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rynbutt · 17 days

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pierced. pt. 7 | spencer reid.

He was falling for every part of you.

you will find the other parts on my masterlist.

cw: fem!reader, 18+ content (MDNI), oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (DONT DO THIS), nipple stuff (duh).

a/n: this is basically just porn. he got me BARKING.

Spencer was basically pushing you out the door as you left Rossi’s house.

You were having a pleasant conversation with Hotch when Spencer grazed your shoulder, asking if you were ready to go. You told him you would be ready in a minute and almost thirty minutes after he asked, it was like he was sulking. He asked you again and this time you felt you should honour his wishes. You hugged JJ, Emily and Penelope goodbye and thanked Rossi again for inviting you, Spencer wasn’t so bothered by formalities and started ushering you out the door.

You berated him gently as you left, reminding him to be polite. Spencer lovingly reminded you that they’re used to him and his antics. Spencer unlocked his car and before you could even open the passenger side door, he spun you around, pushing you against the car door. He cupped your face in his warm hands, pressing a hard kiss to your lips.

It was then you understood why he wanted to leave, the hard-on in his pants pressing against your thigh. You gently pushed on his chest, forcing him to pull away from your lips. You smiled coyly at him, moving some of his messy hair out of his face.

“I don’t think having sex against your car outside Rossi’s house is exactly sensible, Spence,” you whispered, gently fixing his tie.

Spencer’s mouth fell open, “I wasn’t- I was not implying we do such a thing.”

You giggled at his offended expression, “You sure?” You gestured down at the bulge forming in his pants.

“...No comment,” he retorted, kissing your cheek before finally freeing you of his grasp to get in the driver’s seat. You found it cute really, how much more confident Spencer had gotten when showing you affection.

Spencer held your hand for the entire ride home, his fingers laced with yours, making your hand look so much smaller compared to his. He ran the pad of his thumb along your thumb and side of your wrist, keeping your attention drawn to him.

You were sleepy when you got home, though you had the feeling Spencer wasn’t going to let you sleep much at all. You fumbled with your keys as you shoved the key in the lock on your door, Spencer getting handsy when you didn’t move as fast as he wanted you to. You finally unlocked your door and pushed it open, kicking your heels off the minute you stepped inside, the blisters on the back of your feet finally gaining some relief.

Spencer followed behind you and once your shoes were off, he pressed you against the door, one hand on your hip while the other held your jaw, kissing you deeply. You smiled against the kiss, lifting your hands to hold his face, fingers playing with his hair. You felt Spencer’s tongue push into your mouth, his hands coming down to scoop up your thighs.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, your dress hiking up to your upper thighs. Spencer’s hands gently cupped the flesh of your ass, his hands kneading the soft skin. You let out a soft whine against his lips, pulling away for a moment to breathe.

“This why you wanted to get me alone, pretty boy?” You breathed.

“What gave it away?” He retorted, planting open-mouthed kisses along the underside of your jaw. Your hand gripped his hair as he nipped at the side of your neck, his hands slipping under your dress to feel your soft skin.

Spencer lifted one of his hands to feel around for the zipper on the back of your dress. He tugged on the zip, pulling it all the way down as the fabric loosened on your shoulders. He began kissing down your neck to the exposed skin above the neckline of your dress. You reached up to pull the fabric down your shoulders, exposing the swell of your breasts to his hungry eyes.

“You’re so beautiful,” Spencer mumbled, pressing a long peck to your lips. He dipped his head down, kissing down between your breasts as his hands kneaded your ass. He pressed a kiss to the side of your breast before taking one of your pierced nipples in his mouth, his tongue flicking over the hardened bud. The cold metal felt weird in his mouth but it sent his mind reeling. You moaned softly against the back of your hand, your other hand gripping Spencer’s hair.

“Fuck- Spencer,” you breathed out through a whine as his teeth nipped at the squishy skin.

“You were right,” he glanced up at you, a cheeky grin on his face, “they are sensitive.”

You let out a small noise of surprise as Spencer lifted you off the door, your arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders as he carried you to your bedroom. Spencer gently dropped you on your plush sheets, pressing another kiss to your lips before he kicked his shoes off and slipped his blazer off his shoulders.

Your hands reached out to cup his face as he leaned in to kiss you, holding himself above you. Your fingers went to remove his tie but he stopped you, gripping your wrists and pinning your hands above your head. You let out a soft whine in protest as he began slipping your dress down your hips and legs, tossing it to the ground somewhere in your room.

He planted a kiss to your sternum, his lips ghosting over your hardened nipples. The feeling sent a shiver down your spine, feeling heat form in your lower belly as a wet patch began to form on your lace panties.

“Can I go down on you?” He asked breathlessly, his dark eyes peering up at you.

You felt your skin heat up at the question, “you… want to?” You don’t think any man who came before him has ever wanted to go down on you.

“More than anything,” he confessed.

“Okay,” you nodded.

“Okay, what?” He teased, kissing the skin above your belly button.

“I want you to go down on me, Spencer,” you whispered, lifting one of your legs to drape over his hip. His hand held your knee before snaking up your thigh to play with the thin fabric of your panties against your hip. He let go of your wrists, his hands tugging on his tie. He pulled it over his head before reaching up to tighten the fabric around your wrists, pinning them above your head.

“You look cute like that,” he grinned.

“Shut up,” you retorted. Spencer suddenly pulled you to the edge of the bed, kneeling down in front of you on the floor as he pulled your panties down your thighs. You lifted your hips for him, letting him tug them off and toss them across the room with your dress.

He looked up at you from between your spread legs, “You okay, angel?”

You smiled softly at the nickname, “Please, Spence- don’t tease me.”

Spencer grinned, his large hands pressing on the back of your thighs, pushing your legs open until you were spread open for him, your slick cunt making his mouth water. You wanted to cover your face and squeal with embarrassment as he stared at you with nothing but adoration and lust in his eyes.

You were about to protest when Spencer pressed a kiss to your clit. You let out a soft moan at the feeling, your hands pulling at the tie around your wrists. Spencer let out a groan as he dipped his tongue inside your cunt, tasting your sweetness for the first time.

You threw your head back at the feeling of Spencer sucking softly on your clit, his tongue gently flicking over the swollen bud. Spencer pushed your legs further apart when he felt you squeezing against him, searching for some kind of friction. You had no idea where he learned any of this but he was making you dizzy.

“F-fuck, Spence,” you moaned out, your hands shooting down to grasp his hair, grinding your hips against his mouth. Spencer took one of his hands off your thighs, reaching his fingers up to press against your lips. You opened your mouth, sucking on his long fingers as he stared up at you from between your plush thighs.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth, now coated in your spit. He placed a kiss to your clit before gently pushing his finger inside you all the way to the last knuckle. Your hips bucked against the feeling of Spencer curling his fingers inside you while his tongue swirled around your clit. He pushed a second finger in, the pads of his fingertips pressing against the spongy spot inside you.

You felt a warmth blooming in your abdomen as your hips bucked against Spencer’s face, his fingers splitting you open while he sucked on your swollen clit, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Your fingers tangled in Spencer’s hair, tugging at the roots, “Spencer- Spencer- I’m gonna-”

Spencer flicked his tongue over your clit, curling his fingers in such a way that made your mind go blank as the coil in your belly snapped, your cunt pulsing around Spencer’s fingers as you arched your back off your bed. Your slick gushed over his fingers and mouth, the sound of Spencer lapping up your wetness like a starved man was lewd but it was undeniably hot seeing him pull away from you with slick glistening over his lips and chin.

“You did so good, angel,” Spencer cooed as he rubbed your thigh, bringing you back down to earth. You were limp against the edge of your bed, your thighs aching from being pressed to your chest. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly as a thin sheen of sweat coated your skin.

Spencer planted a kiss to the spot above your pelvis, leaving a trail of gentle kisses up your body before finally meeting your lips, making you taste yourself on his lips. You reached up, wrists still bound as you started unbuttoning his dress shirt.

Spencer grabbed your hands gently, “don’t you think you’ve had enough for one night, angel?”

You looked up at him, “If you don’t fuck me, I’ll be so mad.”

Spencer chuckled at your response, cupping your face as he pressed a kiss to your lips. “Say that again,” he whispered.

You felt your skin heat up, “...that I want you to fuck me?” you mumbled.

“Yeah,” he teased, “go on.”

You hesitated a moment, suddenly feeling embarrassed as if he wasn’t tongue-fucking you a minute ago. You leaned up to his ear, your lips ghosting over the shell of his ear, “...I want you to fuck me, Spencer.”

Spencer grinned coyly, his hand coming up to grip your jaw, tilting your head up to kiss you. He moved your legs apart, slotting himself between your thighs to grind his hard-on against your soaked cunt. You groaned against his lips, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him close, your clit grinding on the rough fabric of his pants.

Spencer pulled away from you, pulling his shirt off his shoulders before pulling at his belt buckle. He pulled his pants down slightly, pulling his cock from the confines of his boxers. He looked painfully hard, precum leaking from the pretty pink tip.

You went to reach for his cock, only for him to stop you, pinning your hands back above your head, “If you touch me,” he panted, “I’m going to cum.”

“Hurry up then,” you breathed, grinning cheekily. Spencer sat back on his calves, your legs draped over his hips. He tugged on your thighs, reefing you up to grind his cock against your slick folds. He pulled you up into a sitting position, pulling your bound wrists over his head so you could hold onto him as you sat on his lap.

“Wanna look at you,” Spencer whispered, one hand gripping the base of his cock while the other gripped your ass. He guided the tip of his cock to your wet hole, slowly pushing the tip inside you. He groaned against your neck at the feeling of your wet cunt sucking him in. You moaned as he split you open, both his hands pulling at the flesh of your ass as he slowly pulled you down on his cock.

“Mm- Spencer-” you moaned, the tip of his cock reaching so deep inside you it felt like he was in your stomach. Spencer wrapped a hand around your waist, forcing you to arch your back against his chest. Your tits squeezed against his upper chest, your head tipping back. Spencer planted kisses to the column of your throat, slowly lifting your hips to bring you back down on his cock.

“Can’t believe…,” he grunted as you began bouncing on his cock, pulling almost all the way out of you before plunging you back down, “...you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Spence,” you whined, your hips slamming against his as he bounced you up and down. He reached a hand down to rub at your sensitive clit, the overstimulation paired with the feeling of his cock grinding against your velvet walls making you dizzy.

“F-Fuck, you’re so tight,” Spencer groaned, bouncing you faster and faster on his cock. Your legs were shaking as you clamped down on his waist. Spencer suddenly pushed himself up, his cock still inside you as he forced you onto your back, holding himself above you as he slammed his hips into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling your room.

He breathed hard above you, trying his best to keep his composure as your cunt squeezed down on his cock, tightening as your orgasm neared. You got louder and louder as your abdomen grew hotter and hotter, your legs tightening around Spencer’s body to pull him closer.

“I’m gonna cum, baby,” Spencer groaned, your nails scraping over the skin between Spencer’s shoulders. He groaned at the feeling, dropping his head to your shoulder as his rhythm grew sloppy, hips stuttering against yours.

“M-Me too,” you whined, back arching off the bed. The coil in your belly snapped and you came harder than you did before. Spencer fucked you through your high, his breathing growing shallow and jagged as he chased his own high.

“Fuck,” Spencer grunted, quickly pulling out of you as he came on your lower belly, holding himself above you. He breathed hard, slipping your tied hands over his head to untie you. Your wrists felt slightly bruised from being bound but you were just happy you could cup Spencer’s cheeks and kiss him properly.

“You okay, baby?” you whispered.

Spencer looked up at you, a bead of sweat running down his temple, “Yeah, fuck yeah, sweetheart,” he laughed breathlessly, sitting back on the bed to find something to clean you up. He picked up one of the shirts he left here a couple days ago, wiping his cum off your belly gently.

He tossed the shirt onto the floor before reaching up to pull your sheets back. Spencer quickly got up, pulling his boxers back on and opening your closet door to find some clean panties for you. He picked his favourite pair; lilac purple with a little white bow.

Spencer helped you slip them up your legs before joining you under the sheets, tucking the two of you in. You were tired, your eyelids feeling heavy. Spencer’s fingertips danced over your cheek, tucking some of your hair behind your ear.

“...Did you know sex can improve your sleep and can reduce overall stress both physically and emotionally?”

You started laughing softly, eyes still closed lazily, “Very sexy, Spence.”

“You told me intelligence was sexy,” he retorted.

“It is, but right now I just need you to cuddle me,” you replied, prying your eyes open to look at him. Spencer opened his arms, letting you scoot into him, resting your head against his chest and listening to the quiet beat of his heart. “See? This is nice.”

Spencer stroked your hair as you dozed off. Tofu suddenly pushed your door open, her little bell chiming as she jumped on your bed. She sat behind you, staring at Spencer over your shoulder.

“...Don’t look at me like that.”

a/n: you know what they say about nipple piercings, they taste like house keys and there's no place like home.

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#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #x reader #cm spencer #dr reid #spencer reid x reader smut #criminal minds smut #criminal minds spencer reid #spencer reid smut #dr reid smut

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devinedoll · 3 days

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when bunny!reader finds herself in an unusual state of discomfort, it’s up to rafe to be the firm hand that brings her down to earth.

p!link credit @princessbrunette for bunny!reader

you’ve been uncharacteristically moody all day, trudging behind rafe at the club, dragging your feet in your little kitten heels, hanging off his arm with a perpetual frown.

rafe could put up with this, the petulant whining and the childish behavior. what he couldn’t put up with, was the outrageous lack of respect for rafe and his clientele. you’ve embarrassed him one too many times with your low neckline and short skirt, your pure disregard for feelings other than your own. after finding you crying in the parking lot, begging for a ride home from jj maybank, rafe had had enough.

he sends you into the house with a swat on your ass, ordering you to make yourself useful by being naked and ready when he arrives upstairs. he takes his time, removing his tie, pouring a glass of whiskey, sipping it slowly as he trails to the second floor.

he bit back his pleased smile when he opened the door to his large tannyhill bedroom. You were sprawled on the bed, head propped against the pillows, knees separated to give him clear access to your drooling hole.

he approached you slowly, swallowing down the last of his brown liquor and sitting next to you on the bed.

you look up at him with glassy, horny eyes. he knows just by the pathetic look you give him, that you’re gone already.

“you gonna be good?” he questions, unbottoning his shirt and black slacks. you nod softly, biting your lip at each inch of skin he reveals to you.

“words.” he chastises, watching you blink hard to find them,

“sorry daddy. yes i’yam” you whisper.

you fight the urge to drop your hand, rub your swollen little clit for an ounce of relief. but you know based on the look in his eyes, the tenseness in his shoulders, that you need to hold back.

he pulls his pants down just enough to expose his dick, your mouth floods with saliva at the view.

he pushes your thighs together, your puffy pussy lips meeting in the middle, a perfect cocoon for rafe’s cock.

he doesn’t enter you, just slipping his hardness through your messy folds, grunting lowly as he fucks himself against you.

you moan at the gentle contact, the bump of his tip against your clit. it’s not enough, you need him in you.

“daddy?” you ask, continuing when he nods, his heavy eyes trained on your heat, “fill me up please.”

it’s less of a question, and more of a demand. rafe doesn’t like that. he just shakes his head, slipping 2 fingers into your mouth to shut you up, his balls tightening at the wet gag you release when they go too far back.

“still.” he deadpans, continuing his thrusts against your sticky center. he’s close, and he knows you’re still a bit away, the lack of contact a clear giveaway that you wouldn’t be able to cum.

he feels himself get harder, shifting his hips up to jerk himself over your face, “open.” he commands, one hand gripping your jaw to keep you in place.

he paints your face, breathing heavily watching you fight to catch some of the hot ropes in your mouth.

he sees your forming pout, and scoops up some of his cum on his thumb, slipping it between your two plush lips.

“you’re fine.”

#rafe cameron prompt #bunny!reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron concepts #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron headcanons #rafe cameron smut #rafe outer banks

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mvltisstuff · 4 months

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santa baby - e.b **

summary: christmas eve shenanigans by the tree

evan buckley x reader

smut!!

things sped up very quickly after athena’s christmas eve party. eventually, the candles burnt out and denny, along with other children, had to be tucked into bed before santa came tumbling on their roofs.

the innocence of the night was wearing off as buck stared at y/n in her tight red dress with the straight neckline. her arms were perfectly strung by her sides with the champagne glass in her hand. her rounded breasts were contoured by the golden lighting in athena’s room, and buck wanted to slap himself.

he hated feeling so turned on in the middle of a celebration for the holidays, but he couldn’t help but feel himself pushing against the fabric of his pants. the tingling sense in his stomach only grew when he saw y/n push her hair behind her shoulder, showing her sexy collarbones on which her long, gold necklace dangled over.

eddie’s sly comments were just faint sounds in bucks ear, teasing him for practically eye-fucking his girl from across the room. so, they were the next to leave.

buck had to stop himself from dragging her over the gearshift of his jeep and pulling her onto his lap. he wanted to feel the way her dress bunched up on her waist and then slowly peel it off her body as she begging for more.

“buck, slow down,” y/n asked, a slight chuckle in her voice looking at bucks white knuckles on the wheel. “it’s all fun and games until you get a ticket.”

“just wait til you see what im gonna do to you when we’re home. you’re gonna want me going faster.”

“oh.” y/n mumbled, shuffling in her seat, feeling the warmth in her lower stomach grow. she honestly thought buck was having a normal night, but she also knew what she was doing when she pulled that dress out of her closet. she slid her control center up on her phone, quickly turning on do not disturb for the night ahead of her.

he pulled frantically into the parking garage, running to her side of the door and grabbing her hand to pull her in.

“jesus, buck slow down!” she laughed. “you’re gonna rip my arm out of the socket.” she shut the door behind her quietly, noticing how late it was and not wanting to disturb anyone.

the moment she spun around, his hands were back on her sides, floating down her back and pushing his fingers into her ass. his lips were onto hers like a magnet, his soft kiss leaving stars in her mind. she could only faintly smell the whiskey on his lips, the one he sipped at while his dick was begging to be touched by her. he allowed her to fall into him, her hands touching the sides of his face and the back of his neck. he moved his legs quickly, pulling them into the living room. he sat her on the couch before sneakily scurrying away.

“what-“ she didn’t even have time to ask before he came back downstairs, his arms flooding with every pillow in the house. he slammed them onto the floor, right in front of the tree. “you do know we have a couch, right?”

“what’s the fun in that? c’mon,” he leans into her ear, his arms wrapping around her hips. “don’t lie and say you’ve never wanted me to fuck you under this tree?”

her mouth went slightly agape, shocked at his eagerness to please and the fantasies speeding through his head. “show me you’re not all talk then.”

he scooped her up, bending his knees to the ground and laying her on the pillows. he unstrapped her heels, throwing them across the room as she lay back against the cool, silky pillows. one of the straps of her dress was already sinking down her shoulder, practically begging buck to kiss all over her already. y/n propped herself up on her elbows, tugging at his shirt as he kissed her aggressively.

she felt his thick arms under the shirt, getting wetter just thinking about his muscles on top of her. buck placed his hands over y/n’s, leading them to the bottom of his shirt where she pulled it up, revealing his sexy figure and where his confidence rose. she just undid a few of the buttons on his pants before he couldn’t handle the wait. he stripped down completely, leaving his naked body to her view only.

it felt unfair for just him to be completely on display, and he only wanted to see her beautiful body in front of him. he started inching the dress up, leaning his body down to her thighs. he planted sweet kisses on her inner thighs, sucking and nipping at the skin. he eventually got to the point where the dress was on the floor, discarded somewhere with their other garments.

his large hands ran over her body, cupping her boobs and squeezing them lightly, in the most teasing way. he always knew how to get her where he wanted her, and he knew she was ready for him now. “shit.”

he placed a hand on her lower back, leaning her up to unhook her bra with one hand. he tossed it behind his head, earning a gentle giggle from y/n. he looked back rapidly, staring at her hardened nipples and bending down to connect his mouth.

his fingers were pinching and circling her left while his tongue worked on the right, getting the perfect amount of stimulation to get y/n all worked up. he loved to see the blush on her face, seeing her get all flustered and horny from his kisses. he sucked all around the skin on her tits, leaving small marks over her.

once he saw that she was fully content, he pecked a bit on her stomach, moving back to her inner thighs, just getting closer to her center. his fingers wrapped around the edge of her thong, pulling it down to fully reveal her wet pussy, the one that belonged to him.

“you’re actually the hottest person i’ve ever seen,” he said, connecting his eyes with her own as she smiled down at him. “just wanna taste you.”

his hands were placed on her knees, spreading her legs as far as they would go and settling himself in between. his fingers ran up her smoothly, the way they always do but make her feel ecstatic. he got his first moan as he circled his wet fingers around her clit, letting his fingers warm her up before his mouth was on her.

he licked and kissed at her lips as if they were just like her face, guiding the almost whimsical noises to leave her mouth. his arm was hooked under her thigh, his hand just by the top of her pubic bone. he lifted her up slightly to connect his lips to her clit, starting to suck again.

y/n’s hands reached down, lightly tugging at bucks growing hair in between her legs. she adored the way his hands were resting on her body as he ate her out and how lovingly he did it. he hit every spot that she needed to get off as she grinded on his tongue as it circled around her pussy.

as he kept licking at her favorite places, she came with a firework that left stars in her eyes and her chest heavy. her lungs filled with air, trying to catch up to the pleasurable feeling in her groin.

“buck!” y/n moans out. “god, buck i’m gonna cum.”

“cum for me, baby.” his deep voice vibrates against her cunt, instantly sparking up her entire body and leaving shocks throughout it. she clenched around nothing but the feeling of bucks mouth working her through her orgasm, her wetness being already around by his tongue.

when he finally released his hold on her legs and removed his mouth from her sensitive clit, buck pushed himself up onto his knees.

he connected his lips with hers once again, y/n now able to taste her sweet pussy on his lips. the way he treated her taste like an expensive wine just made it even better as he pushed his lips harder against hers. his tongue forced itself into her mouth, rocking against her own in a perfect rhythm. he used her mouth like he was starving, and he couldn’t help himself. the mix of her juices and her chapstick was the ultimate turn on, just making his dick grow harder.

“god, i wanna fuck you so bad.” buck groans, dragging his lips down her neck and sucking harshly on the skin.

“please fuck me already. i wanna feel you inside of me.” y/n begged, and buck could hear it in her voice how badly she wanted him.

y/n reached down, stroking bucks dick and pumping it a few times before leading it down to her pussy.

he ran his dick through her folds, collecting the mix of juices from her pussy and his own spit. the noises that she made as he grinded himself against here were heavenly, sounds that could turn him on faster than anything. the feeling of bucks body on top of her was unreal, almost like a dream. she reached up to grip his muscles as his hands moves down her waist.

he finally slid himself into her vagina, allowing himself to feel her tightness around his dick. he moaned out loudly, as if it were the first time he was ever in her. “holy shit, baby.” buck reached up through the pillows, taking y/n’s hands off her face. “don’t cover that pretty face.”

“you feel so fucking good.”

buck intwined his fingers with hers, bending her arms and pulling her hands up to the side of her head. he, in the most romantic way possible, rubbed her hands with his thumbs as he fucked her at the perfect place, hitting the amazing spots in her to make her moan out in pleasure.

he thrusted in her so hard, making her back arch off the pillows and making it difficult for her lungs to fill with air. the familiar sense started to creep up on her again, the bubble inside her threatening to burst.

“im so close, y/n, god,” buck groans out, not breaking the speed or rhythm of his thrusts. the only noises in the room were the wet sound of buck inside her and their practically synchronized moans of pleasure.

“you’re gonna make me cum, buck.”

“cum with me, baby, i got you.” buck continued to force himself into her, just the way she loves. he saw the way her face scrunched up and how her mouth dropped open with her blushed cheeks. the look in her eyes signaled how close she was, knowing they’d come together soon.

both of their legs shook as he came inside of her, spilling into her tight pussy. his thrusts slowed down, seeing his cum cover his dick and make a mess of her cunt. he leaned forward, shamelessly moaning into y/n’s ear as they both rode out their orgasms, using the other to their advantage.

“you’re so beautiful.” buck looks to the side, his nose lightly touching the side of y/n’s face before she tilts it.

“says you,” y/n winks, moaning again as buck pushes his fingers inside of her, attempting to clean the mess of juices and cum that they left. he pulls his hand up, letting y/n suck them and taste themselves mixed together.

buck rolls fully on his back, dragging y/n on top of him as she straddles him. “i love you so much.”

“i love you too, honey,” buck replies, kissing her lips again. “merry christmas, sexy.”

y/n laughs, gazing down at him and his goofy grin. “merry christmas, buck.”

“wait til you see what i got us for christmas.”

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bittencandy · 2 months

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𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 𝖎𝖓 𝖘𝖎𝖑𝖐

✧ 𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔰𝔣𝔴 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔫'𝔰

. toxic relationship themes: controlling behavior, possessiveness, mammon being mammon.

✧If there was one thing in your relationship with Mammon that you hadn't quite gotten used to yet, it would be how cold he is. Sure, he isn't horridly so. But he's chilly enough that it can surprise you when he touches you when you aren't expecting it. Mostly when he isn't wearing his gloves, the smooth leather working as a buffer between the subtle frost of his palms and your skin. The first time you had felt his bare flesh against your own you had to will yourself not to jerk and move out from underneath his grip from instinct alone. He gets a kick out of it. Seeing how you squirm from the gentle chill. He'll often sneak up behind you, pulling a pair of his gloves off to slip his bare hands underneath your shirt randomly throughout the day and night, reveling in the way that you gasp aloud at their contact. He enjoys it even more when you turn around to scold him. He'll blink at you cluelessly while you glare up at him with insults on your tongue. He loves to play dumb, even when the smile on his face is just a bit too sharp, too big to be truly apologetic or perplexed.

✧ Due to his chilly body temperature; his body's inability to produce its own heat, he will absolutely use you to steal yours. Any amount of warmth that your body generates, from a lot to a little, it doesn't matter, he will latch onto you like a leech to soak it into his skin. You've practically become a portable heater for the King of Greed at this point, with him toting you around like you're a sack full of feathers, regardless of your height or weight, he will scoop you up with a pair of his arms and secure you to his body. Or he'll have you perched up on his shoulder like some kind of parrot. If you happen to be latched onto him at any point of the day, held within the cradle of his arms or draped along him, he will have you hand feed him food. Whatever he's craving, really. Anything from a bag of potato chips to cupcakes. The healthiest thing he's ever had you feed him was grapes, but you were pretty sure he just did that because you were out in public, and he wanted to "look regal."

✧ But his desire to hold you also stems from a place of possession as well. It's a silent yet bold way to communicate that you're his without having to say a single word. And his possessive tendencies definitely know no bounds. He absolutely loves it when you wear his colors or anything that could be linked to his image or brand. Anything from diamond and money motifs, shades of green or gold, or if you're bold with it and outright wear his merch and clothing that sports his name or sigil. It strokes his ego like nothing else. Especially if you wear it at your own accord and he doesn't have to convince you to, he'll be so smug about it; practically gloating with that wide smile stretched out across his face and his ego having inflated about ten times bigger than it already is. Like it needs to get any bigger.

✧ He makes chokers out of his web - collars really and keeps them snuggly secured around your neck at all times. It takes a while for the silk threads to wear down and weaken (typically a few weeks), and as soon as one does it's swiftly being replaced by another, more sturdier string of webbing. But you can't deny that you have a soft spot for the little DIY necklaces. You feel a little sentimental, balmy warmth flutter in your chest every time you catch sight of them in the mirror. And it's an added plus that they're gorgeous in their delicate, silvery glint; reflecting traces of light in a soft green and purple glow with a sort of iridescent shimmer.

If he's feeling particularly clingy, he may also weave bracelets for both your wrists and ankles for you to wear. He gets upset whenever you wear something may cover them up. Anything that's has long sleeves or a shirt with a high neckline that may keep the choker concealed. The first time you had worn a top that covered up your throat and forgot to slip the webbed necklace out from underneath the fabric he had taken a personal offence to it. Plucking at the fabric of your shirt with his face twisted up in a scowl, the burning chartreuse of his eyes narrowing at the top like its existence was a crime. "What the fuck is this?" He had sneered, eyebrow raising with a curious sort of disdain while he snagged the front of your shirt with the point of his claw; the only thing that kept it from ripping into the material of your top was the glove covering the lethal edge. "You trying to hide our relationship? Does it embarrass you?" An absolute drama queen, really.

✧ A billionaire he is but a sugar daddy he is not (at least not in the typical sense). Mammon clings to every bit of money he finds, hundred-dollar bills, fives and ones and pennies. He does not care. He's taking it and he won't spend it. Not even on himself. That's the thing with greed, is no matter how much you have, it's never enough. He acts like if he were to spend even a single cent that it would tip him into a financial ruin that he'd never recover from. He cherishes every single ounce of cash that he gets to a concerning degree, but you knew that long before you even started dating him. Regardless, it still was a little disturbing when you walked in on him talking to the bags full of money he had collected after one of his concerts. He was clutching the filled burlap sacks to his chest, breathing in the scent of the bills like they were laced with some sort of drug while he mumbled praises and drooled over them. Even worse was when he caught sight of you watching him and his eyes had turned into slits, zeroing in on you with an animal sort of instinct like you were some kind of threat. "Get the hell out of here!" He snarled, reaching for the bags of cash and the scattered bills that had managed to spill from his fervent hold. "Trying to steal my fucking money! Trying to touch it with your dirty, greedy hands! I dare ya to even fuckin' try it!" You had been quick to back out of the room, slamming the door shut behind you with a confused look pinching your face. You're like, ninety-nine percent sure that he may have gotten off to his stockpile of cash before.

He also counts it obsessively and he remember every single amount that he had. Down the cent. If so much as a penny goes missing, he absolutely loses his mind.

✧ You had learned a long time ago not to ask him for money. Case and point when you had asked him for a five-dollar bill, all because you had forgotten your wallet before you left the house and wanted a fountain drink. An otherwise harmless request, but then he had accused you of being a 'gold-digger' while you were standing in front of the soda machine. That little comment had resulted in an argument in the middle of the gas station while the cashier and customers watched in fascination.

But even with his stingy ways, that's not to say that he doesn't spoil you. But it's done in his own way. If he gifts you something, you know for a fact that he didn't pay for it. Everything that he gets, he obtains by abusing his status as a Sin or by name dropping. Reservations at the most exclusive restaurants and clubs, 'buying' clothes from the most praised shops and designers, trips to the best resorts, they're all achieved simply from his name alone. He doesn't pay a single dime. And if some tries to reject him because he refuses to pay the booking fee for a reservation, or if they claim that he 'stole' from a store - let's be honest, he totally did- they're going to find themselves on the top of the Sin's shitlist. No one gets away with refusing the King of Greed and escapes with their social image or life still intact. He's not above ruining other demons to get what he wants. His shame is nonexistent, so if someone tells him 'no' then their body may be found lying amongst the toxic garbage and ruble in one of the many landfills of the Greed Ring.

But he does greatly care about how he's perceived by the masses, and considering that you're in a relationship with him, your image must also be presentable at all times. He can't run the risk of you damaging his image. So you learned a long time ago to abuse the usage of his name in order to get what you want. Eventually you didn't even have to mention Mammon. Everyone and the Seven Rings of Hell were quick to catch onto your relationship with the Sin, and by proxy, they learned who you are. If you want something, all you have to do is tell them your name, and what you want is as good yours. It doesn't matter if it's a pair of shoes, a car, or a house. There's only a handful of people that would say no to the Embodiment of Greed, and by extension, you. So yes, you absolutely exploit the privileges of being Mammon's lover, so what?

✧ He expects you to be at all of his shows. It doesn't matter if the events are back-to-back and they all have the same set and routine, you're supposed to be there. Front row. Every. Single. Night. No excuses. And you get extra points if you're wearing his merch. Not going to lie, he's tried to get you to pay for an admission fee, even though he had asked you - invited you, to be at his show. You're the only demon in the history of Hell who will ever get into these events for free. Because you have always been adamant on telling him no. Even when he practically threw a tantrum the first time, skulking around the house, groaning and sighing and mumbling to himself like you were the most unagreeable person on the planet. And the term "mumbling" is used loosely. It could hardly be addressed that way when he was talking to himself in a way that made it more than apparent that he wanted you to hear. Calling you "ungrateful" and "money hungry" and "cheap." The complete bastard.

After he (quickly) figured out that there was no way in Hell that you were going to spend your hard-earned money on his shows, and once you had officially become exclusive (which didn't take long considering his possessive nature) he had moved you from the front row seats and onto one of the overhanging platforms, constructed from his webbing and stationed at every concert. Always safely seated above the raging, downright feral fans as they all clamor against the edge of the stage to get closer to Mammon while he gloats and preens underneath all of the attention. But even with the majority of his focus on performing and giving the crowd some half-assed speech - a large sum of it never failing to be some means to promote whatever new product he's trying to sell - he always wants you to be in his line of sight at all times. He'll lose his composure if you aren't, struggling to keep himself together on stage while his eyes scan the shifting sea of bodies for you, balling a hand up into a fist while he forces himself to save face as not to alarm his fans to his frazzled, irritated internal state.

✧ This is where more of his webbing comes into play (this is a headcanon that's been mentioned by a few other writers, and I'm inclined to agree that he'd do it). You know those parents who put their kids on a leash? Yeah, he does that with you. But instead of a leash, he has a thread attached to some part of your person to keep track of you at his Clown Pageants or other shows. It's something usually saved for when the choker around your neck and the bracelets around your wrists aren't enough. This is for scenarios when he needs to find you. When there's a potential of you becoming lost. He also likes the power of being able to pull you back over to him if he feels like you're taking too long on returning back to his side or if he feels that you've wondered too far from him. It annoys you to no end, especially considering that last time you had allowed him to attach his web to you and he had grown impatient with you quickly. You had been in the midst of ordering a funnel cake from the built-in concession stand, and apparently, you had taken just a minute too long because before you could even get your hands on the food, you were being tugged by the waist and dragged through the hallway and the crowd until you were returned back to your place on his web. It was humiliating and stupid, but you had been able to form a simple way to communicate with each other through tugging at the thread. Like one pull indicated that you were leaving for something to eat, two was a bathroom break, and three was a silent way of saying "hold on, give me a minute." He'd learned to be a little bit more patient with the addition. But the best that you'd gotten him to reciprocate is with an insistent, set of tugs on your thread that easily let you know that he's impatient and teetering on the edge of his self-restraint while he waits for you to come back. He's getting better though. Sort of.

✧ It's already been stated, Mammon is awfully possessive over you. Most likely something to do with being the incarnation of Greed, but Mammon doesn't share. The very idea of it will have his mood declining; electricity sparking around his body, cracking and snapping across the atmosphere in flashes of burning neon. He'll get scathing and mocking with anyone who he feels is a threat to your relationship, regardless of gender. If he gets the impression that there's even the possibility of them moving your attention from him and onto them, then they're already on the fast track to his blacklist. At best he may just insult and belittle them. That's the absolute best-case scenario. Mammon's made plenty of bodies disappear in his lifetime and he has absolutely no problems with adding another one to that list.

✧ He's very touchy. He's always in contact with you in some way, at all times, which circles back to the webbing and how he's keen on holding you against his body. It translates to when he's speaking to you as well. Such as nudging your chin with his fingertips to direct you attention onto him; cupping your face with a pair of his hands; pulling you towards him by your waist and arms; lifting you up to move or sit you onto chairs or places that are more convenient for him. It kind of goes hand in hand with how he uses his height to intimidate other demons. Nine times out of ten, he's one of the tallest, if not the tallest person in the room, and so his size is one of his go to means to frighten others, and crowding past their personal boundaries is just another way to force his presence over them. He doesn't do it to scare you, but it's become such an instinctual thing for him that he doesn't even second guess it. It's fully in his nature to do it. It runs along that vein of his greed; the entitlement he feels to other demon's personal space.

✧ He knows how his presence affects you. How that magnetic thrum that always seems to be pulsing around him like a soft electrical current, prickling at your skin always sends a shiver down your spine. He's aware of how much you like his scent, too. Those warm notes like leather, full with that particular type of musk that wafts from dollar bills, buttery and soft like linen. But he knows that it's his voice in particular that's your favorite. That you especially love the accented lilt that cradles each and every word that comes out of his mouth. It's a particular weakness in your armor that he exploits shamelessly. He knows that all he has to do is dip his voice down into that low coo, all soft with a subtle rumble and you're as good as his. It was a vulnerability that you had tried to hide in the beginning of your relationship, but Mammon being Mammon had noticed your fondness for his voice pretty early on. Mostly because you were absolutely horrid at hiding your affection for his accent. You'd have to physically force yourself from practically melting underneath the sound of that pleasant yet scratchy cadence, pulling your focus onto literally anything else to try and keep from turning into a pile of mush. . . or bursting into laughter. The way that he breaks into a loud string of swears and casual insults never fails to amuse you. Particularly the way that he stresses the word "fuck" so aggressively. Especially the "u" vowel until it almost sounds close to an "a" pronunciation; you have an awful soft spot for it.

✧ He uses his voice and his eyes to get out of everything. He can be extremely expressive, and if he's done something to anger or irritate you, he will try and use his big eyes to weasel his way back into your good graces. Believe it or not, he's very good at pulling the wounded puppy dog look when he wants to, but you're proud to say that you have gotten better at resisting the adorably pathetic faces he's able to make. Much to his chagrin. He absolutely hates it when you give him the silent treatment, and you try to use it is a kind of last resort. You'd much rather try to have a mature conversation with Mammon and sort out whatever is causing a rift or disagreement between the both of you. But sometimes when it comes to dating someone as egotistical as him, juvenile methods are the only tactic that prove to get through to him. He practically goes through the five stages of grief whenever you ignore him.

The first being denial: He'll scoff when he realizes that you aren't speaking to him. Almost more amused than he is annoyed. "Are you really going quiet on me? Psshh, whatever. You'll be back to talkin' my fucking ear off in few minutes anyway. You know you can't ignore me for long."

Anger: Once it finally sinks in that you aren't going to speak to him, he become visibly agitated. His face will twist up into a combination of a pout and a sneer, and he'll start grumbling to himself, huffing swears and complaints under his breath as you go about your day like he doesn't even exist, before his rambling dips into full blown rants. It gets even worse if you chose to leave the house - especially without telling him. That might just be the ultimate insult. He'll pretend that it doesn't bother him at all. That he hardly notices your absence or the fact that you were able to just leave without so much as a backward glance in his direction. It's fine. He doesn't need you. You're the one who needs him. So, when you don't even so much as send him a text or give him a phone call while you're out and ignoring him it has his mood plummeting down into something burning and suffocating.

When you come home from being out, either after hanging out with friends or just having a quiet solo night out on the town, he's on you in an instant, crowding into your space with those bright green sparks pulsing around him in a seething magnetic flare. "I don't even have to have you here. You've been gettin' real fuckin' cocky lately, acting like I couldn't find ten other bitches just like you. I could have you replaced in the blink of an eye, and it wouldn't bother me the fucking slightest."

It's something that should send you running for the hills, or at the very least, get under your skin. But his little tantrums never do. It's just his way of trying to get a rise out of you. To make you just as angry as he is so that you'll break and shout at him; cuss him out to get back at him. But you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of doing that. You always just level him with a collected stare instead, with a challenge glinting in your eyes. A wordless, "I dare you to."

He never does.

Bargaining: This is when the exasperation settles in, though with his inflated sense of pride it usually takes him a bit to get here. But once he finally does, his first instinct is to try and bribe his way back into your good graces. Mammon is very unused to concept of actually having to work for something. His sense of entitlement is as vast as the Seven Rings combined, and the idea of having to make an effort for anything is such a foreign concept. He's so used to getting his way because of his status alone, so whenever you fail to give into his sway it always leaves him a little bit baffled. He tries to tempt you with gifts and dates, and whenever you refuse the proposals, it leaves him utterly lost and infuriated.

"C'mon. How's about we go to that restaurant ya like so much? "

"You know, that movie you wanted to see is playing tonight. I could kick everyone out the entire theater if you want. How's that sound? Just you an' me with no one to bother us."

"You seriously can't still be ignoring me. This shit's gettin old. Let's just put it behind us, yeah?"

Depression: There will become a change in his physical demeanor once the defeat settles in. Not enough to tip off anyone who doesn't know him well enough. To the untrained eye he's still his usual self. Still just as cheerful and brazen as ever, with his sarcasm and ego just as unaffected as it always is. But even then, you're always able to notice the tension in his shoulders. How the corners of his sharp grin seem just a bit too tight, like he's forcing it on. Whenever he's out of the eye of the public, the fractures in his jovial facade really crumble. Even when he's trying to keep his composure around you, stubbornly trying to pretend that your silence really hasn't affected him. He gets genuinely mopey like this, and the wounded puppy dog expression pulled at his features is actually real this time. But he'll still deny that the heavy frown on his face isn't because of you; he just doesn't feel like smiling, that's all. The irritated way that he's been snapping at everyone as of late; he just woke in a bad mood for an entirely different reason. He's not upset over you, don't flatter yourself.

Acceptance: Mammon doesn't come to a point of acceptance, per say. He'll never admit "defeat" or apologize for whatever it is that he's done wrong. You're pretty sure that Mammon would combust into a roaring billow of flames and ash before the words "I'm sorry" ever make it past his lips. And when he does apologize, it's done so subtly and in a physical manner, usually with him scooping you up and clutching you to his chest until all of those fuzzy, warm feelings build up within you and drown you from the inside out until you find yourself instinctively reciprocating. Or he'll try another route, such as making you laugh. He is a performer if nothing else, and he knows your sense of humor very well. He'll try to be subtle about it first, mumbling jokes to himself in a way that comes across as organic, like he's ranting to himself about his day while you happen to be in the same room or within the nearby vicinity; close enough to overhear him. He'll try anything, regardless of what type of humor you have. Dark humor, lighthearted jokes, puns, physical comedy, whatever you're suspectable to, he'll get you to crack eventually.

It's either that, or eventually you'll be the one to give in first. Only able to ignore Mammon for so long before you sucked into your affections and endearment and then you're the one seeking him out.

✧ He throws parties. All the time. And every single one of them honors him in some type of fashion. He had two separate celebrations for his birthday, twice in a single year. The dates were entirely made up, neither of them lining up with day that he was actually created, but no one so much as batted an eye. There are exclusive parties thrown after his Clown Pageants and concerts. The price of admission is astronomically high, which kills you inside because he doesn't even pay for these events, he has benefactors do it for him. They pay a pretty penny for these parties too, with Mammon hiring contortionists, and fire breathers, and they're always lavishly decorated. But you can't complain too much about it because your birthdays are always insane. Each year is a different theme, and the furnishings and ornaments alone would take ten lifetimes for you to be able to afford.

✧ He has several different costumes that he wears for a variety of occasions. One of his most exuberant outfits has to be the one constructed from gold silk. The material is tapestried and what must be thousands of coins threaded into the fabric that chime and jingle with even the slightest movements. How he manages to move around underneath the weight of all that gold is a mystery. But your favorite costume of his has to be the one fashioned from all of the currency in the human world; various and authentic bills that are layered up on top of each other in a variety of colors. From green to purple and orange. It's as gaudy as it is beautiful, but you mostly like it because it makes him look like a rainbow piñata. He's even had similar outfits made for you, so that you'll match. They aren't as loud or opulent as his are, but that works just fine for you.

✧ His shame knows no limits. He actually had a fundraiser before, for people to donate to him so that he could become richer than he already is. He had even lamented about it in a video online, sharing with the masses that it had been an aspiration of his ever since he was young. That if each one of them donated a single dollar, that he could reach his dream. Honestly, you could hardly even blame him for it because demons had actually donated.

✧ If there's a snack that you're saving for later, you might as well as expect it to be gone. Nothing is sacred for Mammon, so if he finds your leftovers or a little treat that you've been saving for yourself in the fridge or in the kitchen cabinets, there's 99% chance it's going to be gone by the time you come back for it. You had learned this the hard way when you had walked into the kitchen one night, eager to finish up on some of your favorite candy after a long, exhausting day. When you crossed the threshold, the sight that greeted you had you freezing still. There was Mammon, standing in at the kitchen counter with a familiar bag clutched in one of his hands, cheeks swollen around a big mouthful. His vision was already locked onto you, but he didn't appear to be worried or guilty that he had been caught in the act. His green eyes swept over you, fully relaxed and unbothered before he tilted his head back to pour the remaining scraps from the bag into his mouth, swallowing it down in a single gulp.

"What?" He asked dumbly.

The only response he had gotten was you ripping off one of your shoes and hurtling it at him full force.

You now know to hide all of your meals and snacks from him. But on the flip side, he gets irritated and upset if you happen to do the same thing to him and eat his junk food. Cue an angry tirade about how you're selfish and don't care about hurting his feelings. He'll glare at you with betrayal and outrage if you eat off of his plate or steal a fry from his meal whenever you go out to eat. If looks could kill, you would have doubled over and died from the searing heat glinting in his eyes a long time ago. Does it stop you from doing it? No.

✧ He's a bed hog too. When he sleeps, he spreads all six of his limps out like a starfish, covering up nearly every square inch of space with his body. In the very beginning of your relationship, when everything was still new and a little uncertain, you would curl up at the edge of the bed. And the "very beginning" means the first two days. Your patience was quick to go out of the window. You would try to shove him away from you to make room for yourself, but once Mammon fully passes out, he's virtually dead weight. And he won't budge no matter how much you try and get him to shuffle over. Now you just sleep on top of him instead. Not that you can complain about it much. With the feel of him underneath you, sturdy but soft, surrounded by the scent of him and the subtle chill of his body, it usually has you passed out in a matter of seconds. This has a tendency to backfire because whenever you wake up in the morning, he has each arm securely wrapped around your body with his hands gripped onto your clothes like you're some kind of teddy bear. It's impossible to escape from his grip when he's like this and waking him up is a feat all in its own. Fizz once suggested waking up the Sin by airhorn, claiming that it worked for him. You had seriously thought about it, but knowing your luck Mammon would probably strangle you in his sleep if you did that.

Oh, yeah, he snores and drools in his sleep too. He also talks every once in a while, as well. "Talk" is generous. He kind of rants in his sleep. You're privy to a lot of gossip and drama because of this little habit of his.

✧ He uses you as a kind of stress ball. Especially whenever he's carrying you around. You'll find him squeezing various parts of you throughout the day, such as your cheeks, your ass, your chest, regardless of their size, he'll be palming them at some point. It's mostly absentminded, like it's some kind of involuntary urge that he has, and the more stressed he is, the more he'll do it. But he does it on purpose as well. You can always tell when it is based on that mischievous glint he gets in his eyes. You can't hold it against him all that much though, you do the same thing to him plenty. He always pretends to be annoyed whenever you return the gesture by pinching at the swell of his face or groping his chest, but he leans into the attention. Melting underneath the warmth of your palms like a big house cat.

✧ He isn't the best at picking up gifts and presents. Mostly because whenever he's out with the intent to pick something up for you, such as for your birthday or a holiday or anniversary, he immediately gets sidetracked with things that he'd like to buy for himself. He usually comes home with both pairs of his arms weighed down by bags and boxes and there's a good chance that less than half of them is even meant for you. He's absolute trash when it comes to finding things that you'd actually like. He'll spend a good five minutes squinting down at a set of shoes wondering if you'll like them (even if you have a similar pair for reference) before he eventually calls it quits and just throws them in the cart anyway. If you don't like it, then you can just get them replaced or swap them out. But he does try in his own way.

✧ A lot of talk circulates around Hell in regard to the Sin's. Anything and everything are discussed. From their personal lives to the clothes they wear, who they associate with and what they had for dinner. It's all under scrutiny from the eye of the masses. So when it was discovered that the King of Green of all demons was in a relationship, it was under evaluation for weeks. No one would have ever guessed that Mammon would ever be the type to find a lover. You had been called a variety of different terms, from a social climber, a gold digger, a prostitute. They were all wondering how royalty managed to fall for someone like you. For a while it didn't bother you. You expected it honestly, but after hearing the same harsh criticisms and gossip day after day, it starts to weigh heavy. You had vented to Mammon, confessed how you worried that you weren't enough, that all of their talk and judgement was starting to crack around the edges.

He cupped your face in both of his palms, directing your attention on him with a hold that was surprisingly gentle. It grounded you, centered you enough to pull you through the restless emotions and worry spiraling around your mind. The softness in his gaze was just as shocking, rare enough to leave you speechless. "Don't pay those bastards any mind, " he assured you, sweeping his thumbs across the jut of your cheekbones as he drew you closer to him with the tug of his other arms. "I only take the best. They're a useless band of losers anyway, so they can go fuck themselves. You're better than them."

It wasn't the most eloquent reassurance you've gotten in your life, but coming from Mammon, it made your body burn with a calming, tender warmth. He was right. You didn't need them or their opinions. They didn't matter. And they never would. Not when you have him.

#helluva boss mammon x reader #mammon hb x reader #hb mammon x reader #mammon hb #mammon helluva boss #helluva boss mammon #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x y/n

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autisticlancemcclain · 4 months

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part one

“Guys,” a soft voice interrupted, and Keith could’ve collapsed with relief. The castle has been flipped sideways during the fall, floor suddenly now 90 degrees, and standing at the side of the control board, now the very high top, was Lance. For whatever reason he had climbed it while they bickered, and now stood very still, gloved hand pressed to the glass of the windshield. Blood trickled from his temple, tracing a line down the side of his face, disappearing in the neckline of his armour. “We got company.”

Shifting gears – Keith was about to tear him a new one, when Shiro says sound off you sound off – but froze when he looked out the window, following Lance’s gaze.

Marching towards them, in numbers Keith couldn’t pretend to count, was an army.

— — —

“Well,” said Hunk, holding Allura in both arms, “that looks bad.”

Shiro snorted. “Thank you, Hunk.”

“Anytime.”

Keith wanted to snap at them both. What time was it to laugh? They were injured, mostly defenseless, castle crashed. The Lions still sat, unusable, in their hangers. Hopefully they were okay, but it wasn’t like anyone could go check. Keith could barely even feel Red’s presence in the back of his mind – that stupid new Empire toy had drained them. It was frightening. And Hunk and Shiro were making jokes?

But Keith couldn’t find the words to chew them out. Instead, his voice was caught in his throat as he looked on the slowly advancing army with wide eyes and tense shoulders.

The advancing army was…trees.

That’s what it looked like, anyways. Rows and rows of rough bark and quietly swaying leaves, advancing in formation. A large black bird flew, cawing, above them. Keith tried not to think about omens.

“Did a forest come to life?” Pidge muttered, squinting. Keith was relieved she was seeing the same thing. Keith has been in space a long time, at this point, but this was like nothing he had ever seen before. This didn’t look like a people in any way he understood. They were alive, surely, their movements organic in fluid in a way non-living things couldn’t quite manage, but his eyes were not deceiving him, and in front of him was a bunch of moving trees. As he watched, they advanced slightly further, stopped, and froze.

And then, slowly, they morphed.

Out of the bark, people seemed to…melt? Was that the right word? The trees planted themselves on the beach as if they’d always been there, as if the giant ocean was simply a lake beside a forest, and the bark of each plant seemed to shimmer, to shift. Humanoid figures took form, with skin like wood and hair like moss and leaves, eyes dark and old and knowing. Little saplings hid behind the sweeping dirt skirts of giant, older trees, giggling amongst themselves. Tiny droplets of water shined in dots on dozens of brown faces, glittering on brows and lips and noses like diamond piercings. Vines wreathed around torsos like tailored clothing.

Above them, Lance gasped. It was a quick, near-silent sound, one Keith only noticed because he was watching Lance from his peripherals anyway.

“Dryads,” he whispered, unmistakably excited, and before anyone could get so much as a word in he scrambled down the control board, careened down the bridge, and sprinted his way out the exit.

“No, what are you – Lance!” Hunk shouted, the first to react. He handed a still-unconscious Allura off to Coran, who took her with a wide-eyed, confused expression.

“Number Two, what is –”

“I am going to burn your Percy Jackson books,” Hunk seethed, already stomping out after Lance. He scooped up his blue helmet on his way and shook it at the door. “You hear me, Leandro? Burn them! Head outta the clouds, that’s an army!”

Keith was quick to follow. The rest of the team fell in step behind him, jogging after Lance.

Outside was…well, it startled him.

He’d seen it on the way down, of course. But he hadn’t been focused, really, hadn’t taken the time to map it past what the air currents felt like, past a safe (ish) place to land. The beauty of it now knocked the breath out of him. The ocean was almost crystalline, it was so clear and blue. Keith could smell it even through his helmet, the salt, the sea, and something Keith couldn’t recognise. Every rock on the seashore shone in the bright golden sun, glittering like encrusted jewellery. Down the beach, where the rocks gave way to beach, the sand was bright brilliant white; hard, actually, to look at. On Keith’s other side was a rolling, sage green meadow, peppered with wildflowers so familiar Keith almost felt he could name them. He saw dozens of fruit trees, all different kinds, so ripe and rich his mouth watered. He was nowhere near enough to smell them, but the fruits were so plump and colourful that every instinct curled up in every corner in his head begged him to gorge himself to coma. Even the army in front of him, the rows and rows of stern tree warriors – dryads, Lance had called them – couldn’t stir wariness in Keith’s heart. His shoulders relaxed without his say-so.

One of the warriors stepped forth. She was wide-set, tall, and the ground trembled with every step. Her eyes were dark as murky green pond depths. Deep gauges lined her face, most from the pattern of the bark that made up her skin, but many that disrupted the pattern; rough, torn scars, one right through her right eye.

“State your business,” she said, voice rough as sandpaper.

No one said anything. The awe Keith felt was reflected in his friends, wonder rendering them mute.

“You’re dryads,” said Lance softly. He stepped forward, Hunk’s hand falling from his shoulder. “Tree spirits.”

The tree-woman nodded. “If that’s what your people call us, child. Here, we’re Aegians, Last Guardians of Marmaro. And we ask again – name yourselves.”

Her army raised their weapons as she spoke. Sharp, pointed weapons, some of hardened stone, some of crystal and marble, some of the same wood that made up their flesh. One even had shards of metal attached to a complicated string of vine.

“We are Paladins of Voltron,” Shiro said, finally, hands held up in peace. He moved slowly up from next to Pidge, eyes never leaving the Aegian leader, until he finally stood in front of her, arm loosely circling Lance’s elbow, tugging him gently back. “We come in peace. Our ship was attacked by the Galran Empire, and we barely made it out intact. We apologise for any damage.”

“I’m not sure ‘intact’ is the right word,” murmured the Aegian leader, glancing quickly at their smoking ship, “but regardless. You are here now. I am Dryope, and I grant you asylum, as is my birthright.” She said the name like dry-oh-pay, but with a lilt to her vowels Keith couldn’t replicate even in his own head.

Dryope stood to her full height – which, ho-lee – and struck her staff twice on the rock on which she stood. Immediately, the army fell back, weapons sheathed, postures loosened.

“Aegians!” she called, and every single tree-warrior stood to attention. “The Paladins of Voltron have come to us. We shall extend our hospitality to them, as dictated in the Ancient Laws.” She turned to them for a moment, contemplating. “Seven households come forward. Our guests are to be fed, clothed, and cared for. Who shall claim the honour?”

Keith exchanged a look with Hunk, shifting uncomfortably. Seven households? They were in no position to complain, but on all the planets they’ve visited before, they’ve never been housed separately. To speak up would surely insult their hosts – but was it safe to split up? They were injured and exhausted – if their hosts proved malevolent, they would be almost powerless individually. Allura was still out, Lance for sure had a head injury, Keith was, now that he noticed, breathing laboriously. A quick glance beside him revealed an odd angle to Pidge’s wrist, probably sprained, and Hunk shifted every couple of seconds like he could not stand comfortably. Shiro favoured his left leg. Only Coran stood tall and strong, Allura held protectively in his arms – but Keith knew better. (He will never, as long as he lives, forget the way the man collapsed, ashen and unresponsive, right at his spot at the castle’s controls. The rest of them had just been deemed healthy enough to fight again after falling ill to Deadman’s Spots, fevered and covered in sores and wasting away. Only Coran had been spared – or so they thought. They had almost lost him.) Coran could have a shard of bone sticking out of his leg and none of them would know.

They could not afford to refuse the help.

The gathered army rippled and shifted as people answered Dryope’s call. One by one more Aegians pushed their way to the front, until seven stood just behind their leader, shoulder to shoulder, chins raised proudly.

“We have space for the injured girl,” spoke the first Aegian. She stepped forward, and she didn’t look like a warrior at all – the smile on her face was soft and welcoming. She was much stouter than Dryope, and and her eyes held the same maternal kindness that Shiro’s often did, deep and black and understanding. The lined pattern that made up her bark was softer, lining her face like smile lines. Thousands of branches twisted and grew out of her waist, resembling the tangled roots of the biggest tree in the forest. Clinging to her branch-skirt were at least four little saplings, young and reedy, peeking their wide eyes out behind their mama’s hips. She smiled wider, hands outstretched, and Keith had to stop himself from walking into them himself.

“Yes,” said Dryope, nodding at her. Her face went oddly soft, smiling at the maternal woman. When she turned back to face the team, her face morphed back into its impassive expression. “Paladins, Rhea and her family will house your injured girl. She will be well cared for – Rhea has nursed and watched many in her time.”

“Come,” beckoned Rhea, almost interrupting Dryope. The leader didn’t seem to mind. “Bring her to me, she must be laid comfortably.”

Coran walked forward, handing Allura to her gently. It spoke volumes to her character that Coran approached her at all, let alone that he pressed a quiet kiss to his charge’s forehead and stepped away.

“She is only tired,” he said softly. “Not injured. She needs rest, and perhaps food.”

“I will see to it. Come, children.” With a sweep of her skirts echoing like a bamboo broom, she walked back through the ranks, saplings clinging to her back like baby monkeys.

Next, an elderly man stepped forward. He was hunched, gnarled fingers curled around the haft of a sharp wooden trident that resembled Dryope’s staff. Despite his limp, he walked with dignity, and when he lifted his chin to face Coran, his eyes were bright.

“Have you space, Father?” murmured Dryope.

He nodded. “Always.”

Using his trident as a walking stick, he strode toward Coran, standing beside him. Coran, ever the diplomat, smiled slightly, and began speaking with him too quietly for Keith to hear. Both men, he noticed, seemed to stand the same way, although he couldn’t explain what that meant. It was just – vibes, he supposed. An energy.

“By the Sky, Mother, how long is this going to take?”

Startled by the abrupt change in tone, Keith jumped, turning towards the man who spoke. He was taller than anyone on the team, although shorter than most of the other Aegians, and covered himself with leaves that looked deliberately sewn rather than grown. His smile was wide and white and what Keith could only describe as shark-like.

But what was most striking was his skin. The dark lines of patterns that covered it had Keith thinking he was as Aegian as the rest of them, made of tree bark, but then he blinked and realised – they were merely marks, or tattoos. Unlike the rest of the Aegians, this man had skin, this man was –

Lance gasped. “You’re — human!”

“Half,” the man corrected, chuckling. He swept forward and delicately grabbed Lance’s hand in one of his, pressing a kiss just above his wrist. Lance blushed up to his hairline. “My name is Peitho. I was born here, on Aegis. My father was a lost human explorer. I have never been to earth. But human genes…” He looked Lance up and down, grinning charmingly. “I’ve always felt they’re very dominant.”

Lance, obviously pleased with the attention, warmed up quick. He walked over, reaching up to brush the hair out of Peitho’s eyes, touch lingering. Like they were friends or something. Keith ground his teeth so hard you could hear it from the ship’s smoking engine room.

“I thought…I‘ve never seen a human in space. I thought we were alone, up here.”

Peitho laughed, full-bodied and bright, like the sound of a smoothly rumbling engine. His handsome face creased lightly as he laughed, emphasizing newly-formed smile lines, which only made him more beautiful, not less. Lance smiled widely along with him. “Oh, my dear,” he said, turning that charming grin full blast on Lance, “you are never alone.”

Keith thought his jaw might crack. What a sleazeball. No wonder Lance liked him so much.

“The introductions need not drag on,” Peitho said grandly, sweeping his arm out like he was in charge or something. His other arm was around Lance’s shoulders. “Akeso, Dysnomia, Elatreus, meet with your paladins. They are hungry, and likely tired from travel. The sooner we have them rested, the sooner they can partake in our welcoming festivities. Right, Mother?”

Dryope nodded, looking a mix of annoyed and amused. “Yes, you embodiment of impertinence.”

As ordered by the embodiment of impertinence, three Aegians stepped forward. The first – who must be Akeso, a tall, reedy person with willowy locs falling to their shoulders, who held no weapon – approached Shiro, nodding tersely. Keith felt his brother match the terseness, stiffening.

(Internally, Keith winced – could his brother not get someone who smiled, maybe? Akeso was probably fine, but, yeesh. There was once a time when Shiro laughed more than anyone else Keith knew. Sometimes maniacally, on two hours of sleep. But he heard it so rarely now.)

The second Aegian, Dysnomia, approached Pidge. Like the Green Paladin, she was short as shit. Keith met his friends eyes and snickered at her. The murderous look he got would make him more nervous if he, as Lance so often liked to gripe, had a bone of impulse control in his body. (Rich coming from him, but. Whatever. It wasn’t like Keith could argue.) The third, Elatreus, was absolutely, one hundred percent, the coolest Aegian Keith had seen so far. Holding an intricately crafted crossbow and with a shoulder width approximately the size of a small mountain, he lumbered over to Hunk. He held out his fist. Hunk wasted no time bumping with his own. Keith would be jealous if Hunk didn’t deserve it so bad.

“Oh,” said Peitho, after a moment. “Of course, there is one more. Ares!” He gestured with half as much enthusiasm at Keith. “Your guest.”

Keith stilled. From behind Dryope, the last Aegian host stepped forward. His pale, papery bark was gnarled and scared, bulky, and – stained, it looked like, all the way up the arms. His face was more impassive that Dryope’s, expressionless, except for the slightest of sneers. Resting on one shoulder was a massive club, three times the size of Keith’s head at its tip. Like his host’s arms, it was stained.

Keith forced himself to meet his stare. His host had eyes red as pomegranates – well. Eye. The right side of his face, like the rest of the Aegians, was humanoid. The left side looked like it had – looked like someone had clawed out his eye, leaving a gaping, half-healed knot of a scar.

Ares.

Keith wasn’t familiar with a lot of myths. But he knew what namesake his Aegian host bore – Ares, god of war, god of pain, god of hardened warriors and battlefield and bloodshed.

Fitting, hissed a voice in his mind. Keith curled his fists and ignored it.

“Paladin,” nodded Ares, taking his place next to him.

Keith swallowed. “Ares.”

“That, I believe, is everyone,” said Dryope. “Paladins, please follow your hosts. They will bring you to their homes and ensure you have somewhere to rest. At sundown, we shall reconvene at the hearth, eat, and make merry. Please –” she spread her hands, “enjoy our island. I will see you all shortly.”

She cracked her staff once on the ground. Immediately, her army parted for her, following her in formation once she marched through. Many of them returned to their tree form. It was still strange to watch.

Keith jumped as a hand reached out and squeezed his shoulder. Shiro smiled slightly at him, squeezing again before letting go.

“See you soon, kiddo.”

He followed his host, leaving Keith to realise he was the last still gathered in the shadow of their crashed castle. The eyeless Aegian stood next to him, hands resting on his club, watching him curiously.

Keith cleared his throat. “Um, we can go.”

The Aegian continued to stare. Keith shifted uncomfortably, fighting the urge to draw his bayard. That would certainly not help. Things were precarious enough.

“You do not trust us,” his host observed. His one remaining eye was unblinking, holding Keith’s stare until his own eyes burned and he had to blink.

“No,” Keith admitted. It wasn’t that he was scared of the Aegians, per se, but he was wary of them in the same way he was wary of the Blades of Marmora. He recognised their strength, their power, and knew from the way Dryope stood that she was keeping a lot of information to herself. Any group that kept secrets was impossible to trust, at least by Keith’s standards. He suddenly wished he had been paying attention enough to watch Pidge, Lance, and Hunk leave with their hosts, to make sure they were armed.

His host shrugged. “Wise, probably. I would have no trust in your position.”

He started to walk over the rocks, and Keith followed. It was no accident that the Aegian kept Keith on a diagonal to him, visible from his right side. Keith did his best to keep himself in his line of sight.

“You wouldn’t?”

“Do I look like I would?”

“I don’t know how to answer that diplomatically.”

To Keith’s great surprise, his host huffed a laugh. A slight smile upturned Keith’s own lips.

“Fair.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Off the beach and across the meadow, in a deep, round valley, there was a sprawling village. Small, large-bricked buildings dotted hills and lay nestled at the edge of small farms. Dead centre of the valley was a giant fire pit, gently lit, and surrounding it in a perfect circle were several larger buildings in the same style. Keith recognised many of the buildings as temples.

“This way,” Keith’s host said, beckoning him forward. He turned off the main path and walked along the edge of the hill. Keith teetered after him, trying desperately to keep his balance. He was reminded how hard it was to breathe with bruising around his ribcage, how tired he was. But he kept his mouth clenched tightly closed, unwilling to look weak.

They walked far past the centre circle, past outer circles, past even the farthest of farmhouses. In crossing one of them, the man stopped, Keith nearly walking right into him, and waited for several moments. He bent over as a tiny little boar came galloping to the edge of the fence on runty little legs, smiling as he scratched the thing between its tusks. Keith couldn’t help but notice the blood covering the sharp, portraying bones, as if the animal had just recently hunted.

“Hey, Kyknos. Good to see you.”

He pet the boar for a few more minutes, then wordlessly started walking again. Keith had to jog to keep up, tired from the hike so far.

“That, uh, your pet?”

“No.”

Keith waited. No more information came forth.

“Oo-kay, then.”

There was a Lance in his head that was laughing at him, bringing up every one-word answer of Keith’s that had frustrated the Blue Paladin to twitching eyes. Keith scowled.

Finally, the host stopped at a house. Keith felt he would nearly faint with relief, beyond ready to lay down his head, wariness or not.

“This your place?” Keith asked, panting.

His host raised his eyebrow, pushing open the door.

“No,” he deadpanned, “this is my annoying neighbour’s house. He’s on holidays. I’m staying here and using all his things to take revenge for hours of small talk.”

“Oh,” Keith replied, impressed. “Cool.” He’ll have to do that next time Lance is on a solo mission.

“No, I’m – I’m kidding, Paladin.”

“Oh,” Keith repeated, disappointed. “Less cool.”

“Just – get in the house.”

Keith didn’t argue. He followed his host into the small building, nodded as he was pointed to a guest room, and passed out the second his head hit the straw-stuffed pillow.

— — —

part three

319 notes · View notes

hotluncheddie · 3 months

Text

an addition to this au with @scoops-aboy86 <3

condensed ver: office au, steve starts baking to try and impress eddie, it doesn’t work, because steve is too distracted by eddie to mention it’s his baking. but it’s okay because eddie is already impressed, and likes watching steve eat the random deserts more than trying them himself anyway.

so i had to write what happened at the end of their first date <3

wc: 3.6k | rated: E | tags: getting together, fluff, chubby steve, sweet gooey smut

ao3

˙✧ ° 🍮 ✧ .୧ 🥄

‘gonna just hit the bathroom and we can go, yeah?’ steve asks, standing and stretching his arms over his head until his shoulder pops. he feels pleasantly full and warm, comfortable after being in eddie’s space all evening. butterfly’s fluttering at eddie’s sweet determination to make steve feel looked after, friendly arguing over how to split the bill. (eddie putting more cash down but steve ensuring their waiter gets a nice tip.)

steve freezes, forgetting that he’d popped the button on his kind of too small jeans like, an hour ago. he sucks in and forces the button back closed, pulling and smoothing his yellow sweater back down over himself. giving his little shelf of stomach a pat.

he trails his eyes over their table; a couple beers each and steve’s vanilla drink, and around eight empty plates of appetisers and sides that eddie had ordered periodically thought the night. he’d said the food here was good and he was right, steve had tried all of it, finishing almost all of it. thinking he should take robin here so she can try the cheese fries. he enjoyed every bite.

‘i feel like i should be more embarrassed, but that food was really good.’ steve says.

‘nothin’ to be embarrassed about.’ eddie says ‘i ordered the food because i wanted you to try it, just glad you enjoyed it.’ he’s resting his head in his palm, looking up at steve with a lazy sort of adoration.

‘yeah?’ steve asks.

‘yeah.’ eddie smiles and stands and doesn’t touch steve but steps close, in his space, eyes roaming steve’s features, his face and hair and neck. catching on the peak of chest hair visible at his neckline. trailing over his chest and arms and stomach. eventually making it back to his eyes and steve knows his breathing has picked up. eddie’s eyes are hooded and dark. steve feels warmth through his bones.

‘i’ll just. bathroom’ steve says, voice quiet and gravely. he clears his throat. forces himself to swallow.

eddie’s smiles wide, pointy. steve feels his own flushed face split into a grin, the butterflies doubling. he nods once and walks backwards towards the bathroom, keeping his eyes on eddie’s mouth for as long as possible.

once he’s back, having checked and double checked his outfit in the mirror, because maybe he was a little embarrassed. eddie is slouched at the empty bar waiting for him.

‘i wanna make a joke about like, the button, getting into your pants, be all smooth and suave or whatever.’ eddie says, a little bit of a whine to his voice as though he really really did want to be smooth. ‘but, i’ve got nothin.’ he sighs

fuck it. ‘do you want to? get, in them, i mean?’ steve asks, running a hand through his hair, pretending it’s not shaking.

eddie’s smiles wide, a little shocked, almost shy, and nods. steve bites his lip, the butterflies tripling.

‘i’ll uh, just call us a cap? back to mine? steve asks, and eddie pulls a piece of wavy hair in front of his mouth. looking up at steve through his lashes. steve thinks he must have a guardian angel, sending this man to his office, letting him fill his eye-line.

steve uses the bars pay phone. gripping the receiver tight and having to turn away when he catches eddie’s eye, afraid his voice will come out strange from smiling too wide. has to contain his excitement as he rattles off the bars address. he feels giddy and well fed and he’s not had a night like this in, well, ever.

they stand apart from each other on the street outside the bar. steve by the curb, hands fisted in his jacket pocket. eddie leaning up against the bars brick wall, one foot up against it and he’s smoking. baring his neck to expel white tendrils up into the night sky, taking long slow drags so steve can see the veins on his hands, long fingers and big rings. steve can’t take his eyes off him. eddie smirks, like he caught him, like he knows. steve’s blood burns.

finally through the doors of steve’s little suburban home eddie stands close while steve locks and checks the door. eddie takes off his boots and steve helps him hang his jacket on the coat hooks, followed by his own, something swirling in the back of him mind. a ‘how nice’, a ‘maybe’, a ‘please’ and a scared little question. what if this was all the time? what if you just stayed?

steve puts his hands on eddie’s hips to brushes past, asking if he’d like a drink, getting himself a glass of water. eddie’s skin was so warm.

eddie steps though the house, hands behind his back, looking delighted and mischievous, like steve’s place is something interesting, something to care about. steve hides behind his glass.

eddie looks at the photos hung up around the walls. back facing steve, eddie says ‘it’s nice in here, cozy, like you.’ and steve can’t take it any longer. can’t take being apart from eddie any longer.

‘come on.’ he pulls at eddie’s arm, gently leading him to the couch. standing in front of it steve manoeuvres eddie’s hand up so he can compare them, his are bigger, they always are. steve sees eddie’s adams apple bob, he smiles, holds eddie’s hand in both of his and kisses each of his knuckles in turn. his skin is warm, smells like salt and cigarettes.

eddie tucks some of steve’s hair behind his ear to get his attention, hand gently cupping his jaw. ‘can i?’ he whispers, eyes so big and pretty, nervous and hungry.

steve’s nods slightly, looking all over eddie’s face, trying to drink in the moment, never forget it.

eddie’s lips quirk at the corners, like he’s exited, joyous, that he gets to kiss steve.

steve’s meeting him before eddie even moves, pushing their lips together, something sweet, something honey filled and gooey.

eddie switches angle, dives in deeper, it becomes wet and molten and creamy. steve’s hand in eddie’s hair, holding the back of his head, other hand still gripping eddie’s. mouths searching and sharing, fingers locked.

eventually eddie breaks the kiss, they’re both panting, coming up for air. steve closes his eyes for a moment, leaning his forehead against eddie’s. he can’t remember the last time he kissed someone. he doesn’t think it’s ever felt this good.

eddie moves slow, stepping back, sitting in the center of the couch. he pats his lap, tugging gently at their still joined hands.

steve hesitates a moment but straddles eddie, settling down on top of him as best he can in his tight jeans. the denim pulling at his thicker thighs, biting into his stomach like it was at the bar. but eddie rests his head back agains the cushions, looks up at steve with stars in his eyes, ‘so pretty stevie.’

and steve can’t help but kiss him.

eddie free hand moves to steve’s hip. something instinctive and embarrassed makes steve grab it, pausing it before it can splay over him fully. thinks about pushing him away, to hide, but then eddie pulls back slightly and steve sees the look in his eyes. the flash of sweet concern but also the foggy want and desire. deep, dark pupils eating up chocolate brown and all steve feels is want, wanted, whole.

‘you okay?’ eddie whispers, stealing air from steve’s own mouth.

‘yeah, yeah just um, been a while.’ steve admits feeling his cheeks flush. but eddie just smiles at him, in that sweet way he does all the time at work. he squeezes what he can of steves fingers, kind, reassuring.

steve feels that want bloom and flower in his chest, warmth dripping through all of his cracks and crevices.

he pushes eddie’s hand up under his sweater and eddie can definitely feel how his jeans waistband is digging in, creating a muffin top but steve doesn’t care. he kisses eddie and it’s feels good, slips his tongue into eddie mouth and it feels perfect.

eddie opens his mouth wider, moaning, letting steve in. squeezes a handful of steve’s side and steve can’t help but grind down against him and whine.

eddie grinds up, meeting him, their denim clad cocks both hard and straining. ‘it’s been a while for me too. so, i, it’s okay, if you wanna, ah, uh, if you wanna slow down.’ eddie says, in-between kisses.

steve does, but he doesn’t. he thinks tonight so far has been perfect and he really wants to touch eddie. wants to let himself do it. ‘wanna touch you, wanna keep kissing you and i want you to stay, stay the night with me. is that, is that okay?’ steve asks, breathless and desperate, insides flayed open, honest.

‘more than okay, that’s, ugh, fuck, sounds so perfect baby.’ eddie grits out, still squeezing steve’s side, head thrown back, pretty long neck on display.

‘say that again’ steve breaths, their hips haven’t stopped moving. steve’s eyes close tight, his skin on fire.

eddie moves the hand from steve’s hip to the side of his neck, pulling him down so they’re eye to eye, almost nose to nose. eddie sweeps his thumb over steve’s bottom lip, wiping the spit across his cheek. looks right in his eyes, right into his soul. ‘baby.’ he purrs.

steve feels his pupils blow, wet tip soaking his boxers. ‘fuck’ he keens. he needs to feel him, needs to know if eddie’s wet too.

steve pushes himself up using the back of the couch, going for smooth but he fumbles his footing slightly, starts giggling, flustered. but eddie just giggles too, sitting up and using their still joined hands to help stabilise. ‘c’mon pretty boy.’ steve says, giddy, and tugs eddie up once he’s found his footing, pulling him towards the stairs. swaying his hips a little more than normal as he climbs them.

eddie sits on the edge of the bed, looking around like he did downstairs, face open and curious. steve thinks he’s beautiful.

steve hesitates a second before undoing his fly and shimmying out of his jeans, kicking them aside. eddie let’s out the faintest little ‘oh’, almost wounded, and steve realised he’s looking at the indented red lines that have been left on his soft underbelly, where it’s been pushed up against his jeans waistband all evening. steve flushes and goes to cover himself but eddie takes his hands gently, pulling him forward so he’s standing between eddie’s thighs. eddie’s big dark eyes looking up at him before he dips forward and leaves the softest kiss over the indent right in the middle, where the button dug in the most. steve can’t look away, his breathing picking up slightly as he feels his gut churn with something he thinks could traverse all the way to his heart, could expand and grow into something like love.

‘need to touch you eddie.’ steve pleads, voice higher than normal.

‘yeah, yeah, course sweetheart.’ eddie’s voice is horse, affected, he lays a few more feathery kisses on steve’s stomach and the soft skin by his hip. ‘but take this off first for me, please baby.’ eddie released his soft grip on steve’s hands and slips his fingers just under the hem of steve’s sweater, rucking it up slightly higher on his belly and squeezing steve’s hips. the contact making steve close his eyes and shiver.

‘you don’t like my sweater?’ steve jokes, hands on eddie’s shoulders to keep his knees from turning to jelly.

‘it looks perfect on you. but steve, baby, i’ve been thinking about what you’ve got hiding under that button down for weeks, please don’t tease me any longer.’ and eddie sounds so desperate that steve believes him.

‘i was worried i was being too obvious, but fuck, i just couldn’t take my eyes off you.’ eddie murmurs and steve feels eddies wet kiss just below his belly button, nuzzling the soft skin and hairs. then eddie sinks his face into steve’s belly for real, dips his tongue into steve’s belly button and swirls. steve moans, he didn’t even know that could feel so good, that it was so sensitive, but it does, and it is.

steve pulls his sweater off, tossing it into the corner. hand moving back into eddie’s curls, pushing him in deeper, relishing in eddie’s muffled groan and the slick sounds of him sucking and biting. ‘you next eddie. your turn.’ steve tugs at eddie’s hair, pulling him away from his now glistening stomach. eddie’s mouth hangs open, he looks fucked out and glossy.

‘fuck.’ eddie croaks taking in steve’s now naked chest, eyes roaming quickly and greedily over steve’s chest hair, pecks and arms.

steve smiles, laughs a little. ‘you okay?’ he teases. but he’s happy, kind of awed.

‘yeah.’ eddie breathes, spacey and adorable. then he seems to come back to himself a little, blinking and blushing slightly. steve can see it where the tips of his ears stick out of his hair. ‘sorry if, ah, that was too much wasn’t it?’ teeth worrying pretty pick lips.

‘no no.’ steve laughs, earnest, because steve’s happy, feels divine. he pulls on eddie wrists, making him stand. ‘no worrying’ steve holds eddie’s face in his hands, soothes his thumbs over the soft skin below eddie’s eyes. ‘just, my turn now, kay?’ and steve kisses him, firm and deep.

steve’s lets his hands roam, sliding down eddis arms and up his sides before returning to his hips, thumbs stoking and dipping where hip, meets jeans, meets boxers. he steps in closer so they’re chest to chest and squeezes eddies ass. and oh, how eddie opens up for him. tongue hot and wet, hips flush and grinding, holding steve’s shoulders like he’s scared to float away.

steve slides his hands up eddie’s back, taking his shirt up with them. ‘off’ he says, their lips still connected. eddie steals one more peck before he steps back and steve gets to see all of his pale, tattooed chest for the first time.

‘oh.’ he says, amazed. he knew eddie had some. but, patches of eddie are covered with art. some spooky intricate things, some old with bleeding edges and steve can’t help but touch. tracing their lines and watching as goose bumps travel down eddie’s arms, nipples hard and pretty pink. steve traces them, tweaks them, smiling when he hears eddie’s faint gasp.

‘pretty.’ steve says. looking into eddie’s eyes. he wets his lips and lets his hand travel down, squeezing eddies cock through his jeans, relishing in the weight and warmth of it in his palm, through the denim.

slowly, eddie’s brings both of steve’s hands to the fly of his jeans. eyes dark and hungry. steve takes his time, popping the button, pulling the zipper down tooth by tooth, knuckles giving steady pressure to eddie’s length. once it’s open eddie pulls them down, boxers going too. deft fingers tugging at steve’s boxers, pulling them off, tossing it all aside. until they’re standing in front of each other, both completely naked, cocks hard and flushed red, pre pearling at the heads.

something about the feeling of air on his hard cock has steve pausing, sinking into his head a little. he really likes eddie, they’re doing this, it’s scary. he’s not, he hasn’t had feelings like this in a long time. it could really hurt, eddie could really hurt him, if it keeps going the way steve hopes.

steve’s been still and silent too long. ‘um, fuck, sorry, it really has been a long time and i ah, i don’t usually do this on a first date and uhm...’ steve says, trailing off, sucking in a shaky breath.

eddie steps forward and entwines his pinkie with steve’s finger. it’s such a comforting, tender gesture that something in steve melts. how lovely actually, that it’s been so long, but that he’s able to feel these things again.

‘hey.’ eddie’s voice is soft. ‘no worrying.’ his thumb strokes against the back of steve’s hand. ‘and me neither. i’ve, honestly had an embarrassingly small number of first dates. but, this one’s been perfect, even if it ends here.’ and eddie looks so happy, so earnest. steve steps forward and kisses the corner of his mouth.

eddie turns his head into it, capturing steve’s lips. coming together they groan as their lengths slide against each other. tongues entering mouths, spit slick and sloppy.

‘you wanna lay down?’ steve asks, taking a tentative hand and squeezing their cocks together as one.

eddie’s eyes close at the contact. ‘yeah. but, uh, i don’t think i’m gonna last long, sorry.’ he says, breathing deep through his nose.

another squeeze and steve let’s go, pulling eddie onto the bed with him. ‘good. me neither.’ steve lays on his side facing eddie, mirroring each other.

‘this okay?’ steve asks, taking them both in his palm again, collecting the pre from their tips and moving slow.

‘yeah, yeah, fuck, just.’ and eddie cards one of his hands through steve’s hair, moving closer, holding him firmly at the base of his skill, eddie’s hand squeezes and steve shivers. ‘hold on just.’ eddie grunts, taking steves hand away from their cocks to lick and solid wet stipe along it, bast to tip.

‘fuck’ steve pants, slide slick and smooth now. eddie gripping the back of his head still, other hand gravitating back to his hip. roaming that plush crease at his waist.

steve speeds up, grips tighter. eddie’s pushing their foreheads together, panting, sharing breath. steve knows he can’t last long, with eddie hard and thick against him.

‘fuck, fuck, stevie’ eddie whines, curing in on himself, pulling steve closer, hand moving to grab at steve’s peck, his shoulder, blunt nails against his neck. ‘baby, i’m close, i’m close.’

steve watches, enamoured, eddie’s eyes squeezed shut, mouth pretty pink and open. ‘me too, me too’ steve pants, doesn’t want to blink, speeds up his hand, twists their heads.

eddie throws his leg over steve’s thigh, gripping a handful of his peck again, twisting the hairs at the back of his head and steve comes with a shout. eddie squeezing his chest and pulling his hair through his own orgasm, rocking against steve’s cock, steve’s hand. the pleasure pain rolls through steve, down his legs and arms, making his mind go fuzzy blank.

panting, he nuzzled into eddie, nosing at his cheek. still moving his hand in a lazy grip.

‘baby.’ eddie moans, sounding spent and sleepy and loose.

steve doesn’t open his eyes, just kisses him. pushing his messy hand into eddie’s stomach, getting him to lay flat so steve can devour him. eddie letting him eat.

eventually the kisses turn into steve breathing in eddie’s skin, head tucked into his neck. half asleep but sticky.

he rolls off, holding his hand out in front of him, as if their combined cum isn’t also all over his chest. goes to the bathroom to wash his hands and wipe himself down, coming back in with tissue and a damp towel for eddie.

eddie has rolled into his side, eyes following steve coming over. his hair a mess of frizz around his head, face happy and sleepy and satiated. steve thinks he looks glorious.

steve likes the feeling of the quiet, the focus and attention he can take to cleaning eddie off, hands roaming over pale skin. he leaves a kiss to eddie’s sternum once he’s done, the moment feels reverent and deep, something warm shifting through steve again, solidifying within him.

sleep takes them quickly, a tangle of limbs and blankets, chased kisses and wondering fingertips. eddie sighing into steve’s embrace.

steve wakes to the sound of the radio, something a little heavier than his usual morning station. both sides of the bed are still warm and everything still smells like eddie. steve shoves his face in his pillow to stifle his grin. wants to squeal, wants to kick his legs and throw the widows of his heart open wide.

he makes a quick call to work, feigning sick and gets up to find sweats.

eddie is in the kitchen, sitting at the counter and leafing through a book. he’s humming and swinging his legs, steve can’t help but stare. eddie’s hairs still a mess but he’s picked up his boxers and steve’s sweater from last night. the collar is pulled to one side and shows off a peak of collarbone, the yellow complimenting his sleep flush cheeks. steve swallows, heat rushing through his belly, his jumper looks bigger on eddie, oversized and sweet.

eddie’s finally looks up at him but he looks pointy again, mischievous and magical, even with the pillow crease on his cheek. steve comes closer, he has to kiss him.

and eddie let’s him, humming sleepy and deep. but pulls away eventually, same face still on just now with kiss pink lips. ‘these cupcakes look like the ones from the office, and these cookies, and this cheesecake.’ eddie flicks to each one. ‘funny that, don’t you think? stevie baby.’ eddie says, pointing to a page in the book, leaning into steve’s space, eyes greedy and sparkling.

oops, busted. steve blushes, takes a moment to figure out how to explain what was his frankly insane plan to get eddie to talk to him through baked goods. he scratches the back of his neck, mind blank.

‘cant you make this?’ eddie asks, turning to the page for molten chocolate cakes and tapping it with long callused fingers.

steve just looks at him, silly pretty thing. ‘for.. breakfast?’ steve asks and eddie just nods, grin getting a touch more feral, eyes on steve’s mouth, hand sliding up under steve’s t-shirt and squeezing.

#hope u like it partner *tips cowboy hat*#i might get over my embarrassment and write and actual stuffing fic with these two and milkshake #but for now its just fluff #enjoy #steddie #steddie wg #office wg au #chubby steve harrington #hotlunch #my fic #pretty proud of this one #but also don't look at me #<3 #oh and #eddie munson is a sweetheart #if u even care

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dollwrites · 1 year

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𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 — 𝐝𝐢𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!reader, dark fic, noncon, fear kink, graphic depictions of death and gore, chasing, manhandling, threats against reader, degradation, virgin!reader, oral sex ( f!receiving ), size kink, blackout mention, Dio is very mean, all characters featured are 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading <3

𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 ∣ sugar on my tongue by the talking heads

you could hear his laugh— evil and taunting— booming through the abysmal corridor behind you, and the hissing and snarling of his undead army that was also in hot pursuit. “Where are you running off to, hmm?” he calls, and the baritone surrounds you. he’s not everywhere, you try to tell yourself, it’s just the echoes. “I won’t let you leave the castle grounds. However, by all means, go on and try, get your sweet blood pumping!” another morbid laugh like distant thunder, and you take the first new hallway that opens up to the left. “I can smell it from here, that lovely smell will lead me straight to you.”

you’d made a mistake coming here so late at night, with a boy you hardly even knew. you’d kissed him, and let him loosen your corset, even though you felt uneasy. even though you’d never kissed a boy before. even though the whole night felt wrong. then, the laughter started. from somewhere deep in the blackest shadows, a predator stalked, watched, and found amusement in your innocent fumbling and uncertainty, and stepped into the light. he named himself Dio right before he ripped the boy in half right in front of you. some of his blood was still seeping into the cotton of your dress. what he hadn’t seen, however, was the jagged stone you’d hidden underneath your skirt, clutching it tight in the palm of your fragile hand. so, whenever he scooped you into his arms, and leaned in to taunt you, or perhaps even kiss you, you’d swung the rock as hard as you could, making direct contact with his sculpted cheekbone, breaking the skin. it wasn’t much, but it was enough for his grip to loosen enough so that you could slip through his arms and run.

you were panting, your lungs burning in your chest, your eyes puffy and sore from crying. but one glance over your shoulder yielded the confirmation; the reason you couldn’t stop— hundreds of ghouls had crammed themselves into the hallway, some staggering after you, others chasing you on all fours. you turn your eyes forward again, ignoring the hem of your skirt that catches on a dilapidated and unrecognizable statue, ripping a slit all the way up to your thigh, and both hands hit a sturdy door when you hit the dead end of the corridor, slamming yourself into it with a pathetic huff. luckily, the door, like the rest of the manor, is old and crumbling, and it whines as it flies open and you stumble over the threshold, only to let out a blood curdling scream.

inches from your feet is a pile of innards, and what could’ve been a corpse at one time, but has since been devoured, piece by piece, by the monsters squatting down over it. they both look up and growl, clumps of half-eaten human flying from their bloodied mouths as you stumble back. you wanted to collapse, but didn’t have the time.

countless pairs of gruesome hands snatched at you, dragging you into a horde of them. you wailed and fought against them, half expecting to be shredded, too. you weren’t, however you could hear — and feel — your dress tearing as they snatched at you. your neckline ripped, one sleeve hanging loosely against your arm and the other chunk of fabric lost in the sea of rotting bodies as they tossed you back and forth. your throat is hoarse from screaming when you’re finally spit out the opposite end of the crowd, and flung right into Dio’s arms, which welcome you with a tight grip on one wrist and the other palm splayed over your midriff, pulling your back to his solid frame. “No!” you cry out, but he’s already twisting your wrist.

“Now, now,” he croons against your neck, wringing your wrist until the blood-stained stone falls from your grip and clatters against the floor, “listen to that heart thumping.” you felt sick to your stomach when you realized he could hear it. “Fragile, little thing is about to beat right out of your chest.” you squirm, trying desperately to pull away from him, but his lips have sought out the cuts on your palm, turning it over to expose them to his mouth. first, they graze over the wounds, and you wince. “You’re about as nervous and dangerous as a newborn kitten.” his tongue slithers out to prod at the scratches, urging more blood to the surface, and he smirks as he tastes it. his lips then travel, parted and dragging over your skin, up your arm, ignoring the sleeve that hangs in tatters, and he presses you back into him tighter when he reaches your throat. “So soft— I could rip your jugular out with one bite.”

“P—please—“ you rasp, the tips of his fangs tingling against your hypersensitive flesh.

“Such a meek, little plea,” he teases, the expanse of his massive hand careening upwards over your breast to rest against your heartbeat, his digit tips just barely touching your chin, “what are you begging for, kitten?” he allows their sharpness to scrape, and you whimper, melting against him and hoping to become so small he couldn’t reach you. it was impossible, as his face was buried in your neck already, but you tried nonetheless.

“I—I don’t want to die…”

he laughs at this, as does his minions, and you feel a burning humiliation creep upon your cheeks. “No? Are you afraid of dying?” he asks, feigning sympathy, and his fingers take hold of your face. he angles it towards him, and your tear-filled gems look up at his stone-cold countenance. you nod, the scratch on his cheek was healing as you watched, and your mountainous captor stared down at you. the crown of your head is pressed against his chest; you were just so damn small compared to him. “Are you afraid of me?” another nod, and his crimson eyes flicker over your petrified expression. you couldn’t catch your breath— your lips parted and hot puffs of air wheezing out, your chest rising and falling beneath the stretched fabric of what was left of your neckline. you avoided looking into his eyes, but you could tell he was drinking in every inch of you. “Smart decision for a very stupid girl.” he replies, dipping his head towards you. you start to pull away, recoil, but his grip on your cheeks hold you in place. that devious tongue of his skirts along his lower lip, tasting your broken breath as it lands on his tiers. then, his carmine eyes flicker up to yours, and his smile widens, “Tell me that you fear me.”

you couldn’t even think— you were staring, wide eyed and horrified into two, piercing rubies. he wanted to hear how scared you were, he wanted you to say it out loud, but there was a lump so big and dry in your throat that you didn’t think you could force the words past it.

“Come now, don’t keep me waiting.”

you gasp when he squeezes your cheeks together hard, forcing your lower lip to poke out in a childish pout, and you acquiesce to his will. “I’m afraid,” you whisper, each syllable hard pressed to slip into the air, “I’m— I’m afraid of you—“

Dio chortles, closing what was left of a gap between he and you, and his tongue ran along the shape of your lips. you flinch, and seal them tight, but he’d already gotten his taste. “Mm…” he moans, more to himself, and runs his tastebuds over his own mouth, and then flicks at his fangs. “I do love the taste of fear on those pretty lips, like sugar…” he croons and places a sloppy kiss on your mouth. regardless of how you wanted to reject it, he forces your lips to fit against his with a hard push, opening them wide so that he may shove his tongue inside. you squeal in protest against his mouth, wriggling and desperate to get free, but his strength too greatly outweighed your own. your own tongue bunches up in resistance, trying to push his out of your mouth, but you start to gag on it. you considered biting down on his, biting it off even, but ultimately decided against it.

you were in no position to fight back anymore.

when he’s drank his fill of your kiss, he pulls back, the lips that have battered your own dripping and shiny with your saliva and stretched over deadly fangs, and you pant, twisting in his grip. he watches you for a moment, amused. “I would wager you taste just as sweet everywhere, don’t you?” you shook your head, cheeks on fire and eyes closed tightly, pulling in the opposite direction, but his hand drops, grabbing the neckline of your dress in a powerful fist and tearing it with a swift yank. the force is enough to arch your back, the fabric screaming, and then your breasts are bare and exposed, rising with heavy, nervous breaths.

there’s a whooping from the horde of undead as they crowd closer around, licking and biting at the air as if they can taste your fear in it, and you recoil away from them, pushing you deeper into Dio’s wicked embrace, which wasn’t ideal, either.

“Look at this,” he purrs, sharp nails dragging over your otherwise unmarked skin. they trace his name, slowly, as he takes in your visage, “skin so fresh and supple.” his eyes twinkle, pure malevolence behind them as the tip of his nail traces your nipple, watching it harden as he does. “I could think of a hundred different ways to paint you crimson, my dear.” you shake your head, whimpering in soft protest, and he cocks his head to the side, “What? You don’t think red would look so pretty on you? The color of roses?” he chuckles, grabbing a fistful of your tender breast and squeezing until you mewl and sag into the rough treatment, “Timid, little thing, aren’t you? Frightened so easily.” his head dips, tongue dragging along your nipple, and when you gasped, your thighs clamping together to stop the feeling of his teasing flooding your core, he reads you like an open book. “I think you like this.” you start to shake your head yet again, but his hand has already abandoned your chest, hiking your skirt up to feel between your thighs. they were slick with sweat and… something else. your desire and shame. “You’re dripping, kitten. Do you enjoy my teasing that much?”

your thighs press harder into each other, but his fingers work to pry them apart, slipping in between to feel your bare sex. you choke back a gasp, your only free hand grasping at his wrist trying to pull it from your core as you jerk against his rubbing, but it was as effective as an ant trying to push a thumb away before it’s crushed beneath the force. “N—no…” but, much to your own dismay, you were soaking his fingertips and he was howling with amusement.

“Well, now, isn’t this cunt just so sensitive— I’ve hardly even touched you, and you’re all jitters already. Could I have caught a little virgin in my web?” humiliation floods your eyes, and you close them tight, turning your face away from him and digging your chin into your shoulder. he coos, leaning close enough for you to feel the chill or his skin against your cheek, and the ghastly drag of his lips as he spoke, “Good. The first and only cock you’ll ever wrap around will be Dio’s, your new master.”

“…I want to wake up…” you beg under your breath. surely, this had to be a terrible nightmare. so you kept biting down on your lip and repeating it. “I want… to wake up…”

“Eh?” he asks, grinning, “Stupid thing thinks she’s dreaming.” a wave of vicious cackling rolls through the corridor, and you shudder. a moment later, you feel him shifting, dropping to his knees in front of you. cautiously, you crack one eyelid and look down to see him ripping what was left of your skirt aside. there’s a flurry of cotton before it all settles on the floor. you shiver, stumbling back. Dio releases your wrist and grasps one ankle, hiking it up on to his shoulder. it threw your balance completely off; even on his knees, the man before you was still monstrous, and you were forced to stand on the tip toes of the opposite foot to stay upright. “Let’s find out if fear makes your cunt as sweet as your lips.”

both eyes opened wide, but you had no time to react before he was smashing his face against your sex, the bridge of his nose creating a solid cradle for your aching clit, and the thick muscle hiding in his mouth wiggled between your netherlips, gathering the taste of your essence on to his tastebuds. he growled, and the sound vibrated against you, sending every nerve into overdrive. both your hands dig into his golden locks, pulling hard to attempt to force his head back, but the scratching and scrambling didn’t phase him one bit. he didn’t budge, instead he laughed, then his words were slurred against you. “Don’t be so ungrateful,” his eyes glint in the dusky moonlight pouring through a broken window, and it seems so shameful and sinful to look down your naked torso at him. you could see the muscles in your own tummy contract when he nuzzled against your clit, and you clamped one hand over your mouth to keep your moans quiet. crying out for how good it felt would only make this all too real— and would give him the satisfaction of knowing that you couldn’t control it. “Your new god is on his knees for you, lapping at your trembling pussy. You should be singing my praises.” none too gently, he snags your clit with his teeth, creating a vice around it and rolling his tongue over the nub.

you bleat, and your knees buckle— the sole leg holding you up giving out. but Dio doesn’t let you crumble. with one hand fleeing, he wraps a massive fist around your throat to hold you in place, the furious muscles of his gargantuan arm hard and bulging against your torso. the pressure is enough to startle you, even though he doesn’t squeeze. you imagine the beast of a man could break your neck with little effort. this new grip occupies your mind, and your hands try to wrap themselves around his wrist instead, but it’s even too big for your fingertips to meet.

“You are a pathetic little kitty cat, aren’t you?” he teases, suckling on your clit until you see stars behind your eyelids, and your toes are curling, “You can’t even stand up on your own anymore. Just a few, easy flicks of my tongue and you’re putty in my hands. Makes my cock hard watching you lose this fight, knowing you know you’re fucked.”

you don’t want him to be right, but when he punctuates his statement by licking a fat stripe between your netherlips, you cry out, and your nails dig into his tough flesh. “Please!! Ha— have mercy…”

“Go on,” he urges, “cry for mercy. Scream for me. It won’t change a thing. You belong to me, now, and I’m going to break you in every way possible, starting with tongue fucking never ending orgasms out of your delicate, little body until it gives out. You’ll black out, and wake up to my big cock stretching you open.”

#dio brando x you #dio #dio brando #dio x reader #dio x you #dio smut #dio brando x reader #dio brando smut #jjba #jjba x reader #jjba x you #jjba smut #jjba imagine #jojo’s bizzare adventure x reader #jojo x you #jojo’s bizarre adventure x you #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo

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daydreamtofiction · 3 months

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Thou Shalt Not Covet // 11: Communion

Contents | Part 10 | First Person Version [AO3]

Summary: (Priest!Benedict x Female Reader) With fresh starts and awkward family dinners, things seem to be changing for Ellis.

Word Count: 5.6K

Warnings: Strong language, irreverence, dark humour, sexual references, discussions of death and loss. Readers must be 18+

You could hear them through your bedroom door; Gina's voice fluctuating between hushed indignation and histrionic sobbing, while Alfie gave little in return besides the occasional mumble. You wondered about all the times you'd heard them talking before; the sudden silence when you'd enter a room, the laughing and teasing you never thought to question. Had they been talking about you in those moments? Whispering declarations of desire to one another and finding thrill in the risk of being caught?

You heard a door slam shut, their voices fading to a distant drone as you zipped up your jeans and pulled on a t-shirt Gina was always trying to steal. You never understood why she wanted it so much; it was plain, boring, the neckline beginning to fray on one side. But maybe it wasn't about the t-shirt at all. Maybe the only reason she wanted it was because it belonged to you.

You brushed the wet hair out of your face with your hands, the act instantly transporting you back to last night; how it felt to rake your fingers through Father Benedict's rain-sodden curls. You shivered, shaking it away quickly before moving around the room, scooping up whatever you could and dumping it into a large gym bag on the bed.

The process felt mechanical, void of any grief or attachment to the possessions that anchored you to this place. You zipped up the bag and looked around at the rest of your things; mementos from times you no longer cared to remember, photographs of people you never truly knew, wallpaper you'd been so excited to put up and a bed you'd shared with someone who wasted three years of your life.

You stepped into a pair of old, worn-in trainers, the leather so soft and slackened that you didn't even have to untie the laces anymore. Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you made your way to the door, turning the handle and pushing it slowly in an attempt to stop it from creaking.

You successfully made it to the top of the stairs before the door behind you swung open, making you huff in defeat.

"So that's it?" asked Alfie with a slight lisp, his mouth swollen from Father Benedict's punch. "You're just off, then?"

You turned to look up at him. "What else were you expecting? Even if Gina hadn't kicked me out, do you really think I'd want to stay here?"

he shook his head. "It's like you don't care."

"Oh, well I'm sorry for not reacting to you cheating on me in a way you find acceptable."

"I don't mean- I just- You haven't even given me a chance to explain-"

"I have no interest in hearing you try to justify this, Alfie. If you and Gina wanted to be together, you could've just said so instead of doing this to me."

"But it's not like that between me and G."

"Not like that? I walked in on it!"

"I mean I don't want to be with her! You were pulling away and she was... there. It was a moment of weakness that just spiralled-"

Gina emerged from the room, elbowing Alfie as she stormed past him, mascara like ink blots across her cheeks.

He looked over at her as she marched into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her, then back down to you.

"How many times?" you asked.

He rolled his eyes.

"Go on, how many moments of weakness are we talking?"

He dropped his head, refusing to answer.

You nodded, pressing your tongue to the inside of your cheek. "Can you at least tell me... Were you safe?"

"Yes," he replied weakly.

"Condoms?"

"Yes."

"Every single time?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Well thanks for that, at least."

You turned, hoisting the bag back up your shoulder and continuing down the stairs.

"So you can go and let Father Bellend know he's not going to catch anything from you," he muttered.

You stopped, shuddering at the realisation that you'd told him; the words you'd spat at him like venom now trickling down your spine.

"I just said that to piss you off," you said.

"Wait, so you didn't sleep with him?"

"No!" You hoped you were convincing, unable to tell beneath the bruises and swelling if he was buying it. "How insecure do you have to be to feel threatened by a priest?"

"The same priest who did this?" He pointed to his face.

"You deserved it."

You finally made it down to the bottom of the staircase, glancing over your shoulder to see him still standing at the top.

"D'you know, Mara never liked you," you began. "I always thought she was just being a bitch, judgemental, too stuck up to give you a chance. But it turns out she was the only one who could see right through you."

Daylight clung to the horizon, casting a golden hue across a blushing sky. The days since you'd left Gina's house had grown warmer, brighter, with mild breezes and longer evenings, as though the earth itself was rejoicing in your newfound freedom.

You stepped off the bus with a sigh, thankful to escape the humid air of squashed passengers and closed windows. The walk to your mother's house was short, so you made the effort to slow your pace, making it last that little bit longer to steal solace wherever you could get it, even in the five minutes between bus stop and front door.

She'd been surprisingly tactful about the whole thing, welcoming you back when you turned up on her doorstep two nights earlier, making up the bed in your old room and leaving you to settle in without prying; no questions, no judgement, no classic mum-isms you'd come to expect from her. Maybe she was secretly happy to have a fledgling back in her empty nest, careful not to do anything that may make you fly away.

You reached the house as a car pulled up outside, its large tyres mounting the kerb with a gentle bounce. You raised your hand in a subtle wave as you made your way to the front door, rummaging for your keys inside your large, overfilled tote.

"Did you just get off work?" Mara called out as she climbed out of the passenger side.

You nodded, watching as she made her way around the back of the car. She didn't seem surprised to see you there, which meant your mother had told her. The thought made you groan internally.

"What are you doing here?" you asked.

"Nice to see you too," said Nathan with a slight laugh as he emerged from the car.

"Dinner," said Mara, as though it should have been obvious.

She unclipped Soleil from her abundance of safety straps and seat belts, before hoisting her onto her hip and making her way up the path to meet you.

"How was work?" she asked.

"Eh." You shrugged, finally pulling out your keys. "Spent the day staring at pictures of babies in silly outfits."

"Sounds cute."

"That's one word for it."

The front door opened straight into a spacious living room. Perfectly tidy as always; cushions plumped, surfaces dusted, vacuum lines still visible in the rug. Since the divorce, your mother had taken to redecorating every few years. You always assumed it was a way of erasing any evidence that your father once lived there, but you were starting to think she just got bored easily. Right now, she was fond of the colour silver; opting for glittery wallpaper, velvet curtains and a large mirrored coffee table in the centre of the room. It was headache-inducing, yet there was something oddly comforting about it at the same time.

"Oh, she mustn't be back yet," said Mara.

"Back from where?" you replied as you hung your bag over the banister.

"She said she was going to the church to pick up all the stuff."

"The church?"

"Well, the pub next door to it."

"Oh." You swallowed, your mouth turning weirdly dry. "What stuff?"

"Banners, bunting, that big balloon arch. We didn't have time to take it all down after the christening on Sunday so they stuck it in the back for us."

"Ah." You gave a distracted nod and made your way across the room.

"Where are you going?"

"I just need a drink."

You walked into the kitchen, pulling a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. The door opened behind you as you gulped it down. You wiped your mouth and glanced over your shoulder, forcing a bright smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

"So," said Mara, lifting the lid off the slow cooker and glancing inside. "Mum said you're staying here for a little while...?"

"Mhm."

She paused, leaning back against the counter with folded arms as she waited for you to elaborate. Instead you stood there quietly, rolling the cold glass over your warm cheek.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" she pressed.

"I moved out," you replied simply.

She lowered her head slightly, staring at you beneath a heavy brow.

"What?"

She parted her lips to speak, but a noise from the living room caught her attention; the front door opening and closing, your mother's voice singing a cheerful greeting.

She gave you another dubious look. "You're going to tell me what happened."

You rolled your eyes and put the glass in the sink before reluctantly following behind her.

"So this... dinner thing, do you do this regularly then?" you asked.

"Maybe a couple of times a month."

"Why have you never invited me?"

"Would you come if we did?"

"Probably not."

"Well there you go."

Mara stopped suddenly in the doorway, making you bump clumsily into her back. You were ready for her to berate you for it, tell you to watch where you were going. But instead she gave a high-pitched 'oh', reaching back to grip your arm.

You furrowed your brow and peered over her shoulder into the living room, the air immediately evaporating from your chest as your gaze locked on a set of glacial eyes.

He was carrying a large plastic storage bin, the weight of it evident in the whitening of his knuckles as he hauled it through the door. The lid lifted slightly, a single yellow balloon escaping and rising to the ceiling.

"Father," said Mara, confusion laced in her cheery tone. "Well this is a surprise."

"Hello," he said. "Nice to see you all again."

You remained in the doorway of the kitchen, eyes wide, watching as your mother directed him to put the box on the floor. He was stiff in his movements, his gaze darting to you every few moments, the discomfort clear on his face.

"You're a godsend," said your mother. "Do you mind helping me with the last few bits?"

"Of course not." He smiled, making his way back outside.

"I'll do it, mum," you said quickly, hurrying across the room. "You sit down."

"Oh, okay, thanks love."

You wiped your palms on your trousers as you rushed down the path, catching up with him as he opened the boot of his car. Another balloon escaped, he caught it before it floated away, stuffing it back inside a bin bag and twisting it closed.

"What are you doing here?" you hissed, leaning in and grabbing a box filled with table centrepieces.

"I ran into her outside the church," he replied. "She needed help with all this stuff, I couldn't just leave her to struggle."

"Yes you could."

He rolled his eyes. "Relax, you haven't told them anything, have you?"

"Of course not."

"Then it's fine. Help me get this inside and then I'll leave."

You gathered the rest of the decorations. He reached up to close the boot, stopping to look down at you.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "You haven't text, so I assume everything was alright after I left the other day?"

"I haven't paid my phone bill, remember?"

He breathed out a laugh, shaking his head softly.

"But no, it was fine," you sighed. "I said a few things, packed and came here. Uneventful, all things considered."

He nodded and closed the boot with a heavy slam, hoisting an obnoxiously large display of balloons and flowers over his shoulder.

"How's your hand?" you asked.

He laughed again, looking down at the faint bruising on his knuckles. "It's fine. Was worth it."

You glanced up at him, eyes falling immediately to the slight smirk across his lips; a smirk that held entirely new meaning now. You'd kissed those lips, felt them on your skin. Those lips had tasted you, parted to let out the most divine moans.

He arched an eyebrow. "Ellis," he whispered sternly. "Stop looking at me like that."

It sounded like a reprimand, but you knew it was more of a warning; a reminder that nothing innocent ever came from those looks.

You conceded, clearing your throat and making your way back into the house.

"Why don't you stay for dinner?"

This was it. Your punishment from the heavens.

Father Benedict let out an appreciative sigh. "Oh, no, I-"

"Come on, I insist," said your mother. "You came all this way to help me, it's only fair."

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

"Consider it a thank you, especially after everything you did getting the christening sorted so quickly."

"I er..." he blew out a long breath. "I really don't want to impose-"

"Nonsense! Go on, sit down."

She gestured towards the dining room before disappearing into the kitchen. Mara waited until she was gone before letting out a laugh, turning to Father Benedict with an apologetic smile.

The silver theme had bled into the dining room; sparkles and mirrors and crushed velvet cushions on each chair. You wandered around the table, stopping at Cain's chair and making an elaborate sidestep to avoid it. Mara rolled her eyes at you, sitting down with Soleil in her arms as Nathan pulled up a chair beside her. You slumped into your seat, pressing your lips together firmly as Father Benedict sat down directly opposite you.

"She's hungry," Mara muttered, reaching to open her blouse. "You don't mind do you, Father? It's not offensive or anything?"

You rubbed your eyes. Ah yes, just what this nightmare of a situation was missing, you thought, my sister's left tit.

"No, not at all," he said politely. "I think it's beautiful. The breastfeeding, I mean, not your... erm..."

"Jesus Christ," you mumbled under your breath.

Your mother pushed the door open with her hip, walking in and placing a large pot in the centre of the table. "Beef stew, help yourselves. Father, can I get you anything?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm good, thank you."

"Are you sure? Anything? Condiments? Extra bread? Something different to drink?"

"Just sit down, mum," said Mara. "Leave the poor man alone."

She raised her hands in surrender and sat down at the head of the table.

"Sorry about her," Mara added, turning to Father Benedict. "I think she's got a bit of a crush on you."

He chuckled, and you shuddered at the thought.

"He's a handsome man, Mara." She turned to Nathan. "Isn't he."

"I couldn't possibly comment," he replied.

Everyone laughed, even your own face broke with a smile.

It was astonishing, how one person could be so charming, so charismatic and endearing that everyone he came into contact with was left in awe of him. And it was you he'd chosen. This man, who was so delicious that the flavour of him lingered in the mouths of people who'd barely had a taste, had wanted you, worshipped you, fantasised about you.

You.

Everyone made smalltalk as they ate, the sound of cutlery clinking against dishes filling the brief silences between conversation. You'd never been good at smalltalk. But then again, you'd never been particularly good at 'big talk' either; preferring to melt into the background, nibbling on a piece of bread as you took in the mundanity of everyday chatter around you.

"So go on then, why've you moved back home?" said Mara, bringing you back into focus.

You glared at her, pausing for a moment before shrugging. "I broke up with Alfie."

"After the christening?"

"Mhm."

"What happened?"

You picked up your spoon and swirled it in your stew, pushing a chunk of potato around the bowl as you spoke. "Caught him cheating on me... With Gina."

Your mother gasped, Nathan's eyes widened in shock.

"That fucker," Mara spat.

"Mara," said your mother, nodding towards Father Benedict.

"Sorry," she said.

"It's alright," he replied. "He does sound like a fucker."

Everyone laughed quietly, easing the tension around the table.

You exchanged brief but intense eye contact with him. He turned his head quickly, exposing the edge of a love bite from beneath the collar of his jumper. You bit your lip, holding back a smile before spooning stew into your mouth.

"So yeah," you mumbled as you chewed. "It is what it is."

Mara's eyes narrowed. You could tell she was sceptical, trying to work out why you weren't more upset. Her gaze darted between you and Father Benedict before she relaxed back into her chair.

"Gina text me that night asking if you were at mine," she said.

"Yeah, I walked out after I caught them."

"Where did you go?"

"A friend's. So mum, I was wondering if I'd be okay to stay until I sort out a place to live."

"Of course," she said.

"What friend?" Mara pressed.

"Does it matter?" you replied. "Why did Gina say I'd left?"

"She didn't. Conveniently left that part out. Why did you go to a friend's house and not come to mine?"

You shrugged. "Because we don't do that."

"What?"

"Come to each other for things."

"You can come to me for things."

You furrowed your brow in confusion. "Wh-"

"How are you going to move everything out of the house?" asked your mother.

"I've asked Dad if he can drive me over in his van at the weekend."

"God this is just awful." She placed her head in her hands. "What are you going to do, Ellis? You've got no money."

"Cheers, mum."

"And I've not got the funds to help you get a place of your own. Do you think your dad and Nicola could help?"

"I don't- no, I'm- I'll work something out."

"Mum," said Mara. "You're embarrassing her in front of the clergyman."

Father Benedict dropped his head with an awkward laugh. "It's fine. This is nothing compared to some of the things I've heard in this job."

"Ooh like what?" your mother leaned closer.

"If you can think of it, someone's probably confessed it to me."

"Wow." She rested her cheek on her fist, studying his face. "Is that why you wanted to be a priest? All the gossip?"

He cleared his throat and set his spoon on the edge of his bowl. "Well, actually, I er... I had a brother who passed away-"

She gasped. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry. You know, the girls lost a brother as well. Cain, my eldest. He was only twenty-four."

Mara shuffled uncomfortably in her seat.

"How did he go?" your mother continued. "If you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh, he... He had substance abuse issues," he replied. "Sorted himself out towards the end though, got clean. But by that point he'd already done so much damage, his body just... gave out."

You felt a pang in your chest, his voice so soft and sincere you could almost hear the heartbreak.

"I'm sorry." She reached over and placed a hand on his for a moment, her fingers resting over the bruises on his knuckles.

He smiled, seemingly grateful for the comfort. "He was religious towards the end. It made me start looking at my own faith after he passed."

She nodded. "Y'know when we first lost Cain, I contemplated going to church a few times. But the way he died, it was so... brutal. I couldn't fathom a god would let that happen-"

"Mum," Mara groaned, almost pleading for her to stop.

"Ellis was thirteen," she continued obliviously. "Decided she wanted to do gymnastics, but the place was so far away she wouldn't be able to make it there after school unless someone drove her."

Mara let out a huff before handing the baby to Nathan. "She's full, I'll be back in a minute."

You watched as she rose from the table, walking out as your mother continued to speak.

"Mara was the one who usually took her, but she was busy on this particular day so Cain did it instead. Anyway, on their way home he lost control of the car. The pair of them were in terrible shape. They had to cut you out from the roof, didn't they Ellis."

You exhaled a long, slow breath.

"Obviously she survived, thank god. But Cain wasn't wearing his seatbelt."

"Gosh, I'm so sorry," said Father Benedict.

You stood up suddenly, brushing your hair out of your face. "I'm going to get another drink."

Mara was stood in the kitchen, staring out of the window at the darkening sky, tongue pressed to the inside of her cheek. You closed the door behind you and let out a sigh.

"Is she still going on about it?" she asked, eyes fixed on the window.

"Mhm."

"Fuck sake," she whispered. "She just talks about it fucking constantly. Anyone who'll listen. The poor guy only came to help with decorations and now she's dumping all the family trauma on him."

"He doesn't mind. He's good with this kind of stuff, always knows what to say."

She finally looked at you. "What did you mean when you said we don't come to each other for things?"

You crossed your arms over your chest and shrugged. "I don't know. We just... don't. Not like proper sisters."

"Proper sisters?"

"You know what I mean. Sisters who aren't nine years apart. Who don't have a huge elephant following them into every room."

She returned to looking out of the window.

You licked your lips awkwardly before making your way towards the fridge. "After Cain died-"

"Ellis," she groaned.

"Just let me... After Cain died, I snuck into your room a few times when you were out and read your diary."

She spun around. "You did what? Why?"

"Honestly? I always felt like you wished it would've been me instead of him. But I knew you'd never actually say that out loud. So I'd skim through looking for my name to see if you wrote it there instead."

She stood there, speechless, lips parted in stunned silence. "You actually thought I wished you'd died in that car?"

"If it meant he got to walk away from it instead-"

"Well that's not true. Of course it's not fucking true. I- well, let's get one thing straight, if we're wishing for stuff I'd have just wished for no one to die."

"Fair."

"But no. Ellis, Jesus Christ, no. I know I've not been the best sister in the world, but bad enough for you to think I wished you weren't here? Really?"

"Well I don't think that anymore. But it's hard, I mean, why would I go to you for things when I spent the majority of my life feeling like you resented me?"

Her shoulders slumped, a defeated breath leaving her.

"Do you know, I think it actually bothered me more that you just never wrote about me at all," you said. "Ever."

"There isn't enough paper and ink in the world, that's why."

You laughed softly, turning to pour yourself a drink.

"Can we just get rid of the elephant?" she asked.

"Hm?"

"Tell it to fuck off. Leave us alone."

You turned back to face her, thinking for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. I'm not sure how you tell an elephant to fuck off, but we can give it a go."

"Okay. Good." She paused. "Do we hug now or something?"

"I'm not really a hugger."

"Thank god, neither am I."

You took a large gulp of your drink. She watched you quietly, eyes burning into you.

"Are you really alright? About Alfie and Gina?"

"Yeah. I actually am. I think I finally understand what people mean when they say it feels like a weight's been lifted off them. I feel lighter."

She smiled.

"We should probably go back in," you said.

"Yeah. Get back to Mr tall dark and handsome."

"Mara."

"What?" she laughed. "Do you know he hasn't stopped looking at you all night?"

"I think he just feels awkward."

"Hm."

"He's a priest. Even if... I don't know, there's just- It's not..." "Who knows, maybe he's secretly well up for it."

You laughed. "Yeah, maybe."

She walked towards the door. You followed behind, stopping when she turned to whisper.

"Just do me a favour, whatever you do, don't get pregnant. Your hair falls out, you can't cough without pissing yourself and your sex life goes down the drain."

"Well if you're pissing yourself all the time, it's no wonder."

She glared at you, but it only lasted a moment before a smile began to emerge.

Mara warned you not to get pregnant. And if that wasn't caution enough, watching forty nine-year-olds running wild around a church would definitely do it. They were loud, boisterous, ignoring their exhausted parents as they bounced from pew to pew.

A headache was taking root behind your eyes, every screeching voice and thud of little feet making it worse. You were beginning to think June lied when she said she was visiting her niece in Wales, maybe she just wanted to avoid doing this.

You stood near the doors of the chapel, handing out pens and taking attendance as each family arrived. Father Benedict walked up and down the aisle, welcoming them with smiles and high-fives, asking parents to spread out, though not many seemed to listen.

You kept glancing over your shoulder at him, as though you couldn't help but steal a quick peek whenever his back was turned. He was wearing a pair of black trousers and a snug-fitting fleece jacket, his white collar peeking out of the top. It had been four days since the night you spent together, yet the look on his face when you took that collar off was as fresh as the moment it happened, even down to the popping sound it made as you tugged it away from his neck.

He checked his watch before turning on his heels, strolling leisurely towards you.

"How are you getting on?" he asked, glancing down at the attendance sheet in your hands.

"Just making a mental note to take my contraception later," you replied, looking around as a group of kids chased each other from one side of the chapel to the other.

He laughed. "They're fine when you know how to handle them. Watch."

He turned around and cupped his hands around his mouth, his voice loud and commanding, echoing in the steepled roof. "Okay everyone! I'm going to begin, so I want children sat with their parents please!"

The children immediately fell into order, their ruckus fading to a quiet hum as they rushed to sit down.

You bit your lip; the way he could control a room with nothing but his voice stirring something deep inside you. He walked down the aisle to the altar and turned to face them all, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

"Welcome, everyone. Thank you very much, as always, for coming. I know these preparation sessions can be a bit of a pain when we're all so busy, but it is so important for the children to be attending, especially as their first holy communion is just around the corner."

'What's that?" a young boy with a freckled nose asked, pointing to a small brass font on the wall.

"Holy water," you replied, chin resting on your fist as you sat at the back of the chapel.

"What's that?"

"A sanctuary lamp."

"What about that over there?"

"A hymn book."

"And what's that?"

"That's just a radiator."

"Oh."

"Bradley," his mother shouted. "Come on, leave the lady alone."

It was the longest hour of your life. Father Benedict had sent the children on a scavenger hunt around the church, challenging them to tick off as many items as they could find. But for some reason, most of them were more fascinated with you. They came over in waves, small groups of curious eyes asking you random questions, touching your things or trying to trick you into identifying everything for them.

You checked your phone. Ten minutes. Just ten more minutes.

"What's your name?" a soft, delicate voice asked.

You looked up to see a small waif of a girl standing next to you, the biggest brown eyes you'd ever seen gazing at you in wonder.

"Ellis," you replied.

"I'm Dot."

"Dot?"

"Mhm." She nodded, hugging her work book close to her chest. "Are you Father Benedict's wife?"

You gave a soft laugh. "No, just a helper."

"Oh okay." She paused, looking down at her feet. "I think you're really pretty," she finally said.

Your mouth fell open slightly; the compliment somehow meaning more coming from a child.

"Thank you. I think you're really pretty too."

She smiled, a set of deep dimples forming in her cheeks before skipping away.

Maybe a kid or two wouldn't be so bad, you thought. No, god no, Ellis. Remember what Mara said about peeing yourself all the time.

The session ended ten minutes late. You sighed as the final few families left, your headache already beginning to ease in the newfound silence. You closed the doors, leaning back against them dramatically for a moment.

"You survived!" Father Benedict's voice echoed across the vast, empty space.

"Next time I volunteer myself for something, remind me of tonight," you called back.

He chuckled, taking a set of keys from his pocket. "Can you lock those doors for me?"

You nodded before letting out a pathetic shriek as the keys came soaring through the air towards you. When they landed at your feet, you looked up to see him laughing, covering his mouth with his hand.

"What about me makes you think I'd be good at catching?" you shouted.

He continued to laugh, picking up a box and disappearing into the back.

It was eerie being the only person in a church; the slightest movements seeming to echo, every piece of art staring directly at you. You locked the doors and began cleaning up, weaving through the pews collecting pens and forgotten booklets, the occasional sweet wrapper.

You wandered down towards Father Benedict's office, tapping your knuckles against the open door and stepping inside.

"Some left over booklets," you said.

He was crouched at a small filing cabinet, fanning his fingers through a drawer of papers. "Oh, thanks," he said, glancing over his shoulder at you. "Just throw them on the desk."

You walked over and threw them down as instructed, hovering for a moment, like something inside you didn't want to leave.

"A little girl thought I was your wife," you said with a slight smirk.

He stood up, brushing the stray curls out of his eyes. "Really? That's quite cute actually."

"Mm. She called me pretty and I nearly cried."

He smiled, walking over to the desk. "She's not wrong."

You kept your eyes on him, watching his hands as they fanned out the booklets, his jaw clenching as he peered down at them.

"Anything else you want me to do?" you asked.

He presses his lips together in thought. "No, I think that's everything. You're relieved from duty."

"Thank god."

"I appreciate you helping out tonight. I know it's a bit... awkward."

"Is it?"

"Well it's the first time we've been alone together since..."

You looked around the office, setting your sights on the couch for a moment before returning to him.

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Don't even think about it."

"I didn't say anything."

He moved slightly closer, lowering his voice. "Ellis, it is taking everything in me to behave myself."

You gazed up at him, a thousand comebacks flitting through your mind. But in the end, you chose to yield, nodding gently and stepping away. "I'll get going then."

You left the office, pulling the door closed behind you with a disappointed huff. It was harder, somehow, to leave empty handed after knowing what it felt like to get every last piece of him. But you hadn't come here for that; you came to help, and now it was time to go.

"Fuck sake," you whispered, halting halfway down the hall when you realised the keys were still in your pocket.

You turned around to begin walking back, but the sound of the office door made you slow to a stop.

Father Benedict stepped out, his eyes falling on you. "You have-"

"The keys, I know," you laughed, taking them out and hurrying over to him.

He took them from you and slipped them into his back pocket, looking down at you with a heavy, pensive brow. You swallowed hard, eyes flitting to the love bite peeking over his collar. You wanted to reach out and touch it, run your fingers over the place your mouth had been, the flesh you'd marked as yours. But you resisted, breathing steadily, waiting for him to speak.

"Fuck it," he finally said, and in one swift movement, his hands were on your face.

He pulled you into a hard, aggressive kiss, spinning you around and pressing you back against the wall. You gasped into his mouth, fingers immediately finding his hair and grasping it tight.

His breath was hot, hungry, overflowing with need and frustration. You felt his hands move from your face to your neck, fingertips pushing into the soft skin of your throat as his body pressed firmly into you.

When he finally broke away, he kept his face close; forehead resting against yours, panting heavily into your open mouth. You moaned softly, chest heaving in an attempt to catch your breath as you stared up at him in awe.

He always said you had a way of looking at him. But the way he was looking at you right now; nothing but fire.

*Tags: @evelynrosestuff @thealleydog @lexlexigogh @allie131313 @simpingbestie @ironstrange1991 @witchoftheages @hiddendiary @swds @jyessaminereads @withalittlehoney @hunterofshadows04 @slytherindoctorsat221b @diabaroxa @phoebe221 @hai-kbai @downtownshabby @dara-of-qui-zi @unfilteredmoonchild @classicrebound @bigratbitchsworld @aphroditesdilemma @bloodyxsaint @ployavengersog1 @spectaclebitch @paola-carter @veryladyqueen @gordorio @shjl15 @thedaredevilsgirl @howardtonypotts @ceccille @wllsfer @thelostsmiles @vi0letdaze @stanfanfiction @king-kongbebe-blog @sof38 @doctorscarletwitch @rmoonstoner @intrappolatatrairicordi @ehuether @dragonqueen89 @estheticwh0re @Lfp10836

*If you would like to be tagged in the next part, please comment below, or feel free to add yourself to the tag list here

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gogmstuff · 1 year

Photo

1860s dresses -

Top ca. 1860 Cécile Charlotte Furtado-Heine (1821-1896), by Hermann Fidel Winterhalter (Christie's - 15Apr13 auction, Lot 61). From Wikimedia; fixed l. and r. edges and a few spots w Pshop 2208X3200 @60 1.3Mj.

Second row left 1863 Rita Romero by Ángel María Cortellini y Hernández (Museo del Romanticisimo - Madrid, Spain). From theebonswan.blogspot.com 564X926 @72 89kj.

Second row right 1867 Mrs Catherine Glen Stronach of Lindsaylands by Daniel Macnee (Perth Museum & Art Gallery - Perth, Perth and Kinross, UK). From artuk.org 1194X1855 @144 2.3Mp.

Third row 1861 Szidónia Deák by Alajos Györgyi Giergl (location ?). From tumblr.com/toanunnery/700310287103000576/portrait-of-szidónia-deák-alajos-györgyi-giergl 978X1200 @72 275kj.

Fourth row left ca. 1865-1866 Paulina Contreras de Alarcón by Dióscoro Puebla (Biblioteca Lázaro Galdiano - Madrid, Spain) From history-of-fashion.tumblr.co//post/144151144109/ab-1865-1866-dióscoro-puebla-paulina-contreras 1280X1643 @300 639kj.

Fourth row right 1871 (earlier than) Countess Festetics, née Countess Roczinska by Anton Einsle (location ?). From tumblr.com/the-perdita; fixed spots w Pshop 2048X2688 @72 2.2Mj.

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ayekittyk4t · 2 years

Text

all you girls try to be saints, i’ll make you wanna sin

♱ Desc: A battle of who can make the other more jealous ends in a much, much more exciting way.

♱ Pairing: Plug!Eren x AFAB reader

♱ Content Warning: Unestablished relationship, friends with benefits, possessive behavior, spit, thigh fucking, choking, biting, hair pulling, manhandling, cream pie

♱ Word Count: 5473

a/n after months i’m finally bringing back plug!eren bc i randomly got the motivation to write. i’ve been trying to write him again for a while so i really hope u guys enjoy bc this mf has me stuck. title is from oddlook. give it a listen ;)

wattpad | ao3

(Chapter 3)

The low hum of your favorite song plays softly through the bedroom. A scented candle lit and filled the room with the aroma of citrus and basil. Along with it, wafts the faint scent of marijuana. The wind blows in through the open window, shouts of children playing below and music coming from the neighbor's garages blare into the room. Past the window, the sun is setting into the horizon while the moon readies itself to shimmer with the stars. Brisk air rushes once more, hitting the bare skin on your thighs as you smooth your dress out in front of your full-length mirror.

“How does it look?” you ask softly while twirling and checking yourself out. Peering over your shoulder, you wait for a response from him. Erens eyes skim your body as he sits in your velvet pink chair, legs kicked up onto the matching ottoman. An arm hangs out the window, joint attached to his nimble fingers. His other is thrown over his head, running his hands through thick brown locks.

Perfect, he wants to say. He doesn’t know why you’re even asking. The little black dress hugs your body perfectly, sweetheart neckline scooping your plump breasts, gold hoops, and a matching initial necklace adorning your chest.

Christ, he mumbled under his breath. You looked just so good to him. Eren wanted to take you right then and there, work his fingers magically into you, split you open with his ring and middle, rubbing that spongy spot inside you. His thumb circles your clit, lips on your neck, licking and sucking violet bruises into your skin. You’d be crumbling in his hands. Shaking and moaning, scratching his back, and pulling his hair. Your hair is a mess, your makeup is ruined with tears, and your dress torn. Eren would think you were the most beautiful of all still.

“Good.” is all he says.

“Just good?” you look over your shoulder, head tilted back and brows furrowed in uncertainty. Eren watches as you pout at him, a fresh set of burgundy colored stiletto nails playing with your necklace.

His eyes drag across what you’re wearing once more. The dress was short, your ass was hanging out and if you were gonna dance the way you always did, you were going to give everybody a perfect view of your panties. He didn’t like that one bit. He knew what people said about you, how many people wanted to be with you.

“Man, if I could fuck around with that piece of ass.” Porco would mummer under his breath, hungry eyes eating you up as you danced with a friend. he’d nudge Eren, giving him a toothy smile that made him want to knock his teeth in.

“Fuck off, Porco.”

“What? If you aren’t gonna fuck her, I’d gladly do it.” Porco throws his hands up defensively, chucking and mumbling something Eren couldn’t hear.

If only that asshole knew how Eren would make you feel. How you were in the backseat of his car just an hour ago, ass in the air as he pounded into you. Hands holding your hips, and nails piercing your skin. He’s grunting, you’re moaning and skin is slapping skin.

“Why? Are you trying to look nice for someone at the party?” Eren snorts, lip twitching and curving into a smirk. The way his tone makes you wonder if he’s trying to get something from you, almost like he’s jealous.

The smirk on your rouge lips mirrors him, only growing larger into a smile from your realization, “are you jealous?”

Yes, he was.

“Answer my question first.” his gaze averts to the window. Below a car passes and ashes fall from his joint. you’re quite speechless, watching as he brings his hand back into the room and takes a long drag from the joint.

You had no idea where this behavior was coming from. You also didn’t know whether it was something you liked or disliked. All you could do is scoff and roll your eyes.

“For your information…” you begin, taking a seat at your vanity to touch up your makeup, “I am not getting ready for anyone but myself.” you dab blush onto your cheekbones, “You have no right to be jealous anyway.”

Erens shifts in his chair, your comment immediately caught his attention. You keep your eyes glued to your figure in the mirror. The conversation had shivers crawling all over your body, goosebumps growing on your thighs and arms. There wasn’t an idea in your mind where it would go next.

“Why?”

A pause and you’re turning to face him. The look in his eyes is unreadable. Was he angry? Was he disappointed? Was he happy? He had a blank gaze and flat lips, there wasn’t anything to even read.

“You’re not my boyfriend.” A scoff leaves your lips as you shake your head in disbelief.

There’s a long pause in the room. The space seems to shrink between your shared gazes, and the mixture of the lit candle and cannabis is making you nauseous.

Erens eyes narrow, turning away slowly with a lazy smile. You do the same, ignoring his presence to choose which perfume you’d wear tonight.

Though you don’t see him do so, you hear him. He's putting out the joint on your windowsill as you study the bottles. Swinging his legs over the ottoman, groaning lowly as he does so. You pick up a bottle. His steps are quiet, yet so heavy. each one seems to mimic your increasing heart rate. You spray each side of your neck. Honeysuckle and Vanilla. The steps stop, and you can just feel him behind you.

“Look at me.” With a slow shut of your eyes, you ignore Erens demand, spraying more perfume onto your wrists.

Eren wasn’t amused one bit. Rough hands cup your chin, pulling you - forcing you to look at him. His hands were warm and reeked of burnt weed. You scrunch your nose in disgust, but Eren can read you like a book, knowing already that you were going to spit something so vulgar at him. He tightens his grip on your chin, hoping it’d prevent you from speaking. It does.

“I fuck you, right?” He catches you off guard. You wonder where the conversation was going but you didn’t want it to go wrong. This was the uncharted territory between you and Eren.

You nod, nostrils flaring.

“I make you cum too.” It sounds like a question, but it’s a statement. He makes you cum a lot.

You nod.

“And who buys you all this?” Thick fingers reach your necklace. He grabs the chain, letting it dangle between his finger.

You swallow hard, but there’s a lump stuck in the depths of your throat, “You do, Eren.”

He’s at peace with your answers, both hands falling free from you. However, his eyes are still glued onto you giving you a warm smile. Still, behind his warm smile is one coated in wickedness.

You can't help but feel yourself heat up. Warmth flooding your cheeks, ears, and chest. Warmth filling you everywhere. A pooling between your legs follows.

“I’ll be in the car.”

He leaves the room.

You're frozen for a while before turning back to the mirror. You fix your hair a little, adding one more spray of perfume to your nape.

–

It was a rare occasion for you to drink. Alcohol never sat right with you and it made you do things. The way it burns going down your esophagus falls into the acidic pit of your stomach and sets fire to the walls. It makes you do bad things. Dance till you drop, make out with one or two of your girlfriends, but the craziest thing you did was grow a relationship with a local drug dealer. Atop of that, you fucked him.

And it was good. It was so, so good. Alcohol never tasted better to you up until that night. On his tongue, as it massaged yours, transferring the taste of Hennessy onto your tastebuds. It was so addicting, you couldn’t have him for just one night, so you took him for more.

You took him in the car whether he was parked outside in front of a busy party or an empty parking lot. You took him on the couch in his apartment. His kitchen, bed, and your favorite place, in his shower.

Where hot streams of water would fall onto your sticky, burning skin. Hands grasping your waist just to flip you around and shove you into the wall. Eren was so aggressive behind closed doors and all you wanted from him was more. And Eren couldn’t deny his Princess, so he gave you all he had. He pulled at your roots, put you in a chokehold, he thrust so deep and hard. He did all for you.

You never felt so clean and dirty at the same time with Eren.

To think he was the one attracted to you first. Now, you can't explain your feelings towards the boy. All you knew is that like the spoiled girl you are, you wanted more. More than sex in his shower. More than his alcohol-infused kisses. More than his pungent aroma of marijuana and Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue.

The flaw you carried with you was one you’d hated for as long as you can remember. That being an absolute idiot coming to expressing what you feel. Eren didn’t see that, he only saw you pushing him away.

“You look ill.” A concerned look on the black-haired girl flashes across her face. Lips downturned and thin brows clinging to each other as they furrow in concern. Mikasa inched closer to you to grab your attention, though the attempt was a failure. You’d been too angry.

Alcohol. The poison made you feel so many strong emotions, one, in particular, being anger. Anger because you were being ignored. Anger because Eren was flirting with girls because it’s “good for business”. Anger because he was left alone with them in a room.

“I’m…” You're annoyed, tired, frustrated. You were so much more but none of the words seem to pass through your lips. “Let’s dance.”

Mikasa is taken back. One second you were sulking around the stone fire pit and the next your nails were sunk into Mikasa's skin dragging her to the group of bodies dancing. She couldn’t help but smile at you. You were circling her, mouthing the lyrics of the song playing and moving your hands up her shoulders to wrap your arms around her neck.

It wasn’t long before you two were swaying your bodies together. Hands entangled with each other and your faces were close enough that the tips of your noses were touching. Time flew while the two of you danced, lost in each other’s spaces and engulfing yourselves in the music.

“What’s wrong?” Mikasa asks into your ear, lips brushing your skin. She smelled strong, like warm sugar and juicy red candied apples. If you weren’t so addicted to Eren and had a tinge of alcohol in your system, you’d eat her up right then and there.

It was the second time tonight she pointed out your discomfort. Although you were tempted to tell her the truth about the source of your irritation is Eren, you wouldn’t allow yourself.

Playfully, you blew air at her face. Black locks uncover her gray eyes and she blinks hard, “I’m ok, Mikasa.”’ You sigh softly, pushing hair behind her ear, “I just wanna dance with you.”

So that is what you did. You danced on the travertine patio of some random rich boy whose party you were crashing. The activity was usually fun for the most part. The excitement of sneaking in and pretending to recognize drunk faces. Then when they’d finally noticed, you’d run out as fast you could. The thrill was everything.

Today, however, isn’t like the previous times.

As you peek over Mikasa's shoulder, you glance at Eren who’s walking towards the stone fire pit you once sad at. Behind him trails a tall blonde in a brown halter mini dress. Her hair sways with each step she takes to sit on the armrest of the seat Eren had taken. Her breasts are in his face while she speaks to him and he stares intensely at the pair while taking a sip of beer. The sight alone made your heart beat, blood rushed throughout your body, and your fist clenched around Mikasa's dress. Eren catches the heated flicker in your eyes and smiles devilishly.

“Mika, Porcos here right?” She nods, confused as to why you're even asking, “Where is he?” She looks more confused. Your plan was plain and simple: do the same thing Eren was. Though he called his “business” you knew how he played, and this was a game.

“By the keg.” She points a dainty finger over your shoulder. Low and behold, Porco is conversing with men who were unknown to you. His hands flayed when he spoke and he raked his fingers through his hair.

“I’ll be back, Mikasa.” You're gone, leaving her to go back to the fire pit with Eren and his piece for tonight.

You push throw bodies, unfamiliar faces confused at who you were as you passed them and made your way to Porco.

“Hey, Porco.” You say sweetly, pulling his attention away from the men he was speaking to right to you. A dopey smile flashes across his face as he throws his hand to the back of his neck.

Nervously he calls your name, “What happened to dancing with Mikasa?”

“You were watching us?” You come closer to him. The two random men excused themselves as soon as they heard your flirty tone.

“How can I not.” His jaw tightens as he studied your expressions. He’s resting the waters with you seeing how you’d react to his flirtatious remarks. His attraction towards you was obvious, though you never played into it up until tonight. Tonight he’d be fun to play with.

Smiling gently, you push closer to him, “I got bored.” You looked up at him through your long lashes. He smelt your perfume, becoming entranced by the scent of it as the sight of your breasts pushed against him, “I wanted to speak to you too.”

Porco was good-looking. He was tall, built, had great hair, and had an attractive face. He just knew all about it. Bragged about girls and his skills. It wasn’t your thing, but for the time being, it would be.

“You wanna play with me today?” He brings his face down to yours, using his beer to lift your chin. You couldn’t help but notice how bad his flirting was, laughing at his words. He didn’t know. He’d assumed you were laughing with him, not at him.

“Should I not?” You play along with him, wrapping a hand around his neck and leaning in to whisper in his ear, “You always talk about how good you are.” His hand finds its way wrapping around your waist, inching closer and closer to your ass, “I want you to show me.”

“Only for yo-”

His words are cut short and you're pulled away from his grasp. Another pair of hands wrap around your wrist, stealing you from the blonde.

“Oh, Porco, man!” Eren. He shouts, throwing a hand and gripping Porcos shoulder. He shakes him while the grip on your wrist tightens, “I’m sorry, but I gotta take this monster home.” He shrugs, eyes lidded but burning holes right into Porco.

Before you or Porco can say another word, Eren is gone, dragging you away from him and the party. You try to fight his grasp and keep your comments quiet in case you hadn’t caused a scene enough at the party.

“Let go, Eren.” You wiggle from his grasp but he is just so much stronger than you, “Eren, c’mon, stop being a little bitch!” Finally, you yell at him, smacking him lightly on the shoulder as soon as you're far enough from the crowds.

He stops, doesn’t turn your way, nor does he speak. He just stops his steps, stands on an empty sidewalk of the suburban neighborhood hood, shoves his hands into his pockets, and continues walking.

Your heart pounds against your chest watching him walk away. Chest rising and nails sinking into the skin of your palms. How could he be so calm? It made you feel so angry. A different kind of anger from before, one couldn't easily explain.

“Are you coming or not?” Eren calls out from the side of his car. His hands were still shoved into his pockets.

“No.” You say sternly, crossing your arms.

He scoffs, shaking his head slowly at you. Then he laughs and gets in the car. The engine starts and the car rolls down to where you stand and stops.

“Stop acting like a child and get in.” His arm is out the window waving you down to get on, the other on the steering wheel. You ignore him once again. Quite literally, acting like a child while not even looking his way.

“Get in, you look stupid.”

“Don’t call me stupid, Eren.” You’re looking at him now, eyes wide and jaw clenched.

“Get in.”

“I can get a ride.”

“Yeah?” He looks up at you within dishealved locks, clicking his tongue, and shakes his head lightly again. He laughs. He’s high. “From Porco? That idiot just wants you for what’s in your pants.”

In the end, you cave in. Entering Erens car just infuriated you more. He was quiet, he didn’t say anything once you sat on the leather seats of his E30. You expected more from him about you messing around Porco. Maybe an explanation about the blonde. Nothing. He said nothing.

“That’s fine, Eren.” You speak softly and he begins to drive out of the neighborhood, “I don’t care if Porco wanted me for what’s in my pants.” Still, he doesn’t say a thing, “I wanted to fuck him.”

As you watch him, he clenched his jaw and his knuckles grip harder on the wheel. Then when you’re stopped at the red light, he revs the engine of his car. When it’s green, he speeds off. You poked the bear. He driving recklessly. Exceeding the speed limit, making sharp turns, and braking hard. He continues this throughout the drive to your apartment. Once you arrive, you jump out of the car, slamming the door as quickly as you could. You didn’t want to hear a thing from Eren.

Truly, you didn’t mind fucking Porco but you never were going to go through with it. You said what you said to get a reaction from Eren and you got what you wanted all along. You always did when it came to Eren.

Once you enter your apartment, you kick your heels off. Looking over your shoulder at the brunette getting closer to the door. When he just barely reaches the entrance, you slam the door in his face.

He’s quick, swinging the door and walking your way with force. He scares you, making your skin crawl once he grabs ahold of your face with one hand.

“Get your hands off me!” You speak incoherently from the pressure he’s applying to your face. With that, he lets go, grabbing your arm and dragging you into your bedroom to force you onto the bed, “Get off.”

“You don’t get to act like a brat after what you told me.” He hovers over you, keeling and keeping a knee between your legs to separate them. Your dress rides up, exposing your black lace panties. His hands hold your wrists in place on either side of your head.

You looked delectable to him. He saw that you were afraid, never seeing this side of him. But you also had some fight in you left, you weren’t gonna cower down soon. Though, especially, he saw that you were excited.

The way your chest rose, your nose was scrunched, your eyes glossed over, and the burning heat from your cunt against his knee. A wet patch grew on the center of your panties and he couldn’t ignore it.

“Really? I cant? Not even after you and that blonde bitch?” You spit out, teeth grinding against each other in a condescending tone, “I bet she fucked you so she can get seven grams with a discount? I know how you like smoking chicks out, you did it with me.”

The look in his eyes was purely dark. He was readable, so extremely readable. A once beautiful set of turquoise eyes is now dark. They're dark as a forest of evergreens. He gave you a look of wanting to ruin you.

“Don’t be so jealous, Princess.” He lowers himself so that his face was inches from yours, pushing and rubbing his knee against your cunt, “I didn’t smoke her out as I do with you.” A smile pulled at his lips as he watches you begin to rut your hips against his knee. And although you were angry, the itch and need to relive the throbbing at your pussy was much more important to you than yelling at Eren.

“D-did you fuck her?” You whimpered out as the rutting of your hips sent waves of heat throughout your body and your thighs began to ache from the work alone.

“Why would you care? I’m not your boyfriend.” He’s so close to your lips now. You pathetically attempt to kiss him, but he dodges your lips and watches as you embarrassingly rut your hips to reach completion. It wasn’t close to enough though, you needed more of him. His fingers, his mouth, his cock. Something more.

He feels bad for you, you tried but failed horribly at standing up to Eren. The craving you had for the boy was intense and it needed to be treated immediately. But this time, he was punishing you and he wasn’t gonna give it to you that easily.

“Look at you,” Finally he lets go of your wrists, getting up and leaving you high and dry on your silk sheets. And christ what a sight you were to him. Chest rising high, tits nearly spilling from your sweetheart neckline, and your dress cinched and just barely above your crotch exposing your cute little black panties with a bow. He couldn’t resist you. He wouldn’t.

“Get on your knees.” He spits out, watching over you like some god. And even though your mind told you not to cave in more than you already have, you continued to get on your knees. Eren watched as you struggled with weak legs and arms, becoming more and more impatient. Eventually, you were positioned perfectly.

“You’re beautiful like this.” He growled, “So fucking beautiful.” He exaggerates each word, smoothing over the soft skin of the back of your until reaches the globes of your ass. He squeezed hard, shoving you forward and into the mattress.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to speak coherently to Eren. Almost all five of your senses were Eren. From the corner of your eyes, you see him leaning over you and admiring you. His voice is low and raspy while whispering sweet yet poisonous comments into your ear. Eren smells of his cologne. His intoxicating, clean fresh cologne and his weed. Calloused hands run up the arch of your back and press down, making your ass stick higher in the air. But you couldn’t take him.

He wouldn’t let you, and all you wanted was him in your mouth. You needed to taste his spit on your plump lips. You had a craving for his saliva on your tongue.

“How bad do you want it?” Eren asks, pushing your dress until it’s just below your bra.

“Bad.” Whiny and breathy, you rock your hips back to meet Erens crotch. Through the rough material of his jeans, you shimmy your ass on his hard cock. “So bad, Eren.”

With that, he lets go. His hand snakes around your neck and the other gets a brutal grip on your hair, pulling your head back. You whine from the stinging at your scalp. It hurt, but the pooling between your legs said otherwise. Once your face is off your sheets, his hand squeezes your cheeks together, making your lips pucker. He sticks his fingers in your mouth, pressing his pointer and middle down on your tongue so you’d drool over the length of them. He pushes farther, making you gag and your eyes brim with tears, ruining your makeup. Eren laughs darkly.

“No one can make you feel as good as I do.” He rasps, his fingers still messaging your tongue and making you gag as his other lets go of your hair to undo his belt. The jingle alone makes you jump, goosebumps crawl all over your body, and your cunt drips.

You shake your head. No. No one can make you feel as good as Eren.

A string of saliva falls past your glossy lips once Erens fingers leave your mouth. He groans at how soaked his fingers are from your mouth. His other hand comes back to your head pushing you into the mattress again and the other releases his cock from his briefs. Fuck, he utters under his breath once he wraps his hands around his aching cock.

Your breathing is restrained, nearly choking from the face full of bed sheets and Erens forceful behavior. You’re aching everywhere for him, but especially your cunt. Releasing the balled-up sheets from your hands, you slowly inch one between your legs. Pathetically, you reach for your throbbing clit but your finger isn’t long enough.

Eren shakes his head, hair messy and falling from the hair tie, “You need help, Princess?” He coos, almost mocking your whines and begging for relief from the ache between your legs. You nod eagerly.

“Words, Princess.”

“Please, Eren. I-I need you so bad.”

Eren is breathing heavily, pulling you closer to him and peeling your panties off. Under the moonlight, your cunt glistens with slick and pulsates for him. With his cockhead, he rubs your lips, spreading them to toy with your clit.

“More, please, just fuck me.”

“Be patient.” So you try to be. You let him play and tease you for a while. You let him stick his dick between your thighs, and fuck them. Wetting his length with your juices as he barely catches your clit with each slow thrust. He groans lowly with each stroke and each little noise you make.

And for your patience, he rewards you. His cock-head passes through the first ring of muscle. You’re welcoming him so well that he shoved himself inside you and that you let out a sharp yelp once he does. Your cunt wraps around him with intense heat and your gasping and groaning at his harshness.

He watched you below him. How you catch your breath, your knuckles turn white from the tight grips you had on your sheets, but your back arch’s more for him.

“Hard,” You speak softly and breathlessly, muffled, “go hard.”

Eren would cum at just that. Though he wouldn’t before he broke you. He nearly pulls the entirety of his fat cock out of your cunt, just leaving the tip inside, then forces himself back into the warmth of your pussy. He is slow at first but harsh, teasing you because he knows how much you like it rough. His hand roams the arch of your back, pushing hard. The other wrapping around your neck, squeezing hard. Then he’s fucking you. Fucking you hard.

He rammed his hips into you at a fast pace. His cock fills your walls and tip fucking your cervix. Your senses were heightened each time Eren slammed into you. Your moans are so lewd and loud, his grunting so animalistic. The oak legs of your bed scratched the floor and your bed frame hit the thin walls of your bedroom from Erens aggressiveness.

You're sore from him already. From the slapping of his thighs on yours and calloused hands all over your body. But you didn’t mind. You loved all of it. You loved all Eren gave you.

“I only fuck you like this,” He rasps between each thrust, “This pussy only takes me like this.” Slamming, slapping, groaning. Your mouth is dry as you breathe hard, gasping for air as Eren's hand squeezes harder around your neck.

“J-just you, Eren. Only E-eren can.” You say it softly, but you doubt he couldn’t even hear you.

Erens lost. He’s in a daze and living a dream of being in your pussy. Fucking you so deep, that he completely loses himself. Strong arms wrap around your stomach, pulling you to his chest with his cock still in your cunt, but thrusts paused. One arm stays at your waist, holding onto you until his fingertips bruise your tender skin. The other snakes to your neck again, gently but roughly, he puts you in a headlock and begins the rhythmic slamming of his cock into your pussy once more.

You panting like a bitch in heat, clawing at Erens waist to gain balance. Though his force is too much. He's fucking up into you like a beast. Grunting and muttering the sweetest yet disgusting praises into your ears. The soft hoodie he kept on is your only source of softness. His lips brisk from your neck and your ear and he bites down on your lobe. You’re a moaning mess when his lips suck the supple skin of your neck, only to bite down till he breaks a layer of skin. The belt lying above his knees scratches your skin, and his hand finds its way up to your stomach. Pulling your bra cup, he frees your tits, messaging them and pinching your nipple.

With one harsh thrust, Eren pushes you back into the bed. You’re limp, letting him use you like a fucktoy. Your throat is raw from moaning so much, from calling out F-fuck, Eren. Right there, Eren. Mmm, harder, Eren. You wouldn’t be surprised if your landlord came to visit you the next morning. Either way, you couldn’t care one bit.

The build-up Eren was giving you was amazing. So painfully amazing.

His hands roamed to your hips and held you in place for a couple of seconds until one came to rub your clit. You lost your mind at that. Whining louder from his thick, long fingers rubbing delicious circles onto your throbbing clit and his tip fucking your cervix nice and deep.

Your entire body filled with warmth and your joints turned into gelatin. Eren breathed harshly through grinding teeth feeling your walls cave in on him. The pulsing of your cunt added to his pleasure so did the rise and fall of your back.

“Squeezing me so fuckin’ good, Princess” He spits out, “You gonna cum, hm?”

Out of breath, yes’s fall past your lips. Raw, raspy yes’s.

“Yeah, yes, Eren.”

With Eren, your orgasms were never just one knot snapping. It was multiple. Multiple knots snapping at an unexplainably fast speed with great intensity. So with one more snap of his hips. That’s what happens. Those knots snap, and you’re gone. Moaning, yelping, whining, screaming. You’re gushing all over his fat cock you don’t even notice the mess you make on him and your bed sheets.

A panting, worn out, hot mess you were. Legs trembling and wet from your juices. Eren's thrusts became sporadic as he came closer to his high from the sight of you squirting all over him.

“F-fuckin’ hell, Princess.” He moans lowly, “Dirty-fucking-slut,” He accentuates each word with a hard, tired-out thrust. He smacks your ass, squeezing the globes to pull you back to him once more. He cums. His big, cock shoots and stuffs you full of his cum. Moon-shaped marking and pierced into the skin of your hips from his grasp, red and nearly purple from his strength.

You’re quiet besides your painting, no longer able to say a thing, no longer able to move. He broke you just like he wanted to.

Eren keeps his cock inside you, reaching out to grab a handful of your hair, he turns you. His other hand moves your hair out of your face and wipes a glob of tears away from your mascara-stained eyes. He’s breathing heavily through his nose, his nostrils flaring. He’s sweaty and his cheeks are rosy from leaving his hoodie on.

Once more, he thrusts himself into you. Stuffing you full of his cum and not letting a single drop fall. He watches as your face contorts. Wet lips fall, eyes roll back, and nose scrunch.

“Only I fuck you this good. Remember that, Princess.”

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peregrine21 · 6 months

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(photo from pinterest)

quick reminder for y'all to fill out the updated tag list for me please! (2 posts down, the form specifically says updated in the title) apologies for any inconveniences, there was some confusion on the original and some usernames didn't register, there is also a new character/fandom added (Larissa Weems, Wednesday).

~~to the fic :)

Elegantly off schedule - Miss Peregrine x Reader

Pairing: Alma Peregrine x Reader

Includes: fluff, gorgeous gorgeous Alma

Warnings: slight jealousy on y/n’s part? But its alr Alma helps <3

Word Count: 508

Brief Description: Mini fic of Alma being gorg and putting y/n in absolute awe with her elegance and grace and beauty before they go on a dinner date. (tiktok prompt).

~~~

You’d already been waiting 15 minutes for Alma to come downstairs for your dinner date. It wasn’t like her to be late or take this long to even get ready for a date night. You had planned ahead anyway– something you’d picked up from Alma– so you weren't worried about missing your reservation. You just wanted to make sure she was alright and not rush her. Ever since Barron had showed up that one day, you couldn’t help but be anxious. You walked up to her room and gently knocked on the door to check on her, “Alma, darling, is everything alright? Do you need anything?” You stood there waiting for a response, and after a moment, she finally responded, “I’m alright love, I’ll be down soon!” You descended the stairs once more and sat on one of the chaises in the parlor as you waited, picking up the book you’d left on the side table earlier. Your dress splayed out on the chaise and the floor as you sat. Only a few pages in, you heard Alma’s door open and close again. You placed the book back on the table and looked up towards the staircase expectantly. As you heard her heels click rhythmically down the stairs, your heart started pounding out of your chest. You’d been together years now, but every date still felt like the first.

Alma finally appeared at the top of the stair landing. The sight of her left you absolutely awestruck. She’d always dressed nicely for your dates but never to this caliber. She wore a floor length black dress with an off-the-shoulder neckline and a double slit in the front of the skirt revealing her delectable legs as she descended the staircase. Her hair was curled and pinned up in elegant perfection and her makeup done to match. You hardly processed her descending the stairs from the pure awe you were in admiring her beauty. When she made it down the staircase and approached you, your senses were filled with her perfume that you’d bought her for your last anniversary– the one she only brought out on special occasions. Between her appearance and the perfume, you were in absolute ecstasy; It made you want to scoop her in your arms bridal style and carry her back into her room.

Your mood dropped however after a few moments passed and you could come down to your senses a bit. If she sent you over the moon this easily, imagine the other people round town and in the restaurant you were going to. Imagine the cat calls and the other people trying to steal her attention as she passes by them in all her elegance and grace. A pair of taloned hands cradled your cheeks, pulling you out of your thoughts, “I’m yours darling,” she whispered, smiling at you, “Only yours, no one else's. Understand?” You look into her eyes in awe once more and nod silently. She pulls you closer into a loving kiss before you both head off to dinner together.

~~~

@lexi1109 @perfectlightexpertfriend @xYourlostwifexoxo @Joshuastuff22 @theyearis2040 @darlingimlostwithout @jestercat28 @ravie-ray @queerpersonified @emsmultiverse @ann08267 @ilovewomenmen2 @aliceis-75 @princessoofolympus @atlas-reader

#x-reader #date night #Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children #miss peregrine #miss peregrine movie #miss peregrine x reader #alma peregrine #alma lefay peregrine #alma peregrine x reader #alma lefay peregrine x reader #romantic #fluffy romance #fluff #miss alma lefay peregrine

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the-knucklesverse · 3 months

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Dressing Up

something something Wachowki's getting officially adopted and he's dressing the rest of the Knux's up in traditional echidna clothing for the special occasion ~~ Qwerty

~~~~~

"I LOVE THIS!" Boom cried, spinning to let his poncho flare. "It's so warm and soft and cozy and MMMMMMM!"

"Stop that," Wachowski said, gesturing for Boom to put his arms down. He fastened an ornate belt around the taller echidna's waist. "It's not a dress. This is the formal attire for the tribe's respected elder."

Boom looked like he was about to cry. "You see me as a respected elder?" His lower lip trembled.

"You are wise in ways of emotions and communication. The big brother to the rest of us."

"I be older than him, ye know!" Dread called as he came closer. He tugged at the neckline of his outfit. "What be my outfit? Fiercest warrior? Best looking?"

Wachowski paused for a moment. "Something like that."

Dread cast him a cocked eyebrow. "I sense ye're not being completely honest with me, but choose to believe ye anyway, for the sole reason that I look GOOD."

Wachowski uttered a soft snicker. "Then it all works out."

He finished with Boom's attire and made his way around the room, checking and helping the others properly adjust the ornate accessories.

Little Z stood off to the side, staring at himself in a full-length mirror. There was something on the boy's face that Wachowski couldn't place, and he approached the little zombie quickly.

"Little Z, did you need help?"

The boy continued to stare at himself in the glass. "This is . . ."

When he didn't continue, Wachowski walked closer, adjusting the lay of the cloth. "The garment of a young guardian, ready to come of age to serve the Master Emerald."

The boy stared. His eyes were wide, flicking up and down his reflection in the mirror. He swallowed hard. ". . . I wore this before."

"What?" Wachowski was only half-listening. He'd need the Master Emerald to create another belt for the boy, his frame so small and frail this one wouldn't do.

Little Z's eyes went shiny. He opened his mouth once. Swallowed again. Opening it again and his voice was shakier than before.

"I wore this . . . before."

Wachowski straightened another wrinkle before the tone of the boy's voice sank in. He stopped, turning to look at the boy's reflection. "What's wrong?"

Little Z's body began to tremble.

"I don't want to do this. I'm scared. Please don't make me do this!"

The boy's voice turned higher as he spoke, and soon the other echidna in the room were turning toward him.

Wachowski wasn't sure what the problem was. He placed a firm hand on Little Z's shoulder and leaned close.

"You don't have to do anything, you're safe. What's wrong?"

Little Z was shaking now, tears trickling from his eyes.

"Let me go, don't make me do it, let me go, LET ME GO!"

Boom pushed his way forward, with Dread close behind. A flash of confusion passed over him for a second, before he realized the problem. Wachowski didn't know about Z's history. He didn't know how Z became Z.

The little zombie was struggling against Wachowski now, fighting to get away. Boom rushed forward, gently gripping Z's face in his hands and bringing their foreheads together.

"You're safe, Little Z," he soothed, keeping the boy's head against his. "You're safe. No one's going to hurt you. I'm here and I won't let anyone hurt you. I promise."

Dread moved up and pulled Wachowski away. "Get those clothes off him. Now."

Confusion passed over Wachowski's face, but he nodded and moved to pull the robes from Z's shoulders.

"They hurt me, they hurt me, why would they hurt me like that??" Z hissed as he held onto Boom's hands. "They were my friends! They were supposed to take care of me! WHY DID THEY HURT ME??"

Boom couldn't take it anymore and he scooped Z up into his arms, hugging the boy tightly.

"I dunno, Z, I really don't," he said, his eyes closed as he tried to absorb all of the boy's pain and sorrow. "But you're here now, and we will never hurt you. We'll protect you and keep you safe."

A chorus of agreement rose around them. Z wrapped his arms around Boom's neck, hugging the tall echidna just as tightly.

It took a few minutes for the boy to calm, and when he did he pressed his forehead against Boom's once more. The taller echidna whispered something to Z, and the boy nodded, sniffing once before Boom gently placed him back on his feet.

He wiped his cheeks, before turning back to Wachowski.

"Sorry," he said, his voice thick with unshed tears. "Sorry. I didn't mean to ruin things."

Wachowski shook his head, a concerned furrow in his brow.

"You have not. Dread explained things to me, and I greatly apologize for bringing back such harmful memories to you."

Little Z sniffled again, running his arm beneath his nose. "Do I still get to dress up?"

Wachowski offered the boy a smile. "You do. I have a much better idea of what you can wear. The robes of the village healer. The most precious and special of all."

A smile curled Z's lips at that, and he followed as Wachowski addressed the Master Emerald for the different clothes.

#knucklesverse #knuckles the echidna #knucklesverse writing #knuckles the dread #sonic prime #boom knuckles #qwerty writing #zombie knuckles #knuckles wachowski #sonic boom

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pedrisbanana · 1 year

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Pedri x brat reader smut? 🤍

Just a (kinky) quickie today ;)

Enjoy 🍌

Mini Punishments

Teasing Pedri was your favourite hobby. You loved it when he got playfully angry at you, always resulting in the most mindblowing sex, mostly in public. Maybe Pedri got off on it.

Just like today, when just a few flirty sentences towards Gavi got you bent over the dark green hood of the Mini Cooper. The cold night air of Camp Nou's underground car park combined with the cold caroche, made you shiver. Pedri scooped the hem of your dress up, exposing your most private parts. The scrap of your panties being more decoration than modesty, he ripped them and put them into the pocket of his jacket.

Goosebumps spread on your skin.

"I'm surprised little miss princesa even bothered to put on panties this time" The sound of his rough hand hitting your skin echoed through the empty parking lot. There was a sting, but not enough to hurt you. He was warming you up. His voice was quiet and steady.

It was true. The last three matches you teased Pedri by showing him what you weren't wearing underneath, before he went off to the locker room. It was hilarious how it pissed him off that he couldn't fuck you before playing. He made you feel it for the rest of the days, leaving striae.

In between slaps he switched cheeks and a continuous warmth spread under the skin of your abused backside. You enjoyed it, thinking about how hard he must be from watching you, almost forgetting anyone could see you.

"I'm surprised my little midfielder even bothered to score today" Mimicking his tone, you reminded him of his 4 shots on target with only one actually hitting the net.

He pulled you to him by the hair, fingertips tickling your scalp. Now being back to chest with your boyfriend, you could feel his erection pushing into your lower back. The material of his skinny jeans felt rough rubbing against the oppressed skin of your ass.

Pedri's breath was hot on your ear. "I thought you were to busy offering your body to my teammates, like a whore, to even notice your boyfriend scored a goal"

You tried to make eye contact and pushed your ass onto Pedri's crotch. His words, emphasizing the word boyfriend, had your pussy dripping like hot wax, running down your thighs. "You don't like my dress ?"

This earned you a harsh pull on your hair. The pain excited you.

Your dress was a dream in dark blue. It had a sweetheart neckline and was just long enough not to flash anyone when walking. You had bought it in the sleepwear section of an expensive boutique.

"Your dress is not my problem, it's your behaviour that is, carino" His words sounded softer now, almost melodic and he released your hair.

Pedri's hand settled on your waist, stopping the little lap dance his words had caused you to start, against him. "If you're gonna act like a slut, I'm gonna treat you as such"

His index and middle finger found your clit, rubbing softly. It caused you to sigh, letting your head fall back against his shoulder.

"Pedri..."

His movement stopped. "You don't get to call me by my name. Don't say it again or I'll make this little ass bleed"

Your body shivered. He picked up his pace again, this time pushing two fingers of his other hand inside you. "Be quiet. I'm fucking you for my pleasure only."

Your body sunk forward, hands holding onto the green car. Now this was really a challenge. Your lips were gonna be chapped tomorrow.

You could feel Pedri smirk when he pushed another finger inside you. It was really hard suppressing your moans. Every time you clenched around him, Pedri stopped his movements to keep you from your orgasm. It wasn't the first time he edged you and you knew he was hard, so he couldn't do this for long.

If you ever doubted the willpower of your boyfriend, you surely would never again after tonight. All you could think of was the need to finally come. Tears ran from your eyes and you tasted blood on your tongue from biting on your lip. Pedri gave you silent treatment, making you focus on the sloppy sounds of his fingers pushing in and out of you.

Little whimpers slipped from your lips, but this time Pedri removed his fingers completely. You would've probably sunken to the ground if you weren't leaning on the hood of the Mini. Feeling Pedri's stare, you managed to turn.

"If you get my car wet, I'll make you lick it off with your tongue" His eyes were dark and he used the little scrap of lace from his pocket to wipe his fingers.

It embarrassed you deeply.

"You may ask me" he challenged you. You didn't get the hint and he pointed to the concrete.

"If you ask me nicely, then I'll let you suck my cock." he took a step forward, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. "and if your performance is too my liking, then I might forgive you your little act and grant you the orgasm you want so desperately"

You looked to the ground. Normally you didn't have a problem getting on your knees or talking dirty, but tonight something stopped you.

"What ?" Pedri scoffed. "Now you're too embarrassed ?"

Oh, you weren't going to lose this. Taking all your confidence you spoke up.

"Can I suck your cock ?" your words were merely a whisper.

He grabbed your chin. "Say it again. I didn't hear you"

"Can I suck your cock, please ?" you asked again, louder.

He didn't answer, but stepped back to make room for you to kneel. The concrete was cold and you felt little stones dig into your knees. You made quick work of pulling his pants and briefs down.

His cock almost hit your face, being freed. He was already leaking precum, tip red and swollen. Taking him in your mouth, his hand supported your head. He moaned, pushing himself further down your throat. His pace was aggressive, since he'd been so aroused from fingering you, he wouldn't last long.

Whenever he pulled back, your tongue teased his shaft with little licks like you knew Pedri enjoyed it. But your boyfriend also enjoyed using your mouth to pleasure himself. He didn't give you time to bring in your actions, you being merely a tool for his excitement.

Whenever you didn't relax your throat fast enough, he snapped his hips faster. Saliva was running from the corners of your mouth, hitting the tops of your thighs. This was the hottest blowjob you'd ever given. Pedri knew exactly how wet it made you when he used you as his personal toy. Your clit was pulsing painfully between your closed thighs.

It didn't take him long to fill your mouth with his cum. You swallowed and wiped your mouth with your hand, waiting for his instructions. Hoping he'd give you the release you wanted, you batted your eyelashes.

Pedri tucked himself back and walked past you, towards his car. "Get inside."

Mumbling a swear to yourself you somehow managed to get up and walk to the passenger side, holding the doorhandle in a vice grip. Your boyfriend got in and waited for you, but when you opened the door, he pushed the passenger seat to the front. His eyes were hard, just like his tone.

"Backseat and spread your legs. I want to see you wide open, but remember what I said about the car." he nodded towards the seats.

You took your dress off, to sit on it, so you wouldn't stain the fabric of the seats. Pedri smiled, watching you completely naked, getting comfortable and spread on his backseat.

He started the engine. "You can touch yourself, but if you don't come before we arrive home, then I'll guess you played your chance, mi amor."

His voice made your pussy clench around nothing, staining the dress beneath you. You drove into the night, with brown eyes observing you. Pedri licked his lips at the sight, hungrily.

Yes, you loved to play with Pedri's patience, but tonight, he proofed he could play you just as easily.

A/N: As usual I hope you liked this and have time to leave some love for me 😝

Get prepared for Pedri x Reader x Joao Felix at the end of the week, my lovely banana babes 💕

My updated weekly plan will come on Friday.

Stay healthy and slutty 🌞

#pedri gonzalez #pedri smut #pedri fanfic #pedri x reader #pedri one shot #pedri imagine

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violettduchess · 10 months

Note

Hello Violet! For the Beach Event, may I request watching a meteor shower on the beach with Gilbert? Thank you!

A/N: an entry for @solomons-poison 's Summer Fun event. Here you go @atelier-the-atelier 💜

Gilbert x f reader

Mildly spicy content

WC: 1239

The sky above is an endless canvas of midnight blue, bespeckled with thousands of glowing silver stars. Before you, the sea stretches out to meet the sky, arms wide in welcome, ocean waves singing a soft song of reunion. The water kisses the shore, over and over again, white foam kisses that tickle your bare feet as you stand there, staring out into eternity. The night wind whips your clothing against the soft curves of your body and gently pulls your hair from its pins, as if doing Gilbert’s bidding, as if it knows how he likes you best: nothing restrained, nothing held back from him. You turn to look at him over your shoulder, to where he is propped up on his elbows beneath the sand dunes. Even from here, you see the intensity of his crimson eye as it takes you in, frames you within the beauty of the night, engraving the moment into his mind so it may forever be called forth when he wants it.

You gather your skirts in one hand and run back to him, your feet sinking into the soft, fine sand. He opens his arms and you fall into them, laughing at the thrill of being in his embrace, away from the responsibility of ruling, away from the austere walls of the palace, the tall forests and bare hills of Obsidian. You have both worked so hard, building up the country, building up a group of nobles you can trust, building relations to other countries, including your own Rhodolite. It was, in fact, after you both had stumbled into bed on the wrong side of midnight that Gilbert took one look at your tired face and announced he had an idea.

A small, private island off the coast of Tanzanite had turned out to be a brilliant idea. No one else on the island, no one needing anything from the imperial couple. No distractions, demands or concerns. Just you, Gilbert and the beauty of the beach, the blessing of solitude.

You turn within the circle of his arms, reaching up to brush his hair away from his forehead. God, you love him. A love so expansive that it sometimes feels like it might just break you into pieces, grind you into dust and carry you away into the ether. Gilbert smiles slowly, pulling you closer.

“Yes, Häschen? Is there something you want to say?”

You shake your head, instead leaning up to kiss him. By now you’ve kissed him a thousand times. You’ve run your fingers over every inch of his skin, tasted him in a hundred ways, fallen asleep next to him countless nights. And yet each time you press your lips to his, it feels new, another blossom sprouting in the arboreal shelter of your love for him. He shifts you both, laying you down onto the blanket, already pressing his body against yours. His cool fingers kiss your bare skin as he skims the scooped neckline of your dress, laughing huskily against your mouth as you try to arch up into his touch.

“Ah ah…..Geduld, meine Liebe.” Patience, my love.

You sigh your frustration as his hands run along the shape of your body, over your clothing, where layers of fabric suddenly feel torturous against your warm skin. You ache for the soothing coolness of his touch. And he knows it. He drops his head, white teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck. One hand pins your shoulder down, the other stretches, expertly catching the damp hemline of your skirt and slowly drags it upwards, the backs of his fingers purposefully feathering over the bare skin of your calf, your knee, your outer thigh.

“Gil….” His name is seized by the wind as it leaves your trembling lips, carried away towards the black ocean and glittering sky. He bites the soft skin of your shoulder as his hand slides across the top of your thigh, fingers curling possessively inwards. Your eyes close, shutting out the world, as your body winds itself tighter, a mechanism in the hands of an expert engineer. One who knows exactly which minute adjustments of hips and fingers, teeth and tongue, will have the greatest effect.

You gasp as he traces filigree on the inside of your thigh, his touch teasing, cloyingly close to where you need him. Your body twists, trying to right the course of his fingers but they remain where they are, the maddeningly sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh, no matter how you move.

Your laugh is fluttering ribbons of frustration and admiration, your eyes opening with the intention of catching his gaze and telling him to stop being so cruel.

You gasp again but not because of your husband.

“Look…..” You grab his shoulder, pulling him away from your half open blouse and the rose-red kisses he’s been painting across your skin. Had he managed to undo the buttons with his mouth? Or his other hand? Or had he simply torn it? You have no idea. And right now it doesn’t matter. He looks up at you, his beautiful face flushed with desire, questions in the crimson depth of his eye. You point up at the sky.

Velvet black is alive with light as several silver-white orbs streak across the sky, trailing long, glittering tails behind them. They burn white-hot as they fall like celestial beings falling from the heavens, aflame with holy light. Gilbert reaches up, removing his eyepatch, his gaze fixed on the sky.

His lips part in awe at the sight but he is quiet, drinking in the sight as the cosmic flames continue along their shimmering arc. He reaches out a hand without looking, knowing you'll take it and you do, threading your fingers through his as you watch alongside him in perfect quiet. Only the waves provide a soft accompaniment to the orchestral beauty of the meteor shower.

The only thing more moving than the living artwork of the sky is the feeling of experiencing it together. You glance away to watch him, his face another window to the divine, its beauty as heart-stopping as the meteors. He has gilded your life in silver, wrapped you within the tangles of his gossamer heartstrings and raised you into the light of a love brighter than any star.

The last shimmer fades from the sky, leaving only the memory of its radiance behind. You squeeze Gilbert's hand gently. He turns and he smiles, his eyes glowing like stained glass, backlit by the light of deepest affection. He tugs you towards him, clasping you against his chest as you fall back together onto the sand.

"I love you," you murmur in a voice smooth as sea glass, soft as the night wind.

Gilbert brushes your hair away from your face, his hand lingering behind your ear.

"Ich liebe dich auch," he answers in the language of his heart.

Love, like the eternal movement of the sea, passes between you, carried by your words, tangible in your touching.

And then he shifts, rolling until he is above you, blocking your view of the night sky and filling it with something even more beloved.

His lips touch yours, his fingers wind through your hair, and you close your eyes once again, your heart radiant with a desire as bright and beautiful as any cosmic wonder.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly @joiedecombat

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri gilbert #ikemen gilbert #minx summer fun 2023 #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #otome fanfiction #otome fanfic #violettwrites

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