Tumgik
#i would pay to see him tumbling over in the suit
help-itrappedmyself · 29 days
Text
Dead on Main AU
Masterpost
Guys, I'm so sorry. But here's this!
~~~~
Danny blinks and he is somewhere else. He’s sitting at a dining room table, surrounded. There are so many people here. They’re all talking over each other, some yelling, some laughing. This scene comes as a great surprise to him, who -one blink ago- was trying and failing to do his homework at home in his room. Danny shoots up, his chair making a horrible noise as he pushes it away so fast it tumbles over. Everyone in the room turns to look over at him like he’s insane. 
“Oh my god, who are you people?” Danny did not mean to say this out loud, but at the sound of his voice he startles. Danny takes a moment to assess, and then, “Oh my god who am I?”  He is tall, and big, and this is certainly not his body, what is he wearing.
The boy sitting to the right of Danny, a little shorter than he is, with black hair and blue eyes (though now that he’s paying attention that does describe most people in the room),  starts chuckling lightly. “Uh, Jason? Are you good?” 
Danny turns to stare him right in the eyes. “What day is it?”
And he can tell the concern around the table is just ratcheting up every time he opens his stupid mouth.
“Did you hit your head on patrol?” The voice comes from the only blond and one of the only girls in the room, who's to the left of the person across from him. The person across from him is another boy with black hair and blue eyes who is studying Danny in a way that makes him uncomfortable, that under-a-microscope look that makes you feel like you’re failing at something.
“I have no idea if Jason hit his head.” Danny says. “I was just trying to remember if it was my birthday.”
And if he thought the room was busy when he first arrived here it is absolute pandemonium now. Everyone starts shouting and asking questions that he can’t even hear over the shouting. Someone with white hair in a suit just came through a door he didn’t even see earlier to stand by the only person not shouting, who -Danny would guess- is the only other adult in this room, witting at the head of the table. He also has black hair and blue eyes, and where almost everyone else’s reaction was panic, he froze instead. The person across from Danny also isn’t shouting, but the person next to Danny on his right has now fully stood up and looks like he might actually jump across the table to win the argument he ended up in. 
“Are you Jason’s soulmate?” is the main gist of the shouting that Danny can interpret but he’s more concerned with actual Jason at the moment. If they switched bodies... Then Jason might be in trouble…
“Hey, I forget, how long is this body swap supposed to last again?” Danny asks.
“Until you and Jason have physical contact. You have to actually meet.” The boy sitting across from him explains. He seems like one of the only ones that heard Danny talk, everyone else was still shouting. 
“Oh, that just seems terrible. What if we’re in different countries or something?” Danny complained. “Everyone in the world is just supposed to be able to drop everything and afford to fly across the world. The universe is really trying to screw people over now. Honestly, am I in a different country? Where even are we right now?”
“You’re in Gotham.” This voice was new, coming from the head of the table to Danny’s right. 
“Oh no. Nope.” Danny started backing away from the table, almost tripping on his overturned chair. “Absolutely not, no, how do I get out of here?” He starts earnestly looking for a door to get out of this place, but there are three doors he can see and he has no idea where any of them go, and doesn’t this room have any windows? What kind of a room doesn’t have any windows? Do they like to eat in a basement?
“Jason- not Jason. Uh, you need to calm down, everything will be fine alright, We’ll get you and Jason introduced no problem.” Danny swivels to track the voice and it’s the one who was sitting next to him, he’s walking towards him with his hands up and out in front of him. 
“I have to get home.” Danny breathes. 
“We can get you there, promise. Now, I’m Dick, can you tell me your name?”
“Your name is Dick? Who named you Dick?” Danny is so confused he’s stopped panicking. “How old are you for you to go by the name Dick?”
“Okay, rude.” Dick sounds like a petulant child so Danny’s estimations for his age are continuously dropping. “I’m 24.”
Danny snorts. “Okay.” The blond girl starts laughing over at the table. “I’m uh, I’m Danny.”
“Nice to meet you. Sort of. I’m Tim.” The guy from across from him had made it over to stand next to Dick. “There’s a lot of us here today so the one laughing like a hyena is Steph. That one there is Duke.” African-American, still with black hair but he has brown eyes and waves once introduced. “Damian is the short one next to him, and Cass was sitting across from Dick earlier. Our dad, Jason’s dad-” 
“Not my dad!” Steph interrupted. Tim waves her off.
“Everyone but Steph's dad, is over there, Bruce. Alfred, our butler is the one next to him.” Alfred gives a slight nod to his head. Bruce is just staring at him.
“So, names out of the way. You said you wanted to go home, where do you live?”
“Amity Park.”
1K notes · View notes
cameronspecial · 10 days
Text
A New Kind Of Normal (Prologue)
Pairing: Dad!Rafe Cameron x Reader
Warnings: SMUT.
Pronouns: She/Her
Word Count: 2.7K
Summary: A night at work leads Y/N to the bed of the Prince of Kooks and it results in a small miracle.
Masterlist
Tumblr media
Working at a catering company is not exactly Y/N’s life dream, but it helps her pay for tuition so she deals with it. The black cocktail dress she is forced to wear for this event is driving her insane. It is itchy and so short that she worries every few minutes her underwear will show. She is struggling with the heels, fearing she’ll trip with no way of catching her fall. The tray in her hand holds lemon buttercups that make her mouth salivate like a dog. She navigates around the wealthy partygoers and offers anyone who looks interested a sweet treat. Most people barely look in her direction, let alone thank her; the wealthy really need to learn some manners. At least she only has three more hours of this. 
For once, Rafe didn’t get high as soon as he got off of work. He knew he had to accompany his dad to this networking event and he wasn’t about to make the same mistake of going to a work event high again. Not after last time. His regret for being sober is starting to grow, but the smell of vanilla makes him glad he can think clearly. Her bright smile is the second thing he notices after her vanilla perfume. It amazes him how she can still be so happy, knowing she’s been working since the start of the night. He wants to go get a lemon buttercup just to have an excuse to talk to her; however, the button on his suit jacket has another idea. It falls off of its string and starts rolling away from him. They watch as the button gets farther away and both go after it. Their eyes are focused on the button, which causes them to run into each other. 
Buttercups go flying everywhere and Y/N falls flat on her bum. Rafe tries to stop his fall, but all he really does is change the direction he falls in and he tumbles on top of her. His chest presses against hers. She feels his breath fight against hers and she tries her hardest to keep the attraction out of her eyes. Her mind snaps back to reality. She quickly pushes him off of her and she stands back up. 
Her hands search for the tray so she can go back to the kitchen to replace the soiled treats. He wants to go after her, but his dad stops him in his tracks under the pretense of talking to a client. The rest of the night is spent looking for the vanilla-scented waitress. He finally sets eyes on the one person he wants to see near the end of the night. Her body sits in a nook hidden away from everyone. She has her knees folded close to her chest and he can see she is reading something placed on her lap. The cold night air breezes through her hair, getting into her face but it doesn’t seem to bother her. The dress she is wearing absolutely drives him crazy. It hugs her curves perfectly and with the way she is sitting, he catches a glimpse at her underwear, which he has to pull himself to look away from her. “I’m glad I found you again, Buttercup. We didn’t get the chance to talk last time.” 
She looks up from whatever she is reading, giving him a small smile that doesn’t compare to the one before. He vows to make her give him that smile again. She can’t help but admit that she thinks he is funny and handsome. She thought that everyone at the event would be a high society person, who would look down at her. But whoever this guy is, he talks to her like she is human. Joking around with her and flashing her a charming smirk. His blazer is thrown across his forearm and she finds it attractive how the sleeves of his button-up are folded up his arms. It takes everything inside of her not to smile like an idiot when he speaks to her. “And it’s Button. Did you manage to get your button back?” she asks. He walks over, sitting on the wall across from her, “Yes, thanks for trying to help. Sorry, I knocked you off of your feet. What are you reading?” “It’s okay. It was my fault too for not looking. And I’m reading a script. I have an audition tomorrow for a student film,” she explains, flashing him the script she is reading. He gently snatches it out of her hand, “So you’re an actress, interesting. I could see that. Anything I would have seen you in?”
“No, just a bunch of student films for university. That’s it. But one day, I’m going to move out to New York or maybe LA and then get my big break. For now, I’m okay with just going to university and acting in student films.” 
“Well I’ve never seen you act, but I know you’ll make it big. I mean with a smile better than Julia Roberts’, how could you not?”
“Aww, thanks! Aren’t you going back to the party? Or are you hiding out too? You seemed to be a hit with the other business dudes.”
He looks at her with a grin, playfully knocking her foot with his, “You’ve been watching me. I’m hiding out from my father. He says I’m useless and can’t be trusted, yet he seems to want to parade me around at events like these. I just don’t understand him.” His hands play at buttoning his watch on and off. She looks at him with sad eyes, feeling bad about his parental pressures. He hates that he is the one to make her sad and all he wants to do is to give her the world to cheer her up. “I’m sorry your dad is such a jerk. The only useless thing I see here is your suit button,” she jokes to lighten up the mood. This is when she flashes him her award-winning smile and he wants to melt, “Thanks. I’m used to it by now.” Silence falls over them before Rafe feels the need to tell her more about his dad. She has eyes that tell him she can be trusted and if she is as sweet as her perfume, she must be hella sweet. “He doesn’t understand that I’m protecting him and the company. That’s me. Not Sarah. Me, Rafe. I’m the one.” His tears start to fall as his fingers press against his thumb to point toward him to punctuate his point. 
She isn’t sure what to say to him; she never had any problems with her dad. She moves to sit beside him, bringing his head onto her shoulder. He revels in her touching and lets himself feel comfort in her neck. After a few seconds, he looks up at her. Their eyes lock for a second. His lips near hers and she takes the chance by smacking their lips together. Their mouths move in tandem, his tongue moving against her bottom lip to ask for entrance. She lets him in and they fight for dominance. Eventually, she gives him full control. His hands move to the neckline of her dress, moving it out of the way so he can kiss her collarbone. 
Before things get too heated in public, she moves his head away from her skin. She places her forehead against his and quietly pants, “I really do want to continue this, but maybe not in a place we’d get arrested.” He loves the way she says it taking her hand into his to drag her to his truck. 
——
Rafe spins her around so her back slams against his door. His teeth gently tug her bottom lips and let it go to give her a kiss. His hand finds the back of her thigh, so he can hike it up to his waist. He separates for a second and brings his mouth to her ear, “My name is Rafe by the way. You’ll need to know it for when you are screaming my name later on.” She feels shivers run down her spine. His lips begin to descend the column of her neck and drops down to his knees. His head ducks under the skirt of her dress, using his teeth to pull her underwear down her legs. Once he has clear access to her pussy, he dives in to make her feel good. He starts his assault with her clitoris, swirling his tongue around the bud. Her head swings back in pleasure and her leg wraps around his shoulder. “God, I love the sounds you are making. You are doing so good, Buttercup. Do you want more?” he praises, looking up at her.
“Yes, please. More,” she cries out and brings his mouth back onto her. He gives a low chuckle at her words, moving his fingers to his mouth to get them prepared for her. His fingers move from his mouth to her vagina. It penetrates her hole and she is begging for him to give her more. Her hips start to buck to meet his movement. He adds another finger and the sound she lets out is music to his ears. Her walls start to tighten around his fingers. She lets out a loud gasp as she climaxes. He pulls his fingers out of her and cleans them off in his mouth. 
Standing at full height, he towers over her now. She gives him a wicked smile and stands on his tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “As much as I love the nickname Buttercup, I want you to be yelling Y/N for what I’m about to do.” It's her turn to kneel on her knees and pull down his clothes. He can cum in his pants just at the sight of her like this. She begins by pumping his cock in her hand, bringing the tip close to her lips. She gives it a little kitten lick and then continues to jerk him off. “Y/N, Y/N. Please, take me in your mouth. I need to feel you,” he moans out, lacing his fingers through her hair to push her head closer to where he needs her. She happily envelopes him in her mouth, using a hand to bring pleasure to what isn’t in her mouth. She continues to bob her head and swirls her tongue around his dick. 
She feels him twitch in her mouth, but he brings her up to full height before she can help him climax. “I want to come in you,” he begs, heading over to his bedside table to get a condom. She strips as he goes to get it, “Will you hurry up and get that thing on you? I need to feel you inside of me.” He quickly rips the condom wrapper with his teeth and rolls it onto himself after giving it a few pumps. The sight of her naked makes him want to drool; he knows she probably feels self-conscious being the only naked person in the room, so he rids himself of his clothes.
Her perky breasts are calling his name; therefore, he brings his head to suck on one of her nipples. The swirling of his tongue around her bud and her head jerks forward to rest on his head. “Enough foreplay, Rafe. Get your dick back in me before I take matters into my own hands,” she orders, moving his head from her boobs by his hair. He groans at her words, “Y/N if you do that, I’m going to have to punish you.” But he obeys her demands anyway. His fingers find their way back to her core to make sure she is wet enough for him. Finally, he brings the tip of his cock and pushes into her at a rough pace. He brings her leg back up to his waist and presses his chest against hers so she has better support with her back pressed against the door. With each thrust, her back rubs against the wall in a slight discomfort, but the pleasure he is giving her makes it worth it. “You are doing so good. Look how well you are taking me,” he breathly praises him. 
“What can I say? You’re pretty good at stretching me out,” she teases, wrapping her arms around his neck. He gives her a dark look, “I must not be doing a good enough job if it’s only pretty good. I have to kick it up a notch then.” As promised, his pace quickens and gets rougher as her moans increase in volume. He feels like he is in heaven and he knows he is going to come soon. His hand goes down between them, rubbing her clit to help her get close with him. His thrusts mixed with his rubbing fingers help bring her to her orgasm. “Keep going, I’m almost there. You feel amazing,” she admires as she feels herself clench around him. His orgasm washes over him too and he lets out a loud moan with his head thrown to her neck as his thrusts begin to slow down. He rides out both of their highs before pulling out of her with a peck to the lips. 
She slouches against the wall a little tired from their activities and he brings her other leg up to his waist so he can carry her to the bathroom. Her legs tighten around him; her head buries into his neck. He feels the faint brush of her lips against the skin of his neck. He places her on the toilet, turning away so she can go in privacy. With her bladder now empty, he returns to her with a damp towel to help clean off her sticky cum. The condom he is wearing comes off and is discarded in the garbage. Her legs wobble a little as she tries to make her way to the sink. Rafe lets out a small chuckle at her Bambi-like walking and helps her to the sink so she can wash her hands.
After they finish getting ready for bed in the bathroom, he carries her back to his room and gently lays her down. He gets in on his side of the bed, bringing her head against his chest. She thinks of saying something to break the silence, but sleep finds her before she can. 
——
It has been a month since that fateful night with Rafe. She left the next morning without waiting for him to wake up. Yes, they had an amazing night, but she didn’t think he was the relationship type so she wasn’t going to put him through the awkwardness of asking her to leave. Ever since that night, she’s been experiencing sore breasts, nausea, and mood swings; however, she just attributed those symptoms to her period coming soon. The trigger that brings her to where she is now is her missed period. Her period turned regular when she was sixteen so she shouldn’t skip a month. She stares at the wall of tests in front of her, trying to figure out the best one. She feels like everyone in the store is staring at her and just decides on whichever one she can grab first. 
The drive home is filled with anxious silence as she looks over at the bag on her passenger seat at every red light. She gets home and follows the instructions on the box. Waiting for five minutes has never felt this long before. Y/N paces the bathroom with the fingernail of her thumb in her mouth and runs towards the pregnancy test when the timer goes off. She looks in the little window on the test. Her panic seeps through her as she sees the words ‘pregnant’. Her first thought is to find Rafe and tell him, but then she remembers all the stories she’s heard about him after they slept together.
He does drugs. He has anger issues and hurts people. It is all completely different from the person she spent the night with, yet everyone has said the same thing. And that is not the type of father she wants for her baby. She doesn’t know if she is going to keep the baby, but she knows that whatever she decides, Rafe cannot be involved.
Taglist: @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @drewstarkeyswifehoe @kisstaya
121 notes · View notes
Text
The Result of Naps
Tumblr media
Word Count: 4,000 (Short ik)
Warnings: Absolutely none. Just fluff.
Summary: RAFO, my darlings ;) || Elijah x reader || Here lies my Masterlist ||
A/N: I wrote for Elijah? BY CHOICE??? Wow, must be the end of the world. It just sort of happened. It's not bad tho. If y'all like this, I have a draft for a part two in my google docs. Just sayin'. Now sit back and enjoy the show!
😴 STORY BEGINS BELOW 😴
Your shift passed as it always did. Slowly and in silence. Being employed by the town as the Mystic Fall's Archive Historian had sounded like a dream come true, right up until you realized that you were really just a glorified librarian. The town archives were located towards the back of the Mystic Falls public library and it was too expensive to pay a separate caretaker when you were there to do practically the same thing.
Don't get it wrong, you loved books - history and knowledge were precious to you - but as much as you enjoyed spending each day in a large building full of literature, you weren't sure how much longer you could last spending day after day alone watching such treasures do nothing but collect dust. No one came to the library anymore - most just preferred studying from home. The library's book selection was rather outdated and no one aside from you would willingly read the town's milling or tax records. So you spent your days alone. Sitting in silence. Watching books collect dust.
That was precisely how you'd fallen into the nasty habit of taking naps on the job. It was hard not to. The library building didn't exactly have the best air conditioning in the world and it was always so deserted that you could regularly fit in a two or three hour nap with no consequences.
So naturally, when someone tapped you on your shoulder in the middle of one of those naps, you nearly jumped out of your skin.
"HOLY TOLEDO!" You shouted, stirring to life. The book resting on your chest tumbled off, but a hand shot out and caught it before it hit the floor. You looked up slowly to see who had disturbed your slumber and were surprised to find yourself looking at the face of a gorgeous young man dressed in what appeared to be a very expensive suit. He stared down at you with an inquisitive look. You smiled sheepishly. "Uh, hiiiiiiii... What can I do for you?"
"My apologies for disturbing your rest, Miss," He said, clearly just a little bit amused and trying not to show it. You bit your lip and sat up, blinking and stretching your neck out a little. You had to fight the urge to rub your eyes.
"No, no it's fine," You assured him, waving your hand. "I'm really sorry about that. It's just... nobody ever comes in here, ya know? Just the occasional founder or whatever, but that's just once in a blue moon and high schoolers only visit when they're absolutely desperate... and I'm rambling, aren't I?" You let go of a nervous chuckle and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
"It's not a trouble," He said.
"Anyway... Let's start over, shall we?" You stood, smoothing the wrinkles from your shirt and straightening your nametag. Then you offered him your hand. "I'm Y/N, Mystic Falls Public Archive Historian and glorified librarian."
The man took your hand and, instead of shaking, he lifted it to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss to your knuckles. "I am Elijah," He introduced. He provided you no other information but you were a little too distracted by his charming behavior to dwell on that.
"Okay," You breathed, blushing. "Well, what can I help you with? I've read just about everything in this place at least twice, so I'm sure I can help you find whatever it is you're looking for."
A small smile found its way to Elijah's lips and he looked you over as if trying to determine something.
"Well, you see, I'm writing my dissertation on the history of small towns in north-western Virginia-" He began.
"That sounds fatally boring," You interrupted. He didn't even have to speak to point out everything you had just said about your job, his expression did the talking for him and you realized you had no argument. "Continue."
"As luck would have it, this town possesses the largest collection of antique documents in the area. I was simply hoping you would point me in the direction of the town's archives," He said.
"Oh, finally!" You exclaimed, clapping your hands. "It's been a hot minute since anyone aside from the Mayor or the Sheriff has asked to see those. Right this way, Elijah." He frowned.
"There's no need to accompany me Miss. Y/N," Elijah politely claimed. "If you simply point the way, I'm confident I'll be able to manage the rest. I would hate to impose on your... personal time."
You snorted. "Personal time? Is there something you'd like to say about my work ethic, Mr. Elijah?"
"Nothing at all," He chuckled pleasantly. "And just Elijah will do fine."
You nodded, raising a brow. "Will it now?"
He smiled. "Of course. If we are to consider ourselves friends, that is."
"Friends?" You questioned, blinking in surprise. "I haven't been at this job too long, but I have to say I'm surprised. Just for future reference, do all writers befriend random small town librarians, or is that just you?"
"I'd like to think it's just me," Elijah replied, shrugging just slightly. He was very reserved, you noticed. "Especially if said individual is as beautiful as you and circumstances dictate I'll be visiting them quite often."
You smirked, nodding. "Visiting often for research, I'm sure. Nothing else."
"Naturally," He hummed, pleased you caught his meaning.
You laughed, ducking your head to hide the blush that colored your cheeks. There was something about that smile... "Well, in that case, Y/N will do just fine."
"Excellent, I'll keep that in mind." His eyes scanned your face and you swallowed thickly under the intensity of it. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
"Anyway," You continued. "While I'm sure you're more than qualified to navigate a library the size of a broom closet, you would find yourself faced with a locked door and as I happen to be the keeper of that door's sole key, it is imperative that I accompany you to your destination."
"Valid point." He nodded and extended his arm to you - very old-fashioned like. "In that case, lead the way."
"It would be my genuine pleasure." You smiled and hooked your arm through his, starting towards the back. Within a matter of moments, the two of you had crossed the length of the library and you guided him to a non-descript door with a plaque that read Employees Only. The door was locked, of course, just as you had told Elijah it would be, thus you removed the lanyard which held your keyring from around your neck and fitted the lock with its proper key. Turning the handle, you pulled the door open and waved him through; however, to your surprise, Elijah took the door from you and motioned for you to continue first. You grinned and shook your head but took the invitation anyway, making sure to kick a doorstop next to the frame to keep it from closing all the way just in case someone asked for you while you were assisting Elijah.
"I can hold a door, you know," You teased as Elijah joined you once again. A short hallway stretched off in front of you. The door to your left opened into the library's Digital Resource Housing Accommodation - which was honestly just a fancy way of saying Computer Room but the town's council insisted on the pretentious name. (Of course, the library kept two computers out in its main area for public use, but those had a habit of getting stolen by desperate high schoolers.) Whereas the four doors to your right led to a series of small rooms for anyone in need of a quieter space for private tutors or counseling. At the end of the hall, there was another door on the left. You headed towards that one.
"I am aware." He nodded, smiling. "I happen to be a devout feminist."
"Then you of all people should know that chivalry is dead," You pointed out.
"Perhaps," He acknowledged. "Although I see no reason it shouldn't be brought back."
You scoffed. "Yeah, no. I don't think men need yet another reason to delude themselves into thinking a woman needs them for anything," You said.
"You are absolutely right," The man agreed, laughing just a little bit.
"Yes, I am." Reaching the door, you switched out your keys and unlocked that one too. Elijah reached past you and pulled it open, holding it for you. Raising a brow, you turned to face him pointedly. "What was that about me being right?"
"You are." He offered you another one of those small yet knee weakening smiles and you crossed your arms in an attempt to ground the butterflies it set off. "However, chivalry is not about doing things for a woman out of the misguided fantasy that she cannot do them for herself. Rather, it is about treating a woman with the proper respect, dignity, and kindness a lady deserves to be shown." He watched you kick another doorstop into place before leaning against the door frame to look up at him.
"Yeah, I've never met another man who buys that."
Elijah shrugged easily. "Well, anyone who believes otherwise is simply an unfortunate waste product of a primitive society."
You nodded and smirked. "Oh, I like you." Pushing yourself off the door frame, you took a left and began climbing the old and only slightly rickety stairwell. Elijah followed you in but his footsteps stalled on the landing. You turned back to see him glancing to the right, towards the staircase that descended into the basement, wearing an expression of slight confusion. "What?"
"Not to question your expertise, but typical archives I've visited in the past have been located on the lowest floors - in underground vaults and such," He explained. "Is that not the case here?"
You tried to be courteous, but there was a reason you had tried to avoid customer service work your whole life. You threw your head back and laughed, clutching your side.
Elijah tilted his head. "Did I say something wrong?"
You shook your head, still giggling. "No! No, you're fine." You wiped your eyes and took a deep breath. "Sorry, it's just-" You took one look at his face and burst out laughing again.
"What did I say?" He demanded, fighting a chuckle of his own.
"Okay, okay!" You pushed your hair out of your face and schooled your expression, calming yourself. "First of all, this ain't the Smithsonian, Elijah."
"Oh, absolutely not," He agreed, shaking his head. "For one thing, the staff in this establishment is deplorable."
"File a complaint with my manager." You shrugged. "Oh, wait... That's right, I am my manager."
Elijah huffed a laugh and began climbing the stairs. "That sounds rather tedious, but please continue.."
You grinned. Finally, someone who appreciated your sense of humor. "Second, this is Virginia. The ground floor is where we put the stuff we can afford to lose, and anything we put in the basement is destined for annihilation." He shot you a questioning look and you elaborated. "This place flooded twice last year."
"oh, I'm sorry to hear that," He said, frowning.
"Don't be - you're not the one who had to clean it up." You smirked, elbowing him playfully. You weren't sure why. After all, you barely knew this man, but despite his expensive attire and reserved demeanor, something about him just put you at ease. So you were grateful that he didn't seem to mind, going so far as to laugh along with you.
At the top of the stairs there stood yet another door, though this one was much newer and more sturdy than the rest. Once you turned the key, its digital lock required you to swipe your card and input a four digit code. "No peeking," You said teasingly, not really caring if he took you seriously.
He did look away, although not without comment. "I'm fairly confident I could kick this door down if I was truly committed."
"Mmm... I wouldn't be too sure about that." You pushed the door open and held it this time, gesturing behind you. "Go ahead and take a look-see."
Elijah raised a brow but walked in and glanced at the back of the door. "Steel reinforcement," He noted, duly impressed. "That's quite a lot of security for a small-town archive."
You snorted. "You say that as if there's some sort of conspiracy to be had here."
"Isn't there?"
You paused for a moment, then shrugged, flipping on the lights. "Take that up with the founder's council, my friend," You supplied.
The dim lights of the archive room flickered to life, revealing row after row of floor to ceiling filing cabinets that spanned to the back wall. There were no windows. The only other furniture in the room was a large wooden desk, complete with several yellow lamps and a magnifying glass. Old school all the way.
Elijah blinked and turned to you. "The Founder's Council?" He inquired.
You rolled your eyes and shook your head, leaning against the wall next to the light switch. "It's kinda like some super secret club the founding families have where they get together to share their holier-than-thou gossip and Pinterest recipes," You said with a long sigh. "They like to think nobody on the outside knows about it, but if their ancestors didn't want anyone to find out, then they shouldn't have written about it so much. Fast forward a hundred and fifty some-odd years and with the descendents of those families too lazy to go through their actual mountains of inherited documents, guess who got to read all about those little pow-wows -" You clicked your tongue, jabbing a thumb towards yourself. "- this gal, that's who.
"Do you think there's something this Council could be hiding?" He wondered.
"Oh, I think there's plenty of things they think they're hiding," You scoffed. "But as for any actual conspiracies? I think not... aside from maybe a scandal or two."
"I see." He nodded.
"It's honestly sad to see how self-important some people are," You grumbled.
"Agreed," Elijah hummed, looking as annoyed as he probably could. "Especially since they're not even the actual founders of this town."
"Right?!"
"Because it was the Vikings who actually first settled in this area almost one thousand years ago," The two of you said in unison. You paused and glanced at him. Elijah grinned
"I'm impressed," He remarked, seeming to evaluate you a second time. You shrugged.
"History is kinda my life," You admitted, a little bit sheepishly. "That being said, what might you be looking for?"
He waved a hand dismissively. "I'd hate to bother you with my research, it's bound to be dull. Besides, I'm sure you must be quite eager to get back to your, ah... study of the unconscious mind." His lips twitched upward in just the suggestion of a smirk. You huffed, placing a hand to your chest in foux offense.
"Ah, I see how it is," You laughed. "Fall asleep on the job one time and you're branded for life."
He raised a brow playfully. "Are you positive it was just the one time?"
"I don't feel obliged to disclose that information," You hummed.
Elijah chuckled. "I see."
"Regardless, it's against government policy to allow civilians to handle fragile historic documents without supervision of an archive historian," You informed, shrugging.
"I can assure you, I've handled such documents many times before," Elijah insisted.
You blinked and let the smirk drop from your face. "True as that may be, you said earlier that this research is for your dissertation - i.e. you haven't yet graduated and/or obtained your degree. Thus I am still required by law to watch you like a hawk." You tilted your head and flashed him a tight smile. "Sorry, bud." Your tone was as much a warning as it was an informative statement.
Elijah opened his mouth to say something but quickly thought better of it. "Point taken," He conceded, nodding though it was a little stiff.
"It's not that I mean to be a stickler but, uh..." You hissed. "Wait, no, yeah I am absolutely a stickler."
"I disagree, you take your duties of historical preservation seriously - I admire that. Please note that I am in no way attempting to undermine you," Elijah promised, moving to sit at the desk. "I simply do not wish to make a burden of myself."
You huffed a laugh. "You're not a burden, Elijah. I'm genuinely glad you're here, giving me a chance to do my actual job for once. I didn't go to college for six years only to end up reading children's books to second graders every Friday afternoon."
"This isn't the carrier you would have chosen?" He asked, frowning slightly.
"Oh heck no." You shook your head, laughing softly. "With my degree I could be working at the Smithsonian."
"And would you like that?"
"It's only been my dream since I was a kid," You said, smiling wryly. "I love research - it's like a treasure hunt or a puzzle, except you have no clue what anything looks like. You just have to piece it together however you see best until the picture reveals itself."
"That's a beautiful way to look at it." Elijah smiled. "In that case, perhaps you could begin by helping me find every map, census, or property survey of areas in this town where unusual amounts of human remains have been found."
How he managed to say that with a completely straight face, you would never know.
You blinked. "Well that got dark really fast."
He gave you a small hapless shrug. "It's not the most pleasant subject for study, I am aware."
"Not the weirdest I've heard, actually," You admitted. Shaking away your surprise and hesitation, you began making your way through the isles in search of relevant cabinets. "Can I ask what this is for or should I mind my own business?"
Eijah got up to search on his own but continued talking to you as he did. "While I was in Salem researching the witch trials, I heard stories of a group of supposed witches who migrated to North-Western Virginia in order to escape persecution. All accounts led me to determine Mystic Falls as their chosen destination and, according to the stories, these women lived in the area peacefully until it was settled by this town's so-called-founders at which time they were burned at the stake for witchcraft." He poked his head around the cabinet to look at you. "I would like to find out exactly where they were murdered," He said.
Oh... well if that was the case then he had you looking for the wrong documents.
You grinned and shoved the cabinet you were rifling through shut. "You know, that's actually pretty cool," You voiced, turning to face him. Elijah raised a brow.
"Is it?" He wondered. "Most would consider my research rather morbid."
"Well it is that," You acknowledged with a slight chuckle. You beckoned for him to follow as you switched isles. "But it's also really awesome. I mean, it's almost kinda like detective work, right?"
"How do you figure?" He asked, moving with you as you perused the cabinet labels. You knew what you were looking for, you just had to find the bloody thing.
"Well, obviously the people responsible for the killings of these innocent women are long dead. The perpetrators can't be punished; yet, you're still trying to validate these deaths and make sure that these women are documented. I guess that's kind of like finding the victims of the Zodiac Killer or something - you may not be able to seek justice for their deaths but at least you can make sure they're acknowledged." You glanced up only to find Elijah staring at you with an odd expression on his face. His stare was intense and piercing, you felt yourself blushing under the intensity of it. You shrugged, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Or maybe I just have no clue what I'm talking about... Anyway, this is what we're looking for," You muttered, nudging a rather large drawer with your foot.
"This right here?" He pointed, seeming to snap out of whatever thoughts he'd been lost in.
"Yep." You pushed your hair back. "You're gonna have to help me though." Elijah's brows pulled together and you just sighed. "There's a really, really heavy trunk in here."
"Oh, I see." He bent down, gripping the handle and you followed suit. "On three?"
"Or we could just yank really hard?" You suggested.
He grinned, smiling wryly. "That could work."
"Okay, go!"
Together you pulled on the drawer with as much strength as you could muster, slowly dragging it out. The old metal tracks squealed as they slid against one another, and the cabinet groaned with the weight of its contents. Inside the drawer was an old leather trunk, battered and worn, bearing more locks on it than any sane man would ever find reasonable. In, fancy, bold handwriting, the lid bore the inscription: FORBES. The sheriff and her daughter had donated the truck to the Historical Society about a year ago and you had spent months going through everything they had managed to stuff in there.
"I'm convinced little Caroline Forbes is a wizard," You declared, huffing as you rummaged through the stacks of old papers in search of one specific little book. "Cuz there is no way one person can fit that much stuff into one trunk without some use of magic."
Elijah seemed baffled as well, though he wasn't nearly as winded as you were. That fact probably had something to do with the extraordinarily fine biceps he was hiding under that expensive suit, which you had not failed to notice.
"What exactly is all of this?" He asked, carefully fingering a stack of what appeared to be bird sketches.
"This is hardly the tip of the iceberg," You answered, unable to stop the grin spreading across your face. "All the founding families hoard area history like it's gold; this is only what they've deemed unimportant enough to their little counsel for me to see." Finally, you found what you'd been searching for. You drew the little leather-bound book from under a stack of accounting papers and held it high in the air. "Ah ha!"
"Is that a journal?" Elijah asked with no small note of skepticism.
"Not just any journal, my good friend," You declared. "This is quite possibly the most interesting journal in all of Mystic Falls. May I present to you, the journal of Mr. Alexander Forbes."
"And why should I be interested in such a diary?" He wondered.
You raised a brow at him. "Did you honestly think a bunch of pompous, well-to-do, small towns folk would document that time they brutally murdered a group of innocent women becasue they wanted their land?" You deadpanned. He blinked, clearly stunned by your blunt comment. You continued. "If you wanna find out about this town's sketchy history, the adults won't tell you anything. That's why I like kids, they tell the truth whether they realize it or not. Take little Alexander Forbes, he would have made an excellent detective had he not died at age sixteen." You wandered back to the desk at the front of the room and laid the journal down with care, pulling one of the lamps closer, you adjusted the light so it wouldn't harm the pages. "Alex here, wrote stories about the things no one talked about..." You flipped through the book until you landed on the page you'd been thinking of. The heading read: The Garden of Skulls. You grinned. "Like a mansion on the edge of town surrounded by the ghosts of dead witches, perhaps?"
You glanced up to see the grin that twisted Elijah's lips as his eyes skimmed over the yellowed journal entry. "That sounds like a lead," He murmured.
"That it does." You smirked, glancing at the man out of the corner of your eye. "You up for a scavenger hunt?"
Tagging: @yn-ymn-yln @r13mar @rootbeerfaygo @iiskittles16ii @fandomrulesall-blog @dark-night-sky-99 @railingsofsorrow @apolloroid @thatweirdoleigh @misswe03 @eat-cake @felinegrate @trikigirl271 Hey there, people of the internet! If you want on or off the tag list for this series and/or all my other works, just send me a DM to let me know! And if Tumblr won't let me tag you, I'll just send you a friendly DM reminder at your request. Thanks for reading!
868 notes · View notes
ivystoryweaver · 12 days
Text
Decadent chapter 14: FINALE
Tumblr media
prev || Fic Masterlist || My Masterlist
Summary: An accident in the lab - and Miguel has missed what was right in front of his face (that's you)
Pairings: Miguel O'Hara x f!reader
Word Count: 5.3k
Content: nsfw, 18+ , some angst, unprotected p in v, grinding, scratching, biting, blood consumption, bondage, rough sex, not beta'd
Tumblr media
PREVIOUSLY on Decadent...
“That’s why I want you to live here with me.” Seeing your eyes go wide, he squeezed your hands. "You can keep your apartment if you want. I'll even pay for it. But..." His eyes dipped almost shyly as he exhaled in a rush. "I love you. So...move in with me?"
"Of course I will. I love you," you confessed. "But..." Caressing his fingers, you swallowed hard, but held his gaze bravely. "First, I need you to tell me where you go all weekend."
Tumblr media
FINALE
Spiderman 2099's unstable molecule fabric suit stretched itself across his defined muscles. His heavy cape unfurled behind him. With a sudden leap, he glided across New York - or at least this universe's version of New York, prepared to make sure this universe's timeline didn't somehow collapse.
"Uhhh, boss?" Lyla chimed, appearing in the air, near his head as he floated through the sky.
"Kinda busy, can't it wait?"
"No. You programmed me to let you know if your girlfriend were to ever be in danger, soooo she’s in danger," she fired back.
Miguel aimed for a low rooftop and came to a tumbling stop.
"Where is she? What's wrong?" Miguel had a timeline to attend to, but if you were in danger...
"There was an explosion in the lab - "
Lyla said nothing more before Miguel was quite literally tearing through the fabric of time to get back to you.
His virtual assistant may have overstated the danger you were in. When he arrived at the lab, he realized there had been a very small explosion. More of a misfire of sorts -
...which wasn't the major issue. The reason Lyla interrupted Miguel's mission soon became clear to him.
This was the part of the lab with the spiders. The explosion had destroyed some of the spiders and freed the rest. They must have scurried away. But you were lying on the floor amidst debris, unconscious, with a huge, angry spider bite on your hand.
You were bit by a radioactive spider.
"It can't be," he whispered, rushing to your side and checking you over frantically. Thankfully, you were breathing, but unconscious.
"Baby, what happened?" He gasped, pulling you into his arms and rocking you gently. Pressing a fierce kiss to your forehead, he murmured against your skin.
"This isn't supposed to happen. I'm Spider-Man here. I'm Spider-Man...how..."
Horrible dread filled Miguel's heart.
If this world already had a Spider-Man, that meant this spider bite wasn't going to turn you into a spider woman. It would most likely either kill you or turn you into a villain.
How could he possibly have missed this? How did he not see this coming?
First things first: he wanted to make sure you were okay. Which one of these spiders bit you? They were all radioactive, so in that regard, you were fucked. But it was nothing venomous...right?
Miguel placed you on a lab table and got to work, analyzing your condition and reaction to the bite, drawing your blood, watching you closely for signs of venom - rashes, difficultly breathing -anything to explain why you were unconscious.
He simultaneously had Lyla pull up everything on you - anything that could explain why you would have been bitten by a radioactive spider and he didn't see it coming, as some sort of canon event. Maybe it was just a freak accident. After all, you worked in a dangerous, experimental lab daily.
But Miguel knew the universe. The multi-verse, even. There were no accidents. Ever.
Your Aunt Jessina practically raised you, at least since your parents died at age 12. Miguel had even met Jess.
"Wait, what the hell?" Miguel gasped. Your Aunt Jess actually adopted you and changed your name. And her name.
As Lyla untangled well-hidden files, she discovered that Jess' name was Jessina May Parker. The sister of a scientist named Richard Parker.
Your last name used to be Parker?
Aunt Jess married a man named Ben, who also died. She took his name and completely abandoned the name Parker. You took Ben's last name as well. It was as if Jess wanted to erase any memory of her brother Richard, as well as the name Parker.
But Jess knew what she was doing. The paper trail was virtually nonexistent. One would have to know what to look for and exactly how to look, to find it. And Miguel simply wasn't looking for any spider-related canon events in this timeline because he was Spider-Man.
As Lyla dug deeper, the connections became obvious.
You were raised by your Aunt (Jessina) May. Your Uncle Ben died. Your parents - the Parkers, died behind a veil of secrecy.
Your friend's name was Gwen.
The guy with a crush on you? Jackson Watson. Mitchell Jackson Watson. He went by 'MJ' Watson as a child.
Your life read like a pretty common spider story. So...you were meant to be a spider. That meant he was the wrong spider in the wrong place. Typical. No wonder his entire existence felt...well, wrong. Until he met you...
Now he just had to wait for you to wake up.
Tumblr media
You eyes fluttered weakly, struggling to open. You inhaled sharply - shakily, feeling like your skin was on fire.
"Corazón?" Miguel gasped, gently tracing your jaw with his fingertips. "Hey..."
"W-what happened?" you croaked, your throat parched and your lips dry.
"You were bit by a spider. Scared me to death- how are you feeling?” He gently questioned.
"Everything hurts,” you coughed out, struggling to sit up. "Was it poisonous?"
"Take it easy. Just lie still. Let me take care of you,” he softly admonished. "I’m running some tests but you don't seem to be having an allergic reaction. I don’t think that’s what’s happening here."
You moaned in agony, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. "My head is pounding- my skin hurts, Miguel please...”
“It’s okay, baby - "
“Please take me home,” you whimpered. “I-I don’t feel good.”
Miguel explained to you that he wasn’t quite done with the tests he was running in the lab, not to mention the headache of dealing with the accidental explosion and confidential cleanup. So you endured nearly an hour of waiting on an uncomfortable lab table until Miguel felt satisfied with your test results.
Then he carried you to the car, held you close in the back seat, and took you to his home.
Well...hopefully soon to be your home. Miguel had asked you to move in, but you wanted complete honesty from him first. This was way more than working together, sleeping together, or even being exclusive. Miguel loved you and wanted to start a life with you.
He had asked you for one more weekend and then promised to show you all his secrets first hand. This gave you pause, but he explained it would be easier to show you than to explain it to you.
The Spider Society was meant to be a secret, so Miguel honestly wanted to let a few people there know what was going on - how serious he was about you, and how much he trusted you.
Now, it seemed you would not only learn of the Spider Society as Miguel's girlfriend, but as a spider yourself.
Tumblr media
Your transformation into a spider wasn't an easy one, but not atypical of other transitions Miguel had heard about and witnessed. Of course, his personal transition was a different type of lab accident, and he was quite the unique spider.
Still, your whimpers of agony tormented him all night as you clung to him, clenching his t-shirt in your firsts, begging him to hold you, to stay with you.
He groaned as you shifted against his body, pulling yourself on top of him.
"Why does it feel like this?" You cried, you lips brushing his throat. "Please make it stop, Miguel, please."
He must have whispered a hundred soothing Spanish whispers and pet names into your ear, promising you he was there - that you were safe, and this would pass.
As you drifted off into a fitful slumber, he wondered how you would ever forgive him for letting this happen to you - for not seeing it coming.
The next morning, you woke up in his arms, feeling much better. And bizarre. A trip to the bathroom later, and your new life started to make itself known.
You tried to brush your teeth, but accidentally snapped the thing in half. Next, you broke the toilet handle when you went to flush, which, made you flinch in surprise, sending your hand slamming into the counter's edge - taking the corner right off as it smashed to pieces.
"Oh my god!' you shrieked, "Miguel?" you called out, rushing back toward the bedroom, only to collide with his solid chest…
…which somehow sent him stumbling backward. All six foot, nine inches or your massive wall of a boyfriend almost lost his balance after you ran into him.
“Miguel? I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He grasped your arms to calm you down Damn, you were strong. “Let me explain, okay?”
So Miguel info-dumped absolutely everything about the Spider Society, the multi-verse and your spider powers. He even explained that you getting bit was apparently a “canon event” - a life and story similar to so many other spiders.
To say your mind was blown was an understatement. The fact that you had super powers now? Like super strength, amazing reflexes and possibly something called a spider sense, where you could sense danger coming?
Not to mention a lot other people had these same powers too but they were from other worlds.
You started to understand why it took Miguel so long to tell you where he went on weekends. It would have been difficult to grasp if it hadn’t happened to you personally.
Tumblr media
You couldn't believe your eyes when Miguel actually took your hand and led you through a portal to another dimension. A psychedelic, seizure-inducing, multicolored portal, which might have been terrifying if it weren't so amazing.
When you got to this so called Spider HQ, you clung to his hand as you passed by several other people in skin tight suits that looked like Miguel's blue one, but more of them were primarily red.
Each person knew Miguel and seemed to defer to him or acknowledge him as the two of you passed by.
Lyla was there as well, chirping away, updating him on all things multiverse.
The biggest surprise came when you got to what appeared to be the heart of the operation, or perhaps Miguel's...office, containing a rather dramatic elevated platform surrounded by several computer screens.
"So this is where you go every weekend?" You asked him, nodding around you.
"Nights too, sometimes. When we're not together." He winked down at you.
You made a face. "Baby, when do you sleep?"
"He never sleeps," a familiar voice resounded behind you. "That's why he's so damn grumpy."
The multiverse got a lot weirder when you turned around and saw your neighbor's lookalike standing there in a black and white spider suit.
"Gwen?"
Tumblr media
Seeing your neighbor/friend's doppelgänger was shocking enough, but Miguel knew it was time to head back to your own universe when you discovered, quite by accident, that you were the proud, new owner of organic webbing.
You accidentally shot a long roped web out of your wrist and shrieked in surprise, inadvertently firing off a few more before Miguel could explain to you what was happening. He knew it could be a possibility - some spiders made their webbing in the lab and wore the tech on their wrists - while others, like you, had organic webbing as a part of your altered DNA.
There was really no way to know for sure until it happened. The thought of spiderwebs flying out of your skin freaked you right the hell out, so Miguel took you home.
After explaining things to you and making you some Mexican food, he noticed you hadn't spoken or even looked at him since he poured your first margarita.
"Mi amor?" He gently prompted, reaching for your hand. "Talk to me."
As if simply waiting on an invitation, you dove right in.
"Why didn't you tell me about all this - about the other spiders?" You whispered. "I mean...this is huge."
"I know." His gaze dropped. "I wanted to, but the Spider Society - we don't really...advertise."
"I get that," you nodded understandingly, "But I'm not just your girlfriend. I'm your research partner. Don't you think it's pertinent to our research - all those other spiders? Didn't you think maybe this information could help you?"
"There are no other spiders like me. No one had the accident I had and no one...drinks blood."
"But we don't know - there could have been something," you argued. "A-and the fact that I was working around radioactive spiders every day?"
"Well...you did know about the spiders, to be fair," he reasoned.
"Maybe, but not that I would turn into a spider-person - and that there were other universes with...us out there. And Gwen - there's another Gwen?" You pulled your hand away during your confused and impassioned speech, running your fingers over your wrists where your spiderwebs had shot out.
"And now like - I'm part spider and I am completely freaked out, Miguel, d-do you understand that?"
His scarlet eyes found yours and he nodded. "I think I do. I definitely do."
Your eyed him sympathetically, understanding his meaning. This was the whole point of your research together - the reason you met. Miguel didn't want to be part vampire spider anymore, and he never wanted to need to drink blood again. He'd spent most of his life vexed by his very existence.
"I didn't mean for this to happen to you, mi amor - you have to believe that."
"I know," you sniffled. "But what about me? Are you...friends with another me - somewhere out there? You and me - are we just carbon copies of - "
"No." Miguel's scarlet eyes swirled with uncertainty as his dark eyebrows arched pleadingly. "There is no one else like you. There never could be."
Seeing your hesitation and sensing your distress, he pushed off his barstool where you were seated at the kitchen island. Brushing his knuckles across your cheek, he struggled to find the right words as slivers of fear began to wind around his heart - a dread that somehow, he could lose you. "Corazon..."
"You're sure you haven't met a bunch of other me's?" You softly questioned, blinking up at him.
"Mi vida," he breathed, touching his forehead to yours as he stood between your legs - his hands spreading across your thighs.
With little effort, he lifted you off your barstool and set you on the counter top, easing closer until his body pressed against yours. Pulling your thighs around his waist, he shifted his hips before pressing his waiting mouth to yours.
You hummed against his lips, slipping your fingers around his neck to wind through his dark locks. He tasted you slowly, pushing his hands back up your spread thighs to grip your hips. Thrusting against you temptingly, he licked hotly into your mouth, but it didn't last long.
Touching his forehead to yours, the warmth of his breath enticed you closer, but he shook his head, murmuring your name. Miguel so often spoke through his body. Some of your wildest nights together stemmed from his anger and desperation.
One memory in particular came to mind - one Saturday in your apartment, when he admitted to you that his daughter had passed away. He tried to tell you more about it that day, but instead, he had pulled you against his body and kissed you so tenderly. You had taken him to your bed and that was the first time he was so sweet and deliberate with you.
Whispering his name, you brushed an errant lock of hair from his ruby gaze.
Shaking his head slightly, he inhaled, as if ready to speak, but somehow couldn't...stammering, instead, leaning into your touch. "I can't..."
"What," you murmured, twirling your fingers through the hair behind his ears.
"Lose you," he choked out, his gaze dropping to your lap.
Dragging your fingertips down his jawline, you lifted his face back up to yours. But you didn't answer - instead, sealing your mouth to his once more, pulling him closer still, and squeezing his torso with your thighs.
He responded hungrily, lifting you up to carry you to the nearest flat surface, which was the living room couch - his tongue tangling with yours urgently.
The two of you tumbled down, bodies pressed eagerly together as you rolled all the way down to the floor, grinding together for the friction you so desperately craved. So often, you searched for the connection needed through communication with your bodies.
It happened quickly - with both of you craving the intensity of your shared bond when your bodies joined. With only a few deliberate yanks of clothing off or aside, he pushed his way snugly inside you, the two of you a hopeless tangle of limbs and clothing.
But you wanted him closer stil. "Tear these," you pouted, pulling at your shoved-aside panties...
...but they ripped with the strength of your finger.
Before you could react, he obeyed your command, shredding the other annoying articles of clothing, easing down onto his back as your joined bodies continued a tantric rhythm.
He groaned as you worked your naked body over his cock, your tits bouncing, granting him his favorite view in all the universes he'd ever laid eyes on, or even imagined.
"Even if I met...another version of you somehow...it still wouldn't be you," he panted, running his hands all over your beautiful body.
Miguel had needed reassurance that he wouldn't lose you, but it was you doubting your uniqueness, and for the first time, you understood, even if only in part, why Miguel might feel like a freak or a monster.
A radioactive spider bite had altered your DNA and your body was a mystery to you now. You didn't know your own strength and the whole spiderweb thing really sent you...
But the biggest fear driving the vigorous use of his body beneath you was that he might discover another you somewhere.
"Tell me again," you whined, twisting your body down into his with brutal ferocity. "Tell me I'm the only one."
"F-fuck," he stuttered out - your newfound strength making his huge frame buck like a rag doll.
Wishing he could sit up and hold you while you came - to reassure you that you belonged to him, and that no one else ever could, Miguel instead found himself coming hard and instantly because he could not move - your strength rendering him incapable of lifting off the floor.
"Miguel, please," you gasped, digging your nails so hard into his chest that you drew blood, so close to your release but feeling that he'd already come inside you.
You kept on riding him even as he went soft, expecting his superhuman stamina to have him hard and ready for you soon, but you forgot one small factor:
He had to keep up with you now.
Your frustration and desperation came to a head and you finally stilled your movements, opening your eyes to find bloody streaks scraped into your boyfriend's massive chest.
Before you could even react or worry, Miguel trapped your wrists in his hands. "Está bien, cariño."
You gasped out his name, horrified, still unaware that you were literally pinning him down.
"I'm okay, it's okay," he assured you, pulling at your wrists. "Let me up."
"Oh god," you croaked, finally releasing him and staring at the angry red marks and trickles of blood. "I-I didn't mean to. I didn't even realize."
"Hey..." he caressed your cheek, readjusting as your bodies pulled apart. "Felt so good. I'm okay."
"But you're bleeding," you argued. "Look what I did..." You trailed off as he nodded, understanding, better than anyone, exactly how you were feeling right now. You hurt him - drew blood, surprising and horrifying yourself, only to have him come faster than ever, telling you how good it was.
Okay, so the tables had turned.
Tumblr media
Miguel suggested the two of you go upstairs to clean up and get more comfortable, promising to clean up the Mexican feast tomorrow.
You were quiet - perplexed, mostly, but the tiny slivers of fear slipped back into Miguel's mind over what his lack of candor might ultimately mean for your relationship.
"Mi amor," he started again, just the way he had right after dinner. The two of you had showered and changed into pajamas even though it was hardly bedtime.
Gripping you by the arms, he ducked down closer to your height. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for this."
"It's not your fault," you reasoned, resting your palms against his chest. "How could it be?"
He simply shrugged, pulling you close to his chest for a hug. "I promise there's no one else like you," he whispered against your temple. "There are other Parkers, and other spiders, but no one else is like you."
Easing back, he took your face in his hands. "Every single person I've met - other Peters and other Gwens - none of them are exactly alike - they're all unique."
Pressing a soft kiss to your mouth, he rested his forehead against yours. "You can't honestly believe I could love anyone else."
He kissed you again, slotting his mouth against yours as his strong arms wound around your back. Then he took you to his bed and made you believe it.
Tumblr media
Six weeks later...
Miguel turned out to be quite the capable coach - helping you understand your powers and practicing using them. He even encouraged the use of your spiderwebs outside the lab, reasoning that you needed to get used to them domestically.
A few pillows lost their stuffing and you shattered a teapot and a margarita glass, but, with practice, you adjusted.
This was an absolute must before working in the lab. Flying spiderwebs did not mix with delicate test tubes and beakers.
Your favorite part of training was when Miguel insisted you use his body for practice - testing your strength, agility and your webs while he taught you how to fight. It took you weeks to unleash your full strength on him. Your kick knocked him across a rooftop.
But when it came right down to it, he actually was bigger and stronger. Not by much. Your advantage came from your more powerful webs and your precognitive spider-sense.
Work had completely changed for the two of you, since you started focusing your time less on a cure for Miguel, and more on the needs of the Spider Society.
Miguel started to feel like maybe being a spider wasn't so bad. He used to feel alone, despite all the other spiders in the society - constantly wracked with guilt over the blood he took from others simply to sustain his life.
Then you came along - brilliant, beautiful and so full of life - challenging him at every turn - in the lab, in the bedroom. You knew what you wanted out of a career and you definitely knew what you wanted from a lover.
What started out as a wild bit of coworkers-with-benefits gave way to a twisted relationship of sorts - he used your body for pleasure and for feeding and -miracle of miracles - you loved it.
Craving the dark things he did to your body - the scratches of his talons, the puncture marks from his fangs, the weakness from blood loss and paralyzation - all while he used your body for his pleasure - it was a mirror to him of how much of a monster he really was.
But you showed him that person deserved love as much as anyone else. Miguel finally accepted your acceptance. He allowed you to love him and heal his heart. He still wasn't comfortable with hurting you, however, and remained determined to find a cure for his condition.
At least until a couple weeks ago.
The two of you were sparring and Miguel was pushing you pretty hard. He was still superior at hand-to-hand combat, simply from years of experience.
Sparring with an absolute tank of a delicious boyfriend like Miguel taught you a lot, but it also made you feral. He usually insisted the two of you calm down and cool off - keeping your training separate from your personal life.
But this particular night, you were having none of it.
Miguel had you pinned on the ground between his thick, gorgeous thighs.
"Ready for a break?" He nonchalantly and almost smugly questioned.
"No way," you huffed, firing webs to bind his ankles together.
You could feel a slightly condescending chuckle rumble through his body, so you fired another web right at his mouth, silencing him.
Your face was right next to his crotch and, as you ordered him to stop fighting you, his cock started getting hard.
Certainly not the first time that happened.
He reached for your hands to try to stop all your spiderweb nonsense, but you stuck his hand to the floor with another web.
He only squeezed his thighs together harder, keeping you trapped.
"Have it your way," you purred, mouthing him through the thin cotton of his joggers.
He mumbled out a protest, through the web covering his mouth, reaching for you with his other hand. While teasing his cock with your lips, you managed to stick his other hand to the floor and start to wiggle free.
Miguel really was stronger than you, but lost his concentration just enough to forget to keep clamping down with his thighs.
You rolled away, laughing victoriously, but knowing he wouldn't stay trapped for long. So you straddled his waist, enjoying your few moments with him bound and silenced, rolling your hips over his length, grinding down temptingly.
"I wonder if I could make you come before you get free," you taunted, firing more webs to trap his entire arms - from shoulders to wrists - to the floor. You used more webbing to secure his legs as well, loosening his ankles just long enough to secure his legs all the way down, spread apart, just like his arms.
He didn't fight you.
Instead, his ruby irises flashed with lust as you pulled your sports bra over your head. He was already shirtless, so it felt incredible when you removed the web silencing him. You laid down, your breasts mashed against his muscular chest, grinding your core against his length as you kissed him hard.
You felt him shift and strain against the webs - he no doubt wanted to run his hands over your skin, but you nipped at his lips, tutting condescendingly.
"Be good for me," you teased, ripping his pants open with no effort. He groaned as you roughly pushed your own pants down and kicked them off, leaving you naked as you draped yourself back over him, rubbing your bare wet cunt up and down his stiff cock.
"Baby, please..." he panted as you undulated - your tits bouncing as you found the friction you sought for your clit, but left him desperate to push his way inside you.
You eased down again, lying on top of him, rolling your hips teasingly as your slid your tongue inside his mouth, purposely dragging it across his sharp fang.
Miguel moaned as the taste of your blood filled his mouth, sucking your tongue, drinking your sweet nectar as you kissed him and teased him endlessly.
You sat back up after a moment, licking your lips clean of blood as your tongue healed itself almost instantly. Bracing yourself with your palms on your boyfriend's huge chest, you locked eyes with him, smirking slightly as you continued rocking your hips just enough to rub your clit pleasurably but to leave him wanting.
"Fuck me," he panted, running his blood-covered tongue over his lips - his muscles straining against your webs.
Biting your lip coyly, you paused the movement of your hips. "Make me." And you continued the drag of your clit over his tip, panting as pleasure sparked up and down your spine.
You wanted his cock inside you as badly as he did, but it was just too fun to see him squirm. Back and forth you went, faster and faster, working yourself close to your release.
"I'm so close," you moaned, concentrating on your own pleasure and loving the flex of Miguel's muscles as he struggled. Soon enough, his warm laser webs, convenient talons and sheer strength freed his arms just enough to knock you off balance.
A bit of sparring ensued - the two of you hard and wet and naked - fighting for control and desperate to fuck.
You attempted to ensnare your boyfriend in your webs again, but he dodged you, rolling away and firing his own, which bound your ankles and made you trip. Before you could hit the ground, however, you ripped your ankles free and rolled to a stop...
...but Miguel was ready, firing his laser webbing to bind your hands. He grabbed you from behind, pushing you down to the floor and pinning you there with all his weight, pushing your bound hands up over your head.
You squirmed but he was pressing down on you with all his might.
"You're going to be still, little spider, while I fuck you."
"Doubt that - " You started, but weren't surprised at all as Miguel's webs covered your mouth. You wriggled against him, but were secretly thrilled that he was using his strength on you. He had shown some hesitancy bringing his powers and his full strength into the bedroom, aside from the way he would regularly drink blood from your tongue when you purposely sliced it on his fang.
Two strong hands gripped your hips, shifting you up just enough for him to thrust his thick cock into your dripping channel. Memories of him bending you over his desk flooded your mind - times when you would cry from how good he would fuck you.
And now, as he pounded into you, with all the power and speed in his beautiful body, you felt pressure but no pain. And he felt release with no guilt.
The webbing across your mouth muffled your screams of ecstasy as he shifted his hips to hit that spot so perfect.
"My beautiful girl," he breathed on the back of your neck. "You were made for me."
His fangs tore into your flesh and he fed - the feeling of his fangs inside your skin made you come instantly - your body convulsing with the wildest, hardest orgasm of your life.
Miguel's paralytic venom could no longer incapacitate you - it merely slowed you down for a minute or two, giving him just enough time to drink his fill, feel your body submit and give out, as he pumped his seed into you.
The two of you collapsed together on the floor, panting and spent. Miguel freed you from his webs, rolled you over to face him and pulled you against the warmth of his chest.
You melted against him, satisfied, accepting his lust-filled kiss.
He pulled back a moment later, amazed as the angry wounds in your throat closed and vanished as your body healed itself.
After two weeks of feeding on your new blood, and dozens of tests to make sure your blood wouldn't somehow hurt him, Miguel put to rest the idea of looking for a cure for his condition.
"I told you - you're perfect just like you are," you whispered one night, lying on top of his chest.
"Maybe I was just waiting on my cure," he murmured back, running his hands down the curve of your bare back. "You fixed me. You healed me."
"You fixed me too. I had no idea what I was missing before super powered sex," you teased him.
He playfully swatted your ass. "We're going to break everything in this house if we keep going like this, corazón."
You smiled to yourself. "I don't know. I think we're going to have to take it easy for a while."
"Why...did I hurt you?"
"No." You pressed a quick kiss right over his heart. "I'm pregnant."
END
Tumblr media
Thank you for taking this wild ride with me! It was fun to explore unhinged, blood-drinking Miguel. xoxo - Ivy
Miguel O'Hara Masterlist
Main Masterlist
42 notes · View notes
acourtofinkandpapyrus · 6 months
Text
My Little Shadow: Part Thirteen (Azriel x Reader)
Warnings: Kidnapping, torture, blood and injuries
Tag list: @mis-lil-red @bubybubsters @luvmoo @rorel1a @minakay @foreverrandomwritings
Part twelve Part thirteen
You manage so save Azriel... but what about yourself?
Tumblr media
Hewn City was quieter than usual.  Whatever was going on, no one wanted to be part of it.
I didn’t blame them, for once.
I had ended up with Cassian, the two of us flying through rooms, people running away in our wake.
I reached out for one of the wall mounted lamps, tugging down to reveal a hidden door a little further down.
“How likely is he to be in there?”  Cassian growls, and I can’t help but to thank the mother he’s not one of my enemies.
“I don’t know.  My father doesn’t know that I know about these passages, so it’s a good bet he’ll be in one of the ones I mentioned.”
We continued down the hallway until my shadows which I had sent ahead slingshot-ed back, and I knew Azriel was ahead.
“He’s here.  So are five others.”  I whisper, barely audible.
“It’s probably a trap.”  He responds, and I let my shadows wrap around me.
“Does it matter?”
He shoots me a grin.  “Hell no.”
We both slam the door open at the end of the hall, and I make a quick scan for any of those sigils, just to double check.
My eyes caught on Azriel, chained to the floor in the middle of the room. He was bleeding heavily, his face bruised and cut up, his back had burn marks all across it now, and to my horror his beautiful wings had been snapped in multiple places, cut up and mutilated.
Azriel doesn’t even notice us through his haze of pain, using all his energy from falling to the floor.
His attackers do though.
I don’t know if it was me or Cassian who let out the bloody war cry, but I didn’t care, I was so enveloped with rage for what they had done to my beautiful, sweet, Azriel.
What they had done to my mate.
The one with the branding iron found my wrath first, the weapon tumbling from his hand in shock as he screamed.
I sent my shadows forward, and the four other men were gaping at me in horror.  Cass was trying to get Azriel unchained.
He had trained me, and he knew well enough that I could handle these four men myself.
And I was going to enjoy it.
Their screams echoed throughout the room and hallway for over ten minutes, much longer than I needed to kill them.
Once the screaming stopped though, I headed over to Azriel and Cassian.  Azriel had fallen unconscious, and Cassian was hauling him over his shoulder.  “Will he be alright?”  I asked, not bothering to hide the panic in my voice.
He nodded.  “We just need to get him home.”
“Well, I’m sorry to ruin the reunion, but I think I’m going to need you all to stay a bit longer.”  I watched in terror as my father entered the room, wearing a suit of black with red accents.
My eyes flick to his neck, where a thin collar of ebony resides.  It’s not unlike the rings the maids who had cleaned and dressed me that horrible day wore.
My gut twisted in anxiety.  Something about this was wrong, my mind screamed.
I positioned myself in front of Cassian and Azriel.  I knew the general didn’t need protection, but my mate did.
And so, without a second thought, I send my shadows to them, whisking them off in moments.
“You have me here father,”  My shadows quickly returned, telling me that this man wasn’t my father.  I believed them.  “Or, whatever you are.  What is it you want from me?”
The thing grins, and I can see a glimpse of what that thing is that is in my father.  “Not many can see us, you know.  We go undetected for years in most cases, but now… These shadowsingers are more a pain than anything, but we still have a use for you.”
I would laugh, but the sight of Azriel, battered and broken still haunted me.  “Do you really think that I’m just going to go with you willingly?”
He laughs, the sound wicked and pleased.  “You are just as spirited as I thought you would be.”
“Seize her.”
I hadn’t been paying attention to my surroundings, too distracted by thoughts of my mate and avenging him.
I whip around, swinging my sword so that anyone standing there would receive a gash like no other.
But there was no one standing there.
No, there were creatures, horrible, twisted creatures that wore ebony rings that clinked against the marble floor as they scurried over.
I let out a strangled cry as one of them grabbed my ankle with inhuman strength, tugging hard and pulling my feet out from under me.
Using everything in me, I fought back.  But as soon as I cut one, another came and took its place, or maybe it was the same one coming back.  Their hands clawed at every inch of me, the only thing I could see were these hideous beings as I screamed.
It was only a matter of moments before I was disarmed, letting out a cry as one of the creatures pulled me up by the hair to look into the eyes of their master.
Their fingers dug into my sides and limbs, keeping me utterly still as the thing inside my father studied me with cruel excitement.  “I think you’ll be easier to break than the last one.”  He said with cruel excitement in his eyes.
I screamed into the void as the creatures dragged me father down into the depths of Hewn City, down farther than even I thought the tunnels went.
Eventually I was thrown down before some sort of structure, chained to the floor much like I had seen Azriel before.
My stomach twisted as I realized where this was heading.
“I’m never going to give you anything, no matter what you do to me.”  I say, speaking with more confidence than I felt.
He grinned as if he could see right through my attempt at bravery.  “I have a feeling that will change soon.”  He hummed as he picked up a bottle of something.
“That male was your mate, correct?”
I struggled with myself not to snarl at him, at the dismissive way he said it.
He grinned as he turned around with the bottle, grabbing my chained wrist and pouring the cold, oily liquid over my hands.  “Maybe you should have matching scars then.”
142 notes · View notes
aestheticpearl · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
— 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬
[𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫] bradley bradshaw
we broke up
you stare at the text from bradley for a solid minute before realizing that you have to respond.
oh no i’m so sorry :(
you are anything but sorry, his ex girlfriend was a complete bitch and didn’t even try to hide it. you’re still very unsure of what he saw in her.
can you come over?
of course, On my way!
ew auto correct omw*
you quickly get out of bed and scrabble to grab your sweatshirt and keys before practically tumbling out the door to get to your car. you definitely went over the speed limit considering you got there in twelve minutes and it’s a twenty minute drive.
you unlock the door with the key he gave you and open it to find him sitting on the stairs waiting for you. his eyes are red and puffy, he’s clearly been crying over this.
“hey” you join him on the stairs and wrap an arm around him. “what happened?”
“she cheated”
“bitch, you were too good for her anyway”
“if i was too good, why did she still cheat?” he sniffles. you hate seeing him so upset like this, especially over someone who isn’t worth it.
“cause she’s insecure, she wanted to cheat cause she was scared you’d realize how much better than her you are and then you’d leave her”
bradley stays silent and nods before leaning into you.
“hey i know what’ll make you feel better” he looks up at you questionably. “the beach, but more importantly the ride to the beach.” you stand and hold out your hand to help him up.
“come on rooster, let’s clear your head”
he looks at you then your hand and then you again before responding.
“i hate when you call me that” he says taking your hand. you practically squeal and pull him outside to your car.
drives like these are the only reason you own a convertible. nothing beats the san diego breeze late at night, it’s warm but not ridiculously hot and it feels so nice to get fresh air. you glance over at bradley who seems to enjoy feeling the wind blowing through his hair.
“feeling better yet?”
“a little” you lean over and nudge him lightly. “hey what was the for?”
“she didn’t deserve you, i’m sorry she cheated” he face softens
“thanks—”
“she was also a huge bitch and i’m glad she’s gone, hope nothing bad happens to that expensive car of hers”
“no need to worry cause nothing will happen, right?”
“can’t make any promises big boy”
bradley shakes his head and you pull into the empty beach parking lot.
“what did you even see in her?” you finally ask.
“believe it or not in the beginning she wasn’t a huge bitch. she actually reminded me a lot of you, before the bitch part”
you’re stunned with how easily he just admitted to liking you.
“you confessing bradley?” you ask was a shit eating grin.
“and if i am?”
you think for a moment.
“if you are confessing, i will let you kiss me” you say getting out of the car. “if you can catch me before i reach the water”
“oh you’re on—” you sprint off before he can finish. “no fair!” he shouts after you.
“come on rooster! you’re a naval aviator, i need a head start!”
the wind carries the scent of the salt water in the air which would be comforting if your weren’t being chased by bradley.
the sand is soft and hard to run in, but as you grow closer to the shoreline it becomes easier. that is until bradley grabs your waist and finally catches you.
“i got you now you have to give me a kiss” he laughs as you wiggle in his strong grip and he turns you to face him. “play fair and pay up or you’re going in the water”
you turn your face away from him playfully.
“suit yourself” he says before picking you up easily and carrying you into the water.
“ah! bradley okay okay! my pants are getting wet and not in the good way!” he ignores your pleads as he falls back into the water, drenching you both.
you can’t help but laugh when you break through the surface.
“what happened to kicked puppy bradley i found on the stairs huh?”
“he realized that you liked him” you smile and kiss him. “if getting cheated on means you finally get with your best friend that you’ve been pining over for years, maybe i should’ve gotten cheated on sooner”
you laugh and shake your head before pulling in to kiss him again.
Tumblr media
please reblog to show support ✧·˚ ༘ * ༄
i am so sorry the midnights series is taking so long so here is something to hold you over
.love always <3 pearl
.masterlist
311 notes · View notes
buckets-and-trees · 7 months
Text
Good Luck
Fandom: MCU Collection: Buck's Eleven Title: Good Luck Characters/Pairings: Steve and the team Word Count: 620 
Summary: The team gets a double dose of news with less than an hour to go before the big heist.
Logistical Notes: All you need to know is Bucky and Steve put together a team to knock over a casino New Year's Eve 1960. None of the pieces in Buck's Eleven have to be read in order, though they do tie together. You will see some familiar dialogue in here borrowed from Avengers Endgame.
COLLECTION: Buck's Eleven | Bookings and Rings
↠ Aspen's Ask Box | Masterlist | Field Guide to the Forest
Tumblr media
“I’m sorry, did I miss something?”
Everyone in the room turns to look at Peter.
“Bucky’s been arrested?”
“Yeah,” Steve responds.
“And you don’t find this concerning?”
“No, why would it be concerning?”
“We’re 45 minutes from call time and you don’t find this concerning?”
The truth is Peter is not the only one who’s got concerns, but the others were split on various levels between alarm and trusting Steve’s calm, and it’s just that Peter was the only one to voice it in the group.
“No. We’re a group of highly competent professionals. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“O…kay.”
“Maybe we should discuss some realignment though,” Sam says.
“Sure, but you’re still with the kid.”
“I’m not a kid,” Peter scoffs. “I’m twenty-five.”
“And it’s real cute,” Fury offers from a few feet behind him.
Peter jumps, not knowing the older man had been standing directly behind him. “Torres is only eighteen months older than me.”
Joaquin flashes him an apologetic grin and can only shrug.
“Right,” Steve turns to Joaquin. “You think you can cover Buck’s role?”
He blinks for just one second, then answers, “Sure. Absolutely.”
“And look, Pete,” Steve turns back to their grease man. “I want you to know I appreciate you voicing your concern. It shows a genuine commitment to open communication, and that’s a highly undervalued currency.”
The door to the suite bursts open with Scott tumbling in, a briefcase in his left hand. “I don’t know if you’re going to like this news, but the Prince of Wakanda just touched down at the airport with car service requested for The Riviera.”
“Seems His Royal Highness must be a fan of boxing.”
“Okay, I don’t love Buck arrested, but royalty in town and at The Riv? That puts an additional twenty armed security on the ground, easily,” Clint chimes in.
“Not including his personal guard detail of likely four Dora Milaje,” Tony adds, a shit-eating grin on his face as he looks up at Steve from where he’s preparing a martini at the bar cart.
Steve looks from Tony to Nat, who shrugs an easy shoulder, completely unconcerned.  
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Steve counters. He waits for another moment, his eyes make a concentrated sweep across the room, studying the faces of each of the other nine.
No one says a word.
“Right then, this is it. We have a chance to take down the house. You know your teams, you know your missions. No mistakes, no do-overs. Most of us are going places we know, doesn’t mean we should know what to expect. Be careful. Look out for each other. This is the job of our lives, and we’re gonna win, whatever it takes.” Steve let’s half a second sit comfortably in the air. “Good luck.”
With that, the team disburses - all except Fury, who’s looking at Steve, cigar perched in his left hand, looking at Steve.
Steve sighs and puts his hands on his hips, leaning his weight to his left leg, and cocks his head slightly. “Well?”
“Don’t look at me, you and Buck put this operation together this time, this is your team, I’m just here to play my little part and pay the bills.”
Steve nods. “It’ll work.”
“Course it will. And if it doesn’t, we’ll be surrounded by friends in the state pen.”
Steve cracks a wry smile. “As if you’d stay more than a night.”
“I can’t help that I’m very well connected and richer than the rest of you.”
Steve’s smile turns to a smirk. “But you haven’t got any other friends.”
“Which is why I’d get all of you knuckleheads out pretty quickly. Now let’s go take all of Pierce’s money and put a black mark on his reputation.”
Tumblr media
COLLECTION: Buck's Eleven | Bookings and Rings
↠ Aspen's Ask Box | Masterlist | Field Guide to the Forest
69 notes · View notes
enviedear · 5 months
Text
neighbor!ben solo fic coming your way soon <3 lmk what you think because i can't stop thinking about all the neighbor!ben hc's i've created in my mind.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
snippet under the cut / warnings for drug usage (weed)
you take the joint from him, stealing another hit before replying, "you just have a lot of suits. i wonder if you own anything besides them. i've never seen you in anything but."
"is this one of your long-winded jokes?" he briefly closes his eyes, but you can see them roll through his lids, "because if so, i'll kick you out. i won't hesitate to send you back to your house, neighbor."
snorting, you take another hit of the joint, "i did see something i liked, actually." you confess, your drugged mind deciding to be just a bit genuine.
he hums, "really? i've never seen you in a suit."
the sentence sounds stupid coming out of ben's mouth, but you chalk it up to his tipsy state, "maybe one day you will."
your reply sounds equally as dumb, but you feel good, and you're actually having a conversation with ben. one that doesn't involve him undermining you or snickering at what you're saying.
"really? wanna try mine on?" ben is smirking, eyes narrow and burning red.
you give him a ditzy look, joint still dangling from your fingers, "whatever, solo."
ben lets out a genuine giggle at that and in your inebriated state, you let yourself smile at the sound. his dimples are on full display as he leans further into his cushioned headboard, eyes glazed and pointed at you, "i'll pay, if you do."
his face is gentle, almost inviting, but the words that tumble out of his mouth sound murky— riddled with a slight hint of hunger. for what exactly? you're not sure.
your lips contort into a frown before you reply, "you'll pay me to put on your clothes? god, ben how much did you smoke?"
you mean for your words to come off as a joke, easy and light. instead, it comes out as timid and shy. you'd normally feel a tinge of embarrassment but either the drug or ben's starved stare makes the would-be feeling detach from your mind.
"enough." he shrugs, answering your rhetorical question, "i've got five hundred in my wallet right now," he pauses, leaning over to you and grabbing the joint, fingers brushing against yours, "and i want a show."
29 notes · View notes
denim-mixtapes · 2 years
Text
Ain't No Hope in Hell | Nothing's Gonna Bring Us Down (Eddie Munson/Reader Smut)
Rating: E - Explicit Word Count: 4,702 Pairing: Eddie Munson/F!Reader Description:
When you walk in on your boyfriend cheating on you, confirming your suspicious, you only have one thing in mind.
Go out, have some fun, get some sweet revenge.
But being impulsive was never your strong suit, so you pay a visit to the worst influence you know, your childhood friend Eddie Munson, hoping he can sell you some courage.....and maybe help out with that revenge fuck too.
Originally posted to my AO3 on 7/3/22, this isn't copied, my friends just finally convinced me to make a tumblr.
The rapping at the trailer’s storm door grows louder and more demanding by the second, your knuckles burning, but you refuse to back down. Exasperated, you switch it up and give the door a harsh kick with the toe of your sneaker, groaning loudly. 
“Munson I swear to god, I’ll knock this damn door down myself if you don’t wake your ass up!” Another frustrated groan escapes your lungs as you take in your surroundings. His van is in the driveway, as is the half disassembled Harley he hasn’t been able to drive since his first senior year. Jumping off the set of stairs and walking around back to what should be his bedroom window, you can hear Motörhead’s Bomber on the other side of the wall, confirming your assumption that he must be home. 
“HEY!” You shout again pounding your fist on the glass once, then again with his name, “Munson!” 
A startled, “Jesus Christ,” comes in response, followed by a squawk and a commotion that can only be a startled body falling to the floor. Soon enough, though, you’re met with the wild, sleep-mussed hair and displeased scowl of Eddie Munson on the other side of the glass. His expression softens ever so slightly when he sees who it is knocking on his window at almost midnight, but he’s still sporting a tight-lipped frown as he throws the window open. “Well if it isn’t the girl next door…” His gaze flicks down to the ruffled denim skirt hitting the tops of your knees and then back to your face, “What the hell are you doing here?” 
You scoff, “Please, I haven’t lived next door to you in years, that nickname hardly fits the bill anymore.” 
He chuckles this time, rolling his eyes and leaning his elbows heavily on the windowsill, once again assessing your outfit and styled hair. It’s a far cry from the punky little tomboy he once knew, and he definitely doesn’t plan on letting you live it down anytime soon. “Well maybe not in the technical sense, but if the, uh,” another peek down to your sneakers, “Sperrys fit…”
“Whatever, move, I’m coming in.” 
There’s no time for protest from him before you push his elbows from the ledge and pull yourself up and into the room. The remnants of cigarette smoke and pot hit your nostrils as soon as you cross the threshold. Worn clothes and pizza boxes break your fall when you tumble inside. Eddie is crossing the room to turn down the music, and if he’s bothered by your sudden intrusion, he doesn’t seem to show it. 
While you stand and right yourself, dusting figurative (and probably literal) filth off of your skirt, Eddie makes his way back to his bed and throws himself onto it unceremoniously. “So,” he retrieves a half smoked blunt from the ashtray on the nightstand, lights it up, and takes a slow drag, breathing his following question out with the billow of smoke. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” 
Rocking back and forth from foot to foot, your fists ball up at your sides. 
This is stupid. This is so stupid. 
You aren’t friends. Not anymore. You haven’t spoken more than a word in passing in the hallway to this kid in over 9 years, not since your family came into a little bit of money and moved out of the trailer park in your 4th grade year. So what made you think he would hear you out? Listen to your sob story and take pity on you and make you some sort of deal? 
A choked out sigh escapes your lungs when he raises his eyebrows at your silence. 
“I need-” tears spring to your eyes and you will them to go away, to little success. “Fuck- I just…I need weed, dude. Or beer, or some company? I don’t even know?” 
In seconds, his cool, aloof demeanor dissolves and Eddie “The Freak” Munson is gone. In his place are the soft eyes and warm heart of that curly haired kid you used to skip rocks with in the river. “Shit, well here,” He leaps to his feet, crossing the room to you with the joint outstretched toward you. “I mean I’ll get you whatever you need to take home too but you look like you need this more than I do.” 
The tears finally spill out when you reply with a watery, “that bad, huh?” Instead of taking the joint, you brush past him and fall heavily onto the edge of his bed. You swear again. “I was supposed to be angry! I was supposed to fly over here in a blind rage and do this drug deal and, I dunno – go out and fuck somebody! I was supposed to be selfish and do shit to enjoy myself and be reckless! Not…this,” Eddie stares in concern as you wipe more tears from your cheeks. “God, I’m an idiot.” 
“Whoa, whoa, hey-” He follows, sitting on the edge of the bed with you and bumping his knee into yours, “Slow down, take a breath. I think I’m missing a chapter here. Why are we angry?” 
The use of we makes you chuckle through your tears. You stare at your hands, fingers twisting together subconsciously, and rest your head on his shoulder.
When you speak, it’s to the floor. “Walked in on my bastard boyfriend cheating on me.” Eddie tenses beneath you, but lets you continue. “I don’t even know why I’m crying. The signs were all there. I pretty much knew , but seeing it really sucked. So I thought, okay, no worries, just go out and do something crazy. Get revenge immediately , so you don’t have time to be sad about it, but being reckless was never really my thing, so I figured I would need something to take the edge off first-”
“And who better to get you that something than Eddie the freak, huh?” 
It’s your turn to soften your expression at his words. 
“Well, no, not in so many words. I just happened to hear on the grapevine that you could help with that sort of thing. I mean, it's no real secret what you do in those woods behind the school…and I knew where to find you.” 
Both of you laugh at that. He was always a little dramatic and quick to take offense, but you suppose that’s easily done when the whole town uses him for target practice. Another few moments of quiet pass, until he lets out another light chuckle and rests his head atop yours. “Have you ever even been high before?” 
Your “yes!” is a little too quick and incredibly telling. 
“So no, then?” He asks, a tease behind his words. 
Your head falls into your hands, embarrassed, “yeah, no.” 
“So what did you think was going to happen when I sold to you?” Another laugh, “what were you gonna do, go to the library at midnight and look up ‘drug use’ in the encyclopedia?” 
“I don’t know,” you sigh, “I guess I wasn’t thinking.” 
Eddie doesn't know what it is that makes him want to help. The sale was dangling right in front of him the whole time, he could just make the sale and send you on your way, after all it shouldn’t matter to him what’s done with the weed once the money is in his hands. But it does. He can sense your frustration and Hell knows he’s been there himself, so he finds himself giving a sigh of his own and reaching under the bed for his little black tackle box. 
“Alright, c'mon!” He exclaims, scooting up the bed and turning to face you, cross legged. He pats the spot on the mattress opposite him and flicks open the box. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. We are gonna get you high, get you feelin’ good, and then - if you so choose - I can send you on your merry way for your little revenge fuck.” 
That makes you bark out a laugh, but his eyes are twinkling wish mischief, and it’s exactly the push you need to stop whining and do something about your foul mood. You turn to him and tuck your feet under you, watching as he pulls items from the box between you. 
He rolls a fresh joint, packing it and explaining himself as he goes, should you want to do this for yourself next time. You listen intently, ever the good student, and nod along with his explanation, up until he brings the joint to his mouth to seal it. Maybe it’s just the amusement in his expression, or the proud smirk, knowing he’s at least somewhat responsible for your foray into rebellion (even if it is as minor as illicit drug use), but when his tongue darts out to wet the paper, you’re transfixed. 
“Got it?” 
His question startles you from your focus on his mouth, and you can feel your cheeks heating, hoping to God he didn’t notice. Giving a little nod, you say, “yeah, think so.” 
“Rock on,” he grins wide, lighting it before quickly passing it your way. “Ladies first.” 
You pluck the joint from between his fingers, and hesitate as you bring it to your lips. Unsure of what to expect, but not wanting to turn back now, you decide to just go for it and inhale with a little too much false confidence and enthusiasm. The smoke burns as it fills your lungs, clawing at your throat on the way down and sending you into a fit of coughs. 
“Ah, shit,” he rasps, lumbering over you and off the foot of the bed, leaving you confused and still coughing alone in his room. He returns quickly and presses a plastic cup of water into your palm, rubbing between your shoulder blades soothingly. “I should have known that was going to happen, Christ. My bad.” 
It takes another few moments for you to calm down from fits of coughs to small hiccups, sipping on the water gently with even more redness in your cheeks. When it finally stops, you giggle and pinch the bridge of your nose, “so that was wrong, right?” 
“Not….wrong,” he laughs, “just not ideal. I have an idea, here…” He knocks the lid closed on the box and sets it to the floor, then comes back to a kneel in front of you. “Have you ever heard of shotgunning?” 
“Beer, yes,” you furrow your brow, “and I’m no expert but I'm almost positive that it doesn’t work the same here.”
Wrinkles sprout in the corners of Eddie’s eyes when he smiles at your comment. He’s holding back a laugh, you can tell. “You would be correct.” 
“Alright, enlighten me.” 
“Gladly.” He takes the joint back from your grasp and sits back on his heels. “This will help take a little bit of that sting away, and it might actually help you start slowly, since this is your first time. It’s always a little weaker on the receiving end.” 
Raising an eyebrow, you repeat, “receiving?”
The mischief is back in his expression, brighter than before, and he nods. “So I’m gonna take a hit, right? And then - here’s the uncomfortable part - we’ll have to get real close, and as I exhale, you’ll inhale. Kind of like an asthma inhaler, except unprescribed and way more fun.” He grins wider when you giggle at his joke. “Sound okay?” 
“I think, I guess just lead the way and we’ll see,” you answer with a shrug and shift up onto your own knees to get on his level. 
You can feel your heart in your throat as you watch him bring the joint to his lips and take a deep pull. With his free hand he reaches out for you, palm resting on the side of your neck and pulling you toward him. You’re acutely aware of his nails scratching absently at the nape of your neck, and the cool bite of his rings against your jawline. He stops just centimeters from your lips and lets the smoke billow towards you. Your breath hitches as you remember what you’re meant to be doing, and you inhale much slower this time. It’s dizzying, but you’re not sure if it's the buzz or Eddie’s proximity. When he’s finished his breath, he stays put for just a beat longer, looking down at you with lidded eyes and a lazy smirk. 
“Better?” He asks, dropping his hand and pulling away before things get weird. But you’re rooted in place, still sitting up on your knees and your eyes still closed. 
Biting your lip, you can’t help but smile at the pleasant buzz that fills your head without the distraction of choking this time. “Much.” 
“Cool.” The tape clicks in the player as it comes to an end, and he points toward it, wordlessly signaling that he’s going to go change it. As he flips through a messy pile of tapes, trying to decide which one best fits the mood, you move up to the head of the bed to lean against the wall. Motörhead is replaced with what you think is Metallica, but it must be their newest album because you can’t quite place it, and before you know it he’s joining you on the bed again. “Wanna go again?” 
You nod with an eager smile, and he mirrors it. 
That’s how things go for quite some time, passing time between hits with music and comfortable quiet. At one point Eddie asks if you wanna give it a go on your own again, but your only response is to wrinkle your nose at him. If he’s bothered by your need for his help, he doesn’t ever show it, only smiles wider and wider as he leans in to fill your lungs with smoke. You never quite get used to the way he holds your face or neck as he passes the smoke from his lips to yours. He didn’t really have to guide you after the first time, but there’s something about his grip on your face that pools warm in your stomach, so you keep letting it happen. 
By the time the joint has burnt down to nearly nothing, you’re comfortably loose. Your limbs feel heavy but your mind is clear, if anything maybe a little impulsive. Exactly what you had set out to do. 
On the last drag, Eddie’s thumb strokes your cheekbone, not yet pulling away after you take in the last of the smoke. 
“So how are ya feeling?” He asks, his voice gravelly and the hint of a laugh behind it. “Still sad? Pissed? Ready to go out and fuck someone?” 
The last question is a joke, you can tell from his tone, but he’s even closer now, and as he teases you, his lips just barely brush yours. You definitely didn’t mean for that whimper to come out audibly. His fingers flex against your skin, his other hand tentatively reaching out to rest on your waist. 
“Maybe I don’t have to go out looking for someone?” You ask, looking at him from under your lashes. It’s not the most clever line you’ve come up with, but it does the trick. He swallows thickly and gives a tight nod before the hand on your cheek moves to tangle posessively in your hair as he closes the gap between you. His lips devour yours hungrily, and your arms wind around his neck, desperately trying to pull yourself as close to him as possible. His tongue darts out, seeking permission at the seam of your lips, and you gladly open up to him, letting out a soft moan as his tongue explores your mouth. 
Your skin is flushed and hot, the air around you sticky. He smells like leather and tastes like smoke and you can’t get enough, reaching up to fist your hands in his hair. When you tug on it, he breaks the kiss with a needy groan and rests his forehead on your own, both of you breathing raggedly. 
“Are you sure you want to do this? Not that I’m not happy to oblige…” the hand on your waist travels downward to palm at your ass and pull you against this growing arousal, and he smirks, “I just don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.” 
Tipping his chin up with your forefinger, you shake your head, “I won’t regret shit.” Then, sitting back on your heels, you unbutton your sweater, shrug it off, and toss it aside. You lay against his pillows in just your skirt and baby pink lace bra, and his stare heats you from the inside out. 
Eddie lets out a long breath as he takes in the expanse of your stomach and exposed collarbone, biting back a lopsided smile and muttering, “you minx.” He reaches back to pull his Hellfire tee over his head, revealing a smattering of patchwork tattoos across his torso. Mesmerized, you reach out to caress the ink across his sternum and down his stomach, his muscles twitching beneath your touch. He doesn’t let that go on for too long, however. He’s itching to get his hands on you, and swiftly grips your wrists in one hand and holds them high above your head. “Not so fast, sweetheart,” he warns playfully, caging your hips in with his knees and leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, “keep ‘em up.” 
You shudder at the command, but keep your hands in place as he lets go and starts to make his way down your body, leaving a trail of kisses and nips in his wake. Every inch of skin he sees, he works over with his mouth. He licks a deliberate stripe up the column of your throat, inhaling your scent in the crook of your neck. His teeth catch on your collarbone, soothing over the nip with his tongue.Your skin pinks wherever he goes, flushing at the attention. When he makes it to your bra, he smiles coyly up at you, twirling his finger in the ribbons of the little bow where the cups meet. “How cute,” he chuckles, trailing his finger up along one cup, before hooking into each one and yanking them down, exposing your breasts to the cool night air. 
Your nipples pebble at the chill, but it isn’t long before his mouth is on you, sucking a dark purple mark into the swell of your breast, dragging his tongue across the sensitive bud, and moving to give attention to the other side. Every swipe of his tongue and nick of his teeth is sending waves of pleasure straight to your core. You press your thighs together in an attempt to quell the ache, but it does no good.
Eddie moves lower still, laving kisses down your sternum, across your stomach, dipping his tongue into your navel, and drinking up every last whine and desperate sound you make. 
When he reaches your skirt, he pauses, waiting for a nod from you before unbuttoning and dragging it down your thighs. You kick it the rest of the way off, and flush even deeper under his intense stare. 
He’s leaned back on his heels again, hands gently moving up and down your thighs with featherlight touches. “You’re incredible,” he muses, shaking out his hair with a dreamy smile, and bends so that he’s face to face with the wet spot on your panties. He whispers again, “fucking beautiful,” before mouthing at your mound through the slick fabric. 
You let out a wild moan involuntarily, before realizing what he’s doing, and cut yourself off. Running your fingers through his hair you mumble, “wait, no, you don’t have to…do that.” 
He looks at you quizzically, concern and confusion in his eyes, but he retreats nonetheless. “Do you not like it?” 
“Well, no, I don’t know…” you mumble again, “but isn’t it…gross?” 
A new emotion, anger flares in Eddie's eyes as it dawns on him what you’re implying. “Are you telling me that asshole never went down on you? Because he finds it gross ?” The scoff that follows is borderline offended. 
You cover your face, burning red under his scrutiny. “He said everyone felt that way. Made me feel ashamed for being curious about it. I don't know, its stupid. You don’t have to do it.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” his eyes darken as his gaze falls to your panties once again. He toys with the waistband absently and smiles, “all the more reason for me to do it.” He places a kiss at the inside of your thigh, just above the knee. “What if I told you…” Another one, higher now. “...I don’t just like eating pussy…” And another, just below your hip, he bites down harder on the sensitive flesh and soothes it with a swipe of his tongue. “...but I fucking love it?” He doesn’t move to go any further, but awaits your response and looks at you eagerly from his spot between your legs. “Would you let me do it then?” 
With a shaky breath, you take your bottom lip between your teeth and nod, completely unsure of what you’ve gotten yourself into. 
Now that he has your permission, he’s wasting no time dragging the ruined fabric down your legs and returning to his spot between them. He stares at your core with hunger in his eyes and a look of pride. Reaching out to spread your lips, he bites his lip with glee. “Fuck, baby,” he groans, “you’re so wet.” You’re unsure how to respond, or if you even should, but luckily he leaves you no time to. No faster than the words left his mouth, he leans in and licks a long, flat stripe up your cunt, circling when he reaches your clit and making you cry out. 
This sensation is all new, and you jolt when he repeats the action, savoring every reaction he can pull from you. You gasp as his tongue dips into you, and the bastard actually laughs, puffing warm air against your wet folds before moving back up to tongue at your clit. 
He drags two fingers up and down through your juices teasingly, and only when you let out a desperate whine does he thrust them both into you, pumping them in and out and stroking your walls with a come-hither motion. He licks and sucks and draws patterns with his tongue around his fingers like a man starved. Thick, heavy rings bump your lips as he pumps his fingers, and the cold metal is an intoxicating contrast to his hot mouth. 
“ Eddie! ” You cry his name, forgetting your previous orders and reaching down to tangle your hands in his hair in an attempt to bring him even closer. He doesn’t argue, only groans into your core, the vibrations from the sound spurring your further on. 
It doesn’t take long before it all becomes too much, there are too many sensations, your orgasm building too fast. You barely utter out a weak, “ Eddie, I'm gonna- ,” in warning before your thighs are tensing around him and you’re crying out your release with a firm grip on his locks.
He works you through your orgasm, letting up but not fully stopping until your thighs stop shaking and your breathing returns to normal. Even then, he places a final, soft kiss directly on your clit that has you clenching around nothing as he withdraws his fingers. 
Crawling back up your body with a shit eating grin and licking your release from his fingers, Eddie fucking Munson has the audacity to ask, “So what do you think now?”
“Shut the fuck up,” you mumble with a breathy laugh and pull him down for another hungry kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and his chin is still wet with your release, and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced. As he licks into your mouth, he grinds his hips down into yours, and you moan at the contact, his cock hard and wanting behind the barrier of his sweatpants. “ I think, ” you gasp into his neck, “I think I need you inside me, Munson.” 
“That can be arranged,” he growls, nipping at your lower lip before reaching out to search the bedside table. 
In a move that’s so incredibly Eddie Munson, he kicks off his sweatpants and briefs clumsily, making you giggle at his struggle, but silences you quickly with a stern look. 
You take a moment to collect yourself, breathing deeply and looking up at the ceiling as he tears into the condom packet with his teeth. You don’t know when you closed your eyes, but his lips on yours are a delightful surprise, as is the head of his cock notching perfectly at your entrance, making you gasp. He tugs on your lip again, breathing out, “you ready, sweetheart?” 
“Fuck,” you mumble, and nod vigorously, groaning out a soft, “ yes .”
He fills you slowly, letting you adjust to his size until he’s fully sheathed inside you. You both let out a simultaneous moan when he bottoms out, his far more restrained than yours, and his forehead falls to rest on yours. His hands bring yours above your head once again, and he pulls out just as slowly, only to thrust back into you so hard you scream. Shifting his grip on your wrists to one hand, he reaches down to caress your cheek as he fucks into you relentlessly. He’s at the perfect angle for the head of his cock to stroke your g-spot on every pass, and it has you breathless. Your pleasure pools in your belly, threatening to snap at any moment. 
Eddie’s thumb strokes at your bottom lip, tugging. You wrap your lips around his thumb, swirling your tongue around the tip, and he groans, looking up to the ceiling, his hips stuttering. 
You let out a soft, “ please, ” as he reaches for your clit, thumbing at the bundle of nerves, working in tandem with his cock. 
“I know, baby, I know,” he whispers, engulfing your mouth with his own and moaning into the kiss as your walls flutter around him. “Let go for me,” he urges, his movements becoming more erratic by the second. He won’t be far behind you. 
Your second orgasm shatters through you, and you whine his name. Your hands fist in the sheets above you, unable to move anywhere else in Eddie’s grasp, and you gasp, your vision blurring out of focus as he fucks you through your high. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, shuddering as he thrusts once, twice, three more times and stills inside you, biting your neck with his release. 
Letting go of your hands, he giggles as he grips your chin and pulls you into a surprisingly chaste kiss, he actually giggles, and you can’t help but dissolve into a fit of laughter with him. 
You whine at the feeling of emptiness when he pulls out, but your cheeks are warm and he kisses your forehead, telling you to wait here before he ducks out of the room again and returns with a warm wet washcloth. 
With a teasing tone, you toe at his thigh as he gently cleans you up. “You know, I didn’t take you for the – mmh,” you pause for a needy moan as he strokes your overstimunlated cunt with the cloth, “the gentlemanly type.”
Throwing the towel toward the closet, he chuckles, “yeah, well. I’m full of surprises.” He crawls under the covers, lifting an edge for you to crawl into, and asks, “you wanna stay? Or…?” The vulnerability in his voice squeezes at your heart, and you do take his offer, curling into his chest and tracing the ink on his skin absently with the tip of your finger. 
“ And I get to stay the night?” You giggle, “you do this after all your drug deals, Munson?”
There’s a long pause, and a content sigh that you can feel deep in his chest. He kisses the crown of your head and runs his fingers through your hair, then laughs out his response. “Only the ones I really like.”
241 notes · View notes
fandomfluffandfuck · 6 months
Note
RPF:
thinking about Anthony, Chris and Seb in the same room after a comic con and suddenly seb takes off his tshirt and Anthony and Chris look at each other and they just walk towards Seb and start kissing him and grabbing him and we'll, they end up in the bed,the 3 of them. they gets surprised when they discover Seb is actually plugged and Seb just laughes because he knew they'd get to that point. 🤭
This is from the requests I got before I closed my writing requests for the school year. I am not taking requests actively right now.
Listen--
Listen, they're so 🤌🏻predictable🤌🏻
Of course, this would happen. Like. C'mon. It's the three of them. Of course, they're up to shit.
I'm gonna change this prompt around a little bit, but, I'm keeping to the basis of Seb with a plug + Chris + Anthony + a room all to themselves, so...
Enjoy-
Sebastian is waiting for them when they return from the premiere. Chris went because Mackie asked him to, and he wanted to, Sebastian would've gone too, except he's supposed to be "on location" prepping to film something. He's not. He's with his guys. But, fans go insane enough when two Marvel cast members get together to hang out, theorizing, so they don't need to add more fuel to the fire.
"How'd you know we'd be back early?" Chris asks, tumbling into the bedroom before Anthony. He's already shrugged out of his suit jacket and undone his tie, getting comfortable.
"Yeah," Anthony immediately unquestioningly backs him up, peering over his shoulder, "were you just gonna wait up and see?"
Sebastian shifts, sighing, where he's lying on his belly, idly reading and coincidentally leaving himself on display. A somewhat consealed display. There's a thin, white sheet draped over his lower half. Plausible deniability.
He shuts his book and sets it aside.
"You're predictable," he breathes, stretching like a cat, arms under and in front of him, hips up, because, again, they're predictable. He knows their gazes will follow his every move.
And they do.
He rests in the stretch for long enough to tease them with the curve of his back, leading up to the curve of his ass, just visible enough through the sheet, before he allows himself to melt back down onto the mattress flat. His arms out. His thighs gently parted. Stomach to the bed.
Just that might be satisfying enough, all of their attention on him. It's not that he doesn't get enough of their attention day-to-day, they both pay lots of attention to him, he's not lonely, he's not neglected but he is, for better or worse, as Mackie lovingly calls him out for being, an attention whore. ("Why else are we in this business, baby?" Seb can hear his butter smooth voice tickling his ear, breath hot against his skin.) And there is something so incredibly gratifying about their gazes on his skin. The simmering heat of Anthony's dark gaze; the dilation of Chris' pupils, darkening his cool blue eyes. So what if he's a show pony? How could he not be with these two men being his regular audience?
The two sets of their eyes on his skin feels like enough clothing. And here he was, starting to feel underdressed in a pair of little boxer brief shorts. They're tight. They're blue. And they, as well as the sheet, are hiding something but also... not leaving much to the imagination. Something that neither of his lovers know about yet.
Chris laughs breathlessly at his explanation and little display, reaching the bed first and finding his skin. His fingers encircle his wrist.
Sebastian's breath hitches. Instantly, his mind wandering away, thinking about being held down. Arms out. Thighs spread. Face down on the bed.
The easy hold doesn't last for long. Aw.
Chris runs his hand, large and warm and heavy, up his arm, to his shoulder, and onto the top of his back before he can no longer reach despite his impressive wingspan.
Seb finds himself humming, enjoying.
But Anthony, unfortunately, busies his hands with his tie, untangling it from around his neck and popping the top few buttons of his nice, pressed shirt. He slides his tie out from under his collar, smooth, and hangs it on the doorknob for the walk-in closet. It's an easy sight on Sebastian's eyes, but... he likes being touched.
He likes the way Chris is rubbing his shoulder and bringing his other hand in to play, too; flirting its way up his forearm, onto his bicep, over his shoulder, and finally climbing up the nape of his neck, squeezing him. Scruffing him.
"Chrisss," Sebastian sighs, further drooping into his bed, muffling his name against the bed.
"And you say we're predictable," Chris teases lightly.
"Hm?" He makes a droisey, confused noise, pressing back into the hold, searching for something harder and more substantial.
"I know I never have to pet you for long before you start purring." Anthony snorts in amused agreement to Chris' observation.
"I don't!" Sebastian whines, but otherwise, doesn't try to stop himself from reacting to his boyfriend.
Anthony--his other boyfriend that is unforgivably not touching him right now--abandons any cheap facade of wanting to get out of his uncomfortable, formal, overly expensive clothes to walk towards the bed, too. His hand lands over Chris', not squeezing, but weighing heavier over the nape of his neck.
"Mmmmmm," Sebastian exhales an extended, pleased noise, face down in the sheets that smell like them.
"If we're so predictable, tell us what we're supposedly gonna do, Sebastian," Mackie scratches his fingers through his hair.
Sebastian waits for just long enough that he knows Anthony will take a fistful and pull it.
The sting makes Sebastian smile, open-mouthed because he can't not gasp. "Kn-knew you'd do that," he struggles to say.
"Brat," Mackie shakes his head around a little, still holding onto his hair.
Sebastian grins wider, the fire that's been smoldering in his belly all night crackles and jumps with sparks as if it's being breathed on. Given more fuel. Readying to burn brighter. Hotter.
Chris has let go of him, and the dip in the mattress tells him that he's climbing onto the mattress with him.
Yes, please.
The brush of the smooth material of his slacks against his side is enough to have Seb breaking out in goosebumps. He can't imagine what they look like from the outside. He's basically naked. Meanwhile, Chris and Anthony are fully clothed, only their ties loosened. Looming over him. Their hands melting him, easy as anything.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
"C'mon," Anthony reminds him, sharply tugging until Seb can't hold in his moan. He can feel the rush of heat now coloring his cheeks.
"I--" the words die in his throat.
Chris' fingers drag down his spine towards the edge of the sheet overlapping with the line of his tight boxers waistband.
"I knew you'd come home and w-wanna touch me," he pushes the words out through his lips in a rush. A soft exhale dripping with desire.
"And-?" Mackie pushes.
Of course.
Of course, he would ask for more.
"You never like leaving me alone," Seb's voice has an edge of a whine to it. He can't help it. Chris has fitted two fingers into the dimples at the base of his spine, pressing just hard enough for Sebastian to suspect that whoever fucked him last (was it Chris? Or, no, Anthony fucked him in the shower, that was after Chris, right? Sebastian can't think right now...) left behind evidence in the form of bruises and possible nail crescents.
It aches.
The ache is sparking, radiating around his pelvis and shooting forward. He's starting to stiffen up against the bed more.
More hard than not.
"Mmmm." A drawn-out moan leaves his parted lips.
"We just know you get into trouble when you're alone, baby. Can't be left to your own devices," Anthony's voice has the edge of a laugh hidden inside it. It's mean. Sebastian probably shouldn't like it so much.
Sebastian's breath breaks unevenly. Chris is teasing the sheets back, and the feather light caress of the fabric over his skin nearly unbearable.
Suddenly, he wants none of the foreplay. Suddenly he becomes aware that the joke is fucking on him. Suddenly with Anthony demanding him to explain his thought process out loud, forcing him to embarrass his presumptuous, thirsty self and with Chris touching his body but not touching him where he wants it, where he needs it more and more, what he needs is to be roughed up.
He expected to be roughed up.
He just prepared for it this time, rather than being blindsided. Is that so wrong? Why can't they just cut to the chase!?
Honestly, Seb has forgotten whatever the fuck Mackie is talking about (was he talking?) because Chris is dragging his blunt nails down the backs of his legs, pushing away the sheet and grabbing and spreading his legs. But then--
"How much of a troublemaker was he this time, Chris?" Anthony directs his next low, prodding question at Chris. Not Sebastian. Like he's just a not-so-well trained puppy.
Sebastian whimpers. Like a puppy.
Chris, at Mackie's insistance, Chris--
Chris goes for it.
Obviously, to them, he's the predictable one, and they're both on the same page, reading the same line, Mackie expecting Chris to press his fingers between Sebastian's cheeks and find the wet spot from where he stretched himself open, too generous with the amount of lube he used, liking how open and slutty and used the excess makes him feel, and not generous enough with the prep time he gives himself because he likes the way it stings. Expecting Seb to moan.
He doesn't find a wet spot.
He does make Sebastian moan, though.
"OH!" Sebastian twists up. His stomach knots pleasantly. Tightly. His fingers scramble against the sheets, grabbing fistfuls. His toes curl urgently.
Hnnng.
Instead, Chris' fingers--not holding anything back, expecting to press hard against his open, wet hole--force the plug he shoved inside himself deeper.
Anthony has perked the fuck up. Sebastian knows without looking at him, from the intrigued sound he makes, that he's grinning like the Chesire Cat. Pleased as punch.
He can't look, though. He doesn't get a chance to see that handsome expression on his face, predatory in the best way. Because Chris lets up only to press harder. Rocking the toy inside him.
"Ohh, troublemaker," he purrs, his Boston accent coming out at the exact best worst time.
"What's that, baby?" Anothny piles on, taking down to Sebastian. "Aw, did you expect us to come home early and need to ravish you on the spot, so you plugged yourself up, huh? You got all ready?" Anthony reaches down to snap the elastic waistband of his underwear against his skin. "That's cute."
Chris rumbles his agreement low in his chest; Sebastian swears he can feel it vibrate through him on top of the stinging, tingling pain that he can feel from the elastic of his tight underwear biting into him.
Oh, God.
This is so much worse than he planned.
"Oh, oh, oh," he can't stop making sounds, every goddamn time Chris forces the plug into him. Deeper. Fucking him with it. It rubs his prostate just right. Hnnnng. Sparks flash through him.
"But, y’know, brat, you forgot something..." Anthony tells him.
"Wha--what?" Sebastian manages eventually, completely out of breath.
"There's two of us." Mackie reminds him, pinching his side until he whines, delighted by the pain in ways he really, really shouldn't be. Chris is relentless, fucking him with the toy, grinding him down to bits. Exploiting the gift Sebastian tried to give them. "If you really wanted to be ready, you woulda stretched your mouth, too. I know where you could find a good ring gag."
Sebastian shudders. He knows, too. He's intimately familiar with their collection of toys. He--
He likes the sound of that.
He imagines it intensely, vividly; lying on his belly on their bed, stretched open on a plug, shivering, and drooling around a ring gag, as tied into the restraints as he can get when he's only got himself to work with. One cuff at each corner of the bed. Spread wide. In every sense of the word. Open. Ready to get fucked. Double teamed. Both of them.
Jesus Christ, he groans with his full chest. Uncontrollably shuddering.
"Yeah," Chris grins, wolfish, "I bet you wish you thought of that, hm?"
"Yeah, it's okay, baby, I can get you that gag. And I can give you a reminder for next time. If you're gonna make trouble, you gotta do it right." Anthony taps his side, where he was pinching earlier, teasing Sebastian with the threat of a slap or punch or something else that would make Sebastian see stars. Pain looping back into pleasure. Fucked up in the best way.
"How's that sound?" Chris murmurs, perfectly gravely and smooth at the same time. Driving him crazy. "You want it, don't'cha, baby?" There's that Boston again.
Fuck.
Sebastian whimpers, "I--" he squirms, trying to rub together two brain cells. It's not working well. His tongue and teeth and mouth don't want to work when they have the option of being stretched wide and being used. "I want--"
"Yeah?" Mackie traces his jaw with two fingers. His touch is intoxicating.
"I thought--" Seb grinds against the bed exactly once before Chris grips his hips, holding him away from the pleasure, noooo.
They laugh in unison. It grates against Sebastian's nerves in the best way. Bastards. They're the worst together.
"The plug!" Seb whimpers, sweating. "The plug! It, it, I thought you'd--you both could, nngh!"
Chris cuts him off by pulling out the plug, then pressing it back in. Playing with him. Playing with his body. Stretching his rim deliciously.
God.
Sebastian chokes on what could be sob if it had left his chest and didn't get strangled in his throat.
"Ohhh, I see, you're thought we'd be reeeal hungry tonight, huh? Not wanting to wait to prep you ourselves?" Anthony talks down to him; he nods to Chris, "strip 'im."
Chris obeys, ripping his boxer briefs down and groaning heartily at what he finds.
"Why didn't you just say you had other plans, Seb?" Chris teases knowing how tongue tied he gets when turned on. His breath is hot on the small of Sebastian's back. The bruises or bruises-in-the-making there throb pleasantly. Nerves awake.
Mmmmm. God.
Immediately, Chris finds the bulb attached to the plug that is sitting thickly, deeply inside him through some thin tubing, and gives it a pump.
It happens too fast.
Oh! Wait-!
Pump.
Pump.
Chris, mercifully, can't hold him down at the same time that he pumps the inflable plug.
Pump.
"AH! GOD!" Sebastian moans, rubbing his hard, hard, hard dick against the bed. He can't help it. The stretch is devine. Knowing that Chris is getting him ready to split him apart with his own dick and Anthony's too is... it's too much.
Another pump.
Another pathetic, loud sound. Spilling right out of him. How is he supposed to hold it in? He's getting so, so full that there is no way he can hold anything else in!
Mackie sinks his fingers unforgivingly into the back of his neck, scruffing him, "that how it is, honey, you needing to get fucked?"
"Mmm-hmm," he whines. "B-both," he heaves out a breath, "want you both."
"You mean," Anthony stretches his words out, sinister, enjoying his torture too much, "you assumed that we'd come home from our premier and we'd be so hungry for you that we'd both wanna fuck your pretty ass into the bed? Ruin that pretty, slutty hole, huh? Stretch it wide open?"
"Is, is there a better way to celebrate?" Sebastian doesn't think before he speaks.
"Brat," Mackie shakes him up a little more.
And Chris pumps the plug a new more times.
Bigger.
Bigger.
Bigger.
"AH!" Sebastian grinds so hard against the bed that stars spark behind his eyelids. The pressure against his prostate isn't helping either. So bright and hot and ohgod. Chris pumps the plug again. "OH!" He can't stop being so loud. He can't stop grinding. He can't stop.
It's embarrassing. This whole fucking situation. His presumptuous actions, which lead to this torture. His reactions to the pleasure. His inability to do anything to stop them--he doesn't want to stop them, quite the opposite, he wants them to hurry the fuck up. He grinds down again.
He can't stop.
He's leaking now. Dripping with arousal. Ruining the perfectly clean bed.
His head is spinning. And the two sets of hands on his body aren't doing anything to anchor him. If anything, they're lifting him higher. He lives for this.
He wants their cocks. Both of their cocks. Hard. Thick. Heavy. Inside him.
He wants--
He's being fucked open so much by the toy that he can't help but--
"Ah!-Anthony, Chriss, Chris! I-! HA! GOD! MMNH!" Sebastian moans recklessly, eyes squeezing shut, hips fucking forward, pressing back, and getting thrown over the edge because he's nothing if not easy for his boyfriends. Grinding against the bed. Grinding back against the toy inside him. The toy is still bigger and bigger because Chris, of course, pumps it one last time right as he's cumming.
Ohfuckmeee.
He's still breathing hard, seeing nothing but a white-hot void as a result of an overdose of pleasure, when Anthony purrs, "you feel ready now?" He's teasing.
But also--
Fuuuck.
Sebastian shudders again. One last time. His body convulsing. His dick is still hard and sliding through the slick mess he's just fucking made, adding to it more. He can't help it. The sound that comes out of him is fucked-out. But he's not so fucked-out that he'd turn down that proposition.
Never.
"Yuh-yeah," he mumbles into the bed, hiding his hot, flushed face in vain. They both love it. How easy he is.
"God," Chris groans, behind him, settling in between his legs instead of off to his side, "I love you."
"You just love how big of a slut he is," Anthony ribs him, chuckling as he combs his hands through Sebastian's hair.
Chris snorts, spreading his cheeks with both big hands, staring at his stretched, wet, twitching hole and admitting, "nah, that's just a hell of a plus."
"Mmm-hmm," Mackie agrees, climbing up on the bed, too, not standing in front of it any longer, "that it is."
Tumblr media
Can you tell I've been thinking a fuck ton about inflatable plugs lately?
18 notes · View notes
Text
Have the Prince Wilbur/Tactician Dream au. I spent all day writing this and have edited exactly zero, but fuck it.
-
It had been unwise, he knew that even as he collapsed into the grass. Anyone could have stumbled across him while he was sleeping. If he had been particularly unlucky he'd have woken up strapped to a table five minutes before he stopped being able to wake up at all, and then what would have this all been for? Wasted effort, wasted gain.
But he had been running nonstop for days, only stopping to shelter from the rain and eat. Sleep had been put on the backburner, and he was paying for it now; his steps were blistering with pain as his body shrieked its disapproval. He hadn't visited any village for fear they would recognize his face (foolish way to get caught, he'd have to craft a mask) so his supplies had been running dangerously thin by the time he had made it out of the desert and into the plains.
Dream did not know this country. He didn't know any country, really; letting your future world destroying sacrifice wander the world was considered highly impractical, after all. This country's border was simply the closest to him. It helped that they were supposedly enemies, and therefore the cultists were unlikely to follow him successfully.
 (This he knew, of course, because when you have a world destroying sacrifice, you should always inform it of which direction it should start its slaughter.)
Regardless, as soon as the grass began to reach his shoulders, he felt the fatigue he had pushed away over and over slamming into him like a wave. No more, his body begged, we can't go on anymore.
He was on his back now. The height of the grass would protect him, he justified in his exhaustion. He was deep enough into the plains that he wouldn't be found. It was night, a new moon in fact; too dark for anyone to see him. It would only be for a few hours. It would be fine.
The stars gathered above him in a glorious haze of light. Even if he was caught, it would be worth getting to see a sky unpolluted by light. Freedom was sweet.
He slept well into the dawn.
—-------
"Wilbur! Oi! I found some guy, I think he might be dead or something."
Tommy had such a way with words, Wilbur thought with dry amusement. He raised his hand at Techno, who was grumbling in the distance about something or another, and went to push through the wheat to where Tommy was kicking up a fuss.
 It was hardly befitting a prince to get their hands dirty with the more physical work. It was something more properly suited to the pawns on the board, a set of lesser knights. His brothers had always been very hands on rough and tumble types however, so Wilbur took it upon himself to join their border patrol escapades. They really needed someone looking out for them. What kind of brother would let his family go off so close to a threat without someone to guide them safely? A foolish one. Irresponsible. Maybe Tommy could get away with that, but Wilbur would never forgive himself.
"For someone so tall, you're sure bad at keeping up, Wilbur." A voice said behind him. Techno lightly bumped his shoulders as he passed, the force controlled so as not to bruise Wilbur against his armor. He began cutting down some of the grass with his sword.
"Not all of us are built like a charging bull, dear brother." Wilbur quipped. Techno rolled his eyes and cleared an easier path to travel. Wilbur happily followed in his wake, raising his hand to block out the light of the sunset.
"Took you both long enough," Tommy scowled as they approached. He crossed his arms. "I was about to start rooting through his pockets."
"You mean you haven't already? Shocker." Techno said. He held his sword loosely, but did not put it away. Tommy rolled his eyes. 
"He's breathing, which means he might be a witch, which means you're supposed to check him for traps first. You made a promise, so you have to!"
"You could just stop trying to loot things that are clearly not dead." 
"Don't be a pussy," Tommy replied, and swung his healing staff at Techno's face. Techno caught it easily.
"That's enough, Tommy," Wilbur said quickly before they could roughhouse. "You said you were going to show us this man."
A few feet behind Tommy there was a lump in a patch of disturbed wheat. Obviously the person Tommy had stumbled upon. Wilbur pushed away the grass and leaned forward to see what they were working with.
His breath caught in his chest.
The man before him felt like something out of a fairy story his mother used to tell. The wheat around them seemed a dull yellow compared to the threaded gold of his hair. His skin was sun-kissed, a little burned around his freckled cheeks, but thankfully he was mostly protected by a large green coat. Dirt flecked his cheekbones, expression soft in sleep. He could have been the son of Apollo.
A sleeping beauty, meant to be awoken by a prince. This was something close to fate.
"The fuck is doing passed out in this field, you think?"
Wilbur winced, and turned away from the gorgeous sprawl to hiss. "Keep your voice down."
"He should probably be woken up, his skin is going to peel at this rate." Techno noted. He made no movement to lean down, however, waiting for Wilburs decision. Rightfully.
"It's his own fault. There's a village right over there. He could've just made them take him in." Tommy said.
Techno frowned. "Not if he's trying to hide something." 
"And that's why you should let me look through his pockets."
"No, Tommy."
"Gentlemen," Wilbur spoke, drawing his brother's attention. "I think our sleeping beauty here must be awoken before we decide anything about him."
Techno snorted, and Tommy squawked at the word 'beauty,' but it was wholly irrelevant as a soft groan rose from the ground. He was awake.
His fairytale man blinked wearily, obviously still exhausted (the poor thing. Wilbur would make sure his next rest would be on silk sheets.) His eyes found Wilbur's first. A soft noise came from his throat, questioning.
"Hello there," Wilbur smiled gently. "I see you've woken up."
His eyes traced Wilburs face, and Wilbur felt the incredible urge to write poetry about the shades of green hidden within.
"Where…?" His fairytale spoke rough with sleep. 
"The hell are doing out on the border, man? Terrible place to sleep." Tommy leaned forward. Wilbur gave him a stern look, but his fairytale merely squinted. He attempted to push himself up.
"Please, allow me." Wilbur said. He offered his hand, and the man took it after a moment's hesitation. This hand was ungloved, he noted. An odd tattoo twisted patterns into its skin. It was as beautiful as the rest of him, and when Wilbur pulled him up he made sure to press a kiss to the large X on the back of it.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, my good man." He hummed, ignoring Tommy's gagging and Techno's burning stare. "Might I have your name?"
His fairytale did not stutter or blush in embarrassment as he expected. Instead he tilted his head. "... Dream."
"A fitting name for someone as lovely as you." Truly, the gods had good humor. 
Dream raised his head to look at the darkening sky, his figure eclipsing the sun. He barely seemed to acknowledge them at all. "Thank you. I hadn't meant to sleep that long. I'll be out of your way, then."
"Wait!" Wilbur grasped his arm, alarmed. "My compatriot is right, it was strange to find someone asleep so close to the border. Are you perhaps in need of shelter? There's a village nearby, we can take you there."
"I think I'll be alright." Dream eyed his grip warily. "I hadn't meant for that to happen. It was a one time thing."
"What, are you homeless?" Techno spoke up. Dream froze. "Cause if you're walking around here and refuse to take shelter, it sounds a lot like you're homeless."
"I'm not homeless." Dream hissed, and tugged out of Wilburs' grasp. Wilbur turned and glared at Techno, but he looked unrepentant. 
"There's no shame if you are, man. I'm sure we can set you up with a house, something a lot better than an empty field with no roof."
"I have a house!" Dream said indignantly, looking more upset by the minute. Wilbur felt the strings escape his fingers, his sweet fairytale falling out of his reach.
"Then let us escort you to it." Techno said mildly. His face was impassive, but there was a familiar danger in his tone. He was suspicious of Dream, Wilbur realized. "It's not safe out here with the increasing border skirmishes, Dream. It'd be better for all of us if we took you home."
Dream raised himself to his full height. He was still shorter than both Wilbur and Techno. "I'm not going to let some strangers follow me home. I'm not an idiot."
"Oh really?" Techno raised an eyebrow. "Then I'd really like to hear how you managed to miss that you were talking to the prince of this kingdom."
Dream blanched. "What?!"
"You heard me. If you really had a house around here, you should be a kingdom citizen, or at the very least recognize the symbols on my armor. So you're not from our country." Techno nodded at him. "You wanna explain why a Plegian is sneaking into Ylisse when we're on the brink of war?"
"I never said my house was around here." Dream muttered. "And it's none of your business."
"Everything involving my family's lands is my business."
"Well I'm not gonna be here long. This was just the quickest way out of the country. I'll head north and be out of your lands soon."
Tommy spoke up, settling his staff on his shoulder. "What're you running from? Can't be that bad if you're one of them."
"Tommy," Wilbur scolded, feeling a prickle of distress as Dream's face shuttered. "That's not how it works. People run for a lot of reasons, and I suspect in a place with so much turmoil, Dream would have plenty of reasons to want to escape."
Tommy shrunk. Dream was silent for a moment. When he did speak, it was with obvious reluctance. "I was… a tactician, of sorts. Trained in strategy. Meant to serve at the capital."
Techno's grip tightened on his sword, but Dream didn't backpeddle. "They were going to use me. They wanted to use me to- to win the war. The future war. And I refused, because I don't agree with it. I don't want to be a warmonger. But that's not something you can ordinarily turn down, so I left."
They were going to kill me, he didn't say, underneath the tense air. I ran, I'm still running. From everything.
Wilburs heart ached. He indulged himself by reaching out to take Dream's hand.
 "I'm sorry," He said sincerely. He squeezed Dream's wrist. "I won't let them chase you here. I'm putting you under our protection."
"Wilbur-"
"It's best-" Wilbur glared at Techno, "for all of us if they don't find you. To keep you out of the enemy's hands will prevent them from gaining a valuable asset, or us from losing one."
That got Dreams' attention. "What? What are you talking about?"
Wilbur preened. "If you're so valuable that the other side is willing to hunt you down, then you must be quite the strategist. And since it's in both our interests that there be no war, why not use your skills for the good of Ylisse?"
"Wilbur, this could be a trap." Techno growled. "You could be leading the enemy further into our borders."
"I mean if he wanted to kill us he probably wouldn't be sleeping in a field." Tommy said. He poked Dream with the ball of his staff. Dream smacked it away.
"I'm not here to kill you. Well, I could kill you, but I'm not going to." Dream paused. "Unless you try to kill me first or make me set fire to an entire village. Then I would have to kill you."
"Did they make you set fire to a fucking village?!" 
"Well. They tried. It didn't work out for them."
Oh, that was beautiful. This man was something special, and there was no way Wilbur was letting him get away now.
"Then it's settled." Wilbur clapped his hands. "You come with us, and in exchange for our protection you lend us your aid. That seems perfectly fair to me."
"I don't agree to this." Techno said. "I want that on the record so I can say 'I told you so' later."
Tommy tugged at Dream's coat. "Well if he's coming along he's gotta empty out his pockets. For transparency and all that."
"Tommy."
"What?"
Dream looked back and forth at them somewhat helplessly.
"I guess that's fair." He said slowly. "For now at least."
Joy rose through Wilbur's figure, leaving him giddy. With necessary flourish he bowed before his new Tactician. "Then allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Wilbur Soot, second prince to the Ylissian throne."
Dream gave him a puzzled look. It was not the awe he hoped for, but Dream still nodded back. "It's good to meet you. Once again, I'm Dream."
"Just Dream?"
"Just Dream." He confirmed. Tommy stepped forward with an embarrassing swagger.
"And I'm the biggest man of them all-"
"He's Tommy," Wilbur interjected immediately, ignoring Tommy's outrage. Techno snickered. "Third prince of the Ylissian throne. The brute next to me is Technoblade, first prince to the throne."
"I'll remember that comment when your ass needs saving, Soot."
Dream chuckled. A small thing, but it was startling how soft it made him feel. Dandelion fluff fluttered in his stomach. 
"Alright, so if I'm following you, where are we going?" 
"There's a village nearby we were meant to check up on before heading back." Techno replied, pulling Wilbur out of his thoughts. "We'll want to restock there, as well."
"Lead the way then." Dream inclined his head. 
60 notes · View notes
rueren · 2 years
Text
more than an hour - t. oikawa
you know he's tired from practice, but he always makes time for you. and it makes you love him just that much more
aka a very very under edited re-upload from a long time ago T-T
contents: fluff, implied fem!reader, pre-established relationship
haikyuu m.list || masterlist
♡♡♡ reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡♡♡
Tumblr media Tumblr media
“Wanna come in?” you questioned. oikawa smiled up at you from behind his hair, sitting on the plush chair in the corner of the fitting room.
“Show me when you got them on. wanna have that shock factor, you know?” you take the clothes he's been holding your you in his lap from his outstretched hands as you nod, "And you know i'm here for fashion advice, babe."
“Please, after the plaid shorts fiasco, i’m not sure i want it,” you teased, leaning down to look him in the eye. His eyes widen a retort on his lips but after the lopsided smirk appears on your face, it turns into a pout and he turns away, arms crossing against his chest.
“That was one time, and we were in high school! One would think you lot would have let it go by now.”
your laugh rings in his ears, and he realizes that he if there was a way he could bottle that sound and keep it on his person forever, he would do so in a heartbeat. he feels your fingers cupping his chin, tilting his pouting face up towards yours and he softens. you're too good to him,
“I’m never letting it go,” another grumble almost tumbles from his lips before you press a chaste whisper of a kiss to his, turning into the fitting room, “Alright, see you in a sec babe.”
after what felt like too long for you to try on whatever outfits you had in your hands, you step out of the change room, you find him slumped against the wall.
your lips tug upwards, seeing his arms still folded tight against his chest, almost hugging himself, and his phone on his lap from where it fell out of his hand. he’s got his head propped up in the corner where the two walls meet, falling over a bit, with his hair falling into his eyes, and his mouth open the slightest bit. one knee knocked against the wall and the other following suit, he’s curled into himself for his nap.
he’d only just fallen asleep a moment ago, after you showed him a top you weren't sure about (he absolutely adored that colour on you, just like how he loved the last colour, and the one before that), his hands reaching out to your waist making your face heat up. How he managed to make you feel this way even after being together for so long was a mystery. so when he hears the shuffling of you grabbing his and your bags, his eyes flutter open, trying to pretend he was awake the whole time.
“Ready to go, babe?” his groggy voice gives him away, and you pick up his phone and tug on his wrist. at the cash, he’s hovering at your back as you pay (much to his protests from earlier, you’d insisted on paying for yourself today, if only from one store. that’s all he’d allow, if you kept insisting on this. (“i don’t see why you need to pay for it,” his bottom lip jutted out slightly, hands shoved into his pockets. “you know you don't have to. I know you can, but i want to, please just let me.” “ that’s exactly why i want to, toruu” “oh my god, you’re so stubborn. fine, one store and that’s all.”)
he’s got his fingers dancing at the hem of your shirt. as much as he wants to just to go home and shove his face into your neck and let the smell of your shampoo and the rhythm of your heartbeat lull him to sleep, he'd rather you be happy shopping. besides, he'd be home soon - if only for a short while. he could spare that much, right? he’d wake up extra early and train super hard tomorrow to make up for it - he knew you wanted to go out today. it was his suggestion, to begin with. he knew how patient you were with him, how he’s always off training, or doing one thing or another and wishes he could be more present, with his hectic schedule.
as tired as he may be, he couldn’t say he wanted to go home now. he could tough it out a little while longer. for you. you deserved it. you're so so good to him, he could tough out a few more hours.
you take a step back and press your back into his chest, and not a second later you feel his forehead thump against the crown of yours. a low hum comes from him as you turn around facing him. his eyes are droopy, the bags under them not hiding anything.
hands outstretched, he’s reaching to get your bag for you. he’d already pried the other ones from your hands while you were paying if only to distract himself from reaching over and replacing your card with his.
“where too next, love?” his fingers lightly graze your before lacing them, “or are you hungry? it’s been a while since we ate. want anything??” he’s too sweet for his own good, when he’s not being sassy anyways.
you tug him along and when you don’t turn right to the next store or the food court, he gets confused. once the mall doors come into view, he feels bad for feeling this sweet tightness in his chest, realizing what your doing.
“babes, what are you doing?” hes feigning innocence as you wrap your arm around his bicep, pulling to the doors.
“you need a nap, toruu. more than a nap.” next thing you know, he’s protesting with words falling from his lips that land on deaf ears and digging his heals into the floor. or more like trying to, but since the waxed glossy mall floor doesn’t give much traction, he’s basically getting dragged. you’re both giggling at his antics, all while his protests are coming out as less convincing than he intended them to be.
he swears up and down through yawns that he’s fine, not tired at all, there’s still a bunch of stuff you guys gotta buy, but you force him into the car and into bed when you get home.
"promise you'll wake me up? 's only gonna be a quick nap,,, couple minutes 'n i'm all yours,,," he mumbles against the fabric of your shirt as you pull the blankets over you both.
you're smiling now, fingers carding in his hair as his eyes flutter shut "one hour. close your eyes, toruu."
when his alarm for one hour blares, you turn it off before it wakes him up. he deserved a more than one hour nap. his peaceful face pressed into your chest, he’s got a leg strewn over your hips, and both his arms wrapped around you. his soft breaths are barely heard under the hum from the heater pumping through the apartment, but every now and then he lets out a sigh that tugs at your heart strings.
the alarm stirred him a little but your hand is in his hair, hushing him back to sleep. your sweet nothings ring in his ear and he nuzzled his face farther into your chest, smiling slightly.
he definitely deserves more than an hour.
Tumblr media
taglist: @sweetsbysatori
© all content belongs to rueren on tumblr
144 notes · View notes
vialaviolenza · 4 months
Text
@epitaffia for a plotted starter !
Tumblr media
Since daybreak things were bizarre—a cacophony of events making the man nearly writhe in frustration as he sat in the plush interior of a limousine with a cigarette in hand. It's nursed with intensity, black lipstick smudged across the filter as a deep groan of annoyance escapes him, his onyx eyes glancing out the tinted window to look at the familiar street. Soon enough he'd be home, locked up in his villa where he could decompress in the only ways he knew how.
A sudden stop jerks him forward, a hand catching himself before he can tumble to the ground⸻❝ Cazzo! Watch it ! ❞ The pink-haired male barks in irritation, his eyes lifting to stare into the rearview mirror at the driver's reflection. The man merely nods with wide eyes. As Diavolo settles back into his seat, his eyes pay a glance out the other window, watching a black cat run away without injury⸻A black cat crossing his path as well? Just what the fuck was going on?
For the remainder of the drive his chest heaves, a perpetual pounding within his ribcage as the cigarette is snuffed out in an ashtray. The instant they pull up to the villa he gets out on his accord, slamming the door as he makes a stride to his front door, his keys fished out from his custom suit's pockets so that he may enter the house. Immediately the boss is greeted by a behemoth of a dog who seems somewhat riled up only to calm and stare at his master in confusion.❝ Ebano. . . ❞ Diavolo approaches, a hand outstretched for the Doberman-Great Dane mix to sniff, and almost instantly it begins wandering down the hall, looking back to Diavolo expectantly.
With a sigh he follows, his suit jacket removed and tucked into his arm as the dog leads him through the villa, all the way to his office. Imagine his surprise when he opens the door and finds a bloodied figure on the floor with Avorio ( his other Doberman-Great Dane mix, this one albino and female ). That familiar pounding in his chest comes back as wide eyes narrow, his foot further pushing the door open to enter the office alongside Ebano who sits between them calmly, looking back and forth in confusion before laying down.
Tumblr media
❝ Who are you ? ❞ The jacket is discarded on an armchair as he tosses it aside, his anger swelling with each passing moment as the flexible desk light is turned on and aimed at the body in the corner⸻he didn't care if the intruder was blinded, he merely wanted a good look, and once he can witness the visage across from him he pauses, blinking a few times to be sure he can trust his eyes. He was no stranger to hallucinations, but Avorio and Ebano assured him that such wasn't currently happening. . .So why was his youth looking at him in fear and confusion, covered in blood ?
❝ How did you get in here ? ❞ The tie around his neck is loosened as he turns to approach a small drink cart in the room where he begins to fix a whiskey on the rock. ❝⸻Smotret. ❞ Immediately Ebano stands up, baring his teeth as he growls at the. . .boy with intention, really all he needed was Diavolo's order despite there being no current threats of violence from the intruder. The pink-haired male looks back over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised to observe if the boy would fight back, after a moment he gives another command. ❝. . .Nazad. ❞ And Ebano steps back, still baring his teeth, his tongue licking at his jowls as the animal glances at Avorio, then to Diavolo. After a few moments, Diavolo approaches with two drinks in his hand, squatting down to meet the other's eyes.
Tumblr media
❝ Are you injured ? ❞ A hand holding ice water extends, offering it with a firm expression of expectation. If and when Doppio takes it, Diavolo uses his free hand to meet Ebano's head to pet the animal. ❝ Pauza. . . . . .I expect you to tell me everything if you want to see the sunrise. I think that's only fair.❞ A murmur, and with the command Ebano relaxes and lays back down as Diavolo takes a long steady sip of his drink, a heavy sigh leaving his lips as he awaits a response.
Tumblr media
3 notes · View notes
plaidbooks · 4 months
Text
Seasons Greetings
A/N: I know it's been a while since I wrote anything and this may not get traction because it is two OCs in a fandom, rather than established characters, but I hope you'll give this a shot! If you missed the bios on these two, you can read it here!
This covers the Spending Xmas Alone in @storiesofsvu bingo!
Also, let me know if you'd like to be on the taglist for these two!
Tags: none
Words: 1098
Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart
Pairing: Benoit Montclair x Amelia Dansworth
~~~~~~~~~~
Amelia sat at her desk, typing away. Though it was Christmas Day, she had decided to come into the office--there was work to be done and if she didn't do it before New Years, she'd be worried for the whole vacation.
Besides, she wasn't doing anything for Christmas anyways; just sitting in her flat, drinking hot chocolate and watching some cheesy romcom on tv.
This seemed less pathetic. At least she thought so.
Suddenly, there was a soft knock on her open office door, and she jumped in surprise; she was supposed to be in the office alone today while everyone was off for the holidays.
But standing in the doorway was none other than Mr. Benoit Montclair, looking handsome as hell, even with his brow furrowed in concern, dark eyes on her.
"I thought everyone had the next week and a half off?" he said gently in his deep voice. He came into her office fully, standing in front of her desk.
Amelia blinked at him before responding, "they do--we do. But I wanted to finish this little financial snafu and it couldn't wait until the new year--"
"So you decided to come in on Christmas Day? No other day would suit you?"
She couldn't help but notice how he skipped over the "financial snafu;" did Mr. Montclair really trust her that much?
"I, uh, I don't have any family or anything to celebrate with. So, I thought I'd just get this done now." Heat rises to her cheeks, so Amelia switched it on him. "Why are you here, sir?"
Ben gave her a curt smile, lips pressed in a thin line. "My father is a workaholic and my sister lives in Japan."
"Oh...I'm sorry...."
He shrugs. "I don't really celebrate the holidays, anyways. And, like you mentioned, there is work to be done."
Running out of things to say, Amelia goes quiet. Her eyes slowly roam over her boss; from his Italian leather shoes, up his tall frame, and taking in his expensive suit--it probably cost more than her rent for a full year.
But what stopped her scan was a white envelope clutched in his hand.
Ben's eyes followed hers to the envelope, and he holds it up, glancing at it as if he also forgot he was holding. "Oh!" he started, "when I saw that you were logged in on site, I thought I'd bring you your Christmas bonus--so you wouldn't have to wait for the post like everyone else."
"Thank you, sir!" Amelia replied in shock. She had been looking forward to her bonus; it helped pay some of the end-of-the-year bills.
He walked closer to her desk, arm outstretched. But just as Amelia reached out for it, he flipped it out of reach. Confused, she looked up into his face, and he smiled softly at her.
"Do me a favor? Take the rest of your vacation off. I don't want to see yo here again before the new year, understand?"
The intensity in his dark eyes paired with that soft smile has her melting. "I--yes sir. And, um, you too?" She wasn't quite sure why she added that, but she couldn't stop the words from tumbling past her lips.
Ben's smile grew, showing a line of pearly white teeth. "I will try my best. It's hard when you're the boss."
And with that, he held out the envelope in his long, thin fingers. As soon as Amelia took it, Ben turned and headed out the door.
"Happy Christmas," he called over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.
"And happy new year," Amelia replied, sitting back. With her boss's departure, she felt a tension leave her body.
Shaking her head to clear it, she started typing again. But the thought of her Christmas bonus sitting on her desk kept pulling her attention. She knew she had to look at the amount, so she could better plan her bill payments.
Amelia used her envelope cutter to break the tape and opened it to reveal the cheque inside. But as she gazed at the amount, she almost dropped it in disbelief.
Her normal paycheque was £5000 a month; about £1k more than an entry position. She had been expecting a £100 bonus. Instead, she had received double her monthly amount.
This could pay bills for a few months! she thought, a lump in her throat. There had to be some mistake--but no, also in the envelope was a letter.
Eyes skimming over the words, Amelia found that Mr. Montclair gave her that bonus--as well as "other, faithful employees," the letter said--out of his own pocket.
It took her a few moments to process before she was able to continue working. But the rest of the day and well into the night, Amelia had a floaty feeling about her.
5 notes · View notes
graha-stan-account · 7 months
Text
Check: Day 13
Check: v. examine (something) in order to determine its accuracy, quality, or condition, or to detect the presence of something.
Present, 5.0: Napha wakes up after Crown of the Immaculate. Sneaked this one in just before deadline, may get updates.
FFXIVWrite 2023 Masterlist
---
Napha sat up slowly. She stopped once upright, but her stomach continued its tumble. She wretched something horrible, a puddle of luminescent white spilling onto the floor. She took a shuddering breath before wilting back to the mattress. 
"J'napha...?" She heard the door click shut some ways off, the dark behind her eyes obscuring all. "I've been told the Master of Suites heard you stirring during his rounds." 
She fought her eyes open, slowly, tenuously, as though woken from a deep sleep and not a nauseated stupor. She tried to command her hands to pin her own eyes open, but her arms would not answer. Instead they rolled and lolled in her head until she could make them to focus on the hazy figure before her. 
"It is so good to see you come about. I'm unsure how much longer our tales could keep the healers of the Crystarium from your room," said Y'shtola. 
J'napha took a few shallow breaths, saving up strength to propel words from her lips. 
"How long?" It was barely a whisper, the sound of a feebly whistling kettle. 
"A few days... a week? Without night to divide the day, I again have lost count." 
"I'm sorry." 
"None of that. In withholding the light you'd pay a price too high." Y'shtola's gears were turning, her mind was off somewhere else and she stared past Napha at something only visible to her mind's eye. "They are worried for you, you know." 
"What... have you told them?" 
"You're showing some symptoms... of eater exposure. Ah, but lest you worry... Ryne has done what she can to hold you together." 
"When do we depart for the Tempest?" 
"The... Tempest?" 
"I won't leave him there." She rolled onto her shoulder hair, falling over her eyes, as she tried to dangle her feet toward the floor. 
"Are you certain you can stand?" A firm grip found Napha's arm, helping her to her feet. "You've been in a torpor for some time." 
Her feet finding the floor, Napha commanded all the strength in her legs to stand upright. "Need a bit of water is all," she managed to squeak out before collapsing onto the wood planks face first. 
"They've been in and out of here for days, you know. Running themselves ragged. You should at least take advantage of this time to gather your strength. Else all is for naught," said a familiar voice, Napha's constant companion of late. 
When she was roused to her senses once more, Napha was again upon the bed, burning eyes fixed on the ceiling. Napha's head was hammering, as though she had swollen several times her size yet her bones strove to yet hold her in. Ragged breathing was all she could hear, though she could not see anyone. She realized it was her own. 
Y'shtola appeared again, holding a hand to Napha's forehead. 
"The consensus has become: no, you cannot stand. So rest. You are alive. That is enough." 
Indeed. 
"How long have you known?" Y'shtola had just been preparing to pull away from her bedside, but the question gave her pause. Her brows furrowed slightly and she averted her gaze as she took a breath. 
"How long have you known?" she echoed. 
Of course she knew from the start something was amiss. The woman could only see aether. Even before Napha could sense the troubles of her body, Y'shtola had watched the cracks form. 
In a way they all did. To the last. 
It was a history which always bared repeating. 
2 notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media
18+ Palmerstrange smut
One Night With You… Again.
Chapter 2/4: The Suit Stays On.
Stephen’s fingers fumbled with what to say for several moments before eventually typing something simple:
S: I missed seeing your face tonight.
He placed his phone on his thigh and swallowed hard, a little nervous of what the response would be — if anything. His phone buzzed.
C: I couldn't have crashed your fancy dinner. Anyway, I was otherwise engaged.
Stephen squinted his eyes and felt his heart rate increase just from having her name on the screen.
S: You wouldn't have ‘crashed’ anything. You missed out on a good evening — it would have been even better had there been a familiar face for me to buy a drink for.
C: You’ll have been happy to save some money, then. Besides, you get to see me at work tomorrow, and instead of spending money, you’ll be getting paid instead.
Stephen’s lip twitched as he immediately thought of what his current state of mind wanted to reply. He paused for a brief moment before daring himself to go ahead with it.
S: I’d pay anything to see you right now.
The time between pressing send and waiting for the response felt like a lifetime. Stephen attempted to get out of the armchair before immediately darting his eyes to his phone as it buzzed — tumbling backward into the chair again.
C: You’re drunk. How much have you had to drink?
S: I’m not. Not anymore.
C: That doesn’t answer my question.
S: Fine. I’ve not had enough to result in me hallucinating that you’re here, but I’ve also probably had too much that has resulted in me texting my ex.
C: You’re so dramatic.
S: No, I’m not. Both of those scenarios end with the perfect outcome.
C: Which is?
S: You being here, and the thing I want the most.
C: Dare I ask?
Again, Stephen dared to test his luck.
S: The both of us waking up wearing nothing but each other. Again.
C: You really need to learn how to be subtle.
S: Why? Being subtle is just the long way round getting what I want.
C: Ever the romantic, as usual.
S: Wining and dining you never worked in the past.
C: We’re not in the past anymore. I’m here and you’re there.
S: You could be here.
C: Where is ‘here’?
S: My place.
C: Give me one good reason why I would want to do that.
Stephen smirked to himself as several ideas sprang to mind — his thumbs beginning to type before deleting it each time and rewording it until it was something he was happy with, chuckling to himself as he wrote it.
S: I am hosting a party in the not so distant future and I need to know which cheese pairs with each wine, but I'm afraid that, should I have any more alcohol, it would result in me either tumbling and hitting my head on the floor or me being too hungover in the morning. Both of which would result in the death of many patients because I wouldnt be there to make them better. Could you live with that guilt? Knowing that people died because the hospital’s greatest surgeon can’t make it into work, and it’s all because you wouldnt help him with his wine and cheese selection?
C: Wow. Okay. Since you went to all that effort to create a fake scenario just to try and earn my company for a little while, I may just pay you a visit.
Stephen’s eyes widened, quickly responding.
S: Really?
C: It better be worth it.
S: Isn't it always?
Suddenly, he was nervous. He never got nervous usually. He tried to put it down to the uncertainty of Christine’s arrival. He placed his phone down on the table and poured himself some more whisky into his glass, sipping at it as he leaned back into the armchair. Switching the TV on with the remote by the side of him, he got himself comfortable whilst waiting for the buzzer on his keypad. By the time it finally sounded, he had almost convinced himself that she would never arrive. He quickly finished what was left in his glass as he stood up and walked over to the sink to place the glass in it before walking toward the door. He paused for a moment to brush down the front of the suit he was still wearing and cleared his throat before unlocking it.
“I know I'm good, but I did not think I could make you come that quickly,” He smiled sweetly as he opened the door, mumbling under his breath, “Though, I suppose I’ve had some practice over the years when it comes to that subject.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Stephen,” Christine rolled her eyes, “And hello to yourself, too.”
“After how cold you were with me today, pardon me for not expecting you to take my invitation.” Stephen shrugged, crossing his arm across his chest.
“Still in a suit?” Her eyes scanned him up and down.
“I couldn’t risk you turning up and not being dressed nice and smart,” He winked, “Feel free to take it off, if you wish.”
“Are we just going to continue here for the rest of the night or does this invite actually extend to allow me past the doorway?” She chose to ignore his previous response.
“Well, that would depend on what you consider we are ‘continuing’,” Stephen raised his eyebrows, “Because, correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe that, that very doorway you are standing in is one of the very few places in this apartment that we haven’t had our way with one another.”
“Stephen Strange, you are such a slime ball.” Christine shook her head and pushed her way past him, heading toward the couch.
“That isn't very nice!” Stephen scoffed, shutting the door before walking in the same direction.
“Neither was the way you tried to convince me to come to your fancy dinner tonight, but you didn't hear me complaining.” Christine looked up at him from the couch.
“Actually, I did.” Stephen squinted his eyes, standing with his hands on his hips.
“Oh, so you actually listened for once? Shocking.” Christine widened her eyes.
“Did you just come here to insult me?” Stephen frowned playfully.
“If the shoe fits,” Christine shrugged, “We’re usually too deep into other mouth-occupying acitivities before it got to this point.”
“Oh?” Stephen smirked.
“Oh, don’t play dumb with me, Stephen,” She sighed, “Do you not think its obvious by now why you invite me here?”
“Well, I actually didn't think it was, no...” He pouted his lips, innocently scratching the back of his neck.
“I thought you said you didn’t like being subtle because it was the long way around getting to what you want?” Christine arched a brow.
“Would you... like a drink?” Stephen asked, feeling himself blushing slightly as he changed the subject.
“Sure. That is the reason you invited me here, right?” Christine leaned back into the sofa.
“I... Uh, yeah! Yeah!” Stephen nodded quickly and turned in the direction of the kitchen.
“To go with the cheese?” Christine raised both eyebrows.
“Ah, well, yes...” Stephen spoke louder from the kitchen, “I— I, of course, don’t yet have the cheese...” He continued speaking as he carried two glasses of wine back into the room.
“No?” Christine watched him from the couch.
“No, because it would be stupid of me to have already bought it without knowing which wine and cheese combo I was going with, right?” He winked as he sat down, handing Christine a glass.
“Right. No, of course,” She nodded appreciatively as she took the glass, unable to stop herself from letting out a quiet giggle from the look on his face, “Of course.”
“Cheers.” Stephen held the glass up, tilting it toward Christine.
“Cheers.” Christine crinkled her nose and tapped their glasses together before bringing it to her lips.
Stephen paused for a moment as he watched her take a sip, waiting for her approval of the taste.
“Good?” He asked.
“Good.” She nodded, resting the glass in her lap.
“I’m glad.” Stephen lifted his glass to his lips, his eyes trying to be as discreet as possible as they ran over the dress she was wearing.
“Hang on, Stephen,” She moved slightly closer to him, making him pull his glass away and raise his eyebrows, “Shouldn't a doctor know better than to mix his drinks?”
“I’m sorry, how did you...” Stephen squinted his eyes.
“You’ve already been drinking, you told me,” She shrugged, “Unless it was wine, also.”
“Why don’t you tell me, hm?” Stephen tried not to smirk, his eyes flitting from hers to her lips.
“I’m not a mind reader, Stephen.” She felt herself blushing, averting eye contact.
“No, but your taste buds are pretty well in tact, aren't they?” Stephen arched a brow.
“Stephen...” Christine exhaled slowly, absentmindedly biting her lip as she watched him lightly place his hand on her knee.
“Otherwise, why would I have chosen you to come and do this whole... wine and cheese dilemma with me, huh?” He grinned, taking a drink from his glass.
“Oh, are we still sticking to this story?” Christine laughed, rolling her eyes.
“What story?” Stephen played dumb, shrugging and finishing what was left in his glass before setting it down on the coffee table and turning back toward Christine, “Oh, shit, look what's happened now... I’ve mixed the previous alcohol with this one!” He gasped dramatically, widening his eyes and glacing down at Christine’s hand inching closer to his thigh on the couch, “You’re going to have to dig even deeper with those taste buds now, sweetheart.”
“I wish you wouldn't make your arrogance so sexy...” Christine spoke quietly and swallowed hard, her eyes falling to his parted lips as her fingertips brushed against the material of his suit pants.
“Please accept my apologies, but I don't think there’s anything I can do about that.” He smirked, placing his hand over hers that was on his thigh and squeezing it gently. Their eyes met as their bodies turned to face each other and Christine lifted both of their hands, brushing the back of his against her cheek. Their breathing patterns were now in sync — shaky and heavy as their lips parted.
“What is this power you hold over me, Stephen Strange?” Her words were barely audible, feeling herself burning up just from the touch of his hand now cupping her face and the want in his eyes.
“Kiss me,” He whispered, moving his face closer so she could feel his hot breath against her lips, “Just... fucking kiss me, Christine. Please.”
“Only because its my favourite way to shut you up.” Christine grinned and leaned in, in unison with Stephen — her heated body now freezing as their lips touched.
There was a pause, not for long, just enough time to confirm that this was what they both wanted. Stephen’s thumb repeatedly stroked her cheek as they tilted their heads either way to deepen the kiss, their eyes closing. Christine made a soft noise as Stephen’s needy kisses resulted in him accidentally nibbling on her bottom lip. He placed his free hand by the hem of her dress and teasingly swept his all-too-familiar fingertips against her skin, something that always resulted in her body turning to jelly. The wine glass fell from her grip and smashed onto the floor, the liquid already seeping its way into the carpet.
“O—Oh, Stephen, I—I’m sorr—” Christine whimpered out her words, almost completely lost in his kisses.
“Don't be,” He panted against her lips, turning his body so his back was now leaned against the back of the couch. Christine immediately took his body language as invitation to climb onto him, straddling his lap and pressing their bodies back together like magnets, “I have more important things to worry about right now.”
“Mm, like what?” She mumbled against his lips, pushing her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck as his hands moved up and down the back of her dress.
“Like worrying if my dick will still work after all this alcohol.” He half joked, pressing a harder kiss to her lips.
“Stephen!” Christine giggled and swatted his shoulder gently before gripping onto the lapels of his blazer and pulling him off the back of the couch briefly before pushing him back against it with a little more force, “Let me help.” She whispered seductively against his lips, burying her fingers in his hair again and starting to rock against the crotch of his pants with each kiss, also pressing her breasts firmly against his chest.
“O—Oh, baby, I take it back...” He let out a breathy moan against her lips, “I don't think we’re going to have a problem.”
Christine smirked against his lips and groaned softly as he placed his hands against her thighs again, squeezing them firmly as he pushed his hips upward to meet hers. Their tongues tangled and danced together, eyes rolling back in pleasure. His fingertips traced further up her bare thighs from under her dress and he teasingly drew patterns with them against her skin, able to feel her trembling against him as a result.
“Fuck, I can’t take it anymore,” Christine whimpered, climbing off him but instantly reaching for his hands — afraid her weak legs wouldn't allow her to stand, “Come on.”
“Wh-Where are we going?” Stephen blinked his heavy eyes, clumsily standing up as she tugged on his hands.
“Anywhere,” She spoke against his lips, standing up on her tip toes to ensure their kisses didn't break, “Anywhere that will allow me to feel the weight of you on top of me.”
“Jesus, you don't have to tell me twice.” Stephen grinned, walking her backwards as their bodies remained close together.
“Oh!” Christine gasped quietly as she felt the back of her legs hit something cold.
“I always knew I had this damn piano built at a particular height for a reason.” He spoke against her lips, biting down on her bottom one and tugging it out slightly.
“Your piano?” She giggled against his lips, trailing her hands down the front of his body and sucking her stomach in slightly as she felt Stephen’s hands caressing down her sides.
“I’ll make you cry out a better tune than anything ever played on this goddamn thing.” He growled against her lips, his fingertips tracing over her hips.
“Stephen... fuck.” She breathed out her words as he lifted her off the ground, able to feel the rise in the front of his pants press against her as their bodies properly brushed together.
“W—Wait, wait,” Stephen panted, setting Christine back down on her feet instead of on top of the piano.
“What?” Christine’s eyes opened, resting her hands on his shoulders, “You okay?”
“Are you... are you sure this is what you want?” Stephen asked, his expression serious as he gazed down at her, “Right now?”
“Stephen...” Christine bit her lip, trailing her hands down the front of his body again, “This /is/ what I want,” She stopped at the waistband of his trousers, glancing down briefly before back up into his eyes, “Right now,” One of her hands dipped, tracing her fingertips back and forth over the evident protrusion now severely restricting the space within his pants as she leaned up to whisper against his lips, “Every inch.”
“F—Fuck...” He inhaled sharply through clenched teeth as she repeatedly rubbed her fingertip over the head of his cock from over his trousers.
Christine smirked from his reaction and watched him closely as he tried to compose himself enough to steady his hands against her hips. Letting out a shaky breath his eyes fell shut again and their lips pressed back together — as if the desperation of her kiss was enough to give his trembling hands the confidence to lift her up onto the piano.
“Come down here...” She grinned, immediately leaning back on the top of the piano and pulling him with her by the lapels of his blazer.
“Instruct me to do one more thing and this whole event may end right now in my pants.” He chuckled uneasily, feeling himself throbbing against the material.
“Oh, no, we don’t want that...” Christine giggled, gazing up at him as he began to unbutton his shirt and removed his hands for just a moment to begin to take his blazer off, “Wait, Stephen, no...” Christine quickly sat up, shaking her head.
“Hm, what?” Stephen instantly stopped and swallowed hard, “I’m sorry, did I... did I presume wrong? I’m sorry if I... I shouldn’t have...” He stumbled over his words, narrowing his eyebrows.
“No, shh, it’s not that,” Christine whispered reassuringly, sliding her hands up his shirt-covered chest before setting them on the shoulders of the blazer he was wearing, leaning further up to speak lowly against his lips, “The suit can stay on.”
“The suit can...?” Stephen let out a singular laugh, unsure of if she was serious or not.
“Yeah,” She nodded, her fingers now grasping onto the lapels on his blazer again as she lowered herself back down onto the top of the piano, “It’s one of the sexiest things I have ever seen you wear.”
“Thank you.” Stephen grinned against her lips, his body now hovering over hers as their kisses began once more.
“And I'd like you to wear it while you fuck me on top of your piano.” She growelled against his lips, pulling at his bottom lip as she felt his hands slide under the hem of her dress, grasping desperately at her underwear and tugging them down her legs with no mercy.
“I’m sure I can make that work.” He smirked, carelessly tossing her underwear to the floor.
8 notes · View notes