#delirious new york

[cyhsal]

AB+C illustrated: Delirious New York 🏙️

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#artists on tumblr #illustration #architecture #about buildings and cities #delirious new york #new york #manhattan #rem koolhaas #madelon vriesendorp #hugh ferris #architecture illustration #digital illustration #book illustration #digital art #procreate #cyhsal

[theorphicangel]

“𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬?” | 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

synopsis: you have a valentine’s date tomorrow and you’re somewhat excited for it. but there’s just one thing you’re unsure about…thankfully your trusted roommate can help. right?

tags: roommate au! (Here we go again), mutual pining, these mfs are in DENIAL, no smut in this part but part 4👀

taglist: @ghost-lantern @mreowmoreww @maomaimao @ahano @haileycannotcometothephonern @amberbalcom14 @fire-in-her-veinz @roserfz27 @that-sounds-stupid

PART THREE (click here for part 2)

Miguel remains unmoving for what seems like hours.

He’s cleaned himself up; now changed into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie — one of your favorites that you like to steal. He’s not bothered to make dinner for himself, limbs glued to the couch.

His mind wonders how your date is going, delirious with fantasy how your date might be treating you. Probably gotten you better flowers, a better gift, maybe even a reservation at that restaurant which recently opened in upper Manhattan, most likely beating your favorite italian place in downtown Brooklyn.

His whirling thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a key twisting through the lock.

Miguel frowns, glancing at his phone for the time.

It’s only 10:24pm.

Turning, he finds you walking through the door before shutting it behind you and taking your heels off with haste. Miguel hears you groan with satisfaction as you waddle over to the couch.

“Hey.”

He notices that you have no flowers, not even a gift. The purse that you had taken for the night is now discarded on the coffee table without a second thought, your exhausted body sinks onto the couch next to Miguel with an empty sigh.

“You’re back early.” He figures he won’t even try to not state the obvious.

“Yeah.” You mumble, looking down and fiddling with your hands. “It was a quick date.”

He raises a brow. “Quick?”

You shrug. “Yeah, we went to that new posh bistro near Manhattan.”

Miguel internally curses. He was right after all.

“Was it good?”

“It was alright. I didn’t eat much though.”

“Why not?”

“Nothing looked interesting.” You shug. “Y'know, for a luxury restaurant like them their portions seemed kinda small. I was kinda hoping that you’d make something good for dinner when I came back, m’craving pasta like crazy.”

Miguel perks up a little at your words. “Do you want me to make something for you?”

“No, it's fine.”

“Are you—”

“And why haven’t you eaten?” you cut him off, knowing all too well that he’d get up and start cooking for you. You didn’t want to be a burden to him. You noticed that the kitchen was the exact same as before you left.

“I wasn’t in the mood to eat.”

“Not even take out?”

Miguel shakes his head.

Your brows furrow, finding it unusual but decide to say nothing more about it. The awkward tension from this morning seems to return, lingering around the apartment walls and now beginning to creep in between the two of you.

Your thighs are just brushing his, you can sense his chest rising and falling next to you; you feel so close to him but at the same time so distant all of a sudden. You can sense that there’s something that hangs over the two of you, lingering like melancholic clouds over the late winter skies in New York.

The tension is heavy, too thick to be cut with a knife. You feel a desire to leave perhaps to ease up whatever was going on between the two of you. But before you shift, Miguel seems to finally let his words ease you out of the cage that you were in.

“Did our–uh lesson …work?”

“What?”

It takes a few seconds before realization creeps in, your face softening. He was talking about last night.

“Oh, that.” You avoid eye contact with him. “Yeah, it helped.”

That was the last punch in the gut for him. Internally, his stomach churns. Almost nauseous at the idea of you pleasing someone else and having that look in your eyes which wasn’t solely for him.

He had no right to feel this way, he knows this, you’re free to do anything you want but it takes a moment for Miguel to ease the growing ache in his stomach; letting out an exhale before speaking again.

“You were right earlier.”

“Huh?” You glance towards him only to find that Miguel’s not looking at you, instead staring straight ahead at the window, showcasing the glorious glow of New York.

Skyscrapers of different heights dotted around the landscape, numerous tiny squares glowing with light only emphasized the burn of sonder.

“Y’know you were right earlier, you were right about me having no plans for valentine’s.”

“Oh, I was, was I?” You jump at the chance to lighten up the mood immediately, your tone turning to curiosity.

“Yeah, I had a reservation but uh— I canceled.”

“Oh, why?”

“They uhh – they said they had other plans so…” his voice trails off.

Your teasing grin drops and your voice effortlessly changes effortlessly from playfulness to one of compassion. “Oh, Miguel, I’m so sorry.” Truly, your heart dropped at the thought of him being stood up.

“It’s fine.”

A pause settles between you once again and you muse over what had happened tonight.You let out an exhale before speaking. “If I'd known that the date was going to be shit, and to be fair I should’ve known from the moment that he ignored me at work, and I would’ve stayed with you and–”

“Really?” Miguel interrupts, finally gaining the courage to meet your eyes. “Would you?

“Yes, I would've. You know I would have.”

“Really?” he repeats dumbfoundedly, as if he didn’t believe you the first time.

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I just didn’t think–” Miguel cuts himself off, abruptly turning his head away from you. Fear began to build up in his lower abdomen.

He didn’t think that he was worth it.

He didn’t think that you loved him. He didn’t think that you see him in the same way that he sees you.

He sees you in a way which makes him realize that nothing in the world makes sense if you’re not there by his side to explain it all to him.

He sees you in a way that keeps him up at night for hours, staring at the ceiling whilst he conjures up one hundred and one ways to confess to you; working through each scenario before ruling it out because of his fear and apprehension.

If you knew how he felt, how would you react? Would it upset you? Excite you? Do you even feel the same? If you don’t then it could change everything between the two of you. Maybe you’d move out because of his feelings.

No. He doesn’t want that.

Anything but that.

“Your voice is quiet, full of overwhelming empathy. “Miguel, of course I would’ve stayed with you. All you had to do was ask and as a friend, I would’ve done something with you instead.”

“As a friend?”

Your expression turns to confusion, hesitant in your answer. “Yeah, yeah and as a roommate of course.”

You tried to add that on as a joke but he doesn’t laugh, instead taking another deep breath to calm himself.

Fuck, why was he doing this to himself?

“Did I know them?”

“Huh?” Miguel glances at you.

“Did I know your valentine’s date?”

Miguel hesitates. Does he lie about it? He figures that you wouldn’t catch on anyways. He goes with a semi-lie. “I dunno’. Maybe I mentioned them once or twice to you or Peter.”

You nod at his words. He definitely didn’t mention it to you. You remember everything that he tells you.

“Any reason why they canceled?”

Miguel shakes his head. “Not really.” He takes a shaky inhale. “They just said something came up.” It’s still relatively awkward in the room; your fingers digging into the soft fabric of the couch.

“Did you like them?”

Miguel holds back a scoff. To you, it seems like you had asked a stupid question, regret immediately filling your body as soon as the words had left your mouth. Of course, he liked them, why else would he be asking them out?

But to him, he scoffs in frustration. Your use of the word ‘like’ isn’t enough to accurately describe his infatuation with you.

Miguel swallows thickly before giving his answer, it’s breathy and it comes out more strangled that he had expected. “Ye-yeah.”

You glance down, your fingertips still painfully digging into the couch.

You can feel the disappointment emerge within you; jealousy begins to eat away at you but you suppress it just like you have with your other emotions – a consistent coping mechanism.

But this wasn’t about you right now. This was about Miguel and right now you have to be there for him. Whether it be as a friend or roommate, you want to let him know that you care.

The week leading up to valentine’s you spotted his excitement from a mile away: a cheesy grin at his phone on the couch or his feigned confusion that one afternoon when you had come home earlier than he had expected and caught a glimpse of a pack of red balloons in his hands. Of course, your interrogation came to nothing but you estimated that it had something to do with valentine’s.

For him to go through all that effort to be stood up on made your heart ache.

You’re not really sure where to start with your consolation.

“Miguel—”

“Let me repay you for last night.”

His words seem to leave his mouth in a rush. His tongue spilling out the words in a haste.

Your mouth is slightly agape, unsure of what he means.

“If uh– only if you wanted to...uh but you don't-” A hand rubs at his forehead, frustrated with himself for being so blunt. “fuck! I wasn’t–”

“You want to do what we did last night?” you interrupt, suddenly catching on. You’re still unable to make eye contact with him.

“Yes but–” Miguel hesitates, as if his words are lodged in his throat.

“But what?”

“ But you don’t have to feel the same way, I just—” he pauses, taking a breath to consider his words. His eyes flutter shut as he finally explains, finding it easier to not look at you. He can't bear to see your expression as he says this.

“Just...uh, fuck, how do I say this? Just... let me have you for tonight...please. Just this once and we can forget that it ever happened but I– I just want –”

His sentence is cut off once he feels your hands cup his face. For once, you forced yourself to look at him. You could tell how much he refused to look at you, his expression was painted with a deep yearning that you’ve never seen before, painted with a starvation for love.

“Miguel.” You don’t even know where to start with your own words.

“Can I show you?” He mumbles softly. “Can I show you how bad I’ve wanted you? Please?"

There’s a pause in the room before you give an answer.

“Yes.” The word leaves your lips so softly you weren’t sure that he heard it the first time.

“Yes.” you repeat a little louder this time.

For him, it was always a yes.

reblogs are much appreciated!!

(😮‍💨 I know this took me ages to upload but tysm for hanging in there…maybe I’m done torturing you guys…maybe…)

#angel writes #miguel o hara #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel 2099 #miguel o'hara #spiderman across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara atsv #atsv x reader #spiderman atsv #atsv headcanons #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel x you

[fettuccin-e]

Hey! Congrats again on your follower milestone! <3

From the smutty prompts, can you do number one from the nature category with Miguel, please? :))) xoxo

Hi!!! omg this prompt is soooo soft and sweet and MIGUEL FUCKING DESERVES IT!!! so thank you so so so much for requesting this is some sappy crap that i had just a grand ol time writing!!!

Tags: Miguel O'Hara x Reader, afab!fem!reader, established relationship, outdoor sex (but they are literally the only ones there so no exhibitionism), unprotected piv (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), riding, sappy very cheesy very fluffy many cavities (w/c: 1.1K)

Prompt: sensual sex in a secluded meadow during a picnic. 

He doesn’t like to go away often, but sometimes, the need to just spoil you gets to be too much. He’s away from you far too much, burying himself in work and experiments, to the point that he’s sure you’ll leave him. But you’re always there, waiting for him with a beaming smile and reaching for him like he never left.

So of course he has to spoil you.

It didn’t take LYLA long to find this dimension at his request: one where New York is empty, Central Park grown over the entirety of the city, the pavement covered in soft flowers, and skyscrapers covered in creeping vines. And God, you had practically glowed when he showed you the little picnic he had set out, a soft blanket nestled in a little grove of wildflowers, a rainbow of petals and leaves covering the lush earth. A little piece of paradise just for the two of you.

“I didn’t, um,” he stumbles over his words, heart beating out of his chest at how fucking beautiful you look, eyes alight as you look up at him with a gaze so adoring, his knees might give out on the spot. “I just brought some food from the cafeteria, since I can’t cook for shit and I um- I wanted to surprise you.”

You collide into his chest, knocking the air from his lungs as you kiss him fiercely. “It’s perfect, Miguel,” you murmur against his lips, “absolutely perfect.” He feels like you're talking more about him than the picnic, but smiles nonetheless.

You feed him little bits of fruit and empanada from the cafeteria back home, but he swears that it tastes so much better from your loving hand. He feels a little out of place here, crushing flowers beneath his hulking body. But you’re ethereal, little butterflies flitting around you, drawn to you, just as he is.

He recklessly plucks a purple flower from the ground, the prettiest one he can find, and tucks it behind your ear. Hobie would tease that he’s getting soft, but the way you giggle, light and airy and effervescent, makes his chest tight with delirious happiness, and it’s all worth it.

You meet his lips in a gentle kiss, and you taste of the strawberries he brought for you. You’re so warm, warm like pure sunlight in his hands and he can’t help but pull you into his lap, picnic forgotten, holding you like you’ll disappear in a moment. But you break from his lips, cupping his jaw and smiling in a soft, gentle way that feels like you’re here to stay forever.

He peels your dress off, slowly and deliberately, kissing down your jaw, your neck, your tits, as he bares your body to his gaze. He only takes his own clothes off when you beg him for it, rucking his shirt up over his stomach as you whine into his mouth.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and your breath catches in the back of your throat as he rubs gentle circles into your clit over your panties. “So beautiful, can’t believe you’re mine,” he whispers, and with the way he’s playing with your pussy, the only thing you can do is desperately lick into his mouth as you rock your hips into his hand.

You lean into him, pushing on his shoulders ever so gently as you lay him back onto the plush blanket. He could fight back, push you onto your back instead, but something about this, the sun shining on your hair, the way you taste, how soft you are in his hands; it’s all making him melt back into the flowers as you lean over him. I can have this, he thinks to himself, I’m not going to lose this. There’s no rush.

When you eventually pull your panties to the side, letting him sink into you ever so slowly, Miguel is sure that he’s found heaven. You’re practically shining, an angel in real-time, as you roll your hips forward, clenching around him as you rake your nails down his chest in a way that makes him gasp beneath you. 

“God, look at you,” you say, before it tapers off into an agonized whine as Miguel’s cock plunges into you just right. “So perfect for me, treating me so fucking- ah, good.”

Miguel grasps desperately at your hips, trying to help you as you drop onto him over and over and over again. Your praise makes him whine, his hips jerking up to plunge into you even deeper as his mind goes fuzzy with need. ”Can’t believe you’re mine Miguel," you whimper, "Can’t believe you chose me.”

He lunges up on his arms at your words, pressing his lips to yours in a sticky kiss that has the both of you moaning in tandem. “I’ll always choose you, princesa. Mi vida, eres mi vida.”

The grove is quiet, the obscene sounds of your bodies meeting over and over mixing with the sounds of his groans as you fuck yourself on his cock. You practically wail when his calloused fingers come to rest on your achy clit, rubbing hard, slow circles that have your head spinning. His cock reaches so deep like this, stretching you out, owning you in only the way that he can.

“You going to cum for me, beautiful?” he husks, sounding like he’s just run a marathon. “C’mon, baby, soak my cock with this pretty pussy.” You’re nodding furiously, bouncing desperately on his fat cock as he rubs your clit just fucking right-

You gasp, soundless and overwhelmed as you cum around him, leaning forward to kiss him, hoping to ground yourself with his mouth. Miguel curses against your lips, mumbling something in Spanish as he pulls his hand away from your clit to wrap around your back, like he can’t possibly get close enough.

He thrusts up into you once, twice, before stilling with his own orgasm. You imagine that you can feel him filling you up, claiming you in the most intimate way possible.

You break the kiss, pressing your forehead against his as you both catch your breaths. As he blinks up at you again, eyes round like he can’t believe that you’re actually here, that it wasn’t all a dream, you can’t help but giggle softly, pecking him quickly on the lips.

And he smiles, in the only way he does with you. No holds barred, unabashed happiness radiating off of him. “I love you,” he whispers, like it’s a secret.

“I love you too,” you whisper back. You breathe together, letting the calm coolness of the air rush over you both, the sounds of the breeze rustling the flowers and trees, the incessant beating of your hearts.

This is home, Miguel thinks, wrapping you tighter in his arms, I’m finally home.

#i literally just want him to be happy #is that too much to ask #this is some sappy shit #but what can i say #i am a cheeseball at heart #miguel ohara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara smut #miguel spiderverse #miguel x you #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader

[apomaro-mellow]

Every Baby Needs a Daddy 7

Part 6

The idea of sharing space on a tour bus was a little daunting, even though Steve had met the rest of the band. He was glad to see how big it was, and especially glad when Eddie led him to the back of the bus where the bedroom was. It had a bed big enough for two, but that was about it. It was more than enough for him.

"The boys will be bunking on the pull-outs out there", Eddie jabbed his thumb back to the rest of the bus.

They were setting out for the first destination on their tour, New York, which would take them about half a day to get to.

"Can't believe I get to go on tour with you. I feel like an actual groupie."

Eddie hopped onto the bed and laid on his side. "You gonna toss your underwear to me?", he grinned.

"Why would I? I already got on the band's bus", Steve smirked, hands on his hips. He glanced out the bedroom door to where the rest of the band was pretending not to be interested in their conversation.

“And they’re really okay with giving us the only actual bedroom on the bus?”

“Sweet thing, they insisted”, Eddie said, laying back to spread out on the sheets. “I think they’re enamored with you.”

Steve beamed as he sat on the edge of the bed, lasting only a few seconds before Eddie grabbed at him. Joy bubbled forth from Steve and he didn’t even mind if Jeff and the others heard Eddie macking on him right now.

“I’ve never been on a tour bus before.”

"Well allow me to give you the official welcome", Eddie said before rolling Steve onto his back and kissing at his neck. "We got hours to ourselves, baby."

"Oh, whatever will we do?", Steve sighed.

Eddie rose up on his hands and knees to look down at the gorgeous man under him. And just in time for the bus to lurch forward and make him fall over the side of the bed with a yelp. Grant came to the door.

"You guys, uh, want this closed?", he asked, ignoring Eddie crumpled on the floor.

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

For about the first hour, Steve watched the scenery go by the window and Eddie went over the basics of their itinerary. Starting from New York, they'd be cruising down the east coast.

"It's probably not as grand as the worldly traveling you've done before but I intend to show you a good time", Eddie promised, tracing the lines in Steve's palm.

"Actually, I haven't traveled all that much", Steve admitted. "When you're raising up a proper omega, you can't just let them loose unsupervised. I've been to California and Washington a couple of times with my parents but besides that..."

"Then I'm really gonna show you a good time."

"You can start right now. Bus isn't stopping for a few hours, right?" Steve pushed Eddie onto his back and rolled on top of him. In preparation for this trip both of them had been tested and been given a clean bill of health. Steve's cunt was already clenching at the thought of finally getting Eddie's bare knot. Of feeling his cum coating his insides.

There was something primal about it this time, as Eddie was fucking Steve. Not in any way that was ferocious or intense but in the setting and situation. Grant, Jeff, and Gareth had only great things to say about Steve, seemingly already accepting him as a pack omega. Being given the only private space on the bus, this room was like his own personal den, admittance to him and his omega only.

With his best friends just outside the door, surely knowing what they were getting up to even though there was plenty of noise to cover it, it was like they were sentinels guarding. How could his hindbrain think of this as anything less than a breeding session?

Steve was on his hands and knees, arching his back as Eddie thrust into him. He had started out trying to be quiet, but was sobbing now, begging Eddie not to stop.

Delirious with desire, Eddie started biting at the moles on Steve's back, leaving marks of his own. When he got to his neck, he put his teeth away but nudged at Steve's mating gland. A move so bold and unexpected, it had Steve crying out as he milked his cock. Eddie's teeth itched to sink down and make it official but he bit into Steve's shoulder instead, almost but not drawing blood.

He was still thinking about it hours later, when they arrived in New York and started preparing for the show. Tonight was just rehearsal and sound check for the real thing tomorrow night. Steve wanted to go and even pouted to get his way, but Eddie was certain he'd be bored and not so subtly told him about the hotel's spa.

After a massage, he went into the sauna and saw that there was another omega already inside.

"Did your alpha miss?", she asked the moment he sat down.

"Hm?"

She tapped the bite mark on his shoulder. "Did he miss?"

It wasn't proper to ask about bite marks in any capacity, only for the own of such marks to offer if they felt the information relevant.

"I don't have an alpha", Steve said, though it felt wrong to say.

"So just someone who's keeping you for now?", she asked.

Steve thought about it. Between the gifts and traveling and shopping, he was being wonderfully kept. "I suppose so."

"You must be new at this. I'm Heather. Can I offer you a bit of advice?"

"Steve and um, sure I guess."

"You can't let your generous sponsor bite you like that. The next one that comes won't like it. Might even give you something more permanent just to compete."

"You've had a lot of... 'sponsors'?", Steve asked.

"Mostly CEOs, an actor once. You?"

"He's a musician."

"Really? Anyone I know?", she looked intrigued.

Steve thought about how he'd known zilch about Corroded Coffin or Eddie before meeting him, but then remembered how his attention on the latest music trends was also next to nothing.

"You might. I'm not actually sure how popular they are." He hadn't seen the venue to know how many concert attendees to expect.

"Oh, well, you know what they say. If they haven't got a million than a half will do."

"Right", Steve gave a half-hearted laugh. It had him thinking for the first time if he'd be into Eddie at all were it not for the money. If all he had to offer was that one drink the night they met...

Steve thought about how they'd spent a decent part of the trip discussing chocolate chips versus chocolate chunks and how they'd gotten the rest of the band involved to the point where they had to make the bus stop at the nearest grocery store. It felt safe to say that even without the money lining his pockets, Eddie would have charmed him some kind of way.

That night, they got in bed early but were awakened by the sounds of the others coming into their hotel suite to make breakfast.

"And how did you know we weren't in the middle of coitus?", Eddie flicked a grape at Gareth.

"That was a chance we were willing to take", Jeff said.

Eddie was shirtless, walking around in Garfield patterned pajama pants. Steve had the decency to put one of the hotel's bathrobes.

"This is a CC tradition", Grant said. "Breakfast before the inaugural show of a tour. Then dinner after the last one."

"Everyone shows up, no exceptions", Gareth said.

"None?", Steve asked, accepting a mug of coffee that Eddie had made.

"One time Jeff got into a brawl right after the show. We had our dinner at the hospital", Eddie said.

"Well I'm honored to be a part of such a hallowed tradition", Steve smiled at the implication.

Day turned to night and they arrived at the venue. Steve looked out into the vast sea of empty seats and imagined them filled with screaming people. Eddie gave him a quick tour of backstage and even let him come up on the actual stage itself.

"Can't believe you actually perform like this, I could never."

"Oh I was born to entertain", Eddie grinned. And tonight, he planned on showing out. It would be Steve's first time, seeing and hearing them live. His blood pulsed as the hour got closer.

Show him my talents. Show him I'm worthy. Worthy to be his alpha.

Steve was all set up in the green room but of course had a pass that allowed him to roam backstage if he pleased. The boys also used the space to get ready for the show and he saw that they all had a pin with a horned red demonic head.

"What's this?", Steve asked, fiddling with the pin on Eddie's vest.

"Something from our old high school club. Keeps us from forgetting our roots."

"That's...really sweet." They'd known each other for so long. Steve was realizing how incredible it was that he'd been allowed into the fold like this.

The show finally started and at first, Steve watched a feed from the green room. He'd listened to a few songs but it was still a surprise to hear the way Jeff growled into the mic. It was hard for him to take his eyes off Eddie though. And soon, watching from a TV, no matter how clear the image was, wasn't enough. He put in the earplugs Eddie had given him and he left the green room.

Like a magnet, he went to the wings of the stage, still mostly hidden, but he could see everyone in the band from where he was standing. The crowd was a sea of energy and Eddie looked like there was no place he'd rather be. That is until he caught sight of Steve. His feet were frozen in place now but his hands kept moving against the guitar.

Steve bit his lip, thinking about how those same fingers moved on his body and made him sing in much the same way. Tonight he was going to give this man the ride of his life. His thighs rubbed together just thinking about it and Eddie's eyes caught the movement. Then his gaze met Steve and Steve just winked coyly.

The song ended and both of them were brought back to the present moment. Taking a breath, Steve took a step back and returned to the green room. It was a lot, being right there. He couldn't imagine how it must feel to actually be on stage. The concert went on and after thanking their fans for a stellar time, Corroded Coffin bid them good night. Eddie was the first one through the door which was good because Steve had been standing right behind it.

"Well?", he asked, wrapping his arms around the omega.

"You guys were great! Incredible!"

"Aw shucks, you're just sayin' that", Gareth smiled.

Steve was saying something in response, but Eddie only caught part of it. He was always keyed up after a good performance and needed something to help him burn off the extra energy. Usually in the form of an after-party or sex. He nuzzled at Steve's neck, holding him close. He did good. Steve thought he'd done good. No, he said great. Incredible. Steve had even come to see him with his own eyes. And he'd gotten turned on watching him play, Eddie knew it. He'd responded to his call.

"Are you, are you scenting me?", Steve asked quietly.

Eddie paused. They always carried each other's scent for a little while after sex, but this had been more purposeful. Eddie finally recognized the familiar itch under his skin and pushed Steve away, nearly throwing him at Grant.

"I gotta go", he said, leaving the room quick as lightning.

"What was that all about?", Steve asked, looking to the others. But they were just as confused as him.

Chrissy came in just about a minute after, her face like stone as she closed the door behind her. "The schedule's going to need some adjusting", she said. "Eddie just went into rut."

Part 8

Tag Team

@awkotaco24 @lingeringmirth @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @tartarusknight @velocitytimes2 @mrsjellymunson @trashcanniballecter @paintsplatteredandimperfect @a-little-unsteddie  @sllooney  @starman-jpg  @oxidantdreamboat  @xxbottlecapx   @newtstabber @tiny-enthusiast  @desidrarry-wolfstarshipper @y4r3luv @hello-fellow-nerds  @anonymousbandgirl @alyelf @potato-of-the-lord  @beckkthewreck  @croatoan-like-its-hot @pluto-pepsi @abstractnaturaldisaster @ellietheasexylibrarian @eyesofshinigami @dragonmama76 @marklee-blackmore @greatwerewolfbeliever @chaosgremlinmunson @blackpanzy @millseyes-world @batxsignalsx

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #omegaverse #a/b/o #soon it'll be my turn to write crying sobbing whimpering eddie

[nobrashfestivity]

Rem Koolhaas

Delirious New York, 1978

#Rem Koolhaas #illustration #books #new york

[chelseeebe]

‘til the world caves in: something in the orange

mdni 18+. smut. exfamous!steve x female reader. zombie apocalypse au! mentions of guns and violence throughout. no use of y/n!

a/n: this is my new iteration of the apocalypse au! i dabbled with it before but actually rlly like this one, matter of fact, most of the chapters are written already lmfao:) the famous part rlly is just there for this oneee specific scene i had in mind for a later part but it’s something different i guess

nobody cares who you are in the apocalypse. well, maybe except for you.

life before the outbreak had been weird enough for steve, his band had just started their rise to fame when all this shit went down.

it wasn’t exactly where he wanted to be at 19 but money and fame weren’t anything he was gonna say no to.

and then news broke that people had started eating each other’s faces and now he was no longer this up and coming star, rather just some guy trying to stay alive with some girl he’d met fleeing new york.

six years was more than enough time for them to become best friends, travelling through various camps and groups of people before they ended up somewhere in the middle of indiana.

steve’s never been here before and he wishes he wasn’t here now.

there’s nothing for miles and now robin’s leg is fucked, he thinks it might be the end.

the buttfuck town of hawkins indiana would be their demise.

they’d collapsed on the fence of some building, too dehydrated and tired to care. accepting a certain death as robin cries softly next to him, their fingers entwined as death awaits.

they were pretty delirious when they were picked up by some group. a tall man with a thick moustache and a lady with a sweet voice, helping them across town to their compound.

he’s not entirely sure what had happened when they’d arrived, he’d been bustled into a room and remembers collapsing on the bed with a pounding in his head before blacking out.

-

turns out he was out for days, waking up in the dark confines of a tiny box room with nothing else around him. admittedly, the lack of robin in his immediate vicinity scared the shit out of him.

all he can remember is that her leg was infected and her head was starting to hurt which was never a good sign.

a small, curly haired lady bursts into the room, startled to see him standing, “oh! you’re awake! great,” she smiles.

“where am i?” he asks, like a petrified child.

“you’re in hawkins,” she nods, “you were in a pretty bad state when we found you.”

nothing had ever felt so befuddling, jolting him back into survival mode as he realises his bag was nowhere to be found.

“where’s robin? we need to.. we have to go,” steve rushes, fearing the worst.

“she’s good, i think she was in the cafeteria.. we can go and get some food if you’d like?” the kind lady offers, pity in her eyes.

he nods, sceptical as he follows her out of the room and through the massive doors. there’s laughter from the other side, amazed at the sight of the light bulbs glowing white. electricity. nothing like the candles and flashlights they’d been using for years.

robin jumps up from the table the second he walks through, hobbling over with a few grunts and groans.

“you’re awake! oh my god steve, i’ve been so worried,” she frets, throwing her arms around his neck, trying to ignore the stares from the strangers in the room.

“you’re okay? i thought..” he exhales, not wanting to finish his sentence. “i don’t know.. fuck,” now robin was here and alive and in his arms, the overwhelming feeling of ten people gawping at him sinks in.

there’s nothing familiar about this place, it’s nothing like the places they’d stayed in, it feels like before.

“come get some food,” robin ushers, placing her hand on his back and very slowly walking to the table, “it’s nice here,” she leans in to whisper, “everyone’s super nice, they even have electricity!” she marvels, helping him to the empty seat.

she pushes her plate towards him, beans and some sort of meat. he hadn’t had a substantial meal in what felt like months, living off of foraged cans and jerky.

the crowd seems to back off at this point, leaving him and robin to eat. to try and digest this place despite feeling like he was in some crazy dream.

“we found some stragglers, out at the old school,” he hears a voice from behind, talking about himself and robin, “they were in pretty bad shape.”

steve doesn’t look around, continuing to eat his portion of robin’s dinner instead.

turns out he didn’t have to, as you arrive at his table, shotgun still strapped to your back and a thick layer of dirt all over your face.

“you the new guys?” you ask, looking between him and robin.

“yeah,” answering for the both of them, “robin,” extending her hand to meet yours.

you shake it, with a small, wary smile before turning your attention to steve, eyes narrowed as if you’re trying to place him.

“i remember you,” smiling with the side of your mouth, sizing him up. “steve harrington,” saying his name with such conviction, “newest member of in motion, weren’t you?”

he’s surprised that anyone would even care to remember him or the shitty boy band he was coerced into, “i mean, i was.. doesn’t really matter now though, right?”

you hum and he’s not sure whether it’s positive or not, “i used to be a fan,” steve couldn’t fathom someone like you ever being a fan of the shitty corporate pop he used to make. “maybe you can perform for us some day.”

it’s the first time in years that anyone has recognised him from before. unsure of how it makes him feel.

-

steve had presumed that he and robin were doing pretty well, they were alive weren’t they?

he’d found out that actually, neither of the two knew a single thing about proper, adequate survival skills and had gotten by with some grace of god.

he could shoot a gun, at least he thought he could. they typically just aimed and shot and hoped for the best rather than all of this.

you kick his feet further apart, barking shoulder width into his ear for the umpteenth time. it’s pretty hard to focus when you’re standing right behind him with your soft lips brushing against his ear every few seconds.

robin takes to it like a duck on water, keeping her arms straight and the gun in line with her eye. how the fuck does she know all of this shit?

steve fires and subsequently misses the makeshift target, cursing under his breath with a nasty side eye to robin who hits it straight in the drawn on face.

“steve,” you warn, walking over to him with a slight frown, “keep it steady, that kick back is no joke.”

he pulls a face, realigning the gun to his eye and tries again.

missing the target entirely this time.

“okay,” you sigh, the feel of your arms wrapping around his startle him for a second before the rest of your body presses against his back.

oh god.

it’d look pretty weird if he popped a boner while on shooting practice, he thinks.

it’s not as if human contact is a thing he encounters regularly, how was his body supposed to know the difference?

your chin rests on his shoulder, peering over at the target, hands coming to sit atop of his sweaty ones as you aim for him.

“that good?” you ask, breath tickling his ear.

it felt good, felt very good actually. your chest flat against his back, his breathing falling into to time with yours.

“ye- yup,” he flutters, almost choking on the words.

steve get it together.

“so go,” you order.

his finger presses the trigger, the bullet flies through the target, straight between the eyes.

“there you go!” you celebrate, the warmth of your body on his disappearing as you come to join him at his side.

he and robin share a look, robin’s smirk was unmistakable, steve knew what she was thinking, somehow he always did.

“go again, just you this time,” nodding with encouragement.

his thoughts are jumbled, preoccupied with the want for you to touch him again. just this time, maybe somewhere more private.

but he does it. the painted on silhouette is hit straight through the forehead, garnering a whoop from robin.

“you’re getting the hang of it,” you smile, fingers brushing over his as you take the gun from his hand. it makes him shiver, electricity pulsing between you. “don’t worry, we can come back out here another day,” sharing a look that lingers just a little too long.

you collect robin’s gun and announce something about lunch but steve can’t focus, still attempting to collect himself from a puddle on the floor.

“man, if you don’t get in there, i’m going to,” robin quips, slapping him quite harshly on the back.

“fuck off,” he hits back, trying to shake the loud, intrusive voice in the background of his mind.

there wasn’t much time for love and relationships while he had to fight the undead. a small part of him wonders if maybe now it’s possible, in here, with you.

okay, he’s definitely getting ahead of himself.

-

you don’t help steve’s delusions when you join him and robin at their table for breakfast, making sure to slide into the seat directly opposite just so he can try not to choke on his food.

“you guys settling in okay?” you ask, not really looking at robin at all, eyes glued to his.

“y-yeah, it’s nice here,” he sputters, trying to focus on the bowl of porridge in front of him.

“good,” you smile, sickeningly sweet.

robin’s foot swiftly connects with his leg, coughing on his mouthful as he returns the favour. he knows what she’s getting at, he’d divulged his fantasies to her a couple nights ago.

they’d been allocated separate rooms but hadn’t dared to separate yet, holing up in steve’s bed as they got used to this place.

you look up again, as if you want to ask something, “i think uh.. a few of the kids found out you were in a band and they wanted to know if you’d sing for them at some point?”

steve narrows his eyes, not forgetting that you’d already revealed yourself as a fan, “they asked?” quirking his brow.

your lips pucker, jabbing at your food in an attempt to hide, “well..” looking up at him through spindly lashes, “maybe not just them.”

he feels this intangible sensation in his chest, a burning that aches his insides.

“okay,” he smiles, managing to keep it down, “i’ll sing for y- them,” hoping no one pulls him on his freudian slip, cheeks burning scarlet.

your eyes light up, the whole world encapsulated within your iris’, a sight he already dreamed of.

he feels like a teenager again, wondering if the pretty girl on the other side of the table liked him back.

-

“ready?” you nod, slinging your backpack over your shoulder.

steve’s been anxiously awaiting his first shift on watch, scared about the prospect of accidentally fucking up and someone dying or something like that.

so for his first shift, he’d been graciously paired with you on the back wall. he’s been told there’s never much action there, usually a few stray infected but nothing too serious.

it doesn’t help that you’re in some ridiculously skimpy vest with the tightest pants he’s seen. there’s not a chance in hell that he’ll be able to keep his mind focused.

the pair of you stroll over to the wall, climbing the rusty old tower and relieving argyle and will from their positions.

grateful that you were given the evening shift as the hot july sun is setting and the breeze is beginning to kick in.

you immediately slump into the camp chair, slinging your bag from your back and kicking your heavy boots off, clunking against the metal as they land.

“so.. now we just sit here?” steve asks, cocking a brow at your relaxed disposition.

“yup,” nodding along as you squint up at him. “back wall’s never too exciting, i bet we don’t see a soul.”

“yeah.. okay,” he nods too, taking a seat in the adjacent camp chair, praying for a quiet night.

time ticks on for what must be hours, the courtyard had gone quiet and all he can really hear is your gentle breaths and a cricket somewhere in the long grass.

it must be gone 2am by now and you’d not seen a single thing, not even any infected.

steve can feel your eyes on him, not daring to look over until you start speaking.

“bored yet?”

he shakes his head, he wasn’t. this was pretty exhilarating if he was honest. every time you spoke to him, his heart rate seemed to soar.

“no, no this is nice.”

“the quiet?” you question, tilting your head to the side.

“yeah.. i feel like i haven’t really stopped since we got here.”

there’d been copious amounts of training and the like since he had properly recovered. nancy had shown him how to tie and set up traps. dustin had attempted to explain how you guys had power, though he couldn’t really grasp it.

and you, you had shown him how to shoot and fight and how to use a knife correctly rather than just flailing it around and hoping for the best.

“you’re not a bad watch partner, some of them are so annoying,” rolling your eyes in jest, snickering quietly.

steve smiles, genuinely. he hadn’t really experienced anyone other than robin’s company for a long time and while he loved her to death, it was nice to speak to someone else.

“you’re not too bad yourself,” shying away after his pathetic attempt at flirting.

there had been a fair amount of consideration and a perhaps a little bit of delusion but he had dwelled on it and came to the conclusion that he really liked you.

probably more than he should do at this point.

you pout your lips, considering something before starting, “you know.. there’s something else we could do to pass the time..”

he stares, befuddled for a moment until the glint in your eye makes it all click.

“oh,” is all that comes out of his suddenly very dry mouth.

there’s a flash of hurt and maybe embarrassment on your face, “or not.. i mean- i was just.. forget it,” squeezing your eyes shut as your palm hits your forehead.

“no! god no! i didn’t think you’d want to.. y’know, here..” terrified that he had screwed up his one chance.

not only would he have to leave hawkins, he’d probably have to curl up and die somewhere out of sheer embarrassment and regret.

“i wouldn’t have asked if i didn’t want to,” you shrug, uncurling from your blushing state.

steve almost falls from the rickety chair, “of course i do.. is it a good idea?” motioning over the wall somewhere, “with the watch and stuff..” eager to not disappoint the rest of his new group mates.

“we haven’t seen a thing all night.. we’re not being relieved for another few hours.”

“i don’t.. i don’t think i’ll need a few hours,” hell, ten minutes would be fairly optimistic.

a smirk nudges at your lips, standing from your chair to perch in front of him, hands on his shoulders as you take one last quick peek around.

“you’re sure?” you ask, as if he wasn’t gazing up at you like some pathetic puppy dog right now.

“so sure,” nodding enthusiastically. hesitant to touch you until you smile down at him, egging him on.

“get on the floor,” you instruct, still leering over the metal barriers, “just in case.”

he does as he’s told, sitting back against the wall with a lopsided grin as his heart rate increases tenfold.

it’d been years since he’d had sex. he supposes there was that one girl at the third or fourth camp they were in but she was pretty weird and a little obsessive. it only happened once and then he couldn’t bring himself to do it again.

but you’re smiling now, resting on his thighs and he thinks his heart might give out. there’s no certainty that he’ll even be able to last long enough for you to get any enjoyment from it but he’s willing to try.

a moment passes, eyes locked as you lean down, pressing a gentle yet excited kiss to his lips, it’s more human contact than he’s had in years.

you waste no time, fumbling with the button on his pants, sighing as you pop the button, waiting for him to return the honour.

steve lifts both of your bodies, barely kicking his jeans off before you sit back down, his fingers tingling with pure excitement as they unbutton your pants.

they end up somewhere in the pile of discarded clothes, focusing your attention back on his lips, carelessly connecting your lips.

your hips rock back and forth, sending a deep grumble from his throat to yours as his dick twitches in his boxers. he might as well not even bother to actually have sex, he was about to cum right then and there.

it’s made worse when your middle and index finger slide into the waistband of his boxers, struggling to stay afloat as you tug the material down just under his balls, cock springing up the second it’s freed.

you position your hands on his shoulders, looking down at him with wet lips, the only sounds are the crickets watching this degeneracy.

your hands find their place on his shoulders, holding yourself up while his fist finds his cock, lining himself up with your entrance, heart rate skyrocketing as you gasp above him.

his fingernails graze your skin, leaving indentations in the soft flesh, unable to contain the husky groan that escapes his lips.

your palm slaps over his mouth immediately, eyes wide as your hips rock, “you have to be quiet,” you hush though the smirk tugging at your lips tells him you’re not angry.

steve feels electric, pulsing through his veins with every slight movement you make, garbling into your palm when your pace quickens.

bouncing on his cock, making the entire structure creak and wobble.

he realises now that it’s silent, how obvious the sounds of sex are, skin slapping against skin as you squeak and grunt alongside it.

you’re insane, keeping your hand firmly over his mouth as you use his shoulder for leverage, rolling your hips and squeezing around him.

he’s about ready to cum already, there’s no surprise there. but he’s trying his hardest to hold out, to let you get something from this before he blows his load.

clinging on to your hips for dear life as they roll, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks while he turns to utter mush behind your hand.

“oh shit,” you whine, clit nudging against his pubic bone, louder than he could ever be.

that’s it, hearing you whine sends his stomach lurching, with barely enough time to life your body from his lap before he explodes.

hips stuttering into the air as you watch with bated breath, still covering his mouth as a series of expletives tumble out, muffled and breathless.

steve’s never felt so embarrassed and yet so good all at once, the back of his head thwacking against the metal panel as he floats back to earth.

you rest atop of his thighs, nibbling on the skin of your bottom lip. there’s a silence that makes him want to crawl up the side of the barrier and let infected rip him apart.

he wants to apologise for his premature ejaculation, a little ashamed that he couldn’t prove himself to you but before he can conjure up the appropriate apology, your finger tilts his chin upwards, to meet your eyes.

you stifle it for a minute before bursting into a fit of giggles, “it’s okay.. maybe next time.”

albeit a very vague promise of a next time, steve starts to beam, still catching his breath as you shuffle off of his thighs, pulling your panties on as you lay back on the floor, gesturing for him to join you.

dawn breaks around the two of you, the birds rising to sing their song as you lay on the uncomfortable metal grates next to him.

it’s so serene, a picturesque view peeking from outside the little hut.

this is a feeling steve had thought he may never experience again, content with his life despite the rest of the world crumbling outside of the walls.

it’s something in the orange hue, an aching feeling that he owes to blind optimism. a spark of hope, remnants of a fear to lose anyone else.

to lose you.

your tongue pokes from the side of your lips, sighing softly, “there’s something i have to tell you.”

he turns, watching your face fall. apprehensively awaiting the harsh truth you were about to unleash.

“go on..”

this time you sigh loudly, exhausting the air from your lungs, “my ex.. lives here too. he’s out on a run to fort wayne at the moment but, they’re due back anytime now and i just need to pre-warn you that he’ll probably be a bit of an ass when he finds out.”

relief washes through his body. was that it?

crazy psycho exes weren’t something new to steve, albeit a long time since he’s had to even think about anything like that, but he doesn’t care.

“oh my god,” he exhales, “you scared me.. i thought you were ‘bout to say something crazy,” chuckling at his preemptive fear.

you whack his arm, “i’m being serious,” turning your head to glare at him, “he’s not.. the nicest person and he definitely won’t be nice about this.”

“what’s wrong with him?” steve asks, genuinely. they’d crossed paths with a lot of fucked up people in the six years since this had started but he had never believed that anyone truly bad could live somewhere as nice as this.

those places always seemed to crumble, he’d seen it enough times to know. people had taken the apocalypse as a means to become awful people, dictating the lives of everyone around them as if you weren’t all trying to do one thing.

survive.

you sigh, scrunching your nose, “he and his uncle have been here from the start of it all, helped build this place to what it is now. but his uncle, wayne, left a year back.. went to try and find his brother, eddie’s dad.. and now eddie’s just eternally pissed off about it.”

steve contemplates your words, knowing he’d probably also be incredibly infuriated too. family, real blood family, was a rarity nowadays. most people had lost most, if not all of any semblance of family by now. he was astounded to arrive here and find real family, joyce had her sons, nancy had mike, even lucas had his sister.

“oh.. that’s.. it’s understandable, i guess,” not quite finding the right words.

you nod, biting on the inside of your cheek. you’re holding something back, steve’s not sure what and he’s certainly not going to ask now. unwilling to ruin the moment.

“why’d you guys break up?” considering if he’d like to get in the middle of some complicated, messy situation.

for you? definitely.

“i dunno.. he was just so angry, he let it consume him,” a certain twinge of sadness to your tone.

“and he took it out on you?”

you scoff a little, “me and everyone else.. look, does it help if i say that he probably won’t shoot you?”

steve hums, “not really.”

that does it, brings your smile back as you crack up shaking hysterically as you turn back to the sky.

“i still think you should sing for us all,” changing the subject completely.

steve groans, wiping the layer of sweat from his forehead. before all this, he would’ve said that he preferred summer but now that there were corpses roaming the streets, he definitely favoured winter. that stench is something he’ll never forget, rotting flesh and hot july sun were not a good mix.

“didn’t i already agree to sing for the kids?” he teases.

you’re interrupted from any further begging as nancy’s voice rings out from below, “hey guys? you there?” worry embedded into her voice.

“shit,” you hiss, shooting up as you grab your pants. “sorry.. sorry,” apologising for your lack of clothing and the accidental fright you’d given them.

“oh wow okay,” nancy bites from down below, laughing her head off, jonathan covers his eyes to give you a little privacy as you pull your jeans on, “how’d i know that you two were gonna fuck this up?”

“yeah yeah, shut up,” you rush, cheeks burning as you jump into your clothes.

steve shuffles over sliding his pants back on as he turns beetroot red, not only was this his first shift, it was also the first time he was showing everyone that he was a capable person to keep around. he’s not so sure they’ll agree now.

nancy and jonathan climb up the ladder, a bemused expression shared across their faces, “quiet night?” nancy asks, cocking her head to the side.

“something like that,” shrugging off her quick remarks as you grab your backpack and shove steve’s into his chest.

the two stand there gawping as steve flushes, stepping into his sneakers and attempts to hurriedly brush his hair into place. he wants to be embarrassed, really, but he’s still riding the high of you even kissing him.

“see anything interesting?” nancy bites, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“nope.”

“mhm i bet,” she smirks, her lips pursed as you shuffle past her, ignoring the smug look on her face as you climb down the ladder.

steve gives them both a little wave, still trying to hide his reddened cheeks as he follows you down from the perch.

you’re waiting for him at the bottom, tugging him away as the pair watch from above. it takes everything in him not to turn around and smile.

“y’wanna shower?” you ask, breaking the silence as you enter the building.

he damn near jumps into the air, clicking his heels together, suppressing his excitement with a simple nod, bounding along behind as you pull him along the corridor.

he’d take any shift if it meant ending up with you.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington au #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington angst #steve stranger things

[lesbianslvt666]

My angel wanted it so here it is :))

@machetegirl109

Couture!Lingerie!Designer!Ellie x Rich!spoiled!Reader

(Also idk why but i picture Ellie fully tatted on this one like Julien Baker tatted iykwim)

The night was setting fast, cold breeze entertaining through the front door as it opened, big man dressed in a black tuxedo entered the store and a bright voice chime in behind him.

“We are closed now!” Ellie was tired, her assistant had gone sick so she had been working by herself for a week.

“Miss Williams, good evening… we have an appointment settle for today” Ellies slumped form approached the talking man.

He gave Ellie your last name, her confused face looked around the store, she was sure she heard another voice but she couldn’t see you.

Her face went down to the desk in front of her, big notebook where they annotate all the appointments, her assistant had suggested going digital, she even proposed uploading everything from the notebook to the computer, but Ellie was a simple woman and she loved physical stuff.

Her hand wondered to the date of today, looking for time frames and your last name. Bingo…

“Why is it taking so long!” Your voice revealed from behind the broad man, pretty legs adorned with the tiniest of skirts, brown colored with a pretty white button up.

Your hurried steps came closer to her, pretty stilettos clacking with every step.

Bending over the desk you came closer to her notebook, long manicured fingers pointing to your name on the page.

“Here i am, now can you look at my tits? I have a special request…” your voice came lower than expected, Ellie was prettier in person.

“Um… yeah, uhh… over here” her hand pointing towards the dresser room

Your guard went outside the store, giving extra privacy for he knew your plan.

A week ago you were scrolling down tiktok, finding on your fyp an add for Ellies store, and as soon as you saw her you needed her…

“Look Roger, this is the plan” you told him, sitting him down on the couch, you took the remote and pointed to your big screen. “Do you see this girl?” The image of a short haired, green eyed woman appeared on the screen, Roger moved his head up and down as to say yes. “Good, i want her, so…” you gave Roger your unlocked phone, already with the number ready to dial. “Call to her store and make an appointment for the weekend, we are going to New York, so get your things ready” your bright smile and tiny jumps made Roger giggle with you.

Walking in the dressing room Ellie tried not to look much at you, your pretty face was already printed in her mind and your scent clouded the entire room.

“So, here is how this works...” she grabbed a measuring tape and put it around her neck, a small note pad on her hand and a gel ink pen hanging on her working apron.

It was no secret that Ellie liked girls, however, her work ethic was stronger than any desires… until now.

For when she looked back at you there was no clothes but your pretty skirt and those sexy stilettos.

She gulped.

“Um… as i was saying… i am gonna take your measurements and then we can um… we can talk about… uhh… the rest?” Her mind was wondering, your breast on full display for her and she was already melting…

She was trying hard to pay attention to her words, this should be normal to her i mean, she’s been doing this for years now is not something she hadn’t seen before… right?

“Measure me then!” You were so overly excited, thinking of her touching you pooling in a creamy spot on your undies.

She came closer to you, reason and lust fighting inside if her.

Her hand reached for the tip of her measuring tape, pulling it down her neck, long slender fingers stretching the tape, pressing them across your back, measuring your shoulder blades, a gasp left your plump lips when her tatted fingers caressed over your pretty skin.

She was trying hard not to touch as much as she wanted, but the little whimpers you gave with each burning contact her veiny hand gave you got you delirious.

You turned around facing her now.

Her pussy was pulsating and so was yours.

Rapidly beating hearts mirroring each other with fervor.

You took her hands on yours, measuring tape between her fingers and you placed it on top of your tits, the tape vaguely covering your nipples.

Ellie was fighting creamy cunt versus screaming mind.

The ache between her legs was louder than her reason.

Her eyes went from your eyes to your nose, lips and neck, traveling all the way down to your breasts.

One of your hands traveled to her hair, placing a strand behind her ear.

She glassed a finger over your nipple, lips parting open when she felt your pretty pink glittery nails scratching her scalp when you grabbed a handful of her auburn hair.

Her green eyes darkened, blown pupil and flush skin.

The warn light of the room imitating the feeling on your cheeks.

You were indecisive, crashing her lips with yours first or give her the satisfaction of tasting your pretty tits on her mouth?

Her eyes trained to them, almost begging you, her hands now traveling down your torso, open palms touching every part of your skin, cold silver rings chilling the fire trail she was leaving behind.

When her hands reached your hips your mind went dark, thoughts of all the thing you could do with, for and to her clouded your vision.

Your hand on her head pushed her face forward, as soon as her hot mouth latched on your tit her hands squeeze your hips with need.

Licking both your boobs and sucking on them like a desperate, hopeless slut.

“You little cunt like that?” Your whinny voice penetrated her ears and her eyes rolled back.

One of her hands grabbing yours, guiding you to her aching cunt, a wet patch on her trousers and you had to close your thighs together.

Your hand went up to the collar of her blouse, cleaning her juices on your tongue first and then going back to the collar, pretty finger curling on it and taking her with you, guiding her like a lost puppy to the couch.

You sat her down straddling her, her hips buckled up as soon as you let your weight down on her and it made you moan.

Her hands traveled to you ass squeezing, her lips parted in satisfaction as soon as you squirmed from the contact. You took your opportunity, lowering yourself to kiss her, her lips crashing with you.

Fierce kiss heating both your cores, sloppy tongues and wet saliva falling from each corner of your mouths.

Both bodies trying too hard to be at contact with one another and Ellie almost went crazy, she latched on your collarbone, butterfly kisses flying around your neck, your hands rushing to the buttons of her shirt, trying to take it off.

Your desperate attempt made her chuckle on your neck, your hips bucking at her reaction.

Detaching from your skin was hard, but she had to give you all you wanted, so she took off her shirt, sports bra falling with the blouse to the ground.

Your pretty nails came in contact with her nipples, teasing and tickling her which made her squirm, her cunt was soaking for you, pulsating with the thought of having you screaming her name while you scratched her skin with your glittery nails…

Fuck writers block, i always hit as soon as the smut starts lmao 😭😭 sorry yall :((

#ellie williams #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x female reader #lesbian #the last of us #hyper feminine #hyperfem reader

[wmarximoff]

𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 | 𝐰. 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟

summary: because Wanda is unlucky enough to understands as much as you do about the responsibility of those with great power — and the losses that come with it.

warnings (18+): smut, angst, handjob, gender neutral reader has a penis, major character death. MINORS DNI.

pairing: emo!Wanda x spider!gn!reader

word count: 4k

masterlist|

(please, don't flag the work)

༺ᱬ༻

There was something gratifying you could point to in the idea that, propelling yourself into the air, climbing in that arachnid-like acrobatics with your own body to the zephyrs of frigid wind in furrows at that high enraptured speed, the world around you could well be so tiny and contained that it would even be deprived of external evils and annoyances when seen from above.

And you always watched it from above, from above, from the corners, in swaying webs, flight towards the urban labyrinth of a city marked by its own life, in a majestic and vigorous existence – a giant that shines even when the dusk of night falls, warm even in the face of a shroud of icy snow in the middle of that October winter.

Admittedly, the cosmopolitanly avant-garde structures that made up the metropolis of New York were sprawling, treacherous, and indeed even fragile, but the charm of the Big Apple was passed right over everyone else's heads, on the surface, when you didn't peer deep into the alley violence in that capitalist machine that encompassed you as much as it did any other New York passer-by.

Your distinguishing factor, however, your peculiarity, was that for many of those people you were a protector, a masked safeguard of their integrity in the face of the everyday hostility that the system so poorly failed to sustain. You were responsible for protecting the helpless, the underprivileged, the underserved, the mainstay of the marginalized and the forgotten. You were, in accordance with your moral duties, the friend of the neighborhood.

Swinging from one building to the next was part of the job at that point. Aerial locomotion became more practical and utilitarian when dealing with moving from one point to another between the skyscrapers that rose to the dark immensity of the night, like arrows shot to the top of the borough of Queens, where a kind of human spider like you moved upwards, climbing and shooting webs, leaving behind trampled footprints in the accumulated snow on the corners of the parapets and on the lightning rod antennas.

You propelling yourself into the dark sky, your muscle cords contracting, pumping blood, gusts of icy air sliding through the fabric of your dark mask, inflating the white eight-legged spider etching emblazoned on your torso. Feeling fucking alive.

In front of panes of glass, pale lights and hums, there was the frenzy of a city that never sleeps – in an intense rustling buzz, active and dynamic amid the white snow and the thousands of lighted lamps, with people carrying briefcases, with suits and ties and sheltered in heavy clothes, with children and with animals, alone or in packs, cars mottled on the white streets, advertisements flashing everywhere. Conversations meandering through the most disparate topics possible to parrot about, a veritable array of options.

Life was happening right below you, as you swung in a black and white suit over the tops of pylons and tall buildings, beads of icy sweat pouring down the length of your back, delirious ecstasy pulsing through your veins added to your warm, radioactive blood.

But, away from the noise of the night's bustle, your web swings that night were heading towards a final stop on an otherwise quiet round – a small apartment complex with thin walls, raised in stone and red brick and in poor plumbing, rather weather-beaten, with a rent worthy of the salary of a pizza delivery person (and part-time barista) like you in Northwest Queens. A place where you've resided since you found yourself being on your own, a little over a year ago, because you weren't exactly the lucky kind of kid.

However, no longer so far from the popular residence, huddled in an arachnid position right on top of the snowy tiles of a corner market, behind the acrylic lenses in the shape of tears, both your eyes compressed their lids in a comically expression, confused in a furrow of brows, since out of the glass of that window situated on the eighth floor were beams of a white lamp luminescence – and, as far as you held a knowledge in your memory, you had left your dwelling still by the end of that partially sunny afternoon, therefore, never having even turned on the lamps that day.

“Shit,” beneath the fabric of the mask you held your frigid breath, sharpening your senses into a state of alert.

It only took a single jump propelled by your lower limbs and an accurate web shot ejected from the shooter attached to your right wrist, aimed right at the edge of the building's terrace, for you to maneuver cautiously in the air, between the light poles, like an elusive feline to then crawling up the emergency stairs outside your living room window, peering in for a glimpse of who the intruder might be that would have crept into your residence while you were away, merging with the shadows that shrouded that cold night.

But the ice in your lungs soon softened into puddles of itself, and at what lay there, laid out for your view from within those four withered walls that encompassed the narrow cubicle you called home. Your heart pumped in liquid explosion inside your ribcage that spread to the pit of your stomach, taking everything in its path in a dizzying hot drag. And that's why a tiny silly smile allowed itself to be enjoyed by the commission of your lips, against the thin fabric of your mask – it was just a natural act for you, to smile foolishly at the splendorous vision of Wanda Maximoff.

The far view alone was enough for you to find yourself smiling and truly content at your core – Wanda lying on your own bed, between thick blankets and poorly stacked piles of pillows, so oblivious to the fact that she was being watched; the pale expanses of her ring-lined fingers so subtly being nibbled on by her teeth, her nails varnished by a black nail polish chipped at the tips, one opalescent knee crossed over the other next to her chest, her dark miniskirt exposing her firm thighs in a way just as appealing to your desiring gaze.

And you loved the fact that her brown hair modulated coffee-colored tones when arranged in the dead of night, only in the pale light of a lamp placed near the right end of the bed – how even though it seemed so dark in the confines of that room, Wanda glowed in her own light sweeping a strand of profuse chestnut hair behind the shell of her right ear, her ringlet gleaming silver, her gaze so intent on the little television set in front of her.

How her irises seemed to adhere to traces of a mossy hue so bleak out of the sun, yet almost bordering on the innocence of someone who was only enjoying a television program displayed on the squalid screen of the small television set that was placed in front of the opposite wall to the bed, just above a small second-hand wooden table.

Over her torso she wore an old dark sweatshirt of yours, made of thick, warm material, bought at a Hot Topic store a few years ago, when you were still in your high school years. And Wanda was beautiful – the owner of a casual beauty, a simple natural and simple neatness, the kind in which there is no effort to pretend to be pretty. A beauty that begins and ends with itself, just because she was beautiful. The most beautiful sight anyone's eyes could be graced with. The kind that made you feel lucky, lucky to have her for yourself.

But it was then that the cold came to haunt you in a gust of stiff wind, the frozen hand of winter tracing the vertebrae of your spine in a chilling contact on your epidermis, which gelled the blood flowing in your veins and turned your bones to ice. Only then did you realize the reality where you were hanging on the snowy emergency stairs outside your apartment, away from the warm weather and away from Wanda.

And so, with your gloved right hand, you managed to lift the window and head your way into the small room, stepping on the floorboards inside with your left foot.

“Hey little witch, are you breaking and entering now? And here I thought you were one of the good guys...”

“Y/n!” Wanda got pleased immediately and, from the bed, she turned with her chin towards your voice that came from the window, a smile emerging in the outline of those pink lips she had, then getting up to receive you properly.

“It's cold outside, get in quick! You're going to catch a cold!”

And her southeastern European accent, still bathed by the Adriatic Sea, made itself present in her low-toned speech, hardening the enunciation of that soft voice. That's why you smiled – the tone of Wanda's voice always warmed your loving chest.

“Fine, fine, I'm fine,” you muttered in an enthusiastic tone, bringing your left hand behind you down on the windowpane that prevented any more gusts of icy wind from piercing the blister of heat that had become infatuated through the walls of that small room.

“I'm in one piece, see? Healthy as a,” you smiled to yourself, “Well, as a spider.”

And a chaste smile flickered back between Wanda's lips, a hint of skin being scrunched across the bridge of her nose in an adorable way, “You're such a goof, web-head.”

So it was that the young woman came walking towards you, warm, smiling, with open arms to welcome you into her affections.

And you took her for yourself, pulling Wanda's body close to yours, whereupon clever fingers dressed in silver rings hooked on the seam cut of your mask right in the middle of your neck, slowly then hoisting it so that in front of the Wanda's gaze revealed the skin of your chin, and then the pulp of your lips; the jadish irises aimed at your mouth and, morosely, the young woman bent down to take a kiss from you herself.

You held her, groping your fingers around her waist, when it was that, in a dizzying, crimson electric shock, soaked in a jubilation of fiery delight, your lips touched in a prudish, measured way. It was a kiss of a simple nature, yet lingering on her lips and imbued with impetuous feelings – the need joined to longing, the happiness of a jovial and healthy love. Something in you just yearned to return to her arms every day, as if your soul fit hers like a jigsaw puzzle by your lips united in a single tune.

“Hi,” you lisped in the tiniest tone against her mouth.

“Hey, детка,” was Wanda's reply, who still had the hem of your mask pressed between her rings, before she hoisted her forearms up to her chin and completely removed the piece of cloth that covered your face expression as smiling as hers.

“I really love your eyes, Y/n.”

“I can say the same for you, my little witch.”

After a little simpler caress of love exchanged, more kisses and hugs and little oaths of longing, you two separated then in reluctance so that you would undress your cold spider suit, choosing to wear more casual clothes and comfortable on your body – a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of snug, vaguely baggy sweatpants. And while you were doing that, Wanda, sitting right on the edge of your bed, watched you in front of the tiny closet door nearby, where a small door opened onto a narrow, dark room with clothes hanging on hangers and a small yellow light dripping from the ceiling.

“I was looking over your crime board earlier, before you arrived, and...” as she talked, her chin was supplanted by the elbow resting on the right knee of her crossed legs.

“Mmm?”

Wanda looked at you for half a second, her face creasing in curiosity, “Who's Wilson Fisk?”

“Kingpin,” your voice was somewhat muffled by the dark shirt you were halfway pulling on over your head.

“He's one of the crime bosses around here, he's involved in some pretty serious shit around town,” at last, you tucked the shirt over your torso.

“And I've been on his tail for a few months now, but I need to get on with my work if I'm going to gather enough evidence to expose him to the public legally. It's going to be difficult since he has pretty much the entire political underworld in the palm of his hand and other stuff too, of course, but... but I think I'm getting somewhere with this, yeah.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, “That sounds… kinda dangerous, Y/n,” Wanda sniffed with her nose to the side, speaking more to herself than to you per se.

“Maybe if you talked to Clint or Nat they could help you with that. Steve too, even. I know they are all willing to help you if you ask. Steve… you know, he’d really like you to take a chance and be on the team for a while. He thinks you'd make a good Avenger.”

"Yeah, I don't know about that, Wands," you muttered back, raising your right eyebrow at the idea.

“I don't think it's in the Avengers' niche to worry about that kind of thing, you know? I mean, you guys kind of exist to deal with out-of-the-galaxy threats and crazed AIs and evil government organizations and all that shit, don't you? And, well, Fisk is a pretty big fish in his own way, that's true... but he's just a stupid old bald guy who blackmails the local politicians and has created a criminal empire out of bribery and corruption – which is not it's very different from the billionaires we know out there. The difference is that Fisk is not a threat on a global scale.”

At the not-so-indirect burn to Stark Industries that couldn't be ignored, Wanda couldn't help but giggle infinitesimally under her breath, an act that elicited a goofy little smile from you, swaying your shoulders into your baggy blouse.

“Well,” she smiled a little too, in a kind of assent to your words, “You're not wrong.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you turned your head toward her, as your right foot tucked into the seam of thick gray cotton sweatpants.

“Plus, I have this certain, umm, responsibility to the people of this town, I guess. It was a promise I made after all, I... I'm here for them, both to keep all that crazy shit from spilling over on them, and just to look out for them when no one else does. That's my job around here, my function. It's just what I do. I'm not a super spy, or a super soldier, a genius billionaire or a giant green strong guy, Wands. I’m, I’m only...”

“The friendly neighborhood web-head?”

At your roll of eyes, Wanda smirked, like a small rabbit with moderately larger front teeth than the rest.

“That's just mean, witchy. I really prefer Spidey, you know? Spidey.”

“Spidey,” the young enchantress reiterated to you, “Well, anything sounds better than the Witch anyway. That's so fucking pejorative, like, burn the witch or something, what the fuck. I’m not a fucking witch.”

“You aren’t?”

“Shut up,” she rolled her eyes out of their sockets comically.

“The Witch, huh…” you looked at her, almost laughing when you did, “People really aren't good at coming up with superhero names, are they? Because this one is really bad. Really bad.”

“No,” Wanda chuckled in agreement, shaking her head, “They're not, not at all. And I’m not a superhero.”

“I see,” you droned, “And what are you then?”

For a second, Wanda looked at you, “A unlucky person who has made a lot of bad choices in her life.”

The television, which was flashing some old episode of a sitcom that made up Wanda's favorite series collection, was the only thing that filled the room with any kind of light or sound some time later, since, after stuffing yourself with the chicken paprikash that your beloved had prepared for you and then packed and stored in your fridge, the two of you snuggled in each other's arms, away from the cold and the chill, under a thatched hut with thick blankets on your bed during that bitter winter night.

 But it was when you turned in search of a comfortable position to lean back against the pillows and your left elbow brushed Wanda's right, that you two looked at each other curiously as if only then had you realized how close you encompassed each other – two dark gazes in the middle of the room lit only by the artificial lighting of a meaningless program, together, alone.

And you craved the comforting body heat that Wanda radiated when as close to her as you were – the scent of red that wafted from her silky ebony hair and her smooth, pale skin. You felt, however, a gaze peering into you from the line of your jaw and cheekbones, and looking back, Wanda was staring at you with a voluptuous fixation on the darkened green corners of her irises. She looked at you like she could completely consume you, like something about her was going to swallow you up and eat you down, digest you to the bones.

And then, from beneath the cocoon of blankets, a subtle touch spread across your left crotch, still above the thick material of your sweatpants. Your gaze sailed from the heap of blankets placed in the region of your lap to the emerald gaze, so dimmed, of the young woman sitting next to your left elbow.

“Wanda...”

“Mm?” she hummed back, as innocent as could be, as if her fingers weren't so close to groping an area of your body that was already beginning to throb with signs of life.

“Wanda,” you lisped softly, again, so needy, pupils popping and blood bristling through your veins, “What are you…?”

“I missed you, детка,” her fingers dipped deeper and deeper into your crotch, her eyes still screwed into your field of vision as she did so, “I missed you so, so much… I get so lonely in my room in the compound, you know? And all I can think about in those moments is you... how much I miss you.”

She locked her upper teeth against the flesh of her lower lip, stifling a lusty, immoral smile when she realized something – already petrified in a flash of desire, beneath the fabric of your pants, was your semi-erection, a noticeable bulge that made Wanda's mouth throb with desire.

"And I bet you miss me too, don't you?"

“Of course I do,” you huffed out a breath of warm air, “Fuck Wanda, every goddamn night… every goddamn night I miss you.”

The bright, lively hand, with thin fingers wrapped in rings and well-cut black nails, couldn't help but travel through the dazzling skin of your abdomen, exposed by the lifting of your long-sleeved blouse, starting from the south, from your navel, into your hips, into the hem of your pants. Wanda captured your thick member and gave your shaft an alluring squeeze – her face then hidden in the contour of your neck, in the joint of your shoulder, to nibble, there, a piece of skin.

“Uh-f-fuck, Wanda...” you squirmed out of your nostrils like steam released from your bruised lungs, in a hoarse wail, somewhat drunk with the acute excitement present in your system.

Wanda smiled against your skin, her thumb lethargic caressing the strained head of your cock inside your pants and, in performed innocence, she placed a chaste kiss on the bone at the tip of your jaw.

“Just enjoy it, malышка,” was whispered in her low voice right next to your ear, in an accent hard and robust, but so dizzying when it came out of the crack of Wanda's lips, “Let me show you how much I missed you.”

And again, followed this time by a shameless tone of voice, leaking the red color from her pores, Wanda pressed the plump shaft between her slender fingers, causing a softness on your part. Following your moan, she placed a warm kiss behind your left ear.

“Allow me to make you feel good, Y/n.”

Wanda's right hand began its harassed, pleasurable work, up and down the length of your nervous member, raised to the intimate of your burning thighs – and you, wrapped in an embarrassed tremor, were exasperated as Wanda kissed your corner of the half-open mouth and the fluttering earlobe, threading your fingers through her brown locks as if it were a need between your hands, just in search of something to support yourself during that very intimate moment, shared by a couple of lovers as young and needy as you two were.

“Y/n,” she called against your cheekbone, “I… I'm sorry, but I want you inside. Now."

“Fine,” was your airy reply, “Fine.”

And without delay, Wanda passed her thighs over your knees, linking the folds of her elbows to your neck, then sitting on your lap so that a pink and expert tongue could slide inside your mouth as the damp, warm walls from her cunt slid around your erection. And then, one hefty, powerful touch, palms wide open and pressed to the flesh of her ass beneath her skirt, you screeched out of the outline of Wanda's lips a savory moan that squirmed from the very core of your lungs to pulsate against her lips during the carnal act of penetration.

“Бля, детка… тобі так добре, Y/n…” she gasped against the shell of your ear in a drawling semi-moan, “Y/n…”

"Do you like it?" was your question against her skin, to which, girding your cock with her velvety walls, Wanda nodded, bobbing her head up and down.

“I love it,” and, drunk on a wave of scarlet ledice, Wanda smiled, “I love you.”

You fell silent for a measly second, in fact barely realizing what had happened. Television still featured some sitcom that no longer mattered to you or even her, who was most attracted to the thing between you two – not being as close as you were in that primitive, carnal or even lewd way; skin with skin, flesh with flesh. Raw, visceral, passionate. It was cold outside, but your chest had never felt as warm as it did during that moment. She loved you. She loved you.

“You love me?”

Pulling her face away from your neck, Wanda looked at you with bright eyes from under thick, heavy lashes. She looked at you like no one else but her ever had before.

“I love you, детка,” was a whisper, a promise, “I love you, Y/n.”

When she started to go down everything became hazy, pulsing, hot, red. Wanda was moving up and down your body and you felt her backs arch convulsively, still continuing, creeping towards her cervix, rubbing her from the inside with the head of your cock.

And she rode you with such firmness, moaning and crying out, doing the penetration herself while your eyes converged in a single vision; Wanda moving up and down, over and over, seeking with her hips, until you both came in a delirium of dizzying pleasure; you pouring yourself inside her walls, into her flesh, and her thighs pale, wet, at the meeting with your hips. When she sighed wearily against the hollow of your neck, you smiled into a lock of her hair.

“I love you, little witch.”

It was perfect, you and her. So perfect that you pledged your love two or three more times that night, loving each other in the flesh, in the core, in the heart. Making you cling to the luck of having that miserable moment reserved for you and her, wanting to multiply it, make it last as long as possible.

It was as if, about a month or two after the event, already at the end of that winter suffered on a late December afternoon, Natasha Romanoff had not found herself leaving the corridors of the compound, walking stiff towards Wanda’s room, the soles of her boots full of soot and snow.

As if, among the strands of that short fire-colored hair, the residue of shards of sparkling glass did not shimmer after a painful fall – as if the Black Widow's lower lip were not found bloody and swollen after an arduous fight, as if she had not left a child to fight alone until it was too late for her interposition to mean anything decisive. As if Natasha hadn't been advised by Captain America to let Wanda, still as young, as damaged as she was, digest what happened, still so recent in the popular imagination, on her own.

“She's going to need some time, Nat,” pleaded Steve in a disgustingly grim tone, when they, he and she, were still sharing the elevator space just after returning from the big city with blood on their hands.

“Give Wanda a break, she's been through a lot. She doesn't need it right now. She’s… she’s just a kid. An unfortunate kid.”

But Natasha walked into Wanda's room in that snowy early evening, the emissary of news so atrocious that it had just left the streets, with blood and glass and corpses everywhere, a body count so tragic it could have had more, much lower if you hadn't intervened. Of course, you. But you weren't the one there to tell Wanda what the result of that fight with Wilson Fisk that Christmas Eve night had been. Natasha was the figure standing there, clutching the remains of your mask between the fingers of her right hand. It felt so pointless. As pointless as telling a young girl her lover was dead could be. Your mask felt meaningless.

“Wanda, I…I…”

But Wanda was nowhere to be found in her spacious bed after the Black Widow entered the room filled with posters on the walls and ceiling, stuffed animals arranged next to the pillows and the books piled orderly on the shelves. That was a young person's room, Natasha thought. Wanda was young. The television bolted to the wall adjacent to the window followed the live narration that portrayed a hideous explosion in Hell's Kitchen, where the fire department was still in the process of fully assessing the high and enigmatic number of lives claimed that night.

Wanda was in the bathroom, after all, when Natasha walked over — sitting on the floor, hugging her knees, threading her fingers through her long hair, scratching the scalp as she squinted at her burning eyes where tears were streaming from; sadness that marked her cheeks. She looked as small and as young as could be. And then it was that Natasha remembered. She realized, indeed, what had happened.

Carrying your spidery mask with her, Natasha remembered that both you and Wanda were really just a pair of unfortunate children, as she herself had once been too – children who carried greater responsibilities than you could even handle, with a maturity as mechanical and precocious as what the world demanded of you two. Children like her. Unlucky children.

“What… what– what am I going to do Nat…?” Wanda sobbed, still not lifting her eyes to the open crack in the door, where the older woman was standing, still bloody, still injured, “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?!”

And Natasha wanted to answer her. She wanted to, she opened her bruised lips to do so and then utter that speech she had already had in mind since she had held your body in her arms, still tucked inside that spider suit, in the snow and in the dark. But she immediately contained herself, refraining herself even before doing so, because that was when she saw it – prepared eyes spotted beside Wanda's so small and curved body a plastic rod with two lines marked in a baby pink color.

“Wanda… is... is that…?”

“I don’t know what to do,” she cried, “I don’t know, I don’t know…”

A pregnancy test of the kind one can buy at any local pharmacy, and the result was positive. And your mask was in her hands because you were gone. She was supposed to give it to Wanda as a reminder of your memory, but Wanda would have more to remember you by than a simple torn and bloody piece of cloth. She was pregnant after all. And you – you were dead. You were nothing but an unlucky dead bastard.

“I… I don't know,” Natasha's fingers tightened on the damn tattered fabric, “I'm so sorry, Wanda. I don't know… I don’t know.”

Wanda's tears, wide and warm, dripped between her bare feet on the pale bathroom floor tile. She had never felt so unlucky as she did at that moment.

#wanda x you #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda reader #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff imagine #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x y/n #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x you #elizabeth olsen x female reader #marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #fanfic #natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha black widow #steve rogers #captain america

[weirdmageddon]

some thoughts on dave lalonde

so note this isn’t a kidswap au, just a strilonde guardian swap au; a plausible au wherein dave’s meteor(s) are set to land in upstate new york and rose’s in houston tx where they are discovered by mom lalonde and bro strider respectively. so it’s not even really an “alternative universe” so much as “alternative circumstance” because that’s literally all that changes

their interests aren’t swapped; their interests are a natural result of a mix of what they were always predisposed towards (we can look at their post-scratch versions for constants) combined with their living environment. rose strider is still gothy and writes, knits, and has an interest in the zoologically dubious. perhaps rose might handcraft some delirious puppets for her brother-slash-ectofather’s enterprise as a “gift” in one-upmanship. probably has good rapport with the crows that fly into her ironic knockoff disney-princess themed bedroom (see the post i linked above) and get them to fuck with bro passively in exchange for peanuts. she also keeps all the things the crows gift her, pickpocketed shiny things and whatnot

dave lalonde is still the knight of time, still makes sbahj, likes photography, still loves cooking up unbelievably ill jams, still into post-ironic expression, however he’s not irony-poisoned by bro so he’s more comfortable being genuine. his interest in dead things and paleontology comes more to a forefront because of mom’s predilection towards science and genuine encouragement from her. after all she’s made many a mutant kitten herself

i feel like since dave fell to earth with maplehoof, crushing the pony instantly on impact, instead of using its hide to make a bib like a fucking weirdo, mom would paradox clone maplehoof. so dave has a pet pony with a ribbon and little pink heart on it. a knight needs a loyal steed. and hes been attached to maplehoof since his literal first few minutes of existing. so maplehoof wouldnt be bought anywhere, it would originate from itself

i mean he’s seen with the pony at his side in the post-scratch universe so…..

would make sense if the pony mom gifted to rose in canon was more of an involved thing with dave in this circumstance

the only issue is maplehoof cant become his sprite, otherwise that would break the timeloop (they need to come unaltered to earth with dave on the meteor in the first place during the reckoning). also [S] Ride with dave and the scarf would absolutely be a thing at some point

i was thinking maybe instead of a crow, since they aren’t as “everywhere” in upstate new york as they are in that high rise in texas, dave has something more prehistoric put into a sprite. like a parave theropod. can you imagine parave davesprite. maybe an archaeopteryx or something

i guess mom would indulge in a living museum/zoo for “domesticated” ancient organisms all jurassic parked like a weird ongoing experiment but the ectobiology wouldnt be perfect especially because the dna wouldnt be able to be fully read from fossils and specimens. i feel like jurassic park should be dave lalonde’s sort of in-universe media reference the way con air was with john and putting the bunny back in the box. like his friends would just rip on him for living out jurassic park in an imperfect domestic way

and he accidentally kills it through some fetch modus shenanigans. dave still has the bladekind strife specibus but not because he does rooftop battles but because swords are unironically cool, and flings it out the window by accident and it strikes one of the parave theropods in the enclosed zoo below outside his window and dave feels kinda bad

when jade sees it as his server player shes like “oh nooooo :(“ and dave is like “oh god no dont put that in the seizure kernel while i take a piss in one of the many fancy bathrooms this household has”

#homestuck #strilonde guardian swap #dave lalonde #rose strider #hs #homestuck meta #however i dont know what dave(sprite) would have prototyped his sprite with before going back #because lil cal isnt there #but also john and jade would be dead so hed have to go back anyway #so i guess it doesnt really matter what doomed dave prototypes

[brooke0297]

A Chance At Happily Ever After (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Post-Endgame; Pre FATWS)

Summary: Bucky believes tonight was a mistake. That he doesn't deserve the happy ending his best friend left him to find. But midnight musings lead him to a life changing conclusion.

Warnings: Allusions to Smut; Bucky being self-deprecating.

Author's Note: This started as a 3am idea and I'm pretty proud of how it's turned out. Reader uses She/Her pronouns.

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Bucky swears she can hear his heart thumping in his chest.

He lays amongst the rumpled bed sheets, feeling the sweat cooling on his fevered skin, gazing wide eyed at his ceiling. The window is open and the city sounds bleed into background noise. Born and bred Brooklyn, it soothes him. But does nothing to stop the wild beating of his heart under his ribs.

He can feel the heat from her body radiating beside him and his eyes slide to take in the full expanse of her back. Smooth skin illuminated by the moonlight from his window, the outline of her spine running down the center. If he were younger, from the before time, he might have reached out to trace the lines of her. Maybe allowed himself to curl into her and fold her into his warmth…

A jolt of something that he can’t unravel settles in his stomach and he tries again to calm himself.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, he thinks to himself. Damn you, Steve.

It had been his secret mantra for months now. He thinks back to watching his best friend disappear from that platform of Stark’s, knowing in his bones that Steve was going to get his happily ever after. He remembers turning away as Sam began to panic, commanding Banner to bring him back. He remembers her running to Sam, begging him to explain what had happened. The two of them approached the man on the bench while he hung back, trying to pretend the emptiness in his stomach was normal. He remembers her tears as she walked past him. She was always trying to appear tough and unbothered. 

He knew what a broken heart looked like. He’d seen it in the mirror.

It had taken a couple weeks after Steve left for him to finally unravel the pieces: a friendship borne in the days after the Chitauri invasion, her support during Steve’s search for him, the accords. She had confessed to Sam one night that there had been something there. Before she’d turned to dust with the rest of them, Steve had promised her the moon.

She shifted slightly, curling into herself. Bucky tensed as she let out a small, contented sigh and went still again.

So how could he have let this happen?

He had relied on her in the past few weeks and their friendship had gotten stronger. Sam had returned to New Orleans and they had remained in New York. Bucky had a sneaking suspicion that she had remained to keep an eye on him in some latent promise to the one who’d left them both, but he’d shoved those feelings down deep and tried not to think about them too hard during her mandatory movie nights.

Tonight was a stupid moment of selfishness. She had a habit of checking up on him before the end of the day. She had rented the apartment two doors down from him and would often take a detour to his door before turning in. This time, she’d caught him delirious from a mid afternoon nightmare that he hadn’t been able to avoid. He was just so damn tired and he only wanted to rest his eyes for a minute…

He hadn’t had to ask. She had gently taken his arm to steer him back to the couch, turning on a mindless sitcom for background murmur, and began the process of steeping some tea. He watched her practiced movements in his sparse kitchen and felt something warm perch in his chest at the thought that she was right at home in his space. The mug warmed both hands–clammy flesh and icy metal alike–and he listened as she began to tell him a funny story about something that had happened to her at work that day.

Once the tea was gone and his tremors had ceased, she had paused and gazed at him with worried eyes.

“Have you told your therapist?” she’d asked quietly. He’d shaken his head. He wasn’t ready to discuss the nightmare yet. It was bad enough having to recount the exploits he remembered from his soldier days.

“I’m sorry,” she had said, eyes downcast.

“For what?”

“For…I don’t know. Not being here when you needed me? For all of the bullshit those bastards put you through? It kills me, knowing that they hurt you so deeply.” She grasped his metal hand–he tried to hide the immediate recoil, but even with the new appendage he still worried about her fragile hand in such a powerful extremity.

“It’s not your fault,” he said.

“It still hurts to know they caused you so much pain, Bucky. I wish I could tear them limb from limb for what they did.”

Something else he had realized in the time he’d known her: she was a lioness when it came to those she cared about. The thought of her going in any proximity to Pierce or Karpov, however, made his anxiety spike and his breath wooshed out of him harshly.

“I would die before I let them near you,” he’d growled. When he realized what he’d said, he’d reluctantly turned his gaze to hers and found her looking back at him with such tender fondness that it had made his chest tighten in a pleasant way.

“I know, Bucky. Because you are so good. You will always be better than what they tried to make you. You choose everyday to be good despite the hand you were dealt. You deserve happiness and a content life of your own and I will always work to give you that in whatever way I can.”

He hadn’t planned it. He didn’t even know if he was aware of what his body was doing. But something inside him had snapped into place. As she stood to take his cup to the kitchen, he found himself gently tugging her back to him to cradle her neck in his flesh hand. With his other, he brushed her hair away from her face and pressed his lips hungrily to hers.

It had been too long since he was this close to someone, let alone a beautiful woman. He could smell her shampoo and the faint perfume of her body wash overwhelmed his senses. He could feel her warmth through her sweater and her lips were soft and pliant against his. She was surprised and Bucky steeled himself for when she would pull away and slap him for getting fresh with her before disappearing from his life.

Instead she threw herself into his arms and kissed him back fervently. Her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him impossibly closer, emitting a soft moan that caused his tight control to slip.

There was a war within him. One half of him wanted to set her on his couch, rip their clothes off, and have his way with her. The other half was disgusted and raised the issue that he hadn’t even taken her to dinner first. That he was a monster who had killed people with his bare hands. He was dangerous and she could get hurt.

This isn’t right. We should stop. I need to stop.

When her nails scratched lightly against his neck, he was nearly undone. She dragged her mouth from his and began placing hot, open mouth kisses along his jawline. His eyes shut tight against the feeling of her lips trailing towards his ear and his arms moved as if to push her away. 

“Don’t stop…” she whispered to him.

The rational voice was still screaming at him to let go and get as far away from her as possible. Instead, he hiked her into his arms as if she weighed nothing, and carried her into his nearly unused bedroom.

Now, laying in the aftermath of his loss of control, he felt a twinge of regret. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to go that far with her. He wasn’t thinking clearly and allowed his body to guide his decisions. He hadn’t been rough with her, but it hadn’t been gentle. He’d used her as an excuse to feel wanted again. He’d allowed himself to sink into her warmth and light and forget that he was a monster who didn’t deserve her.

He began to calculate a plan. He could easily slip out of bed, find a 24 hour diner somewhere, and wait it out. The aftermath might be minimal: she could be so embarrassed of him that she would never speak to him again. He tried to ignore the hollow feeling in his chest at that thought. He could go sleep on his couch and use the warmth of the room as an excuse. But she knew he hated the cold from years of cryosleep. And he worried she would be drawn to the sound of his nightmares. 

The air outside had moved from comfortably chilly to verging on cold. Bucky began to gently shift out of his bed to pick up his discarded boxers, his brain continuing to run through variables.

In that moment, she shifted and rolled onto her other side to face him. He froze, holding his breath. He began to panic, thinking she was about to wake up and catch him running away from her. He’d wanted to avoid all this. Stupid idiot. This is what happens when you think for a moment that you could be happy.

Instead, she unconsciously moved in closer and intertwined their legs. Her hand rested above his heart and her head nestled into his shoulder. He could feel her breath fan across his skin and he erupted into pleasant goosebumps. He watched as she sighed serenely for a second time that night and smiled into his neck.

Oh.

The warmth that spread through his body was different from the lust that had consumed him only hours previously. The anxiety that had tensed his muscles relaxed and the weight disappeared. Every nerve ending that had been in fight or flight relaxed into a comforting buzz beneath his skin. His heart finally–finally–quieted to a soft thrumming under her hand. He felt drunk. He felt refreshed.

He felt happy.

This was it. This was what had eluded him for so long. All of his worries about Steve and hurting her and being vulnerable? They were irrelevant.

This girl–the human equivalent to sunshine–had sought him out for warmth and safety. For companionship and comfort. She’d pulled him into her orbit and he didn’t want to let it go. 

She wasn’t afraid of him or what he could do. She had chosen him. She had wanted him.

Bucky felt his world come into sharp focus. He tentatively wrapped his flesh arm around her back and pulled her slightly closer. She nuzzled closer still. He gently took his Vibranium hand, shaking slightly, and placed it over hers on his chest. When she didn’t pull away, he gently intertwined their fingers.

“You deserve happiness and a content life of your own.”

Her words echoed in his head. There was a large part of him that hadn’t believed them at first. But now, with her in his arms in his bed, he realized that she may have been right. Steve had been right.

Steve had gone for his happily ever after. Maybe it hadn’t been the best decision for Bucky. Or perhaps it had opened up a life Bucky couldn’t possibly have dreamed of himself.

He realized that he had wanted this all along. The intimacy, the comfort of someone seeing the worst parts of him and still choosing him. He wanted a happily ever after. 

******

He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until the early morning sun shone through his windows. His limbs felt lethargic and he realized he hadn’t tossed and turned like he usually did. He had slept the whole night without a nightmare.

“Bucky?”

Her morning voice was low and raspy, thick with sleep. He looked down to see her blinking up at him. He waited until her eyes had focused on the lines of his face and she gave him a warm smile.

“Good morning,” she murmured.

With a swoop in his stomach, he leaned over and pressed her firmly back into the mattress. His hands braced on either side of her head and he bent down to catch her surprised mouth in a sensual kiss. She responded immediately, wrapping herself in his arms and pulling him closer. He pulled away as she gasped quietly and he felt the biggest smile break across his face.

“Hey, Doll.”

************************************************************************

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #captain america #the falcon and the winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes angst #the winter soldier #b's fanfics

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 53

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible. 

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

My brain couldn’t accurately comprehend the reality of the situation. It was like a wall went up in my mind to protect me from the horrors that were happening before me. Amidst the paused chaos I somehow could hear Dr. Miller’s heavy breaths. They were deep and consistent, matching up with the heaving of his shoulders. And then I heard the numbers 9-1-1 being said in the background.

Will suddenly whipped around to face Carol, who held a phone to ear in her bloody hands. Chas lifted an arm, pointing in Will’s direction as he turned to charge in her direction. And then..

Bang!

That sound. I will never forget that sound. My hands moved to my ears and my breath was lost when Will stumbled forward and toppled over, half in the pool and half out. Watching blood fly into the air was like something out of a movie.

“The spa in the basement!” Carol shrieked into the phone and then it fell from her hand as she stared at Will - the man she loved, the man she was about to marry. It was utter heartbreak.

When Will moved, Dr. Miller suddenly breathed again. It was a gasping breathing, one I could tell he had been holding in.

Carol dropped to her knees beside her father, pressing both hands against the wound again. From then until the first responders arrived, nobody moved. It was as if someone had halted all of us.

Stretchers carted away Chas and Will. Police had Carol, Dr. Miller and me wrapped in blankets as they attempted to seek answers.

“Is my father okay?” Dr. Miller asked. “Where’s Mom? Carol where is she?”

Carol couldn’t speak. All the color had drained from her face and she just stared ahead, unable to respond to any of the officers’ questions.

“She’s in shock,” I heard one of them say.

“Carol.” Dr. Miller put a hand on her face and only her eyes moved to glance at him before a paramedic intervened and helped to escort her away from the scene.

He turned to me and we just stared blankly at one another. I couldn’t cry or scream or comprehend. But when Dr. Miller pulled me to him, my eyes closed and I melted against him.

“We have to get you to the hospital,” one of the officer’s said.

“I-I’m fine,” I choked out. And then I motioned to Dr. Miller, “Will drugged him. He couldn’t move.”

“I’m fine,” Dr. Miller said quietly.

“Come with us,” the officer said, and then added, “Please.”

Dr. Miller kept me close and we walked back through the salt caves. The smell would forever be ingrained in my mind and paired with this gut-wrenching night. I wanted to rewind. I wanted it all to be okay the way it felt just a few hours before. I wanted Carol and Will to be happy. I wanted Chas to be okay. But that was all gone now.

“Is my father dead?” Dr. Miller asked.

“He was shot in the shoulder,” the officer escorting us away from the pool area explained.

“Will tried to kill us,” I blurted out, though I knew they already had that information. “He drugged Joel. He shot Chas. He lured me down here at gunpoint.” After feeling like I could never speak again, word vomit began to parade out of my mouth in ways I was certain made me sound delirious. “He threw him in the pool. He killed all those girls at Woodbridge. He wasn’t who he said he was. He could’ve killed us. He tried to kill us. He ran after Carol.”

What was I blurting? I couldn’t keep up. My brain was in overdrive and I didn’t snap back to reality until I felt Dr. Miller’s hand came to rest on my cheek while the other began to brush back my hair.

“Joel.” I shook my head and my bottom lip trembled. I attempted to hold it in place with my teeth but it escaped and I began to cry. “Why did he do this? Your dad.. your sister..” I shook my head and he pulled me in close as I cried some more. And then my head snapped up and I whipped around to face the closest officer, “You can’t let him out. Will did this. He needs to go to jail. He can’t be near Carol.. or Chas. Don’t let him out of your sight.”

I didn’t realize I had grabbed the man’s arm until we both looked down and I immediately released him.

“I’m sorry,” I choked out, wiping my eyes with a trembling hand.

“He won’t be able to hurt you or anyone, anymore,” the officer assured me, placing a hand on my shoulder, “Okay?” His eyes met mine and in the moment, it was enough. It had to be.

“Is he dead?” Dr. Miller asked.

“Both men were shot in the shoulder area. I don’t know the extent of the injuries, but they missed the major organs and arteries. That’s all I know.”

We piled into the elevator and when we got to the main level, police tape secured a perimeter where medical personnel and law enforcement had taken over. A small crowd of patrons couldn’t help but rubberneck from the outskirts, creating their own scenarios of what had taken place in their minds.

“Carol.” Dr. Miller rushed to her when he saw her again, standing under the arm of the paramedic who had initially approached her.

The pair exchanged a long hug and I saw her eyes glisten for the first time. “What’s happening, Joel?” She sobbed.

“It’s over now,” her brother said back. “I’m so sorry, Carol. I didn’t want to shoot him.”

“I’m cursed,” she cried out. “My life is a curse.”

“You’re not cursed.”

“I am.” Carol continued to cry as she nodded to herself. “I am, I am, I am.”

“No.” Dr. Miller shook his head in response.

I couldn’t watch. I moved off to the side by a large pillar, away from the crowd, and buried my face in my hands. And I just cried. I cried and cried until my lungs hurt and I couldn’t keep up anymore.

Why? My quiet one-word thought manifested out loud. “Why? Why? Why?” I whispered the word to myself.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N).” Dr. Miller’s voice snapped my burning eyes open and he squatted before me. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. You never should’ve been involved in all this.”

“It’s not your fault,” I choked out. “It’s his fault. It’s not your fault.”

“Honey.” A woman’s voice made Joel whip around again and he rose to greet his mother, who held Carol’s hand.

“Mom.” Dr. Miller gasped her name and pulled her in for a hug.

“I knew,” she whispered. “I knew something was wrong.”

“I didn’t kill anybody,” he whispered back. “I didn’t kill him. I didn’t want to shoot him.” Dr. Miller looked to his sister now and tears fell from his eyes. “I couldn’t do that to you. I didn’t want to shoot him.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Carol assured him, shaking her head.

Frankie held Joel hard. “You’re okay. We’re all going to be okay.” Her eyes met mine as she looked over her son’s shoulder and she waved a hand for me to join them.

I rose to my feet and allowed Frankie to pull me into embrace with the rest of the family.

“We’re going to get through this together,” she whispered. “We always do.”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandojojo @shotgun-shelby @itscatrodriguez-thepearl @macaroni676 @smolbeanzzz @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @bandluvr97

#joel miller #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!oc #joel miller x original character #joel miller fic #tlou fanfiction #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel x reader #pedro pascal x oc #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x fem reader #tlou fic #protective joel #joel miller professor #professor joel

[bcolfanfic]

OK, so, is there ever a time when Bucky actually leaves Gale, or comes very close? Or any time since they got home where, as much as he loves Gale, Bucky just thinks he's too messed up and it's the right thing to leave to 'save' him? Maybe (gulp) after the time in hospital and then the intervention #young vets au

this is veering away from post attempt/intervention but. kinda on topic with the first part...@swifty-fox and i were volleyballing with an Incident that's kinda like...an alternate universe of east side of sorrow? where he buys/hides the gun *but* in his mania, spiral, depression whatever you want to call it episode decides to go with 'plan b' instead. plan b as in just getting up in the night and booking it. gets on a greyhound, gets sick of sitting on a fucking bus, somehow manages the wherewithal to get on a plane and shows up in nyc.

gale at this point, is breaking down assuming he's dead in a ditch somewhere. curt is trying to be positive for his buddy, but also presumed bucky dead somewhere.

until some nice lady at the airport sees him kinda tweaking, asks if he was okay/has someone coming to pick him up and bucky's first thought is *oh right* i know who can pick me up (: curt (:

so he calls him up deliriously explaining that uhh he's not dead, he's at the airport in new york city y' gonna come get me or what?. and curt comes to get him, of course he does but he's *pissed*. he could tbfuckingh kill bucky himself right there. he loves him to death- so much that he knows coddling him isn't gonna do shit and it's a whole Thing. the buck (lol) has to end here, and curt is gonna see to it that it does even if means he has to be a little mean in the interest of (very) tough love.

i think i want to tackle actually writing this in full as a fic, but if i lose my energy with it i will reformat into one of my long headcanony posts. </3

#young vets au #buck x bucky #clegan #buckbucky

[fandomloreblog]

Yo Ironstrange fans, you wanna see canon interactions of the bickering Magician and Scientist: Marvel Midnight Suns.

Been playing the game for about a week now, and this game has single handedly sucked me into that ship. You have Tony “I’m terrified of the demonic Abbey” Stark having to share an underground Forge powered by a literal fire demon with Stephen “I’m too tired for this” Strange fucking around with with this sciencey gamma stuff called COIL, artifacts that got stolen from the New York Sanctum, and other goodies.

Not to mention there is a canon interaction on Superlink (A LITERAL CHAT FIC IN GAME) where Tony and Stephen consume an entire can of Espresso Chocolate and end up a mixture of delirious/drunk and end up becoming best buds, until Steve throws them both in the shower to sober up.

SPOILERS FOR THE END OF ACT 1: Another little gay thing is that Stephen’s would-be last words when faced with a near death experience, according to an actual voice line, was to tell Tony not to touch his stuff.

I. Am. In. Love. With. These. Idiots.

This game is what is single-handedly fueling my MCU Rewrite/AU I’m doing with my ocs and I am all for making Ironstrange canon for it.

#ironstrange #tony stark #stephen strange #doctor strange #iron man #marvel #mcu #marvel midnight suns #midnight suns #rambling #rambles #shipping #joke #iron man x doctor strange #tony stark x stephen strange #i dont even know what to tag this as

[pianocat939]

YOOOOO

IT'S TIME FOR A SCENARIO

Ok ok, so, it's like;

We have an MC that people normally see as someone who is very unaffectionate and who always seems to be on the defensive, to such a degree that people think that MC is someone who is Passive-aggressive all the time.

BUT

One day, the boys decide to visit MC at their home by surprise (because they had never visited MC before so they decided to visit him that day because the boys just wanted to)

Yap, at the moment MC will open the door/window (if the boys had decided that it was better to enter through the window) The first thing the boys see is that MC is in his pajamas, one which makes MC, who normally looks like is upset, look like a teddy bear.

And, surprise surprise, MC doesn't seem bothered by the boys' sudden visit to their home (there's only slight confusion, but nothing more than that).

The boys, who expected to receive at least one or another annoying comment or murmur, even a threat to get out of MC's house, are surprised to see the lack of the characteristic MC aggressiveness.

But, anyway, they accept the new discovered side of MC.

(Cut to some boys surprised by the hospitality and kindness with which MC treats them, offering to watch a movie or play one of the few board games in the house, even offering Cook them something)

In short, MC is totally someone who is much more meek and calm when he is in his home than when he is outside of it.

And the boys just love that, even planning to surprise visit MC individually more often.

(This thought came to me only because I imagined Rise! Raphael getting delirious about this, slowly thinking that every time he visits MC, he is actually returning home after a day doing his job ensuring the well-being of New York, being welcomed by his spouse -MC-, and simply living a domestic life)

(Meanwhile MC is just like: "Bruh??? ¿¿??")

NO SHIT-

MY WEAKNESS-

I hate cooking. I hate cleaning. And yet domestic life is one of my favourite troupes. Literally I am a hypocrite.

I-

…

I shouldn’t but…since I’m really fucking excited about writing my first part of my monster series (minus the 3 day delay with my trip)

Double mouthed lady Mikey who loves cooking for you. He feels so much joy when he has a big ass gourmet meal on the table, and happily loads food onto your plate with his chopsticks.

Don’t worry about leftovers!

He’ll take care of it…

By the next morning, you notice all the food from the night before is gone.

(IM TRYING SO HARD NOT TO SPOIL TOO MUCH OF THE CHARACTER ITSELF SCREAMING-)

- Celina

#rottmnt #tmnt #yandere rottmnt #yandere #yandere x reader #rottmnt x reader #yandere tmnt #tmnt x reader #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #blurbs

[brandycranby]

the berry sweetest

pairing: steve rogers x raccoon hybrid!reader

word count: 511

warning(s): chubby/plus-sized reader, no detailed description; mostly fluff and snuggles and kissies, hints of erotic situations; slight dehumanization and dom!Steve

author's note: forgive me, i know not what i did. only what i am, a soggy sad beast who yearns to be cuddled; based off of this text post i did earlier, will write more :))

Something… is touching his ears. 

“... wazzat?” Steve’s no stranger to going from dead asleep to battle ready. It's never a bad thing to be vigilant against Hydra sneak attacks even if said Hydra agents are gently stroking him awake.

But it’s only you, the poor little raccoon hybrid he saw in the dumpsters during his morning jog. It was an easy decision, upstate New York is no place to be outside in the wintertime. You were surprisingly easy to lure back to his quarters with only a jello cup and some yogurt in a tube. 

“Steve, Steeveeee.” Your pupils shine an eerie yellow in the gloom of night and your wandering hands are almost spidery as they skitter across his naked pecs.

Still, you’re the cutest softest thing he’s ever seen, fairly well-fed by the copious food waste the compound produced. Your lack of winter clothing had been worrisome, your only warmth coming from the soft drape of your tail around your body when he found you. You paw at his face again, a thin blanket around you as you shiver, already halfway on the bed.

“Hey, it’s ok. c’mere sweetheart.” With a scoop of his big arm, you’re on his bed, your plush limbs instantly curling around him in a satisfied squeeze. Steve laughs softly as you mewl and whimper little heem heems into his neck. “It's ok, you wanna kiss? Hmm?” 

Kiss… you have the vaguest sense of the word, some fuzzy memories of two people in AI uniforms entangled on a bench in front of your temporary den, their mouths touching like they were exchanging food. Confidently, you press your lips against Steve's, squeaking at the sudden pressure of his hands, one around your neck holding you at the perfect angle, the other cupping your bottom, encouraging you to snuggle closer. 

Yes! You like this, being very close means being warmer. And his hand is certainly warm, kneading your flesh in confident motions as you rock against him, moving in tandem with his lips to suckle your little tongue, drawing it into his mouth and releasing only when he can feel your chest strain for breath. You quiver, insatiable. “More uhm Steve more?” 

Steve huffs. Your yelp at the sudden tug on your stripey tail almost breaks his heart, but he’s responsible for you now. “What do we say?” He gives your winter fluff another warning pull when you take too long to think, drawing out big fat tears that make your eyes sparkle. 

“Puh-lease, snff please, Steve, kissies” 

How could he deny you? Dizzy and debauched in his arms, mouth swollen from his enthusiasm, little ears twitching, uncertain of all these new sensations but still deliriously happy at your newfound safety. 

“Good girl, what a good girl you are.” The praise slips out between messy smacks of your lips, the sound of you being all consumed by him. “I love you so much sweetheart.” He stifles your little squeals again, his own lips as red as berries. “I swear. Nothing bad will ever happen to you from now on.” 

---

masterlist

#steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x chubby reader #steve rogers self insert #my writing #raccoon hybrid!reader

[she-is-juniper]

The Devil I Know — Austin Butler x Reader

Pairing: Austin Butler x f!Reader

Type: Oneshot (i could be swayed to write more for this AU though...)

Summary: Between the two of you, Austin has always been in control. But when he denies your pleasure for his own gratification after two weeks away, you decide to make matters into your own hands.

Word Count: 7K...a monstrosity...

Rating: E (Explicit) ***18+ only. Minors DNI or you will be blocked.

Warnings: there's a lot.... Oral sex (male- and female- receiving), biting, bondage, dominant/submissive relationship, degradation, spanking, deepthroating, edging, orgasm denial, "sir" kink, power play, consensual sexual manipulation, forced orgasm (all of this is consensual)

A/N: At long last, it is here ♡ This is a work of fiction and is not intended to be taken as truth or fact. I do not claim to own Austin Butler or any other affiliated names or fictional events. Other details, such as names, locations, and events, are also fictionalized. Please note that the representations of body types in my moodboard are not intended to exclude anybody of any race, ethnicity, or body shape.

And please, for the love of all that is holy, comment/reblog/send asks if you want to see more of my writing—thank you in advance!

✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷

     It all started when you and Austin Butler locked eyes from across the red carpet. And now you lived together in a beautiful house with a cute dog and a big backyard.

     Ever since you’d started dating Austin Butler, your life had turned into a dream. He was the best boyfriend you’d ever had. He treated you so well, communicated with you, wasn’t shy to share his emotions. He celebrated with you, cried with you, enjoyed the little things in life with you. He whisked you away with him on travel, both for his job and for holiday: London, New York City, Bali, Rome. He kissed you in front of paparazzi without any inhibitions. He treated you as if you were a personal gift from God sent directly to him, and you loved it.

     But sometimes, dating Austin was a nightmare. Speaking facetiously, of course. But you’d never before been treated the way Austin treats you in bed. You’d never met someone with an appetite quite like his, sexually speaking. You’d never been with anyone before who was so singlemindedly determined to inflict such deliriously agonizing pleasure upon you. Austin was a man who knew exactly what he wanted, and you were at the focus. 

     Tonight, you and Austin were planning on going to a party hosted by one of the designers who worked with him on his latest project. The party was sure to be attended by all of the heavy-hitter celebrities in Austin’s circle. It was a themed party—The Devil I Know as the theme. According to one of your friends who’s planning on attending the party with her actor boyfriend, too, the name of the game for the party’s theme was red and black. You could just see it…a swath of partygoers clad in luxury leather and velvet, fur coats (faux, of course—this is Los Angeles, after all), fishnets, sleek tailored suits, chains, chokers. Think, Lucifer in luxury brands, your friend had elaborated. 

     And you had the perfect outfit. A tight-fitting number that looked more like glorified lingerie than a dress. It was the color of expensive Cabernet, with a V neckline accentuated with straps. The dress’s hemline was made of lush satin and delicate lace, under which you wore micro fishnet thigh highs and a garter belt. And of course, the outfit was elevated by decadent gold jewelry, your black Prada bag, and your trusty Louboutins. It was utterly indecent, even considering the party’s racy theme. You might as well have been wearing actual devil's horns as the cherry on top.

     But you don’t intend to leave for the party at all tonight. In fact, you had other intentions entirely for this night. Plans involving making Austin pay for what he’d done to you last night. 

     This summer, Austin had been traveling much more than usual, doing interview after interview to promote his new movie. That’s not why you want to punish him. In fact, you didn’t mind that he’d been gone more often than not lately; you’d been keeping busy with a life of your own, too.

     Last night, Austin flew back home after a two-week span away, mostly in New York. He’d wanted you to come with him on the trip, but you had work to do and had to decline. Austin was such a baby about that—he called you most every night, nearly begging you to catch the next flight to JFK and join him. You’d just laughed and told him you’d see him soon back in LA. Of course, he’d understood—but he made it clear to you every night (in the form of provocative texts and lewd photos) how badly he wanted you, needed you. 

     So when he finally returned home last night, he had two weeks worth of pent-up sexual energy. And he absolutely bombarded you…

     “Please,” you’d begged him, your voice absolutely shot with agony. Your hands strained against the handcuffs on either end of the headboard he had locked you in.

     Austin loomed over you like a stormcloud of dark desire. He had one of your legs pinned down with the weight of his own body, your other leg draped over his shoulder. And a vibrator, pulsing agonizingly slowly, pressed to your sex—enough to elicit a fine sheen of sweat on your forehead and a rivulet of moisture from your pussy, but not enough to actually get you off. 

     He smirked maniacally up at you. He knew exactly what he was doing. 

     You plead his name, trying to grind yourself against the vibrator. He brought his lips to your inner thigh and bit it gently with his perfect teeth while he turned up the setting, and you moaned in relief, finally able to lose yourself in the pleasure, which starts to grow and grow in rapid swells—

     Until he shut the vibrator off entirely. You wanted to scream in frustration, wanted to seize the toy in your own hands, but you couldn’t. And he had the audacity to grin maniacally at you.

     “Now you know how I’ve had to feel for the past two weeks without you,” he purred and did the whole thing all over again. 

     As you let last night’s memory flood your mind again, a furious warmth rushed to your core. He hadn’t let you get off that night, not once. He hadn’t given you a single thing you’d wanted. He hadn’t even given you himself—he’d made you watch while he got himself off to the idea of you being denied. And once he was done with you, you were far too exhausted physically and mentally to do anything about your neglected arousal.

     He would pay. He may have been the one in control last night, but not tonight. 

     You smirked to yourself at the thought and let your hips sway to the sound of the music playing through your AirPods as you finished washing up the last of the dishes. You were already dressed and ready to go, heels and all. It was nearly 6 pm; Austin was due home at any moment from a meeting with his agent. The plan was to leave the house by 7, get to the party by 7:45. Your clandestine agenda was to make sure that you never even left the house. 

     You suddenly felt a warm body press against your back and a pair of greedy hands slide over your waist. Those hands slid up your body, up your neck, all the way to your AirPods, and gently pulled them out so you could hear his reproving voice. 

     “You can’t possibly mean to go out like this.”

     “What?” you asked him, your red-lipped pout betrayed by the playful glint of your smokey eyes.

     And your boyfriend’s eyes, filled with barely-restrained hunger, raked down your body. God, you loved when he looked at you like that. “You look… You look…”

     “I look what?” you smirked. Austin seemed momentarily at a loss for words, and your smile only grew as you noticed the bobbing motion of his throat. You were well-aware of the sort of punishment from him this behavior would elicit. “This is the theme, isn’t it? The Devil I Know?”

     He didn’t reply. You stepped back and placed your hands on your hips, taunting him. Challenging him. His eyes followed the movement. 

     “What happened to the dress your stylist picked out?” he asked. “The one you’d texted a picture of to me last week?”

     Indeed you had a different outfit picked out last week, an elegant number by Armani, shipped straight from Italy. But you went this morning to shop for the alternative.

     “This seemed more fun,” you said dismissively.

     You had to admit, Austin looked pretty fucking debonair in his sleek suit, perfectly tailored and made of jet black satin. Your Armani dress was supposed to be his perfect match—black and black. But you hold firm, smoothing down the front of your new dress, which was just barely excusable for evening attire.

     And which was apparently was driving Austin all types of mad.

     Just as you’d planned.

     “You look…dangerous,” Austin finally finished his thought. You turned away to pat your hands dry on the kitchen towel, but you couldn’t hide your grin. 

     “Dangerous? Does that mean you don’t like it?” you simpered with concerned eyes. You already knew the answer to that.

     “I didn’t say that,” Austin muttered as a means of evading your question. But his eyes were quickly growing dark, like low-hanging clouds in the sky.

     “I guess I’ll just have to go change, then,” you purred, slowly stepping around Austin toward the bedroom. He didn’t hesitate a second to grab you gently by the arm, pulling you back.

     “Don’t change clothes,” Austin grumbled, and the rasp of his voice reeled you in like a fish on a line. You turned back to face him, fluttering your eyelashes at him.

     “So we’re going to the designers party after all, then?”

     “I think we’re going to be a bit late.”

     Whatever spell you’d cast on him was instantaneously broken. Austin pulled your hips toward him so your body was flush against his. You made a surprised sound, but your next breath was quickly stolen away by Austin’s fervent mouth against yours. His warm hand braced the back of your neck while the other snaked lower down your back, down toward the hem of your ridiculously short dress. A low growl vibrated across Austin’s chest as he touched the hidden garter belt. He gave your ass a squeeze, a motion that sent zings of warmth between your legs. 

     “Austin,” you gasped the moment he broke away. His pretty mouth was smeared with your lipstick. “I…”

     But you couldn’t finish your thought. Austin’s fingers were inching down again, tracing a line across the bottom curve of your ass. 

     “This is what you wanted, isn’t it,” he said. When you nodded, he chuckled lowly. “You devil. Such a naughty girl.”

     “If I’m the devil, then I’m right on theme,” you smirked at him. You barely registered as he guided you across the kitchen.

     “If you’re the devil, take me to hell with you.” 

     Your hip bumped against the side of the kitchen table. “You’d like it there,” you jested. “Nice place. Gets quite hot in the summertime, though.”

     The jokes were over, though. In one swift motion, Austin spun your body around so you were facing away from him. The next thing you knew, he bent you over at the waist, and your chest was pressed against the dining room table, arms splayed out in front of you.

     Oh.

     “We really are gonna be late, aren’t we,” you giggled, tilting your head to the side to face him. Austin stepped back for a brief second, his breath catching in his throat. What a sight you must have been…your backside shining up at him over the edge of the table, your dress—already so damn short—riding up your hips, revealing the prize hidden beneath.

     You arched your back, eager to show Austin all you had to offer—when Austin’s phone rang on the table.

     “Fuck,” Austin grumbled, straightening up.

     “Better get that,” you teased, letting your gaze fall conspicuously to the tent in his trousers. 

     Austin gave you a venomous glare as he answered his phone. It must be his agent again. He stalked into the kitchen, murmuring softly into the phone. He took a paper towel and wet it with water from the sink to wipe off the lipstick from his face, glancing back at you reproachfully a couple of times. You smiled to yourself, satisfied.

      By the time the call was over, Austin stalked back into the dining room, you’d perched yourself on the table, your fishnetted legs crossed.

     “We told Alexandra we’d be there at 7:45,” you reminded him, your voice sing-songy. “Reckon we should get going. Don’t you think?”

     Austin didn’t answer your question. “I didn’t say you could get up,” he said.

     “You didn’t say I had to stay there, either.” You met his angry scowl with a wicked smile. All your teasing was working. The storm brewing in Austin’s eyes was growing more and more turbulent.

     “Y/N,” he warned. He wasn’t getting what he wanted, and you weren’t about to give it to him so easily.

     “I can think of a dozen better positions, anyway,” you purred and beckoned for him to come close. He stayed back, but the second you uncrossed your legs and spread them wide, some of the steely resolve in his eyes seemed to dissolve. You took advantage of his moment of weakness and reached for his silk collar, already unbuttoned at the top two buttons. You pulled him to you, between your spread legs. He couldn’t resist.

     “Let’s make this quick,” you continued, grasping his stubbled chin with your other hand. “We have a party to go to, after all.”

     You brought his mouth to yours and kissed him, slowly and voluptuously, indulging yourself in the sweet taste of his lips. Your lips spoke one thing, but your intentions spoke another. If you played your cards just right, this ordeal wouldn’t be quick at all—it would be excruciatingly drawn out, which was precisely what you wanted. Reverse-psychology. It worked like a charm, every time. 

     Sure enough, just as Austin was beginning to lose himself in your kiss, he stiffened and pulled away. You barely had a chance to register what he was doing before he grabbed your hands, pulled you off the table, flipped you around, and bent you over once more.

     “Oh,” you grunted as Austin pressed your cheek into the table, hard. The action was careful but rough, and you loved it. 

     “I’ll decide how I want to take you,” he snapped. The hand on your head moved to your hairline, smoothing it back and away from your face. His other hand pressed heavily into your upper back, keeping your torso firm into the table. You could feel his pelvis against your ass, and upon assessing how hard he was through his trousers again, you bit your lip in anticipation. This was Austin’s favorite position. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t yours, too. But you weren’t about to admit that.

     Austin’s hands moved down the sides of your body. You felt him grind a little against your ass. You moved, too, appreciating the low “fuck” that came from his mouth as you arched your back toward him.

     “Everyone’s going to ask where we are,” you said, still moving your hips.

     “Don’t care.” Austin’s hands reached the hem of your skirt. “This is all you’re wearing underneath?” he asked as he pinched the thin straps of your garter belt. No underwear. You yelped as he let it snap back against your skin. Austin tsked. “Can scarcely believe you wanted to show up to a designer’s party like this.”

     “I can wear what I want to wear, thank you very much,” you grumbled half-heartedly. Austin’s touch became feather-light as he traced a line down the backs of your thighs. You realized he was moving to kneel on the ground behind you.

     God. You pressed your legs together, almost embarrassed by how wet you felt, how there was no underwear there to stop it from gliding down your inner thighs.

     Austin saw you squeeze your legs together and gently guided them back apart. “That you can, love,” he murmured, his words deliberate, calculating. “You can wear whatever you’d like.”

     “Then what—” You cut yourself off, swearing. Austin’s finger was circling a spot on your pussy, right at your entrance, where you knew the wetness has seeped. There was no hiding your arousal now, not with his face right there.

     “Going out with you looking like this,” Austin continued, pressing his fingers against you more firmly now. “I wouldn’t be able to contain myself at that party. And you knew it.”

     “You seem like you can hardly contain yourself now,” you mocked, a derisive edge to your tone. It seemed to fuel some furious energy within him. Austin growled again, pinching the insides of your thighs so hard you felt like your knees might buckle.

     “You know I don’t like being provoked, darling,” he scolded you. His face was so close to your body now that you could feel his hot breath fanning out over your thighs. “Better curb that attitude of yours. Or else I’m going to have to fuck it out of you.”

     Which was precisely what you desired. You wanted him, and you wanted it rough. But you played the game anyway.

     “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, finally showing your submissive side. The non-bratty, submissive side. But Austin pinched you again, and you couldn’t contain the breathy moan that spilled from your lips.

     “What was that?” he chided. 

     “I’m sorry, sir.”

     “That’s more like it.” He spanked you then, lightly, but the action was so unexpected that you yelped and arched your back. “Tell me, darling, who’s in charge here?”

     You tried to answer, but with the way he was suddenly caressing your thighs so lightly was bringing goosebumps all over your skin, and you couldn’t find the words.

     “Y/N,” Austin murmured. He smacked your ass again, harder this time. Your body flushed with heat and desire. “Answer me. Who’s in charge? You or me?”

     “You, sir,” you gasped. “You’re in charge.”

     And he was—at least outwardly. But he was a fool for not realizing quite the extent to which you had him wrapped around your little finger.

     “Good girl.”

     You played the game the way he wanted, and you arched your back, eager for your reward. And Austin, who started kissing his way up the insides of your legs, seemed just as eager to give it to you. 

     This was how it worked with Austin. You rile him up a bit, then you back down and submit just enough to give him what he wants, and then you rile him up again. Rinse and repeat. You wondered when, if ever, he’d catch onto the pattern.

     But you’d worry about that later. Right now, Austin’s mouth was preoccupying your thoughts. 

     Gradually, he kissed his way up, up, up. When he finally reached his destination—the summit between your thighs—he planted an open-mouthed kiss to the place you were the most wet. You moaned at the onslaught of heat from his mouth. His stubble—he hadn’t shaved for a few days—scraped against the sensitive skin of your thighs and your ass. You couldn’t get enough. Nor could Austin, it seemed. He seemed impatient to taste you.

     “So goddamn wet.”

     He spanked you again, and you knew there was going to be an angry red spot on your ass for the next few hours. He flipped the hem of your dress up onto your back so it was out of the way and slapped his hand to your ass once more. You shifted, uncomfortably turned on, desperate to feel the heat of Austin’s mouth again. 

     “Remind me our safeword again,” Austin asked you.

     You wanted to answer right away, but the tickle of a single finger circling right at your entrance replaced your words with a high-pitched moan.

     "Y/N, safeword," he prompted again.

     “‘Stop,’” you recited in a gasp.

     As instructed, Austin withdrew his finger.

     “No, don’t stop,” you corrected yourself. Austin chuckled. You and he decided right at the beginning of your relationship that the best safe word was the only one that truly only had one meaning: stop. God, you couldn’t imagine stopping now. The establishment of the safe word gave you both a sense of reassurance, however, that seemed only to perpetuate the passion between you two. But stopping was the last thing you wanted right now.

     “Just checking to see if you remembered.”

     Austin buried his face between your legs from behind. 

     A moan bubbled out from your throat, followed by another, and another. You felt your knees threaten to give out again, but Austin’s arms, wrapped securely around your thighs, steadied you.

     He felt unreal. The sounds his mouth was making against your pussy were obscene as he lapped at you, a feeling of silky smoothness and warmth coupled perfectly with the roughness of his beard. The thought of him burying his whole face in your ass, his eyes closed in ecstasy, his dick jumping to life in his trousers… fuck, it was going to be the death of you.

     And just when you thought it couldn’t possibly get any better, a sensation like no other sent jolts of electric desire across your body—his tongue slipping inside you.

     “Austin, fuck, I—fuck,” you panted. Your hands raked across the wooden table, desperate for some kind of purchase, for something to grab onto. They found nothing. You were slowly but surely beginning your spiral toward an orgasm, a realization that nearly alarmed you—he’d only just started with you.

     And you knew he didn’t like it when you came too quickly. 

     Yet, he did not let up. He gently pulled your legs apart even further, and as his tongue slipped in and out of you, his deft fingers zeroed in on your clit.

     “Don’t come until I say so,” Austin instructed.

     Fuuuuuck.

     He worked you into a gasping, moaning, dripping mess. You don’t know when his mouth had moved from your pussy, but you saw stars as you felt his tongue against your asshole—holy fucking shit, you could come just from the sensation. As minutes passed, you were gradually losing your grip on reality. Your climax was approaching sure and strong now. While your mind fought against it, knowing what would happen if you let go too soon, a veil of primal lust overshadowed every rational thought.

     You had only one choice, and that was to sit here and take it and chase your high. 

     And Austin knew it. He knew exactly what he was doing to you; he was setting you up for failure. He wanted you to come too early. He wanted to punish you. 

     “Baby, please, I—I can’t, I’m—Austin,” you cried in a dazed moan. His other hand had slipped inside your pussy while his mouth was preoccupied. This wasn’t fair. He really wasn’t letting up. He pulled his head away just enough to bite the skin of your upper thighs, gently, but enough that you could feel his teeth. His fingers moved faster and faster on your clit, giving you absolutely no way to come down. There was nothing to do to stop the approaching orgasm on the horizon.

     “Hold off for me, baby,” he encouraged. “You can do it. Don’t give in, not yet.”

     Edging. He wanted to edge you, again. But you wouldn’t have any control this time. And you didn’t want him to stop.

     “Austin, I can’t,” you keened. Reaching around behind you, your hands finally found something to hold onto—Austin’s head, keeping him in place against your ass. You cried out and buried your fingers in his hair, pressed his face into you.

     And that was it. You were past the point of no return.

     Austin’s fingers slowed as he realized what was happening, but it was too late. You felt your desire swell over you like a tsunami, and your whole body convulsed in response. Your moans peaked in volume and pitch as you thrashed against his touch. It was so good, so fucking good, that you couldn’t think about what was happening, what you’d just done. 

     You fell limp against the kitchen table. It was over.

     You lied there gasping for breath. Time had stopped and restarted itself. Droplets of moisture—a mixture of Austin’s saliva and your own pleasure—rolled down your thighs.

     Austin stood up and said nothing, but your mind was still too hazy to turn and face him. You heard him make a small, exasperated sound. But he was silent.

     You took a shaky breath. “That wasn’t…” You gulped, your throat dry. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

     “Stand up,” Austin said bluntly. You took your time to heave yourself up from the table and turned to face him, looking up at him through your eyelashes. He was a sight to behold…his hair mussed up, his cheeks flushed, his mouth glistening with your wetness. Despite his facade of disappointment, you could tell by the way his pupils were blown wide that he was absolutely ravenous about what just happened.

     “I’m sorry, sir,” you said in a quivering voice. As if to discount your words, an aftershock came across you, and you jolted and sighed. Austin watched the brief shudder run through your body. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

     “You know the rule about coming,” he chastised.

     “I—”

     “Only good girls get to come,” he continued. You saw his hands, which rested on his hips, twitch toward the center of his hips. “And only when I say so. I didn’t say you could come yet, Y/N.”

     Normally, you’d make some kind of bratty comment that you were well aware of his stupid rule, but the implication of his words made you shudder again. 

     “I didn’t mean to, baby,” you said quickly as you squeezed your thighs together. “I just couldn’t…I couldn’t resist.”

     “Couldn’t resist?” You didn’t miss the way Austin took a small step toward you. “Well. If you couldn’t resist coming, love, that was your decision. But you know the rule. You leave me no choice.”

     “I know,” you said, hanging your head, although your body buzzed like a live wire. Austin lifted your chin to his with a single finger. His eyes were bright beneath his heavy lids.

     “Such a filthy girl. My dirty little slut. Down on your knees,” he demanded. “Now.”

     You resisted the urge to drop to your knees right away; instead, you took your time, playing the role of reluctance. Once you settled into a kneel, you blinked up at Austin with a doe-like gaze.

     An angel wearing the devil’s clothes. At least, that’s what you were going for.

     It worked. Austin’s face softened a bit, and he rubbed your cheek with his thumb. That same thumb came to your mouth, dragging across your bottom lip. Your lipstick was probably everywhere, but that’s exactly how he liked it. 

     “I love you,” Austin mouthed. A check-in, you knew. The slightest of role-breaking. But it was enough. You just bit your lip and smiled coyly, whispering it back response.

     And then his hands were fumbling with the belt on his pants. You waited patiently as he unbuttoned and unzipped, and as he guided his trousers off his hips, you helped. Austin’s briefs looked uncomfortably tight. With those, he let you take the reigns with pulling them off.

     His throbbing erection emerged and sprung out, hard as a metal rod. God, after all this time, and you’ll still never get over his cock and the fact that it was yours. You squeezed your thighs at the familiar sight.

     His phone rang—again. “Don’t answer it,” you told Austin.

     “Wasn’t planning on it,” Austin murmured as he pumped himself a bit. “You look too fuckin’ gorgeous down there.”

     “You want me, baby?” you asked him. 

     “Always,” he answered. You licked your lips in anticipation. “C’mere.” He beckoned you, and you crawled closer to his legs, eyes glued on his manhood. Desperate to help him out, you brought your hands up to his, but he swatted them away. “Hands by your sides.”

     You did as you were told.

     “Fuck,” he whispered. “There’s my good girl.”

     You smiled. It really was that easy.

     Austin kept jerking himself gently off with one hand and brought his other to cares your cheek. You sat up straighter and parted your lips. “Open up wider, baby. Show me your tongue.” You did, and Austin cursed again. You inched your head closer to his cock, breathing through your mouth so he could feel how warm you were. 

     “Doing such a good job listening to me,” he said. “Almost makes me feel bad about having to punish you.”

     “Please punish me, sir,” you pleaded. “I deserve it.”

     “You want this dick, darling? You want me?” When you nodded, he said, “Need to hear you say it, Y/N.”

     “Yes, please, I want you. So bad.”

     “Good.” He started moving his hips toward you, and secured his hand to the back of your head. He tilted the tip of his cock toward your open mouth. “I’ll give it to you, baby.”

     You kept your eyes locked on Austin’s as he slowly, slowly slid his member between your lips.

     A guttural sound came from the back of his throat. As you took more and more of him, inch by inch, his eyelids fluttered and his throat bobbed.

     “Shit,” he groaned. The hand around the back of your head stiffened into a fist around your hair. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m—fuck.”

     You closed your eyes, tasting him. Salty, but clean. Undeniably Austin. You loved this. You loved getting punished. Maybe he’d catch on one day that this was why you acted out so often. It wasn’t much of a punishment when you loved it this much.

     Austin was so deep now that he filled your whole mouth. You wrapped your lips around his shaft, and sucked, gently, just a little. But at the sight of your puckered red lips and hollowed cheeks, Austin let his head fall back with a loud moan.

     The hand on your head guided you, but it wasn’t like you really needed it. You knew exactly what to do. You pulled away slowly, letting the bottom of the head drag along your tongue, and then pushed it right back into your mouth. Again, and again, and again. With each thrust, you let him hit the very edge of your throat, right at the soft palette. And it was driving Austin insane. 

     “Fuckin’ take it, baby,” he groaned. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it. God, you feel so fucking good.”

     He was likely too distracted now to notice if you move your hands. Grasping the base of his dick, you pumped him with your hand while your head moved. Austin’s hand fell from the back of your head, and by the dazed look on his face, you knew you had him in the palm of your hand. Literally.

     Just when you were getting into a groove, you pulled all the way off of him with an obscene sound, a string of saliva and precum stuck on your tongue. He was so swollen he was almost purple, and the lipstick marks all over his shaft was a delightful sight. You gave your mouth a rest and worked him with your hands, spreading the slickness all over his shaft before jerking him off. Responsive as always, Austin let a stream of groans and praises fall from his parted lips. 

     You wondered if he could tell how much you love this, this punishment. Your enthusiasm couldn’t be mistaken, surely. He looked like he needed some love elsewhere, so you dipped your head and kissed his balls. He yelped a little in surprise as you sucked them ever so gently, and then licked a long stripe up from the base of his shaft to the very tip of his head. 

     There, you tasted the fresh droplets of precum that had accumulated there from your ministrations. Austin breathed in a shaky gasp as you flicked your tongue along the most sensitive place on the underside of his head. 

     “Jesus Christ,” he swore.

     His phone buzzed with a series of texts.

     You gave him a wry look, wrapping your lips around just the tip, and to your surprise, he seemed not to have even noticed his phone. Which was good. There was no way you were stopping things now. You knew you were skilled at this, and you knew you were working him to his limit, which is why you didn’t have much time. Pretty soon, he’d be pushing you off of him to prevent himself from coming too soon, to buy himself enough time to fuck you properly.

     What he didn’t know is that you wanted his cum in your mouth, all over your lips, dripping down your throat.

     And you had the perfect trick up your sleeve to get what you wanted.

     Sure enough, as soon as you started bobbing on his cock again, Austin squeezed your shoulder. “Slow down, darling,” he said, his jaw clenched. 

     Not a chance. You smirked around his cock and didn’t slow down one bit. He seemed to lose the words to ask you again to slow down. You moved with new vigor and brought your hand to the base of his shaft, moving it along with your mouth.

     “Y/N,” Austin moaned—a panicked warning. His hand squeezed your shoulder again. You knew he knew the safe word. But he wasn’t using it.

     You hollowed your cheeks and sucked as you bobbed on him, just the way he liked it, just the way you knew would make him start falling apart. It was working. Austin’s back arched and his breaths grew shallow and strained. Between your lips, you could feel him swell.

     “Y/N, please,” he gasped, and you raised an eyebrow at the pretty word from his lips. Please. His hand, squeezing your shoulder, pushed you away gently, but the movement was weak. Indecisive. He didn’t want to push you away.

     It was time you pulled that perfect trick out from your sleeve. Relaxing your throat just the way you’d practiced, you brought your hands to Austin’s ass and pulled his hips toward you—all the way. His cock hit the soft, warm place at the back of your throat. You breathed in and out with steady, calm breaths through your nose. 

     “I…I can’t…Y/N, you—fuuuuuuck!”

      You took all of him, every inch. His cock slid down the back of your throat.

     Through your watery eyes, you looked up at Austin and saw the disoriented astonishment on his face. And oh, how you wished you could capture the disoriented astonishment on his face in your memory forever. He looked as if he’d never experienced anything like this, ever. 

     Nor had you. It was a novel feeling to take him so deeply like this. Your throat burned slightly as his girth stretched it out, but you’d been expecting it. You’d preparing for this. No amount of preparation could have done any justice to the primal emotions it unlocked to be pleasuring him so intimately. You liked the way it felt, Austin filling your throat like this, spit dribbling down your chin—not to mention his reaction.

     Relaxing your throat as much as possible, your lips hit the base of Austin’s shaft, the tip of your nose poking his pelvis. Austin gasped out, a choked sound. His eyes darted about, but then you hummed against his cock, and any deliberation he’d had was gone. His hips jolted at the vibration from your throat, and you gagged a bit around him, but you didn’t care. You could handle it. A stream of curses came from his mouth as your throat vibrated while he was still deep inside you.

     You swallowed around him, the muscles of your throat contracting. You knew he could feel everything. 

     “Y/N,” he nearly sobbed your name out. His voice was so weak, almost broken. You’d broken him. “I… Please don’t stop… I’m gonna…I’m…”

     You didn’t stop. 

     Austin’s whole body went rigid and his hips stuttered. You held him steady as his cock pulsed, and with one loud moan, Austin couldn’t stop himself. He went over the edge. You pulled out a bit and braced yourself. His knees nearly giving out, Austin arched into you and released the tension in his body. You felt his whole cock surge and pulse as he came down your throat in thick, hot spurts.

     You swallowed everything.

     As you slowly slid yourself off his cock, gasping for breath, spit covering your mouth, Austin nearly lost his balance. He leaned against the edge of the table, still panting, still unable to say anything. You wiped your mouth in satisfaction.

     Seconds passed. Neither of you said a word until you caught your breath and Austin caught his grip on reality. He met your eyes, absolutely bewildered.

     “What?” you finally asked, and you couldn’t keep the smug undertone from your voice. 

     “I—” he stammered, but he couldn’t finish. He looked away. He was suddenly like a completely different person, embarrassed and shy and blushing and still completely stupefied. His cheeks were still flushed with desire. He hadn’t bothered to pull his trousers back up, and frankly, he was still rock hard. 

     “What’s wrong, baby?” you cooed as you got to your feet. You made a show of pulling up your thong, smoothing down your skirt, fixing your jewelry. 

     “You… When did you learn to do that?” he whispered, dumbfounded, unable to meet your gaze again. 

     You smirked. “What do you mean?” you asked innocently. 

     “With… With your throat,” he clarified, almost angrily. 

     You tittered. “Oh, that? Just a little something I’ve been practicing.” You cocked your head devilishly. “Didn’t you like it, baby?”

     “I…” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t… I mean, I… I did, it’s—it’s just, I didn’t mean to… That wasn’t…”

     “…Supposed to happen?” you completed his sentence, your voice taunting, jesting. The same words you’d told him when you’d come too early. “Aw, honey. It’s okay.”

     Austin finally looked at you again. He was finally regaining his focus, and suddenly, a glimmer of frustrated realization shone in his eyes.

     It was as if you could watch the exact moment he realized what had happened. He realized that you’d been planning it to go your way all along. 

     “Y/N,” he said, but whatever threat he’d tried to muster up in his voice was empty. 

     Before you could reply, your own phone buzzed on the kitchen island. You didn’t hesitate to retrieve it.  

     “Hello?” you answered, sauntering back over to Austin. “Oh, Alexandra! Hi!” 

     His eyes trailed on you as you talked on the phone.

     “Yeah, I’m so sorry, we’re just running a bit behind. We haven’t left yet.”

     You let your eyes fall to Austin’s lap. He blushed a deeper shade of red, realizing, and pulled up his boxer briefs and trousers.

     “You think it’ll be okay if we show up late?...Oh, great. That’s wonderful. See you soon. Okay, bye.”

     You hung up. Austin said nothing. 

     “Alright, then,” you said cheerily. “Alexandra says almost everyone is showing up late, so as long as we’re there by 9, we’re golden.” Truthfully, you hadn’t been sure how the night would pan out. Your original plan was to make Austin stay so late with you that the party wouldn’t even be an option. But if you could still show up fashionably late, so be it. 

     Austin stared. You patted his thigh endearingly, almost demeaningly. “Let’s get to it. We’re already late.”

     You turned to stroll away toward the bedroom, but Austin grabbed your arm. He glowered at you but didn’t say anything. 

     “Are you going to let me go anytime soon?” you said lightly after a long moment. “I need to go clean up, unless you want me showing up looking like I just deepthroated your cock.”

     He jolted in surprise at your words. A few seconds later, he let you go. “You’re going to pay for this later,” he said, but it was more of a stammer than a warning. 

      You smiled through your eyelashes, rubbing at your bottom lip absentmindedly. And then you turned away from Austin, letting your hips sway as you ambled in the direction of the bedroom. Little did he know that “paying for it later” was part of your plan all along, too.

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Author’s Note: ...So are y'all sweating as much as I am, or...?

Thank you so much for reading! This is probably the filthiest thing I've ever written, and I'm not sorry about it.

I’m dying to hear your thoughts about it! Please note that I write fanfiction for free; my only request for repayment is a genuine expression of your thoughts, opinions, likes/dislikes, and predictions about the story. Whether it’s simply a “Wow, I loved it!”, a keyboard smash, a series of convoluted thoughts in the tags, or even a full-out review, please know that any and all feedback is welcome!

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Much love ❤︎ from Juniper

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