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slytherinslut0 · 2 days

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mattheo riddle | focus.

PAIRING: Mattheo Riddle x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: you thought you were just going to have a peaceful night with your boyfriend, cuddling while watching the newest episode of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. you thought.

WORD COUNT: 4.1k. (i’m sorry?)

TAGS: 18+, SMUT MDNI, praise kink, some teasing, matty being an absolute dawg per usual, unable to keep those delicious hands to himself, maybe like the tiniest bit of degradation, fingering, multiple orgasm, PIV, doggy/prone-bone, um yeah the usual filth i provide.

DEDICATION: this was a little bday gift for my lovely friend @pizzaapeteer🤍 hope u had the best day bbygirl ilysm!

"Matt," you exhaled your boyfriends name, leisurely rubbing your tired eyes. "...any minute now, please."

A muffled yawn from inside the bathroom was the only outward sign of his acknowledgment before he appeared in the doorframe--like a vision materializing from a dream. Your groggy eyes clung to his shadow, watching as he lazily sauntered toward you--looking cozy, yet as exhausted as ever.

It’d been a busy day for you both, between his quidditch tournament finally drawing to a close and your ruthless potions exam--you’d found yourselves lacking routine, your schedules treacherously out of sync--because not only had you not seen each other since this morning, the way the day had started was frantic enough to send your mood into sours so intense it’d make a fucking lemon grimace.

There was no cuddles, no intimate shower time, and certainly no morning sex. The only bout of intimacy Mattheo was able to steal from you was a quick peck on the cheek before you scurried out the door, desperate to cram in as much studying as you could.

It was safe to say that by this point, the two of you were fucking spent, slightly annoyed, and most certainly, drained. And all you’d been thinking about--for the entirety of your day, was getting to snuggle, catch the latest episode of your favourite muggle/guilty-pleasure show, preceded by dozing off embraced within your boyfriend’s loving arms.

"Look, I love you and all, but can't we watch something else?" He was so utterly unenthused you'd think you were forcing him to watch paint dry, his expressions a mirror to his tone as he combed a hand through his hair. "Something that maybe won't give me a bloody headache."

Messy chocolate curls framing brooding brown eyes, grey sweatpants and a black hoodie was all that it took to make you rethink your plans for the evening. It was clear to you, almost immediately, that Mattheo wasn’t as deterred by the craziness of the day as you were. You could see that twinkle in his eye, that hunger barred behind cheeky grins and teasing words.

You rolled your eyes, biting your lip in attempt to quell your smirk. "Oh, come on, Mattheo," you teased, shifting on the comforter to make space for him beside you. "You know deep down you love the drama. That's practically your middle name."

"If I'm being completely honest," your boyfriend scoffed, settling into bed beside you. "I'd probably enjoy it more if we turned the volume off."

Your face flushed with warmth as Mattheo immediately drew you into him, one arm slipping under your head while the other coasted a light path up your thigh. A pair of lips pressed to your neck, wet and soft against your aching skin, igniting bliss to burn a scorching heat in your belly. Against your better judgement and instigated by a force well beyond your control, you sighed--exhausted lids fluttering shut as you revelled in the warmth his presence evoked within you.

It right was then, that you knew--as instinctual as breathing--that simply watching your show and going to bed wasn’t going to be enough for your boyfriend. Of course you wanted him--wanted him just as bad as he wanted you--but your exhaustion was prevailing, and therefore, so was your brattiness.

He was going to have to be patient. He was going to have to work for it.

So with a sharp inhale, and in an honest attempt to avoid the volcano of desire before it erupted irrevocably, you turned your back to him--seeking refuge from the imminent intoxication that came along with your boyfriend's perfect lips.

"Wow, Matty," you teased, "and here I was actually considering letting you be the little spoon for once..." you fixed your sight on the TV, fighting to ignore his touch on your hip. "Guess you'll just have to be the big spoon all night."

Mattheo's chuckle rumbled against your back as he tightened his embrace, his warmth enveloping you completely. His lips brushed against your ear, and you could practically hear the exhaustion in his tone, his voice as rough as gravel.

"That's not the punishment you thought it'd be, princess," he murmured, the cheeky grin on his lips practically audible, each syllable tickling the back of your neck as he spoke. "This just gives me something far more interesting to focus on than that dumb show of yours."

You couldn't stop yourself from tsking him, a giggle escaping your lips as you gently pulled his wandering fingers away from your backside, intertwining them with your own. This was one of the many things you adored about him—the way he couldn't seem to keep his hands off you whenever you were together.

"Nuh-uh, Mattheo Riddle--your focus is on the show," your attempt to scold him was warring with the need to keep your voice steady, playfully tilting your head back slightly to meet his gaze. "I know you're just dying to find out who said what behind whose back, aren't you?”

Mattheo huffed, an exhale of pure amusement. A certain intoxicating devilism that you knew all-too-damn-well twinkled in his honeyed irises as he caught your gaze, scorching heat over your skin.

"I'm dying for something, undoubtedly," his arm beneath your head curled inward, large palm finding a handful of your breast and kneading it. Before you could react, his lips graced your earlobe, and he drew it into his mouth, nibbling it, forcing an eminent whimper to flee your throat. "And it's not that."

Involuntarily, you groaned--a noise of pure restraint--your other hand moving up to tug his fervent fingers away from your chest. It took every ounce of your willpower to hold back a sigh of desperation as you mentally reminded yourself of your prior mantra.

Make him be patient. Make him work for it.

"Matty, quit being a brat," you muttered, playful scolding tracing your tone. You honestly couldn't believe you'd just said that. "We’ve both had such a long day…let’s just watch this and goto sleep, yeah?"

His response was a low, rumbling murmur, his voice thick with desire as he turned his head toward the television, his fingers still for the moment.

"You're so right, baby," he conceded, his breath warm against your neck. "I'm just watching the show. I don't even know what you're--"

"Mattheo," you interjected, a hint of warning in your tone, and he let out an exaggerated huff, falling silent. After a moment, you giggled at him. "Salazar help you."

Even without seeing his face, you could practically hear the cheeky grin on his perfect lips spreading from ear to goddamn ear. You were certain he was seeing right through you.

"Alright, alright, I'll behave," he said, though his voice betrayed him. There wasn't one ounce of sincerity in those devastatingly deep cords. "Would you just like, stop squirming, though? It's distracting."

You rolled your eyes. Gods, how you wanted to smack him while simultaneously kissing his perfect, annoying face. "Matt, I literally haven't moved."

Mattheo shrugged, his breathy chuckle washing over your neck, his eyes now fixed on the TV. As the two of you settled into stillness, you exhaled--his playful antics never failed to humour you, a reminder of the delightful chaos that came with dating this messy, yet undeniably wonderful boy. Sometimes, it truly felt like living in your own reality TV show, though you wouldn't have it any other way.

Nestled in his embrace, a sense of tranquility washed over you as you immersed yourself in the drama that this weeks episode had to offer. However, as the clock ticked on and the show progressed, you could feel Mattheo's restlessness grow stronger behind you.

His movements were subtle at first--a shift here, a slight adjustment there, but soon enough, his hands began to wander after breaking free from your hold, tracing delicate patterns along your skin. Despite your efforts to remain focused on the show, the sensation of his touch was relentless, subtle ministrations laced with clear intent that had you distracted from the TV without much effort.

"Mattheo," you whispered, trying to sound stern but failing as a soft sigh escaped your lips.

"Shh, princess," he cooed, voice so sweet it was sugar incarnate. "We're watching the show, aren't we?"

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his teasing, but before you could protest further, his hand moved to roam along the curve of your waist, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Your breath caught in your throat, his touch igniting a familiar spark between you, threatening to engulf you both in a different kind of drama altogether--one that had absolutely nothing to do with the show on the television.

And you longed to utter something, anything--longed to form some semblance of coherent speech--but words would simply elude you as Mattheo's hand continued its eager exploration, mapping every inch of your curves as it started trailing its way from your hip down your thigh and back up, softly rolling his hips against your backside.

Somehow, throughout all this, you kept your eyes focused on the screen in front of you--hardly even daring to blink--though your mind was monopolized by the feeling of his calloused palm catching on the fabric of your leggings, the way his fingernails dug into your flesh as he gripped your hip, gripped your thigh, gripped your waist--anywhere his hungry hand could find purchase.

"I want you," his voice was a breath on your neck, his grip bruising your hip as he bucked into you. "So fucking bad."

You whined from lust, your vision fogged by need. His words sent heat straight to your cunt. "Matt..."

"I know, baby," his tongue drew a wet line up the side of your neck toward your ear, and he whispered into it. "Watch the show. Just let me take care of you.”

A lump formed in your throat, your mind so clouded with desire that forming a coherent response seemed impossible, your teeth clawing at your bottom lip to prevent any sounds from slipping out as his other hand moved to grope your chest, kneading your breast within his palm.

Your entire body was in flame, and the truth hung heavy in the air--of course, you wanted him just as desperately as he wanted you, and were more than willing to abandon the show and lose yourself in his touch--but it was frustrating, maddening even, how effortlessly he could disarm you, even while exhausted.

A mere whisper, a few tender touches, and you were putty in his hands, melting under his gaze. So much for making him work for it.

Mattheo hummed and bit the tender flesh between your neck and shoulder, sucking an angry, puckering red mark into it while he continued to grind against your ass, his throbbing desire jabbing you, seeking friction.

"Keep those eyes on the screen, baby." Gods, that bastard. That beautiful fucking bastard. Impossible to resist, completely useless to attempt to ignore. "Forget that I'm even here, yeah?"

A whimper escaped your lips, a tacit admission of how adeptly Mattheo had unraveled you, his touch igniting a starving fervour that coiled tight within you. He possessed an uncanny ability to unravel your defenses, leaving you malleable and pliant under his fingertips, consumed by an overwhelming need that pulsed with every beat of your heart.

"That's..." the words died on your tongue as he kissed your neck again--one hand moving to slip underneath your shirt and the other bruising your hip with his grip, pulling you closer against him. "...impossible."

"Oh, is it?" a pleased huff escaped him, his curls tickling the sensitive skin below your ear as he buried his face against it, teeth grazing your pulse. "Are you saying you can't multitask, baby? You want me to stop-"

"No," you cried out without hesitation as he finally glided up your stomach and slipped under your bra, thumb brushing against your nipple. "I...I can do both."

"Mhm, yeah you can," he purred, five slender digits slipping down to caress between your thighs, grazing over your mound and resting there for a moment, feeling your heat through your leggings. "You can do both because you're my good fucking girl, aren't you?"

His tone was intoxicating, the teasing and gentle praise melding together, creating a concoction brewed with the sole purpose of making your fucking head spin. Each word he uttered seemed to fan the flames of desire within you. Your teeth dug into your lower lip, wanting to plug as many noises as possible, his mouth moving from below your ear and slithering up to the line of your jaw.

Gathering yourself with a sharp inhale, you nodded. "Yes, Matty, I am..."

One hand shifted to your other breast and he groaned against your cheek, flooding your flesh with warmth as his fingers kneaded it, thumb twirling over the sensitive bud, erection grinding against you with another harsh snap of his hips.

"You are what, baby..." he muttered, burying his face back into the crook of your neck, his thick hair soft on your skin. "Wanna' hear you say it."

Another whimper escaped you, loud and shameless as his hand between your thighs shifted slightly, pressing against your clit for a moment before releasing pressure. You knew what he was after. You knew he wasn't going to give you what you wanted until he got it.

"I'm..." you choked on your breath, forcing the rest of the words past your teeth. "I'm your good girl, Matty."

Your arousal surged to dizzying heights, eclipsing any awareness of the television's presence in the room. Your focus had been hijacked, seized by the insatiable force of the hungry heathen at your back.

"Yeah, that's right, baby," Mattheos fingers sprung to action again, dragging the pads of his pointer and middle tantalizingly slow along your slit, teasing you through your leggings, your back arching instinctively as you fought the urge to grind against his touch. "Say it again for me."

You growled in frustration, feeling the heat blaze over your skin as his breath ghosted over your neck. Inhaling sharply, you fought to gather whatever shreds of sanity remained within you.

"Your good fucking girl, Matty," you declared, the words dripping with equal parts hunger and desperation. "All yours. Only yours."

Mattheo's response was a low, guttural growl of approval, his grip tightening possessively as he pulled you closer against him. His teeth dug into your shoulder as he finally sprung into action, hand on a hunt, tracking up to find the band of your leggings and slipping beneath it.

"That's fucking right," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "All mine.”

Without wasting another second he slid two digits along your slit, pulling apart your slick folds and dragging the rough pads of his fingers over your clit--maddeningly slow. His grip on your breast tightened, breath leaving his lungs in shallow grunts as fervour engulfed him--engulfed you, engulfed the room and set it in flame.

"All yours." you whimpered, nodding.

"My good fucking girl, always so wet for me--so eager, hm?" Your moans filled the room as he took those two thick fingers and slid them into your cunt, the feel of your walls stretching around him igniting a quiet groan from his throat. "All day without this pussy and you really expect me to be able to keep my fucking hands off you? You're all I've been thinking about..."

Then, his thumb was on your clit while he curled his digits inside of you, stroking that sweet spot of raised flesh, your trembling hands flailing to find his arms, fingers digging into his skin, grounding you as though he was your lifeline, your anchor in the rough sea of pleasure he was providing.

"Gods, Matty." Your lids were squeezed tight, lips pinched together, rubbing your head against his as the heat from his mouth grew sweat on your neck. "You're all I--ah--all I think about too..."

Mattheo groaned again, working fast, building the pressure inside of you in record speed, warm heat rushing out over your skin. Your walls throbbed around him, heart a rabid animal barred beneath your sternum, and he added a third digit, pinching your nipple with his other hand--sending stars shooting behind your lids.

"My good girl isn't focusing on the show, is she?" His voice was the tantalizing depth of a black hole, sucking you into his orbit. You forced your eyes open. "You wanna' cum you better start focusing, princess."

Your brain was short circuiting--your mind fogged by a desire so intense it eclipsed any awareness of the television before you. Though your eyes registered its presence in the room, its glow seemed distant and hazy, as if it existed in separate realm from the searing heat encompassing you. You glimpsed it, focused on it, but your brain couldn't quite grasp its purpose as the only thing that held any significance in your consciousness was the sensation of your boyfriend's fingers, relentlessly driving you closer and closer to the edge of euphoria.

"That's better." He hummed, lips pecking at your cheek. "So good for me," his fingers scissored inside you, thumb increasing its pace on your clit. "So, so good."

Your ears rang, your sight blurring. You were so fucking close. "Matty, fuck—I'm gonna-"

Your boyfriend groaned. "Cum for me, baby."

Without needing any further instruction, the coil of pressure inside of you burst, exploding through your skin and enveloping you in a hot, convulsing warmth--you were crying out, cumming hard around him, your walls clamping down on his fingers, pulling him into your body as you pulsed and throbbed with pleasure. You thought you'd kept your eyes open, though you couldn't entirely be sure as your sight blanked, your consciousness consumed by a days worth of pent up sexual energy.

As Mattheo slowly withdrew his hand from beneath your leggings and distanced himself slightly, his voice carried a palpable strain. "Turn over, facing the TV."

Confusion flickered across your features as you blinked, glancing over your shoulder at him. "What?"

"Face the TV, on your stomach," he repeated, his voice firm yet tinged with a hint of desperation. "Please."

You watched as he palmed his throbbing, angry erection through the fabric of his grey sweats, and every single nerve ending in your body roared to life again. Still buzzing with the remnants of your climax, you quickly moved, shifting onto your stomach and facing the TV like he asked, unable to shake the boiling anticipation churning within your core.

You could feel Mattheo's dark eyes boring holes into your flesh, searing the seams of your skin as he shifted up onto his knees and moved between your legs behind you. Two strong hands gripped your thighs, and you tried to peer at him over your shoulder before he tsked you playfully.

"Focus on the screen, baby." There’s that sweet voice again. Sweet like honey oozing off his lips. “Be good.”

Your boyfriend was methodical, moving without urgency even though you knew that he was more than vibrating with it. Leaning down, he pressed soft kisses along the back of your thighs, slowly journeying upward, tracing a path to the curve of your ass cheek where he playfully sank his teeth into the plump flesh, eliciting a shudder that rippled through your body.

You suppressed a moan, the sound caught in your throat as his hands found purchase, kneading and groping the sensitive flesh between his digits.

“Matty..."

A low hum of satisfaction reverberated against your skin as he continued his exploration, his fingers deftly hooking around the band of your leggings and underwear. With a teasing tug, he began to pull them down your thighs, revealing the fresh expanse of your skin inch by tantalizing inch.

"Shh," he cooed. “Beautiful girl.”

The breath in your chest was a rapid circle, your entire body trembling with desperation. The moment your pants were off, you felt Mattheo's hands shifting to his own, a soft groan escaping him as he freed himself from the confining material. Without hesitation, he loomed over you, his presence dominating as he leaned forward to snake a hand around your throat, forcing your head in place, facing the TV as he aligned himself with your centre.

"Since you're having trouble focusing, I'll help you," his fingers wrapped around your jaw, his breath hot on your ear. "My good fuckin' girl."

A cyclone was roaring in your brain, tearing apart coherent trains of thought with primitive, physical clamoring. You felt him glide the head of his cock between your thighs, slicking himself in the wetness he'd caused, teasing you with false thrusts before he finally pushed in, spearing you open with one long, deep, slow thrust.

"Fuck." His breath was a hidden hiss through his teeth as you groaned, walls clenching around his cock. "Been waiting all day for this, baby. Fuckin’ tight little pussy."

His grip intensified on your jaw, his breath washing warm over your ear as he pulled out slowly and slammed back in. You couldn't think, couldn't speak--brain already cock-drunk, inebriated by lust.

"Matty," you gasped, gripping the wrist to the hand holding your head in place. "Fuck."

"Mhm, that's right," his voice was shattered, his tone strained against his throat. Each thrust was deeper, harder, faster than the last one, his curls tickling your cheek as he nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck--warm, wet lips pressing against your pulse. "So fucking tight. Fuck, I missed this--fuckin’ missed you."

You whimpered, struggling with every ounce of your existence to keep your eyes open, to remain focused on the glowing box infront of you--but you weren't even sure if Mattheo cared much about that anymore. Even without seeing his face you knew he was above you, looking down--teeth barred, jaw tensed and pupils blown wide with lust.

You knew he was just as gone as you were.

"Fuck," Mattheo snarled, fucking deeper, his hips smacking against your ass with every angry thrust, drowning out the sounds of the show. His hand moved under your belly, reaching for your clit and quickly connecting with it, causing you to writhe and spasm against his hold. "How's that feel, princess."

Little choked moans left you while your jaw hung slack, his cock pounding into you--then his fingers hit just the right spot, and the massive, asphyxiating pressure inside of you bordered on the very edge of exploding.

"Fuck," you replied, as though it was the only word that you seemed capable of reliably saying. "Fuck—good, Matty...so good..."

"That's right," he muttered. "You're so beautiful like this, so fucking perfect." He held you fast, pounding your cunt, catching groans in his throat. "You have no idea what you do to me."

You groaned. His words alone were enough to make your head spin. "Fuck—"

Delirium ascended into ecstasy, pleasure amplified by the stretch of his dick fucking you deep. His weight pinned you to the mattress, his hand holding your head firm as he growled in your ear with each harsh thrust, pent up sexual tension pouring off of him and threatening to drown you beneath it.

"Mhm. Little slut. Dumbed out on my cock." A low moan left you, the heat and friction and feverish thrusts sending your sanity to space. His fingers circled your clit faster, and you tweaked, eyes rolling. "Poor thing couldn't even focus on the screen if she tried, could she?"

"No—fuck, I can't." Bliss burned to burst, stars swarmed your sight entirely, and you knew it, knew it was happening, knew that you were about to break. "I—I wanna' cum for you, Matty...please..."

"Go ahead, princess." He cooed. "Cum for me."

You clamped down on his swollen length, your orgasm cleaving you in half as you shook with euphoria, heat and pleasure tearing all the way to your fingertips and toes. Mattheo keened, grip on your jaw turning almost painfully tight as he groaned and drove into you with a final thrust, cum spilling into you, hips snapping while he convulsed with the tremors of his falling climax.

The room was spinning, your bodies stuck with sweat, every breath of air too hot, too thick with sex. Your boyfriend's face was still nestled into your neck, and, exhausted too, you let your head be entirely supported by his hand, exhaling a long, trembling breath.

After a moment, Mattheo rolled off and slumped down onto the mattress beside you, grinning. “Good thing we can just rewind, hm?”

You grinned, letting out a breathy laugh as he pulled you into his chest. “You’re something else, Mr. Riddle.”

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wh1msic4alwasab1 · 2 days

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𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫 ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

synopsis: while gaming with your friends who live in your dorm, someone suggests something a little cynical and humiliating for the loser to do

tags: explicit, vulgar, m@sterbation on cam, 3some, penetration, oral

wrd cnt: 1.2k

a/n: repost/rewrite! (continuation)

The normal night for you and your friends after a brutual day of calculus was a quick game of whatever the three of you decided that night...and quick was a few hours.

The three of you lived in the same building, but it was more convenient to just game together on call.

Tonight it was rounds and rounds of "poker night 2".

"Can you hurry it up?" Scara says, waiting on Xiao

"You know..unlike you I actually look at my cards" Xiao replies, rolling his eyes in the webcam and smiling when he hears you chuckle.

"All I'm saying is, I didn't win for nothing last round."

"Beginners luck" You say, raising your eyebrows in question of his skill, earning a scoff from Scara.

The game went on for a while, and the three of you had the usual banter and laughter, which made the comments ahead a little... questionable.

"Xiao…...I swear to you if you win this round I'm going to bed and blocking you."

"Wanna bet on it, dick?"

"Of course you're thinking about dick" Scars jokes, in a mockerish tone making you burst out into laughter.

"You think about jerking off more than what's for lunch."

"So that's the bet tonight??" You say, not expecting what Xiao would say next.

"What so loser has to jerk off for the world to see?" Xiao says, the light of the monitor screen reflecting into his eyes in his dark room, as he waits for a joke in response.

"I'm down." You say, hearing Scara slightly sigh out a deep breath before agreeing alone with you.

Suddenly a game of poker had a lot more riding on it than some fake money.

Of course, in ironic fashion Scara is in a loosing streak and cursing loudly at every terrible hand that follows his incredible bluffs.

"I can hear you from the fucking CEILING. Calm down..." Xiao says.

It was down to either you or Xiao, Scara losing considerably already, so at least you saved yourself the embarrassment of losing the bet.

It was your turn at this point, and you decided to go all in; with a straight flush. No way you weren't going to win.

Xiao, in the lead, didn't need to win, he just needed you to lose.

You were confident in your choice....until you saw Scaras cards.

A royal, fucking, flush.

"Fuck" you breathe out. You saw your character icon drop down down to the number "0". Game over for you.

“You don’t have to actually y/n- it was just a joke.” Xiao mentions.

“Fuck off”, you yell, your competitive nature acting before thinking.

You dropped your pants and spread your legs over the arm rests, each leg on either side as you groaned in annoyance at your loss.

"Uh oh...someone's not so happy huh?"

"Shut the hell up..." You say, defeated and salty, so close to winning. "I-I won't let you win again you know...this is just a one time thing" You manage to spit out, deep sighs leaving your body as only your chest and below is left in frame, your fingers visibly rubbing your hard nipples through your tank top as you begin to pinch and rub your clit, before fingering yourself with only your panties to cover your pussy.

"Fuck..." Xiao whispers, barely making its way to your ears as his palm covered the lower half of your face.

"Heh....what a bunch of whores the two of you..." You say, whimpering as the sounds of your slick coating your fingers becomes more and more apparent, your throat pitching higher as you gasp and moan for release, hearing Xiao and Scaras voices get deeper with groans, the sound of them pumping their cocks to the sight of you and your arousal.

Was was meant to be just a joke was your downfall.

Soon after, you see the boxes that would be Scara and Xiaos names and faces turn to black, leaving you feeling guilty and really fucking desperate, did you do something wrong?

You didn't know what would come next, they were your only friends on campus after all.

Minutes that felt like hours passed, and a furious knock returned at the door, almost startling due to how vulnerable you were right now.

"Y/n...it's us." You heard from beyond the wall.

Familiar voices which made you even more nervous as you open the door, Xiao and Scara leaning their bodies against the door frame with animalistic looks plastered upon their countenance, cheeks blushed and eyes set low.

"What's wrong..." You asked, letting them slowly enter your room, dimly lit with just the computer screen illuminating the space that they'd seen just from the other side.

"What do you think?" Scara says, his hand finding your waist as he pushes you aside to close the door now behind you, pressing you against it.

"Tell us this is what you want to…isn't it?" Xiao says, his face so close to yours you're practically sharing the same breathes of air, feeling his warm hand on your side of your neck as he spoke.

It took you 2 good minutes of convincing with a makeout against the door and you were so easily stripped, and layed into bed, and in such vulgar positions.

Scara holding your hips behind him, and Xiao next to your head.

They already knew how they were going to fuck you, Scara, imaging it as he saw how you pleasured yourself; on your hands and knees with your ass in the air would give him a good look of his cock sinking into your tight little hole; the one you were riding on call.

Your hands gripped your own sheets tighter until your knuckles were lightened from how slowly he started to push his thick cock inside of you. Scara groaned, smacking a hand across your ass before reaching his hand down to rub your clit in circles like he watched you do on call.

"You like that? It looked so sexy when you did it for us. Made me so fucking hard..." He'd spout, feeling your cunt clench around him.

"I'm here too you know" Xiao says, his thumb toying with your bottom lip before it parts your mouth open, the tip of his cock allowed itself in as muffled moans from how Scara thrusted into you vibrate around his length, making him groan and throw his head back; pinching and tugging at your perky nipples from under you all the while.

"Fuck..you have suck a nice mouth y/n...."

"Don't get me started on her pussy..." Scara groaned, one hand gripping your hip with the other was wrapped in his hair, keeping it back as he fucked you so deep and full.

"You'll take me next, right y/n?" Xiao cried, his eye brows furrowed as he looks down to see your mouth wrapped around him, wet sounds of your pussy and the drool around his cock making sinful noises in symphony.

"Fuck fuck fuck....can I come inside y/n...please-god it’s too much”.

Scara groans, seconds away from painting your pussy white, looking to Xiao for your confirmation.

You urgently nod, needing to feel his cum inside you.

That's exactly what you got.

With one last thrust Scara held your hips close to his, emptying out his balls into you as Xiao did the same. Cum dripping out of your cunt and more going down your throat, both the men breathlessly grunting, pleasure taken over all three of you.

Maybe losing wasn't so bad after all?

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

#jo’s posts #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #xiao #xiao smut #scaramouche #scaramouche smut #wanderer smut #xiao x reader #scara x reader

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sanguineterrain · 2 days

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hi sanne!!! my mind has been rotting with assistant!reader x dick, and i literally can’t get it out 😭. i'm in love with your writing and reblog everything! thank you so much, have a great day!!

cute idea! I gave it a little twist ;) hope u enjoy!

dick grayson x gn!assistant!reader. flirting, secret identities, sparring.

****

Bruce Wayne is evasive on a good day and downright invisible on a bad one.

So when you see him down the hallway from his office, attempting to escape without being caught, you nearly trip on your feet trying to catch him.

"Mr. Wayne!"

His shoulders rise with tension. You pity the guy, you really do. Being a gazillionaire is tough.

"Mr. Wayne! Mr. Wayne, Sharon has been hounding me about the charity dinner. Please, if you could just go to this one dinner... you haven't been to an event all month."

And you're getting the brunt of it from all of WE's clients.

Bruce turns, his smile looking more like a grimace. "Hn. Hello. A dinner? I was sure I had a shareholder meeting that day—"

"All month? B, what happened to the two event minimum? That's your rule."

The new voice comes from behind you. Dick Grayson walks down the hallway, wearing jeans that probably cost as much as your monthly rent.

"Mr. Grayson," you say, nodding primly. "How are you?"

You shift the files in your hands as they start to slip. Dick is quick to catch them, balancing the stack.

"We've been through this," he says with a smile. "You know you can call me Dick."

Yes, you've been through this. Every time Dick shows up to Wayne Enterprises, he tells you to call him by his first name. And every time after that, you call him Mr. Grayson.

"Right..." you say, taking back the files. You turn to Bruce. "Mr. Wayne, if you would just consider the dinner..."

Dick gives Bruce a severe look. "B, this is ridiculous. You're such a stickler for rules and yet—"

"Oh, look at the time." Bruce scoots past you and Dick. "I've got that meeting with Lucius. Where does the day go? Please tell Sharon I'll get back to her."

You can't understand how a guy whose biggest exertion is made by playing tennis at the country club can slip through your fingers so fast. He's around the corner before you can blink. You sigh.

"Don't worry," Dick says. "I'll get him to go. And I'll get one of my siblings to tag along to make sure he doesn't duck out early."

You smile briefly. "I'd appreciate that, Mr. Grayson."

"Dick. So!" He trails behind you as you make your way back to your office. "Do you have any plans for tonight?"

"Working."

"O-kay..." Dick jogs ahead to hold the door open for you. You push through, trying not to frown. "What about tomorrow night?"

You toss your scarf on the hook. It ends up on the floor. You ignore it.

"Still working."

"How 'bout I ask B to give you the day off then?"

Now it's your turn to give a severe look. "If you're implying that I'd be obligated to go out with you in return for a day off, you've completely misjudged my character, Mr. Grayson."

"Whoa, okay." He holds up his hands. "You're right, that didn't come out right. How about I get him to give you a day off, no strings attached?"

You dump your files and sit at your desk. "That's at your discretion."

"Hey." Dick leans on your desk, puppy eyes at full power. "Maybe we've gotten off on the wrong foot. Did I do something that put you off? I'd like you to tell me if I have. I hope the fact that I'm Bruce's son isn't stopping you from being honest."

You put down your pen and look at him. "Look. You seem like a nice guy, and you're handsome with a rich dad to boot. But I'm just not available, okay? You're looking for someone to go to Tahiti with. I respect that. But I'm not that person. I'm just not interested in that."

"You think I'm handsome?"

You sigh and open your laptop.

"Right! Sorry. Not the point." Dick sinks into a crouch next to you. He pulls the oddest poses sometimes, like he's made of rubber bands. "Okay. You're not looking for a trip to Tahiti. Got it. I don't take many vacations anyway. So how about having a friend?"

"And why would you want to be my friend? I'm just some assistant."

"Well, I..." Dick scratches his neck. "I like you. Is that so hard to believe?"

Very. But okay. You can throw him a bone.

"I guess not," you say.

Dick frowns. "You don't believe me."

How does he do that?

"Can I please get back to work?" you ask, only a little worried about being rude. "I'm sorry, I'm just very busy."

His face falls briefly before he stands and nods.

"Of course. No problem. I'll see you around? And I'll get B to go to that dinner."

"Thank you."

You don't notice his lingering looks, or the fact that he picks up your scarf and places it on the hook on his way out.

****

3...17...64.

The safe clicks. You smirk. Easy peasy. The hotshots always use their own birthdays for combinations. Predictable. You bet Bruce Wayne does the same.

It's a blessing that you were able to duck out early today. Bruce gave you the rest of the afternoon off. You suspect that was due to some outside meddling.

You take out the files from D.A. Colson's safe. You always say that if crooked district attorneys don't want their documents stolen, they shouldn't put them where anybody can find them.

...Maybe you were too harsh with Dick. He's sweet, no doubt. It was nice of him to get you off early. But you kind of feel like he'd take issue with the fact that you spend your weeknights breaking and entering.

"You know, cracking safes is already Catwoman's shtick," a voice says behind you. "You might wanna find a new gimmick."

A thrill shoots through you. You toss your head as you turn, leaning against the open safe.

"Catwoman steals diamonds." You hold up the documents. "I just steal files."

"Files from the district attorney," Nightwing says, crossing his arms.

"The dirty district attorney," you correct.

"I'm supposed to let you off on a technicality?" He sounds amused.

Your shrug one shoulder, a little coy. "You could. I hear you're the nice one."

He laughs. Nightwing has a pretty smile. It's the first thing you'd noticed about him.

"Oh, yeah? Anything else you've heard?"

"Plenty. But I'm in a bit of a hurry tonight, Wing. As much as I enjoy our little chats..."

You dart to the window. Nightwing easily blocks your exit.

You're not quite sure what overtakes you when you run into Nightwing. Ignoring the fact that he manages to be the one to chase you almost every time (and what a chase it is), there's a tension between you. Or maybe it's just one-sided on your part. It certainly doesn't help that he's got a nice smile and bouncy hair.

"You know I can't let you go," he says, hands on his hips. "Put it down."

And he's extremely good at what he does.

"Make me," you say.

He never uses his escrima sticks, which you know is a courtesy to you. But that doesn't mean you can't hold your own.

"Alright," Nightwing says, smirking slightly.

He takes three steps, blocks your immediate kick, and takes the documents.

Something swoops in your belly. You kind of get why Catwoman exclusively fights Batman. Once you go bat, you never go back.

"Got them," he says cheerily. "Now what?"

You throw a glass bird tchotchke at him from Colson's desk. He catches it with his free hand, but it's enough of a distraction for you to slide into his legs. Nightwing stumbles less than you would like, but you push him down against the desk.

He grunts as he hits the wood, then rolls you over in the next breath, hands catching your wrists.

"Stealing... makes you no better... than Colson," he says, hair falling over his mask. All of him is pretty, really. It's too bad he's so firmly on the blind side of justice.

"If these documents are released, Colson will win his case and bury his own crimes in the process. Is that what you want? Another crook in court?" you ask.

Nightwing frowns. "You know that's not fair. We can't toss a case for the sake of putting Colson behind bars. And if we pick and choose whose lives to play with, what gives us the right to carry out justice?"

"I dunno, Wing," you say, a little breathless. Nightwing's hips are politely shifted off of yours, chest to yours. "Seeing you go rogue would be kind of exciting."

You can tell he's glaring at you. "Not in your dreams."

"Been in my dreams, have you?"

You gain enough leverage to push Nightwing off of you. He's back on you immediately, trapping you against the wall.

"How is doing something like this not crooked?" he asks.

You scoff. "It's for charity. I'm donating residents to the county jail."

You twist in Nightwing's hold and land a kick. In the three seconds he's distracted, you grab the documents. No sooner do you do that does Nightwing tackle you. The documents slip out of your hand.

"I can do this all night," he says, knee wedged between your legs. "Might as well yield."

"Yield? You're not even playing at your full strength, hotshot."

He smiles. "No, I'm playing nice."

You roll your eyes. "Well, play fair."

And then you jump out of the window.

Your tuck and roll isn't the worst but it's not the best. Especially when Nightwing neatly lands a few feet away without a wince.

"Showoff," you say.

"Give me the documents," he says. "I want to put Colson away, too. But this isn't how to do it. He's still a civilian, and his client's life matters."

You get up and wobble on a loose brick on the edge. Stupid historical buildings.

You're desperate. If he keeps this up, you're bound to land yourself a night in the police station and lose the documents.

So you dust yourself off. And you stop. Right at the edge of the roof.

"Okay," you say.

Nightwing takes a careful step forward. "Okay?"

You toss the documents to him. He catches them in surprise.

"You're surrendering?" he asks.

You shrug. "Like you said: you can do this all night. And I guess there are better ways to catch Colson. More permanent ways."

He tilts his head. "You're not gonna kill him, are you?"

"No! Jesus, man. Ye of little faith."

"I'm just trying to understand why you surrendered."

You sigh. "Because you always win anyway. You're a better fighter than me. And I'm cornered. I just feel like cutting my losses early. You're a lot more convincing than Batman."

"Is that so?"

"Oh, yeah. I much prefer you chasing me."

"Uh-huh." He nods towards the building. "Come on, then."

"Okay, sure."

You take a step. And you fall.

The brick is loose under your foot. It doesn't take much for you to keep going.

Panic surges through you, but that only solidifies your acting.

"Wing!" you cry, toppling over the edge.

"Shit!"

Nightwing lunges and grabs you by your waist, then uses momentum to haul you both to safety. His cheek against yours for a moment, body pressed to yours. It really is a damn shame he's such a Boy Scout.

You knock him in the stomach and snatch the documents, then separate from his grip. You watch his face contort in realization as you land and bolt.

"That wasn't playing nice or fair!" he yells, landing on the opposite side.

You're already gone, laughter echoing.

#dick Grayson x reader #dick Grayson x you #Nightwing x reader #Nightwing x you #Nightwing fanfiction #nightwing x y/n #dick Grayson fanfiction #dick Grayson imagine #dc fanfiction #batman fanfiction #inbox #blurb

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motomam1 · 2 days

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MOTOMAMI | welcome to formula one

series masterlist | navigation

author's note: just a little something to get me back into the game because i missed working on this!

♡ liked by 928,394 people

f1 Our longterm besties entering F1 together ✨

Starring Valeria, Oscar and Logan!

#F1 #Formula1 #BahrainGP

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user1 the 2019 rookies are getting some serious competition with these three

user2 not them leaving nyck out like he isn't a rookie as well ⤷ user3 who?

user4 i'm so hyped to see these three race against each other! ⤷ user5 only oscar and vale will race each other, logan will stay at the back ⤷ user6 that is so foul

user7 🇲🇽🇲🇽🇲🇽❤️❤️❤️

user8 f1 isn't what it used to be ⤷ user9 go cry me a river

user10 "shake ass on the podium" she's so real i loooove her

♡ liked by 456,394 people

f1 The Mercedes duo arriving in fashion to the first race weekend of the season! ⭐️

#F1 #Formula1 #BahrainGP

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user11 vale is so cute omg

user12 the fashionistas of f1

user13 everyone arriving in their boring team merch while these two really rock the paddock

user14 i just know they texted each other this morning discussing their fits

user15 f1 fashion game is SO BACK

♡ liked by 1,528,394 people

f1 Valeria makes history as the second woman to gain points in F1 🌟

Ortiz scores her first points with a solid P6!

#F1 #Formula1 #BahrainGP

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user16 THAT'S MY GIRL RIGHT THERE AAHH

user17 it's just the car ⤷ user18 whatever makes you sleep at night

user19 that eyeliner is STANDING ON BUSINESS

user20 the way i screamed out loud when she drove over the finish line!!!

user21 her dad jumping up and down and kissing toto's cheek is the most iconic moment of the weekend ⤷ user22 literally her dad is absolute goals ⤷ user23 i love her dad so much

user24 just her breathing is already making history

user25 a legend in the making! 🇲🇽🇲🇽

♡ liked by benitovelasquez, lewishamilton, yungfilly and 467,384 others

valeriaortiz celebrating that p5-p6 with selfmade tequila

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user26 only hot people driver for mercedes 💅🏻

user27 i already love lewis' and valeria's friendship so much

user28 vale looks so fun to party with!

user29 now i wanna try vale's dad's tequila ⤷ user30 ong been thinking about it ever since she mentioned it

user31 can't wait to see vale bloom further in f1

user32 she's going places for sureeee

user33 men crying and throwing up that a woman joined f1 and vale is over here enjoying some good tequila and pizza

user34 she had one decent race and her ego jumps through the roof ⤷ user35 truly embarrassing of her

tag list: @tpwkstiles @dessxoxsworld @lorarri @elliegrey2803 @inejghafawifesblog @daaiissyyyyy @viennakarma @cha-hot @saintslewis @welovediaaxx @mynameisangeloflife @peqch-pie @louvrepool @tremendousstarlighttragedy ➫ comment or leave a message in my inbox if you'd like to be added

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essektheylyss · 1 day

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This was entirely tangential to this post from @utilitycaster which is why this is its own post, but the tags made me think about what feels most compelling about Liliana to me, and it's really because there's such an interesting approach to redemption in terms of the sunk cost fallacy to be had there.

There have been plenty of comparisons between Liliana and Essek, but I don't think they're really situations that can be compared. Essek had done one horrible thing (that was of relevence to the story; it is implied that he's taken other actions that he feels were wrong, but we don't know what those entail nor do the Nein care enough to ask, so per narrative convention, they do not matter for analysis) and was only still involved in it to the extent that he couldn't take it back, so to survive he had to continue covering his tracks. But he was also incentivized to otherwise act in alignment with the group that was not those on behalf of whom he had made terrible choices, because he was still living in the Dynasty, and as such wasn't actively perpetuating those actions beyond the cover up.

Liliana on the other hand is acting with the Vanguard and has been furthering if not personally committing atrocities on their behalf for a number of years, continuing to the present. Like Essek, she believes her involvement in the cause to be a difficult choice that was made for noble reasons, and now can't see a way out. But she is also relieved to be told to stay, though at the point that they discuss her leaving, she is alone and outside the immediate range of contact or oversight from the Vanguard. It seems reasonable that she could disappear with a decent headstart, and perhaps become untraceable quickly enough to be safe from anyone following. With this context, returning to the Vanguard with the intention of feeding information to the opposition feels like the riskier choice, but crucially it is the devil she knows.

I actually liken this more to Cassandra de Rolo than Essek. Cassandra was manipulated against her brother by the Briarwoods, but this was also spurred by having watched Percy seemingly leave her for dead. There are legitimate reasons why the Briarwoods, as the people who rescued her and then kept her alive for many years, are the easier option in which to place her trust. She knows what she's getting from that vantage point and how to handle it. She doesn't inherently have faith that someone she only knew as a young and helpless child, who ran from the hardships she's faced, would have the strength or willingness to do what she has found necessary for survival.

I think that Liliana's actions are more willful, not least because she was not a child nor in mortal peril when she joined the Vanguard, but she sees herself as having made difficult choices when only faced with difficult options, and I do think they have been difficult. She didn't want to leave her family; she doesn't want to hurt the young Ruidusborn under her care; she is probably genuinely sorry that innocent people were considered a necessary sacrifice for what she sees as the greater good. It is psychologically taxing to feel as though one is always picking between bad options, which is a significant contributing factor for why people buy into a sunk cost for so long. And over time, those hard decisions become easier, because you know what to expect from the outcome. Though Liliana is well aware that she might be killed for a misstep among the Vanguard, she already knows how to act to maintain their favor, but how she might be received on Exandria by those fighting the Vanguard, even with the Hells vouching for her, is anyone's guess.

This is a very real reason why people remain in cults and struggle to push back against this kind of conditioning: because the decision to leave feels more immediately perilous than the decision to stay. (On a certain level making these kinds of choices and actions habitual is a fundamental basis behind a lot of military conditioning.) And if you are acting in the interests of your own survival, but that survival comes at the cost of that of countless others who have not, in fact, made any threat or harm against you to begin with, then is the nature of your survival morally defensible?

This analysis isn't a question of whether Liliana will commit to her role as double agent and turn fully against the Vanguard, or even which one of these is a "better" story; this is about what the story might say if she doesn't. Yes, she might commit to a different path than the one she's on and make an effort to redeem herself, but it is also a perfectly coherent and interesting story if she doesn't.

#sometimes it really feels like people just. pick a character name out of a hat #and then decide that that character must get what the person feels they deserve regardless of the rest of the existing text #instead of like... considering the text for the story that has already been told and what it might still say from that vantage point #cr meta #liliana temult #essek thelyss #cassandra de rolo #critical role #anyway do not know admittedly how coherent this is but I gotta finish up my work day so I'm posting it. yolo

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oceanwithouthermoon · 1 day

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i think its weird that i have to make this disclaimer but the internet is crazy so wtvr,, anyway,,

if i say i dont like something, that doesnt mean "that thing is bad and nobody should post it.."

i swear literally every time i even mention that i dislike something, people will go "wow does that mean u fucking hate me cuz i post that thing? ur a fucking stupid bitch and all ur opinions r wrong" LIKE ?? er.. no. just because i say i dont like certain characterizations of certain characters (the saiki k fandom is CRAZY about this cuz i can state an opinion on literally any character and a group of people will still go 'well only we're allowed to post our opinions about them because we're always right!1!1!'), or certain ship tropes (mentioned my hatred of toxic yaoi maybe once or twice on here months ago and people STILL get mad at me as if i said toxic yaoi lovers r evil or something), or certain ships, or WHATEVER, does not mean that i HATE the people who are posting them or that i think they shouldnt post them at all, NO, im just posting about my personal tastes on my personal blog and it would be extremely weird and hypocritical if i decided that i was the ONLY person that was allowed to do that,,

i think the only reason people assume that is because there are a lot of other people on here who ARE like that, and a lot of people toe the line between posting that they dont like something and posting that they think everyone who likes that thing is stupid, annoying, and wrong,, so i guess all i can say is, sorry for whatever made you make these assumptions but they arent true about me so plz leave me alone ʘ‿ʘ ur doing the same thing to me that ur accusing me of but i didnt do it in the first place so ur just actively being a dick for no reason

#crazy that the mindset some people on here have is that theyre the only ones allowed to post their opinions #ive repeated this a lot on this blog but i rlly think people forget that the person on the other side of the screen is in fact a person #if ur harassing people and publicly making fun of them then ur just as bad as any real life bully #that shit isnt as funny or harmless as u like to pretend it is #not once have i ever targetted anyone or went on someones blog to harass them over my opinion #yet people think its fine to do the same to me and treat it as if its like. revenge or something #like ? me saying 'i dont like toxic yaoi' is not equivalent to someone going on someone elses page and going 'how tf do u like toxic yaoi'#I DONT CARE !! all ive ever done is sit in my own little bubble and had opinions and that makes people mad #honestly though the people who will publicly talk and post abt it are significantly meaner #and i want to act like im not bothered by it because i know most of them r just angry that someone has a different opinion #and they want all their followers to bandwagon off of them (idk why maybe for validation or whatever-same reasons anyone would bully)#but seriously if u actually do think that something i said was out of line and crossed thise boundaries- just fucking tell me ?#im a person bro. ur solution to disagreeing with me shouldnt be 'lol im gonna post abt this and make everyone harass them'#have a conversation with me dude i dont bite ? if u cant talk to me like a person then just dont fucking say anything wtf #its so cowardly to be like 'well no i didnt wanna say anything to u cuz i didnt wanna be rude.. so instead i publicly made fun of u!'#LIKE WHATTTT STOPPPPP </3333 #ok anyway this post wasnt supposed to get THAT serious.#MY POINT IS just be considerate of other people and dont base ur hatred off of assumptions #ur deflecting the blame onto someone else because u dont want to admit that ur just a fucking bully lol #being inconsiderate on here is something ive also been guilty of back when i first joined the fandom and was clueless #but grown ass adults who have been on here way longer r still doing that shit which is crazy #and i cant say anything because they have so much leverage over me and idk if its on purpose or if they dont even realize #ok im putting fandom tags cuz i want people to see this sorry. this is my one post thats actually targetted but its at a lot of people #so if u look at this and think 'hey i do that' pls evaluate urself<3 #i mean its also targetted at everyone who does this anonomously so i dont know who it is OKOK IM DONE BYE SORRY HOPE THIS IS UNDERSTANDABLE #watch nobody read this fr #saiki k #tdlosk #the disastrous life of saiki k.#meows post

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frostyhelltime · 3 days

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You Really Thought You Could Just Take Them From Me?

(Vox Edition)

(Vox x GN!Reader)

Author's Note: Bruh I was just gonna do this neat little idea of how some of the Hazbin guys react to someone kidnapping their S/O. It was just gonna be some headcanons, and then I was like ooo some headcanons and a tiny imagine. And then I did this because I was having fun and kept writing. So I'll probably just give everyone their own separate post since it ended up being longer than I anticipated haha. The others I'll do this scenario for are Alastor, Lucifer, and Zestial because I adore him and there isn't much of him. I'm open to others as well if anyone wants!

Tags: Violence, possessive Vox, I just enjoy writing possessive and protective people okay??? And I think you all do too since the other one I wrote that you guys liked he literally electrocuted someone to death for his S/O lol

Vox

Is annoyed at first when you don't show up to your scheduled date.

He's an incredibly busy man and you both know that and he does his best to make time for you so you don't usually miss these.

Once he remembers how unusual this is for you his annoyance turns to worry.

You really wouldn't miss one of these unless it was something serious, right?

His panic starts slow and builds itself into a crescendo over time, even as he tries to calm himself and tell himself everything is okay even as his repeated calls go to voicemail.

With each successive voicemail left, the pit in his stomach grows larger and heavier.

It isn't much longer after that before he zaps himself away through one of his cameras, almost instantaneously zipping through the electric network to bring himself back into his office.

He ignores Velvette's question of why he's back so soon, single mindedly focused now.

As soon as he's sitting down and plugged in he's scouring every camera he has access to, going back to find your last known location.

His panic just rises the longer it goes before he finally catches sight of the back of your head and then the air leaves his lungs entirely. He hadn't even realized how dizzy he was becoming from holding his breath, or even that he was.

He eyes you now, looking for what happened. At this point he's almost praying you accidentally blew him off because it would mean you were safe.

But he is in Hell, and there is no God that would listen to his prayers down here.

Vox is tapping his foot impatiently and checking his watch for what feels like the hundredth time as he sits and waits for you.

You were so late. You knew he was busy, that these pockets of time he carved out for you were hard to come by. How could you possibly think to blow him off, of all people?! You've never done that before!

And then the jiggling of his foot stops, a realization dawning on him. You...hadn't ever done this before. Not in all the many many dates and rendezvous you've had. You... probably wouldn't miss this unless there was something serious happening. But then he's shaking his head and trying to rationalize it, not wanting to immediately go nuclear like Valentino would and then end up being embarrassed when you show up five minutes later. He calls you then, the profile picture of you blowing him a kiss appearing on his screen as the dialing starts. He raps his claws against the table as he impatiently waits for you to pick up.

But you don't pick up. He's trying to ensure he doesn't sound desperate and he hopes he keeps his voice level enough to not betray that he is beginning to get worried over you, again it would be embarrassing to get that worked up and you just got held up by something mundane.

"Hey Dollface, it's me. I hope you haven't forgotten our little lunch date? I was really excited to see you after a pretty boring morning. Call me."

He keeps it simple, like he's simply reminding you before he hangs up, like he isn't really that bothered. He takes a deep breath and leans back in his chair in the restaurant, trying to keep those paranoid thoughts at bay even as they gnaw at him.

Another five minutes and he's calling again. He doesn't hide his panic as well as he did the first time.

"Hello love, it's me again. Can you just...at least message me or call me so I know you're okay and just running late?" He finishes before shooting you off a text as well in case you couldn't pick up the phone but could text him.

But not even that works, and he's growling in frustration now. He swears if you don't answer this next call he's going to lose it, but even it goes to voicemail and he can't push the panic back anymore as he leaves one last voicemail, raising his voice loud enough for other nearby tables to hear.

"Okay. Look, I'm going to be honest with you. If I don't get a call or text back in five fucking minutes so I know you're on your way I'm tearing this entire fucking city apart until I find you."

To anyone around him this would sound almost like a threat, but if you had heard it you would know it was a promise of safety.

He waits until precisely five minutes pass, on the dot, and then he morphs himself into electricity, zipping his way through the electric network to get back to VoxTek.

He's so worried now he doesn't even register Velvette asking why he's back so early, and jokingly asking if you two had a spat. But she sees the look on his face and his silence, and it's enough of an indicator to leave it be, whatever this is. So she returns to her phone as she watches Vox go further in. She wasn't going to get involved in whatever mess this was unless needed.

He's plugged in before he's even sitting down fully in his chair, screens lighting up of views across the city and he's searching now. He starts with the route from the place you mentioned wanting to go to this morning to the location of the lunch date, reviewing footage to find something.

Finally, finally he catches sight of the back of your head, exhaling so hard it almost makes him dizzy. He hadn't even realized he had been holding his breathe.

He zeroes in on you now, looking to see what went wrong. You're walking fast and checking your phone, and he checks the timestamp and sees it is fairly close to when your date was scheduled. He feels relieved, but almost stupid with his over reaction. He actually drags his hand down his face in sheer embarrassment, his screen tinted pink along the center line. You were just running late. He's about to unplug and head back to the restaurant when he sees you duck down an alley for a shortcut.

He switches to another camera, that has a slightly better view of the alley just to ensure you did indeed make it back safely, and sees you run face first into the back of someone because you were checking the time again, so intent on making your way to him on time. You run into them so hard that they stumble forward and fall and you do too.

Vox can't pick up the sound clearly enough from this far, but he can tell you're apologizing but this demon doesn't seem to care. He's immediately grabbing your arms and trying to drag you along with him, you fighting every step of the way.

Vox didn't know what he was dragging you off to do but it doesn't matter. Either way this man can count the hours he had left to live on one hand. He makes the footage fast forward and follows along with his cameras until he sees the two of you enter a building.

Fucking finally, a lead.

He rips the cables out so unceremoniously fast that it hurts a moment, a pain dulled by the adrenaline he's feeling, and then he's zapping himself again to the camera he had closest to the building.

His worry had turned to anger, palpable to those around him from the errant sparks that bounced off the sidewalk with each step he took. Everyone in his way made sure to give him a wide berth, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire of the war path he was clearly on.

He doesn't bother knocking, pushing the front door of said building in with sheer brute force. Perks of being a powerful overlord. He's stronger than he looks.

You're so close he's sure of it. The static electricity in the air is almost crackling as he begins to walk through the building, listening for any sound of you. When he hears none, he speaks.

"I ฿ɆⱠłɆVɆ you have ₴-₴Ø₥Ɇ₮Ⱨł₦₲ of ₥ł₦Ɇ." He almost bellows, voice glitching out heavily as he announced himself, hopefully so you could hear and alert him. But also to serve as a final warning for this demon that their time was coming. He's holding his breath as he listens, before he hears it.

A few loud and rapid thuds, almost like a fist banging on a wall, and he's focused on it like a hawk now, pace picking up as he makes his way to the room he's sure he heard it come from and then he finally hears the idiot's voice in a desperate heated whisper.

"Be quiet or he'll find me you stupid fuckin-"

. L̢̛͉͉̠̹̠ͭͦ͐ͧ̄̓̋̕͢͡͞_̸ͤE͚̦̻̪ͨ͑̄́T̴.̝͕̫̯̈́̅_̩͙̬̣̫̲ͯ̂̂̈̓ͩͨ̚͟ͅ T̥͖̑̎͝H̜̑͂́̚_͔̳͚̿̈́͒̾͟E̸̜͎̰̗ͭ̉̉͌ͧ͌̂̊ͬ͜M͉͖̙̓͆̆ͧ̿̏͋ͨ.̈́̅ G̶̡͓̰͚̭̖̈́̎ͩ̎͜͡͞Ȯ͔̠͈͔̉̄́ͤ͒́_̤͈͗.̨̣ͧ̀̃͞" -

The glitches and intimidating aspect to his voice are not intentional this time as the blue hue from his face lights up the scene before him, the hue of his screen quickly bursting into a brilliant shade of red, casting you both in a different light. This disgusting idiot's hands were on you, one covering your mouth to keep you from screaming.

The man lets you go like you're made of hot coals, and knowing he would not win this fight, attempts to run past Vox to try and escape.

But Vox is not letting this go. Not with how worried he had been, not with how this scum thought they could put their hands on his lover. Grabbing the man's arm hard enough to stop him in his tracks without barely even turning, electricity shoots through him enough to temporarily paralyze him.

But not kill him.

Oh no.

He had better plans.

With the immediate threat extinguished for now, he drops the now limp arm, letting it fall carelessly to the ground. He approaches you then, you already meeting him halfway to throw your arms around him. He can feel the sparks still coming off his body begin to fade away as you do though, his screen turning from red back to its normal blue. If the sparks hurt you, you don't say anything.

"Are you okay?" He asks, wrapping his arms around you and picking you up so you could sit on one arm and wrap your hands around his neck more easily, which you do eagerly, curling up into him seeking comfort he is more than happy to provide.

"...Y-yeah." Your voice is shakey so he knows you're trying to put on a brave face.

He's shooting off a text to a bodyguard at VoxTek and giving the coordinates of where they are as he figures out what his next course of action will be. He didn't want to leave you unattended, but it seems he needed to put this fool in their place as well.

"How about this sweetheart, I've got someone coming to escort you to the restaurant, you place a to go order for us, and bring it back to my office and we can have our lunch date there." He offers in such a sweet voice it almost gives you whiplash to hear his voice change from how he spoke to the sinner before to this intentionally charming and sweet voice. He is still keeping you close as he eventually settles on a solution. He feels your arms grip him more tightly at the suggestion of him leaving you, even if it is with a bodyguard and he can already predict your question before you ask it.

"What about you? Why can't you take me?" You sound scared still even though you're trying not to and he squeezes you slightly in a way he hopes comforts you.

"I plan to take my time showing this sinner what happens when someone messes with what is m̥̲͓̫ͪ͆́ͫ̔̈͆́i̶̶ͫn̶̷̡̨̩̱̟̐̀̐̄͑ͤ͢e̷ͣ_̑͠." His voice takes on that threatening edge towards the end before he clears his throat, charismatic persona beginning to fall back into place once more.

"You just get whatever you want and I'll be there soon Dollface. I've already rescheduled my next two meetings, so I'll have time to teach him a lesson and have lunch with you." He kisses your forehead, only letting you down once you agree and seem okay with it. He would have to text his assistant on the way back to reschedule those meetings, he thinks to himself.

This way he could take his time with this sinner who deserves much more than a quick and easy electrocution death, and then take the time to enjoy the lunch he was supposed to have with you.

He takes a deep breath now, now that he has you safe and a plan to enact. Everything was back to normal and within his control like it should be. And this sinner? This sinner he would make an example of, to ensure no one else is stupid enough to try this again. It's been a bit since he's really gotten to enjoy his more sadistic tendencies, and this was the perfect opportunity.

#hazbin hotel #vox #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #vox hazbin hotel

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sorrowsofsilence · 2 days

Text

Desolate Love • N.S

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader (oneshot)

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: Angst, angst, angst.

Prompt: His October eyes sang secret confessions as he poured his soul into the melodies of desolate love; but you weren't meant to be sung for, even if you loved each other first.

Authors note: I have never written anything like this publically before, but I'm feeling a little sad and angsty lol. I hope you enjoy the words that came from my heart. (ps. I know many on the taglist are here for smut, and this isn’t smut, but I'm just re-using tags since I'm not sure who enjoys what! Pls let me know if you don't want to be tagged in all things!!)

Tags: @sammyjoeee @cookiesupplier @th4t-em0-k1d @dsireland86 @whenthesummerdies @spicywhenspeaking @gretaswhore28 @veronicaphoenix @lma1986 @calleyx13 @somewhere-diamond @talialovesmiw @auratheopossumwitch @blackveilomens @skulliecadaver-blog @silentglassbreak @darkmxgician

No one talks about the grief of a loss that was never yours to mourn.

He got a tattoo; a constant reminder of the pain.

A reminder of what once was.

A reminder of what would never be.

You wrote unspoken words in your diary, quarrels that would never be said aloud.

Words that confessed years of feelings, years of silenced affections.

As your fingers grazed over the pages of yearning within the leathered journal, your heart reminisced the ache for unattainable amour.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you let out a quiet sob, unsure why you were even crying for someone who was never yours.

He consumed your mind; the way he smiled at you the day you met; his contagious laughter that danced through the walls in grandeur.

“Is this Henderson’s gym class?”

The voice behind startled you, and you turned, meeting a pair of ochre eyes. The stutter that left your lips caused your face to warm in embarrassment, as the messy brunette locks that fell across the boy’s features left you captivated.

“Yeah, I think so?” Your brows furrowed as you second-guessed yourself, even though you double-checked the classroom timetable a thousand times.

His lips spread into a dancing grin, his slight buck teeth chewing playfully on his bottom lip in shyness.

“Cool,” He stuck out his hand, long fingers wrapping around yours, “Noah.”

“Y/N,” You returned the smile, your ears heating as his October gaze never left yours.

You pulled away, briefly glancing down at his shirt, immediately excited.

“You like blink-182?”

Noah looked down at his shirt, pointing at it, “Oh yea, I fucking love them.”

He glanced up at you, fixated, “Do you?”

You nodded excitedly, “They’re probably my favourite band at the moment, other than the 1975, and Oasis, and-” you began to ramble, but stopped, afraid to embarrass yourself anymore than you felt you had.

Something flickered within his eyes at that moment; something you never noticed.

“Wonderwall?” He asked.

A song that became yours.

The burned CD he gave you collected dust in the corner of your room, aged and scratched from years of use. The disk player sat untouched, left as a painful reminder from when the tunes that played were melodies of hope; melodies of elation.

These feelings of grief consumed you, engulfing you into an overwhelming feeling of remorse.

The waves of heartbreak came and left, nostalgia shielding your anguish when memories flooded in.

No one ever filled you with such devotion and desire as he did; and throughout the naivety, you could have sworn it to be love.

It was the way Noah would shout your name from across the room when he saw you, or the way he would cover your eyes, asking you to guess who.

Every time you would laugh, placing your hands on top of his, saying you weren’t sure.

But you knew every time.

His long fingers would twirl your hair when he sat behind you in class, tugging the strands playfully before running his nails over your scalp.

“I just like your hair,” He’d say.

And whenever he picked up his guitar in the band room, he would strum the chords to your song, as if inviting you to listen to his lyrical confessions.

His texts consisted of using silly nicknames, and an overload of emojis to express his feelings. It was over the top, almost as if he was afraid he never came across as genuine enough without them.

Late night conversations went on for hours, laughing at the random stories and memories exchanged through flirtatious banter. You wanted to tell him everything about you, and learn everything about him.

You wanted to know his favourite colour, and what cologne he wore. His goals and dreams intrigued you, his fears and dislikes alluring.

You began to like the things he did, just to have something to talk about. You watched the shows he recommended and googled the things you didn’t know. Anything for him.

Noah would tell you how proud he was of you if you shared an accomplishment, or how pretty you looked when you wore your hair down.

He told you he loved your sneakers, and the way your oversized sweaters engulfed your body.

“You could wear mine,” He said, “You look good in my clothes.”

He would grab your hands, drawing silly pictures in Sharpie. It always left you frustrated when the image of an scribbled smiley face barely faded with each scrub.

But really, you would stare at it in admiration, blushing at the thought of his fingers brushing against yours.

“You like him, don’t you?” Your best friends pried, causing you to flush in embarrassment.

“He doesn’t like me like that,” You sighed, shaking your head, “We’re just friends.”

Just friends don’t play with each others hair like that.

Just friends don’t call each other pretty.

Just friends don’t text each other all night long.

“Is it easier to just pretend?”

Time went on, and your heart fluttered at every smile Noah shared with you, and at every word you exchanged.

The daily good morning and goodnight texts left you melting, succumbing your heart to his as he claimed it for his own.

Deep down, you knew he liked you more than just a friend. The way he treated you was special; there was no way that was how friends treat friends.

N: “Hey, your crush 100% likes you back.”

You: “Uhh hey? How would you know?”

N: “Well, I know who you like.”

You: “I guarantee you don’t.”

N: “Hmm, but I do? And I know he likes you back.”

You: “Sure Noah, haha. Go to bed.”

N: “I’m just saying. He likes you. Goodnight Y/N <3”

With a spiralling mind, your heart hammered.

Did he know how you felt about him? Did he just confess his feelings?

Hope.

It wasn’t until he pulled you into the storage closet a week later, that sorrow knocking down any previous signs of faith.

Torn.

“Y/N, I just wanted to talk… but I know you have feelings for me.”

His eyes bore into your own, sorrowful and sullen.

“Look,” he began, grabbing your hands in his, eyes glancing at your entwined fingers, “I- I just promised myself to someone else. My girl- ex-girlfriend, is coming here, and the reason we broke up was because I transferred.”

He began to ramble, unable to look into your eyes as he confessed his worries. Your heart began to shatter as you forced a small smile. Pulling your hands from his you placed them on his shoulders, causing him to pause.

“Noah,” You said softly, the words leaving your mouth a blatant lie, “It’s ok. I understand.“

His shoulders fell as he watched you. He brought you into a hug, squeezing you against his body, holding onto you.

Ludicrous. Empty.

You cried, your knees held to your chest in comfort as a shield from the feelings of abandonment. How could you be so naive?

You: “Just wanted to say thank you for telling me. I’m sorry if my feelings complicate things, I care about you a lot Noah.”

N: “I’m sorry, for everything. You mean a lot to me, and I care about you. ”

You: “If you knew who I liked all along… why did you say that my crush liked me back?”

It took him almost an hour to respond.

N: “Because I do like you Y/N. I like you a lot… but I promised myself to someone.”

The tears that fell from your face that night left you parched and broken, your world-shattering.

You found someone else a year later. Love that fulfilled your every need, someone to cherish you for you. It was someone who gave you everything; but your mind selfishly always wandered back to him.

You didn’t know that the day he found out you became spoken for, was the day he broke into a million pieces from a whole.

His heart was mutilated, head spinning with uncontrollable thoughts of regret.

How could he have let you slip through his fingers? All for some what-ifs?

He pretended to be happy for you.

Years passed, and you both grew. Both changed, both matured.

You got a ring, and Noah played in a band. You went to every show, you still showed up, even though you knew you were always a second choice.

He watched you the whole time as his fingers traced the strings of the guitar, and your heart yearned for him; screaming and aching and crying that you were just a body in the room.

It wasn’t until he found someone, that you told yourself it wasn’t healthy to fixate on past uncertainties.

It was rare you went to shows now. But when you did, you watched as he stood on that stage and sung; his smile brilliant and just for her.

But then you would meet his gaze, and you knew that the ochre was always for you. Forever yours.

His October eyes sang secret confessions as he poured his soul into the melodies of desolate love.

But you weren’t his: you weren’t mean’t to be sung for.

Some nights you called him drunk. You told him you missed him, that you wanted him to know you think about him all the time.

He told you he missed your voice, and how he wished you two still called.

He said he was happy you found someone to love you, because you deserved to be loved.

You knew he was lying.

It was the last time you talked, until you saw him sitting in the audience as you walked down the aisle, marrying a man you loved. A man who promised himself to you forever. A man who chose you first. A man who was not him.

Noah asked for your hand, he asked you for a dance. Your bodies swayed one last time in a synchronized beat, but just as friends; as desolate lovers.

You never listened to Wonderwall again.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you let out a quiet sob, unsure why you were even crying for someone who was never yours. You were meant to be happy now.

As your fingers grazed over the pages of yearning within the leathered journal, your heart reminisced the ache for unattainable amour.

A reminder of what would never be.

A reminder of what once was.

Noah got a tattoo; a constant reminder of the pain.

No one talks about the grief of a loss that was never yours to mourn.

#sorrows of silence masterlist #bad omens #noah sebastian #bad omens cult #bad omens band #noah sebastian davis #bad omens fic #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian angst #angst #sad poem #bad omens angst #angst fanfic #desolate love

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hellfirenacht · 1 day

Text

C'mon, It's Just One Night (Part 1)

Summary: After getting a fake love note in your locker, you ask Eddie to help you mess up some bullies plans.

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, sfw, fem reader, reader wears a dress at one point, mentions of bullying, actual bullying, two-shot

Master List

Work Count: 3.7k Words

You ain't seen nothing yet....

The thing that always confused you about jocks and popular kids was that they always assumed that everyone else was dumber than them. Girls would come up to you and give you a compliment that was clearly not sincere and when you thanked them just to get them to leave you alone they would giggle and think that you believed them. Guys would ask you on dates as a joke and you’d roll your eyes and try to ignore them, even as they tried desperately for your attention for their own amusement.

Thankfully, there were certain perks that came with being in the Hellfire Club. Being associated with Eddie “the Freak” Munson meant that as long as you were standing near your friend, you’d mostly be left alone. You’d sit with him at lunch, try and walk with him to class in the hallways, and in general just tried to avoid any jock that looked particularly bored.

However it had been quiet over the past few weeks, too quiet for your liking. Honestly, you were almost missing some of the backhanded compliments because it at least gave you a chance to blow off some steam outside of Hellfire. Well, something out there heard your wish and that’s how you found yourself watching from the other end of the hallway as two boys shoved a note in your locker, snickering to themselves.

Well, this should be entertaining at least.

They didn’t even try and look around to see if anyone was watching them, too caught up in their own scheme to realize the person who’s locker they were messing with was watching them from just a few yards away.

“-’s gonna be so funny.” laughed one. You didn’t even know their names. There were so many people at this school that how were you expected to keep up with everyone when you didn’t even speak to them?

“Yeah, she’s gonna be embarrassed and we’ll get a free show out of it.” laughed the other one.

You were right there. How was it that you could be on their radar for this shit and yet still remain completely invisible?

The two turned around and you pretended to be throwing something away in a nearby trash can quickly, so that they wouldn’t realize that you had been staring at them.

“There she is, we gotta go!” you heard one say in a voice that you assumed was his idea of whispering as the two scampered off while trying to hold off their laughter.

You gave them a generous thirty seconds to get away before making your way to your locker and opening it up, grabbing the note and reading it over. It took everything you had not to burst out laughing right there, and you were just going to throw it away when you had an idea.

Tucking it into your pocket, you smiled and made your way to the drama room for Hellfire as you started making your own plans for what you’d just read.

“And with the Dwarf’s golden pick rightfully returned to him, I think this is a good stopping point.” Eddie said, finally sitting back in his chair. He’d been really revved up today, jumping around the table and getting in everyone’s faces as he described what was happening. He’d nearly rammed his head into yours at one point and you had barely managed to lean back enough so he didn’t.

Eddie was always revved up, always ready to put on a show. He wasn’t afraid to be loud or call out the bullshit of what was expected. Eddie would jump on tables, get in people's faces, declare himself King Freak.

He was perfect.

...For your plan. Nothing more. You knew he’d be on board when you explained what you wanted to do. He was perfect for... that.

As the rest of the club filed out, you stayed behind to help clean up the leftover soda cans and break down the board. You were also stalling because you didn’t want any of the other members to witness what you were about to ask of Eddie.

“Your Scottish accent is getting better and worse at the same time.” you said, handing him one of the minis. “Sometimes you nail it, and sometimes I don’t think you’re even trying to say anything legible.”

“It’s better than your character's accent! Is your tiefling from New Jersey or trans-atlantic?” Eddie laughed, shoving his notes unceremoniously in a folder.

“Why do Dwarves need to be Scottish anyway?” you ignored his question, fully aware that your accents were no better. “I think you should mix it up. Make Canadian dwarves or something.”

This is how Hellfire usually ended, with the two of you joking around and talking about the session and making fun of each other while you tried to get hints about what was to come. He never gave anything away.

You blew out a few candles and Eddie went to readjust the lights. You reached into your pocket and pulled out the note.

“So, Eddie.” you started, turning to him. “Remember how last month I helped you study for Mrs. O’Donnel’s midterm and you got a solid B?”

Eddie’s brow furrowed and he stopped what he was doing to look at you. Under the multicolored spotlights he looked... you never had the words to describe it. He just looked like Eddie. The Eddie that should be playing guitar on stage or the Eddie that kept your attention so easily and rapturously when he was running his games. You weren’t ready to say that to his face yet, despite the contradiction of what you were about to do.

“I remember.” he said, walking over to you and crossing his arms. “I take it you aren’t just bringing up a fond memory of us to reminisce about?”

“Not a chance.” you looked into his brown doe eyes. “It’s time for you to pay up.” And with that you handed over the note.

Eddie took it with a slight tilt of his head and unfolded it, scanning the contents.

My Dearest,

I’ve been watching you for weeks now, enraptored by your beauty. I’ve been too shy to talk to you, but now I want the chance to confess to you. I’m in love with you, and have been all year. I don’t care if everyone thinks you’re some weird Satanist freak because I’m into that. Please be my date for homecoming and meet me at the school at 7:30 pm.

-Your secret admirer

“It’s not really a secret if you’re handing this directly to my face.” Eddie said, looking up from the note. “And you spelled ‘enraptured’ wrong.”

“I found this in my locker.” you said, ignoring his comments. “Some jocks think they’re being funny and are clearly trying to pull some sort of prank to humiliate me.”

“Think it’s a Carrie situation?” Eddie asked, looking over the note again before handing it back to you.

“They don’t have the guts to get any pig's blood.” you shook your head.

“So what does this have to do with me? You know that Hellfire doesn’t do school dances.” He said. “I thought we were just gonna blow it off, and Corroded Coffin is gonna do a secret show at the Quarry.”

“Eddie, all your shows are secret.”

“Not true, we have recently gained another groupie. There are now a grand total of six drunks that regularly listen to us play.” Eddie pouted. “Six and a half if you count the cat that’s been hanging around the Hideout.”

“Yeah, okay, remember me when you’re famous.” You said. “Listen, I need your help. I’m coming to you wanting to cash in my favor. I need the Freak to help me out here, Eddie.”

“For what, exactly?” His eyes narrowed, but you stood your ground.

“If I show up to homecoming, something's gonna happen. The best case scenario is that I show up and they ignore me and laugh while I wait for this fake person to show up. The worst case scenario ends with pigs blood and me learning I have telekinetic powers.” You explained.

“So why even bother going? I thought we all agreed that Hellfire doesn’t do school events.”

That was a good point, and you were making a gamble on this. Eddie didn’t do school events, and tried to make it a rule for his club as well. That didn’t go over well when Mike insisted that he was going to take his girlfriend Jane to homecoming, and everyone finally came clean that Lucas was playing both sides of the field and playing basketball AND doing Hellfire.

You had to admit, Eddie’s face of disappointment and disapproval was pretty funny. You felt bad for the guy though, he avoided anything school related like the plague outside of this club. Eddie had boasted that he’d never gone to prom or homecoming, and had been skipping any pep rally since his second senior year.

“You agreed that you didn’t go to events. I never agreed to anything.” you said firmly. “I only agreed to show up every Friday and wear the Hellfire shirt.”

“And again I ask, what does this have to do with me?” Eddie pushed.

“Be my date for homecoming.” you said. “My fake date. I want you to get to me before they have the chance to.”

Eddie froze for a second, a thousand emotions flashing through his eyes at once. You’d seen this look countless times when one of his players had thrown him a curve-ball and he had to scramble to figure out how to make it work for the game.

“Your fake date.” he said slowly. “So you want me to- what exactly?”

“I want you to show up and pretend to be the person who wrote this note.” you explained. “I’ll pretend to be thrilled, you get to be seen with a cute girl at a dance, the gossip train gets something to talk about, and the jocks get their plans foiled. Everybody wins.”

Eddie rolled his eyes at your plan. “Or you could just not show up at all and just come help us set up for the show.” He said.

“But that’s not fun.” You pointed out. “Besides, if they think we’re together even just for the night then they’ll leave me alone. Probably”

Eddie looked skeptical.

“Please?” you leaned closer, making your eyes wide as possible. “Eddie, these dicks have been on my ass all semester. I can’t go two weeks without getting asked out as a joke or having some meat head yell about how his “friend thinks I’m cute”. It’s fucking annoying, and ignoring them has done jack and shit.”

You saw the stone look in his eyes falter and his shoulders ease up. “You’re really serious about this?” he asked.

“I am.” you confirmed. “You do this for me, and you can have full creative control. Show up in your Hellfire shirt, hell you could show up in your pjs and I’ll pretend to be thrilled that you’re my secret admirer. We’ll make sure that we’re seen, then we can go to the quarry. We don’t even have to stay for fifteen minutes. Just show up for me, Eddie. Please.”

Eddie took a deep breath and rubbed his face with his hands. “Fifteen minutes. All I have to do is show up and pretend that I’m your secret admirer and then we leave. Right?”

“Right.” You promised. “That’s all I need.”

Eddie sighed deeply and grabbed his jacket and threw it on. “I am never asking for your help studying again. You drive a hard bargain.” Despite his words he had a grin on his face.

“I’m going easy on you, if you had gotten an A I’d be demanding that you show up in a full tux with roses.” you teased. “I’m talking about the full cheesy school dance treatment. Corsage, first dance, all of it.”

“Don’t even start, you’d have to get me to completely ace her whole class to get that kind of treatment.” Eddie grabbed your shoulder and started pushing you up the stairs. “I wouldn’t even know where to get a tux.”

“I think you’re supposed to rent one.” you laughed as the two of you made your way out of the drama room and closed the door. “I, however, will need to actually buy my dress.”

“You’re really gonna get a dress for this? We’re only going for fifteen minutes.” Eddie pointed out.

“Oh, would you rather me show up looking terrible?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “You really wanna show up and fake-confess to me looking plain and like I don’t care?”

“You really want to sell this, huh?” Eddie laughed.

“It’s the only way I can think of for them to stop.” You said.

The two of you made your way to the parking lot. Eddie walking you to your car.

“Remember Eddie, you have full creative control over how you want to do this.” you said, getting in the driver's seat. “I don’t care how you show up, just go loud.”

“Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson would never disappoint.” he said, closing the door for you with a flourish.

You were going to get a dress for this.

No, you weren’t, you were only going to be there for fifteen minutes at most.

But your mom would want to take pictures and be thrilled you were even going. After all, you’d avoided it during your first four years of high school.

And you wanted to.

That was the real kick in the pants for all this. You wanted to go to homecoming. You wanted to have a night to dress up and look nice and have fun with your friends. Unfortunately, only the freshmen were going to the dance, and as much as you loved Mike, Lucas, and Dustin, you didn’t really think you’d have a lot of fun with some kids a good five years younger than you. Hell, Mike and Lucas had actual dates and Dustin had a long distance girlfriend!

You’d be the single person in the group and that didn’t exactly put points in your favor for sticking around for the dance. The rest of Hellfire didn’t bother going to these kinds of things, as this town made it clear that school events were for normal people who enjoyed normal things, whatever the fuck that meant.

As much as you denied ever wanting to go to homecoming or prom, you knew that you wanted to, and you knew who you wanted to go with.

On the bright side, at least you’d get your secret wish now, even if it was for fifteen minutes.

Eddie had made it clear since the first time the words “school dance” were uttered in his presence a few years ago that he wasn’t going to even entertain the idea of showing up. Those nights were dedicated to one shots or longer sessions for Hellfire. So for the past few years you had skipped out on any dances in favor of at least telling your beat up journal that you had technically spent prom or homecoming with Eddie Munson.

You walked into the department store that you knew had a sizable selection of dresses, took one look at the price tags, and walked right back out. It was insane to spend that money on one night of dancing, let alone fifteen minutes.

Besides, where else would you even wear a dress like that? You laughed at the idea of showing up to Hellfire, with your shirt on over whatever you would have picked. That’d be stupid.

....

But it’d also be funny.

You walked back into the department store and ignored the front and center mannequins to hit up the clearance rack instead. Even as you browsed, you were still trying to convince yourself that you didn’t need to buy something for this. Eddie was probably just going to show up in his old faded DIO shirt and some old jeans (maybe the ones that had that hole in the butt that showed his boxers when you stood behind him, if you were lucky). He probably wouldn’t even brush his hair.

You had a choice to make. How much of an effort did you want to put into your appearance for this? Should you follow Eddie’s approach and just show up as normal, or should you allow yourself an indulgence in the Cinderella fantasy? What did you want, and what did this revenge situation call for?

You wanted to look nice. You wanted to tell your journal that you had a date with Eddie and that you looked good and that those asshole jocks didn’t even recognize you. Wouldn’t it be better that way anyway? No matter what Eddie looked like when he showed up, the point would be made clear; you were off the market (as far as anyone would be able to tell) and Eddie Munson had gotten the girl. No, not the girl; a girl. Being the girl implied that you were someone that Eddie had an interest in.

Dresses of different lengths and cuts and colors started to blend together as you indulged in the fantasy of matching your dress to whatever Eddie was going to wear. You flipped through the dress rack while you mentally flipped through all the shirts you had seen Eddie wear in the last few weeks. He favored darker colors most times, the main exception being the white Hellfire Club shirt.

“Dark clothes don’t stain as easily.” he’d explained before.

You kept flipping through the racks of last seasons’ fashion, trying to find something that you could wear. Halfway through you considered giving up and just showing up in what you would have worn to the quarry if you hadn’t planned this whole thing.

You need to commit to the bit. You reminded yourself. These jocks are expecting you to look pretty and then try to embarrass you. Don’t half ass it.

Sucking it up, you made your way over to the normal racks. Your mom had given you some cash to buy yourself a nice dress, but you had been hoping to just buy something cheaper and save the rest to buy off of Eddie later.

You walked out of the store, bag in hand, with a receipt showing a number that made you feel sick. You reminded yourself over and over it was for you, Eddie, and your mom.

“Are you sure you have the charisma for this?” Gareth asked. “You always roll shit with any charisma roll.”

“Gareth, I don’t know if you know this, but rolling a die and saying that I’m trying to do something is different than actually doing it outside of the game.” you said as the two of you made your way into the Library. You had it on good authority that this was the jocks study hall period, and you wanted to really sell your plan.

“I still don’t get why I have to be part of this. I’m not even going to homecoming either.” He grumbled. “This whole thing is stupid. You should just come to the show instead.”

“I can do both.” you waved him off. “All I need you to do is let me talk at you-”

“You do that anyway.”

“Yes, but this time I need you to pretend to be invested.” You explained. “You let me talk about how excited I am for homecoming and to meet my secret admirer and I use my powers of being able to leave school during lunch to bring you McDonald’s tomorrow.”

Gareth couldn’t argue with that, no teenage boy could resist the sweet temptation of greasy fast food in the middle of the school day. It was more than a fair trade, even if Gareth didn’t see the point in this. You just really wanted to sell your plan.

“Remember, all you need to do is ask me who I’m going to Homecoming with.” you reminded him.

The two of you walked over to where the group of basketball players were goofing off and not really studying, and the two who had slid the note into your locker started nudging each other and snickering to themselves.

“So who are you going to homecoming with?” Gareth asked, his line delivery stiff and unnatural and disinterested. You had to fight with yourself to not roll your eyes at the lackluster performance.

“I don’t know!” your voice was a little higher pitched at the response, trying to emulate the cheerleaders you’d seen giggling in their groups as they gossiped. You pulled the note that you had been keeping in your pocket. “I got this note asking me to meet them at the dance, so I have no idea!”

You continued to gush to the disinterested Gareth how excited you were to be asked to go, and speculating on who it could be. The entire time, your friend looked like he’d rather be smashing his head against the table than listen to you talk about this, which was honestly more fun for you than the jocks reactions.

From the table behind you, the normally loud group of boys were attempting to be quiet as they snickered and nudged each other. You wished that Gareth would try and talk a little more so that you could stop talking to eavesdrop on them.

When the jocks started getting louder again, that’s when you dropped the conversation. They weren’t interested in hearing anymore and so you weren’t either.

“So what was the point of that?” Gareth muttered, making his way to the exit of the library.

“I don’t want them to forget about me. If I’m gonna be completely honest, I really just expected them to totally forget they left something in my locker about this.” you adjusted your backpack, following him out. “I’m committed to the bit.”

“Sounds like you’re just asking for trouble.” He shook his head.

“Maybe a little.” you sighed. “Eddie and I are graduating this year and I don’t want to look back at my time here and think that I just took the bullshit that was given to me. I just want them to get off my ass for the rest of the year.”

“Do you really think it’ll work?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Part 2 It's Gonna Be A Night We'll Never Forget (Coming Soon)

Dividers By: @strangergraphics

Tag List: @somethingvicked @ladysilence @leelei1980 @seexyyprincess @rosebudsgarden @ghcstpyre @crocwork-clockodile

#nacht fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you

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gr7mes · 1 day

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FALLING BEHIND “everybody’s falling in love but im falling behind.” carl grimes x fem!reader

tags: fluff, kissing, use of y/n, e2l

@p1stach1oss + @gr7mes !! we both did laufey inspired carl fics so check out hers <3

a/n: this is my longest fic ever omg 😭 teehee i love adding him with cold hands🙏 this fic is inspired by falling behind by laufey, the lyrics r in between paragraphs or they’re in italic and bold !! i don’t know how to feel ab this one 😭

you felt like cupid was against you. “he called me pretty y/n. he called me pretty.” enid says, clutching your hand in excitement. you notice how the sunlight hits her face perfectly, no wonder she’s got ron all over her.

and my best friend’s found a new guy

you tried hard. really hard. it was practically impossible for you to get a boyfriend. sure, you had better things to worry about, but it was hard to stop thinking about it when you saw couples everywhere you went.

you were honestly desperate at this point. it was pathetic, really pathetic. but you just couldn’t manage anymore. you wanted to have someone who would let you cry into their chest when you were low, someone who would bend down to tie your shoelaces when they were undone, someone who would love you.

like a normal teenage girl, it was no surprise that you had a crush. of course, to your luck, you didn’t have even a slim chance with him. you were naive, wanting a boyfriend but crushing on the boy who hated your guts. you had fallen in love with carl grimes.

you and the boy weren’t exactly best buddies. when you were younger, he would tease you every chance he got. it’s not so different now. carl had made it his number one priority to make your life a living hell, and oh boy, was he successful.

he was tormenting you, but not in the way he’s trying to. he was all you could think about, and it was irritating. he could be making fun of you, and all you would focus on was his pretty face.

god, his eyes were like the midwinter sky, you could stare at them all day without getting bored. you often found yourself also gazing at his lips. they would be moving but you wouldn’t hear anything. it was hard to focus on things when you were around him.

“y/n? hello.. did you not hear what i just said?” enid says, eyebrows furrowing into confusion. “no, i did- sorry. go on.” you felt bad, you knew she was happy about this. so why couldn’t you just listen and be happy for her?

“whats distracting you so much? you’re really out of it today.” she says. “nothing, it’s not important.” “you sure? seemed pre-“ you watch as she glances behind you, talking instantly coming to a stop. you notice how her face flushes before she grins. you turn around to see ron, mr. prince charming, smiling at her.

“go, we can talk tomorrow.” you say, nodding your head in ron’s direction, a slight smile appearing on your face. “thank you, thank you, thank you! i promise we’ll talk later. you can tell me all about what you were daydreaming about.” enid exclaims, quickly rising to her feet, finishing her sentence as she walks over to the lanky boy.

lovers stroll without a care in sight

you were making your way back to your house, looking down at the ground beneath you. it’s not that you were completely devastated you didn’t have a lover of your own, but you were upset. “wait up loser!” you hear a voice call out from behind you.

your footsteps come to a halt and almost instantly, carl grimes is standing next to you. you felt your heart stop. play it cool y/n. “hi..?” you wanted to smack yourself right there and then. hi?? hi?!! you were so basic. “what’s got you all quiet? you’re usually so loud, you’re kinda scaring me.” he jokes, noticing how your usual smile was turned into a slight frown.

you found it kinda weird how he noticed the little things about you. you’d known each other for years now, and if you were being honest, he probably knew you better than enid did. boy, did it give you butterflies. if only he liked you back. “m’ okay. jus thinking about something. it’s really dumb though.” “everything you say is dumb. what’s up?” there it is. the daily insult.

“like i said, it’s nothing. don’t you have something better to do?” you say, looking him in the eye. “yeah, but i think this is pretty entertaining. now, can you please tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

ooh, this can’t be right

you knew he was probably being sarcastic, but his words still made your heart beat faster. anything carl said made your heart beat faster.

“you really wanna know?” “have i not made it obvious enough?” he says, rolling his eyes playfully. you sigh. “don’t laugh, but it’s like- everybody’s falling in love and i’m falling behind.” “what do you mean?” he was.. interested in what you had to say?

“everyone is getting their perfect fairytale and i’m just there. enid keeps talking about ron, how he calls her pretty and everything. they’re perfect. meanwhile, no one has even had a crush on me. it’s hopeless. i’m only getting older, i’ve never had a shoulder to cry on.”

carl looked at you with sympathy. “you’re really clueless aren’t you?” he asks, chuckling. “huh?” “y/n, who do you think left the comic you really wanted on your doorstep? who do you think got you the heart locket necklace thingy for your birthday? you’ve never thought about why they were just laying there?”

“i dont- i thought it was just enid surprising me or something.” “i dont think enid sneaked out the week before your birthday to make sure you got a good gift.” he said, looking straight into your eyes. “are you saying- that’s impossible.”

“i am in love with you. that’s what i’m saying.” your eyes widened, mouth parting slightly. “but- how? you’ve hated me since we were like- i don’t even know.” “who said i hated you?” okay. what was going on? carl grimes, the boy who’s been tormenting you since you could walk is confessing his feelings to you?

he sighs. “i-i know i’ve been an asshole. and i’m sorry. i’ve just been scared.” “scared..?” you ask, a puzzled look on your face. “terrified. y/n, you’re the most beautiful girl i’ve ever laid eyes on. i don’t- i didn’t know how to express my feelings. so i’ve just been being a pain in the ass. i know you don’t like me, and tha-“

you closed the space between you two, instantly laying your lips onto his. you didn’t know what was happening, but you knew you weren’t going to waste this opportunity.

one of his hands found its way to your back, pulling you closer. you felt the other one rest upon your cheek. the only thing that was surfacing in your mind was how good the sensation of his lips on yours felt. it was purely euphoric.

as soon as you both parted lips, you already missed it. “what does this mean? w-what are we?” you ask, voice quieter than usual. his cold hands reached for yours, a nervous expression on his face.

“i really wanna be yours. only if you’ll let me.” his words rang throughout your head, the words not processing.

“i really want you to be mine, carl grimes.”

“then i’m all yours, sweet girl.”

everybody’s falling in love

#carl grimes #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x y/n #the walking dead #carl grimes x fem!reader #twd x reader #twd #carl grimes angst #carl grimes fluff #carl grimes smut #carl grimes oneshot #carl grimes imagine #twd oneshot #twd imagine #the walking dead x reader #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes x you

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nightsmarish · 2 days

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Summary: after talking to Regulus, you both decide to take the offer to stay with the Potters, and barty gets thrown across the slytherin table by Evan

Pt1

A/n: very focused on Reg for some reason, not 100% sure why, but it's lovely, also we love bestie barty. ALSO ALSO, reader is aggressively, very aggressively, hinted to be slytherin

Poly!moonwater x reader (Remus lupin x regulus black x reader) | 1.4k words

Tw: toxic family, running away? Family disappointment, ect. Barty jinxing Gryffindors for sport and an owl flying into a chess game

Asked to be tagged: @misacc08

★⋆｡°⋆𖦹✮₊★⋆｡°⋆𖦹✮₊★⋆｡°⋆𖦹✮₊

It's finally two weeks until the end of this year at Hogwarts. Class times have been filled with going over study guides and reviewing for the final exams only a few days away.

Neither you nor Regulus have said yes to staying at Potter Manor this summer. Despite James being very adamant about it.

“I’ll just mention you blokes might be joining us.” James told you when you visited Gryffindor table one morning, as he wrote his parents.

“James-”

“No, no, let ‘im. No harm in it? Is there?” Sirius cuts you off, feet extended to rest on the bench across the table from him.

“But Mrs. Potter shouldn’t prepare an extra room if neither of us will be joining.” Your points are acknowledged when James hums to confirm he heard you, but his quill never stops moving.

Remus has been looking at you the whole time. Not in a creepy way, you're both pretty sure not in a creepy way at least. Just in an undivided attention way. Practically ignoring the other two boys to admire you, other than when he occasionally slaps away Sirius’ hand on his fifth attempt to grab Remus’ food.

You look down to where Remus sits as well. Honestly, he's not that much shorter than you sitting down, but wherever. Your hand that's not holding the strap of your bag gently scratched the hair at the base of his head before kissing his cheek, mumbling a small promise to see him during your study time later.

ᯓ★

It's not like you don’t want to go to stay with everyone else. It’d be amazing; it really would. But the idea of going when Regulus stays at the Black House feels wrong. You know being with your parents won’t help him, nor will being at James’ house, but it feels wrong.

Remembering how destroyed he was when Sirius left. When he came back to school, you two hadn’t known the Marauders like you do now. The anger he knew was misplaced, but he couldn’t help but feel abandoned by Sirius. You remember it—the crying, the way he couldn’t focus until a month into school. And you remember Sirius being disowned.

And maybe that's part of it too. The idea of being disowned. Even if you know they are horrible people, people you don’t wish to be related to. The idea still makes you sick. Their horrible and evil, but dear Salazar, parent approval is so addicting and you hate how much you still want it.

So which is worse, feeling like you betrayed one of your boyfriends, or your parents disapproval?

“Regulus?” You keep your voice low in the library. The aforementioned boy looks up from his textbook sitting across from you. Remus, next to you, pauses, moving his quill to focus on you two as well.

“Yes?” His voice matches yours, despite being a little more stiff.

“I wanna talk about it again. About James’ house.” You rush the words out. Probably because you know Regulus will want to shoot it down immediately.

“Love, you know I’m not going.” He sighs, sitting up straight in his seat.

“Why? Why not go?”

"Dove-" Remus tries to interject, not sure how well direct confrontation will go after Regulus has already denied it far too many times.

“What would I do?”

Both you and Remus pause, looking right at Regulus. Who stares right back at you.

“What do you mean?’ Remus says what you think.

“I leave, I get disowned, I lose the family fortune.” There are unspoken words there; everyone knows. He loses the Black name, he loses the reputation, and he loses everything he ever knew. Sirius had always wanted to leave; he had dreamed about it long before the possibility ever even crossed Regulus’ mind. The older Black had an idea of what would happen long before he left. Regulus hasn't gotten that right.

“We can figure it out when we get there, love.” Remus rests his quill in the small ink pot, reaching both his hands to cup Regulus’ hands between his own.

All three of you stay silent for a second, Regulus looking down at Remus’ hand covering his own, you staring at Regulus, and Remus looking between the two of you, trying to figure out what to do.

"If..." you sigh, shifting in your seat, “if... you go... I’ll go, and we can figure it out together.”

Gray eyes shoot up to yours. “Are you serious?” His voice is unsure, like you're going to take your offer back for no apparent reason.

“Yeah. I’m scared too, but I don't think I can bring myself to go back, not this time. But at the same time, I won’t be okay with going if you don’t go.”

Remus takes a deep breath, one hand still holding the younger boy's hand, other moving so his arm wraps around your shoulder, gently rubbing your upper arm. “So, it's settled. I can tell James.”

“Thank you,” You whisper, and Regulus takes one of his hands from the lycan to intertwine your fingers.

ᯓ★

The letter felt wrong to write. Less than a week before you're off to Potter Manor is when you get a response.

You're sitting at the Slytherin table in the morning when the letter holding their response arrives. Your owl landing smoothly, unlike the poor Hufflepuff owl you see sly head first into a game of Wizard Chess.

The seal of the letter belongs to your family, and it's painfully obvious. Regulus had gotten his response within a few days. Hurtful and harsh, despite never reading it yourself.

Looking around, Regulus is watching Barty, who is sitting on the long table rather than at it, cast small, mostly-hopefully harmless jinxs on a few older Gryffindors who haven't seemed to notice who's doing it. While Evan is whispering more and more jinxs for Barty to use.

Deciding that you might as well get it over with, you break the wax seal. The letter was nothing but vile, as you expected, the threats, the anger, the disappointment. Yet, you are honestly relieved. Like a huge, bolder is off your back. Sisyphus would envy you.

"And what do you have? A secret admirer? Are you planning on finally leaving the wild beasts you call boyfriends?"

Barty turns his attention to you as you finish reading, snatching the letter to inspect it.

"Ew, is that from your parents?" Evans nose scrunches up, noticing the names signed at the bottom of the parchment when he leans over Bartys shoulder.

"Yeah, I wrote them last week that I'd be staying with the Potters this summer, and they finally got back to me." Your voice remains surprisingly even, despite feeling somewhere between calm and like you're going to vomit, cry, and punch a wall.

Evan and Barty continue to scrutinize the letter, the phrasing, and how your mother writes the letter S weird. While Regulus leans closer to you.

"Everything okay?" His quite, a stark contrast two the boys sitting acorsd from you as Barty pushes his boyfriend off the seat for something or another and Evan kicks a little too close to Bartys dick.

"Yeah, it'll be okay." You hum, scooting closer to the pale boy, "would you and Remus want to come stay at my dorm tonight? At least for a little? Serenella and Iris are both going to be out all night."

"Of course, love. I'll grab Remus after charms and we can meet you there before dinner?" A soft kiss is placed on the top of your head when he finishes his sentence.

"That sounds good."

The peace of the situation is cut off by Barty falling off the table towards you, taking you down to the floor with him.

"God damnit Barty!" A smile far to big for the situation paints your face face.

"Evan threw me, gem! He tried to kill me! I'm wounded." Barty sits half on hus knees, half laid out on the gross Hogwarts in such a pathetic manor Regulus chuckles under his breath.

"And I'll do it again idiot!" Evan sits back on his spot at the long table. Huffing while smoothing out his hair and uniform.

"Oh God, gem, I won't make it." Barty throws himself onto you, your back to the ground as you laugh. "If I die will you leave your loser boyfriends to join me and Evan?"

"Okay, junior, that's enough." Remus appears in your vision, slightly nudging Bartys side, like touching him too long will make whatever is sodding wrong with the boy rub off on him.

"Hello, big boy." Barty stands up and takes you with him, dusting off his and your clothes. "You know, both of you could leave Regulus and-"

"Okay Barty!" Regulus pushes Barty to sit back down, shutting him up as he begins to bicker with Regulus next.

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scoonsalicious · 1 day

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Unwanted: Chapter 27, Unhinged - Pt. 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of violence, human trafficking.

Word Count: 949

Previously On...: You watched some home movies of Jade in her Hydra facility. It was... disturbing, to say the least.

A/N: Rock me, rock me, rock me, Sexy Jesus! He died for our sins, you gotta believe us! Seriously, Hamlet 2 is a gem, and now this song is stuck in my head forever.

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

Tumblr will not let me directly tag the following: @marcswife21 @erelierraceala @jupiter-107 @doublejeon @hiqhkey @unaxv @brookeleclerc

You and Bucky were silent as you closed your laptop. What could one say after watching a person you knew, personally, rip through a group of people as though they were wrapping paper on Christmas morning? There were no words.

After several long minutes, Bucky finally spoke. “After seeing that,” he said, “I think it’s all the more reason to make sure you don’t leave this safehouse unless you absolutely have to.”

“Yeah,” you said, devoid of all your previous fight. How could you argue with him about your safety after having seen that?

Bucky looked at you in surprise, as though he had expected you to challenge him. He nodded curtly. “Good,” he said. “Alright. We need a game plan. Did you come up with any leads about that Chloe girl that we can follow up on?”

You sighed. “Yeah,” you said, opening up a new tab in your browser. “So, Chloe mentioned her family was having money problems. I was able to figure out where her mom and step father do their banking; I thought we could take a look at their accounts, see if there’s any unusual activity that might point to them getting a share of her auction price. Then maybe we could trace the deposit back to whoever did the sale.”

“You think her parents knowingly participated in trafficking their own kid?” Bucky asked in horror. “Pocket, that’s dark.”

You avoided looking at him as you opened up a backdoor into the accounts in question. “You’d be surprised what people are willing to do when money gets involved. Not even a mother/daughter bond is immune from that kind of greed.”

Bucky’s gaze on you was almost tangible in its intensity. “I’m sorry. It’s so hard for me to envision a mother betraying her child like that; sometimes I forget you had to live it.”

“But you told Carthage about it,” you said softly. “At the mission debrief. When she said trafficking was below our paygrade.”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky turned your chin so you were facing him. “I told her that human trafficking was something you and Nat both cared very deeply about stopping; that’s it.” He frowned. “I don’t expect you to believe me and that’s okay, but I would never divulge your past to anyone. Not when I know how few people you trusted with that information. I just wanted her to stop acting like it was some kinda game and to treat it as seriously as it deserved to be treated.”

“Oh,” you said after a moment. Something in his words rang true, but there was still the lingering doubt that he was being honest. “Don’t worry about, Barnes,” you said, studiously avoiding eye contact as you breached the bank’s security system. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

You could feel him staring at you, and you didn’t need to be looking back to envision the look he was giving you— the one that let you know he thought you were full of shit. Fortunately, he allowed your lie to pass without another word while you continued to breach the bank’s system.

“Okay, I’m in,” you said after a moment. Bucky got up and came to stand behind you, looking at your monitor over your shoulder.

“Anything?” he asked.

You scrolled through Chloe’s stepfather’s transaction history. Liquor stores, smoke shops, some escort services. “Real classy guy,” you murmured. And then, you hit it: the night Chloe had left the club for good, there was a substantial deposit made to the account in the amount of $250,000.

“Holy shit,” you whispered. “I figured he might get a cut, but I had no idea it would be that much.”

Bucky let out a long, low whistle. “If that’s their finder’s fee, I can’t imagine what the final sale was for.”

You were furiously copying down the depositing account’s information. “I’m going to send this info back to Nat,” you told him. “See if they can reverse-search it and find out where the money came from. Once we know the source, we might be able to break into their systems, get info on who won the auctions. Maybe some of the other girls are still alive…” Your voice trailed off. You were too jaded to allow yourself to hope you could save all of them, but if you could save even one…

Bucky began moving toward the apartment’s front door, grabbing his leather jacket from where he’d hung it on a hook.

“Where are we going?” You asked him, closing your laptop and standing up.

“We aren’t going anywhere,” he informed you as he put the jacket on. “I’m going to go have a little chat with Chloe’s stepfather, see if there’s any additional information he’d like to generously offer us. You are going to stay here, locked securely behind the door and not opening it for any reason until I get back.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the images of Jade moving through the Hydra compound, slaughtering everyone in her path rose to your mind. You nodded. “Yeah,” you said. “I’ll stay here.”

“Thank you.” Bucky released a relieved sigh, then walked over to you, kissing the top of your head. “If anything happens, call me, and I’ll head straight back. If Carthage shows up, there’s a gun in the bedside table. Aim to kill.”

“Obviously,” you told him. “I’ve only been fantasizing about it since I found out about Russia.”

“I’m being serious, doll,” Bucky said. “Now that we’ve seen what she’s capable of, I don’t want you taking any chances.”

“Yeah,” you said as you walked him to the door and opened it for him, “I was being 100% serious, too.”

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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formula1blog · 2 days

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Bust the windows out your car

Part 1 - Traitor

Part 2- Take me back to the night we met

Part 3- You are here

EX Charles Leclerc x Singer Fem!reader

Summary: You publish a new album dedicated to your ex. And maybe let yourself get a little crazy.

Wc: 824

A/N: All the songs belong to their right full owners.

Tag list: @loloekie @callsignwidow

It had been a couple days since everything took place. There had been lots of breakdowns, calls from Charles, hating yourself and more break downs. There wasn't a day when Charles wouldn't text you. Messages were flowing in and you let them all read. You knew that if you spoke to him, you forget everything that happens the moment you see his green eyes. You jump right back into his arms.

Right now you were sitting on the couch, talking about your new album. "I don't know if it is a good idea," Pierre pointed out. "It is still illegaal and you probably have to pay for a new one." He had listened to your idea of shooting a video clip for your new single "Bust the window out of your car." Your idea was to go back to his apartment and look for his Ferrari in the garage. It would be great to let your anger out.

"I don't care about having to buy a new one. It is about sending a message and having a great clip for the single. He needs to know about the pain I go trough. This wasn't just some game for me. " Kika had cheered you on. She had gone with you to buy some baseball bats to hit the windows in. It was a red one to match the car and all of Charles's red flags.

You had written two songs about smashing his car. The other one was called 'Before you cheat'. You wanted to have prove by your lyrics.

The next day you found yourself back in Monaco. Everywhere you looked it reminded you of him. You knew Charles would be away at this time, still knowing his calendar by heart.

Walking inside the garage it didn't take long to spot the red Ferrari. Deep down it did hurt knowing your were going to ruin a piece of art, but it was the consequences he had to deal with. "There you are. I want to apolise for what is going to happen." You spoke to it like it understood you.

Pierre stood at the entrance looking out if no one was coming down stairs. He didn't like this. He knew that Charles wouldn't report you to the police, at least he hoped he wouldn't, that thought calmed him down a bit. But then Charles is also hurt. You never know what comes out of that.

The camera was pointing right at the car, which was gladly standing alone with no other cars around it. You didn't want to accidentally ruin someone else car.

Before you knew it you had hit in one of the windows and glass was flying everywhere. You grabbed one of your keys to leave a puncture in the tyre. Doing some poses on the hood of the red car and laying on top of it. You mounted the lyrics of the song pointing your head to the camera.

Time went by and you had all of the material you needed for the clip. The car was ruined, but he deserved it. He can afford a new one. Just like he can afford a new girlfriend. You look around hoping no one spotted you/ "Where is Pierre?" You ask as you cannot find him anymore. Kika looked at you with a pity face. "Charles was here. Pierre went after him. " Your eyes widens at the mention of Charles. He was here? He didn't stop you? Kika shrugs her shoulders as if she knew what you were thinking. "Don't pay attention to him." You gathered up your stuff and left behind all the pieces of your broken heart.

Y/N!L/N: New album out!!!! Stream ' Sixteen' on all platforms.

Y/N!L/N

I want to thank to people who helped me get trough a hard time. I love you all.<3

-----

KiKaGomez: 🩷🩷🩷

KikaGomez: Absolute great music as always

-> Y/N!L/N: Thank you, gorgeous

Pierregasly: bonne musique, Y/n

-> Y/N!L/N: Merci Beaucoup Pierre

LoveYn: Mother is mothering

ILoveYN: Did anyone see that video clip by "bust the window out your cars??????????????????

-> f1b1tch: Yess, it looks a lot like his own car

-> carsf1: She ruined a ferarri

Totwolfflove: Charles is in the likes

-> Slutforyn: This is not a drill

SlayYn: Finally, new song. I love them all

F1Yn: Did they really break uo??

-> ClYn: I think. Pretty sure the album is about Charles and it are not nice songs.

-> F1addict: He is still in the likes

MaxVerstappen1: great album

-> User729: Max?????

-> mvetcl: Arianna, what are you doing here?

-> Y/N!LN: Thank you Max

Charlesleclerc: ❤️

-> User92: The audacity this man has

->ynlovw: Delulu much

-> Pierregasly: Mate, wtf

-> F1yn: Even Pierre is confused

Do you want another part?

#Charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc 16 #charles leclerc x reader #f1 #formula 1 #charles leclerc imagine #pierre gasly #kika gomes

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heliiacus · 2 days

Text

to traverse this with you

tags: armin x reader, forced proximity, bathing together (technically), sexual tension, flower crowns & sentimentalities, love confessions, virgin!reader, loss of virginity, oral sex (f!receiving), penetrative sex, reader uses she/her pronouns

warnings: sexual content - MDNI!

words: 6.8k | masterlist

They used to love one another, long ago. Not loudly, nor ferociously, or even in a way that the other knew about, but they did. She knows that now. It could have stayed simple. They could have stayed apart. It has been years since she's been deployed to Marley, to live and work under a secret identity; and grieve as she may have for him, she could have lived with it. She really could have. They could have stayed star-crossed, torn away by war, but things just had to get difficult. Now, with tensions rising, she is forced to relocate – to trek through the lone mountains in the desolate Marleyan wilderness, in an attempt to clandestinely reach a port outside Liberio. And in another world it would have, perhaps, been a task of a casual undertaking. It could have been simple. Were it not for him, by her side: the man she has grieved for this entire time. Were it not for this one simple, stupid mistake.

It is the day before the night they would spend last in these mountains, and she does not think about it.

She does not.

When she wakes, she finds she is not the first. She finds him smiling faintly, his hand brushing at her temple as he wakes her. She laughs, or she tries to, chuckling weakly in the midst of the sleep that is pulling her back.

She does not think about it. Instead, she rises, chattering lightly about the upcoming hike. Instead, she keeps hold of the dream she had that night, wishing their endless, sheltering road into this waking world.

When they walk, she stays a step ahead, soles aching each time he would catch up. And still her mind feels burdened, swollen with the afterthoughts of the harbour in these mountains; of her time here, tied by the hip to the man who just keeps, incessantly, not letting her step be ahead.

It isn't until he takes another step forward that her mind clears. He steps in front of her, hand outstretched towards her, and she pauses – all of her does. She looks to him, and then she follows his gaze, and then she sees it: alive, murmurating – a bend of a river, its stream gentler than she remembers it. She hears it now, speaking softly.

"Is that the same one?" He asks her, eyes wide. He is laughing before she confirms it, the sound light and tittering.

"It is," she laughs with him, head shaking at the absurdity, and as soon as she feels his hand on hers, she takes off, running towards it. Armin's laughter echoes loudly, oscillating between the hills, and he follows her, step in step.

Her backpack thuds when she slings it off her shoulders. The jacket she wore follows swiftly, though much more gingerly this time around. It isn't until her shoes are off that Armin protests: "Wait," he tells her, loudly at first. "Wait," he repeats, weaker, and then he is at the foot of the river, hands in the water. "Won't you get cold? And we're so close to the city, what if someone passes by?"

"Armin," she says, her sternness so feeble in the wake of her snicker. "It has been days since we've been by a body of water. I don't care how close we are to the city, I am bathing, and I am bathing now."

"But what if–" and he turns around then, so swiftly she sees him stumble in his step, and his ears burst into a scarlet red; all because he'd peered at her hands, reaching to the top button of her shirt.

"Join me or take watch," she tells him, laughing as she sees him bristle at her words, his back tight and shoulders rising; she swears she can hear him mumble, right beneath his nose: not funny, she thinks he says, and she has the decency to let her shoulders shake quietly.

"Fine," he finally tells her, back turned to her. He points in the far-right direction of the river. "You go there. I'll bathe here."

Amused or not, now she finds herself undressing swiftly, feeling, with a tension in her stomach, that it is her turn to bristle. Though she turns away, she does not hear him undress – not until she wades into the water, bar of soap in hand. He'd waited for her, she realises, and she feels the skin of her throat heat at the thought.

Here, in the flowing water, she feels the cold within it bite her, but this, still, feels good – or she tells herself that, ears sharp at attention as she hears Armin join her in the water, several feet down the stream. Her breath hitches at the sound, chest contracting against her will; she hears him clearly, the water stirring at the disturbance of his body, and her hand nearly trembles as she drags the soap across her skin.

They wash in silence, her skin on pins and needles. She thinks he will say something; she thinks she should say something. Instead they stand, backs facing, bathing in the stream. It is cold, so cold, and yet the skin of her back heats inexplicably, muscles taut and tense. Her fingers dig into her scalp, begging her mind to clear with the soap, and it is when it flashes in her mind – urgent, tantalizing, the urge to turn around – that she sinks herself whole into the water, her hair feathering before her eyes.

She gasps when she rises, and she hears him – meek and startled, no doubt seeking to ask if she's okay. "I’m done," she says before he can, before her mind catches up to her again. "I’m getting out now."

He is quiet, for a moment. She knows he stands there, unmoving – turning, most likely, even further away from her. Eventually, he tells her: "Okay," and it sounds so horribly stiff.

She dries and dresses swiftly; too swiftly, hands shaking, buttons defiant. She nearly mixes up her shoes. Her hair drips down her back, rivulets running across the skin that is bare, and she thinks it should cool her, she thinks she should be cold – but each part of her heats, near blazing.

When she is done, she just stands there, hands in fists; curling, uncurling, over and over, breath difficult and strained in her chest. She hears, with an agonizing awareness, as Armin walks out the water, as he dries himself quietly, as he dresses. She keeps her eyes shut, as if in some sort of penance, and her breath does not still until she knows he is done.

Then he is by her side, and he touches her hair – and she gasps, startled by his proximity, his eyes wide as he steps back. He raises his hands, apology on the precipice. "I’m sorry," she says ahead of him. "You startled me."

"I was just.. Your hair," he says, gesturing in its direction. "Won't you get cold? Does it take long to dry?"

She gapes at him, momentarily. Then she bristles, taken aback by her own reaction. She takes a strand into her hands, the one he has touched. "Not too long," she says, and she is stricken as she feels this staggering urge for him to touch it again. "It's warm today. It'll take a few hours."

She looks back at him. He looks back at her. He seems to ease, a sort of relief coming over him, and yet still he seems tense, shoulders hunched as if in worry.

"Okay," he breathes, hands at his sides. "Okay, well, um – let's keep walking."

"Let's," she says, just as absently.

And they do. And the longer they do, the easier breathing becomes. The further the river is, the quieter it grows, so does her mind, and it seems like Armin's does, too – though slow, their chatter picks back up, and all the while, she watches him pick lone flowers on their path, weaving them into a wreath.

"Mikasa taught me," he tells her along the road, smiling fondly at his creation. She, in turn, watches with awe as his fingers weave at it with so little effort. "Back in Shiganshina."

"We didn't make these where I grew up," she tells him, keeping up her step with the man. "Is it difficult? You make it look effortless."

"It's easy," he tells her, turning to grin at her – that soft, private smile he seems to have reserved only for when she can look him in the eye. "I'll teach you. Here," the man stops, reaching the wreath out to her. His eyes glint in the mid-afternoon light, and the wind is still. "Put it on."

She blinks at him. "Put it on?"

He just chuckles at her. Then he steps closer, and she, so suddenly, becomes aware of the hair sticking to the nape of her neck. "It's a crown," he tells her softly, hands above her head. His hands don't touch her as he becrowns her, and yet it feels heavy on her head, heated from the ghost of his fingers on the stems. Then he looks down, and he grins wide, as if charmed. "There you go."

Her cheeks heat. "I feel ridiculous," she admits to him, and yet she can't help but begin to unravel beneath his look, so warm and attentive and, most oddly, proud; as if he'd really made it for her.

He laughs at her words, loud and unabashed, and he does not take a step back. "To be fair, it's for kids mostly," he admits, but they were kids no longer, she knows that now – standing pinned in front of him, she finds that the lightweight, feathering innocence of their childhood friendship has long since transformed, taking shape of something larger, something intricate and complex – something, she knows, now way out of her control. And even still, the chrysanthemums lay heavy and tight around her, and she can't help but feel her heart bloom with them, flowering under the sun within his gaze. "It looks good on you," he tells her then, and what is she to do? She smiles widely at him, hand touching at the petals.

"Let's go already," she says with no heft to the words, and he does so gladly, step in step.

They walk until evening, one that comes quicker than the rest, the sun now giving way to the coming colder, darker months. They make no stops until then, none except one – a time when she bounds for a growing sapling at the edge of their road, seeking, at Armin's advice, to hang the crown there. It would be no good to pull attention in Liberio, he mused with her sadly, and she'd told him then, she did – she will find a good place for it. With Armin ahead, waiting for her, she reaches upwards to lay the crown upon the budding tree, and there is only a moment, fleeting and precious, where she thinks to stuff the crown into her pack, to keep it safe and sound forever, crumpled or not, but then she decides to not. She leaves the crown where it shall be, somewhere growing, somewhere safe, and then she runs back to Armin, ready to soon set camp.

That same night, by the fire, he teaches her how to weave it – five blossoms in each of their hands, he teaches her, over and over, until hers looks just like his do, and she is laughing lightly, easily, triumphant for walls know what. It doesn't still until she feels his hand on her hair again, touching a strand – tentatively, this time; fearlessly. "It's dry now," he tells her, hand still on her hair; even though it has been dry for hours now.

And they sit closely, side by side, until the embers smolder weakly, giving in to the cold weather. They sit until they should tire, even if they don't – fuelled, she knows, by the second breath of the knowledge that this night will be the last.

They don't part, not really, when they go to sleep. They lay as close as they would, voices hushed with a faulty exhaustion, and though she feels her blood heat and her heart pump, though her mind burns with this feeling of his hands at her back, she can't help but think it: it is the last night. It is the last night. And she feels a sort of desperation surge through her, keening and clawing at her heart, and though she knows she won't be separated from him, she also knows something has changed between them, here, in-between these desolate hills – and she does not want it to end.

She finds herself, despite her own better judgement, clinging to him: she finds herself pulling herself closer, her hands twisting tightly into the back of his shirt, seeking, almost futilely, to close this horrid gap between them; and he makes this sound, thick and deep in his throat, and before she can even think anything of it, his hands pull at her, sinking into the flesh of her back. He pulls her closer, closer, as if tugged by the same kind of desperation, or as if, perhaps, he'd been waiting to do so, all these nights.

She's so close she can smell the soap on his skin, and she can smell the faint vanilla that follows him each day. She lays her head at his throat, nearly feeling the pulse that trembles within it, and her hands do so of their own accord as they sink into his hair, soft; far softer than she'd imagined, softer even than it used to be. And she sighs then, feeling him flush against herself; she feels as if some urge has been sated, as if some fear – soothed, and she barely notices her nails grazing at his scalp. She would not have, if it weren't for him – if it weren't for him, for this soft gasp at the crown of her head. If it weren't for the foreign hardness growing near her thigh.

All at once, his entire body stiffens, and his hold changes. She hears him inhale, sharp and stern, and she feels him try to rise, to move away – she hears him begin to apologise.

"Stop," she tells him, breathless, and he does; and all at once she makes the space – to look at him. To look right at him. She feels his heart thud dangerously hard beneath her palm. His eyes are wide, wild with a panic that seethes within his chest, and she looks at him, feeling his hold on her waver. Quietly, she finds the words; quietly, she asks him: "Is this how you feel?"

His eyes grow downcast, a blush so harsh crossing over his face. He takes a moment, or perhaps he doesn't – time stretches all the same, and then he replies with a simple: "Yes."

And it is the way he says it. Shy, and embarrassed, but so tight and so fierce that they just lay there, not speaking for a moment. She lay feeling the heart at her palm, thud, thud, thud. She finds herself, in an almost grotesque manner, wanting to reach for it – to soothe it, in any way she'd know how.

Instead, her hand slides upwards, soon reaching the skin of his throat, at which he holds his breath. Then her hand settles at his jaw, and he sighs, the sound rattled and forced. He says her name, softly, so softly, his voice so strained it almost sounds painful to her ears. Her hand splays across his jaw, and all the while, she can feel him so clearly against her thigh. He leans into the contact, as if pulled, as if magnetized, eyes closing and shut tight, his face near screwed. Her hand nearly shakes with the fervor that enters her, as if from him to her, as if it were made of the same material as the warmth they have shared all these nights.

Once more, he exhales harshly, and she feels it fan against the thin skin of her wrist.

"Look at me," she finds herself saying, as if dazed. And he does. His eyes rise as if on command, as if he were in a position where he would not deny her anything, and it twists at her heart. He looks at her as if he were stricken, a deer caught in a hunt, awed by the glint of the arrow. "Armin," she breathes, the name leaving her lips on instinct. "It's okay."

"I don't want you to feel.." he trails off, and then he gasps, as if the word were too heavy for him to even say it. His hands grow soft around her, more hesitant – but his hold does not, and neither do his eyes, steeled and focused and so, so conflicted,

"Obligated?" She finishes, her thumb so close to his lip. Her heart is rabid. He screws his eyes shut again, for a moment so short it seems meaningless, and then he opens them, and then he looks at her again, and her mind unravels at its seams when she sees the look in his eyes. In it, a craving grows, an unfiltered affection which burns high and deep within him – deep down, she knew it was there, she knew it, but now that she sees it, so clearly and so brazenly, she finds herself drowning, and sinking, and unmoored all at once.

"Tell me clearly," she nearly pleads with him, control melting at the edges. "Tell me clearly, Armin: do you want this?"

"I do," he chokes out, "I do. I..” And her palm, snuggled so flushly against his jaw, heats. Her thumb moves, almost of its own accord, and it brushes against his lower lip – and instead of finishing his sentence, Armin gasps. His hand, once so tentative, lists reflexively to her wrist, wrapping around it, holding it there, at his jaw. He looks at her with eyes wide and transfixed, nearly pleading – no, not nearly enough. He is pleading with her. He may not say it, but he is.

Her hand twitches in his hold. Her breath flutters. And then, once he sees something in her, he does plead with her. "Kiss me," he tells her, voice so low and thin it drives a punch straight through her core. "Please," he whispers when she begins to pull herself closer, and then again, as their lips are an inch apart: "Please." And there is no shock when she does. No all-encompassing jolt, unlike she expected. But he shifts. His entire being does. As if unwound by some oath, there is no breath shared between this and the moment she feels his lips on hers, and by then all else becomes moot point.

Her heart sings, unwound, at the feeling of his hand at her jaw. Her hands find his hair again, winding into it greedily, and she pulls him closer, closer, and he abides her – rolling over to press on top of her, breath hot as he kisses her back, as he kisses her first – as he sucks on her bottom lip, as he hums when she does the same. It is chaste, and gentle, and simple, and she feels drunk on the feeling of him kissing her, then parting, breathless, then kissing her again; of him holding her there, bereft of any hesitation, their kisses longing and heavy with yearning.

And it is she, then, who deepens the kiss, it is she who tugs at his shirt, she who brushes her tongue against his lip, and it is as if a second wind passes into him at it. His hands nestle into her hair with a fervor, and she lets him, angling her head back, letting him take hold of her. He deepens the kiss, jaw tight as their tongues brush against one another, and there's this sound that leaves her throat, low and quick and so desperate, and he pulls away at it, gasping for air. His forehead touches hers as the both of them heave, watching one another, and the gaze with which he looks upon her bursts with a longing, enveloping her whole. He pulls away, just a fraction, as if overwhelmed with the suddenness of their circumstance, and he takes her hand off his cheek, he pulls it tightly, flushly against his chest. He holds it there with an urgency that speaks to her before he does, and he looks pained for a moment, desperate; as if trying to tell her something through the gesture alone – as if he were looking for words that have lived in him for months, years.

"It's yours," he says, tone burnt with a passion that steals her breath. "Do you feel it?" He asks, her palm against his heart, loud – so loud. "I’m yours."

She blinks hard and ruthless, keeping back the tears that burn through her, and a fierce relief floods her. She tries to tell him, to say 'me too', but her tongue ties itself together, so instead she pulls at him, she leans into him, and she kisses him, and kisses him. "Armin," she whispers into him, "Armin." Hands in her hair, lips at her jaw, she feels weak in his hold, so carefully attentive. "I want you," leaves her mouth, feeble and desperate, and she repeats it, just as weakly, and he gasps against her lips.

"Do you know," he says in-between the pants, "do you know how long I've dreamt of you?" She tries to answer, she does, but his gaze, dark and blooming, has her pinned; his thumb brushes at her cheek, and it has her bewitched. "Every night," he continues, leaning to kiss her once the words pass, and he stops right before it. "Every night." He kisses her, brief and chaste. "Here," he angles her neck, and she lets him, feeling his lips at her throat; then his teeth, grazing gently. "When you left." His tongue follows, a wet line drawn across her clavicle. "Before you left."

Her breath shudders at his attention. It suffocates her. Her hands tremble in his hair, but so unlike they have ever before. "Please," she pleads, for what even she does not know, and he looks at her, he rises and he looks right at her, a sort of grief, an intensity settling in his eyes.

"I want you," he repeats. "I want you. Let me have you, Y/N. Please."

"Have me," she breathes, her palm cupping gently the skin of his cheek, and his eyes flutter shut, the entirety of him leaning desperately into the contact. "Make me yours."

It is as if it takes a moment to settle for him. As if he needs to decide if he truly believes what he's just heard. And then she sees it: a spark, a fire, and then a forest burning, all enchanted into his eyes, locked with hers.

Then his eyes are on her shirt, on the button he'd been so awfully shy about this morning, and he looks back at her, a question in his gaze. Her hands leave him, settling on the button, then reaching back to where they belong, curling around him lovingly – letting him decide what he wants.

And he does. Hands precise and gentle, her shirt is undone by them, and then he helps her out of it, the span of her upper body opening to him. He inhales, the sound trembling, and as he watches her so, so intently, his frame shudders when he touches the bare skin of her shoulder. He gasps, hand nearly twitching against her skin. Then he looks back up at her, meeting her gaze, and she sees a wildfire in them.

And with just a tinge of hesitation, he lowers himself to kiss her sternum, urged forward by the soft gasp that leaves her lips. He kisses lower, and lower, and then he kisses at her breast, tongue soon curling around her nipple; softly at first, then harder, spurred on by the whine that escapes her throat. And his kisses trail soon after, slow and steady and so meticulous in their exploration of her, and she sucks in a breath when she feels a hand of his settle on the buckle of her belt.

"Is this okay?" He asks her, pausing to look up at her, and her chest blooms with a warmth at the tentative care in his eyes.

"It is," she says, her hands joining his upon the buckle. "Armin," she calls, and he stays still, he stays looking at her. "I've never done this before," she admits, the gentle grasp he has on her hip now searing her from the inside out. She shifts beneath his gaze, which flutters, then steels in an odd, indecipherable way.

"That's okay," he breathes, and she feels his fingers ghost over the skin of her waist. "I have. I will.. I'll take care of you." And she feels it, his hand twitch lightly upon her skin – and she sees him bite the inside of his cheek. And then he asks her: "Are you sure you want to?"

"Yes," she tells him, quick and so desperate that it seems to spur a different kind of need in him, and she dare not feel embarrassed at being so open, so flayed before him. "Yes," she repeats, unbuckling her belt, and this time he does not hesitate. He drags her pants off her frame, gentle and decisive in a manner she has already learnt from him, and as she lay there with her knees pushed together, his hands nestle at the back of them, looking at her, once more, with a gentle question in his eyes.

And he won't do this himself, she knows this. Her thighs tremble visibly as she spreads them for him, and a heavy sigh leaves his chest, and then his eyes burn into her, at her – watching her naked before him, legs spread for him. He lays a cheek against the top of her thigh, gaze transfixed on her, his eyes heavy-lidded.

"You're so pretty," he tells her breathlessly, as if lost deeply in thought, as if he'd ached to tell her that for so, so long.

Her insides flip, watching him tower over her spread legs, and she has a distinct, mind-numbing realisation that it is him who watches her with those ravenous eyes. It is Armin who holds her thigh, who's pulled her closer to him. Him who seeks to please her; to have her to himself.

She fights to breathe in. Her chest caves beneath the feeling, leaving her breathless and utterly pliable in his fingers. All the while, he watches her, needy intent shimmering with something larger, stronger. Yearning roils in him, she sees it now. And then he leans down, forward, to kiss at her thigh, and her mind grows blank and empty. He kisses her again, and again, trailing a path closer to her core, pausing only to graze his teeth at her, only to nuzzle into her flesh.

Then, so, so close to her, he looks back up at her, and he asks, voice low: "Can I kiss you here?"

"Please," leaves her, and it is all she can muster, but he does not need more from her. He leans in, his tongue curling into her tentatively and so, so slowly, his palms gliding down her thighs as he settles comfortably between them. He licks a trail through her folds, centering around her clit, and she keens, whining pitifully. Her hips strain on reflex, pulled closer to him, and he pulls away for a moment, smiling up at her.

"So pretty," he repeats, and then his hands sink into the flesh of her thighs, holding her back in place with a strength she did not know he has. Then he closes his mouth around her, and the pleasure is so sudden and violent, she feels as if she caught on fire. She loses composure, far faster than she'd imagined she ever would with him, and soon, hips locked in his vice grip, she has nothing else but pleading, but tugging, desperately, at his shirt, or at his hair. He licks and sucks at her with a firm pace, humming into her core, smiling as he hears her slowly, slowly come undone at his attention. And he watches her as he pulls pleasure from her; eyes dark and heavy, sated in a way she knows a wolf only could be, and she can't do anything, she can't do anything but pray for his name as she comes with his tongue at her core, lapping at her as if he were a man parched.

He continues to lap at her, greedily at that, even when she tugs at him once more, eager to feel him against her, but he does not give in. Instead, he pleads with her to go easy, to let him be greedy. "Let me take my time with you," he tells her, kissing at her thigh, "please."

And so she does. It is only when she's trembling in his hands, wound tight with a different, insatiable pleasure building fiercely in her, that he finally rises to meet her lips, nestling flushly between her legs. Her hands are back on his shirt then, shaking, undoing his buttons, and he lets her, towering over her as he watches her. He says her name softly, and he repeats it when he lets her take it off him. Then he takes her hands, he collects them so gingerly into his hold, and he touches her cheek.

"Do you want to continue?" He asks her, his gaze so sweetly concerned. "Are you sure?"

Her hands shake in his. Her exhale trembles. Her voice fails her. She needs to tell him – how desperately she's dreamed of him. Of this. Instead, she frees her hands, and she settles them at his jaw. "I need you," she tells him with such an earnestness that she's sure, she's sure he knows. And he sighs then, body wracked as if in relief.

Her hands reach for the clasp of his belt tentatively, and he lets her, but then undresses himself. She watches him, an odd sort of impatience beginning to burn at her from the feet up, and her eyes rave over the span of his chest, her own burning at the sight of him: lean and muscled, a soft, light trail of hair growing down his stomach, one that she feels an urgency to touch. He catches her gaze as he takes off his pants, pausing for just the briefest moment, and she holds it there as he undresses himself whole.

Then he pauses on his knees, his hand on her thigh, and there, as he stand there, he seems overcome. She thinks she knows what he feels: bare before one another, open beyond she'd dared dream of, it is as if the years spent together and the years spent apart all come together, to a close, undulating and culminating into this one, singular moment. Then he leans towards her, hand at her waist, and he kisses her: so deeply, so fervently, it steals all breath from her.

"Are you sure?" The words ghost over her lips, and for a moment she is taken with his eyelashes, long and crowning along his eyes, so filled with an emotion that has her chest in knots.

"I am," she tells him, hands at his cheeks, and she nearly cries. "I am."

His breath wavers and shakes as he enters her, which he does slowly, carefully, with one hand at her thigh for purchase, the other finding hers, clasping them together tightly. He watches her attentively, almost hawkishly; looking, she realises, for a sign of pain, or of discomfort.

And she lets him. She lets him take his time with her. She drowns in his meticulousness, in the careful nature with which he holds her; with which he comes to a hilt inside her, a rattling sigh leaving his lips, so restrained and so overwhelmed that she knows. She knows: he doesn't even feel it, the pleasure. Not until he knows that she does, too.

And by the time he is fully inside her, there is a gentle, sudden piercing – and then, just like that, it is gone in a flash. She feels a stretching that is both foreign and right, and then he whispers her name, so delicately that it has her gasping. Suddenly, his hand leaves her thigh, and it is at her cheek, and he is looking her in the eye, he is asking her, with so much unrestrained care: "Does it hurt?"

"It does not," she tells him, and then she is pulling him closer, then she is kissing him, and her knees rise to meet his waist, her hips urging him to move. "Make love to me," she pleads with him, heart flipping three times over as she feels him smile into her lips, and he does.

He does so slowly, sinking in and out of her with a heedfullness that has her head spinning. He glides in and out, pressed so close to her body, holding her so carefully. She feels him so clearly, stretching her with a tenderness, pushing against delicate spot after delicate spot inside her, and each one has her reeling, and each one never, somehow, ever skips his attention. This pleasure is different, she knows this now; slower, encompassing, dizzying with the feeling of her love inside her. And just like he, she watches him, too; lips apart, eyes glistening, beautiful before her, breathtakingly so. She swallows greedily the small whines that leave his throat each time he thrusts back into her, so breathy and ardent, and soon, very soon, she begins to lose her composure.

She feels it rise in her, tempting and needy, almost harrowing in its intensity; desire, fervor, whatever the hell it is that the poets call it – it feels so much greedier, so much more powerful than she ever could have put to words or imagined, and soon she pleads with him to go faster, to give her more. And he does so, abiding, eager; raising her hips with the one hand at her thigh, and then he looks back at her, almost startled, at the wanton noise that leaves her throat. Instead of stopping, it seems to burst him into flames, too, and he finds that spot again, and again, claiming this newfound land for his own. He fucks into her with a precision, watching her steadfastly, with this greedy, satisfied glint in his eye – and with it, he slowly unravels her. He turns his head, just so, biting gently at the fingers she holds at his jaw, and with a fierce look in his eye, he speaks into the skin of her palm, words uttered in a reverence; sweet words, filthy ones, each one sending aftershocks into her core, and as he rocks into her with a mind-numbing languidness, he asks her: "Does that feel good, sweetheart?"

And it's the way he says it, lustful and needy as he sinks into her flesh – it has her thighs shaking at his waist; it has her whining his name, it nearly has her pleading, pleading for gods know what.

"It does," instead she tells him; "Don't stop," she tells him, and then: "Come closer. I need you. Please, Armin."

And he groans at it, at the way she says his name, pulling her with his hands by her hips, sinking deeper into her at this angle, and he kisses her as she moans, feeling out of control. There he pulls her thighs flushly over his hips, and her head spins from pleasure, and she finds her nails digging into his back, feeling the heat and steam rise from the broken skin. She cries his name out, again, and again, and again, and through it she hears her own name echo back to her, pulled from his lips between the groans and the soft whimpers that leave him. Then he kisses her fiercely, almost sloppily, whining into her throat.

"I want," he gasps, the sounds he makes soft and high–pitched and coiling deeply within her gut, "I want you to come. I want you to come on my cock, Y/N," he pleads into her lips. "Please," he says again, whimpering once more, composure cracking.

He kisses at her skin, her temple, her jaw, her throat, greedily, almost possessively, and she, in turns, pulls him closer to her, seeking to fill this space between them desperately. He lets her, he molds himself to her hold, pliant and eager. And there, there, fuelled by his mewls beside her ear, by the closeness, by that gods-damned vanilla permeating from him to her, she breaks. There, she tells him, finally, with her voice quivering to the last word: "I've wanted you for so long." And his hips stutter at this, and his hold on her thigh grows vice–like, and then his forehead is touching hers, his rhythm slowing, just so.

Then he is looking at her, gaze crested with a warmth so deep. "Say it again," he asks of her, he begs of her, his pace picking up with the words, as if inflamed by them. "Say it again, please, Y/N."

And she does. Again, and again. "I want you," she tells him, hands in his hair. "I've always wanted you," hands on his cheek. "Always."

It isn't until he's kissing her that she pauses, it isn't until she feels herself strain closer and closer as he whispers into her lips, soft things, unspoken things; it isn't until she hears his words that she finally, truly comes undone.

"My Y/N," he tells her, "mine. Mine."

And she cries out, hands seeking purchase at his shoulders, thighs so tight around his waist that it nearly hurts. She falls, and falls, careening rapidly into his hips meeting hers. For a moment, everything grows white, ceaseless and endless, and in that moment she thinks that this is how it should have been; in that moment, she thinks she was never meant to leave. Then Armin follows her, and he, too, cries out, desperately so, and she feels him slam into her harsh and uncoordinated. She kisses him fiercely, swallowing his climax with a greed that was unheard of to her before now, before Armin. They both shake in one another's arms, gasping, noses touching. They watch one another, eyes unwavering.

For a moment, she does not know what to say. She gasps and gasps, her tongue willing to curl only for the syllables of his name. Then he smiles at her. So gently, so brightly; the sight is so familiar that the words come tumbling out of her with an ease she had once almost forgotten. "I love you," she tells him, earnest from her heart.

"I know," he says, and he kisses her. I know, he repeats between kisses, I know; as if to himself, as if in relief, as if having waited, for so long, to hear it – if only just this once. "I love you," he tells her then, and she holds onto him, tightly and fiercely and unyieldingly.

They lay like this for what feels like ages, the mountains surrounding growing quieter, and quieter. She holds onto him, and he – onto her. They do not let go. She feels his heart beat against her own, and they kiss one another: small, fleeting kisses, borne not with shyness but with a gentle, permeating ardour. They lay like this until they are spread thin by exhaustion, hands weak, and here, in the dead of the night, she speaks to him so quietly; "Don't let me go," she pleads with him, hand at his chest. I won't, he tells her, his hand on hers. "Don't let me go," she repeats, "Don't ever. Not again."

"I won't. I promise. I promise."

And they sleep like this, nestled fondly within one another's crooks and edges, touching with their hearts. They do not move, or let go – even when they wake, they can't seem to let go of their hands, even when they ready. Even when they walk to the port, they do so hand in hand, talking little, but glancing often, with fleeting, earnest smiles unhidden from one another.

They feel tense and severe as they walk through the streets of Liberio, however; a goal reached, the end of their journey. It strains them, the hands with which they hold onto each other, but even that soon seems to patter out once they peer at the barren ink of the Azumabito, glinting brightly on the bow of the ship. This ship, they know, is beholden with their friends and allies. This ship, they know, is the end of this road.

And he turns to her, birds crying along the loud crashes of the sea, wind tousling at his hair. He looks so beautiful now, she thinks, and she's enamoured as he asks her: "Ready?"

His hand feels heavy and warm in her own. More than that, she thinks – it feels right.

She looks back at him. Here, right now, there is a moment which seems to stretch between them – one filled with a sadness so inexplicable, so faint, that she barely manages to discern it at all. It feels foreboding, this feeling, as if the road behind them was the easy one, as if the one ahead were predetermined; as if it bears, unbeknownst to them, challenges beyond their imagination.

But she does not think of that. Instead she looks him right in the cerulean eye, gaze as deep and as determined as the sea before them. She smiles at him. And she squeezes his hand.

dividers by arlerts-angel

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thank you for giving this story your attention 💗 i harbour a lot of pride in it, and it's an honour that so many of you have enjoyed it

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