#i made this listening to red lights on loop

[carolmunson]

you get me closer to god | kas!eddie (dark)

entry for my fall frenzy requests. this request comes in from @edsforehead: 'something with kas!eddie in a graveyard.'

a/n: y'all, i don't know. i kind of snapped with this one. sort of canon compliant. inspired by a post that i saw that said that after vampires feed they have an insatiable desire to breed afterwards. steve also makes an appearance cause i love him.

tw: 18+ MDNI, dub-con, dub-con, dub-con (reader does get into it). use of hypnosis, coercion. blood play, blood drinking, biting. very obvious power dynamics at play here. death of minor character mentioned. p in v smut, rough and sensual. oral (f-recieving), monster-type-fucking. mild chasing trope. some religious elements if you squint??? anyway i listened to closer by nine inch nails on a loop for this if you wanna know the general vibe. let me know if there is anything i missed and need to put on here!

October 31st, 1998

Your niece had a better haul than you ever did at this age, it seemed like every house on the fancy side of Hawkins was giving out full size candy bars. No one ever gave you full size candy bars. The Harrington's had outdone themselves this year, hoards of kids picking out wrapped caramel apples and passing out spiked cider to the parents. Humming and smiling while the adults hugged their parkas to their chests, kids running up and down the stairs of the cul de sac of Hawkins Mansions. Decorated to the nines -- you were happy that most of the street would tire her and all of her friends out. "Auntie!" she calls out, hurrying over to you while her pink and purple puffer coat swishes with her. Alycia glitters against the lights of the houses in the dark of the night, the red sequins on her leotard making her easy to find. Your sister-in-law made her a headband fitted with red horns with a pointed tail sewn into the back of the red tu-tu from her Spring recital to match. A Dancing Devil she called it -- for newly six, she was a pretty creative little bug.

"Auntie look," she yells, running into your legs. The spiked cider sloshes in your cup that you hold high over her head so it doesn't spill onto her. She holds up a decorated caramel apple covered in eyeballs made out of sugar.

"Gross, Leesh," you giggle, "It's got eyeballs all over it!"

"They're fake eyeballs, Auntie," she explains like you're stupid, "They're not real eyeballs."

"Oh, thank you for telling me. I didn't know," you giggle, catching Steve watching the two of you chat. Your cheeks burn, that crush from when you were fourteen and he spent the summer working at the mall never fully fading. He's married with four kids now so you should probably get over it. "How're things?" he asks from the curb, coming over to sneak Alycia a couple of Reese's cups. "They're good," you shake your head with a shrug, "They're fine. Out here with the rugrat while her mom's at work." "How's the family, your mom?" he presses, arms crossing over his broad chest that stretch the sleeves of his tan workwear jacket.

"She's doin' okay," you smile tightly, "Always a little hard for her this time of year."

"Five years now, isn't it?"

"To the day," you say with a lilt, "Gonna go visit him after I drop her with her grandparents. My dad'll be so thrilled to steal half her stash."

Your laugh is a little hollow when he squeezes your shoulder comfortingly, he slips a candy bar into your hand, too before saying his goodbyes -- set of twins running around his ankles.

Hawkin's bravest fireman somehow off duty on a night like this turns before you take your niece's hand to leave, "Be careful out there at night. You know it's not always safe."

"You don't believe in all those rumors, do you Harrington?" you laugh.

"Don't have to believe them or not," he says seriously, pushing his wire rims up his nose, "I know they're not rumors."

"Happy Halloween, Steve," you say dully, "Goodnight." You both wave, Alycia's little hand in yours while she rattles off a million words a minute about the skeloton outside of the Sinclair house. The moon glows down over the street, dark clouds slicing it like a broken plate.

You rarely visit your brother on the day of, especially since there's always idiot teenagers running around the place. Not exactly easy to mourn when some loser in a Scream mask keeps trying to scare you.

It was quiet, your Docs crunching on mid-fall frosty grass -- some of it already half dead with the season. Commotion from the town in the distance had dulled into mostly nothing now that the kids had turned in for the night. Families turning their porch lights out, settling in for scary movies and sugar highs.

You squeeze the bouquet of baby's breath and eucalyptus a little hard in your hands when you walk through the tombstones. The low lamps along the walk way casting the grass and asphalt in a looming orangey glow -- not offering much light beyond their posts. The moon does the work, still looking shattered amongst the thin gray clouds sliding through the sky.

You hear some giggling, the rustle of leaves, the snap of twigs. Always an outlier of kids doing spells or a Ouija board out here this time of year -- old Chief Hopper coming down to make them scatter and take their weed. You walk off the path when you get a decent way in, crossing away from where the cemetary mostly turns to forest. Four 'Happy Birthday To Yous' into the brush and then a left, two head stones, then a right -- it's the third headstone on the fourth row. No light to shine down on you this time, just whatever's left in the sky. You take your big yellow scarf off from around your neck to lay over the grave, giving yourself a place to sit so your spandex covered thighs didn't have to touch the grass. Your mom would kill you if you got grass stains on the red trench she let you borrow -- a makeshift Carmen Sandiego costume if anyone asked.

You sit, laying the bouquet right at the granite edge, tracing his name before letting your hand drop. You don't say anything for a while, letting the cool wet air run over you in waves. You wonder if the wind blowing is him saying hey.

A few cemetery patrons come by, pay their respects to their loved ones and leave. Some superstitious, some religious. They fade out after a while. The loneliness is comforting, just you and your brother hanging out together like before. Despite being six years apart, it felt like you both always had some weird wonder twin telepathy. He was never really one for a lot of words.

"Didn't that guy tell you not to come around here so late?"

You jump at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, turning around to see an even more unfamiliar person. Wild curly waves messy around his face, cut in 80s shag perfection. His face chiseled, jawline pronounced with soft stubble, soaked in fake blood. It trails down his neck and stains the white of the baseball tee underneath a leather jacket; fitted over top with a battle vest that rivaled the metal heads of the 70s.

"Who're you, huh? You following me?" you ask. You swallow nervously, finding solace in seeing a few other cemetary visitors mosying around. The faint giggle of more mischeif causing teenagers in the distance.

"Sorry," he laughs, a warm laugh that meets his eyes, "Didn't mean to scare you. I um, I saw you over by the cul de sac, overheard him say somethin' to you. I was with my little cousin -- dressed like a mermaid, I don't know if you remember."

You think back to Leesh's pal of trick-or-treaters, scanning them in your head to recall a little girl with big brown eyes and a makeshit Ariel costume on under her jean jacket -- covered in patches much like his.

"Yeah," you smile, "I remember. But that didn't answer my question -- are you following me?"

"Nah," he grins, shaking his head, "I'm visiting someone -- this was just a happy accident."

"Oh," you respond quietly, "Who're you visiting if you don't mind me asking."

"My mom," he shrugs, scrunching his nose, "Halloween was her favorite holiday so I always try to come say hi."

"Oh, I'm sorry," you offer in condolences, "Did you um -- did you grow up here? I feel like I'd remember you."

"Nope," he sighs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans while his wallet chain jingles next to his thigh, "Grew up with my uncle."

"Oh, nice," you nod, "Well um --"

"Who're you visiting?" he interrupts, sitting on the gravestone next to your brother's; hardware tinkling prettily as he does.

"Pete," you say, hand out to gesture towards the shiny granite in front of you, "My brother."

"Nice to meet you, Pete," he turns his head, curly hair flouncing over his shoulder, "Pleasure."

You laugh, he laughs with you -- you have to laugh about it or else you'd have to deal with the alternative. You're pretty sure you're all cried out about your brother now.

"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"He worked construction," you shrug, "Took an overnight shift five years ago by the quarry, an' it was Halloween so he was workin' by himself -- no one to spot his safety gear. Must've fallen off the rigs or something and since it rained a lot that year the quarry was basically a lake at that point, hit his head and drowned. His body was completely banged up and waterlogged, they could only ID him from his pass in his pocket."

"Shit," he nods, "That's -- that's fuckin' awful. I'm sorry."

You shrug, "Bitch of living, I guess."

"Hm," he nods, "I wouldn't know."

"What do you mean?" you ask with a cocked head, eyes lingering on him while his linger on you. "Don't worry about it," he smirks, the kind that makes your heart flutter; cheeks getting hot at the sound of his voice. "You know something," you start, "With this whole get up -- and you're not from here so you might not know -- you look just like --"

"Eddie Munson?" he asks, with raised brows, "Yeah, my aunt's been telling me that forever. That's why I sorta dressed up like him for Halloween."

"That's dangerous around Hawkins, especially this time of year," you warn him, standing up from your spot and picking up your scarf. You shake it out to get some of the grass of the underside. You hardly notice the way his eyes trail from your shoes over your calves to your thighs.

"Some people say that he went right to hell after that earthquake since he killed that girl," you explain, shrugging the trench off some to fit the scarf on under it, "And now he's a demon that haunts Hawkins and terrorizes the town."

You both laugh, though his drops to a low and guttural hum. Nearly a growl. You lift your head to see him just a foot in front of you now, and you can really look. You can really see him. The paleness in his skin, tendrilled navy veins raising through it as he leans close to you.

At this distance it's clear that the hollowness in his eyes isn't makeup, but the sparkling brown is sunken into his skull. His brows darkened and determined while he looks at you.

At this distance, it's clear that the blood on his jaw is real.

"They're close," he says with a sly smile, "Really should've listened to Harrington, sweetheart."

You swallow hard, icy sweat in a film on your body while he takes a step forward.

"Those rumors are true."

The icy air shreds your throat as you run, heaving it in and out in gasps. Your calves scream, thighs aching while you sprint through the brush of the forest; trench and scarf long forgotton somehwere amongst the trees. You try to ignore the way twigs and branches swipe at your face, slicing you and scratching you with unforgiving whips. You let out a cry while you speed, leaping over roots and piles of leaves all while trying to listen with peak percision. Is he close? Is he getting closer? Can he see you?

You stop behind a log near a dip in the earth, rocks above it. Climbing in you heave, trying to catch your breath -- you aren't really made for this. You don't know how girls in the movies can run that long without needing a break.

With a deep inhale in, you hold, using the quiet to try and hear him but there is nothing to be heard. No rustling, no creaks in the wood or in the wind.

You catch your breath, slowly creeping out of your hiding space while the darkness hones -- trees blocking out some of the moonlight. You take a step and then another, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Your efforts are of no use though -- you stomach turns at the sound. The flap of wings, leathery wings -- big. A shaky breath in gives you the courage to turn your eyes up. On one of the taller branches above you he sits, pale and domineering, "Hi, sweetheart."

You bolt again, depserate and sobbing while the cold air is no longer a hello from your brother but mother nature's cruel bite on your wet cheeks. You can barely take in breaths without pain in your throat and chest, turning left and right and left again to lose him but from above he can predict your every move.

When you hear silence again you take another turn, a mausoleum broken down a short distance away. You crawl your way in, wet earth and cement hitting your nose while you gasp and heave for the second time. You listen for the wings for moment, a few moments -- a calm washing over your back when you're sure he's gone.

You take a step back further into the darkness to be sure you're unseen. Deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. One, twice, three times.

Another step back and you bump into a pillar making you jump, a screech wrenching from you.

Not a pillar no, not by the way a set of claw bites into your shoulder.

"Would've been a good hiding spot if it wasn't for me finding it first, right?" he quips, "Bummer." "Y-you can't d-do this," you cry, "The r-rumors are true they'll -- they'll look for me! Steve knows about you!"

"Oh, babe, that's so cute," he muses with a giggle, "Why do you think I'm still here, huh? Steve's just like me, he's bitten too."

"B-but--"

"Why do you think he believes in all those rumors, huh baby?" he asks with a lilt, "Cause he's one of 'em. Well -- not all the way, I guess. Not like me."

"He blows my cover he blows his whole operation," he grins, sharp teeth bearing themselves at you, "Why d'you think he only works night shifts?"

"I -- don't -- I don't," you sputter, "Pl-please d-don't bite me, d-don't eat me I -- I'll do whatever."

"You're too funny," he says in your ear, deep and grizzly while you're rooted to the spot under his clutch, "I already ate, sweet girl. But you'll make a fine dessert."

You don't know how you get there but it's not like home -- it is but it isn't -- dark and deadly; covered in slithering vines. You're too petrified to ask; but whatever this place was, despite the spores in the air and the rubble from the walls -- it was much nicer than the trailer he grew up in.

"Shh, shh, shh," he coos, claws deep in your shoulder while he wrenches you to a bed covered in plush linens -- satin and full. In the blur around you it could almost be a movie set; the booms of red lightening, dripping pillar candles in heaps around the room.

You whimper at first when his claws release, hot blood oozing against your sweater. The pain pulses like a dull thud, spit flooding your mouth while you move to your side to wretch but he catches you by the root of your hair. You wail in fear, smelling the decay in his breath, the sweet subtle rot of your surroundings.

"It's not polite to cause a scene in a stranger's home, right princess?" he asks with a soft lilt. He holds your gaze, warmth spreading over you when he smirks again -- and despite your fear, you can't look away. You aren't even sure if you want to look away.

Your body goes slack on the comforter, melting into itself like a dropped marionnette. "Very good," he purrs. Hazy, you feel his hands on you -- losing their warmth while they sneak under the hem of your sweater. The pads of his fingers are soft in comparison to the tips of his nails, grazing your stomach and sternum before reaching up to cup your breasts. He lets out a shallow breath, squeezing the delicate flesh softly in his palms -- so gentle despite his rough demeanor.

His thumbs graze your nipples in slow circles earning him a mewl from your dry throat.

"So easy," he giggles in a whisper. You nearly pout when his hands slide down and away from you; beginning the unhurried removal of your clothing. He moves glacially, eyes remaining on yours, wraiths of whispers in a lanuage you don't understand fluttering in the air around you -- in one ear and out the other. Part of you wants to scream and thrash while he slides off your spandex, rips the seams of your panties, destroys your socks.

His clawed hands shred your sweater, snap your bra at the straps until all your clothes are left in a heap on the dusty floorboards by a forgotten desk. He crawls over you like a predator, undressed himself now: some how bigger, more hulking than before. His shoulders are broad, muscles flexing while skin so white it's nearly blue stretches over it. Whatever is down here has completely infected him, you can see it in the color of the veins beneath his skin, the slight red in his pupils, the dark blue hues under his eyes.

His wings lift high around him in an arched half circle, tips appearing behind him like a hybrid of horns and halo at once.

"Could smell you from here," he leers, "since last night. Christ, fucking drooling over you like a kid."

You whimper again, body jolting in pain when his nails pierce your thighs when he parts them. Fresh ichor spilling from the wounds in deep sanguine and he doesn't seem to care about the mess he's making while it drips onto the sheets. His cavalier manuevering comes off as though he likes to play with his food before he eats it.

"And I don't know what it is, angel, how my senses find the right ones," he rasps while he leans forward to your blood soaked shoulder; serpent tongue slipping out to lave over it, "But you really called to me this year; think you might be the one."

"The o-one wh-what?" you sniffle. His tongue slides over the lacerations on your shoulder again, sucking slightly from the new wounds. He lets out a groan, using free hand to rest on the side of your rib cage for support.

He deatches from the well he drinks from, tip of his nose running over your decollatage and up your neck. In inhales over your jugular, pressing a wet kiss under your jaw before getting to your ear.

"The one I mate with, sweetheart," he breathes, "The one I breed."

Breed? You heart sinks like a stone into your belly, body tensing in a freeze while you think of what to do. How to get out of here.

"Wait," you gasp, arms coming up to push at his chest and push him away, "No, please, wait -- you can't."

You push and push but he's a stone pillar, he barely moves, his muscles barely push inward at your assault. He tuts, the click of his tongue between his teeth almost a chitter. He noses your cheek before looming over you, tips of your noses brushing. He catches your gaze again, the whispers start while the air blows in through the broken window. Obedire domino tuo, obedire domino tuo, obedire domino tuo. His lips aren't moving but you can hear his low voice in your ears, barely there, swirling around in your subconcious while the wind whispers with it. Another flash of red lightning illuminates him in a streak, the rumble of thunder vibrating your belly and chest. His hand floats up from your rib cage while you settle, cupping your cheek to slide down to your jaw and over your neck. The touch is nearly comforting, dipping you back into a haze like before.

"You were saying?" he asks.

"Hm?" your brows pinch, his voice muffled and far away.

"That's what I thought," he says smugly, head dipping back down to your neck where his lips drag over your delicate skin. His breath leaves a patch of wet heat that lingers when he moves down over your chest, fangs peeking out behind his full lips when he drags them over the swell of your left breast.

A gentle gasp escapes you, eyes fluttering closed when the tip of his tongue teases your pert nipple, blowing cool air against it once soaked with his spit. He flicks against it again, alternating sides, presses kisses over them in clear ownership. The more he tasted of you, the more it belonged to him.

With each touch and tease of your tits the more you gasp and whine beneath him, he chuckles from his belly, moving down to your sternum.

"And I died a virgin, can you believe it?" he asks with a cocky lift to one of his brows, "Now all I gotta do is smile and girls like you 'll just fall into bed with me."

There's cotton in your ears, all you can do is nod slowly while blood still leaks from your shoulder and thighs. All you can feel is his mouth and hands travel further and further down. The wind howls and the low chant in the back of your head changes tune but in the same cadence; over and over again: vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis.

He licks a stripe up the back of your thigh to catch a bead of blood before it reaches the mattress, savoring you. He feeds from the gouges he left behind for a moment before inching forward to the apex of your thighs. Eddie inhales your scent deeply, the earthly musk of you making his mouth water in a mix of metal and spit. His nose brushes against the untrimmed hair of your mound, ghosting himself over it drunk with attraction.

Your body heats up with mild embarrassment, flexing while your hips writhe slightly underhim. Almost as if he can hear your thoughts he kisses the crease of your thigh, "Nothing to be embarrassed about, baby. Girls don't let it grow like this anymore n' it's such a shame."

You want to speak up and explain it's just 'cause you haven't had the time but your tongue doesn't know how to move anymore. Too tired to speak, too caught up in how he feels, how he touches, how he takes what he wants. You relent again, body relaxing; pliant while he spreads you apart for him a desperate moan pulling from you when his tongue -- still soaked in your blood -- glides from the pool of slick at your opening all the way up to your clit.

You almost gag at the way your body betrays you, sending a spread of electricity over your nerves from your core to your finger tips. "More," you whisper, not even believing you're begging for him, "Please, more."

Eddie's smug in his response, smiling with his eyes while he looks up at you from between your legs, "And good manners? You spoil me, princess."

Your back arches in a soft curve when your hips push back into the mattress, pressing yourself into his waiting mouth. He groans again when your body drips for him, leaving a damp sheen on his cheeks and chin. It's not about your pleasure despite how much of it he's bringing you, but about your consumption. He's devouring you. Licking his plate clean from the outside in.

The moans he takes from you spur him on, getting you further and further away from the fight you put up before. Spilling over for him like a puddle while you writhe, a hand reaching out to rake through his hair. His own reaches up from aroud your thigh to hold you by the wrist tight to your side.

"Hands to yourself," he murmrs, soft lips wrapping around your swollen clit to suck expertly on the bud. You whimper, tugging at his hold but it only makes his grip more intense, pinning you there without much a fight. Not even enough to distract him from the task at hand.

When his tongue sinks back down into your soaking core you feel it, the heat pulsing through your belly while he lets the muscle dip and swirl in your wetness. Your thighs twitch and shake when his nose bumps your sensitive clit, his free hand coming up to gingerly rub circles over it in tandem.

"Oh my god," you whine, "Oh my god -- K-kas don' -- oh my god, ohmygod." He snickers, contining his movements, murmuring a quiet, "God's not here, baby."

Another roll over your hips sends you reeling, his tongue gliding in long strokes when finally the coil in your belly snaps. You fall apart beneath him, loud moans and high pitched squeals while he consumes you through it. Your body vibrates, thighs clamping down over his ears, blood from the slices in your flesh staining his hair and jaw.

He hums low when you settle, gasping for breath on your already dry and scratchy throat while you come down. 

Eddie rises slowly, shoulder blades and wings moving with him while he crawls up your body. Smooth and languid like a snake, his torso hovers above yours while he settles his hips between your thighs. You look up at him, his shape, the way his eyes have blown black, the newfound sharpness in his features. A creature, a monster in your wake — not the same person you saw at the cemetery. 

“Oh,” he coos when he sees your eyes glassy and rounded upon him, “So precious.” 

You're much weaker now, mind and body, the stings across your skin from the broken branches and his sharpened nails a pain you've become better accquainted with. You take another breath of calm, arms resting by your head with your palms up towards the ceiling. He takes the moment of surrender to hold them down against the bed. The pressure of his hips against yours keeps you pinned, but you barely fight -- maybe squirm, maybe whine. No thrashing, no screaming, the whispers echo through the wind again:

Vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis.

"So, so, precious," he whispers while he leans forward, kisses pressed to one cheek and then the other slow and controlled. He inhales again when he dips down to your neck, piercing fangs dragging over the vein there. You feel the push and then the pain, the unbearable blinding pain of his teeth ripping through you. Through your skin, through the muscle, the pulse of his mouth while he holds himself there.

You cry out, nearly a scream while he holds himself there -- just enough to infect you, just enough to get the poison in. The pain reaches a blinding peak, bile growing up your throat, eyes filling with a white hot surge of anguish and then -- Nothing. Euphoria. An unknown lightness you hadn't felt before.

He releases, still holding tight to your wrists above your head when he raises up over you again.

"Open," he instructs, and in your hazy gaze you obey. Your tongue flattens against your chin without command.

"Very good, sweetheart," he praises, collecting the blood left on his lips and in his cheeks to spit it directly into your waiting mouth.

"You can close now," he grins, "And swallow."

He grunts, hips sliding against you so that you can feel his length between your legs; the girth alone sends a chill to the part of you that is screaming inside your head. How is it supposed to fit? How is he supposed to get this inside you? "Don't worry," he laughs, "It'll fit."

When your vision snaps up at him he laughs again, "I can hear you in there, princess. I can always hear you."

He dips down again, tip of his nose sliding over your cheek to your ear, "So be very careful what you think about."

He doesn't need his hands to guide the head of himself into your already needy center. It's a stretch, delicious but nearing painful. It's not something you've ever even dreamed of taking before; thick, large, inhuman.

Your legs lift on their own accord while he pushes in further, getting half way while you let out a choked sob.

"Aw, shh, shh, shh," he mocks, easing in more, "C'mon you can take it."

"You can --" his hips snap in hard for the rest of him, letting out a ragged grunt when the rest of him disappears inside you, "--take it."

You mouth hangs open in a desperate oval, face crumpling when you become so full of him -- all encompassing. A part of you now, buried deep within. He moves, dangerously slow and controlled; methodic in how he thrusts himself deeper and deeper inside. "Mmm, that's it," he growls, chest to chest with him while his hip grind at a deliberate pace. You feel his hot breath fan out over your lips, forehead pressed against yours. He's not hot, he's not cold, just skin against yours while it flashes with heat. You go from shaking to sweating with minutes in between.

When your hips roll to meet his thrusts you moan, the tip hitting you so deep in your core that stars burst behind your eyes. "There we go," he grins mischeviously, "S'at feel good, pet?"

"Ooh, yes," you hiss through gritted teeth, actively trying to bounce yourself againsth him now that your body has started accommodating his sheer size. He raises himself up on his hands like a cobra, snake like peering down at you while he meets the roll of your hips with an unforgiving thrust.

"Good," he oozes the word out like smoke, deliciosly deep seated in his belly when he thrusts hard again. He mumbles a quiet musing to himself that you can't hear -- too gone in the lightness in your body, in the way nothing hurts, in the way you're so full.

Can finally fuck you how I wanna.

He gets up, sitting back on his haunches while still inside you, pushing your legs up so your knees end up by your ears. With this leverage he sinks in deep. You don't even know how far in he is, just that he's in and he's there, he's everywehre, he's outside and in.

Eddie locks eyes with you, that same smirk from the cemetary that made your stomach flip dancing across his devilish features, "Tell me you like it."

Your mouth moves before your brain can hesitate, "I like it." "Tell me you need it," he demands, tone measured and sure.

"I need it," you say back, your voice coming out broken and weak, "Please, I need it."

He pulls back and punches forward, hard enough that you gasp at the impact. He grips you hard by the backs of your legs, thrusts starting slow and building at an unrelenting pace. His eyes are wild; boring down at you through from under furrowed and determined brows. If you had any mind left, you'd think that he hates you by the way he stares.

"Fuck," he snarls, leaning forward over you, one hand pressing down on the mattress next to your head, "Shit -- fuck, that's it. That's fuckin' -- shit, you're fuckin' mine." "Say you need me."

"I need you," you choke back without thinking, barely able to breathe at his speed. The coil tightens deep inside of you again, tears pouring down your cheeks in waves -- not even crying, just recieving. Absorbing him. Your body rocks like a boat on unsteady waves pinned beneath him, the only sounds are the whispers in your subconcious, his growls and sputters like an animal above you. The lewd slaps of skin against skin, the squelches of him pushing you to your limits.

He steadies himself over you, nose to nose again while he fucks you. Really fucks you. Impressed with himself, he lets out a breathy chuckle when you throw your head back -- eyes shutting tight with a pornographic scream.

"Oh GOD!" you cry out, "Oh my god."

His fingers and claws catch your chin with a firm shake, eyes snapping open to meet the knowing glare of his ruddy brown ones.

"Your god," he starts, panting into your mouth, "is right here in front of you."

You swallow, mouth falling agape again when you feel the bite of his nails on the fat of your cheeks. "Right here," you repeat, dazed and overwhelmed, "N'..n'fronname."

"Right here in front of you," he nods, leaning down to brush his nose against yours while his thrusts slow to a steady pace. It's then that his lips meet yours, the kiss searing with desire and claim when his tongue slides into your mouth. You can taste the metallic twang of your blood in his mouth, sighing into it while he guides the kiss. Breaking away and coming back in; rushed and heated each time while he feels himself get closer to his peak.

His forehead presses against yours, one hand finally releasing your wrist to hold your head in place over your hair. You keep eye contact with him, not even sure if you're blinking, if you even need to blink. You rasp breaths, mouth and throat dry and aching while you breathe into him. You're close, teetering on the edge while he pushes you up with his hips to rest your lower body on his knees and thighs.

"Come undone," he murmurs, "Let go for me."

The command ripples through you, bursting through your belly with a warm heat. You welcome it, eyes rolling, cries pouring from you in words you don't think you understand. He encourages you, offering you rough sweet nothings while you pray to him, beg for him, ache for him.

That's enough to send him over; seeing you completely at his mercy now. Obedient, trained, devoured.

He snares and snarls, growling while he comes deep inside of you. The hand on your head wraps painfully in your hair like it did before you started -- uncaring, brutal. The heat of his seed pools deep within you like the heart of your orgasm. Glazed over you groan, hips rolling up in one final cant to receive him fully. Your vision vingettes while he unsheathes from you; fluids leaking onto the sheets. You're empty and the room spins with a new blackness, you're fading. Fainting? Dying?

The fuzziness continues to darken arouns you, around him, until he's all that's left in the tunnel of your vision. "That's a good girl," he soothes smugly, "Very well done."

Your gaze and mind fade fully to a staticky black.

You wake, you’re not sure how much later. 

Still on the bed and still undressed but your arms feel tight – a tug reveals your current state. Bound to a post on the headboard by a triple handcuff knot, dense hemp rope keeping your arms above your head. 

You whine and struggle, coming to your senses now – no one knows where you are, you barely know where you are. An underworld – hell. Somewhere. 

“Don’t look so terrified, sweetheart,” his smooth honey voice is heard before he appears in the candle light again, “I’m right here.” 

“Wh-why am I –” you swallow thickly, coughing and sputtering with how dry your mouth and throat are now, “Why am I tied up?” 

He looks at you with faux concern, brows raising, “Oh honey, are you okay?” 

He reaches out, pushing your hair away from your face, “Don’t be stressed. Y’know something – I just realized, I never offered you anything to drink.” 

“My uncle always told me you should take a girl out to dinner before makin’ the van rock and look at me,” he gestures at his chest, tutting at himself, “Where are my manners, huh?” 

Your lip wobbles while he looms over you, “Are you thirsty?” 

You nod, he grins – cheshire like, fangs glinting in the light, “I thought you would be.” He gets up, lazy and confident in his walk across the room. His body looks like marble, chiseled with the running and hunting you realize he’s been doing for over a decade. Stronger than ever; ethereal in his post orgasm glow. 

He pulls his hair back while he walks, holding it up away from his neck while your eyes travel down his back where his wings have tucked in under the skin. You gag when you see them move above his blades, rippling beneath the tattoos he has there. He’s dressed in only shorts; silk – likely stolen to really own the whole vampire thing he has going on. 

You take in a shaky breath when he gets what he needs, dropping his hair back to his shoulders when he makes his way back to you. 

He holds the dagger coolly in his hand before gliding the tip down the center of his wrist. Blood blooms from the wound; he doesn’t even flinch. 

“Open, princess,” he murmurs. Your lips clamp shut, shaking your head no while fear takes over – rot in your chest. He catches your chin again, forcing you to look at him like before. 

“Open,” he repeats, slower. His voice reverberates like a gong between your ears. 

Your mouth opens on its own accord and the smell of his blood becomes the most alluring scent you’ve had pass your nose in years. You latch on to the laceration, swallowing and sucking deeply on the wound while his blood and body quench and feed you better than any meal you think you’ve ever had. You feel revived as you devour him, eyes fluttering closed while the fill feels never enough. 

“That’s it, keep goin’,” he encourages under his breath, “Won’t have to keep asking you to do things twice once this is all over with.” 

You break away to breathe, gasping like you’re coming up for air, drowning in him. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean you’ll be just like me, sweetheart,” he says, chuckling when you eagerly lean forward to drink him again, “After a night of some deeply insurmountable pain; and then nothing. Just mine. Undead and mine.” 

“But y–you said you were – I’m –” your brows knit in confusion, “You didn’t h-have to d-do this; whatever you um – whatever you bred me with will die if you do this.” 

“Oh, no, no,” he laughs evilly, “I didn’t breed you quite yet.” 

He pulls his arm away, wiping the blood from your chin with his thumb roughly. 

“Consider what we did a, uh…hmm,” he takes a second to think about it with a hum, shrugging cheekily, “A soul bonding experience.” 

“You’re disgusting,” you spit. 

“I’m delicious,” he corrects, smearing his blood from your chin to your cheek, “If you do say so yourself.” 

He gets up again, pulling the covers out from under you to tuck you in. The chill getting to you in a way it never gets to him; you might as well be warm while you turn into actualized death. 

“I can hear you, remember?” he asks, tapping your head, “You won’t be totally alone with me. There’s…shit there are plenty just like us.” 

“Like Steve,” you pipe up groggily. 

“More than just goodie two-shoes Harrington,” he groans, “God, do you ever shut up about him?”

You sniffle in response.

“I mean this place, this – dimension,” he says, “It’s more than just Hawkins, and there are so many more like us; even up there.” 

He points upwards with a sharp nailed finger, “All around.” 

“And now that you’ll be just like me,” he smiles, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you in the crook of you waist, “There’ll be all the time in the world to breed you.” 

Your vision blurs, either from tears or from another fade, you aren’t sure. You can feel a slow burn through your veins, a rush of blood. You whimper. 

“So it begins,” he smirks, running the tip of his finger over your nose bridge. 

“Oh!” he says, eyes bulging, “Before I forget, and before I lose you – because you’ll be such a pretty blank slate when you come to – I felt like I should be honest.” 

He gestures dramatically, a maniacal grin pushing his cheeks up to his eyes while they spark, “Again with my manners, it was so rude of me to introduce myself to Pete’s grave at the cemetery. We’ve met before! Can’t believe I had almost forgotten.” 

Ice in your body fights the burning in your veins, you gag, bile coming up to singe your throat. 

“And y’know, I didn’t mean to drop him in the quarry when I was done with him,” he says with a scrunch of his nose, like he accidentally wrote the wrong tip on a restaurant check, “Really, my mistake, but Christ did he hit every piece of limestone on the way down.” 

He lets out a hearty laugh while he remembers it, your brother's body bouncing off rocks and metal before slipping under the water. You swallow your sick only or it to rise back up with a vengeance, staining your skin red while it seeps out of the corner of your mouth. You tug on the ropes in retaliation, hot angry tears stinging your eyes. 

“All that fallin’ did a number on him – which is good because it really took the heat of anyone knowing it was me. I just wasn't as clean about it back then. Much better now though,” he nods, finishing with a superior and charming look like he just told a bedtime story. 

He leans forward close to your face while your vision pulses in fuzzy black, browning out while he looks down at you. 

“And I’ll tell you something, babe…” 

Fading, fading, fading.

“He tasted divine.”

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #kas!eddie #kas!eddie munson #vampire!eddie munson #vampire!eddie #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fan fiction #tw: dubcon #tw: dub-con #dark!eddie #dark!eddie munson

[acapelladitty]

Strike A Bargain, Light A Match

Pairing: The Ghoul/Female Reader

AO3 Link

Fic Masterlist

Summary: Stuck in the desert and desperate for water, you find yourself captured by a ghoul who makes you an offer that you simply cannot refuse. (2.8k words)

(tw for: blowjobs, mildly dubious consent, cum marking, ropes/restraints, dirty talk, mild force, throat fucking)

As with most things in life, if something seemed too good to be true then it always was.

A canister, clear and blue and brimming with water, would always stand out against the desert background like a sore thumb and you knew that something wasn’t right. But, needs must, and the thirst which clawed at your senses made you stupid.

Christ, your fingers had barely brushed the lid of the canister when you were attacked.

You hadn't seen the rope arching towards you but you had felt the effect as it looped around your legs, quick as a bullet, and pulled them out from under you - slamming your body to the ground as a thick plume of dirt kicked up around your stunned frame to block out the darkening sky.

Voice hoarse due to the lack of moisture in your body, the sound that you made was almost like that of an animal, keening and rough, as you writhed on the ground. Hands flying to the rope which is encasing your legs, your fingers freeze in place as the unmistakable click of a gun echoes in your ear.

"Don't be touching that rope, darlin'. You trying to steal from me just got you a one-way ticket to a shakedown."

Accented words, smooth and deliberate, force you to look up and you wince in place at the horrific sight which blocked out the sky above as your would-be captor loomed over you.

Reddened skin, pocked and marked by radiation, with a gaping hole where the nose should have been gazed back down at you - marred features twisted into vague amusement as the skilled hunter took in your shocked expression.

A ghoul.

"Let me go." You croak out, throat feeling red and raw - a natural feeling given that it had now been over twelve hours since you'd had any water. "Let me up!" You cry, kicking out at the dirt.

"Not going to happen." The ghoul answers back without pause, his body shifting around so that he was standing tactfully to the side of your kicking legs. "Not even if you ask nicely, which you didn't."

"I didn't know it belonged to anyone." You try to say but the words burn and die out as a vicious cough wracks your upper body. The last week had been rough. A run in with raiders had robbed you of your latest haul and that included the meagre amounts of water that you had been able to gather in this vast, dusted part of the wasteland.

Watching you cough with a blank expression, the ghouls fingers disappear into his ratty coat as he pulls free a small, metallic flask from one of the inner pockets.

"Ain't listening to that shit."

Dropping to his haunches, his free hand grips your chin roughly, calloused fingers giving you no room to move as he carefully tilts the mouth of the flask between your lips. Fear spiralling in your chest as your breath comes in shallow pants, you purse your lips tight as you attempt to avoid whatever the hell he was trying to slip you. It's for nothing though as he forces you mouth open enough to allow some liquid to slip through.

Water.

Unable to help yourself, you gasp in shock, and instinct overtakes sense as you greedily sip down the few thankful gulps that you can. It soothes in an instant. The warm, slightly stale water may as well be liquid gold as it coats your throat, banishing away the drought which had lay before it.

Eyes watering as you choke a little on the liquid, the hand on your chin elevates your mouth enough to ensure that everything goes where it should before the flask is pulled away with a clinical precision.

"There." The ghoul grunts, his brow narrowed into a mild scowl as he observes you with a passive look. "Want to try that again, croaky."

"Didn't-didn't know it was yours. The water." You explain, meeting his eyes with your own. "I only needed a little bit. Haven't had any in-"

You cut yourself off, anxiety making you want to ramble but knowing that such a thing was stupid as hell when outside the safety of a group. Or even when around someone you didn’t have full trust in.

He takes your words for what they are as he stands to his full height once more.

"You're a pretty little thing to be out here all alone. This part of the desert isn't meant for pretty little things.” He grunts, hands on his hips. “There’s people out here that’ll do things to you that’d make your skin crawl right off if you knew.”

And he was right.

The sun beat down harshly during the day, making any menial task seem twice as difficult as scavenging became a race against overheating as much as it did the dangers which lurked around every corner. The nights were not much better as roving gangs sought to take everything they could from anything they found, living or dead.

The lucky ones would be killed and the unlucky would face the same fate.

Eventually.

Speaking of luck, the fact that your captor hadn't immediately caved your skull with a rock or used that gun to decorate the dust with your blood was something to be exploited.

"I'm sorry.” You offer up, palms flat in a show of non-aggression. “Let me up and we can talk about a trade for some of that water."

In a lawless land, bartering was king, and you prided yourself on your ability to talk yourself into getting what you needed. Raiders. Ghouls. Lunatics. Everyone wanted something, and your mental inventory of your stash flashed through your mind as your eyes trailed across your captor, seeking out some possible options which he may be interested in.

Covered mostly by dark leather, a bullet holster sits across his chest, looping over his shoulder and visibly containing several bullets which were no doubt comfortable in that gun of his. His leather coat is worn and frayed, the edges looking rough as hell and caked in dust and grime. What visible skin lay open to the slowly darkening sun was as red and mottled as the rest, the flesh of a ghoul impossible to hide or shy away from.

The eyes though.

His eyes appeared to be a hazel colour, the whites of his irises seeming even more stark due to the red skin surrounding them, but what caught your attention was how expressive they were. Sunken in their sockets, the darkness which encased them did little to hide their revelations. Even now, as he stared you down with an intensity equal to your own, you could see the appraisal of curiosity and interest which lurked behind the vague, mean-spirited amusement he fixed you with.

Taking a seat on the water canister, his gun remaining in hand as it casually hung from his fingers, he allowed you to pull the rope from your legs and right yourself until you were standing once more. His other hand remained on the opposite end of the rope, ready to lash out like a viper at a moment’s provocation.

"Water's rare round these parts.” The ghoul grumbled. “I don't want to be wasting it on needless shit. So why don't we see if we can come to some arrangement?"

The golden words.

Smirking at the potential of a deal, the fear which tickles at your chest disappears in a brief moment as you rock onto your heels and place your hands on your hips.

"I don't have anything with me today. I'll need to go and gath-"

"You've got them pretty lips." He countered, cutting off your words and widening his knees as he patted his thigh with the butt of his gun. "I'm sure you can think of something to do with them."

Shocked by the utter brazenness, your mouth drops open and you splutter out something incomprehensible as a low chuckle slips free of his twisted lips.

"Don't look so shocked. Oldest barternin' tool in the business. Ten minutes of work and you might live to see another day. Five minutes if you're a pro.” He grunts again. “Fuck, it's been so long, it might even be two. Take the chance, darling?"

"I'm not a whore." A harsh denial as heat spread across your cheeks.

You had seen them before, both the unwilling and the willing, as they walked alongside raiders and heroes alike in an effort to use their skills to ensure survival. Everyone did what they had to do and it wasn’t like you hadn’t used charm before to get what you wanted.

But still.

This was different.

In a way-

"Didn't say you were." The ghoul shrugs, interrupting your mental debate. "But a deal’s a deal. Ain't got no infection that I know of and it's the best offer you'll get out here. Closest raiders to here are the McSharkies and they’ll have you fucking their dogs for a single droplet.”

Shuddering at the thought, your lips move of their own accord.

"Okay."

Surprising yourself even as you say the word, a trickle of shame weaves itself down your spine.

You had done a hell of a lot worse for a hell of a lot less in this shithole of a world.

What was a quick blowjob in the scheme of things.

Visibly pleased at your agreement, he palms his cock through his slacks for a moment before jumping to his feet in a smooth motion which catches you off-guard.

"Turn and get those hands out behind your back."

"Why?"

"Got to tie your hands, little lady. You might be sweet, but a pretty snake is still rattlin’ full of venom. You understand me?"

Unable to argue as a sense that you might as well play his game since you had no other choice plucks at your thoughts, you nod your consent and slowly shuffle around.

Turning in place, he loops the ends of the rope around your wrists in quick movements, quietly ensuring his own safety as he pins your hands behind your back and spins you around to face him once more.

"Kneel." He commands, clicking his fingers and pointing to the ground as he commands you like a dog.

You drop to your knees before him and the harsh desert feels uncomfortable against your skin through the fabric of your jumpsuit. Even in the rapidly cooling air of the approaching evening, not a soul to be made out as far as the eye could see, heat danced along your skin as a dirty shame made your shiver and roll your shoulders.

You had seen his kind before, knew what to expect, but even prior knowledge couldn't prepare you for just how thick he was as he snatched his cock free of his slacks - the pinstripe design fluttering in the breeze as he unlatched the waistband. His cock jutted from his slacks with pride, its girth making you bite at your lower lip as you wonder how the hell you're going to fit that in your mouth.

As livid in colour as the rest of him, his cockhead was slightly darker as it flared from the end of his length, and there was a prominent vein which ran along the underside of the shaft.

Despite yourself, your mouth watered at the prospect of tasting it.

Unable to wrap either of your hands around his cock, you dip your head forward to catch the tip of his cockhead within your lips. Immediately you feel the heat of him, his textured skin feeling odd against your tongue as a slightly acrid taste floods your mouth. He's heavy and thick, even just the tip of his cock making your mouth feel full and you carefully breathe around him as your tongue presses against his shaft.

“It’s been a long time, sweetie. That or you're a born cocksucker.”

A heavy hand pressing on the back of your head draws a sharp gasp from your lips as he pushes you down further on his cock. Forced into accepting more of him, you hollow your cheeks and allow him to guide himself roughly within your mouth, every part of his mottled skin adding a new sensation to your lips as they roll across his length.

Sucking him gently, something traitorous and arousing sparks in your cunt as he unleashes a low grunt at the stimulation.

At the vicious arousal in his tone, you feel a fresh flood of lust slither across your skin even as you groan out an unspoken denial of his words around his cock. However, you attempt to free yourself of him in a moment of surprise as his fingers drop low enough to cup around your temple, essentially keeping you in place as his other hand tightens almost painfully around your hair.

He's building pace, allowing enough time for you to catch your breath as you focus on the task - your own hands remaining pinned behind your back as you bob your head messily.

"Yeah. Fuck your mouth on my cock, little miss." He grunts, hand like a vice around your head as he casually thrusts himself into your mouth with only a little mercy. "Show me how much you want it."

Keeping your eyes staunchly closed, shame and humiliation creep along your heated skin but with it comes an undeniable arousal which makes your cunt feel wet against your panties.

"None of that. Eyes open now."

Displeased with the lack of eye-contact, his cock pulls free of your mouth long enough for his hand to strike across your cheek. Not in an overly aggressive or painful manner, but enough to force your eyes open as you glare up at him.

"Ooh, feisty little mare. I like it. Makes me hard as a nail."

To emphasise his words, he drives his cock a little further back, the tip now just threatening your throat as you choke in surprise - eyes watering in an instant as you fight the urge to bite down. You watch him as he chuckles, enjoying the way your throat is spasming around you cock as he holds you there.

He lets up after a moment, resuming his more forceful pace. Wanting him to finish, you pull back enough to swirl your tongue along the sensitive ridge where his shaft meets his cockhead before swallowing him down in one quick motion.

It's enough, and the sharp, pleasurable pants which slip free of his mouth seem to increase slightly in pitch as he pulls his cock free of your mouth. Without warning, his release splashes across your mouth and chin; a few errant drops falling between your lips as he jerks his cock off to wring every last droplet out.

Pissed by the mess despite the slight ache which sits in your cunt as it feels woefully neglected, you growl at him - a scowl marring your forehead as your jaw clicks, the bone there pleased to no longer be under such stress. Left in the dirt with your hands bound and you face coated in mess, a fresh sense of heated embarrassment floods your cheeks and you cough in discomfort as he tucks his softening cock away.

You inhale sharply as you find your body being pulled away from his as his strong hands remove you from your kneeling position and place you back on your feet.

"Made a mess of you there, darling." The ghoul smirks, teeth flashing against his reddened skin. "Make sure and clean yourself up before anyone else sees you. They might get the wrong idea."

Rubbing your hands together as he releases then from their bindings, you immediately wipe off his release with the back of your hand and ignore the taste of him as the droplets in your mouth coat your tongue.

"My water?" You ask, dusting your knees off as you mentally make a note to treat your clit to some attention the minute you were back in the safety of your hideout. Attention that no doubt would feature hazel eyes and some very irritated movements as you took your frustrations out on your traitorous sex.

"Sure. Deal's a deal, little miss. Name's Cooper, by the way." He, Cooper, grunted as he slowly filled one of the spare empty bottles which littered the ground around the canister. "You can call me Cooper."

Huh.

Watching silently as he continued to live up to his end of the bargain, you tasted his name against your lips as eagerly as his cum you consider what he might give to hear you cry it out with some well-earned enthusiasm.

"Cooper."

His eyes meet you own and you can tell, in that moment, that he's imagining the very same.

#amazon fallout #fallout #cooper howard #the ghoul #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #fallout smut #ghoul smut #cooper howard smut #fallout tv show #walton goggins #fallout prime

[mydemimonde]

'Baby Said' — Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader

divider is from @plutism

a/n: this idea came up after listening to 'baby said' by maneskin on loop, love them sm and that song too

Summary: After a few stolen glances and a drink, you walk up to the bar counter where the blonde man that caught your attention is sitting, looking for some fun.

Words: 4061

Warnings: +18 (minors dni), female reader, no use y/n nor specific physical description, desperate reader, swearing, dirty talk, a bit of choking, hand kink, praising, spitting, tiddy sucking, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, slightly dominant aemond, overstim, riding, holy shit so many warnings let me know if i missed one! no proof reading

Strong hands grip your waist as soon as you step foot into the place, soft lips tracing your neck as you grind your ass against his crotch, earning a deep groan from him. He closes the door with his foot and turns your body around to face him, and before he could say anything, you press your lips against his, your hands running over his clothed chest.

He starts walking, pushing you to the nearest wall as your bodies press together. His lips part slightly, letting you slip your tongue inside, and you tilt your head to deepen the kiss. Your hands go all the way up until you get to his broad shoulders, wrapping your arms around him as his hands cupped your ass, making you moan into his mouth.

He pulls away just to attack your neck again, taking his time to kiss, lick and nibble your skin. He pays attention to one particular spot, the one that made you squirm and shiver, something he learned a few moments before. You curse under your breath, and you feel him smirk.

“Eager, are we?” He taunts you, his hand squeezing one of your ass cheeks as you grind against him again, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.

“Aemond, please… no more teasing” you sigh, as if you were annoyed. His blue eyes examining your face, relishing your desperate state —heavy breathing, lips red and swollen, cheeks flushed and enticing eyes.

He brings his hand to your cheek to stroke it as the other one caresses your waist, his head tilted to the side as he smirks. “We have the whole night, baby. No need to hurry” he runs his thumb over your lower lip, your tongue darting out just a little. His eyes widen in surprise when your lips close over his finger, closing your eyes as you suck. When you look at him he’s licking his lips, leaning in again to kiss you passionately, slowly, as if your lips were fragile. The same way he kissed you earlier, in the middle of the dance floor.

It was the second mojito you had with your friends, celebrating that you finally graduated from college. Arianne, your friend from work and college, had suggested that you celebrate by going to the famous nightclub Sunfyre, which was located in one of the most expensive districts in King’s Landing.

So there you were, sitting with your friends around a small round table, the neon lights flickering with the rhythm of the music blasting from the speakers. It was Arianne’s turn to buy the drinks, but this time she went for vodka shots.

You cheered with your friends and at the count of three, you all knocked back the liquid, your eyes closing shut at the burning feeling in your throat. All of you clapped and hollered in celebration, unintentionally attracting the attention of some locals around you, but you actually didn’t care. All you wanted was to have a good time with your friends.

As you listened to one of your other friends Lena talking about some anecdote during her summer holidays, you couldn’t shake off the spine-chilling feeling that you were being watched. You pressed your lips together as your eyes scanned the crowded bar, until you found a pair of blue piercing eyes. A playful smirk adorned the man’s face as he looked at you, he was sitting on a stool leaning against the counter, his back turned to the bartender, legs spread. You’ve never thought that manspreading would look so sexy. You gave him a coy smile before turning your attention back to Lena’s story.

The music played loud in the background, people danced and grinded against each other on the dancefloor, your friends were telling funny anecdotes while you were on the fourth drink of the night and you could still feel the man’s piercing gaze on you. Surprisingly for you it wasn’t at all uncomfortable. It was great for your ego that a man like him was looking at you like that, as if he wanted to devour you. Both of you sneaked glances at each other, but neither of you made a move.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and you whip your head around, as if you were caught doing something wrong. “What the hell are you looking at, hun?” Asked Arianne, almost screaming in your ear above the music. You pressed your lips as she squinted her eyes and looked around, trying to find what —or who— was stealing your attention from them. She gave you a sly grin, lightly slapping your arm repeatedly. “Hot stuff looking at you like you’re a full course meal. C’mon, go over there and talk to the guy! He looks expensive, he could be your sugar daddy” you giggled as she wiggled her eyebrows, taking a sip from her margarita.

What Arianne said was true, he looked rather expensive. His platinum hair combed to one side, clad in effortless style —a black t-shirt with the first two buttons casually undone, the sleeves rolled up revealing his forearms, a pair of dark jeans and polished shoes. You wanted nothing more but to feel his hands on you. Maybe that was the alcohol talking, maybe not. A long time passed since you’ve been properly fucked —your ex broke up with you two years ago, and after that you only had boring dates and bad hookups, leaving you with no other choice but to use your fingers and toys to get yourself off. You needed to get fucked, and this man looked like a good hookup.

Before you could open your mouth to say something, a waitress came up to you and left a drink on the table. You and your friends looked at one another in confusion. “Uhm, sorry, but we didn’t order this…” you pointed at the drink that was placed right in front of you.

“I know. An admirer sent it to you” the blonde woman winked at you and left, Arianne chuckling and the rest of the girls oohing at you. You shake your head and feel your cheeks burning, knowing exactly who sent it. Him.

“It’s a sex on the beach!” exclaimed Arianne. “He’s begging you, honey, and you haven’t had a good shag in a while” she raised an eyebrow at you. You jokingly rolled your eyes and grabbed the glass, turning your attention to the man at the counter, who was unsurprisingly looking at you. You raised the glass and he did the same, cheering with you in the air and at the distance, as he gave you a slight nod. Both of you took a sip of your respective beverages, keeping eye contact.

You placed the glass back on the table, stirring your drink with the straw as you thought about what to do next, the alcohol making you feel more courageous to do something and Arianne’s words ringing in your head. “Hey, mind if I leave you for a bit? ‘M gonna talk to that guy” you got off the stool and point at the counter with a movement of your head, your friends making high-pitched sounds of victory at your decision.

“Go get that dick!” Whispered-shouted Lena, Arianne hitting the table repeatedly. You blew them a kiss and grabbed your sex on the beach, strutting down to the guy. As soon as he saw you his smirk got wider and he sat straighter, looking at you like you were his prey.

“Hi there” you said as you sat in the stool next to him, the short dress you were wearing hiking up your thigh just a little bit.

“Hey. Enjoying the night?” His voice was deep and smooth, making you feel all sorts of things in your stomach. He moved so that he was facing you, his forearm resting on the counter.

You nodded. “Yeah. Graduation and all, quite the occasion to celebrate.”

He lifted an eyebrow, eyes examining your figure. “Oh? Congratulations, then. Cheers.” He replied and again, raised his cup to toast with you. You smiled at him and your glasses clinked. You drank and then, he brought a hand to his chest, as if he was apologising. “Sorry if I seemed too forward by inviting you for a drink. Didn’t dare to interrupt your conversation with your friends when you were so into it... didn't seem fair to steal you from them.”

Now it was your turn to smile. You turned your body towards him too, resting one arm on the counter and crossing your legs. “It’s okay. I was actually going to talk to you, eventually. My friends were insisting.”

He chuckled in response. “Well, thank your friends for me. I’m Aemond Targaryen.” Targaryen… the surname did ring a bell. You introduced yourself as well, and both began talking, enjoying each other’s company. He was leaning over you more and more with each passing minute, and when his fingers grazed over your arm you felt electric shocks all over your body, his gaze on you was so intense you could barely form any coherent thought. He was so close that you could smell his cologne, something spicy and leathery, utterly intoxicating.

“Would you like to dance?” He suggested, narrowing his eyes.

“Of course” he stood up and offered you his hand, which you gladly took. You noticed how tall he was, towering over you and making you feel small. You led him to the middle of the dance floor, and on the way there, out of the corner of your eye, you saw your friends watching you two, proud smiles on their faces.

When you got there your body started moving to the rhythm of the music, feeling Aemond’s hands on your waist as you danced. Your bodies were pressed together amidst the sea of people, feeling his breath on your neck as he moved with you. Feeling bold you started grinding against his body, bringing one hand up to place it on the nape of his neck, his hands lightly squeezing the flesh of your waist. The place was getting more and more crowded; the lights flickering and the fake smoke coming from the fog machines were making it harder to see clearly.

His eyes lowered to your lips when you turned to face him, he started leaning in slowly until his nose nudged against yours. You closed your eyes as you felt his soft lips moving against yours, tenderly yet passionately. His hands cupped your face as his tongue explored your mouth, cocking his head to the side. No one’s ever kissed you like that, he was such a good kisser.

Your hands found their way around his slim waist, the kiss was getting more and more intense that you had to pull back for a moment to catch your breaths. If it weren’t for that, you would still be kissing him nonstop. Aemond took the opportunity to leave soft pecks along your jaw, going down the side of your neck until he sucked on a particular spot that made you throw your head back and whine. It didn’t matter that you were in the middle of the dancefloor, surrounded by people —they were engrossed in dancing and drinking, it’s not like they were looking at you—. You just wanted him.

As if he could read your mind, he looked at you. “Shall we get out of here?”

And that’s how you ended up in the apartment of this stranger, kissing and fumbling with each other’s clothes, feeling his erection on your thigh as he hiked up your dress to feel your skin. Aemond pulls back just to kiss your neck again, it’s like he’s addicted to that part of your body. He grabs your legs and picks you up so easily, you wrap your legs around his waist as he starts moving to find a more comfortable place.

You finally get to unbutton his shirt, running your hands all over the visible skin. He isn’t ripped like the guys at the gym, but you can tell that he certainly works out. He almost trips on the way to his bed, chuckling at the way your hands shake when you start unbuckling his jeans. “Fuck, you’re really desperate, huh?” He deposits you on the comfortable bed, looking at him as he takes off his shirt, your breathing heavy when he unbuckles his jeans, getting rid of them quickly, his cock straining against his white boxers.

Aemond grabs you by the ankles and drags you towards him, making you yelp. He lifts one of your legs to undo the straps of your stilettos, and as he does the same with the other you prop up on your arms to take a moment to appreciate him. His tousled hair, his knitted brows in concentration, his slightly parted lips, his long, aquiline nose and the small and almost invisible freckles adorning his shoulders.

When he’s done he hovers over you, arms on either side of your body as he leans in for another kiss. He’s positioned in between your legs and brings one hand to your chest, cupping your right breast over the dress. You whine in his mouth and he smirks. “I love those little sound you make for me… makes me wonder how you would sound when I-”

“Aemond, shut up and fuck me already” you interrump him in an irritated and desperate tone, catching him by surprise. He stares at you, mouth agape before grinning.

“Relax baby, I’m gonna do just that, but… you’re too dressed for my liking” his fingers start pulling the straps of your dress down. He lets out a gasp when he sees you naked, except for your lacy black panties. He stares at your tits and bites his lip, fingers pinching your nipples. “You’ve got beautiful tits, baby.” He immediately takes one of them in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the pebbled nipple, making you throw your head back and whine, your fingers tangling in his hair.

You grind your hips against his, trying to get some friction on your aching cunt. You’re sure you’re dripping by now, he’s got you like that since the moment he laid eyes on you. Aemond moves his hand down your body while he continues sucking on your nipple. When he finally gets to the place you needed him most, both of you release a moan.

“Fuck, you’re soaking wet.” Aemond says in a low and raspy voice when his fingertips meet the wet spot in your underwear. He kisses every inch of your skin before getting in between your legs and slides down your panties, pleased with the view of your glistening entrance. He traces two of his fingers along your slit, feeling your arousal coating them. “You’re fucking dripping on my fingers, baby. Hmm, the things I could do to this sweet pussy.”

You moan at his filthy words, breath heavy as you watch him kiss and nibble your inner thighs before giving your pussy a tentative lick, eyes set on you, revelling in the way you writhe and whine. Your hands tug at his hair instinctively as he gently sucks on your clit, then he licks the length of your cunt, his grunts sending vibrations all over you.

“Oh, f-fuck, yes” you squeal, eyes closed shut as he buries his face between your thighs, lapping at you eagerly, his nose rubbing expertly against your bud. He pushes you down with his arm when you start bucking your hips, preventing you from moving as he keeps feasting on your cunt. “Don’t— s-stop!” You gasp, back arching as pleasure invades your senses, the band in your stomach growing tighter.

“Y’ gonna cum, pretty girl?” Aemond murmurs around your clit, a small huff leaving his lips when your thighs wrap around his head, pulling him even closer. “C’mon baby, lemme hear you. Cum all over my mouth” He coaxes before sucking your clit again, swirling his tongue around the bud as you fall apart on his tongue, whines and high-pitched moans spilling past your lips. “Atta girl” he praises you as you try to recover from the mindblowing orgasm he gave you. He doesn’t stop sucking at your folds, the erotic slurping noises of his mouth making you blush, licking every single drop of your arousal. Aemond wipes his chin, coated in your juices, and hovers over you again, covering your face with kisses. “You taste divine, pretty girl. You did so good for me.”

He brings his arm above your head, fingers playing with your hair while his other hand gently squeezes your cheeks. “Open” you do as told and he spits in your mouth, you gladly swallow before he kisses you. You moan into his mouth when you feel his index and middle fingers tease your wet entrance. He pulls back to watch your reactions as he slides them in, gingerly moving them, curling them and reaching the rough patch inside you, making you gasp. He smirks. “That’s the spot, hmm?” Aemond finger fucks you, leaving open mouthed kisses along your neck and jaw. You breathe heavily, feeling another orgasm already building. “Fuck, can feel you squeezing my fingers, love. Let go, pretty girl.” His jaw drops open as he watches you come, groaning when he feels your cunt clenching around his fingers. Your lips form a perfect O shape, eyes closed shut and legs trembling. “You look so pretty when you cum, baby.”

When you open your eyes you find Aemond staring at you, a soft smile adorning his face. “There she is,” she caresses your cheek and you chuckle, bringing one of your hands to his boxers. He gulps when you start palming him, feeling how hard he is. He gets rid of his boxers and his cock springs out, the tip already leaking precum. You’ve never seen such a nice cock in your life, all you want to do is put your mouth on it. He reads your mind, once again. “You can suck me another day, all I want now is to bury my cock inside you. Is that okay, pretty girl?” You nod eagerly and sit on the bed, pushing him onto the mattress as you straddle him, taking him by surprise. “Well, well, well.” He chuckles darkly, feeling your hands travel all over his chest and abdomen. He reaches out for a condom in the drawer next to his bed, but you stop him.

“I’m okay without. I’m clean and on the pill, I really want to feel you” you bite your lip, hoping he says yes. Aemond smirks, telling you he’s clean as well, and you lean in for a tender, passionate kiss. You move one hand to grab him, slowly guiding him into your entrance. Both of you let out breathy moans when the tip slides in your wet cunt, stretching you.

“Holy s-shit” Aemond’s head is thrown back, jaw clenched and hands on either side of your hips, his fingers digging in. When you sink down onto him completely, you stay there for a moment, trying to adjust to his size. Your nails rake down his chest and he whines, eyes sweeping over your figure. His hands also travel through your body, up your thighs until he reaches your breasts, gently squeezing them. His hands are big, you noticed.

You start moving up and down his length, moaning and whimpering and head thrown back. “You feel so good, Aemond. Fuck” you murmur, bouncing on his cock. You feel him curse under you, his hips meeting yours in every thrust, filling you to the brim. You let out a particularly high-pitched moan when he brings one hand to your throat.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” Aemond rasps, licking his lips before applying more pressure, slightly choking you as you continue moving, increasing your pace. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull at the feeling of his hands wrapped around your throat, driving you closer and closer to your orgasm. “God, you’re squeezing so deliciously, sweet girl. Y’ gonna cum all over my cock, hmm?”

“Oh my God, yes, fuck, fuck, fuck!” You say through strangled moans, cunt clenching around him as you come, collapsing on his chest. He immediately wraps his arms around you as he keeps thrusting up into you, not letting you rest. He flips both of you over, fucking you slowly. You sob when his thumb circles over your sensitive bud, trying to squirm away. “T-too much, please.”

Aemond cocks his head and frowns. “Can’t take another one, huh? I thought you wanted me to fuck you, pretty girl.” He taunts, voice trembling as he ruts into you. You grasp onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin and tears welling up in your eyes from the amount of pleasure and overstimulation you were receiving. “You can give me another one, baby, c’mon. I know you can” he coos, kissing and nibbling your neck.

He watches with a wicked grin as your mouth hangs open, whines and moans escaping and eyes fluttering when the head of his cock repeatedly hits your sweet spot. “Fucking come, baby, soak my cock.” Aemond commands. The squelching sounds of your cunt while he fucks you together with his praises and moans are enough to make the knot in your stomach finally snap. You moan his name loudly, your legs shaking around his waist.

In the back of your head, you hear Aemond grunting and growling, the sounds he makes are distant over the blood rushing through your ears; but you notice his thrusts becoming sloppier and his cock twitching inside you. “Fuck, fuck, baby, I’m gonna- fucking gonna cum.” That’s what brings you back to your senses, you open your heavy lidded eyes and watch him come. With a few more thrusts he spills himself inside you, coating your walls in warm spend. You’ve never seen nor heard someone come so beautifully, the sight was enough to make you let out a small moan.

His lips were parted, brows knitted together and body shaking above you. Aemond rests his head in the crook of your neck as you try to come down from your highs, embracing each other. You stay like that for a moment before he moves his head to look at you, small drops of sweat trickling down his forehead. You smile at him and close the distance by placing your lips on his, kissing him sensually.

After the make out session, Aemond pulls out of you slowly, hissing at the loss of contact. You bite your lip when you feel his cum leaking out of your pussy, he gathers it and presses it back slowly before giving a kiss to your centre.

He goes to the bathroom and brings wet cloths to clean you up, being careful not to hurt you. When both of you are done, he hands you your panties. You look too tired to stand up, but you know you have to go. After all, it was just a one night stand, and you have to work tomorrow.

“You can stay the night, if you want” Aemond suggests after putting on his boxers. He can really read your mind, it’s kinda creepy, you think. “I mean, it’s too late to go back to your apartment, plus there’s a storm coming.” He presses his lips, as if telling you that you had no choice but to stay.

After weighing your options, you decide to stay. He grins and hands you one of his t-shirts, so that you don’t have to sleep in your dress —or naked. You put it on, smelling the clean fabric and lie down on the comfy mattress, covering yourself with the soft sheets. Aemond lies next to you, and after wishing each other good night, you drift off to sleep.

The next morning, Aemond wakes up to the sound of his annoying alarm. He runs his hands over his face, and looks around the room when he doesn’t find you. A small yellow post it note on top of his drawer catches his attention. He reads it and smiles. You left your phone number and your name below.

“Thanks for an amazing night. Text me if you want to grab some coffee or if you want to do it again ;)”

taglist: @melsunshine @tsujifreya @fan-goddess

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen one shot #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x you #modern aemond targaryen #modern aemond targaryen smut #hotd #hotd smut #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell fic #mydemimondewrites

[helaelaemond]

Teach Me Your Touch - Michael Gavey x Reader

HELAELAEMOND’S KINKTOBER

thank you @arcielee for the banner!

Pairing:  Michael Gavey x f!reader

Word count: 3k

Summary: You missed a lecture and have your classmate Michael Gavey share his notes and help you catch up. He's not good at teaching, and he makes you feel stupid. He makes you feel bad. When you cry, he wants to fuck you all better.

Content warning(s): light elements of bullying (prior to smut), feelings of intellectual inferiority

KINK CATEGORIES: public sex, crying, inexperience/loss of virginity (male), fingering (female receiving)

Rating: E

Tagging those who showed interest: @llemes @assortedseaglass @sapphire-writes @theoneeyedprince @ewanmitchellcrumbs @humanpurposes @underjeno @st-eve-barnes @arcielee @babyblue711

Michael's voice is snappy. "Are you listening to me?"

You look up at him in defeat. "Yes, I'm trying! But I don't-"

"I can't make it any clearer!"

You lean forward on the table and rest your head in your hands. "You're making me feel stupid."

He huffs. "Maybe you are."

Arsehole. Why did you even ask him for his help? You know he's a dickhead, but he's also smart. Last semester, you worked on a group project with him and although he was terrible working with other people, his understanding of the subject was unmatched. He's like a walking calculator, for God's sake, and that intellect seems to apply to every module.

Besides, last time, he had a mean streak, but he also seemed to soften with you. You're not exactly a bombshell, but you're still a woman, and he's a lonely man. You were kind to him last time you worked together, and it made him kinder, too.

Whatever rapport once existed between you, though, seems to have faded. Now, you're sat on the second floor of Radcliffe library under the tall arched ceilings at 2am. No one else is around to see your shame, thankfully.

It's been a long time since you've felt simple. You shouldn't feel stupid - you're on the same course as him! You only missed one lecture! It shouldn't be this hard!

"You're not making it easy to understand," you mumble.

"What?" he asks, irritated.

You lift your head and look at him, eyes red. "My mind doesn't work as quick as yours. I need you to explain it differently."

He blinks at you from behind his thick glasses, and you watch as he swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing above his buttoned collar. "Right. Fine. You did the reading, and you understand that a tangled hierarchy is a hierarchical consciousness system in which a strange loop appears. Right?"

Clenching your jaw, you nod. "That much I understand, Michael. I'm not as simple as you think."

"I don't think you're simple. I think you're acting simple."

It's too late and you're too tired. Hot tears spill down your cheeks. "You're acting mean."

"What?" He has the audacity to look shocked. "I'm helping!"

"No, you're not." You stand up and shove your notes into your rucksack hastily, along with your pens and library copy of the required reading. "You've spent the last three hours making me feel stupid and small and unintelligent, and you've enjoyed every second."

"No!" he protests angrily. "Don't tell me how I feel!"

"Alright! Well, that's how you've made me feel! And that's not fair! God, I really thought-" You cut yourself off and take a deep breath. But you're still crying, and it's embarrassing, and you furiously wipe away your tears. They're quickly replaced.

Michael stands up and follows you as you stalk off down the rows and rows of bookcases. He calls your name, but you ignore him. It's loathsome how hearing him say it gives you butterflies. "Will you just wait?" he shouts.

You whirl around to face him, making your rucksack fall off your shoulder and onto the floor. The noise echoes in the cavernous library, and you're suddenly very aware of how empty it is of other people. It didn't bother you before. It doesn't exactly bother you now, either, but... but there's something intense about the way he looks at you. It's angry, it's apprehensive, it's... it makes your skin crawl.

"What is it, Michael?" you ask. You're caught somewhere between anger and weariness.

"It's not my fault you feel stupid," he says defiantly.

"For the love of-"

"Because you're not stupid. You're just acting it. Like I said."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

He swallows. "Yes. You're not as smart as me. But that doesn't mean you're stupid."

You laugh dryly. "I don't know why I was ever nice to you. You have no interest in being nice to me."

Again, confusion flickers over his face. "I agreed to help you, didn't I? that's nice!"

"I think you only agreed to it so you could make me feel like dirt." You pick up your bag again and continue your way to the stairs that will take you down to the main entrance. You're still crying. He's absolutely shattered you tonight, and it's not fair.

Suddenly, there's a hand around your wrist, and it stops you in your tracks. It becomes abundantly clear that Michael Gavey is far stronger than he looks. You're left breathless when, out of nowhere, he pulls you between tall bookcases. He towers over you. You've always noticed how tall he is. Despite his somewhat bookish appearance, there's something about him that has always been nice to look at. Perhaps it's his thick hair, or his sharp jaw, or his pretty blue eyes. Something about him, despite his nasty streak, makes you wish he approved of you.

"Stop crying."

You sniff and look up at him in shame. "I'm trying."

"Try harder."

That makes your face crumple again. "Leave me alone."

"I want to help."

"Let me go."

"You're kind to me," he says, his voice suddenly quieter. When he says your name, it cracks. "I'm trying to make you feel better."

"It's not working."

"Teach me," he whispers. The intensity with which he is now looking at you in almost too much.

"Say something nice about me."

"Oh. Um." His hand loosens slightly on your wrist. You're all too aware of how clammy it is against your skin. You don't care. Any touch from him is, unfortunately, welcome. "Your work on our projective geometry project was good."

"I know it was."

"Alright." He licks his lips. His eyes dart to yours. "You're... good at explaining things in different ways. I'm not."

You sniff, and look down at your feet. His body is close to yours, and your gaze catches something in his trousers. Perhaps his zipper is caught on something. Or perhaps... perhaps...

Your heart races.

"Why did you agree to help me?" you ask, eyes still downcast.

"You asked."

"Why?"

"I..."

"Tell me the truth, Michael."

"Um."

It's so late, and you're so tired. The uncertainty makes the tears fall again. Your head hurts so much. "I'm going."

Michael cries out your name throatily. In a heartbeat, he grasps your shoulders and pushes you against the bookcase, and then his tall, lean body is pressed against yours and his clammy hands find their place on your neck. "Don't cry," he tells you. His face comes closer to yours. His glasses begin to steam up.

"You've done this to me."

"I want to make you feel better. But..."

"But?"

"But you're so pretty when you cry."

And then he kisses you.

It is messy, wet, and needy. He doesn't hesitate to push his tongue against yours, and his glasses press against your face. It should make you squirm away. But it makes you whimper quietly. Your bag drops to the floor, and your hands fly to his narrow hips. You open your mouth wide against his desperately, your teeth clinking against his, and he mirrors you until your lips, your cheeks, your nose, are wet with his spit.

He doesn't know what he's doing. You hardly do, either. And it's so fucking good.

"Michael," you whisper between hard and deep kisses.

He groans your name. "I've thought about this since we first met."

"You thought about me?"

He nods, before burying his face in your throat. His greedy mouth kisses up and down before they settle where your neck and shoulder meet, and he sucks. At his hips, your hands ball into fists around his belt. The carabiner he wears on it with a collection of USBs knocks against your fingers and you tug on it.

You want to fuck him.

"Yeah," he murmurs against your skin. "Think about you in lectures. What I wanna do to you."

To you. Not with you. God, that should make you want to leave. Instead, you resolve to stay.

"Yeah?" you ask breathlessly. "Show me."

"Okay."

Nervous sweat dampens his forehead, but you don't care. You feel it when he presses it against yours and palms you over your jacket. Your soft bra is padded, and you can hardly feel his touch. It's driving you mad. In frustration, you unbutton your shirt quickly and look up at him. "Touch me. Please, Michael, please-"

He breathes loudly through his mouth. His lips are wet with sailva; he's practically drooling. He hesitates.

"Have you been with a woman before?" you ask, chest heaving with need.

His grits his teeth, anger flashing across his face at the question, the mere insinuation that this is his first time. You take that as a no.

So it's your turn to teach him. But just from his desperate kisses, you're almost blind with desire, and there's not much patience left in you. So you pull your breast free from its cup, and press on the back of his head. He's so fucking tall. "Kiss me here," you whine softly. "Suck my nipple."

He is a better pupil than tutor. Perhaps, if you were less aroused, you would tell him to be gentler. But as it is, his eagerness is rough and hard and just what you need. The sharp pull of his mouth sends electricity through you, from your head to your toes, and you arch up against him.

"Your hand," you tell him. "Down my trousers. You thought about that, right?"

Against your breast, he nods. He bites your nipple, and you dig your teeth into your lip to keep quiet. It's the middle of the night, but anyone could walk in.

He fumbles with your button and zipper, and then his hand is down the front of your jeans and you spread your legs. He palms you hard, and instinctively, you grind against the touch.

"Let me show you something." Your breathing is laboured already, just like his. He releases your breast from his mouth and meets your gaze with pupils blown wide. You feel your heartbeat under his hand.

You wriggle your jeans down to your knees and then push down your underwear too, enough that you can spread your legs and cover his hand with yours. You guide his long fingers against your cunt, and it takes no time at all to show him how hot and swollen your clit is.

"Like that," you whisper as you press his digits into a firm and fast pace.

"God," he whimpers. "You're so... you're wet."

You nod. "Yeah. Means I want you."

Without needing to be guided this time, his touch strays down, and he presses his middle finger through your folds. When he finds your entrace and slips inside, he moans so loudly that you have to clamp your hand over his mouth.

His eyes are wide and pleading with you. He watches your face so closely as he pushes a second finger inside of you, and he kisses and sucks at your palm against his mouth.

"That's good," you tell him quietly, nodding your head. "Rub circles around my clit with your thumb. Oh, God, yeah, like that. That's good, Michael. Oh, God, don't stop."

When your hand against his mouth goes slack, he takes the opportunity to kiss you again. He shoves his tongue back into your mouth and it's so messy, so needy so erotic, that you have to quickly push his hand away depsite your previous order.

"What?" he asks, suddenly panicked. "What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing," you gasp. "Gonna make me come already."

His cheeks flush a deep red. "Really?"

He grins lopsidedly, and you whine, "want you inside."

Gulping, and with shaking hands, he unbuckles his belt and the clink of metal seems to echo loudly in the cavernous hall. He shuffles his trousers down his hips, mirroring you, and you look down to see how his hard cock strains against the soft briefs he wears. God, there shouldn't be anything sexy about the y-fronts he's sporting, but you can see the thick outline of him, his heavy balls, and its maddening.

Neither of you care that you're in public now. He pushes his underwear down, too, and when you whisper for him to lift you up, he does it with surprising easy. You kick your trousers and underwear off, spread your legs for him, and grasp the bookshelves at your back for support. His arms are hooked under your thighs and he watches with glasses slipping down his nose as his cock lines up against you.

Instinct takes over. He shoves his cock through your folds, back and forth, coating himself with your arousal, and he presses over your clit with his tip time and time again.

He moans your name too loudly.

"Shh," you soothe, as if you're not fighting with all of your strength to stay quiet. "God, that feels good."

"Inside?" he asks, unable to take his eyes off his cock on your cunt.

"If you want."

"I do." He meets your gaze. There's a vulnerability in him that you haven't seen before. And then you clench, and he feels your muscles tighten, and desire wins out. After a moment of slipping through you, he presses his blunt head against you, and pushes into you in one, swift movement.

The speed takes you by surprise. He's bigger than the vibrator you've been satisfied with lately, but that's alright. You're wet and throbbing, relaxed enough to take him. But it's still a stretch, albeit a blissful one. It's a stretch that borders the line between sweet and stinging, and tears prick your eyes. Good tears, this time.

"Okay?" he asks, voice cracking.

They drip down your cheeks but you smile, biting your lip, and nod. "Yeah. Hard. Go hard, Michael. Need- God, need you!"

And he does as you tell him. "Think about you," he grunts as he thrusts hard and fast. He's on the tip of his toes, knees bent, as he sets a brutal pace that has your body aflame. "All the... fuck, all the time. Oh! Oh!"

You clamp your hand back over his mouth to stifle his moans, and they dissolve into whimpers that match his hard, laboured breaths. They come through his nose and make the skin of your hand prickle. Michael grips your hips hard enough to bruise and it's so good, it's so fucking good. He wants you, he needs you. That's why he agreed to help you. That's why he accepted your kindness.

He likes you. Buried six inches deep in you, you realise this. It makes you bury your face into his neck, and you bite his earlobe. He whimpers in response. "Shh," you soothe.

"Close," he groans against your hand.

"Me too," you breathe. The coil in your stomach is tightening. The tension in your thighs spreads up your back, between your shoulders, and all the way down to your toes. As you wrap your legs around his slim waist, you wonder, in the back of your mind, if the shoes you still wear will leave a mark on his shirt.

"Oh, fuck, fuck, so good, fuck-!" He comes suddenly, buried deep inside you, and you feel him spurt inside of you. But it doesn't matter, you're so undone it doesn't matter, it doesn't fucking matter-!

He whines your name and presses his groin tight against your as his orgasm stutters over him. Dropping his head on your shoulder, he pants, and whispers your name.

"Michael," you protest quietly. "Plase, I'm not there, I'm-"

You rock your hips against him needily. As if it is the easiest thing in the world, he sets you down and pulls out, and immediately replaces his cock with his hand. Just as you showed him before, he buries his fingers back in your pussy and circles your clit with his thumb, and you appreciate it, you do, but it's not enough, it's not enough-

"Oh, God," you groan softly. "Like this."

You're trembling close and youre's so needy, and you grab his hand and press all fingers against your mound, showing him to press as hard and fast as he can. It hurts in the best way, and his hand is almost a blur, and he studies your face with an open mouth as your expression crinkles, tightens, your jaw slack and eyes scrunched closed.

The orgasm he gives you explodes through your body and you white out, knees giving way and balancing falling through. With his hand still firm against your cunt, he catches you and holds you steady, and you clutch against him blindly for balance. "I've got you," he grunts. "Easy."

But there's pride in his voice. He keeps his hand against you even after your orgasm has washed over you. Your flesh there twitches, hot and swollen, and his fingers gently press in different places to learn about you. Whatever information he gathers makes him smile.

After a long moment, enough strength returns to you that you can stand steadily again. "God, that was..."

"Acceptable?" he asks hopefully.

You're bending down to pull your underwear and trousers back on, and you glance up, trying not to grin. "It was good."

He smiles slightly and nods, looking away as if deep in thought. "Alright, that's good, then. Next time, should I wait for you to... to finish first?"

"Next time?" you ask with a quiet laugh. Standing upright, you do your trousers back up and he does the same, the USB still swinging from his belt.

"We have to do this again." Michael says it as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. And then, he brings the hand up covered in your wetness, and he licks his fingers clean. His eyes close in bliss. "You taste so sweet."

Biting the inside of your cheek, you smile even wider. "You don't have to do that."

Swallowing, he murmurs your name and smiles. It's the most genuine smile you've seen him wear. "Oh, I do. You know me. Always had a sweet tooth."

#michael gavey x you #michael gavey x reader #saltburn #ewan mitchell #ewan nation #mine #helaelaemond kinktober

[saturnville]

candy bling, joe rantz.

pairing: joe rantz x black fem oc (cleotha jean). content: cleotha jean reminisces on her relationship with joe rantz. warning: more "modern" approach to their relationship. suggestive content. song: candy bling by mariah carey (I suggest you listen as you read). tag list: @neeville @turn-thy-paige @ihe4rtisa @ineedafictionalman @lovebyceleste @alliewassobonum

In the solitude of her room, Cleotha found herself surrounded by fragments of a past she had long tried to forget. She sifted through the contents of a dusty old box, memories flooded her mind with an intensity she hadn't felt in months. Each item she unearthed struck her heart in ways that made her uncomfortable, a relic of a love once consumed by every thought and emotion.

Among the treasures she tried to forbet lay a delicate silver anklet, its tiny bells tinkling softly as Cleotha held it in her hands. Memories of lazy summer days and whispered promises rushed back to her, painting vivid scenes of youthful romance and boundless dreams. 

“What’s this?” Cleotha asked as she was handed a small, velvet bag. Her movements were sluggish as she peeled herself off the pillow she and Joe shared. The soft moan she pushed out was enough to make his insides stir again. 

Joe pulled his arm behind his head and drummed his fingers against his sheet-covered thigh. A small smile pulled on his lips as he shrugged. “Open it.” 

Cleotha held the sheet to her chest and shook the bag. Jingle, jangle. Her eyebrow quipped as she opened the bag and dumped the content in her hand. Two thin gold chains fell out, shining under the gaze of the sun. She hummed in awe as she fingered the chains delicately. “Two bracelets?” 

“Bracelet and anklet,” Joe replied with extra emphasis, a teasing tone underlying in his words. Cleotha, who knew exactly why he bought it, threw her head back in laughter. She muttered, “You’re disgusting.” Still, she held her wrist out for him to place the bracelet on it. 

Joe pulled the sheet back to reveal her brown legs. He readjusted their positions so he was in between her legs, her foot against his bare thigh. Cleotha watched intently as he hooked the gold chain around her ankle. He smiled in pride.

“You like it?” Cleotha asked, rotating her foot in a circle. Joe hummed and palmed her thigh, hooking her leg around his waist. He brought his lips to hers, nipping and sucking at the plushness there. Then, he made his way back down, pecking at her collarbone down to her calf once more, placing her leg over his shoulder.

“I do. I’ll like it even more in a second. Lay back.”

He made her feel so beautiful that day, glistening like jewels beneath the sunlight. Next to it, a necklace adorned with the initials 'J' gleamed in the dim light. She tried to smile as she recalled when she first received it.

“Joe!” she gasped. “This is beautiful! Will you put it on me, please?” 

“Of course. Turn around for me.” 

The smile on her face was childlike as she stood back to chest with her lover. His warm hands pushed her hair over her shoulder then wrapped the chain around her neck. The gold complimented her skin beautifully. He connected the link to the clasp and tapped her hip when he finished. “Let me see, sweetheart.” 

Cleotha Jean grinned as she posed in front of him, the J on her chest smiling back at him. Joe nodded in approval, “Looks pretty, baby.” 

“You think so?” she gushed, running her fingers off the pendant. “Want a closer look?” Cleotha pulled him in by his belt loops and pushed him against the bed, climbing on top of him. SHe wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed butterfly-like kisses all along his face. His cheeks were stained red from her lips,

Joe’s eyebrow raised in amusement as he welcomed her affection, His eyes dropped to the pendant that swung against her chest. “Yes ma’am.” 

But it was the worn envelope nestled at the bottom of the box that stirred something deep within Cleotha's soul. With trembling fingers, she traced the creases of the paper, feeling the weight of years of unspoken words and unanswered prayers. As she unfolded the letter, the words spilled forth like a long-forgotten melody, each line a poignant reminder of a love that had once defined her very existence. 

The park was their favorite place to be. Especially during the month of September. The sun still hugged them, but didn’t suffocate them with her warmth. Nature sung its harmonious song, the animals danced with each other amongst the trees, and the grass was still a bright green. It was a peaceful place to be. 

It was like every other weekend; Cleotha Jean and Joe were sprawled across a picnic blanket with a basket of food propped open in front of them. Joe was lying on his back while Cleotha sat upright munching on strawberries and coloring in her book. 

“Cleo,” Joe said. Cleotha hummed and continuing coloring her flower. “I wrote you a letter.” 

Her coloring stopped. She swallowed the remainder of her strawberry and dropped her colored pencil. Joe reached behind him for a white envelope that he managed to tuck under the blanket without her noticing. He extended it to her, which she took with thanks. 

Joe watched as Cleotha curiously peeled open the envelope and retrieved the letter. It was folded in threes, and was filled from top to bottom. 

My forever sweetheart, Cleotha Jean, 

You don’t understand that I wake up everyday and give thanks that you walked into my life. I felt that I was nothing but a poor kid with seemingly nothing to offer the world until you showed me otherwise. 

I didn’t think it was possible to love someone more than I loved myself. Your existence proves me otherwise. 

I often wonder if you know that you are a gift in human form. Wrapped in a brown shell, garnished with gold. I wish to keep you with me forever, as long as you’ll have me.

I often think about our future together. How I’m going to marry you as soon as we graduate. We’ll buy a house, travel the world, and have children. I’m still banking on 3, but whatever you want, I’ll be content. As long as I’m with you, I’ll take anything.

I want to be yours forever, if you’d have me. 

Will you marry me? 

The letter flew from Cleotha’s hands as she screamed loudly. The birds above her croaked at her sudden outburst. Her hands flew over her mouth and she finally made eye contact with her lover, who’d positioned himself on one knee with an open box in his hand.

The ring was beautiful. It was dainty, just as she liked, and a rich shade of gold. His eyes were hopeful as he awaited her reaction. 

“Will you—“

“Yes!” Cleotha replied gleefully. She threw her arms around him so wildly that he fell backward into the grass. His laughs were music to her ears. “Yes, yes, yes! I’ll marry you.” 

Joe smiled, “Yeah?” 

Cleotha bit back a teary smile and nodded. “Yeah. It’s you and me forever.”

Her sweet baby. She hadn’t realized she’d been crying until she finished the letter and a puddle of tears smudged his neat handwriting. Cleotha folded the letter and put it back in the box, right next to the ring she took off months prior. It stared back at her and she forced herself to look away. She didn’t want to keep it, but Joe insisted she did, saying “it’s yours. I will never take back what rightfully belongs to you.”

With each memory unearthed, Cleotha found herself transported back to a time when love was pure, and the future seemed to be filled with promise. Yet, as she traced the contours of her past, a sense of longing stirred within her, a yearning for the man who had once held her heart in his hands.

She should’ve been over him by now, she scolded herself. Their union had ended more than a year ago; what was she holding onto? Well, another side of her probed. A three year relationship that began in college, an engagement, wedding planning, house hunting, and a planned future. It all dimished at the blink of an eye. It would take more than a year to recover from such emotional trauma. 

Cleotha befriended a bottle of red wine after that. It was sweet and savory, just like him. She chuckled lowly as her fingers dapped away the drop that fell from the corner of her lips. She should slow down, she figured, but it was the anniversary of a love that she cherished more than herself. She owed it to herself to get wine drunk and eat popcorn, right?

She tucked her feet under herself and poured another glass, humming a tune, though nothing particular, to herself. Just as she brought the glass to her lips, a knock sounded on her door. Her eyebrow quipped as her eyes darted to a nearby clock. It was 9:32 on a Saturday night, who could have been at her door. 

“Hold on!” she called out, glass in hand as she stumbled lightly to reach the door. She cursed as she stepped on a shoe that she kicked off in the entryway, toyed with the locks, and peeled the door open. “Oh…” 

If anyone would have told her he’d be standing in front of her right now, she would have called them a liar. The communication had been severed eons ago, only having heard from him when she got the job promotion she had been praying for. Any other conversation, interaction, or moment of desire, was a faction of her imagination. Yet, here he stood, a ghost from her past, with sorrow etched in his eyes and regret weighing heavily on his shoulders. And she had no clue how to handle it. 

She didn’t know whether to cry, scream, or throw herself in his arms. He looked so different than when she last saw him. He was broader, presumably from working out to keep in shape as he moved on from his athlete days. His hair was still platinum, but it was slicked back rather than messible touseled, though she loved it that way. His eyes, so gorgeous and blue, were so sad and empty. 

“Hi, Cleo…” 

Cleotha’s eyes welled with tears. She’d yell, scream, and put him in his place in the morning, but right now, all she could do is throw her arms around his neck and cry woefully into his shirt. With a voice choked with an emotion, she found the strength to say, “I missed you.” Her voice trembled with vulnerability. “I missed you so much.”

And in Joe's eyes, Cleotha saw a flicker of longing that mirrored her own. They stood in the doorway of her home without the exchange of words. The tears and gentle touches spoke loud enough. Maybe in due time, what was broken could be repaired, and the union that began years ago, could be recovered. Just maybe.

—

likes are great, but feedback is desired as well, friends! thanks for reading!

#saturnville #black!reader #black reader #the boys in the boat #tbitb #callum turner #callum turner x reader #callum turner x black reader #callum turner x reader #joe rantz x cleotha jean by saturnville #joe rantz x reader #joe rantz x black!reader #joe rantz #major john egan x reader #john egan x reader #Spotify

[shadowdaddies]

Hi, love your writing. Could you write something with either Lucien or Ruhn with a reader who is always told she talks to much? Like when she gets happy or excited she tends to ramble and people usually get annoyed at her and tell her to shut up and she slowly stops talking at all and Lucien or Ruhn see that and try to get her to come out of her shell again and always listen to what she has to say?

I needed to write this today, I really relate and I'm having a hard time. If you ever want someone to talk to, my messages are open💜 and omg do you know how hard it was to choose between Lucien and Ruhn?😩 ugh anon your ideas are too good! I went with Lucien only because I haven't written for him yet and I think he's perfect for this but if you have a Ruhn request I'm HERE💜

Use Your Words

Lucien x Reader hurt/comfort

Warnings: this got very suggestive towards the end, I have learned I am very susceptible to the Vanserra rizz

You barely made it through the front door before a sob ripped through you, slinking to the ground as you sunk against the wall. Your throat was in knots, chest heavy as your thoughts eddied deeper and darker. 

Growing up, you had always been told you were too loud, too open, too much. Even now, it took courage for you to reach out to people, to not let your insecurities get in the way of connecting with others. Tonight you felt comfortable, thinking that the females in court accepted you, but the moment that you opened up - shared too much - they gave you the same judgmental looks that had become ingrained in your mind.

It was easier to retreat into yourself, better to not say anything than to bear the rejection that inevitably followed you through your life. When Lucien arrived home, he found you crumpled into the sofa, adorned in your softest robe as you stared blankly at the fire.

“My love, you look ethereal glowing against the light of the fire,” Lucien murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. He lifted your head, settling underneath you as a makeshift pillow while he stroked your hair. “How was your evening, beautiful?”

You couldn’t help how your face crumpled at his question, lip quivering as the tears leaked from your eyes. You buried your head in his lap, shaking your head as you couldn’t bring yourself to speak. 

“Hey, I’ve got you, love,” Lucien whispered, lifting you up into his lap, cradling his in his strong arms. A long time passed as he held you, letting the emotions pour out of you, paying no mind to the tears that stained his shirt. 

When you were ready, you lifted your head to rest against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat calming. “I’m not good with words like you, Lucien. I wish people found me charming and interesting, but it’s like I say too much and they lose interest. I don’t know how to do anything right, Luc. No matter how hard I try, it’s not enough, and it’s too much,” you cried into his shoulder. 

Looping your arms around his neck, you held him close as though he might disappear if you let go. “I’m sorry, that was a lot. I didn’t mean to say too much, I just keep talking,” you rambled, unable to stop but desperate to share your feelings. 

Lucien held you tight against his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of your hair before broad hands found your cheeks. “My love, you are not too much. I could never have enough of you. Your words are like the flowers that fill the meadow outside. They are many, and together they create something so breathtaking, I don’t know how I ever lived without you.”

His lips lowered to your neck, long red hair sliding against the skin of your chest. Fingers threading through his soft hair, you tilted your head back, welcoming the affections he was bestowing upon you. 

Pressing a kiss below your ear, Lucien’s warm breath tickled your skin as he spoke. “I want to know everything that goes through this beautiful mind,” he murmured, teeth grazing your neck as he continued peppering kisses to any exposed skin he could find.

You whimpered, rolling your hips against his in a silent request for more. Lucien pulled back, a feline smirk on his lips as his eyes glowed in the firelight. With a tsk, he tilted your chin towards him. “I want to hear everything that you want tonight. I want you to use your words, to hear every beautiful noise that comes from your mouth as I show you how incredible you are. Understood?” He punctuated his question by tugging your bottom lip with his teeth, and you nodded furiously. 

“Yes, Lucien. Please touch me,” you breathed.

“Good girl,” he grinned, tossing you over his shoulder as he carried you to your bedroom.

banners by saradika

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #lucien vanserra #lucien x reader #lucien acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfic #acotar fic #lucien vanserra x reader #lucien fluff #lucien angst #lucien vandaddy #lucien x reader fluff #lucien x reader angst #lucien x you #lucien x y/n #acotar fluff #acotar angst #acotar x you #acotar x y/n #acotar reader imagine #acotar reader fic

[bowieandqueen11]

Honeymooning With Steven Grant Would Include...

I’m so so sorry to the lovely anon who requested this - I tried to copy this into my drafts and accidentally deleted half of it :( I remember it being for honeymoon headcanons, so I hope this is alright love! 

(I do not own Moon Knight or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @marc-spectorr.)

Warning: nothing too explicit, but NSFW so 18+ please!

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Do you have any idea?? How soft I am for this?? I am so soft I am YEARNING you have made me yearn god I love this concept so much

I feel like the two of you would go somewhere sunny: perhaps a couple of weeks in Egypt, staying in a nice resort by the Red Sea, since Steven is so fed up of the dreary London weather. Just a really nice spot, where the two of you can hire out a boat for the day, and he can sit holding you at the back and feed you strawberries. If he’s not too busy trying to taunt you with the fruit, or giggling like bursts of sunlight as you nip at his fingers, he’s leaning awkwardly over your head to give you a sweet upside down kiss. His lips are so plump, so tender as his top lip latches onto your bottom one, that for a moment the two of you are lost in a sweet abyss where the only thing that exists is the tart tang of each other’s mouths. Or, the poor man is holding onto your biceps for dear life, only being drawn away from your lips by the feel of the boat rocking wildly from side to side.

As twilight began to flood in, flitting past your eyes like a gliding moth chasing the last drop of the honey sun with its velvet tail, you and Steven perch up from where you’re entangled on the chaise longue. Underneath the silver flecks of the waves, a few hawksbill turtles languidly glider underneath the navy froth. Steven’s eyes immediately light up, seeming to glow like shining jewels against the strung lights hanging from the masts. ‘Turtles’, he whispers and points towards the water, turning to look at you as if he’d just seen true magic. You grip onto his finger and place his palm flatly against yours, doing your best not to laugh when he squeals and buries his head deeply into your neck. ‘Yes love’, you caress your free hand through his stubborn curls, ‘those are definitely turtles.’

He nearly loses his mind when a dolphin appears above the crest of the water line. He has to lie down for a little bit against your chest, panting like crazy and his heart racing a mile per minute because even though it’s day one, he’s becoming a bit overwhelmed by all of this bless him. You just snuggle down around him, rubbing your nose against the shell of his ear and whispering sweet nothings until he finally calms down. He looks so calm, so peaceful, with his pursed lips rising and falling in time with his chest, that you’re not too surprised when he begins to snore a few minutes later. 

He makes you leave the hotel room before dinner for a couple of minutes while he gets dressed. With an ear pressed up against the door, you ignore the weird looks you’re getting from the elderly vacationers heading down to the dining hall as you listen to the thud of Steven falling across the floor. He seems to be... jumping, probably trying to pull his trousers up quickly, which is followed by the sound of a hanger crashing onto the floor and a squeaky ‘oh, bollocks!’. You’re pressing a finger to your lips to stop yourself erupting when he finally unlatches the door, but it immediately drops down to your side when you take him in. He’s wearing his best polka dot yellow tie and sheepish smile, gazing down in terror at his feet and back up at you. He’s got a squashed box of chocolates in one hand, and a rather pressed bouquet of roses in the other; it almost takes your breath away, since he looks almost identical to the way he arrived at your doorstep for your first date. Even though you’re married now, his arm is still shaking as he offers it to you, and he still sighs a breath of relief when you loop your own through enthusiastically.

‘I’d been dreaming of this moment ever since I first put eyes on you, you know that love?’ He manages to say between shaking words as he leans you downstairs. ‘Every night. All I could blooming think about was how lucky I would be if I could hold your hand every night. You might as well pinch me right now, ‘cause I must be blinking dreaming.’

You spend a lot of your honeymoon down by the sandy strips, sharing a sun lounger and lying together underneath the warm shelter of a beach umbrella. He would read to you, his lips brushing against the tip of each with the pronunciation of each word: hot, tingly, the inside of his lip dragging against your earlobe from time to time. Eventually, when he noticed you were starting to fall asleep from where you were tucked up around his arm, he would become like a big child. He would teasingly shove you with his shoulder with a booming ‘tag, you’re it!’, before giggling as heartily as birdsong and running off across the sand. You finally manage to rugby tackle him down after a solid ten minutes of him skiting around the place, and he looks up at you as if you hung every swinging star in the sky as you hold him in place. Your legs are firm against the taut muscle of his calves, your hands pinning his trembling wrists above his head, and his breath is shaky as you press your weight against his lower abdomen, your bottom resting firmly against his groin.

He feels he’s about to pass out as you let go of his left wrist to run your fingers gingerly across the stubble of his jaw, before cupping his chin to hold in in place. He squirms beneath you, beginning to mewl as you lean down to kiss him. You’re quickly thrown to the side before lips can meet, though, as Steven manages to get you turned and shelters you from the massive wave that comes breaking onto the shore. When he looks down at you, sea water dripping down his wet hair and onto your nose with the most disappointed face in the world, you can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut in laughter. 

This man is the BIGGEST softie in the world oml. You come wandering out of the bathroom that night, not expecting to see Steven biting his bottom lip and jutting his chin out. He’s muttering nervously to himself, a quiet ‘oh dear, oh dearie me’ busting out of him as he squats down and runs back and forth across the floorboards like a terrified little crab. He’s grabbing at rose petals he tried to shower across the floor, not realising the cool night breeze would burst in through the French doors and steal them away. When he notices you from the corner of his eye, he quickly straightens up, hiding the woven basket behind his back. He pretends he doesn’t know what’s going on as you walk over to him, but when you drop your towel and grab the back of his head to bring him down for a fervent kiss, the basket is quickly dropped to the floor and the jig is up.

Bro.. bro... oh my god, the body worship this man is hellbent on showing you is beyond crazy on your honeymoon. Like, dear lord, turn it up by a hundred and you might get a little closer to understanding how this emotionally vulnerable, touch starved, drowning in love man might be. I mean, Steven’s always been a giver if you know what I mean, but this is just next level. He’s so nervous though the sweetie pie, that you decide to help him out by loosening his tie. He’s nearly drooling on the floor by the time you throw it off of him, standing there like putty in your hand and just watching with lovesick eyes as you undress him. When his mind finally registers the almost inaudible pop of his shirt buttons though, he’s full on racked by whole body shivers as your palms glide the material apart from his chest. His firm pecs tighten against the feel of your bare skin against his, and behind the breathless inhale he swears he could die quite happily right now as long as you just don’t stop.

When he finally can’t take it anymore, it’s your turn to groan as he grabs onto the back of your thighs and shoves you backwards, pulling your bottom until it’s resting at the edge of the mattress. He slots his frame between your legs, knees coming down onto the floor as he buries himself between your soft flesh in ineffable bliss. Your thighs tighten around his head, and he breathes against your inner thighs as he kisses a path up them, gripping tenderly onto the back of your leg. When a little bit of extra oomph seems to overcome him, and his teeth nips across your panty line as they try to pull the seam of your underwear down, he immediately starts cooing and pressing a delicate brush of his nose against the mark, as if in apology. 

Although he’s far better around you, some nights Steven still doesn’t sleep very well. You do your best to wake him up gently on these days, unlatching him from where his legs have tumbled onto yours during the night to start the kettle going. The smell of peppermint tea always perks him straight out of his dreams, and so he curls the duvet around his head like a hedgehog diving into the soft mound of a giant marshmallow as he goes looking for you. His feet slog around the room until he reaches the kitchenette, and he feels his heart begin to fizzle and pound as if a thousand scarabs were flitting around trying to escape the mortal walls when he spots you bopping around to the static hum of the radio. He immediately scares the pants off you by wrapping his arms around your waist, joining in your dance by swaying your hips side to side in time with his own. He’s impossibly close, his warm breath tingling against your neck as he kisses you. Suddenly, you’re enveloped by darkness, realising Steven’s taking the opportunity to assimilate you into the duvet fortress as well, so he can lean down and kiss every inch of exposed skin on your face and neck as he can, with a billion rushed pecks. You finally manage to push him off by pressing your hand against his mouth, and he relents to go get some tea.

The two of you sit knee to knee, criss crossed on top of the unmade bed. ‘We’re married’, he suddenly says, sitting bolt upright as if he’d been shocked between sips from his cup. ‘Yes, Steven’, you reply as he turns to look at you with a smile of pure wonderment, ‘I remember. I was there too.’

‘But it wasn’t a dream. That actually happened. You married me. This isn’t a joke, is it?’

‘It’s not a joke, Steven. I love you’, you state plainly, grabbing onto the back of his hand.

You can see the tears begin to gather behind his bloodshot eyes, his bottom lip blubbering out as his fingers turn to grip, almost painfully, the ends of your own. ‘I love you more than everything in the universe, Y/n.’

I mean, it’s Steven Grant so you 100% go sightseeing around the place! He so delicately holds your hand on the bus, nearly vibrating out of his seat he’s so excited. He even manages to ignore the side-eyes of fellow passengers as you pass by a really exciting historic site, Steven’s shoulder butting against your own as he points out to everything through the window. He hunches over your side until he’s nearly fully leaning onto you as he begins to rush out a boatload of facts he’s learnt from his books back at home. By the end of the night he’s so exhausted he’s fully lying across both the seats, legs planted in the aisle and his head blissfully cradled in your lap. His content smile is literally beauty incarnate, and you can’t help but disturb him from his sleep by kissing the tip of his nose. He replies by latching onto your top lip when you go to pull away, pressing his tongue tiredly against your own before flopping back against your knee as if he’d just won the lottery.

Steven definitely makes you take silly photographs in front of everything you go to see: the picture he took of you jumping in front of the pyramids past Cairo end up pinned on the wall next to his fish tank. After he kisses you goodbye in the mornings before work, it’s become part of his routine to also press a kiss against your cheek in the picture <3

Although he did manage to come round one of the market stalls holding a stray cat in his arms. With pleading eyes, he sounded like he was about to burst out crying as he looked at you, sniffling.

‘Can we keep him?’

‘Steven, how are we supposed to smuggle a cat back in our suitcase??’

‘He can have my plane seat instead, I don’t mind :(’

He tugs you down back alleys during your last few days in Egypt, running down cobblestoned streets hand in hand, flying across the dusty ground like loose kites free in the breeze. He’s on the hunt for a second hand bookstore: one he gets lost in almost immediately. You finally manage to find him hunched over by a knobbly looking bookshelf in a dusty side crevice near the back of the small shop. You have to literally hitch yourself over a pile of pretty worn, ancient looking encyclopaedias, shimmy past a dusty looking globe, and brush through a gap between two lined oaken bookshelves before you spot him. He doesn’t realise you’re behind him until your arms are squeezing around his soft belly, and you’re kissing the bunched material between his shoulder blades. His hand comes up to squeeze your fingers as he gives you a loving, slightly embarrasssed ‘oh! Hello love! Fancy seeing you here!’

He becomes even more shocked when, after you’ve finished resting your nose against his back and just breathing him in for a moment, you spin him round to face you. His eyes widen as he drops the book he was looking at onto his feet, but the confusion is quickly replaced by his features melting into one of intoxication as you press a lingering kiss against the side of his mouth. His eyes are blinking slowly, trying to shut as he crumples against your chest, his elbow knocking backwards and nearly knocking over a few piles of books domino style.

He literally tells you he loves you at least ten times a day. It just blurts out of him, as if he’s going to burst if he doesn’t get to say it. Baby. Baby boy. He deserves this forever love, and has wished for nothing more since the two of you first met.

#moon knight #steven grant #steven grant imagine #steven grant x reader #steven grant headcanons #moon knight imagine #moon knight x reader #moon knight headcanons #marvel #marvel imagine #oscar isaac #x reader

[superblysubpar]

We'll Call It Love masterlist | It Had To Be You masterlist

the song: Drops of Jupiter (Tell Me) by Train // It Had To Be You playlist

warnings: this story is a part of the series We’ll Call It Love, and much of it would be spoiled if you read this first. It’s linked above, and I hope you love it! | series warnings pertain

2.8k words

A/N: After finishing this chapter, I highly recommend reading the one shot "You're Still The One" linked here, before reading the last story in the It Had To Be You collection | Also, as always, thank you to @rebelfell for her Halloween Party blurb about Eddie in this universe - you can read the story here which is hinted at in part of the story below

“This was a bad idea.” 

He drags his feet, shaking his head behind the girl dressed as Morticia Addams. 

“Oh my god, I did not listen to you talk about grand gestures and this movie for an hour while you changed in and out of the costume six times, Steve.”

“But-”

Leigh spins, resulting in Steve almost smacking right into her. She crosses her arms and huffs, “Did you or did you not say that if you show up in this costume maybe she would see how sorry you are, see how you really feel, see-”

“I know! But I really don’t think it was a good idea any more. She threw a beer in my face last time. Plus, I…I made my choice.” Steve goes to run a hand through his hair, remembering he has this stupid costume on and rests his hands on top of it instead. He kicks at the brick wall, avoiding Leigh’s perceptive gaze.

“Right. So then get inside. Tell her you’re a pirate. I don’t care. But I did not get dressed up for you to stand outside this bar all night and wallow.”

Leigh slaps at his chest, two quick pats and then spins him and pushes him into the crowded and dimly lit bar. 

“Drinks?” Leigh leans in, shouting over the throbbing bass playing, squinting in the purple neon light and strobes hitting her face. 

Steve nods and follows, glancing around, pretending he’s not looking for one person in particular. He needs to apologize, he needs to tell you what’s going on, he just needs…you. But when he finally spots a red dress, he’s suddenly finding it a little hard to breathe because you did come as Buttercup, and you’re more beautiful than ever. 

It feels a little like the first time he saw you at Argyle’s all those months ago. There’s a spotlight hitting you, and there’s suddenly a reprieve in the thrumming music and it feels a little like Steve is walking through jello to get to you. And when you engulf Robin in a hug, and your face is pinched in pain over her shoulder, every part of his body aches. 

When you separate, and face the bar, he watches the looks of bewilderment cross each of your faces, and he blurts out the first thing he can think of when Leigh elbows him in the ribs. 

“Well, there isn’t much money in revenge.”

Smooth, idiot. 

Steve doesn’t hear Robin at first, or watch Leigh. All he sees is the anger and hurt flash across your face at the sight of him. There isn’t an ounce of you that cares he’s in this costume for the reason he is. 

You hate him, and it’s too late to change that. 

“...if you want to ditch Dingus here…”

Steve’s too hot in this damn costume and he glares at Robin, because he can’t be mad at her for complimenting Leigh, but the way your face twitches when she does means it’s clearly not helping and he can’t say so…so…

“Seriously Robin? Are you being serious right now? Where’s Nancy?”

When Leigh asks you where your dress is from and you look like you want to answer but then spin to the bar and blurt out the name of the most expensive drink, Steve wants to throw up. It was all a  big mistake. 

“Robin, where is Nancy? And Eddie? I wanna wish him luck before they go on!” Leigh loops her arm through Robin’s tugging her away from the bar. It’s not lost on Steve when she looks over her shoulder and Leigh points to you, mouthing ‘Talk to her’ with a frown and glare. He rolls his eyes and waves her away. 

Standing next to you, in this costume, not talking, hurts more than he thought possible. It’s like words sit on the tip of his tongue, ready, needing to come out, but he’s too afraid to say them. And what happens if he does say them? Will you suddenly be a fan of relationships? Will you suddenly be able to tell him everything about yourself? Will this suddenly work?

Maybe, if he pays for your drinks, it’ll be the open doorway he needs. Start the conversation.

But you ruin that plan as you push crumpled bills over the bar quickly when he pulls out his card, and he sighs. 

“You’re not seriously wearing that.”

Steve’s not even sure you realize you said it. It comes out soft, timid, like you haven’t spoken in hours and aren’t sure you remember how to. Which makes sense, because he feels the same way, like not talking to you for the last few weeks has made him incapable of doing so all together. 

He watches your pulse on your throat like some crazy obsessive vampire-like guy, he memorizes the twitch in your jaw, the inhale and exhale making your chest rise and fall. He traces each dip and curve of your face, hardened and closed off when you finally look at him. Steve swallows, searching the entirety of your face for some sort of hint that you get what he’s trying to do. That you get why he’s in this costume. A sign. A nudge. A promise that if he keeps trying, it won’t happen right away, but you’ll try too. 

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” 

“Are you fucking kidding me Steve? After everything, after what you said at the game, you’re really gonna stick to not admitting what this is?”

You gesture to his whole body and something inside of him starts to bubble, sick of you not admitting it either. How you know why he’s in this costume. You have to know. And instead of facing your own feelings about it, you’re blaming him. 

“I’m just a pirate. I don’t know what your problem is.”

Steve stares at you and you glare at him and he wonders if it’ll ever be okay again. Will you ever give him a chance to talk and will he be brave enough to spit it out if you do and will you ever be willing to do so yourself. 

It’s this horrible, painful, awkward, long moment of him not admitting and you not admitting that you’re definitely wearing a couples costume embodying truest love - that you both know he’s not just a pirate - when a random asshat claps Steve on the shoulder and says “Oh nice! As you wish, dudes!”

As you flip Steve off, he decides to be the bigger person, to apologize, to try to explain why he’s in this costume even if it puts his heart out there for you to step on. But you’re already retreating through the crowd before he can, weaving in and out of it and towards the exit. 

Steve watches you blatantly ignore Eddie and that bubbling irritation inside of him starts to grow at the thought of Eddie coming to your rescue again. At the thought of you turning to him for comfort. 

“Dude, where are you-”

“I need to talk to her. Just…don’t let Robin see.” Steve pushes at Eddie, vaguely taking in the costume involving fur and glasses and the letterman jacket he can’t even begin to piece together, before he’s following you outside. 

The air is cool against his skin, forgetting how good it felt to not be inside that bar in only a few minutes. There’s a bouncer smoking, a few people down the block, and Steve pulls at the suffocating mask and hat when he spots you walking away. He reaches out for your shoulder, calling your name. 

“Don’t touch me, Steve.” 

When you yank your shoulder from his touch, the tone of your voice, something inside of him shatters. 

How can he be the reason you sound like that? How can he be the reason your face looks like that?

He holds his hands up in surrender, deciding he’ll just leave tonight. It was too soon. 

“Look, I just want to make sure you’re okay. You can-”

When you interrupt him, when you tell him he’s not your boyfriend, the irritation he’s been keeping shoved down begins to grow from its small simmer. And when you can’t help but get closer to him despite the words coming out of your mouth, despite telling him he’s not your friend, he knows he’s about to say things he can’t take back.

“You’d like that right?” That’s it, case closed. Y/N calls the shots and decides everything…” 

Maybe he doesn’t want to take it back. Maybe he needs to say this. To make it clear he’s not the one fucking this up. You are. 

“...You’re a spoiled brat who’s mad because you’ve lost a toy.”

If he acts like it doesn’t hurt, maybe it won’t. 

Your scoff and eye roll punctuate your words, “Me? The spoiled brat? Excuse me, Mr. 50th floor and Daddy’s Credit Card. Take a look in the fucking mirror, Steve!”

What the fuck do you actually have to be mad at him for? It’s not like you love him. It’s not like you care about him. It’s not like this was anything more than sex to you, right.

Right?

When he shouts, when he pleads for you to tell him what you have to be upset with him for, and your chin quivers and your eyes get glassy, he thinks you might admit it. He thinks maybe you’ll say it and he’ll say sorry and you’ll tell each other right here, right now, everything you’ve been holding back. 

And then you shove him. 

And you tell him he’s a hypocrite.

And a liar. 

An asshole. 

Bullshit.

Each word accompanied by a shove to his chest he doesn’t even try to defend himself against. He doesn’t even try to argue. Because are you wrong?

And when you tell him to lose your number, and he searches one last time for any sign of you feeling the opposite of what you just shouted at each other, he says the only thing he can think to say at that moment. 

The only thing to convey how sorry he is. 

The only thing to possibly tell you how he feels despite you breaking his heart right now. 

“As you wish.”

“This was such a bad idea,” you groan, tying a ribbon around a little mesh bag for the fifth time in less minutes. 

You sit in your living room on the carpet. The lights are off save one lamp glowing behind the couch, shining on Inigo passed out in his dog bed just under the blue glow of the TV screen.  Piles organized by category for the little favors to be left on plates for guests take over the entirety of the room and Steve stands in the dining room.

He swipes his wrist over his forehead, staring at his suit hanging from the overhead light fixture. Steam from the iron in his hand swirling around him as he grimaces at the stubborn wrinkles in the fabric. 

“I told you not to volunteer for that. Should have made Eddie do it. He hasn’t done a thing.”

It’s the hottest night of the Summer so far, and he stands there in only his boxers and a plain white shirt, barefoot, you in a sports bra and boyshorts, both surfaces of your skin glistening with sweat despite the AC running overtime. 

The way you both are wearing next to nothing would normally have you finishing the job, tangled limbs and messy kisses, cooling off in the shower together. 

Normally, a wedding of your best friends would have someone grow closer to the person they’re dating and living with. Surrounded by all this planning, all this public devotion, all this love, should make a person imagine themselves in the same situation. 

You’re not normal. 

You hum, starting to go around to the piles, collecting hershey kisses and disposable cameras, chapsticks and pencils as you respond, “Eddie isn’t the maid of honor or the best man.”

If you were to look up, you’d see Steve watching you closely, see the way his brows knit together when you roll your eyes at the customized tic tacs. 

“Jesus,” you mutter under your breath, “This is exactly what’s wrong with weddings. I can’t believe Robin and Nancy are into all this.”

Steve sets the iron down, the newest but certainly not the first comment against weddings rubbing him the wrong way.

Again.

“Into telling everyone how much they love each other?”

You snort, shaking your head as you tie another bag closed and toss it in a bucket to bring to the venue tomorrow.

“I don’t think you need chocolate and lip balm and sunglasses and beer cozies to tell people how you feel.” 

“Sure,” Steve runs a hand through his hair and you look up, finding him leaning against the kitchen island, arms crossing over his chest as he keeps going, “Maybe they don’t need all  of that but-”

“I don’t think they need any of it, Steve,” you clarify before he can get too going about the beauty and meaning behind the day you’re all about to have tomorrow. 

Again.

“There’s nothing wrong with them wanting to tell everyone in any way possible they can, that they love each other.”

You sigh. “I don’t get why they need to tell people in the first place, Steve.”

Aside from a laugh track on the TV, it’s silent and you keep your eyes on your fingers tying green ribbon around pale pink bags. 

Steve finally breaks first, his voice soft when he asks, “What do you mean you don’t get why they need to tell people?”

Shrugging, you avoid his gaze you can feel on the side of your cheek as you start on another bag. “I mean, I don’t get why they need to tell people.”

“Like the entire wedding? You don’t get why they’re having a wedding?”

Your shoulders rise and fall in a shrug again. 

Steve’s heart hammers in his chest while yours pounds in your ears as his voice tries to remain even, but you hear it crack as it rises in volume. 

“You don’t think they should be getting married? You don’t think they should have a wedding?”

“No, I didn’t say that. I just don’t get why weddings exist. Does anything really change? Suddenly you have a legal piece of paper? Cool? After, what? Thousands of dollars. Stress. Bad food. Shitty music. I mean, we’ve watched Robin and Nancy fight over stupid shit like cake flavors the past year. How is that good for anything?”

Steve steps closer to you, his hand running through his hair making it stick up all over the place as his cheeks flush pink. 

“But they love each other and they want to tell everyone that-”

“Why do they have to tell everyone? Shouldn’t everyone already know? And why do they have to spend all this money and throw this big party? That’s all I’m saying.”

You stand again, going to grab the bucket of favors to bring it to the car so you don’t have to in the morning but Steve is shaking his head, volume and his thoughts ramping up.

“They want to throw this party because they love each other so much they just wanna scream it any way they can. Because they want it to be legal. Because they want to have fun with all the people they love and celebrate something so beautiful and unique and strong like their love. I don’t understand how you don’t understand that.”

You stand in front of him, holding the bucket, and maybe it’s the weight of the favors or the way his voice is getting louder and the apartment is getting hotter or the way his eyes seem to have you under a microscope that you snap back a little mean, that you get a little loud yourself.

“Because I don’t understand it, Steve, like I said! I don’t think you need to-”

“It’s not a need. They want to-”

“Fine! Want then! I don’t understand what possesses a person to want a wedding!”

Steve steps closer to you, his brows pinched and his hands running wild through his hair as he yells, “A fucking marriage! A partnership! A way to tell the world ‘hey this is my person, I love them’!”

“I don’t see why you need a wedding for any of that to be true!” You shout right back. 

You stand there facing each other, with ragged breaths that move your chests up and down almost in sync. 

Steve’s swallow is loud, his inhale louder. Time seems to stretch on forever as he stares at you, as his eyes soften into something you can’t quite describe, as flashes of the words he just said and what you said back swirl around you, almost tangible. 

You stand there, in a sea of pink and green, of things that are emblazoned with Robin and Nancy’s names and the words love and forever staring you down as Steve’s voice comes out sharp, cracked, vulnerable, loud. 

“You wanna marry me, right?”

#we'll call it love #it had to be you #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington series #steve harrington angst #superbly subpars writing

[myir0nlung]

I MISS YOU MORE THAN ANYTHING..

hobie brown

IN WHICH, hobie hates talking about his canon event, especially since it involves your death..

angst, reader dies, few swears, tried to keep it gender neutral

He was supposed to save you.

He was supposed to be the hero.

He was supposed to make sure no one would harm you.

He was supposed to not let you die.

It had been eating him up inside ever since that horrible, shitty day.

It was like any other day, Hobie leaving the comfort of your shared apartment to fight whoever was causing trouble. It was basically a routine by now. You two had ate a takeout dinner, lounged on the couch for a bit before Hobie took off into the city that never slept. It was like this every night. Every damn night.

Tonight was like ever other, Chinese takeout scattered across the messy coffee table Hobie found on the side of the road. A movie was playing but neither of you were watching it. Instead Hobie was laying on top of a few raggedy pillows with you on top of him. His arm was lazily slung across your waist as he toyed with your belt loops. You were tapping a beat out on Hobie, that making him smile. It was lazy moments like these that made him forget about how trashy the world was, made him forget about everything else and just focus on you.

Well that was until his flip phone was ringing. You raised your eyebrows at him as he picked up the phone call. You could hear distant shouts and a crash come from the dingy old flip phone. Hobie grumbled into the phone, snapping it shut and discarding it some where on top of the hectic mess you called a coffee table.

“Osborn acting out again, aight? Gonna’ need to go deal with his arse.” Hobie angrily grumbled. Couldn’t he just enjoy a peaceful moment with his partner?

“Right..” You mumbled. You pulled yourself out of Hobie’s embrace and sat back on the couch, now just by yourself. Hobie kissed your forehead lightly as he pulled on his battle vest. He hopped over the couch and looked around his boots.

“If Osborn ain’t a big wanker today should be home by 12, so no need to stay up late to see me yeah?” Hobie now by the window, perched on it. His mask was laying limp in his hands. It looked kind of funny, the red fabric with large metal spikes was just crumpled up in his large hands.

“You know I’ll always stay up to see you Hobe’s.. you can’t stop me.” You teased. Hobie rolled his eyes and moved to jump out into the smoggy city, but you said his name quickly preventing him from moving away further. He looked back to see you peeking over the couch, chin resting on your palm.

“Love you~!” You sing-singed. That got a chuckle out of Hobie as he returned the words with a wink. Then with one movement he disappeared into the night sky, which wasn’t very dark from the amount of light pollution in New London.

It had only been a few minutes before another noise caught your attention. Someone was were Hobie was, peering in through the open window. Of course it scared you, but it suddenly got a lot worse when it came in to get you.

Hobie was in a back alley way with Captain Anarchy, hiding from Osborn and his stupid venom robots. One had landed a decent gash on his chest which was why he was hiding out. Captain Anarchy was explaining something to him, something about where one of the potential weak spots was on a mech. Hobie was listening at first until his spider senses took over.

Loud ringing plagued his ears, a throbbing pain overtook his mind. Hobie grunted in pain as he gripped his hair with such force that it ripped some out. Though he didn’t notice as his spider sense flared up like crazy. The ringing got louder and louder.. the throbbing pain thumping like a bass in a rockin’ punk song..

Captain Anarchy was at Hobies side instantly, trying to get through to him. He gripped his shoulders as he tried pulling him up right. His lips were moving but Hobie couldn’t hear a word. Hobie closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. The ringing and pain didn’t go away but it subsided enough for him to finally be aware of his surroundings.

“Hobie! Hobie, can ya hear me?” Captain Anarchy questioned. He had one hand on Hobies shoulder and the other about to slap him. Hobie saw that and pushed him off of himself.

“Fuckin’ spider sense.. just keep going. I’ll be up in a quick second.” Hobie brushed him off as he sat against the cold brick wall. Captain Anarchy said something and left but Hobie didn’t bother listening. He was confused.. why did he spider sense flare up..?

A scream pierced the air. One that sounded all too familiar. It jolted Hobie from his thoughts. He pulled his mask down again and found his way out of the alley, only to be met with a horrifying sight.

Osborn gripping you with one of his stupid venom mechs.

That sparked something in Hobie, it was like a fire had been lit. He desperately webbed around to try and beat Osborn up. He tried smashing the mech’s up, trying to shatter the pilot window so he pull that greedy fucker out. But nothing was working. Too much was happening, too much was going on for Hobie to realize what Osborn was doing.

Quickly Osborn scaled a building, pulling himself to the top. The old building was crumbling because of the impact from the fight but the pressure from the venom caused it to break more. When finally at the top Osborn turned to meet Hobie.

“If you really want your petty partner back so bad Spiderman, go fetch!” He taunted. But nothing could prepare Hobie for what happened next.

He dropped you, right off the side of the crumbling building. Debris fell with you as Hobie dived after you without a second thought. Your screams pierced his ears as Osborns horrible laugh echoed into the background.

You knew Hobie wasn’t going to get you. He was simply too far away. If he tries webbing you if would snap your back from the sudden impact, but you would probably end up breaking your back on cement aways. It pained you knowing this was how you die, falling from a building because of a corrupt prime minister. How delightfully stupid.

So you spoke your last words, knowing you had to make them meaningful. You said only four words, ones that might’ve just been something said without a blink of an eye yesterday. Ones that would’ve been said normally any other day. But right now, in this horrible moment, they meant more than anything.

“I love you Hobie.”

He wasn’t quick enough. His webs touched you just as you smacked against the dusty and dirty cement. Rubble rained down from the destruction of the buildings. There you laid, forever staring into nothingness. Hobie carefully held your body as he ripped off his mask.

“No no no.. love I’m here.. im right here.. please..” He begged. Hobie was never one to feel scared but right at this moment he had never felt more fearful. His hands ghosted your cheeks which lost more and more colour each second.

“(Y/N), please.. just fucking respond.. just do anything.. please..” He cried. He held your body close to him as he cried. Hobie never cried, he never felt the need to. But this moment, god this moment was the most heartbreaking moment he had ever felt. Nothing around him mattered no more. The noise seemingly stopped as he sobbed into your lifeless body. All the destruction, the chaos, it seemed muted.. Just his cry’s rung out in his ears.

Hobie couldn’t handle your death, not at all. That moment was one that he couldn’t deal with. It haunted his thoughts all day and all night. The image you falling burned into his memory, constantly replaying. The absolute burden it left on him made him become bitter and hateful, but deep down, depressed. It plagued him. It hurt him so much he.. he gave up spiderman.

He threw his suit away, swearing he’d never take up that mantle again. If he couldn’t even save the one close to him how could he save anyone else? The thought of even wearing that suit again disgusted him. Hobie swore that he would never ever put on that suit again, as if he couldn’t save you, he couldn’t save anyone.

“Hobie you alright?” Miles questioned, snapping his fingers in front of his Hobie’s face.

“Stop that.” Gwen hissed. She swatted his hand away.

Hobie came back to his senses after that. He didn’t mean to get lost in memories.. memories he’d rather forget. Anytime someone brought up Hobie’s canon event he couldn’t bear to listen. His mind always brought him back to that wretched day.

“This is the present mate, we don’t need to live the past.” Was all he said. Miles stood dumbfounded, Hobie didn’t really answer his question. He just wanted to know what his canon event was. Everyone had one so why was he being so secretive?

Hobie shook his head and moved away, no longer wanting to be apart of the conversation. Miles furrowed his eyebrows at that.

“What was that for man?” He grumbled to himself. Gwen leaned over to whisper into his ear,

“You know Miles, his canon event was losing his partner. The only one dear to him. Just don’t bring it, it’s a really touchy subject…”

#atsv #spiderman atsv #spiderman x reader #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x you #hobie spiderverse #spider punk #spider punk x y/n #spider punk x you #spider punk x reader #hobie brown atsv #hobie brown angst

[pettypiastri]

my boyfriend's boyfriend

jamie drysdale x fem reader ft. trevor zegras

requested by @corneliaskates: "okay in light of these photos… I’m making you write jamie for me what about like moving in with him but like moving in with him also means moving in with trevor and… chaos ensues"

wc: 2.3k

warnings: blood in the context of undercooked food and also minor injury, reference to Jamie's shoulder injury and doctors offices, swearing, mention of drugs in a medical context, chaos, buffoonary

a/n: just some fun casual writing for a collection of scenes that i think you’d likely see upon moving into the zegras/drysdale household, pls enjoy the chaos! lots of this unhinged behavior we already knew about the 2 of them but a few details came from the recent "The Players Lounge" podcast episodes with jamie and trevor so go listen! (also would the homies wanna see me write for mason mctavish cause i really would love to do so)

Jamie stares blankly at the doctor as he continues to come to. He doesn’t hear the inquisition the doctor made. The first thought on his mind is the only thought he's had since he skated off the ice, his left shoulder in a dead hang: his season is over, there’s no way around it. 

“Mr. Drysdale?” The physician tries to get Jamie’s attention. 

“Yes, umm I’ll be there to help him. I’ve taken time off work.” Jamie turns his head slowly to look at you. He barely registers what you’ve said. He almost wants to ask you to repeat it but he knows he heard you right. The doctor shifts toward you, flipping through the aftercare instructions and various medications Jamie will have to take. You’re collected, attentive, and receptive all the while Jamie’s eyes bore into your profile, trying to understand. He’s still drowning in self-wallowing and frustration and now is trying to parse through the funny sort of feeling in his heart watching you prepare yourself to be a part time caretaker for him. Not only are you here right now, you’ve just admitted out loud, without any previous discussion between the two of you that you are not just willing but going to help him during his recovery?? He feels an intensity to communicate his love and appreciation for you that he’s not used to but ends up manifesting as,

“Will you move in with me?” The door to the exam room has just barely clicked shut from the doctor’s exit. Your spine is rod straight now from where you were previously collecting your purse and coat. Jamie’s always been a fiddler, twitching and messing with loose skin on his finger or the belt loop of your jeans, but now he sits perfectly still as he stares at you. 

“Where’s the big red button, I think they gave you too much of something bud.” Humor always serves as a great deflection tactic for you but Jamie won’t let you off the hook.

“No no, I’m serious. Do you want to move in with me?” Your expression remains slightly standoffish as you draw closer to the bed. As you prop yourself on the hospital bed, you notice his eyes are inviting, stoic: a safe place to land. Lazy fingers reach to soothe Jamie’s uninjured arm. 

“Would you have asked me if you hadn’t torn your shoulder?” Jamie’s nod is emphatic. 

“Yes, it probably just would’ve taken me a bit longer to ask. You still make me nervous-- but like in a good way, in a good way.” Jamie stumbling over his words endears you like nothing else. “I kind of hate being without you, not in a weird codependent way, I just really like who I am when you’re around.” 

Your mind is already made up after Jamie’s unbridled honesty but you still have to ask,

“Shouldn’t you run this by Trev first maybe?” He is a member of the household, though not much of a contributing one. To sell his conviction, Jamie’s eyes don’t leave yours as he reaches for his phone in the back pocket of the jeans he thinks he’s wearing. He gets an awful fright meeting bare skin under the hospital gown. Creasing at the waist with laughter doesn’t hinder you too much as you dig for his phone in your purse. He takes it sheepishly from your grasp. As he dials Trevor’s number, you urge him to put it on speaker phone.

“Jimmy! How high are you, man??”

“Z, Y/N’s gonna move in with us.”

“I thought she already lived here?”

—

Since the moment of Jamie’s injury you’ve been practically inseparable. Surgeon consultations, post op, helping him dress, cooking for him, you’ve truly been there for it all for Jamie. Now that he’s several months post op and regained most all of his range of motion, he’s been eager to pick up some slack. 

“Are they closed?” 

“Jamie my love, yes. I’ve literally had them closed every time you’ve asked in the last 15 minutes.” You sigh, patience thinning at both the frequent reminders and… well… how goddamn slow Jamie’s being. To pass the time, you’ve taken to concocting a game with the yellow spots on the inside of your closed eyelids.

“Dude it’s been fucking hours would you hurry up already?” 

“Trevor, no one asked you.” Jamie snips at his childish best friend. It’s date night tonight and Jamie wanted to cook for you. Trevor decided, because he is cripplingly codependent, that he just had to sit on the living room couch to scroll Instagram. You’ve mentally taken the under on Trevor stealing some of your bread with olive oil within the first five minutes of it being in front of you because ‘Jimmy why didn’t you make any for me too?’

“Okay it's ready, you can open!” Slowly doing as you’re told to readjust to the well lit dining room, you catch Jamie scurrying around to his side of the table. His face holds an adorably pleased expression, you can tell he’s very proud of himself. The spread in front of you is barbequed steak, bread with olive oil, and a green salad; a shockingly balanced meal. A normally restless boy, Jamie vibrates with excitement even more now as he waits for your appraisal. 

“Jamie baby, it looks amazing! Thank you!” Crows' feet emerge to compensate for his smile becoming impossibly wider, yet he’s still a bit shy, bashful after your praise.

“I’d hope so, it took you long enough Jimbo,” the peanut gallery croons again. You don’t even acknowledge Trevor as you begin to saw through your steak… until red liquid begins to pour out… Stunned and surprised, your mouth gapes for a moment, finding the gentlest way to put things.

“Jamie,” drawing out the final vowel, your eyes flick to his. His expression is eager with eyebrows raised in question.

“How long was this steak on the barbeque for?” 

“Like 10 minutes I think? Why?” Jamie pales slightly at your question.

“I think the heat was too high babe.” Jamie observes his steak with a close eye and then oggles yours from across the table before reaching for his knife. 

“What do you mean? You said it looks amazing, I mean look at those char marks!” 

“Jamie baby, it's practically still moo’ing…” Trevor bursts out laughing, his stupid wheeze accompanying Jamie’s panic. As his knife breaches the admittedly lovely crust, bloody liquid pours out of Jamie’s steak as well. The color of his cheeks grows to match that of what's on his plate. Jamie starts to say something but it’s Trevor’s voice you both hear instead.

“Just put it in the microwave.” 

—

The team returned last night from the East coast road trip. You and Jamie have been in denial about Trevor’s return, trying to stretch out the silence with a lazy day on the couch. Trevor however has had other plans.

“Why do I have the least blanket right now? I’m literally the tallest of us three.” 

“Because no one invited you to join?” You shove at Trevor’s toes that are digging into your thigh from how you’re sardine-d on the couch. He whines as you do so, pushing at you back. Harder. “Ow Trevor stop!” 

“What I’m not fucking doing anything!” 

“Guys! I can’t hear what they’re saying!” Jamie bursts, effectively shutting you both up. Trevor glares at you as you snuggle further into Jamie’s chest, Jamie's arm visibly tightening around you. The face you give Trevor is smug. 

“Fine, I’ll just go somewhere else then.” As he stands from the couch he makes an equally childish display of flipping the blanket up and over your head, messing up your hair and covering your eyes.

Jamie coos quietly at you not to say anything or react so you remain calm and settle in to watch the rest of the current episode of Yellowstone with your boyfriend.

A few minutes later when there is a distinct cacophony of falling caps, banging metal doors, and at least a liter container of liquid (hopefully closed) hitting the floor, it’s not hard to tell Trevor has decided to do his laundry. He comes back upstairs acting as if nothing was afoot. 

It’s not until an hour later when Trevor has made the switch to the dryer that you notice something actually might be off. Wafting up from downstairs is a distinct smell of burning. You pause to be sure your nose isn’t confusing something else before voicing your worry.

“Do you smell that?” Jamie sniffs violently enough to be audible. 

“What are you– oh shit!” Jamie moves from behind your back leaving you flopping onto yours from his quickness. “Trevor!!” He shouts while bounding down the stairs. “I told you, you have to clean the lint trap every single time you use the dryer!” His voice grows inaudible the farther downstairs he gets. Trevor peeks his head out from his room. 

“Was he talking to me?” You can’t help but laugh, hands covering your face in disbelief.

“Why are we friends with you?” 

“I’m fucking awesome, duh.”

—

“Okay don’t panic–” Is all you hear before you start to panic. “But umm Z might’ve slipped on the roof…” 

“Tell me you’re joking. Why are you calling me? Oh my god Jamie, call the trainer or something! Is he hurt?” It’s brisk in the shade where you stepped out of your office to answer the incessant calls from your boyfriend. You’re still not off for another hour. 

“I think he’s okay. Definitely tore open his leg but we put some stuff on it. He’s still complaining about it but you know him, he’s always complaining about something so I think he’s okay.” As Jamie finishes, your phone vibrates with a text. “I sent you a picture of it.” The picture reveals a shallow cut about 6 inches long down the front of Trevor’s calf. There’s still remnants of blood around the cut itself and more notably about 12 normal sized bandaids placed like a patchwork quilt over the area of interest. Idiots. “We didn’t wanna get in trouble with the team…” Jamie says softly, decidedly embarrassed.

“I see. Okay well great job with the band aids you guys. I’ll pick some more up on the way home and some other supplies. Why were you up there?” 

“I was playing guitar and Trevor came up to tell me he could do it better and then promptly took it from me.” There’s a pouty lilt to Jamie’s voice that makes you wonder if Trevor’s really the one that got hurt. 

“Did he damage your guitar Jim Jam?” A shiver rakes your body as you’re desperate to get back inside the office.

“No, thank god.” He’s quiet, waiting for your reply. 

“You’re doing great Jamie, it’s really coming along baby.” He chirps a thank you, easily excited by your dismissal of Trevor’s insult. The two of you say your goodbye’s over Trevor’s whining in the background. 

On your way home, as promised, you stop at a drugstore to grab some gauze and larger wraps for Trevor’s ‘injury.’ You send a snarky picture of two contending boxes of Band Aids side by side to Trevor. Your caption ‘Mandalorian or Tangled?’ Something tells you Trevor’s reply is completely serious when your phone lights up with ‘Flynn Rider.’

—

Jamie slips into your shared bathroom as you’re fanning gently at your face. He smiles kindly but doesn’t start a conversation. Instead he reaches for his toothbrush and sets to brushing his teeth. The two of you don’t normally get ready for bed together at the exact same time. Typically one of you is asleep on the couch and being prodded at by the other to come to bed. Well, you normally prod at Jamie while he normally gallantly carries you to bed without disturbing your sleep. As he brushes his teeth, Jamie observes you as his entertainment. He steadies himself with a hip popped against the counter and one foot crossed in front of the other. 

Jamie’s attention does not bother you. Being the type not to speak until prompted, Jamie’s stays silent, his watchful gaze comforting if anything. That is until his lips form a small smile around his toothbrush that begins to grow. Finally you flick your eyes over to him in the mirror and notice toothpaste beginning to trickle down his chin. A drop that was lingering ominously begins to fall so you lurch forward to catch it in the palm of your hand, not wanting to risk the white carpet square Jamie’s standing on. 

“If you keep smiling like that you’re gonna get toothpaste on yourself Jamie. Be careful.” The toothpaste in your palm is flicked into the sink before you promptly rinse your hand. Jamie heeds your warning, deciding it's time for him to rinse as well. After his hands are towel dried he moves to hug you from behind. The smile is still on his face.

“Seriously, what are you smiling about, mister?” A giggle escapes your chest. You feel Jamie’s shrug against your back as you dig for another product in the drawer next to you. 

“Dunno, I’m just so happy you’re here.” Around you, Jamie’s never shied away from honesty and it’s something you’ve always appreciated. The last few months living with Jamie and Trevor has been chaos, hell at times, and insanely stressful but you’ve still found joy in every moment. So you meet Jamie’s honesty with some of your own when you say,

“There’s no place I’d rather be.” 

Later, when the two of you find yourselves curled around each other in bed, under an excessive number of blankets, it’s like Trevor has ESP for when he’s being left out of affections. A knock on the conjoining wall confirms this theory. His voice is muffled but you can still make it out.

“I love you guys.” Jamie chuckles and kisses your forehead, shaking with laughter of your own.

“We love you too Trevor.”

#jamie drysdale #jamie drysdale x reader #jamie drysdale imagine #trevor zegras #trevor zegras imagine #anaheim ducks #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #ducks hockey #my writing

[wndaswife]

Damnnnn, you should write Lizzie more often! And on that note, how about:

83. “you have no idea how much i want you"

elizabeth olsen & fem!reader

tags: smut, a little bit of angst in my opinion <//3, dubcon, mentions of somnophilia, fingering, praise, power bottom!elizabeth olsen. MINORS DNI.

word count: 1517

a/n: lizzie's boyfriend in this fic is noooot robbie, it's just some random man. i love the two of them n would never write them apart, even in fiction!!!

It was the week before Christmas, and the only time all of you could meet over dinner before everyone had plans, whether it be going back to families from hometowns, travelling, or shooting for an upcoming film for the next several months.

Dinner was being held at Elizabeth’s house. You were attending with your brother who’d been dating the actress for the past few months. You’d never seen the house before save one hasty moment when you came inside after an afternoon spent amongst your friends and brother at the backyard pool when Lizzie ushered you in to change out of your bikini and into dry clothes.

Your brother was adamant about being presentable, for it was the night he’d ask his girlfriend to move into a new place with him. It was a huge step for their relationship, though you were unaware how things were going between them as you scarcely saw Lizzie.

She’d always been sweet to you, offering for you to stay for dinner when you were around or to sleep over in one of her guest rooms the night before day plans with your brother. You took it as her trying to get close to her boyfriend’s little sister, which you empathised with. But plans with her always fell through. Nevertheless, seeing her at family events was always nice.

You were wearing something simple, a black dress and a knit red cardigan. Your hair was tied up into a bun, loop earrings and natural makeup pulling it together. Feeling a bit daring, you wore a dark red lip. The car drive to Lizzie’s place was filled with your brother’s instructions- don’t mention anything about his plans; be cool; act natural; be nice to her. He mentioned that she was particularly excited to have you over and even asked him what your favourite dishes were.

Upon arrival, you found that her house wasn’t decorated very much besides a string of vivid white lights that wrapped around the bushes in front of her house under the kitchen windowsill. When your brother knocked on the front door, his girlfriend opened it within several seconds with a wide smile. It was decorated in more detail inside. Pretty ribbons and strings of evergreen lined the trim of some ceilings. Soft Christmas music played from the living room, a warm yellow tint coming over the entire house.

Lizzie’s eyes found you first but your brother stepped in for a hug and her face was shrouded by his shoulder. Hands came up to hug him back and you stepped into the front foyer, slipping past the couple. Your brother rounded his girlfriend and she closed the front door, flattening down her shirt as she turned to you.

“Y/N,” she breathed out as if relieved. “How are you? It’s been so long.”

You parted your lips to speak before another knock came at the front door. Lizzie looked at you helplessly for a moment until you smiled in understanding and left to follow your brother into the kitchen. Green eyes followed you until another knock echoed through the front foyer and Elizabeth finally turned to open the door. You heard the sounds of her greeting her guests behind you as you helped your brother set the table with the meal the two of you made.

The rest of the night was filled with you catching the stares of your brother’s girlfriend in the corner of your eye as dinner progressed.

Then finally, “Liz, there’s something I want to ask you.”

From the couch in the living room, you heard her turn off the sink tap to listen to her boyfriend.

You willed yourself not to listen to their conversation. You knew it was a sensitive topic, and a major step of their relationship. You tried your best to listen to the conversations of your brother’s friends, trying to pretend you cared about vegan meatballs and summer irrigation. Lizzie seemed to get along great with her friends, but you couldn’t imagine her fitting into a group like that. It was only when you heard your brother’s muffled speech become louder and Lizzie’s quickening padding of her feet as she sped through the hallway to the living room that you figured the offer to live together wasn’t taken positively.

A gust of air blew against your side and the rest of the guests looked up to the figure behind you.

“Come. Now,” Lizzie snapped and she took your wrist with her hand, dragging you up from the couch and pulling you with her. Not a word was uttered to her friends, leaving them stupefied behind you.

Before you could even question what she was doing, you were being forced through the living room, up the stairs, and down a hallway of doors. Suddenly, you were being pushed against the final door of the hallway, the breath being knocked out of you.

“You have no idea how much I want you,” Lizzie whispered as she buried her face in your neck and kissed up your skin. Her pants blew hot down your neck as her breath quickened.

You tried pushing her away, but she took your wrist and brought your hand to her breast, making you grope her harshly. She moaned out, her forehead pressed against your shoulder. “E-Elizabeth, stop,” you pleaded, trying to push her away from you but only ending up groping her rougher. She only moaned louder, forcing you to abandon the hope of pushing her off, and instead raising your hand to her mouth and silencing her.

Her hips began grinding down against yours, evidence of the obvious pressure that started forming beyond her lacy panties. “Don’t pretend…” she groaned out and lifted her head from your shoulder to pant against your cheek, “like you don’t want this.”

A hand rounded around to your ass and Lizzie squeezed harshly. “Pinch my nipples. Go on, do it,” she urged.

Miraculously, you found enough sense in you to form words. “But my brother- your boyfriend! And I’m his sister, and you’re moving in together-”

Lizzie pulled you from the door and turned the doorknob before she pushed you in. For a moment, she parted from you as you stumbled backwards while she flicked the room light on and shut the door behind her. “I’m not doing anything with him,” she replied. Like a predator to its prey, she wrapped her arms around you again and walked you deeper into the room.

It was only when the back of your knees hit the edge of a bed and you fell back down onto it that you realised you were in her bedroom.

She started pressing kisses all over your face as she pushed you up her bed, forcing you to catch up to her speed helplessly while you crawled backwards.

“I want you…” Lizzie panted.

Another kiss to your cheek.

“… To fuck me.”

Another to your chin.

“I want your fingers in my pussy.”

She took your hand and tucked it past the waistband of her pants where your fingers met her damp panties. “So good,” she groaned. Lizzie began bouncing on your fingers, her hand wrapped tightly around your wrist in order to buck the heel of your hand up into her clit. Her eyes opened and when her viridescent eyes met your own, she smiled. “We broke up, princess. Now, you’re all mine.”

Perhaps the words elicited something in you, for your fingers lifted up and pressed into her clothed hole. She stifled a squeal in response. Hurriedly, she zipped her pants down and pulled her panties to the side, quickly drenching your digits in her juices as she began humping your hand.

“I only ever dated him to see you,” she forced herself to speak through the white-hot waves of pleasure running through her. “But you never came for meals I invited you to, never slept over. Gods, how terribly I just wanted to run my tongue through your pretty little pussy when you fell asleep in my backyard that afternoon. And how simple it would’ve been, to pull that skimpy bikini to the side and see that puffy cunt.”

Lizzie leaned down to kiss your lips. “My beautiful girl. Let me see you,” she said and straightened to pull the collar of your dress down, then your bra to each respective side so your tits were exposed. Her lips immediately wrapped around one of your nipples, nipping at your bud occasionally while she moaned as you began to extend your fingers through her velvet walls.

Your brother, under the impression that he had truly upset his ex-girlfriend enough that she holed herself up in her bedroom while she cried against your shoulder, walked the dinner guests out apologetically. He texted you to let him know when you needed a ride back home and left the house, dejected and anxious.

For the first time, you did take up Lizzie’s offer for you to stay over after several orgasms. The two of you slept in her bedroom, bare sweaty bodies entangled as your head laid against your girlfriend’s soft breasts.

#elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x you #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x y/n #elizabeth olsen fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #elizabeth olsen smut #1k celebration ♪( ´▽｀)

[jujitto]

파티 소녀 ★ 𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖳𝖸 𝖦𝖨𝖱𝖫

. ﹙☆﹚. 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 . you were a party girl. a person who loved to party, dance, drink, you were just the life of the party. but by the end of the night you would be a right where you wanted to be and that was in his arms.

. ﹙☆﹚. 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾 . 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍 & 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿

. ﹙☆﹚. 𝗐𝖼 . 𝟢.𝟫𝗄

. ﹙☆﹚. 𝗇𝗍𝗐𝗋𝗄 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗌 . @kflixnet @kbookshelf

Blasting music, dancing bodies, and drunken people passed out. This was a party everyone who hadn't been to one would want to be at. For most parties seemed to be a rare occasion for most of them. But there was you.

The life of the party. You always seemed to be in the middle of it all. Your tight curls bounced with each step as you danced. Your grip tight on the cup you have seemingly been nursing the entire time. Your skin glowing under the purple and pink strobe lights.

Though the prettiest feature about it would have to be your smile. It could probably light up the room if the lights weren't. Your smile got others' attention but no one truly knew it was for him.

The smile and wink you sent him sent red hot blush to appear on his face. His eyes focused on you as you danced and laughed with the people surrounding you. Everyone loved the bright energy radiating off of you. Sure you were the life and soul of the party but your eyes always stayed on him.

Him feeling comfortable staying in the same spot he has been since you guys arrived. The corner of the room is surrounded by tipsy people chatting to each other or making out. The dark liquid in the cup he has been nursing for the longest has gone warm.

He didn't care for it much anyway. For Jake being at a party was like a solar eclipse happening. It just didn't happen often. For him, parties just weren't his thing but in your case they were.

This is why some people thought you guys were cute together. You could bring him out of his shell easily and make him have a good time while he was the more lenient of you. Though there were some negative sides to it. Especially from his friends. His friends weren't easily amused by you so to say. They didn't like how carefree you were like you didn't have a college to worry about.

They didn't want that to affect Jake or how he is academic. You knew what they were trying to say they just didn't want him to be taken away from them even though that's not what you were trying to do.

Never have you questioned your relationship even as others did. Why did they question it when they could see how happy you both were? At times it felt like you were dating more than one person, especially with everyone's input which you didn't ask for. There was nothing in the world that could compare to being in a relationship with a kind, smart, and loveable person like Jake.

But no one cared if you two were happy and showing it to the world because they would always question it. Why couldn't they worry about themselves.

You never could understand why people judged your relationship from the outside looking in. Like they knew how your relationship operated. You wanted to say fuck all of them. Who were they to tell Jake who he could love and not love? Why did they even think to question if you loved him or not?

Of course, you loved Jake and have for the past 2 years. You didn't have to explain anything to anyone who wasn't willing to listen. Neither should he. Fuck those people who questioned your relationship, how you got things done, and if you loved Jake or not. It was anyone's fucking business. Just yours and his.

A big beautiful smile on your face as you swayed your hips to the music. Your arms looped around his neck as he watched you sing the lyrics to him. A smile made its way upon his face. Your eyes held so much admiration and love within as you stared at him. There was so much happening around you two but there you were staring into each other's eyes. Nothing else in the room mattered but the person in front of you.

''Cause if it's love, I wanna drown. I need to hear it from your mouth' You sang slowly closing the gap between you two. Lips pressed against his. You pulled away too quickly for him. Your fingers laced with his as you pulled into the center of the room.

Your hands draped around his neck. His hands on your waist as you two slow danced. The beat of the music was loud but you two didn't seem to mind. Your hands tangled in his hair as he pulled you closer to him as the pad of his thumb brushed down the curve of your cheek.

A smile graced your lips as you stared at him. He kissed you slowly. His other hand softly grabbed the back of your neck bringing you closer to him as if you weren't already close enough. No one around paid you two any attention. You two were in your own little world. You pulled away, leaving Jake's breathing uneven and his heart beating loud. Jake's cheeks were burning, and his face was a shade of crimson as you chuckled breathing heavily yourself.

"I love and appreciate you." He spoke observing you as he smiled brushing your hair out of your face. "I love you too Jake Sim." You whispered against his lips. Everyone knew you as a party girl. The life of the party. Everyone's friend. But to him you were his and he was yours. His party girl.

#kflixnet #kbookshelf #❝ E N H Y P E N ❞ #enha angst #enha fluff #enha fanfic #enha ff #enha fics #enha imagines #enha x y/n #enha x reader #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fic #enhypen ff #enhypen imagines #enhypen x y/n #enhypen x reader #jake sim #enhypen jake fluff #enhypen jake angst #enha jake #enhypen jake #kpop fanfic #kpop ff #kpop imagines #kpop angst #kpop fluff

[veeisgayasf]

Desperation

Larissa Weems x Fem Reader

Authors Note: I really enjoyed writing this one. It didn't turn out exactly how I wanted it to, but it'll do.

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, thigh riding, light denial.

Word Count: 1340

Larissa paced back and forth in her office, ranting about some meeting she had with the mayor, hands emphasizing every word she said. You were completely zoned out, replaying a memory of the woman in front of you laid out on the desk completely exposed, loud moans falling from her ruby red lips.

“Y/N!” Larissa almost yelled out, making you snap out of the daydream. 

“Are you even listening to me?!”

“Oh, um, yes… you were saying something about Outreach Day being canceled?” You blurted out, immediately wincing, knowing damn well that was from a previous conversation. 

Larissa didn’t say a word, only sighed and glared at you as she sauntered towards you, the clicking of her heels echoing through the room. You audibly gulped as she kneeled slightly in front of you so that she was eye level with you.

Her hands gripped your knees, parting them slightly allowing her to move forward between them. You wholeheartedly expected Larissa to claim your lips in a heated kiss, but instead, she growled. Without warning the woman stood up and grabbed you by the collar of your shirt, yanking you up off the sofa in one swift move. You were completely speechless and frozen in front of her. She released you but stood dangerously close.

“You seem to have an issue with listening, hmm?” The question was rhetorical, that much you knew, but the woman glared at you waiting for you to speak.

 “N-no, I- I just…” You stuttered out, trailing off when Larissas finger and thumb came to rest below your chin, her body so close you could feel the heat emanating from her.

 “I want you to pay very close attention to what I am about to say, darling,” The woman's words dripped with authority, her breath grazing your ear causing you to involuntarily shiver.

 “I planned on fully destroying you tonight, pushing you past the point of ecstacy over and over. I was going to have you screaming my name, begging me not to stop.” Larissa’s confession caused a fire to coil in the pit of your abdomen and wetness to pool between your legs.

“I planned on tracing every inch of your body with my tongue,” she continued, pulling you closer by the belt loops of your pants, “marking you so every single person at this school knows exactly who owns you, not stopping until you were an absolute ravaged mess below me,” she paused, looking you up and down, “and you’d be unable to utter a single coherent word, your juices dripping from my lips.” Fingers snaked their way under your shirt and across your hip bone making you jump and inhale sharply. 

Your heart sounded like a stampede in your chest. It was so loud, you were certain she could hear it.

Larissa lifted a hand gently to your cheek as her next words came out as a slow breathy whisper against your ear, “That was before you decided not to listen to me.” 

At this, you whined loudly, “B-baby, p-please,” You panted, begging “I promise I will listen– I-'' your words were abruptly cut off by Larissas hand covering your mouth. All you could do was moan at the sudden contact.

“Stop talking, I didn’t say you could speak.” Larissa demanded, the one hand remained over your mouth as she made her way around you so that your back was pressed against the front of her, the other gripping your hip forcefully. You were putty in her hands and she knew it. 

“Such a pretty little thing when you’re obeying commands,” the words making you throb, “such a good girl for me.” Her lips ghosting your ear, fingers digging deeper into your hip.

The strangled moan would have been heard clear across the hall were it not for Larissa’s hand covering your mouth. You trembled at the sensations the woman was sending through your body, heat rushing to your center. Then, without warning, Larissa let go and stepped back. You cried out at the complete loss.

You turned around quickly, head spinning from the whiplash of sensations. Larissa towered over you, hands on her hips with a wicked grin on her face.

 “Did you think it would be that easy, Y/N?” Her voice raspy, “Did you think I would allow you to get your way after ignoring me?” She taunted making her way over to her desk, with you following suit.

 “Tsk, tsk. Poor baby girl is all hot and bothered, desperate for me to slide my fingers into that soaked pussy,” her words laced with lust. “I bet you would come immediately.”

Once again, you moaned at her words. You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood. Every single nerve in your body lit up in a mix of anticipation and desperation.

 Larissa sat on the edge of the desk, leaning back slightly with her hands gripping the sides, allowing both legs to part. 

“Larissa, please… I- let me make it up to you.” It was the first full sentence you were able to get out. Stepping closer, you trailed a finger over her clothed thigh knowing the dangerous game you were playing. She grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards her, making you straddle that very thigh.

“Show me how desperate you are. Show me by fucking yourself on my leg.” 

You immediately bucked forward at her demand, crying out at the friction.  Larissa aided by grabbing you by the hips, pulling you down harder. “Fuck.” You moaned out as you began grinding down faster, finding a rhythm. It was insane how close you were already, legs beginning to tremble. 

Larissa hummed, reaching up to pull you in for a rough kiss, fingers tangling in your hair. Her tongue demanded entrance and you obliged immediately. She moaned into the kiss causing your movements to become erratic, which did not go unnoticed by the woman beneath you.

The coil behind your navel tightened with every movement, threatening to snap any minute. You continued riding Larissa’s thigh, teetering on the edge of ecstasy. She pulled back, making eye contact, her pupils fully blown. “Don’t you dare come yet.” Her words hit you like a brick wall, making you whimper loudly.

“Please, p-please, Rissa…” your words sounded pathetic as you begged.

“No, you are not allowed to come until I tell you to, do you understand me?” The seriousness in her voice causing more arousal to gush out of your center.

“Mhm..” you nodded your head.

“Words, dear, use your words.” She demanded, as you continued to chase your sweet release.

“Yes, yes…” is all you could get out.

Apparently those two words were enough for her as she flexed her thigh allowing you to grind down furiously. Your whole body began trembling as you held on for dear life, trying your hardest to not allow the coil to snap before Larissa commanded you to. 

Larissa moaned, eyes watching your face contort. Finally she commanded, “Come for me baby, come for me.” It only took you a second before your body stiffened, electric shocks flying through every nerve ending. You obeyed her command and came with a shuttering cry, every muscle in your body tensing up. Larissa held you as you rode out the intense orgasm that wracked your entire being.

Slowly, you began to relax into her embrace. She ran her fingers along your back, whispering praises into your ear. It wasn’t very often that Larissa allowed you to get off this quickly, but when she did it was always extremely intense. 

“Hmm, see… this is what happens when you listen.” She spoke out, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is what happens when you’re so desperate, you’ll do anything I say.”

All you could do is smile, while she held you, your head leaning against her shoulder. You knew this was only the beginning of a very long night, one where Larissa was going to torture you in every way possible, and you were very much looking forward to it. 

#larissa weems #larissa weems x female reader #larissa weems x reader #larissa x reader #principal weems #x reader #smut #thigh riding #sapphic #wlw #wednesday #fanfiction #pwp #oneshot

[roosterforme]

The Deployment Diaries Part 19 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Your fear that you did something to distract Bradley eats away at you while you wait to hear about his condition.

Warnings: Angst, swearing

Length: 4400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots! Check my masterlist for the reading order!

From the second the mission started, Bradley had a bad feeling. He usually felt calm and peaceful once he was up in the air. He usually felt a connection to his father. But this time, he only felt anxious. 

As soon as the target had been destroyed, he and the other pilots were under almost constant fire from enemy fighters. It was literally the worst case scenario, as the F/A-18s weren't equipped with heavy weaponry. They were made for stealthy missions, ones where you hoped you weren't detected at all, ones where you shouldn't need to use more than your two allotted missiles. 

The dogfight was intense, and Bradley had to help Titan out not once, but twice as the other pilot had run out of flares early on. It was such a relief to Bradley when he was out over open water, heading back to the aircraft carrier. He breathed a sigh of relief as he was able to account for the other three Super Hornets as well. They were all just trying to limp back to safety.

"Tally, tally!" called Empress through the radio. As soon as Bradley was alerted to the position of the remaining enemy bogey, he regrouped. He was the only one with any ammunition left. 

"I got this," he informed the others, looping back for a better shot at the enemy fighter. For a second, all he could think about was your face. He pictured your lips as you begged him to be safe. He pictured the uncertainty in your eyes when you told him you missed a birth control pill. He pictured you in bed underneath him, laughing at a secret just the two of you shared. 

"I need her," he whispered, as he lay down a round of fire, getting a few hits on the wings. But the other pilot somehow managed to keep control, banked around to the right and tried to gain the upperhand. Bradley unloaded his last round of bullets, hitting the fuel line and starting a small fire. But instead of ditching out of the flaming aircraft, the other pilot fired back, and soon Bradley had lost his hydraulics and radio functions. 

"Shit!" he yelled, realizing he had no control over his throttle as every red light imaginable started flashing at him. Alarms were screeching everywhere, and he knew there wasn't a chance he would be able to save this F/A-18. Too bad he didn't have Hangman here this time to help him. If he did, he probably wouldn't have to punch out.

Now he was rapidly losing altitude. Based on his last known air speed calculation, he only had a couple more seconds to bail safely. So Bradley made sure everything was in order before he pulled the cables to eject. But he had waited too long, taken one more breath than he should have before ejecting. The aircraft started into a roll, and Bradley's torso slammed against the frame as he launched out, sending him in a trajectory where he hit his head as well. 

The last thing he thought about was how pissed he was that he didn't have time to grab his helmet bag containing the photo of you. 

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

You felt yourself on the verge of hyperventilating. You were listening to Admiral Priscilla Franklin, but her words weren't making sense. You'd barely been able to confirm your full name for her. 

"Lieutenant Bradshaw was involved in a mission related incident. I can't provide you with much more information than that."

Your eyes were filled with tears as you choked out the words, "Is he okay?"

The pause on the other end was too long. You got yourself sprawled out on your back on the kitchen floor, trying to get blood to your head so you didn't faint. Why wasn't she telling you if Bradley was okay?

"Is he okay?" you demanded louder, sucking air into your burning lungs.

Admiral Franklin sighed. "He's stable at the moment. We are waiting for him to regain consciousness. He has broken ribs, lacerations and most likely a grade three concussion."

He was alive. 

"What happened to him?" you asked, choking on your tears.

"I can't provide you with more information at this time. I'm sorry." She actually did sound sorry. She could probably hear you panicking through the phone. "When he regains consciousness, the medical staff will be able to do a more thorough examination. See what kind of head trauma we are dealing with. He's being stitched up at the moment. We are going to need to get him medically evacuated as soon as he's able to deal with the flights, and get him back home. I will personally call you back with details when I have them."

Once the call was disconnected, you rolled onto your side on the kitchen floor and cried hysterically, grabbing onto Tramp when he came to see what was wrong. You cried for such a long time, your cheeks were raw and one of your contacts had come out. 

Bradley was alive, but something terrible had happened to him. You started to search for information about grade three concussions on your phone. Some of the information was terrifying, and you prayed he would still have a fully functioning brain. And lacerations? He might need to have them surgically closed if they were too deep. Broken ribs could be interfering with his lungs working properly. And even though you would have done anything for him, there was nothing you could do to help at the moment.

How was he going to get home? Maybe Admiral Franklin would let you come get him and fly back with him. Did she mention when she was going to call you back? You could barely recall anything she said now. 

Then your phone rang, and it was your mom. You ignored the call. You couldn't get yourself up off the floor at the moment, let alone collect yourself enough to talk to your parents. You barely moved until the room started getting darker as the sun moved across the sky. You could hear Tramp's stomach growling, and you knew it had been hours since your phone call with the Admiral. 

Carefully you stood, but your body felt like it weighed a ton, and you were having a hard time walking. You gave Tramp a scoop of dog food and then went to sit on the couch. You quickly texted Phoenix and the guys, letting them know the scant details you had about what had happened to Rooster. 

Then you curled up into a tight ball and thought about Bradley. You wondered if he was in pain. If he was awake yet. Was this your fault? Had he been too focused on things here to be fully present during the mission? Was he more upset than he let on that it was a false alarm instead of a pregnancy? You pressed your lips together as the tears started again.

About an hour later, there was a soft knock at the front door, jostling you out of your stupor. It took you a full minute to figure out how to stand and walk to go see who it was. "Phoenix," you said, but your voice sounded foreign to your own ears. You let her inside and she gently wrapped you in her arms. You could tell that she must have been crying at some point too, but right now she was being strong for you.

"You guys should just give me a spare house key, okay?" was the only thing she said as she led you back to the couch and gently helped you lay down once more. She covered you in a soft blanket and picked your phone up from the table. "You need to close your eyes and take some deep breaths. I'll answer any calls. I'm just going to take Tramp out to the front yard."

You nodded vaguely as she clipped Tramp's leash on and took him outside. You tried to close your eyes, but all you could picture was Bradley, his face a bloody mess, floating around in the Pacific Ocean. By the time Phoenix walked back inside, you were crying again. 

"How long until they call me back? I need to know what's going on," you whispered. 

"I don't know," she told you as your phone rang in her hand. "It's your parents. Want me to talk to them for you? Let them know what's going on?"

"Please," you sobbed. She answered your phone and slipped out through the sliding glass door. After that, Nat ended up doing everything. She heated up a bowl of soup and sat with you while you ate it. She got the bathtub ready for you and took Tramp for a longer walk while you soaked. She helped you change into clean clothing for bed. 

"I'm so sorry," you whispered to her. "I know you're upset too. I know you love him too. But you're doing everything for me. And I didn't even ask if you're okay."

Nat pulled you into a tight hug, rubbing your back as she took a deep breath. "I love him, but I don't love him the way you do," was all she said before helping you into bed. "I'll plug your phone in right here on your nightstand and let Tramp out one more time before I go."

You nodded, feeling so exhausted, you thought you might actually be able to fall asleep. "The spare house key is hanging in the pantry on Bradley's UVA keychain. Take it with you," you told her as you closed your eyes. 

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

"What the fuck," Bradley muttered, trying to make his jaw work. His head felt like someone had split it open with an axe. He had no idea why he couldn't open his eyes, and his thoughts were a mess. He reached for you across the bed, trying to find your body in the darkness. You must have gotten up already. Had he even slept? What day was it?

"Start the morphine drip. He's going to be in intense pain when he wakes up fully."

He didn't know who was talking. It sounded like there was a problem though. Did something happen to you? He needed to open his eyes and figure out where you were. 

He opened one eye a tiny bit, and he saw bright lights and movement. He closed his eye immediately. Then everything came back. He left for the mission. You took six pregnancy tests. They were all negative. He had to bail out of his fucking aircraft. 

He tried so hard to talk. He needed to know what was going on. He needed to call you and make sure you were okay, because something was telling him you weren't. But now the pain in his head subsided to a dull throb, and he thought it might be a nice idea to fall asleep for a bit. 

When he woke up again, he was finally able to open his eyes. "What the fuck?" he asked again, and this time someone answered. 

"Lieutenant Bradshaw, welcome back," came a cheerful voice that made Bradley want to punch someone. He looked around to see a man in scrubs examining his left arm, and when he examined it too, he jolted in surprise. 

He was covered in lacerations. They had been stitched up, but it was still a mess. 

"Where am I?" Bradley asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"The infirmary aboard the USS Ronald Reagan. I'm Doctor O'Connor. You had to eject from your aircraft, and you were recovered from the water. We are treating you for your injuries, which I'm sorry to say are extensive and numerous. However, you should be just fine in a few weeks."

Bradley stared at him in shock. "What day is it?"

"Tuesday afternoon."

"Holy hell. I need to call my girlfriend. Immediately." Bradley's heart rate spiked on the monitor, causing him and Dr. O'Connor both to check the screen. "She must be worried sick."

"Someone has already been in touch with your emergency contact."

Bradley had changed his emergency contact from his mom's cousin Brenda to you, after you and he had been dating for a few months. When Bradley asked you if that was okay, you'd seemed surprised yet really happy about it. And a few days later, you smiled and told him that you made him your emergency contact person as well. 

But he couldn't imagine you were too overjoyed at the moment. He wondered what you had been told about his condition. 

"When can I go home?"

The doctor hummed and looked at the computer screen. "Maybe tomorrow. You'll need access to a larger medical facility. You don't have any hemorrhaging or blood on your brain, but you did have extensive head trauma. Now that you're fully cognizant, I'll keep you updated on the plans."

"Thanks," Bradley muttered as he walked away. Extensive head trauma? Numerous and extensive injuries? He needed to talk to you, so badly.

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

Admiral Franklin called you at four in the morning on Wednesday, and you jumped instantly out of bed. 

"Hello?!"

"This is Admiral Franklin. I have return flight information for Lieutenant Bradshaw."

You gasped. "You're sending him home? Is it safe for him to fly? How's his head?" You had heard from her one other time on Monday afternoon, with an update on his condition, but there had been some concern that he might have blood on his brain. You had no idea how you'd made it to work this week.

"His brain is fully functioning. He should make a full recovery with the help of some doctors on base in North Island and a lot of rest."

You screamed. Literally screamed with joy and jumped around the room and started crying. "Thank you!"

You could hear the smile in her voice. "Are you ready to take down his flight information?"

"Yes!" you reached for a pen in your nightstand, but couldn't find paper, so you wrote it down on your leg. 

Tomorrow night, just before midnight, you would be picking Bradley up at San Diego International Airport. He was coming in on a flight from Australia. You had literally no idea what had happened to him or how he had been injured, but it didn't matter, because you were going to pick him up tomorrow and bring him home! 

You decided to call Phoenix and wake her up with the news. "This actually is worth being woken up for in the middle of the night," she said, voice raspy with sleep. "Let me know when you want me to stop by this weekend. I'll bring food and Jake and the boys, and I'll make them be on their best behavior."

Next you called your parents to give them the good news, since it was a normal time to be awake on the east coast, and you listened to your mom cry over the phone. And that made you cry, and then you laughed and cried together. 

And when you got to work and told your boss you needed to use a vacation day on Friday, and possibly Monday as well, he told you, "Take as many days as you need to. Just let me know when you'll be back."

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

Bradley was up and walking with help the following morning. But more importantly, he was allowed to eat and use the bathroom by himself. And most importantly, he had been informed that you would be picking him up in San Diego. 

Walking made him dizzy, and all he wanted to do was sleep, but the doctors told him to spend as much time moving around as he could. He was itchy and annoyed by the nearly one hundred stitches on his arm and neck, and all he wanted to do was take a hot shower. 

He would most certainly have more scars after this. It was just unclear how bad they would be, since he was still so bruised and swollen. And as he walked a lap around the small hospital wing, he couldn't help but think of his parents. Bradley had two bad ejections so far in his career, but nothing like the fate his dad had suffered. And the last thing he wanted to do was turn you into the kind of woman his mother had become after Goose died. So maybe his parents were somewhere, somehow watching out for him.

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

You changed into jeans and Bradley's UVA tee shirt after work and started cooking. Your heart was lighter than it had been in days. Even if it was your fault, and Bradley was distracted because of you, at least he would recover. 

You made Marry Me Rooster along with several other things that could be reheated throughout the weekend. Bradley was going to need to eat plenty of good food and get a lot of rest. And after you took him to see a doctor on base tomorrow afternoon, hopefully you'd have even more information about what you could do to help him heal.

Bradley had emailed you from the airport in Australia. It was short and sweet. 

Baby Girl,

I love you. Will you please pick me up at the airport? I'm coming home on flight 731. I'll be the guy with the horribly bruised face and a big smile just for you.

You figured if he was making jokes, he was doing pretty fucking great. You had made plans for the other aviators to stop by on Saturday or Sunday, contingent upon how your boyfriend was feeling. Phoenix promised she would wrangle the boys if needed. But you didn't want to focus too much on that. You just wanted to pick him up in four hours and thirty-two minutes and bring him home.

His flight was listed as on time, so you got there about an hour early, just in case and found a bench. Without a boarding pass, you couldn't get past the baggage claim area, so you send a message in the group text you had started with Phoenix, Hangman and the other aviators. When you went to tuck your phone in your pocket, it started ringing. 

It was Jake. "Hey, did you see my texts?" you asked.

"Yeah, I did, Angel. Hey listen... if I know Rooster, the reason he told you ahead of time about his bruising is because he probably looks real bad. You understand?"

You paused for a second and thought about Bradley's pretty face and his perfect body. "Yeah?" you said to Jake. "What about it?"

Jake sighed. "I know you're going to nurse him back to health and do a great job, too. But Rooster is self-conscious about his scars."

Your brow scrunched up. He wasn't that way with you. Not really. But you'd told him right from the start how sexy you thought he was. That wasn't going to change now, no matter how he looked. "Jake, is this your way of trying to tell me to be encouraging about how bad my hot boyfriend suddenly looks? If so, I'm not going to think he's less hot now, I promise."

Jake chuckled. "Yeah, that's pretty much what I'm trying to tell you. Just make sure he knows that. I know would feel terrible if I came back to my girl looking anything less than my best, okay?"

You started to roll your eyes, but then you realized Jake was probably right. "I'll make sure he knows how I feel about him. Sound good?"

"Night, Angel."

You paced around, thinking about what Jake said. Maybe Bradley looked like a mess, but you didn't care. You just needed him to be with you, and then you would take care of everything for both of you. 

You heard an announcement about his flight number and the corresponding baggage claim. So you headed in that direction. But thirty minutes later, you had collected his duffel bag with the large Bradshaw patch from the conveyor belt, but there was still no sign of Bradley. You took his bag out of the way of everyone else and looked up and down the walkway for him. You got your phone out to call him, although you really didn't want to rush him. But you were dying to see him at this point. 

Then you saw him from a distance. Nobody else was that tall with such a graceful gait. Nobody else gave you goosebumps just from the way they moved. You knew it was him immediately, and you broke out into a smile. Bending down and hoisting his bag onto your shoulder, you took off in his direction as quickly as you could move. 

As you got closer, you started running, and when you could make out his smile, you started crying. 

"Bradley!" you called to him. 

"Baby Girl!" he called back and you tossed his bag to the floor and came skidding to a halt in front of him. 

"Oh, Roo. Oh, Bradley." You covered your mouth with your hands. He truly looked terrible. His face was swollen and bruised and you could see stitches peaking out all over the place. His left arm was bandaged and resting in a sling. But he was smiling down at you as you wiped tears from your eyes, and he ran his right hand through your hair.

"Can I touch you?" you asked softly, and Bradley slipped his right hand around your waist, slowly pulling you closer until your body was gently touching his. 

"Please touch me, Sweetheart. It's the only thing that will make me feel better."

You laughed through your tears as you let one hand rest gently on his chest. "You scared me," you whispered, throat tight with emotion. "Like a whole lot, Roo." You let your other hand trail up over his neck and swollen cheeks, avoiding the clusters of stitches when you could. 

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart," he whispered back, kissing the tears on your cheeks. 

You laughed as he made contact with your skin, and then you started sobbing harder. 

"Come here," he told you, wrapping his right arm tighter around you.

"I want to touch you, but I don't want to hurt you!" you blubbered, trying to pull out of his grasp. 

"You're not hurting me. Touching you could never hurt me," he whispered into your hair. "I love you. Plus, I'm taking a lot of pain medication." 

He held you and let you cry against his chest. "I love you, too," you managed between sobs. When you finally looked up at him, he bent down slightly and softly kissed your lips. 

"I'm so much better now, Y/N," he promised. "I just needed you. I'm so sorry I made you worry. And I know I look horrible right now."

You smiled up at him and shook your head. Jake's words bounced around your brain, but you didn't have to lie to Bradley when you said, "You're still the sexiest guy I've ever seen, Roo."

He barked out a laugh and tipped his head back before grimacing in pain.

"Now let me take you home and take care of you."

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

When Bradley tried to pick up his duffle bag with his good arm, you snatched it up off the floor and scolded him. "Absolutely not! Nothing strenuous until a doctor tells you it's okay!" Then you laced your fingers through his and guided him out into the cool July night air. "I brought the Bronco, because I figured you'd be more comfortable with more room."

Bradley kind of hated your little car, but he'd never tell you that. You were convinced the thing was invincible and would last you ten more years. Bradley on the other hand was hoping it would die next week so you and he could pick out something bigger. 

"Thanks, Baby Girl," he said, pulling your fingers up to his lips. He watched you smile as he kissed your hand. This was the hand the ring should have already been on. He knew he needed to talk to you about the skipped pill and what that meant between the two of you, but he didn't feel like getting into it right now.

Despite flying back in a first class seat, Bradley hadn't been able to sleep much. He was itchy and uncomfortable and exhausted, but he knew as soon as he was with you again, he would feel better. And he honestly did. He watched you toss his duffel into the back of the Bronco, and said, "My girl's so strong." That earned him another soft kiss on the lips. Then you guided him to the passenger door and opened it for him.

Bradley gingerly climbed in, cringing a bit as his cracked ribs got used to the seated position again. A look of panic flashed across your face. "I'm fine, Sweetheart. Just really sore."

"Okay," you whispered. And then you took the seatbelt in your hand and gently pulled it across his body and buckled him in.

"That's my job," he whispered against your neck as you clicked it into place. But you were shorter than he was, and now you were draped across his thighs. "Baby Girl, climb on my lap," he instructed.

Your eyes snapped up to meet his. You licked your lips and tried to read the expression on his face. "Mmhmm," he hummed.

"Roo," you gasped. "I don't want to hurt you." 

You were wearing his shirt and the necklace he gave you, and he was needy for you, and now you knew it. 

"Nothing hurts below my ribs. Climb on my lap. Please, just for a minute."

Slowly and carefully, you planted your palms on his thighs and eased yourself onto his lap, his right hand coming to rest on your hip. You shimmied up his thighs until you were straddling him, and then you placed your hands on either side of his head on the headrest.

"Bradley," you whined, letting your lips meet his. The kisses were so sweet, but your bodyweight on his thighs had him getting a little hard. He had missed you in every way. 

"I'm sorry I made you worry. I hate doing that to you."

"It's okay," you told him between the gentle kisses you planted on his lips, nose and forehead. "Don't do it again."

He smiled and rubbed your hip through your jeans. "I'll try my best not to."

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

Thanks for reading along and loving them!

PART 20

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[fantasy-relax]

Jealous kitty.

Bonus!(Brainrot)

Donna Beneviento x Reader (MC)

"I will be working with Cassandra on her.."

She doesn't listen after that static fill her head, you are leaving her. This Is her chance her route why Cassandra is always ruining it.

"You're going to leave me for Cassandra?" She can't help te venom in her voice, you are leaving her for her flirty, dramatic, excentric (adopted) niece. If it was Bela or Daniela she could at least understand the blonde was a softy behind her cold exterior and the red head was sunshine incarnate. But Cassandra?

"I don't going to leave you I'm just gonna be in Cassandra's play" You remark not made her fell better at all" For three months and one week approximately. The Romeo original is going to be better by that time. I still want to work with you, I just need to change the schedule for that.

She can't do nothing to stop the hurt that she feels, she was here first, she asked you to work with her first! how can you go to someone else so easily?.

"if is not okay with you, I-"

"Ok" her jaw is tight trying to bite the word before saying it" Okay, you need a more flexible schedule I can do that, It will be just for few months and you will come back to me " She can adjust both of your schedules to ensure she is in the theater when you were rehearsing because she refuses to let you alone with Cassandra, she knows how her niece can be.

She looks at you and her anger subsidy when in your face in your eyes all she can see is softness and care.

"I will always come back to you"

God, how much she wishes for that to be true.

She knows that next few months will be difficult for you, she knows that you need all the rest you can get but she is angry for your choices. It doesn't help that the play is Romeo ad Juliet, every single touch, hug and flirt put her in the edge of throwing her tool box at Cassandra's head.

"When I said left I meant my left, move it again" she was being petty but every single time her eyes closed the image of you with Cassandra tormented her so she decided to torment you "Good job, now these two" She ignored your pleading face.

-------—-------------------------------------

Everything was perfect, you were hers. At least for this timeline.

She knows that she is being clingy but she can't help herself, kissing you, touching you just being close to you make her the happiest woman in the world. And you let her! You don't get mad or annoyed with her, you don't mind her behavior at all you indulge her!.

You brought light to her world she can't lose you if you were gone she doesn't know what she would do. She prays for Forgetfulness in the next loop she doesn't wish to remember this happiness she doesn't wish to know what being yours mean, it will be too much pain for her to bear it.

She was the first to notice how some of her clients will sneak looks at you, how they would blush when you handed their order, how they would giggle like idiots outside the shop pointing at you oblivious self.

Troie.

When you finally noticed, you try to let them down gently some understood, others will come back bought something and flirt with you like she wasn't there.

Puttana. Vaffanculo, tutti.

"Sweetheart this can't go on" of course this can't go on, these bitches need to back the fuck out. "We need to maintain a professional image in the shop, that mean no kisses in front, no stealing me away to the nursery when I'm working and no picking fights with the clients, okay?" WHAT.

You are joking right? This is a bad joke right?. No. You are serious.

She pout and put her best puppy eyes. She can see how close you are to bending to her wishes but in the end you stand firm.

"Dear, sooner or later the glamour will fade way but the reputation of your shop will be damaged. We need to be professionals about this." Why did you had to be like this?

"Ok" CAZZO.

Your lunch break became make up break. But it seems not matter how many hickies she leaves in you, they still keep trying to take you away from her.

Of course she sees when that Figlia di puttana give you some paper, you take a look just to roll your eyes and quickly throw it in the trash, she was curious to know what exactly was so she picked up.

A number.

This. Is. Enough. She walked back to the nursery, less she throw a pot at the next woman that flirt with you, avoiding you every time she go out. When you grabbed her hand she easily go away just saying:

"We must keep a professional image in the shop, remember?" the look in your face made her smile.

You wanted her to play nice, she will play nice. You were about to know what Malicious compliance mean.

------—--------------------------------------

Avoiding you for almost week, was hard for her but it's all part of her plan. She can feel your eyes on her every time she is with you in the front.

Did she bend a little more that necessary? Yes.

Did she put more sway on her hips when walking? Yes.

Did she can feel the hunger and desire in your stare? Yes.

Did she enjoyed it? Absolutely.

Now the final details for her plan.

"Hi aunty! Did you are still messing with my roomie?

"I'm not messing with them, I'm doing exactly what they asked me, now can I ask you for a favor?"

"You betcha! What do you need?

" A friend of yours and your thieving skills"

The day has come, Five minutes before five o'clock she put the kettle her phone buzzed.

"We are outside!"

Perfect. She goes to the front, ignoring the sad look in your face. "Why dont you take a break I made some chamomile tea"

You nod, and she knows that you would come back quickly, not willing to leave her alone for more that a few minutes knowing how hard is for her to deal with people.

She almost feel bad about what is going to happen.

Almost.

Angie friend comes to her.

"My friend said that you would reject me I said that at least I should try so what do you say pretty girl, go out with me?" your stare was burning with jealousy and she don't even try to hide how pleased she was with that

"Well I have been a little neglected" she was being mean and she was enjoying it. "but is a no, sorry"

" Oh well I try it" the sigh that she let go was more of relief than disappointment the poor girl was perfectly aware of the murder in your eyes.

"Professional image, dolcezza" it's all she said before going back to the nursery. Riling you up was so fun.

You were fuming all the time you were working. Not even your so called fans were willing to talk to you for more than two minutes. At the end of the day you looked at her with fire in your eyes that made her so restless but she will no be the one to admit defeat.

"Do you mind if I walk you home?"

"It will be my pleasure, Tesoro" the smirk in her face just made you more angry.

The walk was silent one.

At the steps of her family home you looked at her, putting her best innocent face she looked back at you.

*Just a little more*

She took a step to you and patted your shoulder with a hand full of dirt, because she needs your shirt dirty for the next part of her plan and because she deserves to be a little shit. You blinked at her audacity.

"See you tomorrow, dolcezza" smiling she opened the door. One, two, three.

She was being hosted over your shoulder it seems that the adrenaline and anger was giving you strength, closing the door with your leg you make your way to her room, opening the door aggressively and throwing her in the bed.

"Why are you being so rough" She was pouting but she knows you can see the mischievous shine in her eyes.

Without answering her question you kiss her with all the hunger you had been keeping inside. Freeing her hair out of her bun, you tore her shirt open, kissing her free skin soft sighs escaped of her mouth transforming in a whine when you bite her clothed breast while taking off her pants, she raise her hips her patience had been running low since you put that stupid rule.

You move away with fascination and adoration in your face how easy is for you to made a mess of her, she is panting trying to catch the breath that you stole, tears in her eyes for the pain of your bite and she knows her underwear is ruined already.

She is so needy and she is not afraid of admit it.

"Beautiful"

Your praise never fail to make her blush, she is so embarrassed and so flattered.

She knows that you are still mad when you grab her legs rougly moving her to the border of the bed, quickly you kneel devouring like a starving beast.

-----------—---------------------------------

She loves this.

You in her arms sleeping so calm so comfortable. Your naked body pressing close to her your back and shoulders were full of scratches that she touches softly.

Maybe she was a little rough too. But considering that her legs feel numb and she is sure she is full of bite marks is fair to say this is a tie.

You are hers and she is yours.

She glances at the clock in her dresser. Well, she is the owner she can open a little more late is not like is the first time she has done it.

She just wants to enjoy this a little longer.

Later an alarm goes off, waking both of you.

Moving slowly you hiss "My love did you have to scratch the hell out of me?"

"Depends, did you have to fuck me into the mattress?" Not that she is complaining as is what she wanted, she needed your unshackled desire. And how much she enjoys feeling you so deep in her.

You blush but the proud smile in your face give away your satisfaction. "You could have cut your nails if this is what you were planning"

Oh this is not over yet. "I have been busy".

She tries to hide her smile when you asked her for clothes.

"Donna, sweetheart, darling, dear, you don't expect me to walk around like this" you gesture at your body full of marks that the tank top can't hide.

She shamelessly ogle you God, if she doesn't knew that you need to present your exam she would be all over you, under you, beside you.

When she became a pervert? Oh you were waiting her answer.

"I'm sorry cara mia Is all I have" she said with the most sincere tone she can muster. She hid all the other clothes obviously. She don't want her efforts to waste.

You sigh.

"You are going to be late, dolcezza" this time she can't hide her smirk.

Cursing you give her a quick kiss and run to the school.

She walks calmly to her flowershop. Her legs aren't numb anymore but she is still tired. Even so she feels like she Is walking in clouds.

The smug smile she gives to your fans when they see the marks that you left in her neck can't be stopped by her shyness.

Oh how much she enjoy the envy in their eyes.

She is yours, you are hers.

Her phone is buzzing taking it out she reads the message that her beloved niece have sent her.

"🤢"

"Sorry Bambina, I guessing you saw them? "

"🤮"

"Did you did what i asked you?"

"Yes, Daniela is outside and today is not her laundry day. Now excuse me I need to bleach my brain."

--------–——--------------------------------

When you came back every single client had a particular reaction to you appearance. You have been laughed, scoffed and nodded.

" Ah, problems with a misbehaving kitty?" Well she would have behaved if her partner stopped being so charming. "here this cream work wonders for that injuries"

She is laughing freely in the nursery she was having a blast with all this.

"Thank you, sir" she bets you're so red right now.

"Is nothing dear, I remember when I was younger my beloved Jerry was a jealous and clingy kitty, always wanting to be with me, practically throwing himself at me, fighting with whoever took my attention away" oh? "it was a problem when I had to work, he don't liked being alone that much so I made sure to let him know every night that how much I loved him and that I would never leave his side." OH

That is not a bad idea. God, she is really a pervert.

"Hey what is taking you so much! We're going to be late!" it seems that the kitty never stopped being clingy" Hurry up!

The man in front with you just laughed.

"See, so clingy" She walked silently to you side" Make sure to show your kitten love continously less they want to scratch you up" Good advice but she makes no promises, the man looked at her " Ah, young love " she blushes but smile" I'm coming Jerry!"

" Wisdom of your elders never should be wasted" you flinched, she giggles at your reaction " you should treat your Kitten right.

"I'm gonna start by putting a damn bell on you" you said before grabbing her by her waist.

"What about the Professional image, dolcezza?" She had gotten her way again.

"To hell with it" you kissed her" I need to take good care of my sweet, clingy and jealous kitty.

She was putting a show but the look of the few fans that refuse to take the hint was worth it.

She noticed the crow outside and she kissed you more aggressively.

She would enjoy her time with you. Because now you were hers but the next time it wasn't safe to say you would come back to her.

It will be too much if she sent a video to Miranda?

#resident lover #donna beneviento #my work

[s1ckh1mb0]

Sisters bf! Hobie x reader

Black! Feminine Reader in mind (Kind of the opposite of him)

Cw- cheating, nsfw, reader is said to have piercings

You had a huge dislike for you sister as she like to see herself as better than you. So when she came home to you to show off her boyfriend you were shocked. He looked like none of her exes, something about him caught your eye but you couldn’t tell what.

He started to come over a lot but it seem whenever she would talk to him he would be annoyed or disengaged. It didn’t take long for the two start to argue in you guys shared apartment. Days of arguing turned into weeks but at the end of the night all you could hear was thumping from their headboard hitting the wall.

As much as you hated the two being together you couldn’t deny that you liked spending time with Hobie. Watching movies together, him helping you with your hair, going to get piercings together all of it made you so happy. But of course this pissed your sister off. Things were going pretty smoothly until you and Hobie returned from a concert together to sound of moaning filling the apartment. Before you can even process what was Hobie busted down their door.

There in the bed was your dear sister and her “bestfriend” with a dumb ass look on their face. “Have you lost you’re fucking mind?!” Hobies face was red in anger. You couldn’t help but giggle at how your sister was stuttering and hiccuping while trying to make excuses for herself. Instead of getting angry at herself for getting caught she instead redirects her anger at you.

She starts screaming and throwing things at you which catches you by surprise. You suddenly feel an arm wrapped around your waist as your pulled into his chest, shielding you from all the upcoming objects. “See that’s why I cheated on you, you’re always sitting here protecting this fucking whore!” Your sister spewed. Before Hobie could come to your defense you spoke up “Oh you wanna see whore I’ll fucking show you whore then.”. Without a second thought you grabbed Hobie shirt and pulled him into a deep kiss. He was taken aback a bit but without hesitation kissed back.

Once you pulled to get air back the room was eerily silent. You turned to your sister with a smirk while panting “Now you can call me a whore.”. She got up to lunge at you but was quickly grabbed by Ari (the guy she was sleeping with) and as much as she flailed and screamed she couldn’t get out of his grip. You both took that opportunity to leave the room and head to yours on the other side of the apartment.

Hobie sat on your bed moving one of your many plushies over to the side. You were pacing around your room with your mind racing, though it felt good to get back at your sister you couldn’t believe what you had done. “C’mere baby” He pulled you in by your belt loop sitting you on his lap. You groaned and pinched the bridge of your nose “I can’t believe this shit. Just who the fuck does this bitch, got the nerve to be calling me out my name and shit.”

While you ranted Hobie watched your lips with such intensity. They way your gloss shined with everything you said. Your vertical labret piercing that you got when he recommended it was an excuse he used every time you caught him staring at your lips when you talked. You went on and on about how pissed you were and Hobie couldn’t lie to himself… that shit turned him on. He loved when you got serious about something. The way you always made sure that your point got across and how determined you were just sparked something in him.

You were nothing like your sister, who was currently arguing with her sneaky link in the other room. As much as Hobie loved to listen to you talk he just couldn’t keep his hands to himself. In the middle of you ranting he slid his hand to your ass giving it a rough squeeze making you gasp. His free hand wrapped your throat giving it a light squeeze before running his thumb across your bottom lip. You felt your face start to get hot as you started to become horny “Hobie this is wrong…”

“You think I give a damn honestly? Hell the only reason I stayed with your sister was so I can keep coming to see you. Your eyes widened in shock “Hol on explain my nigga.”. “It’s very simple honestly let’s compare you and ya sister. She’s the neediest and bitchiest person I have ever met and I’ve been to different universes and shit. But you on the other hand.. you’re the most smartest, fiercest, and by far the sexiest damn person I’ve ever met.” He grabbed your waist pushing you on to his bulge. “And I intend to prove it.”

Imma be honest I didn’t even watch the spider movie so I’m sorry if this is ooc for him😭

Part 2 is up!!

#fanfic #x character #x reader #x black reader #hobie spiderverse #hobie x reader #atsv hobie #hobie x y/n #hobie smut #hobie headcanons #astv hobie #hobie my beloved #spotify #x black plus size reader #x male y/n #x black male reader #x black fem reader #hobie x black!reader #hobie x male reader #hobie x you