you to slip underneath.

His bare leg rubs against yours, but his hands stay firmly in his lap. He hadn’t tried to touch you since that day in the bathroom - even when he dropped you off at therapy, you’d wait for him to stretch across and kiss you, but he’d just send you off with a wave.

You knew it was partially your fault: you couldn’t get the words out to explain how much you wanted him to touch you, how sorry you were for every jerk away. Every time you tried to tell him how much you wanted him, the words curled into your throat and refused to budge. You had even asked earlier for him to take a shower with you, to no avail.

The movie - some family flick Johnny picked because it didn’t have any violence, you know - cast shadows across Johnny’s face. His stubble is starting to come in again; you reach out and trace your finger across the five o’clock shadow creeping onto his jawline.

Johnny doesn’t take his eyes away from the television screen, but he leans his face into your touch. Your fingers trace upwards, lacing through the Mohawk you’d trimmed just two weeks ago. Johnny nearly purrs when you tug on his hair, pulling him down so that he’s lying across your lap.

You have to take it slow, you know or you and Johnny both might break apart. So you just settle beneath him, fingers tracing patterns onto his scalp, eyes trained on the television, but not really watching.

“I don’t think I’m going to go back,” you whisper, voice nearly drowned out by the storm outside. Johnny rolls, doing his best not to dig painfully into your thigh to look up at you.

“To work?”

You nod, still refusing to look at him.

“I talked about it with the therapist today; I just - I think it would be best if I just cashed in my retirement. I’ve got a lot saved up: hazard pay and all that. The corporal offered me a job as a trainer. So I could still be around."

Johnny’s hand reaches up to grab your wrist, forcing you to look at him. You can’t read the expression on his face, and you don’t like that. He’s always your open book. You try to keep your heart rate steady at the feeling of him tracing patterns on your wrist.

“I’m sorry, birdie.”

And you know he’s not just apologizing for your ruined career, for the nearly year you’d spent locked away in some disgusting cell, for the still broken teeth in your mouth, or the screws that hold most of you together now. He’s still apologizing for not being able to find you earlier, to be there months earlier.

“It’s not your fault Johnny - I should have told them no. I should have been smart enough to just tell my commanding that I couldn’t do it. I should have-“

Hot tears start to fall; Johnny pushes himself up, fingers brushing them away gently. When you don’t shy away from his touch, he pulls you into his lap, tucking your head beneath his chin, and pulling you so tight you think you might break beneath his touch. And you would let yourself shatter beneath him, if it meant he could put you back together, shot through with gold.

Johnny lets you cry on his shoulder until the fabric of his shirt is soaking wet; after a while, the smell of him, the softness of the way he caresses your back,and the feeling of his jean-clad thigh between your own stirs something else inside of you. You need something else, something more desperate, something to push away the feelings of failure. Of the fear that still lingers in you of heights, and darkness, and men who smell of sweat and gunpowder.

So when you kiss him, softly, Johnny doesn’t push you away like he can feel how much you need him to touch you. Even as he lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, you don’t break the kiss. It stays superficial, and soft, neither of you breaking apart or deepening it. You expect him to carry you to the spare bed he brought downstairs for you, but instead, he cradles you up the stairs, hands gripping your thighs so tight you know there will be a thumb-shaped bruise there tomorrow.

Johnny doesn’t stumble as he carries you.

In the bedroom the two of you shared before you were lost, Johnny collapses on the bed, his smell enveloping you, hands never leaving you. He buries his nose in the soft skin of your neck, breathing in the smell of you.

“Are you here with me birdie?”

Johnny’s voice is muffled on your skin, his hands pausing at the hem of your shirt.

“I’m here Johnny.”

You rest your hands on his biceps and feel the way his heart is in your own chest. His weight presses down around you, the mattress sinking down beneath the two of you. The wind rolls in through the window, gooseflesh erupting on your skin where Johnny isn’t touching.

Johnny’s hands don’t move from the hem of your shirt until you slide your own down to his wrists, a bravery you hadn’t felt in weeks taking over you.

“Please, Johnny.”

Johnny shifts, knees spreading your own apart, but he still doesn’t touch your bare skin until you tug on his wrists, trying to slide them underneath your shirt, instead, he traces your arms - the area you know he thinks is safe.

The feeling of his calloused hands on your soft skin makes you shiver; Johnny presses a kiss to your pulse point. You know he can feel the way your heartbeat picks up quickly, and he bites down on the sensitive skin lightly. You can’t help the gasp that escapes you, the way you buck your hips upward into his.

“Birdie.” It’s a warning and a promise rolled into one, and it makes you press your knees together, trying to slow yourself down.

You let your own hands start exploring Johnny. Once, you’d had his skin memorized - every scar and freckle committed to your own memory. But there are new scars there you’ve never seen before, new wrinkles at the corner of his eyes he didn’t have before.

It’s like the first time again, both of you exploring each other slowly. Johnny pauses every time you make a noise, eyes searching your face to make sure you’re alright. You push him away just long enough to pull his shirt off of him, hands instantly reaching out to pull him back down. His own hands slide your shorts down until you can kick them across the room.

Johnny kisses you, full of the same desperation he’d had that day at the hospital. Your teeth click together as the two of you suddenly move frantically, hands grasping at each other. Johnny shakes as you run your nails down his back, pushing until he realizes what you want.

Johnny rolls, hands still wrapped around your waist until you’re on top of him. The thin material of your panties is already wet; you can feel it when you grind down on him. The rough material of his blue jeans has enough friction to send lighting bolts through you.

“Is that what you want birdie?” Johnny’s voice is low and rough in his throat; his hands rest lightly on your hips as you grind down. Your hands reach back to rest on his thighs, more leverage for you to move.

You can’t answer him, already biting down on the moans that start to build in the back of your throat. Johnny’s grip tights as you speed up; you can feel his erection pressing tightly against his zipper as you grind faster.

You feel yourself start to tremble, hands moving to brace yourself against Johnny’s chest. He wraps one hand around your wrist, the other still at your waist; you can’t look away from the hungry glint in his eye.

Outside the storm lashes, the cool air rolling in across you and Johnny.

“Let it out,” he whispers, voice ragged and panting. He’s bucking his own hips in time with your grinding; he’s holding back - you know he doesn’t want to scare you, so you loosen the knot inside of you, moaning loud enough that a blush starts to creep up your chest. At the sound, Johnny bucks up harder.

You can’t help the way you come undone, nails digging into Johnny’s chest, leaving half moons on the sensitive skin. Johnny lets you ride him until the waves of your orgasm finish rolling over you, his hands not leaving you until you finally still, thighs shaking on each side of him. You can feel your drenched underwear, feel yourself soaking into his blue jeans.

Johnny is so hard beneath you, a red flush across his chest. Outside the storm rages harder, and the lights flicker momentarily. Johnny pushes himself up onto one elbow, the hand that has refused to move up your shirt sliding up just an inch. His fingers play with the edge of your underwear, the lace snagging on his callouses.

“Why don’t you want to touch me?” You can barely hear yourself over the rain lashing against the window; Johnny’s eyebrows knit together, and he pushes himself up until he’s sitting up, your legs wrapping around his waist to keep from falling backward.

“I want to touch you,” he tries to reassure you, hands tracing patterns across the back of your shirt. But you shrug his hands off, catching his wrists in your hands before he can fully withdraw away.

“You won’t touch me beneath my shirt,” you slide his hands down to the bare skin of your thighs, moving them until the hem of your shirt falls over his fingertips. “You wouldn’t take a shower with me.”

Johnny chews on his lips, they’re too chapped, you think. The silence stretches in the sound of the storm, and the flickering lights. Before Johnny can speak lightning and thunder crash outside, and the house goes dark - the sound of the electricity powering down cutting him off. Neither of you moves in the sudden blackness.

“I’m not broken, Johnny.” You don’t want to sound so pathetic, but you do.

“I know you’re not, hen.”

“Then why am I having to beg, Johnny?”

Johnny’s hand slips up so that he’s holding your hips beneath your shirt.

“I’m not going to hurt you too.”

It’s a tough confession for him to make, you know. He’d done his best not to talk about the whole ordeal, he never asked what you went through. This was his way of keeping you away from it.

You roll your hips across his again, and his breath catches in his throat.

“Please Johnny; you’re not going to hurt me.”

You don’t know if it’s the whine in your voice or the way you trace your fingers across the hard plane of his chest, or if Johnny is just as tired of holding back as you - but he rolls you over, gentle and quick until his chest his pressed against yours, his mouth finding the sensitive skin at the base of your neck.

You’re horribly out of practice, fumbling with the buttons on his jeans, getting stuck when Johnny pulls your shirt over your head, but he doesn’t let his lips leave you; your teeth clip together as Johnny deepens the kiss he refuses to let end until your gasping for breath beneath him.

It’s electric in the best and worst ways - Johnny’s calloused fingers tracing patterns on your stomach, kneading the soft flesh of your breasts, fingers teasing the edge of your underwear, pushing them further down each time.

The current running through you makes it difficult to breathe; you can’t even warn Johnny, can’t beg him to slow down what you were just begging him to speed up. But there has never been anyone who’s known you the same way Johnny has, and when his hands slow you know he can feel that it’s too much. Just for a moment.

“Still with me?”

“Still here.”

Johnny’s hands don’t speed up, but he doesn’t slow either - pressing open-mouth kisses down your neck, between your breasts, across the planes of your stomach until he finally stops at the edge of your underwear. He darts his tongue out to lick the sensitive skin peeking out above the hem, and the feeling makes you gasp out, hips pressing harder into the mattress. His fingertips brush just over the wetness you’ve soaked through and you grind your teeth together, painfully.

“Too much?”

Yes.

Too much for you at this moment; you’re not sure if your body will hold together if Johnny even tries to eat you out, tries to stretch you with his fingers, you can hardly keep together at the feeling of him touching you anywhere after so many months of nothing but dirt, and maggots, and feverish longing for-

You didn’t notice Johnny crawling back up your body until he presses a soft kiss on your temple, fingers wiping away your hair that’s plastered with sweat there.

Johnny’s whispering in your ear: how much he missed you, how he had thought about you every day, how he’d tried to scorch the earth to look for you; he pulls you until you’re back on top of him. You can feel how hard he is, how wet you are as you grind down against the hard planes of his lower stomach, searching for him.

Johnny’s hands squeeze at your hips, shifting the both of you until you feel the tip of him catch against you; a shudder rolls through you both, but Johnny doesn’t move. Every muscle in his body is pulled taunt, pulled against fucking into you at a frenetic pace. You recognize the set of his jaw, the way his hands wrap around your forearms. He’s letting you set the pace, letting you control him.

You wait for just a heartbeat before pressing down onto him; your vision whites out from the almost uncomfortable stretch of him as you sink down slowly. You can’t remember the last time the two of you were here, the last time the two of you fucked. Johnny’s nails dig into the underside of your forearm, yours into his chest until you finally reach the hilt.

You hold there for a moment, feeling the way he fills you up - so much so that you don’t think there’s room for anything else besides Johnny - there never has been. You can’t even think between the feeling of Johnny filling you up and the feeling of not trying to cum so fast. Finally, when your heartbeat slows incrementally, you rock yourself against him, slowly, using his chest as leverage.

Beneath you Johnny is coming undone; he’s biting his lip so hard you think he might draw blood, so you trace your fingertips across his bottom lip. His lips part beneath your touch, and he takes your pointer finger into his mouth, tongue swirling around it.

The feeling makes your hips move faster, stuttering against him. Johnny moans, muffled around your finger. The sound is horribly erotic in the darkness, and it spurs something inside of you to move your hips faster, rougher against Johnny. But he doesn’t move beneath you, still holding himself back. The sound of skin on skin, of how wet you are for him drown out the storm.

Johnny’s hands are everywhere: in your hair, cupping the supple flesh of your ass, pinching and rolling your nipples between his thick fingers; one hand sneaks across the flesh of your hip, dipping between the two of you to circle your clit. The feeling makes you crumple against him; Johnny takes the opportunity to roll you over, pressing you into the mattress.

Johnny presses one of your knees up, hooking it over his elbow so that he can fuck into you, still gentle even when he’s deeper than you think he’s ever been before, his other hand still circling your clit, slowly enough to keep you from falling apart, but fast enough to bring you to the edge.

His pace grows rougher; you claw at him, drawing red welts across his skin, but Johnny doesn’t slow down. You keep your eyes closed tightly, back arched to try and get him in deeper, to get more.

“Look at me.”

Johnny’s voice is rough, a gentle command you have to follow. His eyes never leave yours, even when his pace increases, the finger on your clit still rubbing tight circles until-

Until you’re breaking apart, shattering beneath him. Your orgasm makes you arch, back nearly leaving the mattress. Johnny’s hands move to cup your face, pulling himself down until he can kiss you as you ride through your orgasm, gasping in his own mouth. Your nails draw thick red welts across his back, but Johnny doesn’t stop pounding into you, your moans drowned out by the way he kisses you.

Not long after, Johnny’s pace starts to stutter, his lips never leaving yours until he plunges in deeper than he had before, and you can feel his warm release spill out inside of you.

Even when he’s completely spent, Johnny doesn’t pull out of you, instead fucking into you once, twice, three more times until you know you can’t take anymore, hands pressing on his chest to push him away.

Johnny’s fingers smooth your twitching thighs as he pulls away. In the darkness, you can just see his outline as he shifts between your legs, but he doesn’t move from there.

He caresses you until you are finally still and your panting finally slows. His fingers trace across the cracks you can still feel, stitching you back together, shot through with gold.

“Still here?”

“Still here.”

#my fics #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish #cod soap x reader #cod imagines #cod smut #soap mw2 #soap mactavish #cod x reader #johnny mactavish

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britany1997 · 1 year

Note

OH HOLD UP REQUESTS ARE BACK OPEN?!

Bestie, I am begging on my knees for that smutty vampire reader × poly lost boys fic/idea we discussed 🙇🏼🙇🏼 (If you're not feeling that rn, no sweat 💋)

Hot Vampires In Your Area

Yes absolutely I can do this!!! Vampires Everywhere is my most popular fic to date! I hope you like this!

Poly! Lost Boys x GN Vampire Reader

Warnings: SMUT minors DNI, biting, handjobs, penetration (But no mention of reader’s genitalia) mentions of blood, brief daddy kink (again, Dwayne is daddy always) I think that’s it

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

Blood stained the back of your hand as you wiped harshly at your mouth. Your clothes were practically falling off your body, the signs of your victims struggle apparent from the many rips and tears.

You breathed deeply, brushing hair out of your face and leaning back on the bar of the dock. You zoned out looking into the ocean as bubbles sprang to the surface, likely from the bodies that had sunken beneath.

You were broken from your trance however when you felt a pair of teeth nipping at your neck. You sighed and leaned into the touch of whoever was nibbling at you.

“What are you doing Paul,” you hummed, your eyes fluttering closed as he continued to nip at you.

He chuckled as he licked a stripe over his fang marks, pulling a gasp from your lips, “don’t be a hypocrite babe,” he purred, “you were all ready to take a chunk outta me earlier,” he reminded you, “I’m just returning the favor,” he whispered into your ear before nibbling at the lobe.

You hummed and smiled as he toyed with you, smearing blood from his lips onto your neck and ear. “You’re such a messy eater Paul,” you teased him, spinning out of his grip, “why don’t you clean yourself up first.”

He laughed, “worried about a little blood babe?” He asked, “c’mere and lick it off me sugar.”

You caved and walked into Paul’s awaiting arms, he caged you in his embrace as you placed your hands on either side of his face and licked his lips clean.

Once you were done, he shifted you till you were pressed up against the railing of the dock. He slid his tongue into your mouth and kissed you deeply. You snaked your hand into his hair, pulling at it lightly and prompting a moan to fall from his lips.

You smiled into the kiss as he kept you pinned where he wanted you.

“Paulie,” David sing-songed from the other end of the dock, “don’t forget to share,” he said smirking.

You pulled away from Paul to shift your gaze to the other boys as they began to walk towards you and the blond vampire currently attached to your neck.

David smirked as he stood by your side, stroking your hair as Paul sucked hickeys into your skin. Marko stood at your other side, his head cocked as he bit hit thumb. His eyes raked up and down your form as he watched Paul ravish you.

Dwayne came up behind David to stare at you as well. You squirmed a bit under his soulful and curious gaze.

The boys all watched you as Paul dug into your neck. Him you could handle, but with the all of them surrounding you, it was…intimidating.

“Can I help you?” You squeaked. You’d meant to sound sarcastic, but you came off nervous instead. David shot you his signature smirk as he continued to play with your hair. “We were actually thinking we could help you,” he whispered into your ear.

“Paul,” he barked, snapping. Paul groaned and rolled his eyes, but pulled away from your neck and passed you into Dwayne’s awaiting arms. Dwayne cradled your form against his chest and crossed his arms over you. He trailed kisses from your cheek down to your neck as he began to suck hickeys to match the ones Paul had given you on the other side.

You sucked in a breath as your brain went fuzzy with the feeling of Dwayne’s teeth on your skin. Where Paul had been passionate and eager, Dwayne was sensual and slow, almost as if he was savoring you.

David faced you, ignoring Dwayne as he spoke, “it must have been so lonely in your little coven of one,” he pouted at you as he stroked your cheek.

“For us,” he began, “feeding always satiates one appetite, but awakens another,” he raked his eyes up and down your body and you gasped as Dwayne hit an especially sensitive spot on you.

“We have each other of course,” David told you, “but it must have been so frustrating for you to spend all those nights on your own.” You blushed at his implications, furrowing your brow and looking down so you didn’t have to meet his eyes.

He tilted your chin upward until your gaze met his. “Why don’t you let us take care of you baby,” he whispered.

Your eyes widened, unsure of how to reply. “c’mon babeee,” Paul whined, “we could make you feel sooo good.”

David chuckled at Paul’s enthusiasm, “my boys are very well-trained,” he told you as Dwayne bit down on you for emphasis, causing another gasp to spring from your lips. “Why don’t you let us have you,” he proposed.

You turned your head to look at Dwayne, he pulled away from your neck to meet your gaze before pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. You felt your eyes close as you returned it.

You pulled away after a bit to look at the other boys. David smirked at you, his fingers still twirling the ends of your hair, as if he already knew your answer.

Marko’s eyes were fixed on you in a lust filled stare, his teeth grinding into his thumb so hard you thought he’d bite straight through the leather of his glove.

Paul was practically begging you with his eyes. You could feel the desire radiating off him. His hands were shaking lightly, as if they couldn’t wait to be on you once more. His lip stuck out in a pout as his brow furrowed. There was no hiding how badly he wanted you as he bounced on his feet in anticipation. He was so wired you thought he might explode with need.

Dwayne lowered his lips to your ear, “we can be gentle if you’d like,” he told you softly, licking the shell of your ear when he finished speaking.

You moaned softly, your eyes fluttering closed as he kept you wrapped in his arms. “No need,” you assured him. He smiled at you.

“Dwayne,” David prompted, jerking his head to gesture toward Marko. Dwayne nodded and passed you to Marko, who picked you up and sat you on the dock’s railing.

Marko shrugged off your jacket and tore your shirt off, revealing your bare chest.

“You guys wanna do this right here?” You asked nervously. Marko gave you a devilish grin, “why wait to go all the way back to the cave babe? We want you now.” He said, his eyes flashing yellow.

“If you’re worried someone will see, don’t be,” David told you. “It’s too dark down here anyway, and if someone were to get an eyeful…well let’s just say they wouldn’t get far,” he grinned, before placing a hand on Dwayne’s shoulder. “Dwayne’s a growing boy,” he said.

“But if you’re not comfortable…” Dwayne offered, searching your face for signs you wanted to stop.

“No I’m fine, that makes sense,” you said as Marko stood between your legs and began to caress the sides of your hips gently, “I want this,” you breathed as you whimpered at Marko’s touches.

Marko leaned down to place soft kisses on your chest, licking and sucking the skin as he went. You moaned as he carressed you. You snaked a hand into his hair and stroked and pulled it as the boys watched the two of you.

As Marko kissed all over you, you trailed your other hand down his abdomen, before reaching down and palming him through his jeans.

He groaned as he pulled away to unbuckle his pants and free himself from his boxers for you.

You wrapped your hand around the length of him and began to stroke softly when something caught your eye.

Paul was biting his lip so hard you thought he’d rip it open, his hands were wrapped around himself in a tight hug, his cock straining in his pants as he watched you.

You smirked and beckoned him over, “don’t worry Paul,” you assured him, “I’ve got two hands.”

He moaned loudly as he raced to the side of you. Marko rolled his eyes but laughed at the sight of Paul struggling to rid himself of his pants as quickly as possible.

The other boys snickered too as they watched his face contort in pleasure as you wrapped a hand around his length as well.

You stroked the two chaos vamps up and down as you rubbed your thumb in circles around their tips. Marko purred softly at your touch, while Paul let out low moans and words of encouragement. You’d lost count of how many times he’d said, “yeah baby,” and “right there.”

You smiled softly as they both came undone in your hands. When he came down from his high, Paul pulled Marko from his place between your legs before picking you up from the railing and placing you down. He caged you in once again with an arm on either side you.

He captured your lips in a searing kiss and let out a growl. He took your lip between his teeth and pulled, making you moan.

“Your ours babe,” he growled, “we’re never lettin’ you go, not after that.”

You smiled back at him, leaning forward to peck his lips, “I’m not goin’ anywhere pretty boy,” you told him.

He groaned before sealing his mouth over yours once more and plunging his tongue past your lips to explore you.

The kiss was cut short as David pulled Paul away by his collar, he grasped for you as he squirmed in David’s grip.

“Paul,” David spoke firmly, “you had a turn, now be a good boy and watch,” he ordered, flinging Paul towards Marko.

Paul fumed from the sidelines as Dwayne came up to you.

You blushed, Dwayne’s mysterious and imposing demeanor made you nervous.

“Hi,” you said meekly as you stared up at him. “Hi,” he said back to you, bending down to place a kiss to your forehead.

His treatment made butterflies bloom in your stomach.

“Turn around for me?” He asked.

“Ok,” you whimpered.

You turned to face the ocean as Dwayne wrapped his arms around your middle and nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck. He reached around you pull off your pants and underwear, leaving you completely bare. You blushed as you were totally exposed before him.

You didn’t have long to dwell on your shyness, as you felt him prodding at you from behind. You gasped as you felt the size of him, he was definitely bigger than the other boys.

“Is this ok?” He asked you, concern and gentleness present in his voice.

You smiled at his care for you, “yes,” you told him, “yes it’s ok.”

He leaned down till his lips were against the shell of your ear, “You can call me daddy if you want,” he whispered, causing a flush to rise to your cheeks. “They all do,” he told you as he gestured towards the other boys.

“You can fuck me now daddy,” you breathed as you grinded against him.

He smirked as he pushed into you slowly, allowing you to adjust to his size, but you still sucked in a sharp breath at the intrusion.

As he rocked back and forth into you, soft moans fell from your mouth, he caressed the deepest parts of you with every stroke.

The other boys looked on with lust filled eyes, taking themselves into their hands as they watched Dwayne turn you into a pile of moans and whimpers.

After awhile Dwayne spilled into you, prompting your own climax as well.

You turned over and rested against the railing on shaking legs as he slipped off his jacket and placed it over your shoulders.

He picked you up in his arms and held you against his chest. Marko and Paul grabbed your clothes from where they were scattered on the dock.

You shot David a confused look as Dwayne carried you, “what about you?” You asked him.

He smirked, “you wanna take care of me baby?” That’s sweet,” he teased. “Trust me babe, I’ll get a taste of you too, but you’ll wanna be lying down for that,” he told you laughing.

Your eyes widened as you breath caught in your throat as you pictured what was yet to come. Daytime was hours away, and you knew that eternity with the boys would give you many more nights of passion, just like this one.

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

Taglist❤️ (comment to be added):

@solobagginses @misslavenderlady @pixielostboy @ghoulgeousimmaculate @anna1306 @6lostgirl6 @its-freaking-bats @heyriojude

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writersblockiskillingme · 6 months

Note

Can you please do a Damiano fell in love with his long time friend/band mate (reader) who is the backup singer (bc their voices complement each others perfectly) and writes a song about her and sings it to her on stage, confessing his love. (the other band mates know abt it).

I’m in my delusional era

Only Angel | Damiano David

Pairing: Damiano David x fem!reader (Måneskin bandmate)

Summary: You were in love with him for a very long time, but you didn't know that he loved you back. Until he decided to do something about it.

Warning/s: pet name (angel), just a little bit of good all angst, smut +18, degradation, teasing, prising, dom/sub, few curse words, mentions of alcohol and weed, cigarettes, mentions of one night stands, grammar and spelling mistakes, Google translated Italian (sorry, please tell me in the comments if I made any mistakes so I can fix them)

Author's note: This one's been a long time coming, but enjoy!

I saw this angel

I really saw an angel

Open up your eyes, shut your mouth and see

That I'm still the only one who's been in love with me

I'm just happy getting you stuck in between my teeth

And there's nothing I can do about it

Damiano could still remember the first time he met her.

She was the first singer that Måneskin (Back then just Victoria and Thomas) recruited for the band. He could remember it as if it was yesterday.

His hands were sweating as hell as he walked through the hallway of a "made up", improved studio that belongs to the future, back-then-still-in-making, rock band Måneskin. He remembered how nervous he was, but that nervousness compared to the one he experienced as he walked into the studio was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not a big deal at all.

As he reached his stop, he looked up and saw a guy with blonde hair messing with his guitar, and he saw a blonde haired girl standing next to him, watching him. They didn't notice him just yet.

Damiano turned his head away from them and decided to focus his gaze on a girl sitting in a chair with a pen and journal in her hands, ashtray sitting on the armrest of the chair. She was lightly gripping the pen as she wrote and crossed and scrambled the words on a piece of paper in the journal. Her (h/l) (h/c) covered her eyes slightly. He could clearly see her red lips moving, even tho she had a half finished cigarette in her mouth. She was probably mumbling the word of the, what was probably, a song she was writing.

She was mumbling so quietly, but somehow he could still hear her voice. It was beautiful, he felt like he was falling into a trans. He felt himself freezing like a deer in headlights when he saw her look up at him.

Her face steached into a smile, cigarette no longer lingering on her lips as she reached out and placed it on an ashtray. Her (e/c) shining like the sun, her hair no longer covering them from him. She stood up and started to walk up to him. That's the moment when Vic and Thomas noticed him, too.

He noticed the grace she was carrying herself with. It was as if she was floating. It was a sight to behold for sure.

"Ciao! Tu devi essere Damiano David." [Hi! You must be Damiano David.] She said and he felt like his breath was knocked out of his lungs when he heard her angelic voice speak to him.

"SÌ. Quello... sono io." [Yes. That's me.] He stuttered for a bit and that shocked him to his core. He never stuttered before, it felt weird. He didn't like that.

"Sorprendente. Io sono (Y/N) e loro sono Thomas e Victoria." [Amazing. I'm (Y/N) and this is Thomas and Victoria.] She introduced herself, Thomas and Vic.

And so, after a few quick hellos were exchanged, they pulled him in front of the mic and they preformed one song with him and one where he had to sing alone. It turned out that (Y/N) and he sing together perfectly. Their voices simply sound so good together. However, since that day something followed Damiano. Something that he couldn't quite place for a little bit.

Broke a finger knocking on your bedroom door

I got splinters in my knuckles crawling across the floor

Couldn't take you home to mother in a skirt that short

But I think that's what I like about it

She's an angel

Only angel

She's an angel

My only angel

Over the years Damiano and (Y/N) started to get closer and closer to each other.

At first it was innocent, truly. The two of them would talk with each other more than they would with Vic, Thomas or Ethan. Everyone soon noticed how close they were. They started to become very good friends. They had a lot of thing in common. They liked the same music, the same artists, everything! They somehow never ran out of topics to have a conversation about. It was amazing, really.

They would go out to get coffee, pizza, they went to bars and local parties together. They would come to each other's houses and just watch TV and get drunk or, sometimes even, high. They would drink some shitty wine that they would find in some shitty liquor store and would fall asleep on top of each other on the couch.

They would write and sing songs with each other. They liked each other's voices, but most of all, they liked how they sounded together. A match made in heaven, indeed.

However, over the years something changed. As they grew, the band did, too and so did their feelings for one another. Damiano watched everything she did whenever she was in his presence. He practically adored the ground she was walking on. It was amazing to experience. And to watch, too.

Vic was the first one to notice, of course. She would easily notice the longing glances that they would send each other while they thought that nobody was looking. She tried to talk to them about it. They would just brush it off.

"She is just my best friend, come on, Vic!"

"He's just a friend to me. Nothing more!"

Of course, Vic wasn't stupid, and neither were Thomas and Ethan. They soon figured what was up, too. The three musicians really tried everything in their power to get them to know what the other was feeling, but it felt like it was impossible to do that.

The problem was that Damiano and (Y/N) thought that the other didn't like them like that. And so from one problem, another one was born.

One night stands.

They both thought that if they see other people they could push their feelings away. However, when did that work out?

Damiano could still remember it. He walked down the hallway of the hotel that they were staying in because of their performance in New York. He watched her and some random guy practically eat each other's faces as she started to push him into her hotel room.

The last thing that he saw were the stains of red lipstick before he started doing it two.

I must admit I thought I'd like to make you mine

As I went about my business through the warning signs

End up meeting in the hallway every single time

And there's nothing we can do about it

Damiano had officially had enough. Watching her bringing guy after guy in her hotel room, him bringing girl after girl. It was too much. He couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't just stand aside as he watched and heard everything those guys did when it should be him doing it to his angel.

So one night he gathered his courage and knocked on her door so hard he almost got splinters in his knuckles from the wooden door. The moment she opened the door he spilled his feelings to her and so this is how they ended up there.

Damiano was quick to notice a bruise in the corner of her neck. Her pathetic attempt to cover it with her hair was not doing it. He felt anger fill his body to the brim. He knew that he had no reason to be angry, she wasn't his. Perhaps that was what angered him.

"You seem angry." (Y/N) was quick to point it out, her face forming a concerned look. "Why are you mad?"

"I'm not mad." Damiano spat out, proving her point. "I just think that you can choose better people to share spit with, angel. That's all."

"Excuse me?!" (Y/N) couldn't help but to yell in his face in the middle of the hallway. "What the hell is wrong with you, Damiano?"

"Was it worth it?" He asked her, his voice dangerously low. It send shivers down her spine.

"Is you hating me right now your new personality trait?"

She knew that that wasn't justified. She knew how bold of her that was. She knew that he didn't actually hate her, at least she hoped that he didn't. The truth was that she grew nervous under his gaze. His gaze, his tone, sudden realization of what he was talking about... it made her nervous as hell. She didn't know what to do.

"Was it worth it?" He kept his voice low and she knew that she couldn't avoid the topic any longer as much as she wanted to.

"I don't know what to say, Damiano."

"Oh, don't bullshit me, (Y/N)!" Damiano's voice rang in the hallway of the huge hotel in the middle of New York. He didn't give a flying fuck that it was night. That her "neighbors" were probably asleep. He didn't care about anything but his angel.

"Watcing you with so many guys who can't give you what I can... it draw me crazy." He finally confessed as he watched her in science of the hallway, frozen, confused. "You still don't get it, do you? It's because I love you."

"Now I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me that you don't feel the same way." Damiano told her as he pinned her against the door of her bedroom. Her breath getting stuck in her throat as she listened to his rough voice speak. "Just then I will leave you alone."

"I can't." She whispered, feeling so small compared to him right now.

"And why is that, angel."

"Because... I'm not even gonna lie, I'm just so fucking obsessed with you, you have no idea."

That's all he needed.

Told it to her brother and she told it to me

That she's gonna be an angel, just you wait and see

When it turns out she's a devil in between the sheets

And there's nothing she can do about it

Hey, hey

His lips felt so familiar yet so unknown to her. His breathing had become more strained.

"Damn it all to hell, if I don't get to have you tonight then I'm never going to be able to have you."

"Who says it has to be that way." (Y/N) said as she gasped in pleasure as he started to suck the skin on her neck.

His muscles tensed with every thrust. She finally allowed herself to sink into the mattress, into her pillow. She finally allowed herself to have him and for him to have her. She felt his hands flattering against her spine as he drew her closer to him as if that was physically possible.

"Arch your back for me, angel."

She felt herself gasping in pleasure as she did what he asked her to do. It was hard for him to contain his own sounds, too, as he pumped his thick throbbing cock into her at a constant pace.

"Please..." she was getting overwhelmed with him continuously hitting the right spot deep inside of her.

He grabbed her ankles and lifted her ankles to place them around his waist. She was practically screaming as he continued to split her wet pussy at rapid speed. She continued to shudder as he sped up his pace.

"Bet you they don't make you sound like that, do they, angel?"

"Ah- I-"

"Do they!?"

"NOO!" She barely gasped. "They don't... only you can do- ahh- this to mee!"

She openly moaned, screaming as Damiano's cock started swelling and stretching her tight pussy even more then before. And as her orgasm hit, she began to cry. He didn't care, he continued to thrust repeatedly, no signs of stopping or at least slowing down.

"I want you to remember everything fucking seconds of this."

She was overstimulated, but the tears of pleasure continued to flow.

He suddenly pulled out, erotic sound of cum mixed together filled the deafening silence in her room. He's fiery kisses started to trail down to her soaked pussy. Soon he started to suck her clit, but he moved away when he felt your hands on his head. He removed his tongue as he repositioned himself near your ass.

"Mhh!" (Y/N) tried to gain her voice back so she could speak again. "Don't! Too much!"

"Shhh... my beautiful angel." He cooed to her. "I'm sure that you've got one more in you. Will you be a good little angel and take what I have to give you?" His words were mocking and teasing at the same time as she nodded her head as much as she could before she pushed herself further into her pillow.

"Good girl."

He slowly began to enter her again, he was lubricated by her dripping juices. The thrusts began to increase again as she screamed his name, shaking. However, soon she found herself moving to meet his rough, pleasurable thrusts, which synchronized.

She was drowning in pleasure, she couldn't comprehend what was happening anymore. However she knew one thing, every time that fat cock hit her cervix, she got closer and closer to her much needed release.

She's an angel

Only angel

She's an angel

My only angel

She's an angel

Only angel

She's an angel

My only angel

Wanna die, wanna die, wanna die tonight

The stadium was big. The light were truly blinging (Y/N). The adrenaline was pumping through your veins. She was so happy, so full of euphoria even tho her throat felt so sore from all the singing and her muscles were hurting her.

On the other hand Damiano felt like he was going to faint. Yes, he was euphoric and happy, too. He was so happy and excited for the even bigger future of Måneskin, but he felt nervous.

For years he was in love with this girl. He always gave his best to express it as best as he possibly could. But nothing felt good enough. His angel deserved the world, even more so. He loved her so much the fraze "to the moon and back" simply couldn't cut it.

So he decided to express his love for her in a way that he did best. He wrote her a song. And so with a deep breath, and Victoria's pep talk before he went on the stage, he stepped forward.

"How are we feeling tonight, LA!?" Damiano shouted and his shout was followed by screaming and clapping of the fans.

"So tonight you are going to hear a song you have never heard before!! You excited!!??"

Damiano had to cover his ears a little because the screaming of the fans became a little bit too much. Still he found himself laughing with excitement. Like he always did. He looked a little to the side where (Y/N) was standing so he could take a little peak at her face. Confused was not a good enough word to explain the look on her face when she heard what Damiano had said and Vic, Thomas nor Ethan didn't say anything. He wrote a song? Without me? (Y/N) though to herself.

"This song I will sing alone." Damiano said and (Y/N) got even more confused.

"You see, I met this girl a long time ago and I felt like I loved her the moment I saw her. I wanted to express my love to her and to the entire world so I wrote this song for her." Damiano continued.

The crowd was already loosing their minds as Damiano stepped took the microphone form it's stand, but when Damiano said the next words and started singing all hell broke loose.

"This song is for you, (Y/N). My only angel."

She's an angel

Only angel

She's an angel

My only angel

She's an angel

My only angel

She's an angel

My-my-my only angel

TAGLIST

@opal-rugger

#imagine #fic #maneskin fanfiction #damiano david x you #damiano david x reader #damiano david imagine #damiano david #damiano maneskin #damiano david x fem!reader #maneskin smut #smut #harry styles #only angel #victoria de angelis #thomas raggi #ethan torchio

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cillianmesoftlyyy · 4 months

Text

Horror Movies Pt. 2 | Neil Lewis x fem!reader

Summary: She shares a special passion for horror movies with her boss, Neil Lewis. But it doesn't end there, she also shares his secrets... or at least the ones he can keep himself. He's been keeping one from her but maybe a night of adventure will break the silence and scare them to their senses.

Warnings: Drinking, semi-public sex, boss/employee relationship, struggles with self-image, spying, invasion of privacy, slight disrespect for the dead, smut, moments of miscommunication and assumed consent, unprotected sex, oral, and some fluff.

word count: 3229k

Lady Grinning Soul- David Bowie 🎶

Freak- Lana Del Rey 🎵

Minors do not interact!

“What are you doing, Neil?” She whispered, not wanting to trespass.

“Having a little adventure since our act of chivalry was all for naught.” He shrugged and smiled goofily.

“You want to play golf?” She looked between the dark green and Neil’s face.

“Nah, not golf.”

She stared at him for a little while longer before ducking beneath the fence. He followed her and they started to cross the green, looking up at the star studded sky.

“The stars are so pretty tonight.” She pointed up at the clusters of twinkling lights.

“Wait until you see what I have to show you.” He smiled mischievously and took her wrist. He pulled her across the golf course and through the connecting gate.

“Where are we now?” She looked around and noticed the distant groupings of headstones. “Are we in a cemetery?”

“Bingo.” Neil laughed and let her wrist go, running ahead a little. The graveyard was cool and still, surrounded on all sides by tall shrubbery. They climbed the short hill up onto the main stretch of green, walking alongside the grave markers.

“This feels like the beginning of a horror movie.” She recalled Neil’s previous statement from the morning and he laughed.

“I like to come here at night. It’s so peaceful and I like to look at the people’s names. It helps put my life into perspective.” He led her to a small mausoleum beside a weeping willow and swiped his arm across his forehead.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” He gestured around and she nodded.

“It really is but… what does this have to do with the bra?”

“Ah, well since you can’t use it and Nancy doesn’t want it back, I thought we could leave it as an offering… here.”

“Who do you want to give it to?”

“Someone who died the same day that one of us was born.” He stated as he had already begun looking. She helped him and they passed the lines of headstones, checking each name for their respective birth and death dates. They wandered through a few plots until they found a secluded embankment. There was an older headstone with Neil’s birthday listed as the person’s death date.

“Here.” Neil pointed to the numbers on the stone and smiled up at her from the ground where he was crouched. She joined him on the ground and nodded. “Edgar Allen… that’s almost too weird. It must be a fake name. Edgar Allen? He just needs a ‘Poe.’”

She trailed her fingers over his name and nodded.

“So, how do we do this?”

“What, are you saying that you’ve never left an expensive bra at a dead person’s grave?” He joked and she almost laughed out loud when he put his hand over her mouth, shushing her with a smile.

“You’ll wake the dead.” He whispered and she smiled against his hand, her eyes boring into his. She hoped that her eyes were telling him what she wanted or how happy she was to be with him, even if it was in a fucking cementary. He removed his hand slowly and cleared his throat. Sweat coating his forehead, trapping a few strands of his longer dark hair.

“We, uh, let’s just drape it over the headstone.” He put the bra over the long rectangular top of the stone.

“We should say a few words.” She offered and cleared her throat quietly, “May I?” She glanced over at him. Neil was staring at her, his lips parted partly.

“Uh, er, yeah. Of course.” He sniffed and looked back at the headstone.

“Mr. Allen, we leave you this offering in hopes that you will bestow upon us the grace of your guidance and experience. Inspire us to be brave and forward with our… desires,” she couldn’t think of a better word, “Help us imagine ways of living our lives to the fullest.” She added. When she glanced over, Neil was nodding almost absentmindedly.

“Give us a little adventure in our lives, Edgar.” He clarified.

“Mhmm.” She hummed in agreement and they waited in silence for a few minutes, taking in the serene peacefulness of the graveyard.

“If this were a horror movie, we would be-” She broke the silence but the force of Neil’s body cut her off. He’d kissed her, his hands snaking behind her head and pulling her into an aggressive kiss. She pulled away breathlessly, he was panting too.

“What-” She started.

“I’m sorry, christ. I thought you were… sending me a signal.” He stumbled over his words.

“You thought I was asking you to make a move on top of someone’s grave?” She raised a suspicious eyebrow and he chuckled, embarrassed.

“I don’t know what I was thinking. I just… oh I don’t know.” He trailed off and stood, putting his hands back into his pocket and turning away from the grave. She followed him quickly.

“What, Neil?” She stumbled after him, up the embankment. He spun around and held a hand against his head.

“I just… I thought that lately there was something different between us.” He looked away.

“Neil…” she frowned and fought the anger in her voice, “you just fucked someone last night. I don’t know if I should believe anything that you’re saying right now.” She crossed her arms across her chest and looked up at the sky.

“I, well we didn’t actually… have sex.” He mumbled.

“What do you mean?” She raised her eyebrow.

“God, this is so fucking embarrassing,” he pulled down on his face and trilled his lips.

“What, what is it?” He nearly smiled, finding him too funny to take seriously.

“Well, she came into the store right before closing last night and put on this whole act about which movie to pick… kind of like the girl in the store today. I told her to pick Arsenic and Old Lace… yada yada yada, she ends up flirting and leaning over the counter, batting her eyelashes at me. I’ll admit that I succumbed to her but as soon as she got me on the couch, she started… eh slapping me and calling me a bad boy and look, I totally get kinks but it was a little too weird for me.”

“So what happened?” She encouraged him to go on and he looked back at her, his heart fluttering in his chest. He sighed and looked at his feet.

“We watched the movie and the whole time she wouldn’t stop talking, so she missed basically everything. And when the movie was over, she started kissing me and undressing herself. And when she got my pants down, I couldn’t get it up. So, that’s what happened.”

She gasped and immediately clamped a hand over her mouth.

“I’m sorry. It isn’t funny, Neil,” she apologized but he shook his head. “Whatever, go ahead and laugh. I don’t know how it happened but I just wasn’t attracted to her. I don’t need a girl who’s a film geek like me but I can’t stand people who just talk through a movie or pay absolutely no attention to what’s happening. There’s not point in putting it on if you’re not going to pay attention. And not to mention she looked-” He cut himself off and chucked.

“What?” She waited for him to finish but he shook his head.

“It’s silly.” He sniffed.

“We’ve already gotten this far, you might as well tell me.”

He cocked his head, staring at her face in the faded light of the crescent moon. He inhaled deeply and told her, point blank.

“She looked like you,” he took another breath, “she looked like you but she was nothing like you. I realized that I was only humoring her because she looked like you and for some reason, my subconscious had tricked me into thinking she was you. And after that, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He watched her for her reaction and she exhaled shakily, not knowing how to respond.

“What happened after that?” She asked quietly.

“I told her that it wasn’t a good night and she packed up. In the heat of the moment, she must have forgotten her bra but look,” he took a step closer, “that doesn’t mean our relationship needs to change. It's not like I’m in love with you or obsessed, I just realized that the person that I was really attracted to this whole time has been you.” He looked down into her eyes. “I didn’t have time to explain it this morning and I knew how it looked so…” He shrugged, “I actually haven’t slept with anyone in weeks. Ever since you got the haircut actually, I guess I haven’t stopped thinking about you whether or not I was conscious of it.”

“Jonathan asked me out.” Was all she could think to say and Neil chuckled lightly.

“That’s a minor detail.”

“He’s one of your best friends.”

“And because he’s one of my best friends, he’ll understand why I’m doing this.”

“What if I don’t like you back?” She narrowed her eyes, wanting to stand her ground a little longer. He took one more step closer, their feet almost touching and he leaned over slightly, his breath brushing her forehead.

“Do you like me?” He asked softly.

“I don’t know,” she lied. He brushed his lips against hers.

“Do you want to find out?” He teased her and her breath caught, nearly choking her. She couldn’t speak from the nerves paralyzing her, so she just nodded. He rubbed his lips against her lips, not kissing her yet. She brushed her nose against the soft spot of skin below his nose and above his lip, standing on the balls of her feet. Her hands came up and stopped midair, unsure how or where to touch him. Turning his head slightly to the side he kissed her. His hands went from the top of her thighs to her waist and then up to her neck, which he held in place while he moved his head to kiss her. He stood still and reciprocated his slow kisses as best as she could. She put her hands on the outside of his and wrapped her fingers around each wrist. He sucked on her lip and she let her head fall back, giving him a better angle. She stumbled back a little and he caught her in his arms, his lips never skipping a beat as he sucked her and explored her.

“Are we going to fuck in a graveyard?” She panted, pulling herself away from his hungry mouth. Neil smiled and looked around at the deserted cemetery, empty with the exception of the dead. He shrugged.

“Do you think they’ll hold it against us? Haunt us for the rest of our lives?” She smiled.

“Are you kidding? They’re probably dying for a show.” He cracked himself up over his own pun and she rolled her eyes affectionately. She kissed him again before he could make another joke and pulled him into the alcove of a mausoleum. There was a stone casket beside the mausoleum and they stumbled over to it, wordlessly deciding to fuck against it. He pressed her back up against the cold stone which felt amazing in the humid summer air. He groped her breasts and she slid a hand down Neil’s chest below the waistband of his jeans. She reached her hand into his underwear and took a hold of his hard cock. She smiled against his lips.

“It obviously wasn’t a problem this time, was it?” She teased and he groaned, looking up at the sky.

“No, no, it wasn’t.” He laughed breathlessly as she rubbed her hand down his length, twisting her palm at the end. He went back to kissing her but broke off to whine and pant occasionally as she jerked him off. She pulled her hand back out and spat on it before returning it back into his pants. She fondled his balls and squeezed them, making him gasp against her lips. He reached a hand up her camisole and wrestled his hand beneath her bra. He was definitely a breast man.

She removed her hand from his pants and pulled his pelvis against her by looping her fingers through his belt loops. With his free hand, Neil unbuttoned her jeans and unzipped the fly. She did the same for his jeans and turned around, sticking her butt against his hard crotch.

“Fuck…” Neil looked at her ass and felt himself get even harder. He pulled her back against him by holding her shoulder. He kissed her bare neck and carded his hands through her cropped hair. “You’re so beautiful.” He whispered and she sighed softly. At that moment, she felt infinitely beautiful, so beautiful that it would last a lifetime. He pulled down his pants slightly and glanced around before bending her over again. She pulled down her jeans and rubbed her underwear against him like before. She held her hands flat against the stone casket monument and opened her mouth, nearly moaning in anticipation of Neil’s cock inside her. He slowly rolled down her underwear, the hipster style that covered her butt. They were white, ironically.

Exposing her ass, he moaned and reached around to her cunt and rubbed her clit.

“God, fuck me already, Neil.” She pleaded and he nodded.

“Are you wet enough? I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m soaking wet, Neil. Don’t worry about the condom. It’s ok with me.”

“Ok, ok.” He smiled and spat on his hand, rubbing the saliva over her folds. Then he did it again, smearing his spit on his own cock. She gasped loudly when he pushed his tip inside her. He grabbed her hips and tried to stop himself from rutting into her.

“Fuck, go slow… you’re so big.” She whimpered and moaned as he slowly pushed further in. He gasped pitifully and resisted the urge to cum immediately like a schoolboy.

“Jesus, you feel so good.” He panted and watched as his cock went further inside her. She clutched her uterus, trying to allow him to enter her. He whined as she did so and gave a few tiny thrusts.

“Ah, ahh.” He moaned weakly and started to fuck her more regularly, feeling her walls begin to mold around him. “Oh fuck, its so good.” He pulled her hips against him with a harder thrust and she cried out softly, her hands sweating against the stone. As she became wetter, he slid in and out faster, hitting the bottom of her uterus each time.

“Jesus, Neil!” She moaned and pushed herself against him, wanting him further inside.

“I can’t go any farther, honey. You’re not big enough.” He whispered against her neck and continued to fuck her with the same primal sexuality as a dog in heat. She hummed to keep herself from screaming out.

“Fuck yes, this is so good.” He praised her and went faster, his pale legs shaking with pleasure. He felt like he was losing his virginity all over again, needing to come already and they had just started. He pulled out and spun her around to kiss her, his hand holding her chin up to reciprocate his kiss. He switched places with him and pushed him onto the ground where he was sitting on the grass. She kicked off her jeans and underwear, still in her shoes and socks and straddled him. He whimpered as she lowered herself onto him and sat completely on him. She shifted her hips back and forth, wanting him to stay completely inside her. His back was against the stone. When she started to feel her orgasm approaching he started to move up and down, snapping on top of his cock in quick movements that made them both cry out.

“Mmmm, fuck…” Neil panted and looked up at her, studying how her head fell back and her neck arched out towards him. He looked down and watched how her cunt took him, so wet that precum dribbled down his cock onto his pubic hair.

“Um, God, Neil, I’m gonna cum.” She panted and he smiled.

“Come here,” he wrapped his arms around her and turned her around again, laying her flat on her back on the grass and thrusted into her again. She gasped and clutched a handful of grass above her head. She wrapped her thighs around his waist and he sat on his knees, pulling her up to meet him. He fucked her hard and fast, pounding his pelvis against hers. The muscles in his butt clenched as he fucked her desperately. She covered her mouth and cried out in pleasure. She squirted but he continued to fuck her, chasing his own high.

“I’m so close.” He panted and ran his hand down her chin. She looked so beautiful below him, mouth still slightly agape in a pleasurable ‘O’ shape. “Fuck! Oh my God.” He cried and pulled out quickly so that he wouldn’t cum inside her. She rolled over and sucked him off, allowing him to fuck her throat weakly as he finally spilled him cum down her throat. She rolled her tongue around his cock and licked the tip as he pulled out, panting like he had just run a race. He collapsed beside her on the ground and laughed in disbelief. She laughed too, covering her face with her hands.

“Fucking hell.” She laughed into her hands. “That was the best I ever had,” she admitted and he smiled proudly.

“Honestly it was mine too, and my first time in a cemetery, I’ll admit.”

“What, you’re saying to don’t fuck all your girlfriends here?” She teased and he shook his head, rolling it side to side on the ground. A pleasant silence settled between them as they caught their breath. She tried to ignore the fact that she mentioned girlfriends. Neil flopped his head to the side and watched her, her long eyelashes fluttering as she blinked.

“Is that what you are now?” He asked.

“Am I what?”

“Are you my girlfriend now?” He clarified with a small smirk.

“Is that your way of asking me to be your girlfriend?” She laughed and looked away.

“No…” He rolled on top of her and kissed her all over her face, “this is my way of asking. Will… you… be… my… girlfriend?” He asked between feverish kisses. She giggled and propped herself up on her elbows, kissing him back. He slowed his kisses down and she pulled away with a happy sigh.

“I guess so.” She said finally and he raised his shoulder to his ears, looking around in childish glee.

“Oh, come on!” She pushed him playfully away and stood. He helped her change back into her clothes and they fixed their clothing. She combed through Neil’s hair with her fingers and nodded her approval. Neil looked down at his watch and nodded.

“The store opens in exactly seven hours, whatever will we do with our time?” He wrapped his arms around her, clamping her arms against her sides and kissing her neck.

“I have an idea.” She smiled around his kisses.

“What?”

“Take me home.”

“What if you’re a serial killer?” He faked a sense of suspicion.

“Then I guess we’ll just have to find out.” She teased and kissed him deeply, her index finger pressed against the hollow of his cheek.

#cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy #watching the detectives #cillian fanfic #fanfiction #neil lewis x fem!reader #neil lewis smut #neil lewis x reader #neil lewis #gumshoe video #smut

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kscheibles · 9 months

Text

dream girl (illicit affairs part ii)

part i here

content warnings: f! reader, angst, fluff, smut, oral sex f receiving, drug use (weed), mentions of disordered eating habits

word count: 3.3k

You’re hunched over the desk in Matty’s expensive hotel room. Your wet hair drips onto the desk, pooling on the wooden surface. Matty pushes your hair away from your face and onto your back. You’re covered in a warm, plush hotel robe that feels more like a blanket than something that can double as a towel. With Matty’s hands on you and the familiar rhythm of classic soul music permeating the warmth of the room, you feel almost content.

In your hands is a joint that refuses to roll well. You’ve been painstakingly trying to sort it for what must be ten minutes. You can feel Matty’s eyes boring into you from behind. He knows that you could have been smoking it by now, but you’re too stubborn to let him help.

“Stop staring, you’re making me nervous,” you protest. He reaches his arm towards your hands and you squeal, “No, you’re going to make me spill it!”

“Please baby, it’ll be so much easier for me,” he tries.

“No, I brought you weed I’m going to roll it,” you insist.

“We’ll be lucky if it even lights,” he mutters. You stick your tongue out at him. He smiles wide at the sight of you being so childish.

“I’ll have you know I’ve been practicing!” you say. You finally roll the paper and do a little happy dance. Matty bends down to kiss your forehead. There’s a smell so uniquely him wafting off his body. It’s not his detergent, or cologne, or choice cigarettes. It’s warm and musky and safe. It crowds your senses until all you can think is Mattymattymatty. You look up to take him in. He’s in just his boxers, clad from the waist up in only ink and sweat. Your eyes dart away as you bring the joint to your mouth and lick the paper delicately before twisting off the end.

Matty sits on the desk and hands you a lighter. You bring the crutch end of the joint up to his lips and slip it between them. Then you stand up so you’re taller than him. His eyes follow you intently. You bring the fire up to the end of the zoot and hold it there as he inhales. Matty moves his hand to the side of your face and exhales all over it, causing you to scrunch your eyes and giggle.

“So it works, then?” you taunt. He takes another hit and hands it to you.

“It’s alriiiiight,” he drawls, hooking his arms around your waist, spinning you, and pulling you into his lap.

You roll your eyes and hit it yourself, making sure to inhale properly and get all of the smoke out of your lungs so you don’t cough in front of him. He’d definitely take the piss out of you.

“Mmmmm,” you sigh contentedly as you begin to feel your body relax vertebrae by vertebrae. You take one more hit and hold the joint between your index and middle finger like a cig, turning in his grasp and bringing it up to his mouth. As he takes a drag, you let your fingertips linger on his soft lips. You take the cig away and replace it with your mouth before he exhales. He breathes the earthy smoke into your mouth as he begins to kiss you, rubbing his sensitive lips against yours and you’re perfectly gone for a moment. Your head isn’t where it’s supposed to be. It’s floating up, up, up higher into the air like a balloon let off its string. Abruptly, Matty pulls back.

“Not gonna let you distract me from this darling,” he asserts. He plucks the zoot from your hand and takes a long pull from it. His cheeks hollow as he inhales. He looks like Michaelangeo’s David; all angles and taut stomach and curly hair. Fuck.

“God, this is good stuff,” he sighs.

“You didn’t think I was gonna bring you shit, did you?” you quirk an eyebrow at him, testing him.

“Of course not,” he gasps, faux-offended, “you’re my perfect girl, I know you’re on your shit. Look, you rolled it for me and everything. Dream girl, honestly.” He kisses all over your face and you feel warm everywhere. Whether it’s from his praise or the weed, you can’t tell. He wraps his arm around your neck and pulls you to his chest.

You tilt your head a little to look up at him. His heart beats rhythmically in your ear and his warmth encompasses your whole consciousness. His eyes are pink around the edges, hair flattened from rolling around in bed. The soft skin under his eyes is purple and blue, a remnant of the fifteen-hour flight he took to get to you. Thick, musky smoke curls beautifully around his head like a halo. Now you’re the one staring.

You don’t care, you decide. You’ll stare. Fuck him if he has a problem with it. He catches your eyes, a familiar cheeky glint in them.

“You want some, baby?” he brings the joint to your mouth in mimicry of your earlier actions. It feels so intimate, him giving you what you want. Taking care of you, holding you tight but carefully, fingers grazing your mouth, teasing you. He feeds you the smoke delicately, watching your reaction to it. “Good girl. Look at you, look so perfect right now.” You blush as you exhale.

“Need you,” you admit shyly.

“Is that right?” he chuckles softly, “You’re a needy little thing aren’t you? Come to my room, I fuck you nice and good and you still want more, huh?” You nod along, too blissed out to be embarrassed by his words.

“Please, Matty,” you plead. He stubs the joint out on the desk. Fuck the charge.

“Jump,” he says. You oblige, kissing him once your face is level with his. You kiss him hungrily, slipping your tongue in his mouth as soon as you can, desperate. Your lips tingle as your mind begins to cloud with ecstasy. He moves easily with you in his arms. It makes you feel giddy knowing he can handle you, move you wherever he likes. He could overpower you if he wanted to, hurt you, make you bend to his will. And yet, Matty is gentle.

He sets you down on the foot of the bed and kneels in front of you, untying your robe and pushing it off your shoulders. Once on the floor, he kisses the tops of your feet, your calves, up higher and higher until he reaches the inside of your knees. He looks up at you from under dark curls and thick eyelashes. Your heart melts at the sight of his kiss-bitten lips and delirious smile. He taps each knee softly.

“Open your legs, sweetheart,” he coos. With your legs on either side of him, he moves further into you. “Wider,” he commands and you follow his instructions on instinct. He smiles bigger; if that’s even possible.

“Fuck, you’re glistening,” he says as his eyes drift to your soaked core.

“Don’t tease,” you whine. He reaches up, hand landing on your stomach and pushing you down onto your back.

“But you love it so much when I do,” he retorts. He kisses the soft flesh of your inner thighs, the part that’s scarred by stretch marks that appeared in your adolescence. He licks them delicately and moves closer to your cunt before you get embarrassed enough to ask him to stop. Once his face is aligned with your wetness, he stops and breathes out of his mouth; slowly, deliberately. Allowing his hot breath to envelop you. It’s not even close to enough pressure, enough heat. Instinctually, you lift your hips chasing the warmth of his mouth. You hear Matty chuckle softly, pleased with your eagerness.

He moves his hands up to your pussy, running a finger over your swollen clit and further down to your entrance. He barely pushes in, instead opting to play with the wetness there, running his finger around all sides as if he were trying to rid you completely of it. It’s enough to start the fire inside you but not enough to stop your mind completely. He pushes one finger in lazily as if that would satisfy you now. You’re starving, being fed bite by bite. It’s not what you wanted at all. You had wanted to gorge yourself on pleasure and dopamine and togetherness.

“Matty,” you warn. He takes his finger away. Your head snaps up.

“Please baby, I jus’ wanna play with you,” he pleads, “wanna take my time feeling you out. Will you let me do that, pretty girl?”

There’s a sweetness that washes over you as you lay back down. A steady thrum of pleasure you’re now content with. Let him figure you out, you’ll be a desperately willing participant.

“Atta girl,” he praises, slipping his finger back in. He begins to move it in and out and you mewl at the feeling of his fingers, of building pleasure, of being fucked. At your whimpers, he puts his ring finger in as well, moving both of them together now at an erratic pace. He spreads his fingers apart like he’s trying to open you up, then moves them against your back wall. You jerk like you’ve been shocked every time he tries something new. Then he’s coaxing you to him in a “come here” motion. Drawing you further into him, into ecstasy.

“You want another?” he asks quietly.

“Yes!” your voice comes out louder than expected. You giggle, “sorry– yes,” you amend, quieter this time. Matty presses a quick kiss to your inner thigh and then follows through on his promise, fitting another digit into you, tight as you may be.

“That’s it, bein’ so good for me,” he praises. He moves his fingers in and out gently fucking you with them. Every once and a while, he strokes them against your front wall and you short-circuit for a moment. Your hips follow his hand, bucking up into it as he grazes your sweet spot. It’s no longer enough, you need more, more, more.

“Think you’ve figured me out well enough,” you say, sitting up on your elbows.

When you look down at him, he looks focused, like a kid on Christmas morning figuring out his new toy. There’s an innocence to the genuine interest with which he explores your body, earnestly searching for what makes you feel good. His head jerks up to meet your eyes. Your eyes search his face for a moment and then travel down to where his body meets yours. The sight is dizzying. Matty’s fingers are coated in your wetness and buried so deep inside you. Deeper than you had thought.

“What do you need, darlin’?” he asks.

“Please will you go down on me now?” you pout. You pucker your bottom lip out to show him how serious you are. He grins in response.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he says and ducks down to capture your clit in his mouth. He licks you up and down over and over until you’re chanting his name grasping out for his hair like it’s a lifeline. You know that he won’t listen if you say it’s too much – he likes to be too much for you – but you tug on him anyway. To show him it’s good, that you’re overwhelmed. It spurs him on and he moans into your cunt. The vibrations pulse through your body and you shake, inadvertent lifting your hips to meet his mouth, fucking his face with sweet abandon.

Matty slips two fingers back into you and you cry at the intrusion, head beginning to fill with goo. All you can think is, Right there, stay right there, almost, aaaaah. Matty moves his other hand to your abdomen, feeling your muscles clench and release as he does. As he drags his hand lower, he puts pressure on your lower tummy. The feeling on your front wall is delicious. It sends you over the edge. Matty continues to suck intently at your bud over and over and over, working you through your orgasm until you're not contracting around him anymore. When he can tell you’re done, he removes his fingers from you.

Your grip on Matty’s hair loosens as you relax fully into the bed, now unencumbered by any last threads of anxiety; they’ve all been snapped by your last orgasm. Matty moves up your body until his face is centimeters from yours. On his lips are remnants of your freedom and pleasure. It makes you preen to see him so content to be covered in you. He leans down to you and you indulge him fully, kissing him intently until you can no longer taste yourself on his tongue. You break away to catch your breath.

“Do you want me to return the favor?” you ask him. Your voice is barely above a whisper. It doesn’t need to be, he’s so close to you. He moves to pepper the left side of your neck with chaste, sweet kisses.

“I’m alright, darlin’, thanks,” he breathes into your hair, “consider it a ‘thank you’ for the weed. Honestly, I’m high enough that I lost track of time down there.” You giggle and force him off of you so you can resume your rightful place: nuzzled into his chest, his hand on your hip, and your mind stabilized by the constant beating of his heart.

As soon as you’re there, he gasps.

“Your hair is cold,” he breathes. You sit up straight.

“Oh, sorry,” you say. You spring out of bed to dry it in the restroom. Once you’re in front of the bathroom mirror, towel in your hands, Matty follows you into the small space.

“Let me,” he says. You squint your eyes at him but he doesn’t back down. “Get up on the counter, baby, I’ll take care of you,” he says it like it’s his job or something; like he’s never considered that he wouldn’t get up to dry your hair. You relax. Somehow you’d forgotten that it was Matty you’re with. He's your friend. He sees all your inner thoughts and accepts them. He’s a box for you to put your pain in. He holds it all in his hands like water, careful not to let a drop spill.

You awkwardly jump to sit on the cold tile of the bathroom counter. You hiss when your naked ass makes contact with it and Matty immediately ducks to grab another towel. He slides it under your bum and uses the corner to dab at the mess between your legs.

“This bit was my fault,” he says cheekily. Then he grabs the bath sheet you had earlier and begins to towel your hair, careful not to rub too much at your delicate curls. When he’s done, he grabs the hair dryer and aims it at your roots. The warmth seems to permeate your scalp and seep all the way into your chest and abdomen. You lean your forehead on his shoulder as he dries your hair.

“That’s it, good girl,” he says. The melodic lilt of his voice tempts you to doze on him. “Shhhh, it’s okay. My perfect girl, you can sleep on me.”

You take him up on it.

—

As soon as you shut the door to his room and the cold sterile air of the hall hits you, your experience is thrust into harsh relief with reality. Inside with him isn’t a real place. It’s a fantasy. It’s a place where you pretend not to be who you are. In the real world, you have a dog that needs to be walked, laundry that needs folding. You have physical ailments and mental neuroses that affect your everyday decisions.

Inside with him, you’re pretending. It’s for you a little, but the truth is that it’s mostly for him. You’re happy to be his perfect little male fantasy. You relish in it. When you’re with him, you’re aloof. You’re noncommittal. You don’t mind that he’s leaving soon or that he won’t take you out to dinner – at least that’s what you tell yourself. You wear matching appliquéd underwear and have perfectly painted nails. You dress like you don’t care about your appearance – all sweatpants and baggy T-shirts and scrunchies – but you shower each time before you see him. Meticulously remove every stray hair from your legs, your underarms, your pussy. You dab designer perfume on your wrists, hips, and neck. You eat the greasy, delicious food he orders to the room – and then starve yourself the day after. Whatever it takes to be perfect for him. That’s the real walk of shame, you think, the growling stomach and expensive missing underwear. You could have donated that hundred dollars to charity or given it to a mother and child on the street. Instead, it’s wet with your arousal and stuffed in the bottom of the suitcase of a man who wouldn’t notice if a hundred dollars disappeared from his wallet. Wouldn’t even notice if it were a thousand.

When you're with him, you want to be enticing. Delectable. You want him to see you, smell you, and not be able to keep himself from biting into you. Tasting the sweet coconut oil you’ve rubbed over yourself. You want to be irresistible. That’s how you know you’re good enough. Good enough to be with a rockstar, even if it is just for a hookup. Next time, says a faraway voice in your head, if you’re more perfect, more delicious, softer, flatter, smaller, maybe he’ll stay for longer. Maybe he’ll ask his managers to give him longer breaks from touring. Maybe he’ll fly you out to London with him when he goes to visit his family or make a reservation for the two of you at one of those posh restaurants you’re always criticizing.

All of a sudden, it feels so wrong. Stupid. You were more comfortable in your skin when you were seventeen and someone lusted after your flesh for the first time. Then, you ate what you wanted. Then, you wore delicate floral dresses and displayed your curiosity for the world proudly. Then you would let your nose burn and freckle; a sign that you were young and sucking the nectar from life with as much insistence as you could muster. You would fall into bed spontaneously, excitedly. Out of pure need for your partner. Smelling like sweat and leftover Victoria’s Secret body mist. Dark hair, thick and curly, sprouted from the place where life is created and you didn’t stop for a second to consider it. And the boys. The boys still ate you like you were their last supper, savoring your every last drop and gasp and whimper.

Somewhere along the way you have learned to hate your nature. You change just about everything about you. Your frizzy hair, now flattened and tamed. Your physical form, now adorned with lace and paint. Your soft stomach tortured and ignored. Your forehead lathered in sunscreen to ward off any sign you’re no longer eighteen. Your mind medicated so you don’t feel the pain of being alive as acutely as you once did.

But it still feels good when you’re with him. You feel understood, seen in your core. Past all the superficial bullshit that makes you his “dream girl.”

You can’t help but feel you’re not his dream girl. If you were, he’d have made sacrifices for you by now. Sent you flowers and messages when he was away – well non-sexy messages anyway. Asked to call you his girl.

He would have kissed your body and made you believe his words when he told you “you’re perfect.” Not perfect now, but perfect always. Perfect in essence. That’s what you really crave – more than the late-night conversations and orgasms and bliss – for someone to find your essence perfect. So then it doesn’t matter if you’re shaved or you’ve just woken up, or your roots have grown out. You’d be perfect to him anyways.

a/n: if you hate this, please do not tell me! 😘

#matty healy fanfiction #matty healy smut #matty healy fanfic #matty healy x reader #matty healy x y/n

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spidercookie18 · 6 months

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𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑪𝒂𝒏 𝑹𝒖𝒏 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑪𝒂𝒏’𝒕 𝑯𝒊𝒅𝒆

The Lost Boys 1987 AU set in modern time. None of the boys died, and all the Emersons/Star/Laddie/Frog brothers are vampires. This is explained later…

Tags: Biting, smut, oral, mutual masturbation, creampies, choking, degradation, praise, slightly possessive partner, mentions of blood, general violence, use of y/n, afab, use of she/her. Warnings: This chapter is basically mostly porn, barely plot. MINORS DNI Summary: David returns from his rampage. The fleeting feeling of rage leaving an emptiness in him that only bonding can fix. Word Count: 7k ish Previous chapter here: Next chapter here:

“No one should suffer what I suffered. I still dread those scenes when man killed man. I lost my parents, most of my family, by running away.” — Milkha Singh

Chapter Six

David stumbled down into the cave, his spurs jangling as he walked. He groaned, his belly too full of blood and liquor. His boots scraped along the ground as he walked, too drunk to care to walk properly.

As he made his way into the cave, he saw Dwayne sat up in Paul’s beanbag chair, reading a book. He was keeping Paul company as he worked on his art project in the early hours; more waiting up for David than anything else.

The sound of bones clunking down to the ground echoed softly. Paul was determined to get the right look without duct tape ruining his vision. David looked over to the roost. Marko had already gone to bed; tuckered out from his excursion with the two of you earlier that night.

David stood halfway between the roost and Paul’s alcove; he swayed in his boots. The thought of hanging upside down made his stomach churn.

He walked over to where Dwayne and Paul were, and drunkenly pulled a beer can from the plastic six-pack rings. He burped and handed the few remaining cans to the brunette. Dwayne looked up at David, an uneasy feeling crossed his mind. He wanted to ask how he was doing, but the blood and sweat that ran slowly down his brother’s face warned against that. So, he took the cans from David, a half grin across his face, and set them down between himself and Paul.

From the corner of his eye, Paul quietly watched David. He was dumb, but he wasn’t stupid, a snide remark to David right now would surely end in Paul finding out what his teeth tasted like. He just hummed quietly and pretended not to notice his ornery brother.

David popped the tab on the can, the hiss was louder than it should have been over the uneasy silence in the air. He swayed a little bit more before turning towards where you were, stumbling over the weight of his own feet as he clumsily pulled the curtain back. The liquid in his belly and the can sloshed around as he moved, the droplets of beer staining the ground and David’s glove as it flowed. He stood over you and watched as your chest rose and fell with your breath. He watched your silent, sleeping form for a moment, your stillness bringing a smile to his face.

David turned his pocket out and the shells he picked up tumbled to the ground by his boots. You heard the shuffling and clinking on the ground by the bed and stirred from your sleep.

“Mmm, David?” Your eyes sleepily fluttered open, just enough to make out who it was. You smiled up at him and your soft hand reached out to his own.

You let your eyes close shut and gently closed your fingers around his gloved hand, inviting him to stay with you in the bed.

He sat down on the mattress next to you and began to take off his boots. With the tip of his right boot, he pushed against the heel of his left, the boot came off with a thud. He tried the same with his other foot, but his sock just slid down against the heel; he had to lean down to pull the other off, and he spilled the rest of the beer as he did so. David grumbled and let the can fall to the ground with a clank and a rattle as it rolled away.

Maybe I overdid it, he thought as he felt the burp in his throat come up with an acidic liquid. He swallowed hard and fought back the urge to throw up. Luckily, vampires didn’t stay drunk long, but he’d have to ride it out till then. David sat up and took a deep breath, he let his head fall back and his eyes close.

Why couldn’t anything just be easy for him?

Even in life everything was hard; and now, in eternal unlife, everything was more confusing.

He sighed and looked down at you. His dead heart ached watching his sleeping mate. He wanted nothing more than to be with you, for you to be with him, forever. He felt the ache in his bones, in his being; wherever his soul had gone, he was sure the ache was there too. You squeezed his hand in yours, and he smiled down at you. He brushed some hair from your face and leaned down to kiss your cheek.

You groaned, “David, you smell like blood,” crinkling your nose you pulled away from him.

He smiled against your skin, “yeah?”

You nodded groggily, “mhm…and beer,” you rubbed your eyes, “where did you go?” His appearance shocked you; he looked like he waged a war… against himself. You sat up next to him and pulled the blanket around your shoulders. “David?” the worry in your voice asked everything you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

“I’m fine sweet thing,” he slurred, “you should see the other guys,” he chuckled, trying to ease your nerves.

“Oh, David…” you licked your thumb and tried to wipe the blood off his cheeks.

“Sweetness, I’m FINE,” he jerked his head away from you. David grabbed your wrist and held your hand away from his face.

Your sweet smile faded. You pulled your arm from his grasp and pulled the blanket closed around you. He was going to open his mouth to say something, but you shut him up. You put your hand in his face to keep him from getting up to follow you, “STAY.”

David scoffed, “excuse you?”

“I said, STAY, David.”

He bit at the air, warning you that he was annoyed. David watched as you stood and walked over to where your bag was on the floor. The blanket clinging to your body as you moved. You pulled out a bottle of water and twisted the cap off. You picked your shirt off the ground and poured some water on the sleeve.

You walked back to him and placed your hand on his nape. “Don’t move,” you warned, and dabbed the wet cloth along his cheek. He nipped at your hand.

You stared at him, eyes narrowing. “Don’t make me gag you,” you scolded.

David raised his eyebrow at the thought, and you wiped down his neck, trying to clean as much blood off him as possible.

He tried to pull away from you, but you held him firmly by the back of his head, “you don’t have to baby me…” he grumbled.

You looked down at his hands and noticed the splatters of blood that came up from under his leather gloves. You slowly, and delicately pulled them off his hands, and turned the shirt over to start cleaning his knuckles with a fresh part of the cloth. You picked his hand up in both of yours, he hadn’t realized until then how small you actually were compared to him, and his hands. He smiled drunkenly at this.

You guessed at some point he took his gloves off to fight, but you weren’t sure why. You swiped the wet cloth gently against the back of his hands and knuckles and he hissed lightly. His knuckles were split, you were sure it was painful to the touch, but he needed to be cleaned. The cloth let out a squish as you squeezed it to get more of the water on his hands.

You could hear him growling now. “I’m not babying you,” you said gently as you wiped the dried blood off him. “I’m loving you…” you turned his hand over and wiped the dirt and blood from his palm. He stared at you in awe, he didn’t know what to make of you cleaning him off, but this certainly wasn’t the first thing that came to his mind.

David was used to licking his wounds for himself and his brothers, hell, sometimes they did it for him; but this felt different. It was much gentler, much more… human. There was something about the way you gingerly held his hands that made him feel odd; not weak, but incredibly strong.

He felt powerful watching you clean the blood off him, taking special care to make sure he was okay. You moved to his other hand and looked back up at him, his eyes watched you intently.

You smiled and went back to cleaning his knuckles, “you really did a number on someone, huh?” The backs of his hands were deep red, especially around his knuckles where they were cut up. The bones in his hand must have been broken earlier in the night, and the skin was already beginning to bruise green in some spots; one of the perks of being a vampire you thought, fast healing.

He chuckled, “it was just some assholes, no big deal.”

“Did ya have fun?”

“Mhm,” he hummed softly.

“That’s good, I’m glad you’re okay….” You smiled down at him, and he turned to hide his drunk blush. “I should take you on one of my hunts next time,” you giggled.

You tossed the bloodied shirt to the ground, and you turned David’s hand over, you kissed his palm, and he cupped your face in his hand. He could have sworn he felt his heart beating quick at that moment. He loved how sweet you looked, how kind you were, how happy you made him in that moment. You put your hand on his cheek and kissed his forehead, he winked up at you.

This new feeling felt like warm blood flowing through his veins, it excited him. He pulled your face to his and kissed you gently. You felt warm against his lips, and he felt cold against yours. You pulled slowly from the kiss and held him, his ear falling against your chest. David loved listening to your heartbeat. If his belly wasn’t so full of blood at this moment, he'd want to taste yours. He nuzzled his face against your breasts, you felt so soft, and good against his cheek.

David wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer, “oh sweet thing,” he kissed up your skin, “I missed you.”

He heard the laugh come from your belly, “David, you were gone for only a few hours, it’s not even morning yet.”

“And I missed you every second,” he moved the blanket aside so he could kiss down your shoulder.

“Dork,” you laughed at him.

“M’ignoring that,” he nipped at your flesh, “I want you again,” he whispered. He licked along your exposed skin and let his teeth graze ever so lightly against you.

“Oh, David…” you whimpered.

He loved when you moaned for him, he loved more how good you made his name sound.

“I’m still sensitive from earlier,” you protested, only half-heartedly.

“Don’t worry sweet thing, I can fix that,” he drunkenly kissed further down your arm, then down your hand. His tongue lapping at the wet blood on your fingers and palm. It was an odd feeling, but it made the warmth pool in your belly.

A small moan came from your lips, “but Daavid, I’m so sooore,” you whined.

“I’ll be gentle my sweetness,” he turned your palm over and kissed it eagerly. His beautiful blue eyes looking woefully up at you.

You could smell the alcohol on his breath, and the iron from the blood on his coats. You weren’t entirely sure you could trust his word at this moment, when he said he would be able to control himself. Maybe you didn’t do your best to close yourself off to him as the sleep still crept through your bones, maybe you just had a look on your face that said what you meant, but he read it.

“Y/N,” David spoke softly, he placed his hand under your jaw and brought your gaze to his. “I promise I’ll be gentle… d’you trust me?”

His words made a blush come up through your chest and cheeks, it was like a fire under your skin. Your heart raced and the ache in your loins turned into lust as you stared at him.

Oh David…

David giggled, “you even make that sound good from your mind.” His grin was devious, his toothy smile made you nervous; and more importantly, it made you excited.

You nodded meekly and bit your lip; you were sure he could smell your want again. David kissed your open palm, “tell me what you want, my sweet thing.” Your eyebrows furrowed, the pathetic look on your face made David’s pants tight. “Well sweetheart?” David kissed your palm again, the blue in his eyes turning amber around his pupil.

“I…I want…” your eyes flickered from his gaze to his lips, your hands gripping his coat gently, “I want you to love me.”

David stared up at you. He stood, his expression softening, “Y/N, of course I love you…” He put his hand back on your cheek and pulled you to his face. He let his forehead come to yours, nose to nose, “you’re my mate,” he spoke softly against your lips, “you’re mine. I’ll always love you.” David kissed you, deeply. Holding you in his arms as you let your body relax and fall fully into the kiss.

“Even if you try to run away,” he joked.

“Shut up,” you snorted.

Vampires bonded through various ways, feeding on each other, fighting each other, and fucking each other. It wasn’t just a simple act as it was for humans, it was more complex, more intense, it bonded them more than emotionally or physically. It was a spiritual connection; it was deep and life giving. For vampires, it was a way to protect and nourish their kinships. So, when the boys pawed at their partners, it wasn’t purely out of lust, it was also a yearning for intimacy beyond human comprehension.

He laid you back down on the bed, and you let the blanket come off your shoulders. He slowly pulled it off of you and growled excitedly as your body was exposed to him. He bit his lip and began kissing down your stomach. He let his hands trail along your soft, warm body, savoring every inch of you.

“Ohh darlin’”, the southern drawl coming out lightly, he licked his tongue out at your naval, and let it drag as he trailed down towards your love.

David put his hands under your thighs, his thumbs on the inner part and pushed your legs open. He loved the way you blushed when he did that, you would probably never stop being embarrassed at the hungry look he gave you. He kept his eyes trained on your gaze as he kissed your thighs.

David relished the look on your face; the soft red blush in your parted lips, your lidded eyes, the way your brows scrunched up in anticipation, the pretty gasps that came from you as you panted. He left soft nibbles and licks as he made his way from one leg to the next.

His nails gripped into your skin as he pushed your legs further apart. You squeaked at the feeling.

David eased his grip; it was going to be hard not to ravage you the way he wanted, when he had just promised to behave. He kissed gently up towards your weeping cunt in an apologetic hum. His eyes locked onto yours and he gave a cute grin as he waggled his tongue out at you, hovering ever slightly above your mound.

That devious look on his face, he was cute when he wanted to be, and you clenched in anticipation for him. As you watched his tongue loll out it changed, it turned from a normal human tongue into a long, slender, forked one. It worried you, how foreign it looked. You gulped and he chuckled. He let his tongue graze against your slit, tasting your love. You whimpered at the gentle feeling, and he pushed his cool tongue deeper into your folds.

You felt his tongue flick inside of you, “fuck,” you breathed out.

He lapped up your love as it flowed, pressing his forked tongue against your walls. It twisted and wiggled inside you, much deeper than you would have expected it to go. He tasted your arousal on his tongue, and his eyes rolled back in drunken bliss. As he kept licking you, he tasted his come, it made him smile a bit…then he tasted Marko’s. That annoyed him. He thought his come had pushed out all of Marko’s, sadly, it had not. So, he decided to lap the rest of it out while he was prepping you for his cock. His tongue pressed hard into your walls, you could feel it writhing over your ridges as he coiled it in and out.

“David!” You wailed.

He snaked his hands under your thighs and grabbed your hips, keeping you in place. His eyes watching your hips buck up against his hold, and your hands grip at his hair. He kept the tip of his tongue wriggling inside you while he pulled slowly out, the back of his tongue sliding up towards your clit. He bobbed his head up and down gently to let the back of his tongue rub against your nub. David kept the bulk of it inside you, savoring you, your taste, and your moans.

You tried to keep your legs open, but the pleasure that he was giving you made it hard, your thighs started clamping around his head. “Ohh please don’t stop!” You begged him to give you what you wanted most. He hummed with his tongue inside of you, pleased at your desperate reactions.

David twisted his tongue inside you, he loved the way you tasted; his eyes rolled up in his skull as he lavished your warm wet cunt squeezing against his tongue. He pushed more of his wriggling muscle further into you, and lapped the tip against your cervix; the forked edges creating a pressure that was new to you. You squirmed against his hold, and he pushed the length of his tongue back against your gummy walls. He angled the thick part of his tongue upwards against your sweet spot. You bucked against his mouth, “fuck, David! I’m almost there!” He smiled against your cunt with his tongue inside you, he pulled the back of his tongue out again to fold it up against your clit. His tip pushed against your sweet spot and the rough back part of his wet tongue rubbed against your nub.

He moved the back of his tongue quickly against your clit. You felt the knot in your stomach snap, and you spasmed around him. You screamed and bucked your hips against his mouth, your hands gripping into his hair and your thighs squeezed around his head. “Daaaavid!” You moaned his name as you spasmed around him. He lapped up your come as you finished bucking against him. The moans and squeals that came from you sounded so loud in your ears, and you could barely hear anything else over it.

You felt your vision go dark; he knew just how to make you come undone for him. He relished in pushing you over the edge, he loved more how you squeezed around him, whether it was his cock, his fingers, or his tongue.

David let his tongue lap up the last bit of your love and slowly pulled out from your warmth, when he smiled up at you his tongue was ‘normal’ again. “Fuck,” you panted out and let your arms cover your flushed face. David started kissing atop your mound and his fingers rubbed your hips gently, you could feel him smiling into your skin. He let you stay laying on your back with your arms covering your face, you needed to catch your breath after all, and watching you like that stroked his ego something fierce.

Your chest rose and fell sharply; you tried to slow it to calm yourself, but something startled you before you could. You felt David grip your hips and pull you diagonally in the bed, he was hissing loudly now. When you looked up, he was crouched over your lower half, growling at something behind the curtain.

You looked over, Dwayne and Paul were watching the show, and you laughed, “how long have y’all been standing there?” The boys shifted their stance from one leg to the other, too nervous to look at you; they were eyeing David, who was still growling. His possessive stance over your body a clear indication he had no plans of sharing you this time.

Paul was the first to speak, “Can we-”

“No.” David said, in a low, firm tone.

“We just wanted to watch…” Dwayne spoke softly. Normally the boys had no problem challenging David for a piece, but he was serious this time.

“You can watch from over there,” David said as he licked at your thighs.

He didn’t mind an audience; he was used to the boys being around all the time, but he wanted you solely to himself this tonight. You stared at David, and he watched as the boys sit on the other side of the curtain. Paul took no time to spread his legs out and start rubbing himself through his jeans.

David turned back to you, his expression one of annoyance. You smiled down at him to reassure him that they wouldn’t be a bother and reached your arms out to him. Your fingers grasping at the air, calling him to you. He crawled over your body and his knee rested between your legs, one of his arms snaking behind your head to pull you into a kiss. You moaned into his mouth.

You could taste yourself on his lips, and you smiled. David moaned softly into the kiss. Your body was on fire, you had been ravaged earlier and were still covered in bruises and bites, but the licking David had just done on your lower half made the pain turn into pleasure. Whatever David did down there had taken all the ache away and made you grind your hips into his thigh.

“Oh darlin, you’re so needy for me,” David smiled into the kiss. You could feel his hand move from behind your head to grip your chin. He lapped at your tongue then slowly began to pepper kisses down your jaw and neck. His other hand came up to knead your breast, David pulled away from you and looked over your body. “Oh sweetness,” his thumb came to rub over one of the bite marks the curly haired blond made on your plush mounds. “Marko really did a number on ya didn’t he?” His cool thumb soothing the sting of the deep purple bruise.

“Mmhm,” you nodded softly, eyebrows scrunched up with a whine.

“Damn shame,” David clicked his tongue in his mouth, he started licking at the various bite marks across your chest, neck, and shoulders. His tongue felt wet, and slick as it moved across your skin. The dark marks starting to fade to light purple, then vanished before your eyes. David looked up at you, slowly pushing himself up on his arms, a satisfied look on his face,” there we go.”

You smiled up at David, his knee pushing slowly up to crotch. He could feel your wet arousal through his pant.

“David,” you whispered, sitting up on your elbows to look at him.

“Ah-ah,” David pushed you back down on the bed, “I’m not done with you.” His hand came up around your throat and gently pressed you into the mattress. “I’m not gonna let Marko outshine me,” a deep chuckle left his throat. You couldn’t see him very well from where you were being held on the bed, and you squirmed under his hold. You could hear the wet of his mouth as he opened it, still chuckling, his mouth came down to your side by your ribs and bit down.

You screamed, his bite was painful, but not enough to make you bleed.

He gently clamped down to make sure the mark was nice and deep, and after a second, he pulled away to admire his work. “Heh,” he smiled, and leaned back down to put another bite on your breast. His teeth came down around your areola, and you could feel him lick and suck your nipple as he bit.

You mewled and fidgeted against his hold. Your pulse thumping beautifully against his ungloved hand. “David!” You bucked wildly against his thigh, trying to get some release.

He half growled; half chuckled against your flesh as he twirled his tongue around your stiff peak. David unclamped from you and looked up, still lapping at your breast. “Y’all right darlin?” He relaxed his hold around your throat.

You nodded weakly and gasped for air.

“Need more,” you whined. His fingers and tongue felt wonderful, but you wanted his girth more than anything. Rutting your hips against his thigh was not enough, “please,” you begged.

David groaned; looking down at you in this pathetic state, eyes glossed over, whiney, panting, pawing at his arms, grinding against him. He loved how much you wanted him. How you mewled under his tough, begged for him, came undone for him, how pliable and fuckable you were, he loved that in his mates. “Sorry darlin, I can’t hear you, what was that?” He leaned down, hand to his ear, amused by his own antics.

You mewled, embarrassed that he was going to make you beg in front of the others. Your eyebrows scrunched up, and you half turned to look at the two vampires sitting on the floor, rubbing themselves through their jeans, when one of them rustled their belt buckle. Your cheeks flushed a deep red and you gulped against David’s hold. You could feel him squeeze gently on your throat.

The vampire above you spoke, not looking at the others, he licked his lips, “you two can either leave, or you can shut up.” David hissed; that was the last time he’d let them interrupt you two without getting violent.

Dwayne looked over at Paul and scowled, he would be damned if he had to leave because Paul couldn’t get comfortable in silence. Dwayne nipped at the wild hair blond as he pushed his jeans further down, not making a noise. They exchanged looks, and Paul continued to undress while holding his belt buckle in one hand.

David squeezed your throat to drag your attention back to him, his thumb rubbing over one of your veins. He pressed his nose to the underside of your jaw and took a long deep inhale of your scent, “keep your attention on me, y/n.” His claws digging lightly into your neck, “I won’t say it again.” A gold ringlet flashed through the blue of his eyes, then was quickly gone.

“M’sorry David,” you could feel the tears prick the sides of your eyes. You started gasping against your lovers hold. Your hands instinctively shot up to paw around his wrist when his grip tightened again. You wanted to push him away, but with the last bit of strength, you kept yourself from doing so, worried at the punishment he would think up if you did. Your nails gripped lightly into his jacket, and he pressed his knee up into your cunt.

“I’m still waitin’, darlin’.” His tongue licked under your jaw.

“I… need…” You breathed out, you could feel your heartbeat quicken. “David…pleas-” the edges of your vision started to go fuzzy, and David eased his hold on you. You gasped against the vampire’s grip, “please David, I need you.”

He growled against your skin, and you could feel him smiling as he peppered kisses down your neck. His fingers danced across your hips, and he licked the pulsing vein on your throat. The cool wet muscle flexing across your skin.

His belly no longer cramped with blood and liquor, now he wanted to be full of you. His greedy hands scratching up your stomach and down your thighs. He eagerly undid his belt while he continued to bite marks into your neck and chest.

He fumbled with the leather as you mewled under him. You arched your back to let him bite further into your skin, loving the way the marks looked on you. Like badges of love, you wore with pride as he claimed you. David finally managed to get his belt off, and his pants down, and he quickly held himself around the base to stroke himself on your slit. He thumbed over his tip and angled himself to rub through your lips.

David gently thrusted up through your slick folds, the underside of his tip kissing your clit as he rubbed past it. You could hear the wet sucking noises as he slowly dragged himself along your cunt. “F-fuck,” you bit your lip to keep from moaning and gently rutted your hips against his length.

He chuckled at your reaction, how easily you melted for him. How adorable you looked trying to get some release from his freed cock. “You like that y/n?”

You nodded, panting so hard you could almost see your breath in the cool night air.

“You want more?” David asked, teasing himself through your folds and over your clit again.

“Yes,” you whimpered, and David eagerly slipped into your warmth. Your breath hickuped in your throat as he pressed into your heat.

His length stretched you so good. Your mind went hazy as he slowly inched himself through your warm, gummy walls. It probably didn’t matter how many times he took you, you thought, it would always be a feat to take him.

David groaned atop you, his fingers gripping around your waist as he gently thrusted himself further into you.

“Ohh, wow,” you gasped out, eyes rolling back.

David chuckled. “You ok?” He asked, looking over you, calm enough now to have his bearings.

“Mmhm,” you nodded, your breathless moans echoing in the ears of the other boys that sat nearby.

To say they were envious would be a gross understatement. Damn him, they thought. He was being too covetous of his new mate, but in the back of their minds they still knew better than to try something. So, they sat in their jealousy on the floor and rubbed their painful erections. Their own hands not being enough to satisfy the lust that filled them from your mere mewling.

Your attention was bought back fully to David as he finished pushing himself into you. He stilled as his hips fell flush against yours. Both your eyes rolled back at the feeling. David bent over you, forearms on either side of your head, and he kissed you.

You could still taste the come on his lips and could smell the iron and ash on his coats, but you could only feel how full you were of your vampire lover. Your walls ached at the stretch, but it still felt divine.

“You ready?” David asked, kissing under your jaw.

“M’ready,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck.

David started a gentle pace, his cock slowly dragging out of you. You could feel each vein as he pulled his hips back, and they felt even more electric rubbing against your ridges as he pressed back into you.

The moans that left your lips were sinful; David was infatuated with the noises you made, and knew the others were growing bitter watching the two of you. You noticed this too and tried to turn your head to look at them, but David pushed your jaw with his thumb to keep your view on him.

“Ah-ah,” he tutted, and gave a particularly hard thrust. The smack of his hips against your skin was loud, and the feeling made you yelp.

David had that devious grin on his face again. He licked his lips and picked up his pace. A steady stream of moans and gasps fell from your lips; you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist.

He was switching between making faces of euphoric bliss, and sneers, as he wanted to fuck you harder. He eagerly rutted his hips against yours. The PLAT, PLAT, PLAT that came from his skin hitting yours sounded like sweet-talk to the other vampires.

Paul had quietly pulled his belt out of his pant loops and discarded his jacket. He moved to his knees to stand up and join you both, but Dwayne put his hand out to stop him. He knew his companion didn’t have the will power he had, and he knew if the blond tried to interject it would not go well for anyone.

So, he stopped him. Dwayne silently shook his head ‘no’ to remind Paul that was a profoundly stupid idea. Paul angrily went back to his seat on the cave floor and gave a pouty look to the brunet.

‘I know,’ Dwayne silently mouthed to him, unwilling to talk through their bond, unsure if David would be able to pick it up in the ‘state’, he was in. Dwayne patted his lap, and Paul eagerly scooched over to the other vampire. You heard the rustling of Paul’s clothes as he crawled over Dwayne.

With David’s eves shut in pleasure, you looked over at the boys. Paul was sat atop Dwayne’s lap; you could see their heads bobbing as they kissed. As you watched them, Paul stood, his hips up in Dwayne’s face, and you could see the brunet pumping into his fist. He was helping himself, and Paul. You scrunched your eyebrows up in ecstasy, the sight before you was obscene, and the sucking noises you could hear coming from them made you buck your hips up to David’s.

Your lover moved one of his hands to grip your hip, he pulled you up to him as his thrusts slammed down against your flesh. “Oh fuck!” You sucked in air through your teeth, you were close, and David could feel it.

“Come on y/n,” David dug his nails into the skin on the side of your ass, pushing deep into you. His chest pressing on your ribs, his breath becoming hot on your neck, his groans sweet and surly in your ears. With force he pistoned into you. You could feel your walls clamping down around your mate’s length, the knot in your stomach tightening again. “Come for me,” he gave a quick bite to your neck, and you spasmed around him.

“Ahh, oh, fuck,” your legs clenched around his waist as you pulled him to you; he kept thrusting. David lapped at the bruise he made on your neck, his eyes looking up at the expression you made. He cupped your face in his hand and pulled you into a kiss.

“You look so pretty like that,” he whispered against your lips.

David gently pushed his fingers into your mouth, pressing them down on your tongue as he continued to fuck into you. Your warm wet cunt squeezing around his length, sucking him in, enticing him to keep going. His tip dragging against your sweet spot, making you bite his fingers gently. He chuckled lightly at your teeth in his skin, “easy there, sweetness.”

You eased your bite on him, and he pulled his fingers from you. Watching you bite your lip gave him an idea in that sick little mind of his. He brought his hand back to your face and pressed the web of his hand into your mouth. He wanted you to bite down on him, trying to get you to break the skin and drink his blood.

David fucked you, long, and deep. His thick cock splitting through your heat. “Mmrhph,” you moaned into his hand.

Feeling your soft squishy pussy clamping down on his cock made him thrust harder, “come on darlin’, bite it.” He was coaxing you into biting harder on his flesh. His cock pounding against your cervix, the PLAT, PLAT, PLAT’s throbbing against your ears.

Harder, David's mind screamed.

“Bite it darlin, you’re almost there.” He wanted his blood inside you, he wanted you to fully belong to him, he was done with you being tied to another. David pistoned into you, trying to get you to do what he wanted.

Harder, harder. David angled his hips up, “just a little more, sweet thing.”

He pressed his hand further into your mouth, he could feel your teeth sink into his skin, it was almost painful now. You whipped your head side to side, trying to get him out of your mouth. Before you could bite down hard enough to puncture the skin, you pulled away. His hand still partially in your mouth, “Dawid, you pwomised,” you breathed out, big doe eyes staring up at him.

David grunted, angry that you knew what he was trying to do. He eased his pace, gently rocking you now.

“David…I’m sor-” you didn’t want him upset with you, it made your heart ache.

He sighed, “it’s okay sweet thing,” he pressed a kiss to your temple. Pressuring you to do something you didn’t want to do was not the way to keep you. He gave you his word, and in his heart of hearts, he knew it was wrong. If he learned anything these past few days, it was that gaining your trust through kindness was the way to keep your heart.

He intertwined his fingers with yours, and he pressed his forehead against your own, “it’s okay baby.” He kissed you, his nose pressed against your own. The pleasure of him was too intense; you felt tears prickle the side of your eyes and flow down to your ears.

“David…” you whimpered, your other hand coming up to grip his hair. You leaned up to kiss him back, his facial hair scratching you lightly. You chuckled and scrunched your nose up at the feeling.

David stared down at you, his heart ached badly. The fact that he couldn’t turn you was killing him. He pressed his lips against yours, kissing you deeply. Worried that if he stopped touching you, you’d disappear. His free hand pushed yours off his head and down to the bed. He laced his fingers through yours and his weight shifted to your abdomen. The pressure of his forearms on yours was heavy, he gripped your hands tighter, and his thrusts turned long and slow.

“You’re mine,” he grunted against your ear, his cock pressing through your walls. “You’re mine, you got that?” His hips slapping eagerly against yours.

“I know,” you mewled, face scrunched up in pleasure.

“NO!” David looked down at you, his demeanor serious. “You’re mine, forever.” He stared down at you, studying your expression, “d’you understand that?”

You looked up at him, “I…” you hesitated. You knew from that night up on the hill he wouldn’t let you go, he’d never let you go, and you understood that fully. “I know,” you whispered simply, smiling up at him. You squeezed his hands in yours.

He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, gripping your hands with all his might. David pistoned his hips against you. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, and his thrusts became quick and sloppy. “M’gonn- fuck,” you whimpered against his ear, the pressure in your stomach growing. Your eyebrows scrunched up in ecstasy. David chuckled against your ear, not slowing down, “come with me.”

“David!” Your legs twitched, still wrapped around his waist, you could feel the knot in your stomach snap. Your high-pitched whines filling David’s ears as you came around his cock.

With a grunt, David pressed himself as deep as he could manage, and pumped you full of his come. His cock pushing your cervix further into your stomach as his hips stilled against you. You winced at the pain and gripped his hands tighter. You could feel his throbbing inside you while his cock continued to spurt and paint your insides white.

You squirmed under him, but the weight of his body kept you still. Your breath hiccupping in your throat as you tried not to think about the discomfort of him pressed so deep.

David looked down at you when you started to whine, “oh, fuck, sorry.” He pulled himself out a bit, and you felt the pressure start to ease. You breathlessly chuckled and hid your face in his chest.

“You okay?” He asked, worried he’d hurt you.

“M’okay,” you breathed deeply, and smiled up at him.

David tried to finish pulling himself from you, but you kept your legs wrapped around him. “Wait, I just wanna stay like this for a bit,” you smiled a soft smile at him.

He smiled back, his dead heart warming at the sight of you, “Y/n…” he whispered. “I…”

David’s confession was interrupted by the two vampires off to the side, finishing their excursion, loudly. You could hear Paul moan as his hips stuttered against Dwayne’s face, the brunet’s fist pumping his cock fiercely. They both moaned for each other, forgetting that they weren’t the only couple in the room.

David looked over at them angrily, his face scrunching up at them, and you could hear a low growl from his stomach.

You giggled, “stop it David,” from where he was connected to you, you could feel the vibrations. You pushed your hands to his chest a little and eased your hold on his waist.

“What’d I do?” David asked, sad that you’d released him from your embrace.

“I can feel you…” you waggled your finger at his abdomen, where the growl was coming from. “I can feel it in my…” you giggled.

“Oh, is that all?” David said cockily, nuzzling into your neck and beginning to growl again.

“David!” you shrieked, pushing your hands to his hips. “Get out of me,” you chuckled, rolling your eyes at him.

He smiled and pressed a quick kiss to your lips before he pulled from you. Immediately, you could feel his love seeping out of you. He always made a mess of you, and you could imagine the bruises he left along your body. The ones you could see were bright red, his teeth marks deep in your flesh.

David was sat up now, with his legs over the side of the bed. He was putting himself back in his jeans. He leaned back to button them, and you could hear the zipper as he pulled it shut.

You watched your lover walked over to where the other two were, still panting and licking each other.

"Hey, Paul," David called to his brother. Paul turned to look at the other blond, and David raised a hand and smacked him in the back of the head.

“Ow! What the fu-!” Paul began.

“Don’t touch her without her permission again,” David pointed his finger in Paul’s face.

Paul rubbed the back of his head, irritated, “fuck, damn, okay! Fuck.”

Dwayne eyed David silently from the floor, his hands still on Paul’s hips as David turned to walk back to you.

You were sat up in the bed, holding the sheet in one hand above your chest, “you okay?” You asked David, who’d walked through the curtains.

“Mhm,” he hummed softly and got back in the bed with you. He sat next to you on the bed, criss cross. He had a cute, ‘innocent’ look on his face as he swayed gently side to side.

“What, David?” You asked, suspicious, he was only had that look on his face when he wanted something.

He cocked an eyebrow at you, his innocent look turning into something new, as he bit his lip.

“Uh-oh,” you chuckled, and David threw his arms around you and pushed you to the bed.

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pedrostylez · 5 months

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How The Crow Flies - pt. 2

Javier Peña x fem!reader x Frankie Morales crossover

Word count: 3k

Chapter Summary: Javi P clearly is infatuated with you and can’t move past it, we meet Santiago, and a little sprinkle of Frankie

Chapter Warnings and Disclaimers: 18+ only. I am not responsible for what you read on the internet. You have been warned! Locations and descriptions of places may be inaccurate in comparison to each story (Narcos and Triple Frontier). Timelines are obviously different between the two stories, so we are going to meet in the middle and say we are in the early 2000s. These are not necessarily canon characters in regard to how they act, how they treat people, and their current relationships. mean!Javier, alcohol, drinking, mentions of drinking, mentions of sex work, SMUT!!!! car sex, dirty talk, riding, the smallest sweet moment but idk you could miss it, derogatory use of whore, mention of addiction issue

A/N: A little bit of a shorter chapter, but introducing lots of important characters. I hope you like it! Please support by commenting, sending me respectful thoughts, and reblogging. I appreciate every single one of you!

Taglist: @thevoiceinyourheadx @suzdin @survivingandenduring @bariskaplans @inept-the-magnificent @casa-boiardi @paleidiot @darkheartgatita @missladym1981

The next few weeks kept Javier on his toes.

He hated the feeling of stakeouts, and even more of undercover. This time around, however, he was not the one doing either.

Watching you take on those tasks with ease, settling into the role as if you were going around to the corner store to buy a soda, made his skin twitch with anxiety.

Not even a day after you had agreed to begin staking out for clues to where Lorea’s homebase was, you found Yovanna. You hadn’t given him all the details, claiming it was better that you kept things to yourself until you found out more, and it upset him.

No, it worried him.

How was he supposed to keep his promise to keep you safe if you didn’t tell him what was going on?

You forced Javier to rent a small home on the edge of town as a base, living out of it as if you weren’t working with the Embassy. You stopped coming into the office, only calling on a secure line and giving updates when he visited once a week with bags of groceries and a hope to see you naked.

You were in full undercover mode.

“I’ll tell you when I have something.” You huffed out, pulling at the strap of the dress as you gazed at yourself in the mirror. “You can’t keep coming here if you want me to be a working girl trying to find clients.”

“I’m one of you clients.” He shrugged, watching your fingers skate down your side. He subconsciously licked his lips. “You need groceries anyways, and I need to have more updates on you to ensure your safety.”

He catches your eye roll as you take a deep breath and nod. “Got it, boss. Do you want me to take notes so that there is a paper trail too? Or would you rather I let each person know that I encounter that I am an undercover agent?”

“Quit sassing me.” He growled, wrapping his fingers around the back of your neck and pulling you close. Your chest pressed to his, stumbling on heels you hadn’t worn in years. “I said I would protect you. Let me.”

“Then let me do my job, Javi.” You bite out, pushing away from him.

Javier sighs at the memory of you so forceful, so annoyed with him as the sun sets, oranges and reds surrounding your figure as you walk down the sidewalk. You’re holding clumsily on to your new found friend, giggling and making lustful eyes at any man walking past.

You had done exactly what you had been asked, but something made Javier feel queasy watching you lean into this woman like you were too drunk to stand.

He had to remind himself you were faking it.

Javier closed his eyes and leaned his head back, sweat dripping down his back from the long day of watching you. He thought that he was going to have to assign David to do this, or even Jason. Javier winces at the thought, wanting to avoid asking Jason to keep you safe. He has this nagging worry that his assumptions about Jason’s infatuation with you are correct, and he doesn’t want to give Jason an opportunity to lay in your bed like he does.

But if you continued on like this, tempting him at every corner and pushing him away when he asked questions, he wasn’t sure he could keep it up.

His eyes caught your figure again, standing in line at a bar on the edge of town. You hadn’t looked at him once since he had started trailing you, keeping tabs on you, but he knew that you saw him.

He hoped you were thankful for it.

The music inside of the bar was weirdly quiet, stepping in with Yovanna. She smiled over at you, pulling you along with a stumble and a laugh. “Would you like a shot before he comes?”

You nod happily, sitting on one of the bar stools and adjusting the end of your dress. “What is his name again?”

“Santiago.” She nods, blood rushing to her cheeks. “He’s been helping the local police some, as a consultant. But don’t worry, he’s not weird about it.” She laughs, sliding the shot glass to you. “He’s a good guy.”

You nod, giving her a wink. “Don’t worry. I’m sure he is.”

She looks relieved as she laughs, wrapping her arm around your shoulder. She gives you a squeeze before turning when she hears the door.

You look to see as she greets someone, pouring your shot out on the floor behind the bar before she can clock it. You’re uncomfortable, tight clothing and tall heels making you feel like a child trying to walk for the first time and acutely aware that you have a certain someone up your ass.

This itching of annoyance starts to creep out of you the more you think about it, and the more you notice him parked in his vehicle with his eyes trained on you, but you tamp it down as Santiago looks over at you. “Hi there!”

“Hi,” You say lowly, shaking his outstretched hand limply and with a giggle. Yovanna laughs with you, bumping his shoulder and introducing you.

“She’s just moved here and I’m helping her find work. She’s well versed in…certain aspects.” She coughs, giving Santiago a pointed look that he immediately nods to.

“Ah, I understand. Well, you’re in the right place. Yovanna has helped me learn all about how things work around here. She’s the best person to ask.” He says calmly, his fingers pressing into Yovanna’s hips as she giggles.

You already know that Yovanna used to be a working girl. She was your only contact that seemed like she wanted to help you get what you needed-a way in.

She had this infatuation with Santiago, as far as you could tell. Even with what she did for work, helping keep the books straight for Lorea and moving drugs in and out of his house, she wanted to stay attached to him. Your only conclusion was that she thought it to be a way out, a way of protection, and you had to give her credit for covering her bases.

As far as Yovanna was concerned, you were looking for a quick way to make money. And what better way to do that than to be introduced to the richest security guards in Colombia by the girl that used to be the one receiving it?

The talk with Santiago is relatively short, his cell phone ringing soon after and him announcing that he had to run to meet with some friends that were coming into town. A quick press of a kiss to Yovanna’s cheek as a goodbye, a nod of acknowledgement toward you and he is out the door.

“He’s handsome.” You say quietly, shoving her shoulder before motioning towards the door to exit.

Yovanna had been motioning at patrons for you to attempt to speak to, but you had shook your head at all of them. “He’s very good in bed.” She announces, causing you both to laugh full heartedly before heading out into the night.

You eye Peña in the same spot as before, plastering on a lazy smile before turning your head to Yovanna. Her eyes are elsewhere, watching Santiago clap someone on the back before climbing into a Jeep. He sends a small wave in her direction, but your eyes are locked on the driver.

His hat is secured on his head, dark waves curling at the edges as he gives you nothing more than a glance. Arm loose, hanging out of the driver’s side window as he speeds away. You could see the beginnings of a beard, but nothing well kept or easily discernible about him.

“Must be his friends.” Yovanna sighs wistfully, turning to you and looking over your shoulder. You almost miss what she says, still watching the Jeep curiously. “Looks like you have an admirer.”

“Huh?” You whip your head around, eyes back on Peña. You swallow back the snarl, placing a small smile on your lips instead. “Think I should take him for a spin?”

Yovanna laughs, pushing you slightly in the general direction. “Let’s talk tomorrow?” She asks, raising her eyebrows. “If you’re not too busy with new clients.”

You giggle, taking calculated dizzy steps toward his car. “I won’t be. Call me!”

Javier sucks in a breath watching you trip on your way over to his car. You’re smiling, lazily leaning against his open window and tilting your head. “Would you stop following me?” You bite, remaining neutral in stance.

He looks over your shoulder to see Yovanna watching you, smiling himself. “I told you, I would keep you safe.”

“You’re making it so she won’t set me up with the people I need to get your stupid intel.” You say slowly, pushing your ass out to lean into the car further. Running your hand up the path of buttons to his chest.

His breath stutters, shutting his eyes to recenter. “Get in the car.”

“Fine.” You smile, stepping around the front headlights and dragging your finger over the paint. You slide into the passenger seat, facing him fully and pushing out your chest in his direction. “You have to take me out of city limits so that she doesn’t see that you’re a cop.”

Javier grunts, not giving Yovanna another glance before putting the car in gear and speeding away, heading in a direction he is less familiar with. “What have you got so far?”

“Not enough to share.” You slouch when he’s driven fully out of sight, crossing your arms over your chest. “If you would stop interfering, I would have something already.”

“Who’s that guy that you were watching?” He asks, annoyed with you suddenly. He didn’t appreciate being badgered by the person he was protecting-who he promised to protect.

You shake your head, scoffing. “How many times do I have to say–”

“Does she know him?” He asks again, turning to face you for a moment before back on the road. He plans to pull off soon, toward a hideout he’s seen teenagers use.

You roll your eyes. “Yes, she likes him.” You grumble, pushing your hair out of your face and exposing your neck.

Javier swallows roughly, eyes back on the road. “What does he do?”

“He’s a cop.” You say matter of factly. “I figured you would know him, and it would blow my cover.”

He shakes his head. “I’ve never seen him before.”

You both sit silently, thinking to yourselves on what that could mean when he pulls into the dark dirt road. “I’ll look into it.”

When you don’t respond he glances over, the dark cab and no street lights making only your eyes light up from the buttons on the dash, already watching him.

Javier finds a spot in the empty gravel lot, looking out into the city with benches and rocks situated for the view. He cuts the engine, leaning back into his seat and closing his eyes briefly. “I’m not trying to blow your cover.”

Your arms loosen, shifting in your seat to better face him. You take a deep breath, resting your head against the glass of the passenger window. Javier’s eyes trail down what is illuminated of your body, stopping at your chest as you say, “Do you not trust me?”

He reels back, eyes flicking up to your face and seeing a knowing smirk. You had caught him, but weren’t mentioning it. “I trust you, I don’t trust them.”

You scoff, throwing your hands up in the air. “It’s part of the gig, Javi.”

“Don’t call me that.” He grinds out, hands clenched into fists.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, glancing at his hands before up to his face. “Why not?”

He sighs, loosening his hands and shaking them out. “This is supposed to be a serious conversation and you are making it difficult.”

You chuckle, reaching a hand out to his knee and giving a quick squeeze before gliding your thumb back and forth. “Oh, Javi.”

He looks down at your hand, soothing his nerves while also riling him up and confusion floods his system. He doesn’t understand how he can both want you, and be pissed at you. He doesn’t understand how he can want to keep you safe–his, and want to push you away from him.

“You want me to fuck you?” He says lowly, watching as your face flushes red, a small smile being held back.

“Huh?” He grabs your arm and yanks you over the center console, straight into his lap. “You don’t want to be a whore for others but you want to be a whore for me? Is that it?”

Your surprised look changes to serious, a teasing lit leaking from your mouth. “Isn’t that why you keep following me around, agent? For me to be your whore?”

He winces as he closes his eyes. Instead of answering, his hands dig further into the skin of your thighs, pulling you against him to feel his stiffened member concealed by his jeans. “Lift your skirt.”

Your smile shines, almost breaking him of his annoyance until his eyes trail down to see you lift the hem of your dress, no underwear in sight.

He gawks for a moment, stunned that you wore nothing at all until he feels your fingers swiftly unbuttoning his pants. Javier bats you away, skin hot under his jeans being exposed to the night air before he looks back up to your center.

Somehow you are more desperate than ever before, and Javier feels his control slipping; wanting to lose himself in you again and again. Your hips wiggle above him, adjusting to sit properly on him as he holds you up and away from him.

His eyes can’t look away from you, glistening and ready for him. “Look at that.” He says quietly, almost to himself, gripping at your hips roughly and sliding you against the underside of his shaft.

You whine, nails digging into his shoulders and throwing your head back toward the felted ceiling of his car. Your teeth sink into the meat of your lip, trying to not show how desperately you want this.

He tilts his hips so the head of his cock catches at your entrance, a sigh of relief leaving you both in unison. Reaching one hand up to the roof of the car, you try to balance yourself and bounce at the same time.

You’re unsuccessful, groaning in frustration and tilting your head down to watch him enter you over and over, your slick covering his exposed skin. You bite at your cheek, trying to concentrate long enough to get a rhythm back.

But Javier isn’t having it; he reaches a hand up from your hip, pressing into your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. “Don’t fight it. I want to hear you, hermosa.” He growls out, hips snapping up into yours with a speed he hadn’t yet reached before.

Your jaw goes slack in his hand, trying to keep your eyes open to watch him as he pounds into you. Tears are pricking at the back of your eyes, his thumb running shockingly sweet circles across your chin while his other hand shifts from your hip to your clit.

“J-Javi–”

“Shhh, your sweet pussy can handle it.” He murmurs, cooing at you with his thumb swiping fast circles around your clit.

He forces himself to hold off, watching you fall apart in his hands, around his cock, in the heat of his car. You’ve melted into a puddle, leaning into his hand around your face and fluttering your eyes shut.

The strength of your walls squeezing around him has him groaning, pulsing into you without another thought.

You puff out a breath against his palm, lightly pressing your lips to his thumb. “I trust you.” You say quietly, eyeing him almost cautiously.

He sighs, nodding as he pulls you forward, a kiss to your sweaty forehead. “I trust you, too.”

The patio of the restaurant was cooler than inside, but Frankie could feel his skin melting off of him from the humidity. He had hoped the night air would have helped with his inability to cool down, but he thinks maybe only the beer that he’s sworn to not drink would do the trick.

Frankie’s fist closes around nothing, the nails digging into his palm to try and ground himself. He did not need a drink, he did not need a drink–

“We can use her, Fly. If I have Yovanna under my thumb like I think I do–”

“She has you under her thumb, Pope.” Redfly snarls, taking a big sip of his beer before slamming it on the table. Frankie flinches slightly, looking out toward the busy street to distract himself. “You’re going to fuck all of this up.”

“Just give it time.” Will mediates, leaning back and cracking his neck. “This new girl will distract them without even knowing that is the point, Pope’s girl will get us in, and then we can get the money and get the fuck out of here.”

The conversation continues, back and forth between Redfly and Pope about whether they should just infiltrate the place and kill everyone, or if they should play it safe. Frankie closes his eyes to try and drown out the noise, reliving the moment he drove away from the bar.

Your lips parted, shining with gloss.

Your chest falling out of your dress, smooth skin enticing him.

Your legs shining in the street lights, calling for him to come closer.

You were tempting beyond belief, and he knew you would ruin his ability to focus. You would be just as bad as a sip of beer.

He opened his eyes and hoped he wouldn’t see you again.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #frankie morales #javier pena #javier pena smut #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #narcos fanfiction #triple frontier fic #triple frontier #tw dubcon

57 notes · View notes

skeletonapricationday · 26 days

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SPICY DAVID HEADCANNONS

I have not found any smut related thing to this man, and to me that is a crime. I carnaly desire him, I long, I pin for him. Gimme David smut. This is mainly for a female reader but feel free to ignore any gender related comments and enjoy regardless of your sex. Anyways I'm lazy so here's some Headcannons.

No titties, Itty bitties, or big ol' honkers he doesn't care. David has never been one to have a specific fetish or type for his partners body. Hell he's just happy someone like you wants to have sex with him. As long as he can bury his face into your chest while you fuck, regardless of wether he's pressing against a flat board or being muffled by your mounds, he's a happy camper.

David isn't one to shave often. He's always sporting some kind of bush down there, he loves nature afterall. His pubes don't worry or bother him since he doesn't grow alot of body hair in the first place. For hygienic reasons he does trim, working in the sun all day does make him sweat.

Once again David is all about nature! He doesn't care if you're all smooth like a baby's bottom or if you're Becky with the good hair, a meals a meal. He nearly cums when you cum, even without contact, so he does enjoy a good session of oral. Picking pubes out of his teeth later isn't a concern.

David surprisingly isn't much of a moaner. All those years of working as a camp consular has trained him to be quiet. He's used to thrusting into his hand while biting his bottom lip, keeping himself silent for the campers sake. This has turned him into a whimperer. He's all whines and hushed begging. Whenever he shoves his head into the crook of your neck during the heat of the moment, it's like being given a private concert.

Davy loves a good pet name. Call him sugar, sweetness, darling, or even pretty boy. He doesn't care. As long as it's a term of endearment it sends a pang to his heart and heat to his dick in the bedroom. Expect alot of silent pleads, he just wants to be called a good boy.

David is easy to have his feelings hurt. Pretty please be nice to him! Degradation just isn't his thing. He would always try for his partners sake, if that's your thing, but he doesn't enjoy it. Being called a hurtful thing just makes him wanna cry. It's even worse if you request he do it. You remember what happened when he last pretended to be tough. This doesn't mean he's utterly vanilla though.

Overstimulate him. Oh does he adore becoming a whiny mess. As long as you warn him before hand that you're going to do it, he's down. He especially loves when you claw the amount of times he's cum into his back (be careful with your marks though, yall don't need any nosy campers asking questions. Always keep it under the shirt.) David has been extremely sexually repressed throughout his life, he's got plenty in the tank to spare.

David's libido isn't insanely high. He'd much more enjoy a sweet picnic, or a romantic hike in the woods compared to sex. He'd never reject it though. This does mean most of your sexual ednevours will have to be initiated by you. You learn pretty quickly as long as the area is clear he's down to bone, so it isn't much of a problem. Just crawl in his lap late at night while all the campers lay asleep, and it is on like Donkey Kong!

David surprisingly doesn't do porn. He's always had an overactive imagination. Who needs adult entertainment when you have the perfect titties in your mind? Better yet, who needs porn when he has you? You learned this by asking about his porn taste, only to find out he doesn't have one. He does do strippers on the other hand, you learned this before you were in a relationship. Having to drag his drunk ass home from Muffin Tops.

Thighs, utterly delectable. Wiggle your thighs at him and his mind goes south. He just can't help it, they're tempting him. Especially in those little shorts (as long as he ignores the sexist implications of the women's camp consular uniform) he can't help but stare. Expect alot of thigh grabs, thigh hugs, and small little hickies hidden on the inside of your thighs. Delcious~

His favorite sex positions are the ones where you have to be close, which means any positon. He'll find a way to make it work. Riding him while pressing your forehead to his, a mating press with his face hidden in your shoulder, doggy as he pants against your back, spooning while he's inside you. As long as he can work his way near you, and I mean really near you, it's his favorite. He especially enjoys a nice romantic night of missionary since he can see your face, kiss you whenever he pleases, and when you lock your ankles behind his back it feels like heaven.

He's such a sweet boy. He may be on top of you, fucking into you in a dominant position but he's a bottom. No matter how you have sex, you're the one in control. Feel free to swap the position or flip him over and rock his world. He doesn't mind it, whatever you say goes. He loves when you're really dominant, those nights where you're beyond frustrated from bratty campers are his favorite.

David preens when you mark him. It does sadden him that due to the nature of his job you can't mark him more, but it's understandable. He'll take whatever he can get. Scratch marks down his back, check. Hickies hidden on his chest, check. Bitemarks on his thighs, for sure check. Mane him however you please, just keep it under his clothes.

I adore this man. Obviously love him. Keep your eyes out for an actual smut shot, or even normal one shots. I just want my little work husband.

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rosewaterandivy · 3 months

Text

Through Me Prequel - ii. the fool

Summary: Eddie and the Lady of the Lake, feat. advice from one Steve 'The King' Harrington.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader, eventual Steddie x fem!reader in the series

WC: 6.3k

Warnings/Themes: cursing, criticism of religion (catholicism/xtiantiy mostly), religious themes, canon-typical violence, death, idolatry via smut, blasphemy, heretical notions, angst, occasional fluff (as a treat), Biblical & western literary canon and media references/allusions

A/N: This is the second of three prequels centering on the three main characters. If you're up on your tarot know-how, you can glean some info from the banner, etc. 👀

Please do not interact if you aren't 18+.

Nota bene: Reblogging, commenting, and liking my work is always appreciated; reposting, however, is not. This (*) is a singal to check the footnote at the end!

Enjoy! 💜

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“Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster. For when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”

- Friedrich Nietzsche

Tuesday, July 2, 1985

Eddie meets you for the first time on a normal Tuesday evening.

Well, meets is a generous term for what transpires. He all but stumbles upon you as he’s leaving Reefer Rick’s, struck dumb at the sight of a woman walking fully clothed into the lake.

“Shit!”

He drops the lunchbox from his hand; the metal clanging against the rocks as it rolls to a stop on the shore. “Hey!” He yells, trying to get you to stop or at least turn around before doing something drastic.

Nothing.

Continuing to wade into the water, he has no choice to trail after you in an attempt to prevent a visit from the Hawkin’s P.D. and a coroner’s report.

Eddie Munson did not have time for this, not today. But he couldn’t very well just leave you here to your own devices. Which, judging by the water nearing your waist, were far from altruistic.

“Fucking hell,” he grouses, toeing off his sneakers and fumbling with his belt buckle.

You, mystery woman with an apparent death-wish, may be fine with soaking wet clothes but Eddie was not. Wet denim was simply not his jam— it was bad enough he’d have to wash his hair after this, but walking around in wet jeans, just asking for raw, chafed skin?

No, thank you.

His jeans and shirt joined the pile at the edge of the lake as he psyched himself up to dive in after you.

“You got this Munson,” he says to himself, clad in his boxers and shaking out his arms to rid himself of nervous energy. He keeps an eye on you, head and shoulders still above the water though you’ve waded farther from him now.

Bounces on the balls of his feet and cracks his knuckles. “S’just like riding a bike, muscle memory. No sweat.”

Because, yeah he could swim. But, my god, at what cost? Wasn’t worth the hassle in his humble (and correct) opinion.

Oh well.

The water is not at cold as he’d anticipated, but that’s probably due to the summer heat. He treads water, careful not to spook you. Eddie knows he’s not an athlete, he’s no King Steve, but figures that logically it’s easier to talk someone down who isn’t startled.

Eddie never gets the chance to find out.

Because one moment you’re a few feet away, head and shoulders above the surface of the water. Arms buoyant at your side, floating upon the dark blue of the lake. And in an instant you’re gone, leaving nothing but small wakes in your absence.

As if he dreamt you up.

He turns, checking that you aren’t somehow behind him. And sure enough, he is well and truly alone and briefly wonders if he’s made the whole thing up. Thinks that maybe sampling the product before a walk in the woods wasn’t the best idea.

A splash draws his attention to the center of the lake. Something causing the waters to surge, swirling in a way that can only be described as ominous. Eddie cocks his head in interest— curious, purely from an observational standpoint, of course.

An arm breeches the indigo water, sword held aloft. Fingers wrapped delicately to grasp, nestled beneath the pommel, the blade emitting a bright glow.

There’s no fucking way—

A second arm appears, scabbard in hand.

Then your head crests the waves, wet and glorious. Beads of water dripping down the full of your cheeks, mouth graced with a beatific smile. A shake of your head before you begin to swim toward the shore.

“It’s Eddie, right?”

A hum in the coming dark. Gooseflesh blooming on his skin at the sound of your voice. Far too distracted to notice the subtle buzz in the cage of his ribs.

He struggles to speak, a rarity for him. Nods instead, awe-struck. You sail just out of reach, swimming in a lazy backstroke, sword and scabbard still in hand.

“You make a habit of following strange women into bodies of water?”

“Just the pretty ones.”

He could kick himself. Open mouth, insert foot. Just about to give up and end it all when a bark of laughter slips from your throat.

“Doesn’t bode well for you.” You tip your head back in the water, hair fanning out like a halo.

Eddie wades a bit closer now, relieved that he’d misread the situation and intrigued as to how someone could swim to the middle of Lover’s Lake, dive down and swim for god knows how long, only to surface with an actual sword in hand.

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“Well.” You open your eyes taking him in, pale against the warm hues of fading summer light. Water sloshes as you return the sword to its scabbard, glow extinguished for now. “What if I lured you here under false pretenses?”

“Mmm.” He hums, crossing his arms against his chest, revealing a cluster of bats at his elbow and something else you can’t quite make out further up. “You mean you weren’t trying to drown yourself in Lover’s Lake?”

Pulling your bottom lip between, you huff a laugh. “Shit, is that what it looked like? Yikes.”

Feet grazing the beginning of the shoreline, you reorient yourself and stand. Water cascading from your form.

Eddie gulps, audibly, as it all appears to him in slow motion. Beads of water trail down your thighs, the deep blue denim of your daisy dukes doing fuck-all to contain the globes of your ass. And it only gets worse for him from there.

Water continues to drip from your top, washed one too many times and threadbare. He can see the soft skin of your stomach and the flared curve of your hips. The white of your bra a beacon in the fading light, perfectly cupping the swell of your breasts. And, oh god— is that lace?

His dick jumps at the thought.

You, of course, are oblivious to Eddie’s state. Slotting the scabbard through a belt loop of your shorts, you turn, hair whipping wetly against your back, hands at your hips, and ask.

“You coming, or what?”

It takes him a minute to snap out of it. Muttering something under his breath (“Pretty sure I just did, thanks.”) before saying, “Uh, yeah. Just gimme a second.”

Eddie cannot believe he is at Steve Harrington’s house right now, and it's not to deal party favors.

But when you’d asked if he minded a stop back at the place you’re crashing at, he wasn’t about to refuse. Not when he got to ogle your legs as they worked the manual floor shift— calf muscle flexing and ankle rocking forward, thighs slightly damp from your dip in Lover’s Lake.

He swallows and shakes himself from his reverie.

You trot upstairs as toss over your shoulder, “Be just a sec!” Leaving Eddie to his own devices in the Harrington house.

He tentatively steps into the living room— two fire places, seems a bit much, but whatever— and spies a note on the sideboard underneath the cordless phone.

“So,” he asks over burgers later at the diner. “How do you know Harrington?”

And, to your credit, you don’t balk. In fact, you don’t even blink before tearing into your dinner. After you’d changed back at Steve’s place, you offered to take Eddie out to dinner:

“As a thank you,” You said, shoving your feet into a pair of boots. “Y’know, for checking on me at the lake.”

“No need,” He replied, mentally cataloging any potential blackmail he could use on Harrington. But, damn him, there were no incriminating childhood photos to be found.

There were no photos, period.

“C’mon, can’t my knight in shining armor go unrewarded, can I?”

He barely repressed a shudder at that, relishing in how raspy and low your voice had gotten.

“I could be persuaded…”

Which is how the pair of you wound up at the diner, chowing down on burgers and fries with a bit a flirty banter thrown in.

“Well Rhett,” You drawl in a near perfect imitation of Vivien Leigh’s Scarlett O’Hara, “I suppose you could call him a gentleman caller.”

Eddie only rolls his eyes, but you see a smile tug on the other side of his face.

You scrunch up your nose in laughter, “We’re buddies, he’s just letting me crash with him when I’m in town.”

“Regular ne'er do well, are you?”

A snort.

“Gee, thanks.” You slurp from your soda, “Nah, just get called away for work a lot.”

He nods amicably, questions answered for the moment. You take another bite and watch him do the same. Casually, you shake the ketchup bottle and squirt out a few dollops on to the wax paper of your basket. Then, you add a few globs of mayonnaise and mix them together with a fry before popping it into your mouth.

Immediately, Eddie balks with a cough and sputter. You start laughing so hard you drop the few fries in your hand all over the table. “I can’t do it.” He groans, waving to your dip of choice, “This isn’t right. This isn’t what God wanted.”

“God is dead, bitch.” You reply, with a grin and signal for the check.

Rolling up to Forest Hills, you eye Eddie as he pinches his nose. He has feel the worst headache of his life coming on and the oddest trickle in his nose.

He leans his head back against the headrest and you see the trickle of blood making its way toward his lips.

“Hey, lean forward not back.”

“What?”

A sigh. You keep one hand on the wheel and wind the other behind him to press on his upper back, “You lean forward for a bloody nose dude, not back.” A slight push as you drive through the trailer park. “Breathe through your mouth and spit out any blood.”

“I’m not gonna spit blood in your car!”

“She’s seen much worse, trust me.” After checking that Eddie is with the program— he valiantly rolls down the window and elects to spit out of the car instead— you take your hand back and keep an eye out for his place.

He points it out soon enough and the pair of you hustle into the trailer before the sky cracks open with a roll of thunder and a deluge of rain. Grabbing the sword from your backseat, you meet him on the porch as he fumbles with his keys.

Ushering him inside, you toss the relic onto the sofa and beeline for the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Finding an old bottle of ibuprofen, you pop the top and quickly fill a glass with water.

“Ed?” You call out, not sure if he fell into a heap on the sofa or wandered elsewhere.

“Bedroom.”

Following the sound of his voice, nasally from pinching his nose, you round the corner and find him sitting on his bed. The bleeding from his nose seemed to dissipate, and you handed him the water and four pills.

“If your head isn’t better, take another dose of four pills in eight or so hours.”

He nods and swallows the pills with a slug of water before collapsing back on the bed with a groan. His chest rises and falls slowly as he takes a deep breath. And you hate to leave him like this, you really do, but Salvation, Iowa is a calling.

“I’m sorry Eddie, but I’ve gotta go to work. Are you gonna be okay? Is there someone—”

“Wayne, my uncle. He’s at the plant, but he’ll be back tonight.” He breathes out, “Go, go, I’ll be fine.”

With a sigh, you stand back upright and begin to untie his shoes. “It’s bad enough you’re gonna pass out in your jeans, over my dead body are you sleeping with shoes on.”

“Okay boss, whatever you say,” He croaks out.

“Can I leave something here for safe-keeping?” You ask, grabbing a nearby blanket to toss over him.

Eddie cracks an eye open, “Your sword?”

With a smile, you tap the side of your nose with a finger and point at him. “Got it in one, my man.”

He grins at that, “Sure girly, I’ll keep your sword and sheath.”

“Thanks,” You say with a chuckle. “See you later alligator.”

Eddie gives you a half-assed wave, “In a while crocodile.”

Monday, August 19, 1985

Eddie’s got a battered notebook on one knee and an ashtray balanced precariously on the other, clad in, wait for it— Garfield boxers that have seen better days. You’d nearly seen his dick twice and hadn’t even been there for half an hour.

“So what’s your deal?” Eddie asks from his position on the couch.

You sit back and pretend to busy yourself with cleaning your knives because the heat crawling up your neck is about to choke you blue.

Returning to Hawkins after a few weeks working on the coast— wailing women, wendigos, and shifters, oh my— you’d pulled up at Eddie and Wayne’s trailer certainly looking a bit worse for wear. So, after a shower and saying so-long to Wayne as he left for work, out of a lack for anything better to do you began to clean your knives. Which were disgusting, covered in dried, caked on blood and god knows what else.

“What do you mean?” You ask back from the sink, running warm water over your hunting knife, mindful not to catch the gut hook with your fingers— wouldn’t want to be put in a position to explain why your own blood was a rather unusual color and viscosity.

Eddie takes a sip from a lukewarm beer and pulls a face. “You know what I mean,” He says, rising from the couch. You squirt some dish soap into your hand begin to work it onto the blade.

“You leave for work, are gone, for like over a month,” He sets the empty can on the counter. You can feel the heat radiating from his body as he leans next to you, and exhales. “You call from Oregon, California, and Colorado but never say what it is you’re up to,” Eddie cocks his head in your direction, inquisitive, “Or when you’ll be back. And then you roll up tonight with no notice looking like hell warmed over.”

“You forgot something.”

“Yeah? Do tell.”

So, you groan, because he’s hounding you and after a month and some change it’s bound to happen.

“First of all, my gig isn't as exciting as you think it is.” You mutter, scratching your nail against a particularly stubborn glot of viscera, finding the task a distraction under his persistent gaze. “And secondly, you forgot that I left a sword with you.”

“Right,” He laughs, “How could I forget that?”

“It’s, um,” You cut the water and let the blade soak, watching as it floats lazily to the bottom of the sink. “Well, y’know the Arthurian legends and stuff. The Round Table and all of that?”

“Uh, sure.”

“So,” You sigh, a knot of tension working its way to the base of your skull, and breathe out in a rush, "The sword shoved into the back of your closet is kindofExcalibur?”

Eddie, silent as the grave, stretches to open the topmost cabinet above the sink. You watch with idle curiosity, noting how the hem of his shirt rides up to expose his stomach. Before you can get distracted by the whisper of hair trailing beneath the band his boxers, he returns with a handle of whiskey.

“Yeah, I’m gonna need something stronger for this explanation.”

But you tell him, truthfully and genuinely. That you’re a kind of hunter of sorts, for lack of a more apt term, dealing predominantly with the supernatural and otherworldly, an exorcist when needed, and master of the hidden arts—

(“Like, magic?”

“Sure.”

“It’s real?!

“Uh, in a sense.”)

—You’re a lone wolf. The last of your kind. And, as a result, your work takes you all over the world with little to no notice. A nomadic existence is normal for you, or, at least, it was until passing through Hawkins back in ‘83. Something or someone kept drawing you back whenever you had the time.

By the time you're finished with this rambling explanation, Eddie's had a few drinks.

Well, maybe more than a few.

“I think I’m gonna vomit.” Eddie whispers. He sets his glass down on the formica table, feet kicked up on the chair between you. “How’re you not as drunk as me right now? You’re not even tipsy!”

You snort whiskey into your lungs in the middle of his lament and spend the next five minutes with your insides on fire. Eddie has his head in his hands and there are tears coming out of his eyes from laughing at your predicament.

Turns out, you didn’t have the heart to tell Eddie that the only thing that could get you remotely sloshed is rosewater.

Saturday, September 21, 1985

Three blinks on the clock when he’s pulled from his bed and dragged into the living room. Eddie had been given roughly thirty seconds to pull his pants on and sit on the sofa before Harrington nearly kicked down the door. There are a million words a minute being thrown around and he’s vaguely aware of a knife being strapped onto your ankle.

“St-stop!" He sputters, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, "Constantine! Cut it out!”

“Angel…” Steve warns, taking the blade from you. You’re already geared up, raring to go.

You relent with a pout, walking across the room to lean against the far wall, dressed in a cropped Hawkins Athletics shirt and sweats as you watch Eddie fumble stupidly, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His elbow knocks into the table, ankle twists when he tries to stand up. It’s a nightmare and Eddie’s about to burst into tears.

“—so how’s that sound?” You point to the table with yet another knife (where did you get that?), papers scattered about as if he’s caught anything you’ve been saying. Eddie’s still chasing off sheep in his brain. “We can swing in tonight, grab the intel, take out hostil—” his eyes shut.

“Babe,” Eddie sighs, using a common pet name to address you. He hopes it’ll get you to let him off the hook, “It’s… so late. Early? Steve is already up. I wanna go back to bed.”

“But there’s a—” He can’t keep up. The vocabulary is beyond his comprehension when he’s on the verge of curling up into the fetal position under the table. You’re spewing words like the spear of destiny and reconnaissance, but he swears you’ve just said take out hostiles, too.

At this point, he’s about to snap—the despair churning into rage. It’s not his fault; he’s a mess in the mornings. “It is three in the goddamn a.m. I need at least six more hours before I can function. Can someone please explain to me, in tiny words, why I’m being accosted in my own home?”

There’s a beat of silence before Steve pipes up, prying the latest knife you’ve procured from your fingers.

“She wants to go with you.” He deadpans. “Wants to make out with you in the impala. Wants to touch your butt. Wants to fuck your brains out.”

A grin stretches across his face while you and Eddie look on, shocked. For the first time in ten minutes, Eddie’s eyes are wide open while yours have shut tightly, clenched like you’re trying to will the moment away.

“Small enough words? I can go smaller.”

“W-what…”

“She. Likes. You.” He punctuates with claps.

“Steve!”

“But you— and her— How—?”

“Don’t think about it too much.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “We try not to.”

Eddie whips around to stare at you, flinching at his questioning mouth. Steve cackles and cracks his knuckles, whistling about how his work here is done and makes his exit, stage right, kissing you loudly on the mouth as he goes. Left alone now, you bashfully hide behind your hands as Eddie blinks at you owlishly. “S-sorry about… that.”

Wide awake and practically on fire with the slew of information, Eddie feels strangely refreshed. A grin matching Steve’s earlier one makes its way over his lips as he swings his arms and steps until he’s next to you. “Sugar…” He croons, “If you wanted to touch my butt, all you had to do was ask.”

He wiggles his fingers.

“Honestly, babe? I’ve been waiting for you to touch my butt for months.”

The only way you can convince Eddie go is by having Steve tag along. So, you’d rolled up to the dilapidated barn, and he wasn’t sure exactly how many weapons you’d strapped to yourself, just knew that it was a lot and he was incredibly turned on by it.

Given strict instructions by you to stay out of sight with a wink directed at Steve, you’d kissed both of them goodbye and walked inside. Not five minutes later, Steve was climbing out of the front seat with a bat and popping open the trunk.

“Dude,” Eddie hissed, “She said to—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve mumbles, rifling through the chaos of the trunk. “Stay out of sight, which is do-able. We’ll just sneak up to the loft…”

Eddie rolls his eyes, and thinks he can’t be serious.

“Ah, gotcha!”

The trunk closes with a soft thud and the next thing Eddie knows, Steve’s opened his door and hauled him out of the car. Setting him back on his feet, Steve smooths the creases from where he’d grabbed Eddie’s shirt.

“Okay Munson,” He says, eyes glancing toward the barn. “We’re going to head in there, slow and stealthy,” Hands him a bat with nails ran through it. “Use this if things get dicey.”

He grips the bat. “What about you?”

Steve produces what can only be described as a heavily modified shotgun from behind his back. There is an honest to god crucifix on it, and a flashlight. Eddie struggles to pick his jaw off of the ground.

Casually, he loads the slugs into the rotating cylinder. Deeming it a job well done, Steve doesn’t even wait for Eddie as he walks toward the ladder leading to the hayloft.

“What even is that thing?” He asks once he’s caught up to Steve, who’s currently making his way up the ladder.

“The Holy Shotgun? S’what it looks like Munson.”

Eddie can only shake his head and climb up after Steve.

He could scream.

Steve is seemingly unfazed.

This thing— a skinwalker, apparently, sneers and growls into your ear— a threat that makes your teeth gnash. He squeezes your throat between his forearm and his shoulder.

“Take one more step and I gut her like a fish.”

Ah shit.

They’d been found out, a couple of walkers lurking in the rafters attacked just as they’d ascended the ladder. So much for slow and stealthy, the second his feet hit the floor Eddie was swinging that bat like his life depended on it. And Steve actually had to fire that monstrosity of a shotgun, which was… well, hot, to be fair.

But you’d been distracted from the noise and had wound up disarmed by the skinwalker just below them.

Steve takes the step. Eddie’s eyes are about to pop out of his head when the hand not clasped on you lands the silver glint of a blade poised at your throat.

“Fuck! Don’t!”

“Go ahead.” Steve urges impassively, ignoring Eddie’s pleas. “Do it.”

Eddie doesn’t know because he’s still new to this. Because he hasn’t been with you for long. Hasn’t seen you close up in a fight yet.

He’s only seen the sweetness, only a tiny spark of a flame behind closed doors when you sidle up alongside him on movie nights with a shared blanket and chatter vehemently over the more objectionable parts of decapitation.

“There’s no way! Munson, are you seein’ this shit?” As you toss another handful of popcorn into your mouth, half of it ends up on your chest. “Severing the carotid artery? There’s way more fuckin’ blood than that!

Steve knows the bite and the bark. He knows the claws and the flashing teeth. So he steps again, his cheek dripping a splash of blood from one of the dead walkers. In the blink of an eye, you pluck the blade from your opponent's grasp and slide it home on the unsuspecting walker, and the dagger retracts, giving him a full showing of how it rips from the soft palate of your enemy.

Poor idiot, Steve thinks. Never stood a chance.

Eddie’s gasp breaks the silence, and the thud of the corpse follows.

“S-sweetheart?” He murmurs when you peer up at him. “Y-you okay?”

They descend the ladder quickly, leaving the bodies where they fell.

A grin. Wicked and all teeth— one he’s never seen. Steve slips his arm around your waist, pulls you in for a sloppy kiss, smudging the red from his face to yours.

Eddie’s own blood rushes straight down. Nervous. Aroused.

“She look okay?” Steve smirks. “‘Bout time you find out.”

You approach cautiously, not wanting to spook him. Drink in his surprised face when you rub your thigh over his groin where he grows. “Hey, Ed. Didn’t mean to keep you in the dark… just didn’t want to scare you away.”

Then, you push his head back into the wall, lick the blood out of your mouth and press into him with your whole body.

Eddie moans— quivering, whimpering.

He melts like butter against your lips.

Steve purrs. Poor guy, he smiles fondly, ravenously. Eddie never stood a chance.

November, 1985

After that, the tension melted away between the three of you, and things went back to normal.

Well, as normal as you could get when hunting things that go bump in the night.

As he’d come to expect, your work took you all over the place with little to no notice. A phone call would come through, either at his place or Steve’s, and you’d be off again, shouldering a worn bag and dashing off into the night.

It was an adjustment, both your penchant for abrupt exits and Eddie finding himself spending more time with the former King of Hawkins High.

When you weren’t crashing at Forest Hills, it was Loch Nora. Not that Eddie minded, per se, the Harrington’s had an abundance of space and seemingly no cares about whatever their only son got up to on his own.

But he couldn’t bring himself to coexist with Steve in your absence, it wasn’t like the two of them were exactly friends, shared Hellfire gremlins aside. So, like clockwork, as the sound of the impala’s engine faded into the distance, Eddie would grab his things and head home.

Which is how you found him on a bright autumn morning, sleeping away the day back at Forest Hills. You’d let yourself in with the spare key and tiptoed back to his bedroom.

Eddie, for all his high cheekbones and Raphaelite curls, is a complete disaster artist when it comes to sleep. Starfishes out so his lanky frame takes up each corner of the bed, tosses, turns, and is liable to kick on occasion.

Good thing bony elbows and knees aren’t a detriment to you.

The warm autumn sun lazes through the blinds as it pleases, shafts of light illuminating his exposed chest, dancing along his rib cage as it rises and falls with his breaths. Leaning on the doorjamb, you let yourself take it all in— the messy room, haphazardly “organized” books and records, bed clothes rucked down to his hips, a lone leg kicked out from beneath them, his foot grazing the floor as he sleeps.

Stepping further into the room, you quietly close the door and toe off your boots. The articles of clothing drop with each step you take— jacket landing in a thud by the closet, pants falling in a heap by the desk. Down to your shirt, underwear, and socks, you sidle under the covers alongside him, luxuriating in the heat that radiates from him.

Curling against his back, you rub your face against his shoulder blade, nose grazing against the fine hairs there. In sleep, he recognizes your presence, a deep contented sigh tumbling from his partially open mouth, body relaxing against yours.

A cold hand skirts down his torso, nudging him awake before it settles at his hip. Groggily, Eddie’s head turns toward you with a hum. Cracks one eye open in interest, his hand running down the back of your thigh and giving it a squeeze.

“Cold?”

At the rumble of his voice, that low rasp he gets just after waking, sent a ripple through you, a thrumming whirl along your skin and a surge of heat that pooled in your gut.

A nod against his back, your chilled hand curling at his hip.

He turns in your grasp with an, “Alright, c’mere, sugar.” Calloused fingers hiking your leg up and over his hip, drawing your chest to his at the movement. Your hand settles at his ribs, fingers ghosting along the notches of bone.

“Better?”

Head settling into his chest, you nod, desperate to eek out each ray of heat you could. Breathing in the familiar aroma of coffee, weed, and cigarettes cut through with a crisp note of soap and skin. As you lose yourself to comfort and your eyes begin to drift shut, Eddie cradles the nape of your neck, his thumb rubbing idly against the base of your skull.

It’s not often he gets to see you like this, relaxed and languid like a cat seeking out the sun. It’s even less often he gets to have you free of responsibility and obligation. And it’s a rare occurrence indeed to have you to himself.

“But you— and her— How—?”

“Don’t think about it too much… We try not to.”

And well, Eddie had done just that.

Up to this point, it had been kisses on cheeks, looped pinkies, clasped hands, a frenzied make out here and there, flimsy cotton giving way to the prodding of ring-clad fingers, breaths falling in percussive puffs from a spit-slick mouth, the furrow of your brow as you fell apart beautifully for him.

Eddie is well-aware he’s not the only horse in your stable, but that’s a conversation for another time. Right now, he is fully aware that you are blissfully pliant in his bed and his blood is steadily rushing south.

Nudges you towards consciousness by peppering kisses along your face—eyelids, cheeks, and nose while skillfully skirting past your lips to graze against the shell of your ear, “Missed you, angel.”

A small smile pulls at your lips as you open your eyes. “Missed you too, babe.”

His fingers traced your collarbones through the threadbare fabric of your shirt, caressing the dips and hollows. Arching toward him, your lips nearly brush, barely a breath apart. A faint sigh falls from your mouth as Eddie drags his lips against yours, kissing you so delicately your toes curled.

Eddie turns and lays you out beneath him. His fingers lace with yours as he dips down to kiss the breath from your lungs, languorous and endless. A delighted spark zips up your spine, a heady warmth enveloping your limbs. For there are few things in life that feel better than lying under a devoted lover.

As a general rule, he didn’t devote himself to much. Easier to cut and run with fewer strings attached, a thing learned time and again in his life. But that doesn’t diminish his desire to do so, at least, not when it came to you. And if he failed to notice the wisp of crimson thread knotting against his finger and looping him to yours (and subsequently Steve’s), who can blame him?

Stranger things happen every day.

Finally, Eddie drew his mouth away from yours, pupils so blown his eyes were nearly black. He slowly traces the swell of your breasts with a fingertip. His hips shift against your own in a slow grind. Buries his nose in your hair, breathing you in deeply as his fingers continue to wander down.

There’s a few beats of silence— heavy breaths and shuddering gasps as he blows a cool breath against the column of your throat. A ghosting of lips against your own, “G’na let me take care of you?”

You swallow thickly, “Uh huh.”

Fingers slip against damp heat, a soft curse escaping lips, a bruising kiss, an apt tongue. A canting of hips as clothes are shed, fervent and impatient hands caressing in the warmth of the autumn sun. Sweet nothings whispered against exposed skin: c’mon baby, feel good angel?

His voice vibrates through your chest, husky and low, in between sponged kisses along your throat and jaw. Lewd wet noises punctuated with bitten curses, groans, and whines of, “Eddie— Please, I—“

A wicked smile settles along his lips as he works you through it, fingers urging you toward the precipice. Molten lava swoops and pools low in your abdomen with each press and thrust of his hand. The sheer heat of it is near blinding.

“Need you,” You plead, grinding up against him, “I’m burning up.”

He bites back a groan in favor of crushing his lips against your own. His tongue slides against your own sweet and heavy with promise into the cavern of your mouth.

“S’okay, I’ve got you.” His free hand snakes along the column of your spine, freeing you from your shirt as a moan is pulled from you. “So fuckin’ gorgeous,” He whispers pulling back to look at you. You whimper in response, too far gone to process the compliment.

The pair of you are entwined like vines, his hand palms against the base of your spine. Your hand winds its way into his hair, gripping for purchase. His eyes fall shut with a moan as you slot your lips against his.

You rock up into him as you briefly part to toss the shirt elsewhere. The bra comes off swiftly in the effort to get your hot little hands back on him. Bumbling through a mantle of heat, as if you’re cursed by it. Burning away at the core.

Jesus wept– Eddie’s already slick with precome and throbbing with need. You pump him once and feel his groan rattle through your chest. Pulling your mouth from his, you stick two fingers in and sluice them up with spit, “Need to feel you,” You whine with a lingering kiss and a slow drag of your fist around his cock.

At this point, you honestly might explode.

Salvation comes in the form of a ragged thrust and choked gasp.

Eddie moans at your touch, hands dragging down his chest, and bites his lip, flicks his tongue over his teeth, and swallows thickly. You’re so hot. And tight. And wet. Tries to lessen his grip at your hips because it feels like he could honestly break you— holy hell— but soon enough he bottoms out in spectacular fashion.

Coming back to himself, he pulls back so that his cockhead catches inside your cunt. But before he can even catch his breath, you cant your hips up, lock your legs at the small of his back to pull him back in and he nearly loses his damn mind.

He’s never felt something so perfect before. Wave after wave of pleasure courses through punching the air from his lungs. And all he can do is ride it out— soft rolls of your hips against his quick fast bucks. Soft mewls and stuttering breaths filling the dappled sunlit room.

He repeats your name, like a penitent at prayer.

Your hands are everywhere. On his chest, his stomach, fingers hooking into his open mouth. And it is divine. His cock is entirely drenched in you and he swears he could come just like this, with you open and gasping beneath him.

Eddie memorizes the cherry wet of your mouth, the furrow of your brow, eyes rolling back and lost to pleasure. You’re a fucking vision, one that he’d be happy to supplicate himself to for the rest of his days. Rising up, his mouth finds your shoulder and bites at the glistening skin there. Eddie’s grip is tight at the nape of your neck, your entire body folded against him and pulled taut like a bowstring.

He kisses you desperately, tongue surfing into your mouth like an inferno. Shuddering against him, you’re startled as he walks his fingers closer and closer to the wet heat between your legs. “Come for me angel,” He purrs just as his thumb presses against your clit.

The tether inside of you snaps as you kiss him stupid— a blaze of white light. The inferno continues to rage as you let out a strangled pant, “Eddie.”

“There it is,” He bites against your jaw, “…Yes.”

"Fuck.” You blink the spots from your vision. God. Your entire body quakes.

Frantic circles against your clit and a few more sloppy thrusts, a demand of “Gimme all of it.”

He slams into you once more before the inevitable descent, your eyes screwing shut as you try to remember how to breathe. And it’s all Eddie can do to lick your jaw, push his tongue into your mouth, and work you through it.

An ephemeral, throbbing sensation falls from you. Slides right out to soak his thighs as he chokes on his own breath from the way you arch up and into him, your perfect tits pressing against his chest while your walls seize him like a vice.

When Eddie comes it's with an invocation of your name chased by an errant fuck or yesyesyes. It shatters him entirely, fueled solely by the desire to dive deep and spill into you. He buries his face in the curve of your neck, mouth open and gasping against damp skin.

And just like that, everything feels brand new. The world has sloughed from your shoulders and it's pure bliss in the comedown.

The whisper fate pulls taut— a nearly indiscernible thread of crimson looped for three.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #fic: through me #stranger things fanfic #constantine!au #Spotify

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atzhrts · 1 year

Text

daylight

“hiding all of our sins from the daylight, running from the daylight, oh i love it and i hate it at the same time”

listened to daylight by david kushner while writing, reminds me of san for some reason.

minors dni, smut, not proofread

includes: public sex, implied fwb, strength kink, choking, reader gets put into a chokehold, reader gets picked up by san, slight degradation (reader gets called slut and whore one time), spitting, bit angsty at the end, lmk if i missed anything

your fingers curled round sans bicep as he pressed your back against the cold tiles of the hotel pool. you felt his muscles tense under your touch, his lips continuing their way up your neck until you felt them touching the shell of your ear.

you never thought you would find yourself in a situation like this, with a man you only ever saw at night, never in the daykighy, holding you up against the wall of a public pool. a pool that was accessible to all guests of the hotel you were in, anyone could enter the rooftop and see the way your legs were warped around sans middle, his clothed bulge rubbing deliciously against your clit.

you felt your panties getting wetter by the second, thinking about how san was holding you up with ease. not a single sign of struggle could be seen on his face, not an ounce of sweat on his skin. you were dying to find out just how long he could hold you in this position.

sans breath felt hot against your skin, his breathing getting heavier as your hands started to wander against his smooth skin. running your nails down his muscular arms you felt him shudder under your fingertips, making you let out a small giggle against his collar bones. the same collar bones you would think about alone in bed when you could not fall asleep, thinking about how comfortable it would be to use them as a pillow. then again you knew that you would never experience this, you were nothing to choi san in the daylight.

“san please” you panted as his teeth crazed a particular sensitive spot. your felt his fingers run down your sides until they reached their favorite spot, around your waist. squeezing it slightly he pressed a wet kiss against your lips before spinning your around, his hands grabbing hold of your bikini, tugging it down harshly.

you hissed as your naked chest presses against the wall of the public pool you found yourselves in.

“you like my arms baby?” he whispered and you could just feel the teasing smirk against your neck. the man behind you thrusted his clothed member against your ass, demanding an answer. you let out a small hum, not trusting your voice with sans broad chest pressed against your back and his thumb brushing against the underside of your left boob. you could feel his hard nipples against your back, the top of his muscular thighs rubbing against the back of yours.

“i want words” he spit. san was a sweet guy, always making sure you were comfortable but if you disobeyed his orders it’s like something switched inside his head.

“god yes, san i love your arms” you ever so moaned as he started to rub your clit through your panties before tugging them down harshly. his hand grabbed his member sliding it through your wet folds, one time, two times, until you lost count of it - already so drunk on his dick before he had started to give it to you.

you let out the smallest whimpers as his head brushed against your already sensitive clit, but san caught it, of course he did, he was always so attentive to the noises you let out around him.

“already so desperate and i haven’t even done anything” he chuckled, before gently pushing himself into your wet hole, letting out a low groan that made you clench around his length. san pulled out almost completely before pulling your hips against his roughly, making the water around you both splash loudly. he continued this for a few times, nails digging into your skin before he sucked a deep purple mark against the back of your shoulder as you let out loud moans.

“be quiet, you don’t want people to walk up here and see what a slut you are for me do you?” san whispered against your ear, the degrading name making you clench around his member as you shook your head no before remembering his earlier words.

“no, don’t want that, sorry sannie” you whimpered but showed no effort in quieting down. a particular loud moan left your mouth as san hit your sweet stop, making you cry out seconds before he stopped his movements completely. his hand made its way up your body, as you begged him to continue, wrapping his hand around your throat, he turned your head to the side.

“i said be quiet whore” he growled and before you knew what was happening you felt his warm spit drip down your cheek as his hand was replaced by his arm. sans bicep was digging into your throat deliciously as he flexed it, his hips hitting your ass roughly.

“cumming” you whispered, as you gasped for air. his grip on your shoulder got harsher, flexing the muscles in his arm as much as possible and just as you felt like you ware going to pass out from the lack of air he removed his arm completely, snaking it down your body before he started to attack your clit with harsh flicks of his fingers.

before you knew it your were clenching around him, the high of your orgasm making you let out moans you were sure some innocent guests could hear on the balcony of their hotel room. san turned you a round roughly, not caring that you’re were still panting like you just ran a marathon, just coming down from your high. his gaze was focused on your boobs as his hand strokes his length at a rapid pace. you mindlessly lifted your hands, finger rubbing against his chest before you pinched one of his nipples.

san let out a low groan and you felt hot spurs of cum against the inside of your thighs. his head fell forwards against your shoulder, pressing a kiss against the skin before slowly peeling himself away from you.

the man in front of you took a step back, sliding his hands over the lower part of his stomach. your eyes followed a water droplet that made its way down sans pecs, disappearing into the water around his waist.

“i have to go pretty girl” he whispered, voice barely audible. your smile slowly dropped, no matter how hard you tried to fight against it. of course he had to go, he always had to. you never had the privilege of waking up in his arms, of feeling his fingers run over your skin in a non sexual manner, of experiencing what san was like in the daylight. at the end of the day that’s all you were to choi san, someone he could always go to relief pent up sexual frustration.

you climbed out of the pool once you were sure you were out of sans sight, once you were sure he couldn’t see the small tear that slowly made its way down your cheek. after drying your body carefully, making sure to take your time, to avoid anyone running into him again. as you picked up your phone the tears started to well up once again, making the device in your hands appear blurry.

1 new message from choi san </3

i really enjoyed tonight my love

[1 attachment]

your heart stung at the nickname, will you ever really be choi sans love in broad daylight?

#it’s obvious by what this was inspired right?#choi san smut #san smut #ateez smut #choi san hard hours #ateez hard hours #ateez hard thoughts

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misslavenderlady · 1 year

Note

Hello Lavender I recently came across your page your writing is wonderful and I love it. May I request demon The lost boys + Micheal x nun reader smut very smutty if your up for it. I can’t wait to read this wonderful story you have planned out :).

Mary On A Cross 🛐

David/Marko/Dwayne/Paul/Michael/Female!Reader

Summary: Just because you're a holy woman on sacred ground doesn't mean you're safe from the temptations of Hell. The true test of your faith will be when five demons come to play~

Thank you @xxryn for the writing request! I appreciate your patience. This came out so much longer than I planned. I'm not Catholic (or even religious for that matter), but I did a lot of research about the church and nuns. Forgive me if some stuff isn't accurate.

WARNINGS: Nsfw/Smut/18+ Readers Only, Dub Con, Nun!Reader, Female!Reader, Virgin!Reader, Sex Dreams, Temptation, Religion Kink, Shame, Confessions, Prayer, Demons/Incubus, Teratophilia, Flirting, Pet Names, Groping, Pretending to be a priest, Sex on an Altar, Sex in a church, Group Sex, Vaginal Sex, Taking virginity, Nippleplay, Licking, Spanking, Dom/Sub, Clit rubbing, Mutual masturbation, Circle jerk, Dirty Talk, Praying, Creampie, Sex feeding

“Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been a week since my last confession. These are my sins.”

You really felt like a failure for having to do this, but it was absolutely necessary. The struggles you were dealing with had worsened recently, and you feared that your will was being tested. Still, you had to be strong. That was why you were in the confessional, sharing your sins with the hidden priest.

For as long as you could remember, you were devoted to your religion. It was a significant part of your life growing up. You attended many christenings, weddings, and funerals held at your family’s church of choice. Rain or shine, you went every Sunday to sing and pray. Your teen years were a balancing act between academic life and your duties for the church. Every authority figure in your life praised you for being such a good kid.

So that’s what you decided to devote yourself to as an adult. You knew nothing of life besides faith, so you followed the path to becoming a nun. It was no small task to complete, yet you were more than dedicated. You gave up your luxuries, promised your vows, and joined your convent to live a humble life that was fully devoted to God. It was hard work, yet you handled it with ease.

That was, until recently.

Temptations had begun to creep into your daily life, attempting to slip into the cracks of your spirit and corrupt your very soul. Though such things would seem normal to an average person, you were a woman of God. You had to be disciplined, and you knew the smallest tests of faith could spiral out of control.

It had started with rather sensual dreams that you had in the dead of night. Every time you slipped into a deep slumber, visions of handsome men and bare bodies danced around in your mind. They whispered lewd promises and sang out the most depraved moans you’d ever heard. The first time you had such a dream, you had woken with a start, completely drenched in sweat. You were sure you were ill with some kind of fever.

But it didn’t stop after that.

It was a bit different each time. Sometimes you saw a blond. Other times it was a brunet. One night, the voices promised to be gentle and make love to you. The next night, the voices demanded to fuck you like a wild animal. It made your head spin with each passing night. Though you never really remembered the faces when you woke up, you always had a dripping heat in between your legs. Cold showers had certainly become your friend.

The shame you felt was getting worse. Everything you knew about sex was from the educational courses in school long ago. That, and there were some rather colorful remarks made by the boys whenever you wore a skirt to class. Such temptations never swayed you before, but this time was different.

You desperately tried to pour yourself into your work. You chanted plenty of Hail Marys, spent hours each day praying and read the bible over and over again. Whenever a charity event was planned, you were the hardest worker involved. Your fellow nuns were so proud of the work you did, yet you still held a pang of guilt deep inside.

That’s why you were confessing these sins today. You shared these erotic dreams with the intention of clearing your conscience.

“I cannot silence these dreams, Father,” you said in exasperation. “It has gotten to a point where I can feel my mind slipping back to them during the day. Whenever I try to do my work for God, I see these images of lust and I feel...dirty.”

“I see. While you are a faithful woman to God, it is important to remember that you are still human. We all have temptations that make us stray from the path, but we all find our way in the end,” the priest explained to you. “In fact, you truly have not done anything wrong for these are visions beyond your control. After all, you have not done anything to act on such desires.”

Your stomach twisted with guilt. It reminded you of your days of youth when you confessed to silly things like sneaking a treat from the cookie jar or lying to your parents about where you went with your friends after school. You never did anything truly wild, but the guilt made you feel small and weak.

“That’s the problem, Father. I...like those dreams. I find myself wanting to act on the desires they give me. Wanting to experience that pleasure...oh God, help me, I’m so ashamed...”

Every time you dreamed of sexual conquests beyond your wildest imaginations, you felt the need to quench your thirst grow stronger and stronger. There was a time long ago when you had realized how good it felt to rub yourself on your pillow, but you were too scared of the consequences to complete your pleasure. The temptation to explore your body and satisfy the lustful ache was worsening.

“My child,” the priest interrupted your thoughts. “You are not alone in this world. There will always be love and appreciation for who you are. These dreams are a test for you, nothing more. A test of what you are truly capable of. It may be scary, but you must have faith in yourself. Perhaps you will find that you will become stronger than you ever imagined. It will all be okay in the end; I can promise you that.”

You exhaled, still wary of what you were experiencing, but feeling a lot better thanks to the kind words of the priest who listened to your confession. There was genuine care in his voice, and you appreciated him for not being judgmental of your struggle.

"Should you find yourself facing the temptation again, come to the sacred ground of the church so you can share these struggles alone with God. You may find that solitude will provide the clarity you need to overcome this challenge and come out stronger than ever."

That was certainly something you could do. With a hail Mary and a thank you to the priest, you stepped out of the confessional. You would keep his words of guidance in mind as you went about your duties for the day.

With the moon shining down to bring another beautiful night, it was time to sleep. Your plain, white nightgown was draped over your frame, ready to keep you warm and safe during the hours of slumber. You prayed before tucking yourself in, asking for a dreamless sleep.

Though as you shut your eyes and drifted off, that prayer was swiftly proven to go ignored.

It was so innocent at first. Nothing but pure silence in your dreams as you rest. Then the familiar forms of your frequent visitors appeared before you. They weren’t entirely clear in your vision, but you knew these were the men you had seen night after night. One stood out more than the others, a faded image of platinum hair and a long coat. Even with his face hidden, you knew he was smirking. He always was.

“She’s ready for us,” he purred. His voice was muffled as if he was speaking underwater. A gloved hand reached out to you, caressing the side of your face. Even in your sleep, the sensation felt so real. It made you want to squirm away, but your body remained paralyzed.

“Now now, my pet. Do not fight us. We’ve waited for this night for so long.”

The other figures moved closer, each moving to a different side of you. They trapped you in a circle, hovering over you. You could not see their eyes, but you certainly could feel them watching you. Never before had you felt so vulnerable.

Playful giggles teased your ears, mocking you as their hands caressed your body. Still, your ability to move was taken away and you could not get yourself to wake up. The more these figures played with you, the stronger your fear became.

You were under their control, up until the moment when the leader of this nefarious gang of dream monsters finally revealed his eyes to you. Yellow. Sickly yellow in a sea of red.

“It’s time to wake up.”

The spell was broken, and your eyes shot open. Your body was free and immediately shot up in a panicked jolt as your senses finally came back. Goosebumps were littered across your skin and your heart was pumping faster than ever. Those hands that touched you. They felt so real. Like it wasn’t in a dream.

That wasn’t the scariest part though. What truly struck fear into your heart was how wet you were. The slick in between your legs could not be ignored. Your thighs clenched together, trying to fight off the tingling sensation that taunted you so. Even though the dream frightened you, it enticed you as well. The battle for maintaining your status as a holy woman was still going on.

You had to fight for your faith.

With a toss of your bed sheets, you slipped on your shoes and dressed in your robe and habit. A bible was held in one hand and your rosary beads in the other. The cover of darkness cloaked you as you maneuvered around corridors and corners, making your way to the church.

You knew the path well. Day and night you prayed away in the church of your convent. It was a place of safety, and seeing the familiar statues and stained glass when you opened the doors immediately washed away most of your fears. The soft glow of candlelight beckoned you, giving a warm welcome as you kneeled in front of the altar. With the sign of the cross, you prayed.

“Lord, with your bright and open heart, forgive me for showing darkness to the light. Putting my back, to what is right was wrong, and I have sinned against you. Forgive me, O merciful one, because I have relished my wrongs and I am sorry for what I have done. Lord I am ready to continue following in your footsteps. Take me from the dark. Hear me now, O lord. Amen.”

Satisfied with your prayer, you basked in the silence of the church, taking the time to think about what you had done. You were strong. You were devoted.

But you certainly weren’t alone.

“Now what's so bad about the dark~?”

Your eyes shot open at the sound of a voice speaking to you. It wasn’t across the room, but rather right behind you. Turning your head around, you were face to face with a visitor in your church. A man towered above your kneeling form, dark clothes draped over him, and hair striking platinum.

This man was so very familiar. Though you didn’t know who he was, your gut was telling you that this was someone you had seen night after night. Still, you couldn’t believe such a thing. Surely, this was not the one that danced around in your dreams. It had to be some kind of coincidence.

“Wh-who are you, Sir?” you questioned timidly. With your eyes locked on the man, you rose to your feet, clutching your rosary as tightly as possible.

The closer you got to him, the better you could study his features. He was a truly beautiful man. Stubbled cheeks and icy blue eyes. You were a celibate woman, but you were still human. The priest you spoke to had reminded you of such a thing when you went into confession. Still, you would not be swayed.

“Why, my sweet little darling, don’t you recognize me?”

Your heart dropped in your chest. The blood in your veins went ice cold. This couldn’t possibly be happening.

“I think she’s shy, David.”

The new voice immediately made you jump in fright, as it was spoken right next to you. While clinging to your chest, you looked to the side to find a man with dark hair and eyes gazing intensely at you. Where on Earth did he come from?

“I think you’re right, Dwayne. What’s goin’ on with her, Paul?”

To the other side, a shorter man with flowing curls of gold eyed you hungrily. There was pure wickedness in his hazel eyes, and you did not like that at all.

“Wait a minute, who wants to know, Marko?”

Another. Right behind you. A shriek came from your mouth as you spun around, coming face to face with a blond-haired, blue-eyed man lounging casually on the altar. The four strangers snickered at your reaction, clearly amused by your fear.

This really wasn’t good. You were a woman all alone in the church, surrounded by four incredibly intimidating men. There was no way any good could come out of such a situation. All you could do was grasp at the cross around your neck and pray to God to show you mercy.

The one they called David took your hand, moving you so you would face him again. His smirk grew wider as he brought your hand up, kissing the back of it. The way his beard scratched at your soft skin made you feel dizzy. A twinkle danced in his eye, no doubt from the amusement of how timidly you reacted to such a gesture.

“We’ve been visiting you night after night, my dear,” he cooed. “Surely you would recognize the sounds of lust we sang to you while you slept~”

Before you could even get a word out, the other three men pushed in closer to you. They each moaned and whispered lewdly, perfectly clear for you to listen. Your cheeks flushed at the sounds, completely overwhelmed. All the while, David watched with delight.

“I...STOP! Stop it!” you cried out. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re not welcome here!”

“Awww that’s not true, sweetheart,” Paul giggled behind you. “Aren’t all God’s kids welcome and all that?”

“I dunno, Paulie. We’re not exactly related to ‘God’. Quite the opposite,” Marko added.

Something about that made your stomach churn. There was something far more sinister in what he meant. You trembled as the boys traded looks with one another. They surely weren’t up to any good. You were about to find out just how dangerous they truly were.

“I think it’s about time we show you exactly who...or rather what we are~” David smirked.

You didn’t know what to expect by such a confusing statement. It was only when the blue in David’s eyes faded away and the glow of gold took its place that you realized how grave the situation was. They were the same demonic eyes you saw before you awoke.

And the transformation only got worse.

Before your very eyes, David and the other boys morphed into inhuman creatures. Their figures towered higher and their hands stretched out longer, talon-like claws growing from the tips. They salivated with mouthfuls of fangs. The clothes on their bodies faded into mere clouds of smoke, leaving their beautiful figures completely bare. Without the clothing, they had the freedom to show what they had been hiding behind their backs.

Deep, crimson wings unfurled from their shoulders, stretching out to present their truly massive size. The shape and form mimicked that of bats, only far more jagged and sharp in appearance. Impish tails slithered out as well, slithering across the ground much like snakes.

You were speechless. Horrified. Demons were right here in your church, completely surrounding you. Your body felt hollow, nothing but the void of dread swallowing you whole. There wasn’t even strength in your voice to scream.

If it weren’t for the doors of the church opening up at the other side of the church, you would have been paralyzed with fear for eternity. Your prayers must have been answered because a priest was standing in the doorway. Young and strong, just the hero you needed.

"HELP ME, FATHER!" you screamed out, finding the strength to push past the demons and sprint straight into the holy man's arms.

"What's going on here?" he asked, holding you close. You already felt much safer in his embrace. His voice seemed familiar. Comforting.

"There are demons! Real, unholy demons on sacred ground!" you cried out. He held you tighter as you hid from the sight of the monsters. "You must perform an exorcism at once! Please!!"

The priest soothed you, holding you close to his chest. Demonic laughter taunted your fears. You couldn’t understand why they were so powerful in a church, but you had faith in the priest and his ability to cast them out. They had to be vulnerable in some way.

“I’m so sorry. I really am. Please forgive me...”

Before you could even ask what he was apologizing for, David spoke out to him directly.

“You did your job, Michael. Get out of that ridiculous disguise and bring our little lady over here.”

In a flash, your heart stopped in your chest. The man who you thought was coming to your rescue was one of the monsters. He proved it as much as he transformed before your very eyes. His chest and arms shifted around you morphing into unnatural length. The priest disguise faded away and his own pair of demon wings stretching outward.

Gazing into his glowing eyes, you could swear there was still a human glint remaining. Perhaps his guilt was true for betraying you. Still, that certainly didn’t stop him from lifting you up into his arms and holding you tightly so he could carry you back toward his beastly friends.

“NO! God in Heaven, save me!!” you screamed out, striking Michael’s chest with your fists in vain.

“God ain’t here, babydoll~” Dwayne chuckled.

“We’re the only beings you’re gonna worship now~” Paul added.

Your body trembled as the five beings watched you carefully. They were so much bigger and stronger compared to you. When David reached forward to caress your cheek, you winced, fearful of how easily he could hurt you.

“C’mon, darling girl, there’s no need to be frightened,” he cooed. Michael passed you to him, whispering another apology before letting you go. David smiled down at you as he carried you up the steps that you had been kneeling on just moments ago.

“We’re not here to hurt you. Nor are we here to bring you to Hell. That’s not the kinda thing we do with humans~”

He nodded towards Marko, silently signaling the curly-haired demon to clear the items at the altar so he had space to put you down. The man smirked with delight before swiping his claws over the table, letting the holy objects clatter to the floor below.

You felt utterly dirty being laid down over the altar from the look of mischievousness in his eyes. There was a growing fear of just what would he would do. How could you possibly trust his word to not bring you any harm?

“My brothers and I are very special demons,” he explained. You whined as his clawed fingers gripped at your habit. That too was tossed aside, letting your hair become exposed. “We are incubi. Do you know what that is, dear?”

As a matter of fact, you did.

They were creatures that fed on the desires of man. Usually, they manifested in dreams and had “sex” with their victims as a way to obtain their energy. Now all of those dirty images you dreamt of made sense. They were the monsters that tempted you so with lust.

“I’m sorry, honey. David’s kind of mean about these things,” Michael chimed in. He was perched at the other side of the altar, fingers petting your hair as an act of kindness. “I told you, they are nothing to be ashamed of. We’re more than happy to give you the things you want. We feel good when you feel good.”

Now you were really upset. You looked at Michael with disgust in your heart.

“You....you monster! I trusted you! I didn’t talk to an actual priest! My sins....oh they haven’t been forgiven...”

While you wept in fear and frustration, the other boys crowded. Though you wanted to scream out in terror, you silenced yourself when you found no danger in their touch. The boys shushed and cooed in your ears, kissing and massaging you while David and Michael still held you down.

They were demons. Monsters that would surely destroy you. And yet, their touch made you feel....good. Amazing, in fact. You had never experienced the embrace of a lover, yet they were far more delightful than you had anticipated.

Surely it was their power influencing you. Clouding your judgment.

“We’re still good on our word, darling. Our very nature is to bring pleasure to beauties such as yourself~”

David's fingers traced over your hipbones, teasing you before slinking over your inner thighs. Though you tensed at how close he was getting, the others lulled you back into your sense of calm.

“We’ve had our eyes on you for quite some time now. We sent little Michael here to act as our eyes and ears and study you better. You are truly an adorable thing. Sweet. Innocent. Virginal.”

A soft gasp fell from your lips as his hands slipped under your robe, claws pulling at your underwear. You shivered as the fabric slipped down your legs. All around you, the boys eyed the garment with hunger, no doubt getting anxious to divulge in your body.

“We don’t just want to take you, my dear,” David whispered. You shook terribly as he grabbed at your legs, opening them up like the gates of Heaven. He was pressed up against your lower body, teasing you with his length. This was really happening.

You were going to lose your virginity to a demon. God would never forgive you for this, but your body would never want to forget it.

“Tonight, we’re going to make you our bride. And that means....consummating the marriage~”

The last thing you heard before he sunk in was the devious laughter of his demon brothers. Immediately, your back arched and your cunt clenched, so unfamiliar with such a sensation. To your shock, he slid in easily, despite being so massive. You hadn’t realized how soaked you were up until that very moment. God, you really had been so blind to how much you wanted this.

“Fuuuuuck, this pussy is perfect,” David growled, his voice far too low and distorted to be human. The others watched in delight, each enjoying the show. Still, they didn’t forget about you.

Dwayne’s tongue and teeth played with the skin of your neck, finding patterns that made you squeal the loudest. Marko’s hands lewdly groped you through your robe, pinching the sensitive nipples underneath to make them stand out. Paul joined David’s work, nimble fingers traveling down over your clit to start a circling motion. It reminded you of your previous experience with experimentation.

Michael was truly the sweetest out of them all. He held your face in his hands as he leaned in to kiss you. He wasn’t a deviant like the others. There was genuine romance in the way he kissed. It gave you that fluttery sensation in your stomach that your friends in school had talked about.

“Are you frightened now, my little love?” David asked, watching you closely.

“I....ooooh..mm!!....a....l-little...” you mewled. He filled you so deeply, it was impossible to concentrate on anyone but him. “Oh....I’ll tr-truly be sent to Hell....for th-this....”

That made the others giggle playfully. You had broken your vow to God, and they were enjoying every moment of it.

“Aww dontcha worry, babygirl,” Dwayne cooed in between licks.

“Why don’t you say one of your prayers?” Marko suggested, flashing a fanged grin.

“I’m sure God will forgive you for getting your cunt filled in a church if ya do~” Paul teased as he picked up the pace, getting you to wiggle and sigh some more.

While your body was caught up in the intense pleasure, you got your mind back on the prayer you said every day. David threw your legs over his shoulders, pushing in deeper inside you. Seeing you so helpless was truly driving him wild.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven, Hallowed be thy Name.....Thy Kingdom come...oooh...Thy will be d-done in earth....A-As it is...nmmm!..in heaven..”

You prayed quietly, gripping tight to your rosary as David kept up his thrusting. He and the others were so wild, yet they worked so perfectly together. Your attempts to cling to your holy ways only added fuel to the fire within them. They each toyed with you more and more, hungry for you in all your innocent glory.

“Say it louder, pet,” David demanded. He struck your ass with a spank to further the point. “Be a good girl for us~”

“Give us this d-day...our....our daily bread...aaahh...and forgive us our trespasses, as w-we forgive those that trespass....f-fu..against us..!!”

There was something happening inside you. Something that you never experienced before. It was growing stronger by the minute, ready to consume your entire being. It made your mind go fuzzy, and it paired well with the fast thrusting of David’s cock. Your voices and sounds of sex echoed off the church walls.

“That’s it, sweetheart~” Michael whispered. He and the others had each begun to stroke themselves while David took you. The flush in your cheeks only got stronger when you saw their massive cocks around you. They all made the most vulgar sounds.

David was fucking you faster now, no doubt to chase his own rising pleasure. You didn’t know what would happen, but you wanted it.

“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil...For....For thine is the kingdom, th-the power, and the gl...glory...For....e-ever and ever....Amen!”

By what was surely a miracle of God himself, you managed to finish your prayer. Just at the right time too, as your built-up desire finally overcame you, hitting you swiftly with pleasure.

“OOOhhh my God, David!!” you cried out for the demon. Your beautiful voice calling his name finally allowed the incubus to climax as well. He pushed himself in as much as he could, cumming deep within your sacred body. His brothers followed closely, all growling out while they marked you with their seed.

You shuddered from the unfamiliar sensation. It was so warm and gooey on your body, and it absolutely ruined your robes. Still, all you could truly think about was how amazing they looked after all of it. David, especially, was looking quite satisfied.

They hadn’t lied. You truly had an amazing time. If they weren’t monsters from Hell, you would have thought it was like being blessed by an angel. They certainly were beautiful enough to be such beings. But while you were feeling drowsy with how relaxed you were, the five of them had a newfound energy. After all, they technically had just fed.

And by the way they were licking their lips and eyeing you carefully, you had a strong feeling they wanted some dessert too.

“Ooooh you’re never getting rid of us now, sweet girl,” David purred. “We’re gonna have a hell of a night with our new wife~”

Tag List: @ghoulgeousimmaculate @britany1997 @6lostgirl6

#the lost boys #tlb #ao3 fic #my fic #writing request #nsft #smut

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