#a devil in skin tight leather | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

myspacebrat · 1 year

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Heavy metal parking lot

eddie munson x metal head fem!reader

summary: the last thing you ever expected was to hit it off with a cute guy at a Judas Priest concert, but stranger things have happened.

warnings: smut ahead, 18+ mdni, all porn almost no plot, no use of y/n, use of pet names (baby, princess, pretty girl etc.), smoking the devils lettuce, queer!eddie, reader has nipple piercings, dom/sub dynamics, some degradation (but eddie is still a simp), oral (m receiving), unprotected rough p in v sex (this is fantasy, pls don’t have unprotected sex with strangers), anal play (f receiving).

notes: just a dirty little one shot. Sorry, there will not be a part two. Thank you to my loves: @corrodedcorpses @take-everything-you-can & @stwritings for beta reading <3 also, blame @bettyfrommars & @xxhellfiregirlxx for me posting this filth on our holy day.

wc: 3.1k

This was a stupid idea, stupid, stupid.

But here you are driving to the market square arena, an hour away from home, dead in the middle of a scorching summer, alone.

You had this elaborate plan for months, ever since you had bought your tickets. You and your best friend Abbee were supposed to meet up at your house, get ready together, go grab some fuel and head to the show a little early to hang out in the parking lot. That unfortunately is not what ended up happening. You got ready…alone, got food…alone and now you’re making the trip…alone.

You can’t be mad at your friend, she did have a very valid excuse as to why she was unable to make it. You couldn’t help but to kick yourself for never being brave enough to put yourself out there and make new friends, but maybe that would change, maybe you would meet some cool people at the show, some Judas Priest fans seemed like the perfect place to start.

The parking lot was jam packed, men and women in all their Judas Priest or Dokken gear, huge banners held out by adoring fans, beer cans littering the lot as weed and cigarette smoke fog the air.

You finally find parking, lucky for you it seems to be the last vacant spot left, squeezed tight between a red Camaro and a brown van.

Better than nothing.

As you exit your black Honda accord, your eyes flit around the lot, taking in your surroundings as you breathe in the second hand smoke.

“Hey, sick shirt.” A gruff voice towards your left calls out. You look around for a second before your eyes finally land on the owner of the van that's parked beside you.

His brown wavy hair gets hit by a gust of wind, as if he’s some hot character in one of those movies that the protagonist is in love with. You definitely couldn’t deny his hotness.

His defenders of the faith shirt clung to his body like a second skin, tight dark blue jeans with a chain adorned his lower half along with white reeboks.

He had a joint perched between his two fingers as his eyes so boldly roamed your figure.

“Thanks,” you acknowledge, as you look down at your ‘hell bent for leather’ cropped tee, and then back up to meet his mischievous smirk. “Yours is sick, too.” You offer in a small but cheerful voice.

“You wanna come smoke with me, pretty girl?” He offers as the mischievous smile grows, like the grinch who stole Christmas.

“Uhh, sure why not?” You shrug, making your way over to the van and taking a seat on the red carpeted floor, your leather mini skirt now hiked up around the very tops of your thighs while your knee high boots hang out the side, resting on the asphalt below you.

“I’m Eddie.” He declares while holding out a heavily ringed hand, you stare it down ogling between his tattoos, black nail polish and badass rings before placing your smaller appendage in his, you firmly shake it with a smile as you tell him your name.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” He chuckles before handing you the dwindling joint.

You take a hit while you let your eyes wander around the inside of his van, a small mattress set up with a colorful quilt and two fluffy pillows.

Various magazines of the adult variety scrawled out haphazardly on the floor, a six pack of coors lite sits on the arm rest between the two front seats, breaking the law plays out through the speakers.

Though he’s not the only one, various Judas Priest songs could be heard throughout the stadium's parking lot.

You take another small hit, passing back the now roach sized spliff. Eddie tries to get one more hit out of it, before throwing it to the ground and stepping on it with the toe of his white sneaker.

You begin to stand up with the thought that you may be overstaying your welcome, until Eddie puts a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“You don’t have to go.” The shy look on his face is the total antithesis of his cocky demeanor when he’d first waved you over.

“Oh, okay. I just didn’t want to bother or keep you from anything.” Your response is sheepish and the butterflies in your belly begin fluttering about.

“No baby, you're not keeping me from anything.” He beams.

That damn nickname pulls you in like a moth to a flame.

As you and Eddie grow better acquainted, you realize he has a great sense of humor with an eccentric personality.

You also quickly realize you want him.

Right here in the back of his van.

You scoot your bottom back, making your way into the wagon. The action causes your skirt to roll up further along your thighs, giving Eddie the perfect glimpse of your black panties.

You swing your feet inside and hoist yourself up on your knees, as graceful as possible. Waddling over like a penguin to fling yourself onto the mattress that had your mind wandering.

“Mmm, this is comfy.” You sigh with a smile, as your body burrows deeper into the off white sheets below you.

Eddie stands just outside the door, eyes unable to leave your backside as you cuddle up on his mattress. ‘Was this his lucky day?’ This shit never happens to him, well at least not with women anyway. He had better luck with men.

Thank you Judas Priest, Eddie silently prays to the sky before making his way inside the vehicle to join you.

“Mind if I lay down?” He mumbles, surprising you with his close proximity.

You turn, catching onto the puppy dog eyes he’s giving you; and what you would give to have them looking down at you while he’s working your body to sweet, sweet release.

“No, of course not.” You giggle, the sound makes Eddie twitch in his pants.

He was a sweet boy, you wanted him to fucking ruin you.

You turn to face him, head resting on your palm as you pat the spot beside you.

The sly smirk returns as he lays down on the mattress, mirroring your exact position.

“Shows gonna start in an hour.” He whispers, scooting in closer towards you, the warmth radiating off of his skin is sending your body into a frenzy.

“Mm, so we have enough time?” You sweetly whisper back.

“Enough time for what? Hmm?” Your bodies continue to gravitate together, a pull so strong it was like you were both attached to magnets.

“For this..” you breathily huff before straddling Eddie’s waist, the groan that escapes him makes your eyes roll back, as you begin to grind down on his growing erection.

“Fuck” Eddie hisses as his hands fall to your waist, now controlling your movements and pulling you in deeper.

“That’s exactly what I intend on doing.” The air gets caught in your throat as a small laugh leaves your lips, your clit catching on rough denim fabric, Eddie swears every time you giggle it’s like an angel gets its wings. It’s sweet and soft, just like you.

You lean in closer, soft plump lips meeting yours in a tangle of tongues, it’s hot and desperate as you are for each other.

Eddie moans into your mouth as your movements get more daring, practically bouncing on his clothed lap. His eyes quickly flicker to your tits as they jiggle with each bounce, it’s clear you’re not wearing a bra, and the idea makes Eddie’s mouth water and his cock stiffen. It feels the hardest it's been since he took a dick in his ass for the very first time. He needs to be inside you and he hopes you're willing to give him that, he’ll do anything for it, at this moment. He feels like a desperate idiot; but he is, he really is so fucking desperate for you.

You immediately notice the way Eddie’s eyes have been trained on the perky slopes of your breasts, with an ever growing smirk you take the hem and hike the shirt up and over your head to be discarded on the red carpet of his van.

“Holy shit!” Eddie practically pants, like a dog who’s out of water.

His decorated hands move up from your hips as they begin to tweak at your nipples, nimble fingers rubbing over the double balled jewelry that sits on each hardened peak.

“Fuck, such pretty tits!” He groans “and they’re pierced, Jesus.” Eddie was enthralled, absolutely fucking enthralled by you.

You lean down, planting soft kisses to Eddie’s long, beautiful neck, leaving behind remenits of your red lipstick and spit soaked bruises.

“Mmm…” he hums as you suck and bite at a spot under his ear lobe.

“Please, fuck me.” You breathily murmur into his ear, before you lift yourself back up using his pecs as leverage, eyes meeting his as you gauge his reaction to your plea.

“You sure, baby?” He whispers before leaving a sloppy kiss to your jaw.

“I’m so sure, please Eddie.” The way you moan his name as you beg for him creates something feral inside of Eddie, his eyes now glazed over into something dark, his jaw tightens as he grabs two rough handfuls of your ass, that are now exposed while your skirt sits carelessly on your lower back.

His right hand slowly glides up your body and into your hair, quickly tightening his fingers around the strands at the base of your neck.

“You want my cock, princess?” He challenges through his teeth.

“Yes, mmhmm, so bad!” You insist with a shout, having your hair pulled has always made you drip between your legs.

“Then go on.. take my cock out, you cock hungry little slut.” He growls as his fingers wrap tighter around your hair before quickly pulling his hand away, he gives your ass one hard spank before he’s back to grabbing at the meat.

You make quick work of his handcuff belt, unbuttoning and swiftly pulling down the zipper before dipping your thumbs into the waistband of both his boxers and jeans and peeling them off, leaving both garments to sit around the tops of his knees.

The sight you’re met with causes you to gasp, he has to be at least 9 inches, it was red and throbbing, wetness from his precum already saturating the mushroom tip.

“Like what you see, baby?” He brags with a smirk that could make Satan himself shiver.

“You’re so pretty, every part of you.” You admit as you lick your bottom lip, with hunger in your eyes.

Eddie wraps a ringed hand around the base of his cock, vulgarly slapping the air with it,

“Where do you want it, huh sweetheart?” His grunt made more slick pool from your needy cunt.

Showing is better than telling, so you plant your knees between his thighs, bringing your face mere inches from his pulsing hard sex.

“Holy fuck, are you gonna—” his eyes roll back as your tongue glides up the underside of his cock, before wrapping your lips around his tip. “No girl has ever given me head.” He huffs while throwing his head back.

You let go of his cock with a wet pop, “no one’s ever sucked your dick before?” You scrunch your face up in confusion, there’s no way he’s never been treated to some head, that would be a travesty.

“I have, j-just not by a-a women.” He stutters out in embarrassment, as his face flushes a bright red that travels down his neck.

It takes you a second to understand what he means, “oh” was all you said, before shrugging and getting back to work on his tip.

He smiles down at you, pulling all of your hair out of your face and holding it together in a makeshift ponytail as he gently guides your head up and down on him, until you’re taking him deeper, so deep your nose is now brushing against the curly hairs at his base, you swallow his tip down before you begin rapidly moving and twisting your head as if a women possessed.

“Oh my— whoa, fuck baby!” He keens into the stuffy air of the van, “your mouth feels so fucking good!” He begins rapidly pumping his hips up, fucking your throat as spit strings fall to his balls, you reach a hand out and begin massaging them, making him growl in pleasure.

“Okay baby, okay angel please, please stop.” Eddie whimpers as he pulls you off of his cock, the spit on your lips remains connected to Eddie’s tip.

He rubs over the messy swollen flesh with the pad of his thumb, as he hums in satisfaction.

“All fours, now.” He commands before shifting up and onto his knees, you crawl further up the mattress, finally laying your head against the sheets that were now dampened by his back, you arch your ass up while making sure your stomach was equally lowered, the position causing your ass to stick out more for him.

“Good girl.” He praised before giving your ass another harsh slap. “Let’s get these off of you.” Eddie slides your black thong over your butt and down your legs, slowly pulling them off from around your feet.

He throws your panties towards the front of the driver's seat, the black fabric lands perfectly on his dashboard. “M’keepin’ those.” He chuckles.

You’re so lost in desire, that someone could’ve told you Rob Halford himself was out signing autographs and you wouldn’t have bat an eyelash or made any attempts to move.

“Fuck, look at these pretty holes.” Eddie groans while running the tips of his fingers from your clit up towards your asshole. “You like getting all of your holes filled, princess?” He smirks at the way your body reacts to him and how loud you moan at his words.

Your ‘yes’ is muffled by the mattress, Eddie’s having none of it.

SLAP!

“Speak up!” He grumbles, before taking both cheeks roughly in his hands and spreading them.

“Yes! I love it!” Your wail has Eddie’s smirk growing more devilish

“I know you do.” He mocks as his middle finger teases your entrance, he causes your body to writhe and groan in desperation by slipping just the tip of his finger in and out of your aching hole.

Finally after all of his teasing, he slips his full finger inside, pumping in and out at a splitting speed.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He gasps while resting his head on your backside as he still works you with his finger, finally slipping another one in and scissoring them in an attempt to stretch you out.

He hasn’t even fucked you, yet you’re still an incoherent mess as slobber begins to pool on the sheets below your face.

His head starts to slowly move closer to where you’re spread, you gasp and wiggle when you feel his wet tongue slowly lick over your puckered hole.

“Oh fuck!” You blubber, the action making you clench around Eddie’s fingers.

“Mm, oh you like getting your asshole licked?” He scoffs in a teasing tone “it feels good, doesn’t it?”

All you can do is nod and sob into his cheap cologne smelling sheets.

Slowly slipping his fingers out as he moves in closer, replacing his digits with his throbbing cock.

“You ready, princess?” He surveys as he runs his calloused hands up and down your back, gently rubbing at your soft skin.

“Mmhm, I’m ready.” You consent while lifting your head to get a good look at him as he slides into you.

His tip begins breaching your entrance as your eyes remain locked on each other, you and Eddie’s brows are both furrowed and jaws slack as he pushes in deeper.

“Oh, fuck!” Eddie growls as he continues to stretch you out. If he were to die in this very moment, he would die a happy man, the way your pussy is squeezing and choking him; he’s fucked tight assholes, but never a pussy this tight and he thinks it might be his new favorite thing, the way you get so effortlessly wet and the ridges on your walls that stimulate his cock so sensationally. The weed makes his mind go to some weird places; maybe I found some kind of holy grail pussy? He shakes his head of the weird thoughts beginning to plague his mind.

“Yes, right there!” Your screeching brings him back down to this dimension, making him drive deeper and pound harder into you, hitting that spongy spot over and over until you’re shaking underneath him, knees almost buckling at the intense pleasure that is now conquering your body. His fingers are pressed so deep into the skin of your upper thighs, that you’re positive they’ll be bruised by tomorrow.

“Right there?” Eddie mockingly smirks as he hits it over and over with his tip, “that your spot, baby?”

Your “mmhmm” comes out so whiny and desperate, he knew you were close and so was he but he needed to see you fall apart first.

Eddie quickly brings his thumb up to his lips, the calloused finger dipping into his mouth as he sucks, getting it all nice and wet before you feel it prodding your unused hole, he begins thrusting faster as his digit reaches the second knuckle. “Oh my god, you have the tightest fucking holes.” He sounds so out of breath and fucked out by this point, his loud groans, filthy words and extra finger are making you reach that peak of toe curling completion at a hurdling speed.

“I’m gonna cum.” You whine as you begin to back up into his thrusts, making his cock and finger hit deeper depths.

“Yes, cum for me baby.” He urges as he’s on the precipice of his own high.

“Yes, yes…” you babble as your body tenses, uncontrollably shaking as you come undone, Eddie’s thumb continues to work your asshole, while he fucks you through the most intense orgasm you’ll probably ever have.

“I-I’m coming baby, fuck!” Eddie shouts before he pulls himself out of your tight heat, hand maniacally working his cock until his warm seed spurts into your stretched out asshole.

“Holy shit!” He groans while his body falls over yours, you both begin to laugh until you hear someone pound their fist on the side of the van.

“Hey, Eddie—” you gasp at the disturbance, eyes going wide when you catch a glance at the metalhead, “the show's about to start man, everyone’s lining up at the door!” The raspy masculine voice calls out again, before you’re left in silence.

You and Eddie begin frantically getting dressed in hopes to get a good spot in line.

Once out into the fresh summer air, Eddie throws his arm around your shoulders, “you wanna watch the show with us, princess?” He proposes with a sweet grin, while lighting a cigarette.

You were right, a Judas Priest concert was the perfect place to make new friends.

taglist:

@michellecrusher @ali-r3n @crybabyddl @definitelynotecho @ajkamins @daniellabrandt @bl4ckt00thgr1n

#— 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x y/n #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie x you #eddie munson fic

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seren1tyhaze · 1 year

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Dive

PAIRING: doyoung x afab reader (ft djj)

WORD COUNT: 8.9k (got a bit carried away)

SUMMARY: your best friend drags you out to a club to be her wingwoman as she meets back up with a stunning stranger and you cross paths with the hottest man you've ever seen in an expensive suit and a cross around his neck

THANK YOU: @strwbrysunday you know how important you've been in getting this across the finish line and you're a literal angel. thank you so much <3 thank you to all my friends who watched me brainrot over this over the past week and inspiring me to keep working on it with your positive words.

WARNINGS: explicit smut, smoking, drinking, drug reference, profanity, heavy religious imagery in a sexual setting (and I mean HEAVY - so if this is going to bother you, this isn't the fic for you)

PLAYLIST: Dive by DoJaeJung, Angel by NCT 127

This was clearly inspired by the Doyoung D&G promo images with the rosary and the rest was history...

I can dive, I'm diving into you

—

Ouch. You pinch your eyelash with the curler as you lean in closer to the glassy mirror in your best friend’s bathroom. You knew you should be wearing your contacts but had forgotten them at home and you weren’t going to hear the end of it from her if that was the excuse you had for ditching her for the night.

It had been an exhausting week at work but somehow your adorable firecracker of a platonic soulmate since childhood had dragged you to her apartment as soon as the clock hit 5:00PM in the co-working space your small start-up you both worked for shared with some other local environmental companies.

She had shed off her casual work clothes hours before, now wearing a glittery black dress, hugging her hips tightly, strings ruched up the side revealing plenty of thigh, covered with nude fishnets. You envied her long and bouncy locks that flowed down her back, reaching up to touch your straight hair that never cooperated with the curling iron.

“What is it?” she asked from behind you, catching you staring.

“Is there something on my dress?” she spun around, craning her head to look at her own ass in the mirror.

You started to speak before you realized she was showing off, dropping to the floor quickly before slowly standing again, shimmying her rear as she started to sway to the faint music coming from her living room.

You rolled your eyes with a huff, curling your other eye’s lashes and applying a few coats of mascara.

“Loosen up, angel,” she called back as she moved into her walk-in closet to select her shoes and handbag, using her pet name she had been calling you for years.

You finished up the rest of your makeup, cleaning up the little pile of products and packing them back neatly in their small pouch before examining yourself in the mirror. Your dark hair fell almost to your shoulders, eyes accentuated with smudged dark liner and cheekbones dusted with a bright coral blush that complimented the glossy color across your lips. You had let your best friend convince you to dress up more than you usually did, since she said the club you were going to tended to cater to a more affluent clientele.

A skin tight white leather crop top pushed your breasts up nicely and you had even let your friend dust some shimmering glitter across them with a large puff earlier. You smoothed the matching devastatingly short skirt and adjusted the lace up black boots that travelled up your long legs and over your knee. You felt confident in the outfit and only slightly uneasy about the night ahead. Your friend had a tendency to scan for her prey of the night the minute you entered a venue and often spent the night locking lips with half the dance floor or as she did the weekend before, dancing on stage with the burlesque dancers at the late night speakeasy.

Standing next to her as you both did final checks in the mirror, you looked like the moonlight and sunlight, night and day, devil and angel. A dangerous pair for any person to come across in a crowded club with these outfits, to say the least. You giggled as your friend planted a glossy kiss to your ear before pushing your hair back into place, following her out of the spacious apartment.

“WOO!” shrieked your friend, waving long fingernails at a tall, slender man leaning against a private booth tucked near the DJ. A warm grin spread across his plush lips and you couldn’t help it when your heart jumped a little in your chest. How your friend always found the most attractive people to surround herself always surprised you (not like you were complaining).

She had met Jungwoo the weekend before at a rave and had gabbed your ear off about the attractive and rich heir to a fortune who lived downtown in the middle of all the weekend excitement and had fed her drinks all night long while clutching onto her hips as they danced. She hadn’t gone home with him but instead had gotten his number and promised to meet him out the next weekend. The next weekend was now and out the two of you were.

Jungwoo was absolutely stunning, bright white hair damp, long, and hanging around his cheeks and across his forehead. He wore a sheer blouse unbuttoned halfway, exposing much of his toned chest and loose grey slacks that didn’t leave much to the imagination when he moved.

Taking careful steps through the crowd, you followed your friend who now had her hand held close to the lips of another man, this one dressed in the remains of an expensive suit, tie loose and sloppy around his neck with several buttons of a crisp pale blue shirt undone. He had dark hair slicked back to reveal his stunning face and his eyes glittered when he pulled them to yours to greet you.

“This is Jaehyun, Jungwoo’s roommate!” she giggled, a glass of champagne somehow already in her hand as she grinned at Jaehyun’s tender kiss to the back of her hand.

“Lovely to meet you, girls,” Jaehyun spoke deep and smoothly, his voice like velvet.

You cleared your throat with a small smile and shifted your weight in the uncomfortable shoes, eyes darting past the two men in front of you to a third seated in the booth.

Goosebumps instantly dotted your bare arms as you raked your eyes over one of the most attractive men you had ever seen. Even seated, you could tell he was tall with a broad frame. His hand was stretched out across his knee, high end designer fabric covering every inch of his body.

As if in slow motion, he lifted his head from his phone, placing it next to him to take a long sip from the short glass of dark liquid on the table in front of him. He brought his dark eyes up to meet yours and as soon as you made contact you watched his adam’s apple move in his throat, gulping as he peeled his eyes down your body.

You moved a hand to grip your other forearm, suddenly self conscious but equally intrigued, cocking your head slightly to the side. Your vision blurred briefly and you cursed yourself for not remembering your contacts as your loss of focus refused to let you make out the expression on the mystery man’s face.

“Doie - don’t be rude, say hi!” Jungwoo slurred out, taking a strong hand to the small of your back to guide you into the booth and directly next to Doyoung.

“Hi,” he spoke, quiet and soft, pulling his hand off his knee to extend a handshake to you.

You chuckled lightly and let him shake your hand, taking a moment to inspect him further now that you could see him better.

The white collared shirt under his suit jacket was tight (almost too tight) with the top buttons straining against the fabric enclosure. He had a soft jaw and plump lips, dark hair styled in a way that was kept but still messy in a sexy way. When he smiled his eyes crinkled in the corners and his neutral facial expression was hard to read when he wasn’t speaking.

You let your eyes wander down to his tight pants before shaking your head, begging your dirty mind to control itself. It hadn’t been that long since you had hooked up with a stranger at a bar but long enough to let your mind wander within minutes of meeting this man.

Doyoung reached across the table to pour you a glass of champagne from the bottle in the ice bucket and as he did, you noticed a glimmering chain around his neck. As he leaned further, you saw the small black beads on the chain catching the light and much to your surprise, a cross slipped into view briefly.

You sucked in a deep inhale at the sight - this man was wearing a fucking rosary around his neck.

Flashes of hours kneeling for Easter vigil mass, heavy clouds of incense in your face as you held the thurible in a floor length white robe, dark smudges on your forehead, and getting tipsy off communion wine in the church basement with your cousins flew across your mind as you watched him laugh at something Jaehyun said.

Jungwoo swore loudly as he dripped tequila across the table, attempting to pour five shots evenly. You can’t pull your eyes away from Doyoung, watching as he bows his head lightly, wincing ever so slightly at the curse words.

Who the fuck is this guy?

Taking a long drink from your champagne glass and tossing back the shot that is handed to you, you reach into your bag and dig out a carton of cigarettes, pulling the ashtray at the center of the table closer to you.

Pulling a loose stick with your lips, you instinctively gesture towards Doyoung who moves a hand quickly to decline. You shrug and move a bit closer to Jungwoo who is taking a long drag from a neon green vape. He chuckles and tosses his hair from his eyes as he watches the interaction.

“You’re better off making moves on Jae,” he says to you on his exhale. He tosses an arm around your shoulder, nudging your bare shoulder lightly with his thumb, cocking his chin up to draw your attention to a smiley Jaehyun swaying to the music, slightly off beat, as your friend tries to get him to salsa dance with her.

“Doyoung is a little more on the conservative side. Doesn’t smoke, doesn’t like getting high, barely gets drunk, takes his grandma to church on Sundays, all that,” Jungwoo adds, giving you a softer smile as he pulls your eyes into contact with his.

You narrow your own eyes slightly, not sure if this is some twisted attempt at reverse psychology to push you even more into the arms of his friend. While he was wearing the rosary, that didn’t necessarily scream “priest”. He was in a high end club’s most desirable VIP booth, surrounded by drinks and other substances, with two party boys that looked like models.

“Well he’s taken every shot that’s been poured for him, so I don’t know about that ‘not getting drunk’ part,” you quip back, taking a long drag from your cigarette and blowing it behind you through tightly pursed lips, intentionally avoiding Doyoung’s direction.

“Yeah he and Jaehyun lost some big account today, I think he’s just blowing off some steam. Plus he owes me,” Jungwoo winks as punctuation, making it apparent that he wasn’t going to elaborate on the end of that statement.

Throughout the night you learn that Doyoung and Jaehyun work at a big investment bank, Jaehyun sharing a small apartment with Jungwoo in the middle of all the city nightlife, the three of them having known each other since they were kids. Doyoung seemed to have never moved on from their strong faith-based formative years, holding onto these ideals even years later and still an active member of his family’s church community. When he checks the time on his phone you see the smiling face of an older woman pushed up against his, assuming this to be the grandmother Jungwoo mentioned before.

He’s quiet as you chat with him, having to do most of the talking, but is kind and puts some of your nerves at ease even when your friend is off in the middle of the dance floor doing god knows what with god knows who.

Despite his reserved nature, you feel his eyes trained on your every move, following your lips and hands as you smoke another cigarette, the way you cross and uncross your legs with ease, despite the short skirt that has a tendency to ride up when you wiggle in your seat.

You watch him in the same way he watches you, the way his hair falls into his eyes every once and a while and instead of pushing it away with his hand, he shakes his head lightly, flicking his eyes up as if to chastise the loose strands. When he leans forward to take a sip of his drink or gesture to the waitress, his toned chest is exposed by the undone buttons on his shirt.

As much as you hate to admit it, his very presence is intoxicating and it’s affecting you more than you would like. Goosebumps crop up on your arms and you suddenly feel chilled in the warm room, sending a shiver down your spine.

A loud laugh draws your attention across the booth and you are met with the sight of your friend feverishly making out with Jaehyun, sandwiched between him and Jungwoo who has his hand up the hem of her dress, laughing into her neck.

You whip your head back towards Doyoung, giving an awkward smile to him before the chill sets over you again. You train your gaze downwards, examining the patterned carpet on the floor and the laces on your thigh high boots, picking at the edge of the string. You startle at the feeling of fabric being draped over your shoulders, looking up to see that Doyoung has placed his suit jacket around your shoulders.

He keeps his arm wrapped around your shoulder after placing the jacket and you suddenly feel an additional set of eyes on you as you lift up to meet Jaehyun’s gaze. He’s staring at your slightly spread legs, running a wicked tongue across his bottom lip as it quirks up into a wry smile.

You feel Doyoung’s grip around your shoulder tighten and turn to see his face close to yours, your heart jumping in your chest when you feel his breath across your cheek. You can’t bear to break eye contact with him, despite the fact that you desperately wish you could see Jaehyun’s reaction.

“You seemed cold,” he murmurs to you, lips almost brushing across your skin as he speaks close to your ear. He smells delicious, like soft musk but still clean and warm. You mentally take note to slyly ask Jungwoo what cologne his friend wears.

“Thank you,” is all you can muster and you resist the urge to drop your head to his shoulder, suddenly feeling lightheaded in the haze of alcohol, nicotine, and the blaring music of the club.

Doyoung reaches to the table for his glass, arm never leaving your shoulder, rolled shirt sleeve revealing a large and intricate cross tattoo on his forearm. At the sight of the ink you are jolted back to the reality that this man is not who you want him to be. You would normally have a hand palming his groin in the dim lights of the club, moaning into his mouth as he gripped the exposed skin on your back and whispered filthy strings of words into your ear.

But no, you had to bag the “Holier than Thou, Man of God.” Of course you did. This was not going to be good for your libido.

Your friend is suddenly dragging you by the hand to the bathroom, moving surprisingly fast in her towering heels.

“Sooooooooo, angel,” she whines from the single use stall she pulled you into after locking the door.

“What are you about to ask me to do?” you sigh, fixing your hair in the mirror as your friend hikes up her dress to pee.

“I’m going to take those two home with me,” she bluntly tells you, as you predicted.

“Yeah I think anyone in this club could have told me that,” you reply, rolling your eyes for dramatic effect. You didn’t really care what she did, only frustrated now that you had to make the hike home in an expensive taxi or wait for the unreliable train service.

“It’s fine, babe, I’ll get home okay,” you add, mustering the sweetest tone you can for your oldest friend. She deserved to blow off steam as much as next person, but you loved staying over at her luxury apartment on the weekends and the lazy mornings you spent sipping homemade cappuccinos and doing face masks.

“You’re the BESTTTT!” she nearly shouts, throwing her arms around you, damp hands fresh from washing them in the sink getting your skin wet. You laugh at her, congratulating her on getting her dick wet and ushering her out of the small room with a smack to her ass.

Back at the booth she wastes no time murmuring in the ears of the two eager men before they share a steamy three way kiss that results in Jungwoo tugging Jaehyun’s bottom lip with his teeth, looping an arm around his slim waist.

You are flicking through the various ride share apps on your phone to find the cheapest option, boots feeling uncomfortably tight on your feet after a long night. Last thing you want to do in this outfit is sit on an empty train and make the long walk uphill to your apartment complex once you arrive at your stop.

“What are you doing?” Doyoung asks, face suddenly close to yours again. There’s a level of concern in his eyes that you cannot read when he speaks to you.

“Calling for a car home, I don’t have the luxury of living right here downtown and had plans to crash at hers. I’m assuming my job doesn’t pay as well as yours and Jae’s,” you reply, only lifting your eyes up to meet his after you’ve spoken.

God his eyes are so pretty.

“Why don’t you stay at mine, I can sleep on the couch and my driver can take you home in the morning,” he offers, picking your phone out of your hand and locking the screen.

You open your mouth in protest before thinking more on the offer. His driver?! You would be crazy to turn him down and your friend is already halfway out the door headed towards what will undoubtedly be a night to remember.

You nod and quickly stand, holding a hand out for his, guiding him out the back door of the club. He’s making a call on his phone in a hushed tone while you slide your long coat over his blazer, still wrapped around your shoulders, Jungwoo giving you a small smile and wiggle of his fingers as he slides into the back of a cab.

“I love you angellllll,” your friend slurs out dramatically, knowing she is far less drunk than she appears, playing up the antics for the men around her. Jaehyun has an arm tucked loosely around her waist, grinning ear to ear as the evening wind ruffles his dark hair.

You pull your friend in for a hug before she ducks into the car, latching her lips immediately onto Jungwoo’s exposed neck, drawing a chuckle from you on the street.

Jaehyun pauses before getting in the car, dipping down to whisper right along the shell of your ear.

“Angel is it? I don’t know about that,” he practically moans out, voice breathy and deep.

“Seemed like a devil in disguise in that tight little skirt, slutty legs spread in the club for our sweet and innocent Doie,” he laughs out, laying the degrading tone on thick. His finger is under your chin, tipping it up to force you to look at him. Your heart is pounding and flying around your chest and you can feel your cheeks burn.

Suddenly there’s a hand on your back and you don’t have to look to know that Doyoung has stepped up behind you.

Jaehyun gives you a wink, pushing past you to plant a lingering kiss on Doyoung’s cheek, before turning and disappearing into the car.

Before you can say anything to Doyoung, a black town car replaces the cab in its spot on the busy street, Doyoung moving quickly to open the door for you, helping you in with a strong hand. He closes the door softly before moving around to the street side to slide in next to you, greeting the driver in the front pleasantly.

Your head is spinning and you desperately hope there is time to have a cigarette before going upstairs to Doyoung’s apartment, feeling anxiety creeping up in your chest.

Despite the spacious backseat, Doyoung can’t help but be pressed up against you, twisting to look at you as you make small talk. You watch him when he answers questions you ask and listen to a small story about a frustrating email exchange at work, as if the two of you had known each other forever.

Distracted by the beaded chain around his neck again, you reach over, taking the cross gingerly in between your pointer and middle finger, inspecting it. The metal is cold in your hand and nostalgia rushes over you as you hold it in your hand.

“I dip it in holy water every morning to help keep me grounded and ask that God bless my daily travels,” he offers, smiling lightly at you as he explains in earnest. You know by now that he isn’t lying, that there would be no reason for him to.

“I kiss it as well, asking him to bless my words and calm my mind in a world filled with temptation,” he continues, unwilling to break the heavy eye contact.

He reaches out and draws your fingers to his lips, still holding the cross, and kisses the small metal piece, catching the tips of your fingers with soft lips. They are warm and plush, sending jolts of electricity through your hand and to your chest. You have to shift in your seat to calm the throbbing in your core. This gesture shouldn’t be turning you on this much and you know now that if there is a hell, you surely are destined to take residence there.

The tension in the car is thick as you shiver, hand moving before you have a chance to think, bringing his hand and yours to your own lips, copying his kiss. You watch him gulp and pull his bottom lip in between his teeth as his eyes darken at the sight of the cross pressed to your lips.

Oh you are so royally fucked.

You watch him as he absently brushes the back of his hand against your own in the elevator ride to the top floor of the sleek and modern building. He lets his fingers tangle with yours briefly before holding his hand out when the door starts to open, bringing the foyer of his apartment into view.

You let a gasp fall from your lips, taking in the beautiful space around you. Lights flick on as you reach down to release the knot holding the laces of your boots in place, stepping out of them carefully by steadying yourself on a small table adorned with realistic looking fake flowers.

You try to keep your boots tidy under the coat rack, slipping off your coat and hanging it up and checking yourself in the small mirror above hooks of dangling keys. You notice one key with a Kuromi cover, smiling lightly and wondering if he had picked that out for himself. He will tell you one day that it is the key to his mailbox and one of the kids from his Sunday school class brought it in for him after they said Kuromi reminded them of Doyoung.

You follow him to the open living area which melts into the compact kitchen adorned with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. He’s opening the door to the fridge, pulling out a pitcher of water and pouring two glasses.

The apartment is warm but minimalistic in style, adorned with shades of cream, black and gray. You half expect to see a statue of Mary where the tv sits but there’s barely any religious imagery present. Maybe you had misjudged him after all.

As you close the space between you, you let his blazer slip from your shoulders, catching it and folding it gently in your hands, looking up towards him through your long lashes as you lean your hip against the cold edge of the counter, offering the blazer to him. Instead of taking the jacket from your hands, he leans forward, brushing a thumb across the high point of your cheek, examining your face.

“Let me know if there is anything I can get you to feel more at home, I want you to feel comfortable,” he murmurs, eyes flicking down briefly to your lips before meeting your gaze again.

You feel butterflies in your chest and despite how tired you know you should be, your heart is pounding and core tightening at how close he stands to you in his beautiful apartment, finally able to hear his voice clearly without the sounds of the club or busy streets of the city. It’s velvety smooth and even and his lips tip up at the edges when he finishes his kind statement. You want desperately to push up and capture them in yours but instead nod slowly, taking one of the glasses of water into your hand gulping down some of the cool liquid to try to quell the arousal building within you.

He brushes your skin with his thumb once more before taking the jacket from you, moving to his bedroom and returning moments later with a couple pillows and a large blanket, which he leaves on the plush couch.

“I don’t mind just sleeping out here,” you offer, scanning the comfortable looking room, knowing if you slept in the living room you might be able to more easily slip out unnoticed in the morning. You’ve never been one for tender mornings in bed with a one night stand and this situation shouldn’t be treated any different. You don’t believe he will actually make any move beyond what he has, despite the brief intimate moments you’ve shared since stepping out of the club.

“No no, I insist, take my bed. The bedding was just changed this morning,” he makes sure to note and you realize how rich this man truly must be if he avoided mentioning who exactly changed the sheets. Surely not Doyoung, with his thousands of dollars of clothing and jewelry on his body and on-call car service and penthouse suite.

He moves to open the door to the balcony, cool but comfortable night air flooding the living room as he hands you a vintage glass ashtray from the media cabinet.

“In case you need one before you go to sleep or in the night,” he offers, smiling lightly at the shocked look on your face.

“Jungwoo is always hanging around here when I’m working late and I’ve learned there is no way to stop people from doing something they want to do. I can’t change my friends and I wouldn’t want to. I have things in my life and things I have removed from my life but that is my own decision and shouldn’t affect my relationships with those I love,” he adds, fingers brushing over yours as they make contact to pass the item to you.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll take a shower quickly and then let you have the bedroom and bathroom. If you need it, there’s a toilet near the elevator and some fresh fruit in the fridge,” he continues, resisting the urge to brush his lips over your bare shoulder.

You thank him and take your purse out to the balcony, closing the door lightly behind you but making sure it latches fully. Stepping forward towards the edge of the balcony, you quickly light a cigarette and feel calm wash over you as you watch the flickering lights of the city skyline. The cool air feels good against your cheeks and exposed abdomen, needing desperately to cool down. You try (and fail) to not let your mind wander to thoughts of Doyoung in a steamy rainfall shower, steam gathering on glossy mirrors and hot water racing down toned biceps and thighs.

You burn through it eagerly, extinguishing the cigarette in the ashtray and disposing of it in a small bin attached to the balcony’s railing before heading back inside. Doyoung is emerging from his bedroom in a tight white tank top and loose grey sweatpants, bare feet padding across the plush throw rug.

“I left you some clothes and towels on the bed but help yourself to my closet if you need something warmer,” he mutters awkwardly, the power balance shifting slightly as he stands in front of you in casual clothes, black rosary still visible proudly on his chest.

“I’ll wash up, if that’s okay? If you’re tired and want to sleep, don’t worry about waiting for me to finish. I usually stay up pretty late and I’m sure you have early mornings,” you ramble, scratching at the back of your neck, suddenly feeling nervous.

“Take your time, I usually read for a while before bed,” he gestures to a small leather bound bible on the coffee table. Of course he does.

In the shower, you let the water rush over your body, using some of the small skincare bottles to wash your face and step out, massaging shower oil into your damp skin. You sigh into the warm white towel fresh off the warming rack and feel like you’re living in a dream.

Can’t I just stay here forever?

You know your modest apartment waits for you a few miles away, with your own much smaller and dingier balcony where you like to sketch in your journal as you watch birds settle on the hanging flower baskets. You could never see yourself living full time in the cold of the city, barely any green space and garbage littering the streets.

Checking outside the bathroom door before emerging, the coast is clear as you step back into his spacious bedroom, lightly touching the clothing he had laid out for you. A large and faded t-shirt that appears to be from a church camp is folded neatly, logo barely still visible.

A package of unopened cotton boxer briefs is next to the shirt, knowing he must have been panicking thinking of how he could offer you something to wear without it seeming creepy. But he seems to at least have experience taking care of stranded tipsy guests (even if they usually were just Jungwoo and someone he brought home from the bar). You pull the shirt over your head and it falls easily to your mid-thigh, skimming over your hardened nipples, painful as they make contact with the cool air from the vent.

Sliding on the boxers, you pull them up to your waist and the shirt covers them fully. You decide against the sweatpants next to the shirt, knowing they will be far too long for you and opt to instead roll on the pair of long socks before placing the pants back on the dresser. You listen at the door for any noise from the living room, hearing a light hum of music you can’t decipher. Pressing your ear closer you recognize Debussy floating through the air and let out a small smile.

You’re about to tuck yourself into the king sized bed before you realize you didn’t bring the water glass in with you. Scanning the room you don’t see one and silently curse yourself.

Sliding the door open quietly, you stick your head out tentatively, his head lifting to look at you. He looks absolutely adorable, bundled up in a fluffy blanket with his small bible in his lap and two scented candles lit on the table. The music did turn out to be Debussy, playing softly on a record player in the corner.

“Is the music too loud?” he asks, moving as if he is going to turn it off.

“No no, it’s beautiful,” you breathe out in reply, sliding out from the door and covering your chest with your arms, self conscious. This causes the hem of the shirt to hike up, exposing a sliver of the white briefs covering your lower half.

Doyoung’s eyes trail down your body, as if wanting to mentally capture this image of you dressed in his clothes, standing sheepishly in front of him. He pushes away thoughts of you on your knees in front of him, mouthing along his length through his sweatpants while he tugs on your silky and damp hair.

“I, um, just came out for some water,” you add, crossing to the counter to grab the glass before returning to stand awkwardly next to the couch.

“Why does she call you angel?” he asks suddenly, pulling an arm up on the back of the couch, unintentionally opening up a perfect sized space for you to sit next to him.

You smile lightly and cross to sit next to him, perching on the edge of the cushion so as to not crowd him.

“My middle name is Angelica,” you replied softly. “She just took a liking to the pet name many years ago.”

He smiles softly at this explanation, suddenly aware that his other hand has strayed to the hem of his shirt hanging loose on your torso.

“Angel…” he tries, feeling the way it sounds in his voice, feeling the way the words taste as they roll off his tongue. He smirks, pinching the fabric at the edge of the shirt in between his fingers and releasing it.

“Can I call you that?” he breathes out, suddenly closer to your face than you had realized.

“Only if you’re a good boy,” you manage to say in an even tone, hand finally reaching out to touch his chest, flattening against his toned pecs, metal beads digging into your palm.

His eyes flutter, brain clearly short circuiting at the mention of praise, fingers stilling but breathing becoming more labored.

“Can I please kiss you?” you ask, eyes and voice hopeful. You palm the cross on the rosary, holding it tightly in your hand as you pull gently, bringing yourself closer to Doyoung as your eyes slip shut, not waiting for a response.

His lips are on yours suddenly, pressing firmly as his hand flies to your lower back, pressing you flush against his chest, capturing your hand in between your bodies. You refuse to let go of the rosary, pulling tighter so he’s forced to deepen the kiss.

You feel his hand push up the back of the shirt and up your back, as if reaching for a bra to unhook and you can’t help but smile against his mouth, knowing he is far less innocent than he seems.

You rise up on your knees, moving your legs to straddle him on the couch, suddenly feeling something firm against your bare thigh. Your grin grows, nuzzling against his nose teasingly.

“Well, well, look who isn’t such a good boy after all,” you growl out, unable to control how horny you are for this man under you.

He pulls back, breaking the kiss, brows furrowed in confusion at your comment. Reaching between your bodies, he pulls out the leather bible and you flush deeply, unable to process that you thought it was his erection.

You avert your eyes from his and reach an arm up to touch the back of your neck nervously but his hand quickly grabs your wrist as he moves your hand to his lap, eyes darkening. When he pushes you down against his sweatpants you feel him harder than you thought he would be, not to mention way bigger than you thought he would be.

“Who said I was a good boy, angel?” he asked quietly, almost sounding annoyed with you. He grips your wrist tighter, pulling you closer to him before capturing your lips in his again.

It takes you a moment to respond, brain foggy at the name and sequence of events that had just unfolded. It doesn’t take you long to recover before slipping your tongue into his mouth hungrily, fingers lacing his hair to pull him desperately close.

You can’t help but move quickly with him, spreading your thighs to grind slow circles into his clothed crotch, biting back moans that bubble in your throat.

Hands are suddenly tugging at the hem of the shirt and you quickly oblige, peeling off the thin cotton and discarding it on the floor. Your chest is heaving as you sit on his lap in just the white boxer briefs, nipples erect and back arched to push your full chest towards him.

Doyoung hungrily licks his lips, eyes darting over your body as if there’s a time limit to the amount of time he has to look. You know you look good and he knew from the minute he saw you walk in the club that you would be on his lap, tits bouncing as he pressed up towards you with an experimental thrust. A small groan slides from his spit slicked lips as he slides one hand to your lower back and the other to cup your breast.

“Good God,” he lets out before lowering his mouth to your nipple, flicking eyes up to watch as you tumble contrasting curses from your plump lips.

He moves his mouth expertly, tongue laving over the sensitive skin, teeth dragging against your tight nipple. His hand on your lower back feels huge, fingers spread wide and gripping at your flesh as if you will disappear if he loosens his grip.

“Fuck me right here,” you can’t help but mutter into his open mouth after a particularly loud gasp flies from your mouth when you feel the tip of his dick collide with your clothed clit.

He pulls back, face seemingly questioning himself, eyes flicking over to the coffee table with the bible before turning upwards and fluttering shut.

You’re amazed at how this man can have his tit in your mouth one minute and then the next…

“Wait, are you praying?!” you ask in shock, stifling the laughter that builds in your throat.

He peeks at you with one eye open, smiling lightly before closing his eyes again and humming out an incoherent reply.

“Amen,” he says softly after a few more moments have passed.

You don’t have time to question him further when he quickly pulls his shirt over his head, revealing tight and toned abs and letting his broad chest crowd you in what could only be described as a bear hug. He pulls you close to his chest and you can feel his heartbeat reverberating through your own skin.

“The angel wants to get fucked, does she?” he growls as he digs his nails into your back.

“Let’s see what we can do about that,” he adds before flipping you over suddenly, standing above you as he slides the boxers down to your ankles, leaving your socks on.

He then moves his hands to his own waistband, removing the sweatpants and revealing his hard cock, already flushed and angry with arousal. As he bends down, the rosary dangles from his neck and you can’t help but stare.

You’re laid out, exposed in front of him as he drops to his knees, nudging your knees to widen in front of him. Your eyes are wide as you watch him, controlling and calculated. You have to ask yourself the same question you asked in the club, who the fuck was this guy?

“You asked if I was praying earlier,” he speaks quietly, long fingers dragging along your sensitive inner thigh, avoiding where you want him the most.

“I just like to thank God before I eat,” he adds, eyes glimmering with mischief as he pushes forward, tongue licking a long stripe along your dripping core, sending shockwaves throughout your body.

Your brain is swimming with pleasure at the filthy words he spoke and the way his mouth is warm against your burning core, tugging on his hair and slipping your hand down to his neck to stroke the shorter strands there to encourage him.

His muffled moans send vibrations along your folds and shivers up your spine as he laps at you like it’s the fucking last supper. You feel your release close, thighs pulling in to tighten around his face. He shoves them back open every time they threaten to suffocate him, giving him access to every inch of you.

Your orgasm creeps up on you and you are suddenly screaming his name, head thrown back on the back of the couch, vision blinding white. Your eyes are clenched shut as you make every attempt to slow your heavy breathing.

You feel warm hands under your thighs and realize he's lifting you from the couch. You let your arms fall lazily around his shoulders and your head loll over as he carries you to the bedroom. Laying you gently on your back, he’s suddenly leaning over you, lips brushing against your jaw, peppering kisses up to your ear and leaving more along your hairline.

“That was heavenly,” you sigh out, feeling dizzy from the soft gestures.

He smiles and pushes your hair from your face, leaning down to kiss you. You can’t get enough of his lips, every time they press over yours you’re drawn in closer, wanting more and more.

“I know you said you wanted me to fuck you on the couch and as much as I would love to bend you over and slam into you, I want to see your face when I make you cream on my dick,” he says as if it’s the simplest and most normal sentence on the planet. He sits up, reaching a veiny hand over to the bedside table and into the shallow drawer there.

Your mouth hangs open for a moment until you feel his fingers on you again, rubbing slow circles on you, gathering your post orgasm arousal as he tears open a condom that is carefully dangling between his lips. He slicks up his rock hard erection with your wetness before sliding it on and running a hand through his now messy hair.

You adjust yourself on the bed, propping your knees up so he can crawl between them. He brings his face close to yours and drags his tongue lazily against your lower lip before pushing into you.

Your eyes widen, feeling the stretch of his massive cock and the look on his face when he finally feels himself inside you. You swear he’s seen the second coming of Christ and you wish you could take a picture of the pure bliss.

It doesn’t take long for him to pick up a consistent pace of pumping in and out of you, grunts and moans falling from his lips and sounding almost like he’s singing. You almost come at the sight of the rosary dangling above you and moving with each thrust, knowing how fucking filthy this is but how it’s the most turned on you’ve been in ages.

He’s close and you don’t know how much longer you can last after him so you hook your legs around his back and push on him, silently begging to flip over. He obliges and lets you return to a similar position from the couch, him seated against the pillows and you rising up and down on his cock. This drives you insane, watching his face contort in pleasure as you ride him, letting his name fall over and over from your lips like your own prayer.

“Angel, I’m so close,” he moans, pulling you so tight against his chest that you feel yourself becoming one with him. You move together, moan together, and release in strangled cries together.

You pull back, out of breath and struggling to compose yourself, glancing down at your chest to see an imprint of the cross in between swollen breasts. He has a hazy, happy grin across his face and you know you have to look the same in this moment.

He reaches out, brushing pads of his fingers across the imprint on your chest before dipping down to kiss at the cross mark.

You think your heart might explode in that very moment, suddenly visualizing the two of you holding hands in a church pew or leaning over candles, lighting them and bowing your heads in silence.

What the fuck has gotten into you?

–

Once he finishes tucking the plush duvet around your naked body, he lays flat on his back, exhaling in relaxation for what sounded like the first time that night, and humming out an almost angelic note.

“And on the seventh day, God looked at all he had made and rested from the work he had done,” Doyoung paraphrased, grinning at his joke, turning slightly to nuzzle his face into your bare shoulder.

Your cheeks warmed and eyes welled as you watched your dark haired lover drift off into sleep, arms laying beside him, not clinging to you as they had been all night, as if fully relaxed at how you seemingly fit so easily into his bed, into his life.

Checking the time, you unlock your phone, lower the brightness, and fire off a couple check-in texts to your friend and one to your mother asking if you completed your sacraments as a child and if she knows where your old prayer book is. You can’t believe this man is reigniting this in you and while you know no amount of good sex is going to fully pull you back into a toxic institution, you see the good in him and wonder if there is a world where the two of you can balance his faith and your more progressive views.

The next morning comes quicker than you had anticipated and light is streaming through the sheers covering the floor to ceiling windows. You glance over to see a still sleeping Doyoung, surprised once you check the time, knowing he probably starts his day at the office before you. You check your phone, frustrated at how quickly it will soon be the time when your boss is checking in to see if you are working from home or coming into the office. You send off a quick message to let them know you will have a late start to the day, working from your apartment.

They reply with a teasing tone, noting that you and your friend must have gotten into some fun the night prior since she had called off entirely. Oh boy, couldn’t wait to hear about that.

You roll over, seeing Doyoung’s eyes open in narrow slits, running a wet tongue over his dry lips.

“Morning star,” he smiles at you, placing that same strong hand on your lower back, pulling you gently closer to him.

“Hi,” you squeak out, giggling as his fingers brush lightly over your spine, tickling you.

“Can I make you coffee?” he asks, pressing lips softly to your temple, holding there and breathing in the scent of your hair, still faintly holding the floral notes from his shampoo.

“You don’t have morning prayers to get to?” you tease, pushing your lips towards his, silently asking for a kiss.

He pulls back, knitting his brows together and almost rolling his eyes.

“You really have me all wrong you know,” he starts, pushing strands of hair from your face before cupping your cheek gently, just as he had in the kitchen last night when you first got back.

“Yes, I have my beliefs and values that ground me. But that doesn’t mean I abstain from every activity marked as a sin in the bible,” he continued, his voice even and strong but not mean.

“I would have thought that would have been obvious by everything we did last night,” he added, pressing a little more firmly on your lower back, gliding his palm down to the slope of your ass to grasp at the skin there.

You gulp audibly, startled by his candid admission. Maybe you did have him all wrong. Maybe you judged this book by the cover too quickly, your opinion shadowed by everything you knew from the devout adults you had grown up around. You had always assumed it was black and white, no gray space between for any compromise.

All you could do in that moment, overcome with emotions you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge, was pull him close to you and connect your hips with his to slowly create friction between the two of you. You hungrily captured his lips in yours, sighing into him as his fingers gently tugged your hair and brought you to another two unholy orgasms.

–

You don’t bother showering again, opting to take Doyoung up on that ride home from his driver who arrives in less than fifteen minutes, despite the morning rush hour traffic. You’re soon stepping out onto the busy streets, feet back in those painful boots and coat wrapped tightly around you to cover your revealing outfit you still can’t believe you wore out all night (but probably have to thank for this entire encounter).

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t a lost little angel!” comes a familiar voice, catching you as you are approaching the black car, the driver standing with a neutral expression waiting to open the door for you.

“Jungwoo, hey,” you start, stepping towards the man who is placing his motorcycle helmet on the seat, arms crossed as he leans gently against the expensive bike.

He’s wearing low rise leather pants with a matching belt adorned with a large silver buckle. His jacket is open and you can see a tight and cropped red shirt underneath, exposing much of his toned abs and navel. Nude color blocking rose up the sides of the shirt, covered in black crescent moons and he is wearing a stack of gold chains tight around his neck. A large green stone is dangling from his ear, moving as he speaks.

His hair is fluffy from the helmet, eyes smudged lightly with dark liner, most likely still from the night before. He looks absolutely unreal and your mind drifts to images of your friend pressed between him and the equally sexy Jaehyun in the crowded bar, stirring tension deep in your core.

“How was your night?” you add, stepping closer to him, curious about what your friend had gotten into.

“I’m sure just as sinful as yours by the look of this walk of shame,” he almost sneers back, tone unmatched to the large grin covering his face from his lips to his eyes. He grabs your phone from you and punches his number in, punctuating with a sultry wink. His eyes are flicking up and down your body dramatically, making overly exaggerated facial expressions at you.

You roll your eyes at him, turning to head to the car, wagging your fingers at him seductively and putting extra emphasis in your steps as you know he has his eyes glued to your ass as you slide into the car.

When Doyoung emerges from the shower with a towel tied low around his waist he finds Jungwoo lounging in his favorite chair in the living room, flipping through a magazine he had left here the week before. He looks up to make eye contact with Doyoung, smiling and letting a low whistle slide out his lips.

“Don’t start, Woo,” Doyoung warns curtly, pouring two cups of coffee and preparing them the way they both like.

“Look look, I have Father Lee on speed dial, he’s ready to do an emergency confession for you in the lobby of your office if you need it this morning,” he laughs back, closing the magazine and accepting the mug.

Doyoung rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to reach over and slap the back of Jungwoo’s head. He knows his friend is exaggerating but he had consequently already sent Mark a text that he would stop by the church later that day for a chat. Having one of your oldest friends be a priest that was known for being more on the liberal side had its perks.

“Just because I don’t flaunt my escapades all over town or upload racy videos into the shared DJJ iCloud album, doesn’t mean I’m not getting my dick wet,” he replies after a long sip of much needed coffee.

Jungwoo almost spits out his coffee at the vulgar comment, lips twisting up into a wicked smile as he watches his friend, relaxed and shirtless mid-morning on a work day.

“Something’s different about you, Kim Doyoung,” Jungwoo chuckles, tapping back into his conversation with Jaehyun from earlier, who had frantically texted him from the office that Doyoung hadn’t shown up for their morning meeting and wasn’t replying to any of his texts.

“I guess you could say I was touched by an angel,” Doyoung replies wickedly, winking at Jungwoo before standing and letting his towel fall from his hips, whipping it at leather clad knees before walking slowly back into the bedroom.

Jungwoo’s eyes widen and a smile spreads across his face, watching his friend’s toned ass move away from him and examining the red marks dotting his broad back.

“Oh Jaeeeeee, I have an idea for something that could be fun and oh so messy,” Jungwoo whispers into the phone as he steps out onto the balcony, lighting a blunt in the cool morning air, surrounded by the sounds of the bustling city below.

Part Two TEASER + Tag List NOW LIVE HERE

#doyoung smut #doyoung x reader #nct smut #nct x reader #nct fanfic #religious trauma slay #djj x reader #djj smut #jungwoo smut #jaehyun smut

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vintagehellfire · 10 months

Text

Danse Macabre | E.M x Reader

summary: Your best friend invites you to a concert that you're less than keen on but you get much more devil worship than you bargained for.

warnings: porn without plot, plot? What plot?, choking, nipple play, blood play, bruising, oral (m receiving), sacrilege, bdsm, dom sub dynamics, just really stupid horny honestly. Eyefucking, teasing, edging???? Spit kink, mask kink, devil worship. This is just pure filth honestly, piv, unprotected sex (don’t do this with strangers ya’ll pls I’m begging) mdni 18+

word count: 8.6k

Thank you to @the-unforgivenn for beta reading this pure filth for me and for correcting my atrocious keystroke mistakes. I love you so much babe.

part two

How you got dragged to some sort of musical satanic ritual by your best friend Lilly was far beyond you. The heavy instrumentals contrasted too harshly with the light and theatrical vocals. If looks could kill, Lilly would be dead. This wasn’t your scene, it never would be, it’s what you told yourself. Sipping your gin, arms crossed, you scrunch your face, the bartender having been too busy staring at your chest while he poured your drink, resulting in a rather disgusting concoction. As if the night couldn’t get any worse.

One of the lighter intro songs came to an end before the pyrotechnics roared to life next to you, one of the guitarists emerged from behind the waft of smoke. It was then that your breath caught in your throat, the way that he played had you hypnotised, placing you in a trance so deep that you couldn’t tear your eyes from him even if you wanted to, veins protruding. Your eyes trailed over his body, tight jeans fitting to his body and a uniform dress shirt adorning his torso, long sleeves and turtleneck underneath, hiding any soft skin. As you would be met with a face, you were surprised to find that you were met with a helmet of sorts, breathing tubes and other such accessories adorning it, as well as sticking out the top. His eyes burned red like embers behind the wide goggles, a darkness swallowing the man behind the mask and drawing you in. Curiosity got the better of you, you watched closely when he stomped to the beat of the songs. he fans collectively let out a wave of screams, throwing flowers on stage. You rolled your eyes so hard they probably should have rolled out of your head. Were you attracted to the masked musician? In some capacity sure, but wholly? No. They just… they knew how to play well and those hands… you could admit those hands were something. You shook your head to rid yourself of impure thoughts, it wasn’t like you liked the music anyway.

Your face was stone cold and your arms were crossed over your chest unhappily, cleavage pushed up, and the leather of your jacket creaking. That was the thing about you, you’d rather die than remove your prized biker jacket. It was your battle armour, much like the guitarists get up seemed to be the band’s uniform. To them, it protected their identity, and it protected you – you wouldn’t be caught off guard, you wouldn’t be vulnerable, you couldn’t. Your icy stare pierced through the smoke, through the flames, as you focused your gaze on the guitarist in front of you. His white guitar distinguished him from everyone else just as your expression did you –perfectly sour.

The crowd behind you chanted along to the songs, screaming about Lucifer and the congregation and whatever other shit you chose to ignore in favour of your best friend. Lilly was one of them, jumping up and down, chanting every word of the hymns the lead singer belted out to the tune of the strong bass line and the chugging of guitars. As much as you wanted her to have fun, you rolled your eyes, this wasn’t your scene. Every song that started out heavy led to a disappointment with the vocals or the rock opera and so you just opted to be the designated party pooper and give your best glare towards the lead guitarist who seemed all too interested in your corner of the stage. He wailed on his guitar harder than you’d seen anyone wail on one before, a flash of worry briefly crossing your mind but you quickly pushed it down.

The masked man played through his songs flawlessly, fingers moving expertly across the fretboard, mind and body completely in tandem; however your pout, your knit eyebrows, and crossed arms caught his eye, he’d stare back at you through his tinted goggles, smiling softly to himself at how adorable you looked when you were so grumpy. He could tell this wasn’t your scene and so during the slow and long intro to a song he walked over to the very front, standing just a few feet above you. He tilted his head to the side, his mask listing as he stared, playing the intro as his eyes never left yours.

The small movement caught your attention, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as you felt like the glowing embers behind the goggles were burning into your very soul, dissecting every little secret. He slowly points to himself before he gets his queue to jump into his next riffs, stomping away as he pushed through the heavy chords that thundered through the concert hall. You dared not admit it to yourself, but something inside you snapped, a warmth starting to spread between your legs. No, no you couldn’t possibly be attracted to this, right? But just as that thought entered your mind, it shot out of your head and straight to your heart when you saw the man before you strut over to his bandmate. The two bent over backwards together, the taller of the two supporting the back of the man with the white guitar. A cute moment, or so you thought, but as soon as the shorter was up for his solo, the taller wrapped an arm around him and pawed at his cock, tugging him into his muscled body, catching the one you had your eye on off guard. He rocked his hips into the other and rested his masked head on the shorter shoulder, fake panting. He did not falter however, and that had your brain reeling.

With a small smack on the ass, the taller let him go, strutting away as the crowd erupted in ear shattering screeches, and if what had just transpired wasn’t one of the hottest things you’d seen, you would have absolutely rolled your eyes, but instead it had you shifting in your place, all too keenly aware of the small flare of heat that lapped at you and the proximity of the other bodies surrounding you. You suddenly felt small, trapped; and you wanted nothing more than to run out and dunk your head under some ice cold water. What was wrong with you? Your eyes darted from side to side, hoping your best friend Lilly wouldn’t notice.

What went on next was just about to make anyone lose their minds, the lead guitarist started to throw guitar picks into the crowd, plucking one last one from his guitar and marching over to directly in front of you. The song they played next was clearly well known but it was only vaguely familiar to you, it was one you would listen to ironically while doing the dishes, one that you didn’t care much for, but was catchy nonetheless. What you didn’t realise was just how suggestive the lyrics were – and so when the man with the white guitar stood in front of you, spreading his legs to put himself in a more comfortable playing stance you thought nothing about it but his next motions had your panties soaking themselves in your slick. A long and crooked finger pointed to himself quickly, then he went back to wailing on his precious guitar just before giving himself a window of about a second to stop, his ring and middle finger very rapidly turned upwards, flicking rapidly as if motioning fingering you, his goggles deadlocked on your eyes. You could tell he was watching you for a reaction, and how you knew you wouldn’t be able to tell. Christ, maybe you should have listened to Lilly when she was telling you this band was horny. Truthfully, you had shrugged it off, what, some singer in a pope mask acting all horny? That didn’t exactly get your rocks off, but the moment you laid eyes on the masked men playing their instruments, all rational thought flew out the window.

Little did you know that the guitarist did have his eyes set on you, all queues already learned, his body moving on auto pilot, his performance was deliberately exaggerated just for you, his motions tailored to get you hot and bothered. He knew he played the best role, and as the show went on, with the lack of water, and the horrid head, he knew his veins were pronouncing themselves even more, fingers sliding around, fingering the fretboard with an expert speed. Every nook, cranny, and metal notch memorised by the calluses on the pads of his fingers, like an old lover he’d always know how to please. He would pride himself on it, on his accuracy, and he was thankful, oh so thankful, that his death metal band had allowed him the dexterity to pull something such as this off.

Your eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from his figure, stalking his every move like a predator with their prey, A game of cat and mouse you both played with each other from the stage and the crowd. At this point, all shame was thrown out the window and you were openly eye fucking him, blood boiling in your veins and mouth starting to run a little dry.

The final nail in the coffin was during their heaviest song during the show, a calm moment before the storm, before the stadium exploded in a downpour of black and white paper confetti. Your eyes fixated on the man before you as the song slows to a steady chug, breathy whispers sung into the microphones. It made your head spin as you were trying to compose yourself, breath hitching as the object of your lustful affection met your gaze. His black inky goggles bored you as he brought a shaky hand up, his other hand chugging the low E of his guitar. You were transfixed by the man, unable to peel your eyes from him as he slowly and seductively licked his hand, tongue expertly flicking between his fingers, his shaky breaths becoming ragged and exaggerated. Pressing his hand to his chest, he threw his head back in a moan, sliding his elegant fingers down the front of his uniform until it was level with his guitar, and exactly in time with his strumming, he fisted his hand and with a teasing motion he tugged at the air. Your mouth ran completely dry as you registered that he was feigning masturbation in front of thousands of people. He had you caught in a trance, hypnotised by his agonising motions, his eyes seemingly staring into your very soul, picking apart every last bit of you - he saw the scars inside and your desires all rolled into one. As his actions picked up, one hand still busy on his guitar, you let out a choked breath, transfixed by the man, ghoul, whatever he was, before you. He commanded all your attention, causing your mouth to run completely dry but it couldn’t have prepared you for his “release”-- letting go the moment the confetti cannon exploded. Your jaw slacked, a strangled moan flying from your mouth as you clenched your thighs together, mouth slightly agape.

The guitarist knew he had you in a chokehold at that very moment, smirking from underneath his coverings. Flawlessly he jumped back into the song and turned away from you, the game of cat and mouse had become too much, too real. It had only taken him an hour and a half to break you down, but once he did he felt a satisfaction he couldn’t explain, and of course he would try to hide it as he continued to strut across the stage as if he owned it. The reality was that he didn’t want to give away just the way this little game had affected him as well, an undeniable strain in his lower half. If his bandmates had noticed, they had clearly made it their mission to torture him, the rhythm guitarist getting on his knees in front of him during a solo, fucking into his own guitar as he pressed his head to the lead guitarists thigh. It wasn’t until the lead placed a boot on his shoulder to push away from him that the one on his knees relented, the crowd exploding in a rain of screams, and yet all you heard was the rush of blood in your ears. You resigned, the game had been won.

As you tried to catch your breath, you looked over to Lilly, thanking Satan that she hadn’t noticed your turmoil. The rest of the show had you holding your breath, knowing that the masked musician had made it his mission to play games with you. the show ended, you were relieved, you might have a moment yet to go home and get yourself off, forgetting the whole of the events that transpired.

“Come on, let’s get out of here and to the merch table before it gets too crowded!” Lilly cheered, sticking her handout for you to take, but as soon as she looked over your face her eyes drained of excitement. “Oh, are you okay? You look a little pale,” she noted, tilting her head to the side.

“Y-yeah, I,” You cleared your throat, “I’m fine, just feeling a little warm. I think I might head home but you go grab some merch. I’ll text you,” you lied cooly. You didn’t want her to know the profound effect that the lead guitarist had on you. With a nod she gave your shoulder a squeeze and darted off.

You could finally breathe, the suffocation that gripped at your throat just moments earlier had slightly dissipated. As dirty as your thoughts were at the moment, it was in your best interest to get moving, and so, as if on autopilot, you let your feet carry you as far from the stage as possible. You slipped past the crowd, weaving in and around groups of friends, teenagers reeling about the show, displeased parents. You wanted to beeline it out of there before anyone noticed you but unfortunately your plan was short lived as you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist and tug you behind a closed door.

Your brain ran at a mile a minute, trying to figure out whether it was cause for alarm, but as your back collided with the wall behind you, you were met with the masked ghoul from the stage pressing his knee between your legs, pinning you in place. All colour drained from your face as your breathing laboured. There wasn’t any fear in your body, not any longer, and if there had been any,it had been replaced with undeniable arousal, heat being sent straight to your core. It took all your willpower not to grind into his thigh.

“Hey, sweetheart.” The husky voice purred, a small accent peaking through. He smelled intoxicating, like amber and cigarettes, a tinge of iron poking through in the softest of undertones. It drove you crazy, mind spinning, dizzy with want. He cocks his head to the side, his nautical mask tilting, the black goggles seemingly bottomless, swallowing his eyes. The musician’s expression is completely unreadable and if you knew any better you’d say it was like a predator who had caught his prey. Your mistake was thinking the little game you both played was over, yet now it seems like it had just begun. The man leans into you, invading your space completely, his covered mouth coming up beside your ear. “Oh you thought our little game was over, didn’t you?” He pulls back, allowing your caged body some space. “Don’t think I didn’t see you, little one.” His sweet voice purrs, setting you over the edge, hips finally pushing into his leg as your head tilts back, smacking softly into the wall.

“Fuck…” The syllable leaves your mouth as a groan before you can do anything about it. Surely you were dreaming this, but when you opened your eyes, you were met with the same mask, the same expression that stared at you from the stage.

“If that’s what you want, sweetheart, I’ll have to bring you to the green room. We’ll paint it red in sin .” You swore you could hear him wink from behind his coverings but you didn’t care, satan, you didn’t care as long as you could have him. You’d worship him in uniform, all sweat slicked and bloody if you had to. In this moment you had a one track mind and you’d be damned if you didn’t act on your desires… but maybe having these desires meant that you were already damned. “What, not as bold anymore? Devil got your tongue?” He mused.

“Are you going to run your mouth or are you going to fuck me?” You spit out at him, a feigned venom behind your words, but they were too lust drenched to be taken harshly. In an instant his body was against yours, thigh pressing into your cunt, slowly rubbing back and forth.

“Earn it.” He growled out, face burying itself into the crook of your neck to pepper both kisses and love bites across your jugular. Your body caught fire, desperate to be taken by the mysterious man then and there. You hadn’t seen his face and you were mildly worried that seeing it would ruin the illusion. Would you even find him attractive under all his coverings? You didn’t have time to think about it before his hands came to the meat of your ass, tugging you against him with a burning desire, fire coursing through his veins. The strangled moan that ripped from your throat was one you weren’t expecting, but did it ever feel right, his strained cock digging into your hips as he pushed your body closer to his. You could tell he was well endowed even through the fabric of his trousers, a heat creeping up your neck at this realisation.

“Don’t tease.” You spat, hands coming up to grip his slightly torn jacket, his arm coverings hiding any identifiers. You were going off of nothing aside from the little fire element pin that was securely pinned to the lapel of his uniform. Your hands found themselves tugging him forward, daring him to kiss you.

“Don’t be a brat.” The stranger growled, swiftly lowering the cloth covering his mouth before assaulting your lips with his. It was all teeth and tongues, pure lust taking over every one of your senses, and it seemed to be true for him as well. You kissed back furiously, nipping at his bottom lip, eliciting a gasp from him that would turn into a groan as you rolled your hips against his, begging for some relief. “Easy, pet.” He muttered against the plushness of your mouth, a small tender moment slipping through the cracks. As much as you enjoy rough, there was a certain swell that filled your heart in knowing that he wouldn’t push too far.

Your escapades were all tongue, teeth, and lips, strangled moans, and tugging at each other’s clothes until you both reached the green room wherethe band was supposed to be, however, your mystery man had ensured to clear it before he went out to find you. The only time either one of you broke from one another was for air or to push the door closed, locking it in the process. Both of you were too impatient, a carnal desire for one another pooling into your veins, fire spreading through you both and kindling in that very low spot in your abdomens.

“If you need me to stop, the safe word is Beelzebub.” The man’s husky voice cut through the groans, tugging your hips forward into his by the belt loops. He gave you a moment to process what he had said, but instead you grabbed onto his mask and tugged his head forward, lapping at his bottom lip in order to gain access to his mouth. As soon as he parted his lips, you were welcomed by his tongue dancing in tandem with yours. He tasted of wintergreen and cigarette smoke, a combination so sinful, so depraved that you should have been turned off, instead it flooded you with desire.

“Need you.” You panted out between kisses, the man unrelenting his assault on your mouth. You were utterly soaked through, and you were certain that the musician could smell you but you didn’t care, not right now anyway. You should have been embarrassed by being taken like this but it just turned you on even more knowing that maybe you would get to live out your newly discovered kink instead of trying to soothe — or smother — the flames by yourself.

“Do you need me?” The man mused. “Mmm, prove it to me, my little devil.” His hand crept from your waist down to your hips, and from your hips down to between your legs, agonizingly circling your cunt, thumb pressing into the seam of your jeans in the exact spot your clit would be in. “Show me how needy you are for me… Go on…” His husky voice teased. When you didn’t react he spun you so your back would be to him, a strong arm holding you against his body while the other busied himself with teasing you. His breath was by your ear now, and his cock pressed into your ass. He was so worked up that he began to rut his hips forward, moaning at the friction. His moan elicited a reaction in you, causing you to throw your head back onto his shoulder, mouth falling open. The tassels on his overcoat swayed with each rut of his hips, tickling the side of your face. You couldn’t imagine he wasn’t warm in his get up but you were too occupied to do anything about it.

“Please, fuck, I need you.” You choked out, eyes screwed shut as he teased. You felt him lick a stripe up your neck before nipping just underneath your ear as a small warning before latching his lips to the sensitive spot, sucking a dark bruise into your skin. The sickening combination of his lips on your neck, his hard on rubbing against your ass, and his fingers teasing your clothed cunt was becoming too much, driving your senses crazy. A low growl emanated from deep within his chest, reverberating across your back from the proximity.

“Then get down on your knees….” He spins you around, voice low and husky as he shoves you down, a mix of fear and burning desire settling in the deepest pits of your stomach. Your knees hit the ground with a thud and you’d be sure to bruise later, but that was a small price to pay. You watched him undo his belt and pull his zipper down before bringing his hand back up to his face, licking it slowly like he had during the show. You knew what was coming but what you didn’t expect was him to give you one last order as he spidered his fingers down the ruffled fabric of his shirt. “And pray.” An animalistic snarl came from beyond the mask as his fingers trailed into his boxers this time. The man tugged his cock out and began to stroke himself, chest heaving, his breathing became laboured.

“Oh, god.” You uttered, but the musician didn’t seem to like that. He let go of his cock, allowing it to bounce against his stomach, a stark contrast with his black attire. It looked delicious with the little opalescent bead of precum nestled on the very tip.

“No, my pet,” he purred, his thumb coming to your lips, slipping past them and into your mouth. It tasted of brass and sweat yet you opted to hollow your cheeks around it anyway, “you answer to our savior, satanus here. You are no longer in the house of god.” There was a cruelty behind his voice, corruption on his tongue. You would have thought the theatrics would have instantly had you shoving him away, but instead it left you craving the masked man, mouth salivating at the thought of him completely ruining you.

Without much warning, he tapped his cock on your lips, his precum smudging across your lips, and satanus, was it going to be his death. Your dark smudge of red lipstick would become ruins in the wake, the thought of a red ring around his member had his brain short circuiting, if you didn’t take him in your mouth soon he was going to lose it. Luckily you complied, opening wide to accommodate his size, letting your tongue lap at his tip as he slid in. He started slowly, almost carefully in order not to hurt you but soon enough you pushed his cock to the back of your throat, eliciting a strangled moan from him. His hands flew to your hair, desperate to hold onto something, anything, and he tugged you forward, pulling a moan from the very back of your throat. You pulled back, saliva building up in your mouth mixing with the salty taste of his seed.It wasn’t something you expected to like but you found yourself chasing it, craving more.

Your head bobbed over his length, your moans muffled as you tried to take him deeper, his tip brushing the back of your throat. His delicate resolve broke then and there, slamming into you at a frantic pace. He chased his high, immense pleasure searing through his veins as he fucked into your mouth like an animal, all sense of self control was gone. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, giving him the most innocent look you could muster as you flicked your tongue over his tip, lapping at his slit. Agonisingly you pulled back, employing the aid of your hand around his length, taking only part of him in your mouth. You jacked him off as you hollowed your cheeks around his tip, tongue expertly flicking over his frenulum and eliciting the most pornographic moan from him.

“Satanus, save me.” The man hissed from above you, pulling on your hair to draw you closer. He was losing control, babbling about how pretty you looked on your knees for him. “You are so exquisitely sinful, my pet.” His chest heaved with every breath he took, fingers tangling themselves further into your head of hair, fingernails practically at your scalp.

You take the praise and you run with it, taking it as a signal to keep going, and this time you move your free hand up his leg, rubbing over his thigh as a tease, a preamble to what you were going to do next. You took his groan as a confirmation to continue, his breaths coaxing you to keep going. You slid your hand up, opting to rub his thigh teasingly, savouring the feeling of the looser material under your fingertips, toying with it before you continued your journey up. While your mouth and right hand busied themselves with his thick cock, your left hand came up to fondle his heavy balls. Who knew that praying to a false idol could be so pleasurable.

“Oh, oh, f-fuck.” The taller threw his head back, voice gruff and fucked out, clearly enjoying this more than he should have been. He was rapidly losing any grip on the situation and he needed to extract himself from it unless he wanted to spill into your mouth. It was his nightmare, his most sinful fantasy, having you like this after the show – a stranger, a person in the crowd. The amount of people that would absolutely kill to be in your position and it was likely that you weren’t appreciating it as you should have been. The man keened before tugging you back harshly, his hips stuttering at the sudden loss of contact from your mouth. “If you keep going like that, I’m going to cum down your throat, sweetheart.” There was a certain level of concern laced into his tone, one that you glossed over through your lust.

“Holy shit…” You breathe out, pupils completely blown, the colours of your irises practically disappearing due to how clouded your mind was with him, only him, nothing but him, and how divine his cock was. At your words, something inside him snaps and he grabs your throat, pulling you up. You could feel yourself growing more aroused by the minute. How he had guessed that you’d be into choking was beyond you, but fuck was this doing things to you that you hadn’t even thought possible.

“There is nothing Holy here.” He growled out, a darkness overtaking his voice. His words sent a cold shiver down your spine, one that found itself shooting down towards your core, causing you to press to him. The ember glow from behind his goggles scanned over your face, flickering, igniting a fire in the bits of your belly. “Here we succumb to our lust.” He breathes before letting your neck go only to bring his hand down to your chest and massage your breast, pinching gently through the fabric of your tank top. In an instant, his mouth attacked your neck savagely, teeth nipping at the thin skin, tongue flicking over the bites to soothe them. You tilt your head back to accommodate him, your breathy moans coming up right beside his ear as you rut into him. You’re desperate to be fucked at this point, needing him more than you need to breathe.

He pierced your skin with his canines, an animalistic desire for you taking over him. He could no longer think, all consumed by his desires. You felt his lips trail down, soft as a butterfly’s wings, stopping at your jugular vein before he bit down, causing you to let out a yelp. Your cry of pain turned into a pornographic moan as he sucked and lapped at your salty skin, a small sheen of sweat starting to gloss over you as you burned up. If this was what being in hell was like, you’d have a hard time coming up with reasons to wind up in heaven. Your torture didn’t end there; however, as he snaked his free hand up to your cheek, holding you in place tenderly as he continued his assault on your neck. He made it his mission to mark you up as his but you were too far gone to care.

“Oh Christ.” You moaned as he lapped at the bite marks he left, but he didn’t seem to like this. Not that you could see this much, but his eyes turned dark as he trailed his lips farther down, burying his face in the crook of your neck before he bit down hard enough to draw blood. Your pain was immediately covered in a strangled cry of pure ecstasy as he tugged you towards him, his hand on your breast moving to your hip, surely bruising it, fingerprint embedded in the skin of your hip bone.

The taste of iron filled the musician’s mouth, his hard on reacting to your metallic taste, pressing into your hip involuntarily. He couldn’t get enough of you - the intoxicating smell of amber and palo santo mixed with the salt from sweat, and the citrus of the gin… He wanted to ruin you once and for all.

“No, my pet, you are not in the house of God. Only the devil resides here. Will I need to have you pray to me again?” The growl that ripped from his throat has you soaking your lace panties, a choked sob escaping from your parted lips. As he took you in, he noted that you already looked completely fucked out, the bruising on your neck blooming like deep red roses, a symbol of both love and devotion. The only thing you could do was shake your head in answer to him. “Mmm,” the stranger hummed, “your body and blood are mine, sweetheart.” He teased you. As your chest heaved, you examined him, traces of your blood down his chin, and some smeared across his mask, his lips were swollen from the harsh and animalistic kisses he was giving you, and satanus were you ever attracted to him in this moment.

“Please… Can I see you?” You plead, your hands coming to his waist, trailing down slowly, your right hand making contact with his cock. The soft cant of his hips encouraged you to grip it gently, stroking him languidly as you await his answer. “Please…” You repeated, eyes desperately boring into the void behind his goggles.

“Oh, is my little pet desperate to see me?” He cooed out, his fingers skillfully finding your belt, undoing it at a painfully slow pace. It was your turn to buck your hips into him, rolling them into his touch. “Mmm, such a little slut, can’t wait until I get my hands on you, can you?” He teased.

“Satanus, yes, please! Wanna see you.” You groaned, breath catching as he slowly teased you through your jeans. “Need you, need- need- ah!” You cried, throwing your head back once again, eyes fluttering shut from absolute pleasure. It’s then that the man opted to unzip your fly, pausing his animalistic activities to gently tug your jeans over your hips. You weren’t having any of this slow and sweet shit; however, and kicked them off as soon as you got the chance to, allowing him easier access to your sopping cunt. The smell hit him immediately and he moaned, head falling against your forehead, his breathing ragged and strained. His cock reacted, bouncing in your hand and you continued your teasing.

“Then beg me for it, pet. I don’t think you’ve earned the opportunity to unmask me just yet.” His resolve crumbled with every soft touch, every stroke. He pushed into your hand and you took that as a sign to speed your motions before you pushed him back. Confusion was written across his features, that was until you let a healthy glob of spit hit his angry cock. “Oh mother fuck.” The man hissed out, crashing his bloodied lips into your own, allowing the metallic taste of your own blood to permeate your tongue. You reciprocated, tongue swiping across his bottom lip, begging for entrance. He parted his lips, granting you access, as he swiftly moved your panties to the side, his thick fingers slipping between your weeping folds. It took everything in him to not take you then and there, your pussy sucking his fingers in, tight and wet.

“Please, please, I need to see you.” You sobbed out between kisses, but it was clear that it wasn’t enough. The musician growled at your words, dipping his index into your slick and using it as a lubricant to tease your clit with, it took him a moment but he found the bundle of nerves. The instanthis calloused finger landed on your clit, your vision exploded into stars, mouth practically running on its own, incoherent pleas and various iterations of “more” tumbling from your swollen lips. You were finally giving him something to work with, the pleas, the praises. He continued working your cunt, curling his fingers into the sweet spot deep inside you, warm walls squeezing against him.

“Oh, darling. I’ll give you whatever your sinful heart desires.” He nipped at your bottom lip, splitting it with his canines before he pulled back, panting as he tried to catch his breath, however he refused to remove his hand from your cunt, slowing his movements only a fraction so that he could catch his bearings. “Are you sure?” He asked you, a worry laced in his voice. You nodded fervently, a saccharine look in your eyes peeking through beyond the undeniable lust. Whether you understood he was anxious about what you would think of him or not wasn’t apparent but regardless, you wanted to know who the man you were bound to fuck was.

With a swift move he tugged the mask off, tossing it to the couch behind him and removing his balaclava. What you hadn’t expected was the sight to take your breath away completely. His hair tumbled out of the bun he had it tucked into, and the messy curls cascaded down his shoulders, doe eyes framed by the prettiest eyelashes you’d ever seen, and his swollen lips? God you couldn’t even think anymore. You immediately kissed them, nipping at his lips, taking his bottom lip into your mouth and sucking, tearing a moan from him, his lust filled eyes expanding even farther as you continued your assault on his lips. You bit down harder this time, cracking his lip. This time the metallic taste belonged to him and you couldn’t help but moan at his taste. You needed more.

“Please, I- I need you…” You panted, eyeing the man with carnal desire.

“Eddie, my name is Eddie.” And with that final confession he grabbed you by the hip and dragged you back to the roomiest surface he could find. It was all teeth, tongue, and the metallic taste of each other’s blood. Your hand on his cock and his fingers still working you open, movements becoming more erratic as he practically drilled into you with his fingers, setting an unrelenting pace that he seemed eager to keep up. Your knees hit the back of a couch, and his arm immediately shot to the small of your back, gently lowering you, a contrast to how he was abusing your needy body. Your hands moved to his hair in preparation for what was to come, yanking at his soft locks, releasing a deep moan from low in his chest. His hair was silky underneath your fingertips, few tangles in the way or your mission.

“Eddie, please.” You whined, flush with desire, unable to think of what you wanted anymore than wanting him. A smirk adorned his lips and he sank his knees onto the soft cushion, knees bracketing your hips perfectly, his hands coming up to frame your face, curls ticking your cheekbones as he did so.

“Open up, sweetheart.” He cooed. Instinctively you parted your lips for him only to feel a glob of his spit fly into your mouth. “Now swallow like the good devil worshipping slut you are.” You obeyed without question, swallowing down his spit with a pornographic moan. As you did, he took a moment to line himself up for you. “God, you look so beautiful, blasphemous doesn’t even begin to cover it, pet.” He praised as he rubs his dick against your soaked entrance, your hips rocking into him, threatening to suck him in. He hissed but slid his hand down your body, tracing your figure with his fingers, teasing in the most tantalising way, once he reaches your ass, he gives it a harsh slap at which you gasp out, choking on your breath, the sting of his hand making contact with your ass radiating a heat you hadn’t thought possible. You hadn’t expected it in the least but it was welcome nonetheless. “Behave.” He growled out, a darkness seeping into the word.

“P-Please, Eds… I need - I can’t, please.” You babbled, words completely incoherent. You weren’t even sure what you were begging for at this point. His cock? His fingers? Were you asking to be fucked stupid? In all your incoherent ramblings and begging Eddie caught one thing that made his brain fuzzy around the edges. “Corrupt me satanus, corrupt me, please.” Playing into the whole devil worship aspect had him gone, his hips violently snapping into yours, completely disregarding that you might need to adjust to the stretch. Part of him felt bad, but your immediate response was to wrap your legs around his waist, crying his name out as tears brimmed your eyes, mascara beginning to run down your cheeks. To Eddie, you looked absolutely perfect. He leaned in and peppered kisses across your face to wipe away the tears that trickled down.

“S’this what you want, my little pet? You want me to ruin you?” His husky voice was in your ear as he dipped his head lower, his hips rolling into yours slowly. He moved masterfully for someone so scrawny, cock buried to the hilt as he rocked into you. Your mouth fell slack, tightening your legs around his waist and tugging him into you. “Come on, answer me, sweetheart.” He coaxed, pulling out of you slowly before snapping his hips into yours. The pleasure and pain mixed together in a teasing dance, keeping you on the edge and overwhelming your senses all the same. You couldn’t verbally answer and so you turned your head, tucking your face into his neck and kissing up to his ear. About halfway up you landed on a sensitive spot, causing a moan to tumble from his lips, a shiver running down your spine. You latched on like a vampire, sucking over the spot, lapping over it with your tongue to soothe any violent bites you inflicted upon him. In turn he bit into your shoulder, trying to ground himself in reality instead of losing himself to carnal pleasure, the coil in his abdomen tightening evermore. His plan had gone to shit the moment you continued to nibble on his neck, your hands tugging harder at his lock, pulling him further into you. With a slight upward tilt of your hips, Eddie hit a new angle when he snapped his hips into yours, ploughing deeper into you. The both of you moaned in unison before he released a strangled whimper. It was your turn to break skin, your mouth filled with the crimson substance that sustained Eddie’s life. Releasing your lips from the wound, you kissed over his neck and to his shoulder, smearing the fluid across his upper half.

His pace picked up, slamming into you, deeper and deeper, nothing but the sound of breathless lovers, bodies colliding, and the sweet ecstasy of carnal desire flooding the green room. Your hand then came to his back, scratching down it and eliciting a whine from the man above you.

“Please, please, please.” You chanted into his neck. It was as if he understood what you meant, his hand coming down between your joined bodies to rub over the bundle of nerves, little figure eights being drawn over your clit. You were going to lose your mind, and maybe even your soul. Would selling it to the devil be so bad? It didn’t take long after that for a white heat to build, a pressure that you weren’t used to building, the coil tightening, threatening to snap like an elastic band.

“Oh, shit, sweetheart, I’m close.” The man turned his head, kissing up your neck, over your cheek, and found your lips. His kiss was searing hot, burning with need. He chased his release with you, trying to bring you as close to the edge as he could, hoping you might be able to finish at the same time. “Don’t want to finish until you do.” The devil could be generous if he wanted to be.

“S’close.” You panted against his swollen lips, unable to give any coherent answer to him, not that you cared. If laying in sin felt this good, you’d bed the devil any day. “Please, Eds… Don’t stop.” And somehow he kept at it, the same pace, same pressure, same rough and unrelenting fuck that he had been using for the past few minutes. He knew that don’t stop also meant that he shouldn’t change a single fucking thing he was doing, and rightfully so. With a cry, you closed your eyes tight, lights dancing behind your eyelids as you came, the elastic finally snapping, and your release soaking Eddie’s stage uniform.

“Oh- fuck!” The man squeaked, his own release following shortly after. He could have sworn he saw stars in that moment, arms shaking beneath his own weight. His body fully collapsed on top of yours, your arms wrapping around him tightly, kisses tenderly placed on his shoulder. “So perfect f’me.” He mumbled into your sticky skin, reluctantly peeling from you. His brutal and domineering demeanour melted away, replaced by a certain level of care. You could see it behind his eyes clearly. “You okay, sweetheart?” He cooed, brushing your hair from your face, a few strands sticking to your forehead.

“Y-yeah.” You shakily breathe out, your voice hoarse from the activities that had just taken place. As you try to prop yourself up on your shoulders, you wince, a pain shooting through you. “Just sore.” You murmured, suddenly shy under the musician’s gaze. You didn’t dare look at him anymore, a twinge of shame filling your heart.

“Hey, sweetheart, come here.” He mumbled, scooting closer, not daring to pull out just yet. He pulls you up, legs entangled with each other in a pile of limbs, unsure of where one person ended and the other began. He pressed your warm body to his, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, rubbing soothing circles over your back, his gentle voice whispering sweet nothings to you.

“Thank you, Eddie.” You mumbled into his skin, placing a tender kiss over a forming bruise. “That was something else.” He hummed in agreement, allowing his eyes to flutter close for a second, letting himself enjoy a fleeting moment of human contact while he was on tour. While the guys were wonderful and he loved them to death, there was a certain intimacy that he missed in lovers. One that he didn’t indulge in as much these days.

Reluctantly, he pulled out and you pulled away, debating whether to say anything to him, or whether you wanted to indulge in some more pleasantries. If you were any wiser and more observant you’d have noticed the longing in his eyes, his gaze trailing over your figure as you pushed away to gather your belongings. It was odd to say that the musician would have wanted you to stick around for some more aftercare, it would have been even stranger if he admitted to you that he just wanted you to stick around post coitus and have a drink, maybe a smoke, and get to know each other.

“Hey, hang on, let me clean you up.” His voice softened, taking you aback. “Come on, pet, I’m not gonna leave you like this.” He gets up only to tuck himself back into his slick soaked uniform, cringing as he does so. He grabs a water bottle from the nearby table and a small cloth kept on the vanity in the far corner of the room. “Come on, just sit.” He motioned back over to the couch and watched as you hesitantly padded over. You sat down on the cleanest area you could find, squirming as you began to feel Eddie’s cum slipping out of you.

“S’fine, you don’t have to.” You mumbled, turning away from the man. He sighed as he approached you, sinking to his knees before starting to clean your thighs. He worked his way up between your legs, cleaning the leaking spend from your cunt. He placed a few gentle kisses to the tops of your thighs, your eyes flicking over to him as he did so. That was the moment you got a good look at the man. Dark ink littered his skin, barely an inch was pure, untouched, the only areas you couldn’t see his tattoos were the areas in which you had drawn blood, the dried fluid flaking slowly. He continued cleaning you up, rubbing gentle and warm circles with the wet cloth. Part of you couldn’t help but find this incredibly thoughtful, your heart squeezing at the gestures, but the other half of you believed that you were probably just an easy lay.

“Hush, yes I do. It’s the least I can do.” His doe eyes met yours as he looked up at you through his lashes. “I made a mess of you, darling, and I need to clean you up.” His voice was sincere, soft even, and you couldn’t help but melt. You allowed him to tend to your tired limbs, and once he got to your neck, he apologised, knowing that it would probably hurt. You couldn’t help but stare at the softness behind his eyes, the fire that burned within had fizzled out and was replaced by some unnamed emotion. As the towel made contact with your neck, you winced, earning yourself a kiss from the musician. It shocked you that even after the heat of the lustful moment he was still willing to kiss you but you accepted it, melting into his lips. They were soft, a little chapped, but inviting nonetheless.

“Thank you.” You whispered against them, afraid your voice would give out if you spoke any louder. Your hand came up to his face, brushing your thumb over his sharp cheekbone before placing your forehead against his. “You’re sweeter than I anticipated.”

“And you’re kinkier than I anticipated.” He retorted and moved back gently, only to give himself room to fold the towel over to a clean side before cleaning up your face with a gentle hand. “Thank you for indulging me.” He cooed out to you, his sincerity going straight to your heart. You couldn’t help but nod.

“I should go.” Your voice broke, and in that same moment, so did Eddie’s heart. There was something to you that drew him in, that he wanted more of, that he craved. It flew past just the need for human contact, part of it had to do with the way you ran with the punches he threw, you went with the game you played from the stage all the way to the back room. Eddie nodded solemnly, pushing away.

“Yeah, uh…” He bit his lip, tossing the washcloth on the coffee table. Surely worse things had been on that surface in the past, but right now Eddie didn’t care about that, not about what was on that table, what would be in the future, or what he just threw onto it. “You don’t have to, I actually, I don’t know that I want you to. Can I at least buy you a drink?” He asked, standing up straight. You turn around, grabbing your pants so you could slip them back on over your legs.

“You want to buy me a drink?” There’s a hopeful tinge to your voice, head shooting over to look at the musician in question. As you did, you hissed out gently, the garden of blooming roses on your neck blossoming farther across your neck, bite marks adorning your skin like dark tattoos. There was no denying what had gone on.

“Sweetheart, I think we both left a mark on one another,” he teased, “when you pray to the devil so well, I think it’s hard for him to resist.” A twinkle in his eyes told you it was more than just the sex you both had. “Besides, it might help with the pain. What do you say?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed as if you were deep in thought, “only if the devil can treat me right.” You mused. “You going to change first?” You waggled your eyebrows, referring to his squirt-soaked trousers, only to receive a smirk in return. “Oh no sweetheart, I wear my battle scars with pride.” With that, he pushed back to grab his helmet, slipping it back over his head before taking your hand in his and leading you off to the bar. He wasn’t what you expected, none of it was, the show, the music, Eddie, but as you took his hand you couldn’t help the feeling brewing in your chest; the feeling that maybe the unexpected was exactly what you needed.

taglist: @munson-blurbs @the-unforgivenn @littlesubbyflower @word-wytch (if you want) @rip-quizilla @hellfire--cult @mystish

#eddie x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #musician!eddie #stranger things au #mask kink #ghost bc #sodo ghoul #eddie as sodo #i'm obsessed #eddie munson smut #reader insert #music

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hiskillingjar · 1 year

Text

'You're his pet now.'

Relationship: Ren Hana/Reader, Fox/Reader Rating: Explicit Contains: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Injury Recovery, Power Imbalance, Coercion Length: Multi-chaptered, 2600+ words

Summary: After surviving hell, how do you navigate your relationship with the Devil?

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48528574

“Ngh…ah.”

You were supposed to be dead. That much you knew.

The second you woke up, the only thing that you could initially register was just how much your body hurt. It felt like you had been hit by a truck or trampled by a crowd or a pack of animals.

The next thing you registered, when you lurched forward and let out a long, pained groan, almost doubling up on yourself as your bandaged abdomen started to ache and twist, was that you were leaning up on a bed.

You weren’t on a thin mattress on the ground, nor were you in your cell or the dreaded 'filming room’.

You were on a normal bed, in a normal room.

Well, maybe not normal.

It looked a little like a hospital room, albeit a fancy one, when you blinked your heavy eye(s), peering around. A private suite with beige walls and tasteful decorations adorning them, pine furniture, a bedside table for get-well-soon cards and flowers. Your sheets were white and crisp and clean, and when you moved your arm, you could see a needle was pressed and taped inside, providing you with a drip feed. You could also feel a tube in your nose when you reached up to touch your face.

When you moved your other arm, though, you found it bound down to the side of the hospital bed. But the bindings were loose and made of expensive leather and fur that felt soft and soothing against your skin that had been rubbed raw by chains and metal.

Emphasising that they were there to restrain you, but not to hurt you.

When you gave the cuffs another tug, a thick chain rattled against the metal and an intense pain shot across your left shoulder, making you take in a reflexive hiss and squeeze your eye(s) shut.

The marred socket was still irritating and itchy, despite how well (you guessed) it was healing from the thick wadding that now covered it, covering half your face.

“You’re awake.”

You flinched at the sudden and familiar sound of...Fox, sitting on the other side of the room next to the closest window. He balanced an espresso cup on his knee and his legs crossed tight, sparing barely a glance at you as he looked out at the view outside.

It was nighttime. How long has he been waiting for you to wake up?

"Hope you've been enjoying your little nap." He continued, his tone dry but lighthearted like he was talking to a neighbour or a colleague, as he took a quick sip from his cup, keeping his eyes on the night skyline outside. A city. "I can see the nurses have taken good care of you."

"Fox?" You mumbled warily as you sat up a little more on your best, pressing your free hand to your abdomen, trying to soothe the pain as the cuffs were pulled taught and tight against your other wrist. "Where...where am I?"

"Now that's a good question," He said with a thoughtful hum, finally looking over at you with more interest, one of his thick brows raising and wrinkling his forehead in a subtle way (a handsome way).

He looked good, all things considered. He looked normal.

He was dressed nicely, in a high-neck sweater and a well-pressed grey suit, his hair combed back and his ears standing high to attention. He looked like a man who had just walked straight out of a business meeting, handsome, in control, and a little intimidating to those that opposed him.

You had to wonder how many other businessmen made their livings in snuff porn, though.

Probably a few.

"How about you tell me how much you remember?" He then asked around the rim of the espresso cup as he took another sip, his tail swishing to and fro behind him.

Your brow furrowed pensively as you tried to remember...well, anything.

You remembered the auction, the haze of colours, the bickering voices debating your worth, the burning stamp of red and blue (the occasional flicker of green) inside your lids. You remembered the announcer, his cheerful voice, and you remembered begging him to take you instead, to spare you from whatever these...people had planned for you.

You remembered the cameras and the screens, the haze of white imprinted that had still soaked into your vision. You remembered the heckling from an unseen audience that cheered and begged for your blood, your suffering.

You remembered the twisting ache of chains and bondage. You remembered your eye (or lack thereof), you remembered the demeaning costumes, you remembered the pain. You remembered the cell you were kept in and you remembered being so drugged up on painkillers most of the time, you could barely remember your name.

But you didn't remember why your abdomen was throbbing with agony or why every inch of your body was aching, and you didn't remember how you got here, or why you were still even alive.

Fox looked at your face, a light smile growing across his own (dimpling his deep smile lines and the markings on his cheeks) at the sight of your confusion and uncertainty.

"Do you remember anything?" He asked with a light chuckle after a few long moments, his ears flattening just a little on top of his head as he tilted his head. "Or is it all a blur?" He tutted softly with a shake of his head as his ears pointed again. “Poor dear. What’s gotten you so… lost?”

His voice turned a touch condescending and mocking as he spoke those last few words, a subtle tone of amusement and pleasure behind them which made your aching stomach twist.

"Why am I still alive?" You said softly as you leaned up more, sitting up against the recline of the bed. "Why are we in a normal hospital? Why am I not in my cell?"

He was quiet for a moment, taking another drink from his cup, savouring the taste with an indulgent roll of his shoulders as he ran his tongue over his fangs in a slow and considered way. He then lowered the cup back down to his knee, with a light clatter of porcelain.

"You really don't remember, hm?" He said dryly, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, his gaze golden and glittering with cruel amusement . You shook your head. "Well, what do you remember last? The auction, perhaps?"

"Uh…yeah, yeah, I remember that just fine." You said, a frown tightening the lines of your face (you wouldn't be surprised if you had more, you felt like you had aged decades). "I remember asking...begging, really, for you to take me instead of selling me to the others." You grimaced as you felt a sudden flare of pain in your shoulder, reaching up to idly knead at it and finding a thick swath of bandages stuck to your skin which spanned across your shoulder and down your bank. "It was...kind of a dumb choice, in hindsight."

"Well, that's one way of describing it." He continued, breathing out a short (practised) chuckle through his nose as a sharp smirk spread across his features, his fangs hooking over his lips the more he spoke. "But, and maybe I’m biased…I'd say it was probably the right choice." He then said, standing to his feet and pacing to the side of your bed, one hand in his pocket, his clawed thumb hooked around the fabric. "Wouldn't you agree?"

You weren’t too sure if you should agree or not, but he’d gotten you to a hospital and made sure you weren’t dead. What was the point in getting on his nerves now?

"I guess," You said with a shrug (despite your throbbing shoulder), letting your unrestrained arm drop back down to your side. The needle was starting to throb too, like you needed any more pain. "I'm alive, that's true...though I still don't really know why." You leaned back further against the hospital bed (the best you could), letting your head loll back on the cushions and considering him as he stepped closer. "You were going to kill me. I was sure of it."

"And yet, here you are!" He stood at the side of your bed, a wide and playful grin on my face as he set his coffee cup on the bedside table. “You’re alive, you’re healing, you're even relatively healthy, if your nurses are to be trusted. How lucky are you!”

Well, he was certainly right about that. Regardless of how much pain you were in, regardless of how much your body was throbbing and struggling just to keep you upright, you were healing.

He was making sure you were healing.

You swallowed hard, wondering why he was so determined for you to heal.

"I'm not going to.” He then said with a considered sigh. “Kill you, that is." You could see a little twinkle of mirth in his golden eyes as his head tilted again, his tail swishing behind him as he looked down on you. "What do you think that means, then? What does that mean to you?" He then asked, his voice playful and almost teasing, like he was telling you a good joke.

"I don't really know," You said, giving your cuff a little tug as you looked up at him with your good eye. “I…really don’t.”

"Well, since you’re so lost,” He grinned, his smile sharp and threatening (though you’re not sure he intended it that way). “Let me enlighten you." He perched himself on the side of your bed, resting a hand on your knee (underneath your blankets), the wide grin not leaving his face as he looked at you intently, his eyes bright and hungry . "It means… I like you too much to kill you. "

You took in a sharp gasp, your eye(s) widening in shock once he assured you of the thing you were so scared of, so unsure of, (so secretly wanting of).

"Is that a good enough reason for you?" He then said softly.

You could feel his warm breath across the side of your neck as he leaned a little closer to you, looking at you intently, his voice dripping, oozing with playful teasing. The touch on your knee tightened just a little.

"You...you like me?" You murmured quietly, so quiet that you were sure that only the two of you could hear it.

"Oh, darling ," He crooned softly as his grin eased just a touch into a smirk, his other hand reaching up to your chin to gently direct your gaze to his own, his eyes softening with fondness and...indisputable lust. "I adore you."

You swallowed a little tightly as he got closer to you, so close you could see the dimples of his smile lines, the creases around and under his eyes, and the freckles that dotted his cheeks.

You weren’t especially surprised by his admission.

It did make sense, in hindsight, in some twisted kind of way.

He had been quite sweet to you during the streams despite everything, taking the time to praise you when you behaved, to tend to your wounds, to assure you of his intentions and to make sure you were okay after all was said and done.

Maybe he did like you.

That didn't stop you from feeling nervous, though.

"And more than that..." He continued, his tail swaying just a little more (maybe it was even wagging…did foxes wag their tails?) “I want to keep playing with you , I want to make you beg for more, I want to own you." He leaned in a little bit closer, whispering in your ear softly, your faces inches apart as his soft, unruly hairs wisped against your cheek "I want to make you mine...and I always get what I want."

You were sure of that.

There were a few moments of heavy quiet, his breathing slow as he pulled away from you just a touch, enough that you could see his face, the soft flush to his cheeks, the mischievous, almost boy-ish twinkle in his eyes.

"So, what would your response be to that, then?" He whispered softly, his breath warm against your neck. "Do you want to be mine?"

"I mean…do I have much of a choice?" You asked quietly, though the warmth of his voice against your skin was…kind of nice and enough to make you shiver with a subdued rendition of pleasure.

"Not really, no," He said with a chuckle and a shake of his head, his expression fond and patient, almost like he had expected you to ask a question like that. "Either you become mine, or..."

Or.

You swallowed again.

He took another quiet moment to consider your expression, your stiff posture, the nervousness in your eyes, as if he was waiting for an answer, before he let out another little chuckle, shrugging his shoulders as he let go of your chin and gave you two light taps on the cheek.

You flinched, your face absolutely burning at the condescending little gesture. “Think about it!” He said easily, casually, like he was negotiating a business deal and not coercing you into a never-ending dynamic of ownership and servitude. He smiled and stood to his feet, letting go of your knee and giving his blazer a little tug to fix it into place. “You have plenty of time to, after all. And who knows?” He held his arms out in a wide gesture of casual friendliness. “You might come to like the idea!”

You didn’t say anything. Your cheeks were still blazing from the light taps.

“Well, get some rest, sweetie,” He then said, letting his arms drop to his sides with a quirked grin, showing you his fangs (again, you weren't sure if the threatening gesture was entirely on purpose). “I want you strong and healthy, after all! I’ll see you later.”

“Wait!” You said quickly, sitting forward and forcing the cuff on your wrist to pull tightly, almost digging into your skin as your arm was jerked back painfully. “Y-You’re going to leave me here? All on my own?”

“Mmhmm,” He nodded, putting his hands in his pockets and raising his brows at the quickness of your question, as if he was surprised that this was what you were concerned about. “There’s work to be done, after all. But I’ll visit you again soon, and your nurses will take great care of you.”

You sat back against the bed with a soft sound of defeat, looking down at your lap.

“Right, okay…” You murmured, fiddling with your fingers (the best you could with the cuff so tight). “...How soon?”

You flinched again when Fox let out a string of barking laughs, real and loud and authentic , his shoulders shaking with amusement and his tail wagging as he did his best to cover his amusement with his hands.

“Oh! Oh my, oh darling,” He said through his giggles, leaning towards you again, his hands on the bed and his smiling face near yours. “That is absolutely precious, it really is! You’re so needy already,” He grinned then and pressed his nose into your hair, like a quick affectionate nuzzle. It’s almost a kiss and it almost makes your heart race. “And oh-so-sweet. We’re going to have such a good time together, I can already tell.”

You didn’t say anything, but your flushing face said more than enough for him.

“Rest up. And try not to miss me too much, okay?~ ❤”

#the price of flesh #fox tpof #ren hana #ren hana x reader #ren x mc #fox x reader #fox x mc #ray's fics #i'm insaneeeeeee mental asylummmmmm #i wanna go full rebecca the yellow wallpaper with fox i'm sorryyyyyy

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special-agent-sass · 11 months

Text

Brighter Future

Warnings: Smut, Dominant Gibbs.

I wanted to try something new so I wrote this in the typical third-person POV but focusing on Gibbs’ thoughts rather than the reader’s. I don’t know how to feel about it.. read it, tell me what ya think haha. I tried my best.

Gibbs slammed the basement door behind him, his jaw clenched in frustration. That damn woman was going to be the death of him. When he'd seen Y/N leave the bar with some pretty boy, laughing and flirting, his gut had twisted into knots. He knew it was irrational - she wasn't his to claim - but that did nothing to temper the surge of jealousy burning through him.

Taking a deep breath, Gibbs tried to rein in his emotions as he started sanding the latest addition to his boat. It was a lost cause, though. No matter how hard he focused on the rhythmic strokes, his mind kept drifting back to her.

Y/N Y/L/N. The beautiful, stubborn, reckless thorn in his side. From the moment she'd joined his team two years ago, Gibbs had been drawn to her like a moth to a flame. With her leather jacket, tattooed skin, those damn tight jeans and devil-may-care attitude, she was everything he never knew he wanted.

They clashed constantly, her recklessness grating against his rigid control. But underneath the arguments simmered an attraction that left them both flustered and on-edge. He'd catch her gazing at him when she thought he wasn't looking, green eyes dark with longing. It took every ounce of restraint not to pin her against the wall and kiss that smart mouth of hers until neither of them could breathe.

Gibbs switched to a finer grit sandpaper, losing himself in the methodical motions. This was useless. She consumed his thoughts whether he liked it or not. He remembered the first time he saw her - long dark hair spilling over a muscular back, tight jeans accentuating every curve. When she'd turned and met his gaze, Gibbs felt a spark of electricity jolt through him. No one had affected him like that in a long time.

From that moment on, she was always there, challenging him, pushing his buttons. He lived for their clashes, the passion simmering between them. But he had to be careful. Dating a co-worker never ended well, and she was too young for the likes of him anyway.

So Gibbs had resigned himself to longing from afar, sure she would never share his inappropriate feelings. Seeing her with that young punk at the bar, Gibbs' restraint shattered like glass. The thought of her going home with someone else sent him into a possessive rage he didn't recognize.

Gibbs looked up when he heard his front door open. Speak of the devil. Y/N hesitated at the top of the stairs, uncertainty clouding her features. His heart stuttered as their eyes met. God she was beautiful, even with her lip caught between her teeth and uncharacteristic vulnerability lurking in her gaze.

Setting the sandpaper down, Gibbs turned to face her. "Shouldn't you be out with your boyfriend?" He winced as the words came out harsher than he intended.

Y/N didn't seem offended, though. Slowly descending the stairs, she said "He's not my boyfriend. Just an old friend from high school."

Gibbs watched her approach, the sway of her hips hypnotic. His mouth went dry when she stopped mere inches away, tilting her face up to meet his gaze.

"I didn't go home with him. I realized there was somewhere else I wanted to be instead."

Gibbs' pulse roared in his ears as her meaning sank in. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and caressed her cheek, thrilling when she leaned into his touch. Her skin was so soft under his calloused fingers and he ached to explore every inch of her.

"Y/N..." he started, but she placed a delicate finger over his lips.

"I'm tired of dancing around this, Jethro. I want you. I've wanted you from the moment I saw you."

That was all the permission Gibbs needed. With a groan he threaded his fingers through her hair and claimed her mouth in a searing kiss. She melted against him instantly, nails scraping down his back as she kissed him back fiercely. It was better than any fantasy - the taste of her, the feel of her supple body aligning with his.

Gibbs maneuvered them until Y/N was pinned between him and the workbench. His hands drifted down to grip her ass, pulling her tight against him as he dominated the kiss, taking everything she offered. When they finally broke for air, he took in her kiss-swollen lips and darkened gaze. She was a vision.

"I need you. Now," Y/N panted, and Gibbs heartily agreed. He made quick work of her shirt, groaning at the expanse of tattooed skin revealed. Dropping hot, open-mouthed kisses along her neck, he deftly unhooked her bra and palmed her breasts. Y/N moaned loudly when he bit down on the skin below her jaw, the sound shooting straight to his groin.

He deftly unbuttoned her jeans. His hand slipped inside, finding her hot and wet for him already. Y/N cried out as he stroked her. Her head fell back, exposing the graceful column of her throat. he ducked down to kiss and nip his way up to her ear.

"Tell me you're mine," Gibbs growled.

"Yes, all yours," she panted.

Gibbs withdrew his hand, ignoring her noise of protest as he stripped her jeans off. He bent her over the table.

"You've been teasing me for months in these tight jeans," Gibbs said gruffly, caressing her ass. He gave her a sharp smack and she yelped. "Now you're going to get what you deserve."

He intended to take his time worshipping every inch of her, but Y/N was having none of it. She looked over her shoulder at him with lustful eyes and begged "please, just take me!"

Well, who was he to deny such a polite request?

He freed myself from his own jeans. With one powerful thrust he was buried inside her tight heat. Y/N cried out, pushing back against him. Gibbs set a relentless pace, all the desire he’d bottled up spilling out.

"Harder!" she gasped. He obliged, gripping her hips bruisingly tight.

Gibbs could feel her getting close, inner muscles starting to flutter around him. He reached around to circle her clit and she shattered with a scream, her climax triggering his. He came hard, emptying himself deep inside her.

Later, they lay tangled together on a pile of blankets, her head pillowed on his chest. Idly trailing his fingers over her back, Gibbs pressed a kiss into her hair.

"What made you change your mind about us?" he asked.

Y/N tilted her face up to meet his gaze. "I saw the way you looked at me tonight. Like I was something precious. No one's ever looked at me like that before."

Gibbs' heart swelled and he pulled her close. "You are precious. And you're mine now."

She smiled softly. "Yours. As long as you'll have me."

"Forever then," he stated simply. Y/N's eyes shone at that and she snuggled into his embrace.

As Gibbs held the beautiful, reckless woman who had captured his heart, he sent up a silent thanks to whoever had brought her crashing into his life. With her by his side, the future seemed brighter than ever.

#gibbs x reader #gibbs x y/n #jethro gibbs #jethro gibbs imagine #leroy jethro gibbs #ncis gibbs #gibbs smut #smut #ncis fanfiction #jethro gibbs x reader

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strangererotica · 5 months

Text

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Eddie Munson x Reader SMUT • Includes oral (f receiving) p in v sex

You weren’t supposed to be doing this. Your friends would never approve. He was the town’s resident bad boy, and in the minds of some, its villain. Onstage at The Hideaway, performing with his band, Eddie Munson looked every bit the larger-than-life personality his reputation described. Tossing long, jet curls over his shoulder, beads of sweat flicking from the ends of his hair, Eddie looked more like an angel than a devil. But every time his sable eyes caught you in their sights, Eddie held you with his gaze as warmly as the Devil holds a sinner’s hand…

When Eddie approached you after his show ended, you felt the heat of temptation burning down your defenses. Those dark, mysterious eyes held even more power over you up close; so when Eddie offered to buy you a drink, you accepted without hesitation. His conversation was as smooth as his fingers, the way they’d manipulated the strings of his guitar and later, how they manipulated the buttons of your dress undone. In the back of Eddie’s trailer, with your legs draped over his shoulders, he kissed soft and teasing along your thighs, deliberately avoiding the place you needed his mouth until you were begging.

He smirked up at you, the tip of his tongue lingering over your clit. “You look pretty from down here,” Eddie muttered lecherously, nuzzling his nose a little lower and drawing in a deep breath. “Smell pretty, too,” he added, then flicked his tongue over your clit, making you shiver. “Let’s see if you taste as good as you smell-.”

Eddie abruptly pressed his face into your cunt, his tongue slipping between your lips in a filthy, open-mouth kiss. Your back arched, a sharp gasp hissing from your chest. The rough stubble on Eddie’s chin rubbed against your ass as he ate you, his face rutting into your heat in wet, sloppy thrusts.

You gripped his hair in your fists, holding on for dear life as Eddie’s mouth worked you into a sopping mess. Your cum-slicked thighs trembled around his face, marking Eddie’s cheeks in slippery trails. He hummed a melody low and deep into your sex, the vibrations buzzing through Eddie’s tongue and straight to the throbbing burn at your center.

With a sharp cry, you yanked his hair to the point of causing pain, but Eddie didn’t react. He was too focused on the high of feeling you coming around his tongue, the soft spasms of your pussy massaging him in shallow, rhythmic tugs. Eddie instinctively wrapped an arm over your waist to hold you down as your hips bucked above him, to protect both of you as your climax ripped you apart. A burst of fluid gushed over Eddie’s face, dripping down his chin and between his lips as he lapped up your release.

Eddie pulled you onto the floor and into his lap, guiding your lips to his. The cool leather of his pants felt like Heaven against your throbbing, sensitive cunt. Eddie groaned into your mouth as you sank onto the prominent bulge below his waist, his fingers quickly moving between your bodies to unbuckle his belt. As he loosened his pants and adjusted them to the side, Eddie’s cock sprang free, glistening with precum as it slapped against his stomach. With a few deft movements, Eddie had his tip primed at your entrance. With his eyes fixed on yours, Eddie gently urged you forward, sinking you onto his cock.

What was first a soft whimper turned to carnal groans of ecstasy the moment Eddie thrust upward. His hands found purchase in your hair, fingers coiling through your strands to hold you in place as he used your cunt.

“Fuck you’re so tight,” Eddie grunted against your shoulder, his breath a moist vapor on your skin. “Gonna milk me dry, aren’t ya sweetheart?”

A sharp piston of Eddie’s hips forced his cock even deeper. You yelped as he bumped your cervix; but the jolt of pain was immediately replaced by pleasure, as the deeper position allowed Eddie’s base to rub your g-spot. The beginning of a second orgasm thrummed between your legs, building and blooming around Eddie’s cock. He growled beside your ear, hands moving to your shoulders and squeezing tightly, lifting you off his cock as he felt his climax approaching.

With a loud groan of relief, Eddie came all over himself. You both watched in a fucked-out trance as semen painted his stomach white. Eddie panted out a breathy laugh, making a joke about the dry cleaner, but you were honestly too far gone to hear him completely.

When you had recovered, and your legs were once again fit for standing, Eddie helped you to your feet. “We play here again next Saturday,” he told you, a satisfied grin on his lips. “You should come.”

The double meaning of Eddie’s words struck a pretty, dangerous chord inside you that made your heart kick up its pace again.

You and Eddie said your goodbyes, before parting ways for the night. As you watched his trailer pull out of the lot, the thought of your friends’ disapproval was completely absent from your mind. Maybe Eddie Munson was the devil Hawkins claimed he was, after all? He’d certainly managed to bewitch your body in a single night, as only a devil could.

As you slid behind the wheel of your vehicle, plans for seeing Eddie again next week were already fluttering through your head. If the Devil was in Hawkins, it seemed he’d found a new disciple, in you…

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rodeoxqueen · 1 year

Text

Warm Little Heavens.

Dante/Reader

Summary: You shower with Dante.

Under the hot water streaming down your face and back is where you and Dante find a little heaven on Earth. After a long day, he’ll come back to your place, exhausted and covered in demon blood.

“Water off at yours?” He finger-guns and nods. You’re in your pajamas, lounging around waiting for him to come back after a “Home in 2 hours. Can I shower at urs?” text you get from him. He wants to scoop you into his arms and give you a big old kiss but he’s unshaven and bloodied.

So he abstains, let in and quick to take off his leather coat on your chair.

“Ugh, I reek.” He says, raising his arms to yawn. You agree, demon blood smelling like absolute filth.

Dante always showers first after a job, getting rid of all the oily impurities of devil gore. He undresses and leaves his clothes in a messy pile on the floor. The water is turned on and steam soon settles on the ceiling from how hot he likes it. Scalding even.

Hands quick to scrub his body down, the streams of water turn from black and crimson to clear. You’re in the bedroom, laying on the bed and watching a sitcom, waiting for Dante to finish up before you join him.

That time comes quickly, and he calls for you.

“Babe, come in before the water gets cold.”

“Of course it’s gonna get cold with you rifling through all my hot water.” You tease.

His sweet voice echoes in the room when you enter, “hey, you’re the one with a working heater.”

“This is true,” you muse, pajamas joining his pile of clothes on the cold tiles.

You can feel the humidity with how hot the water is just from outside the shower. It’s okay, you like a good soak that leaves you with a reddened hue to your skin at times.

As you strip does Dante wolf whistle from his view.

“Move over, doofus.” You sigh at the heat.

Dante is looking down at you in his naked glory, chiseled skin with that dangerous v-line around his hips.

“My eyes are up here, sugar.”

“I know, give me a kiss. I haven’t seen you all day.” He puckers up comedically, interrupting the falling water from wetting your hair and face. Every kiss makes you swoon always.

Clicks of plastic bottles opening and the drip of soap on a loofah, you start to wash yourself, Dante just enjoying the show.

Strong hands trail up your back, little lightning strikes of touch along your skin, tracing to your tired shoulders after a long day of your 9-5. He presses down, massaging your muscles and kissing your neck, stubble tickling you.

“Mmm. I should be massaging you, you’ve been slaughtering demons all day.”

“Just trying to save up to take you out to dinner later this week.”

“Ooh, that sounds nice.”

He chuckles, knowing that there’s that little Italian restaurant that just opened up.

“Yeah, and I can see you wear that outfit again.”

The outfit in question which always ends up thrown in some random corner of your bedroom after a night out.

“Let me scrub your back, Dante.” You offer, holding up the sudsy loofah. It’s your favorite task, hands all over his wide back and his impossibly narrow waist.

He purrs loudly, deafening the sitcom still playing in the bedroom, as you work out the knots in his back.

Dante is so strong but you know like a sword, he could really use some care after a mission. Your boyfriend deserves so much love and care, the world is harsh on his body. Although he can take it, there’s no shame in pampering him.

You put pressure on a rather tight spot, and you feel his body just decompress.

“Ooh you’re killing me baby~”

His moan sends flutters in your stomach.

Afterwards, he squeezes the shampoo bottle into his palm to wash your hair. The air smells of strawberries and lavender.

You lean back to his addicting touch.

Shower time is a long time together and you enjoy it to the fullest, with your lover finally.

It’s a love that makes you greedy, asking more and more of him. Wanting to be so close until you can feel the heat off his skin from how hot the water is.

Dante bends down so you can return the favor, white hair in your hands to clean of spare splashes of blood. You also use your hair mask, knowing he loves how soft and shiny it makes his locks.

Eventually, you’re done and you simply press your face against his chest, positively melting from how comfortable you are with him. Slick skin and firm flesh.

The lovers leave the shower, dripping water on the floor and grabbing their respective towels. Dante wraps the towel around his waist and slicks his hair back, spare droplets descending down his throat. You want to lick them off his skin and taste lust and yearning.

You do your skin care routine side by side, Dante’s considerably less steps than yours. Damn demon genetics keeping his skin so clear.

He does that thing of his again, wrapping his arms around you and kissing up and down your neck and the side of your face. You watch him adore you, his own blue eyes peering at the mirror to see that pleased look on your face. He smells your face cream and lotion, a pheromone of your own that leaves Dante craving of the softer things in life.

You two retire to your room, now both in pajamas. The sitcom credits are rolling and an ad plays after.

Dante practically collapses on the bed, ushering you into his space, your face snuggled close to his chest.

“Grab the remote to turn the lights off.” You ask.

“Where’s it?” You point to the table next to his and he lazily reaches over and shuffles his hand to find said remote to the lights, leaving the LED lights on your ceiling on. He turns off the lights, leaving you in a slow-changing array of colors.

At the same time, you shut off the TV, opting for the ambience of midnight conversation and the outside world.

Bedtime, Dante’s limbs are tangled in yours. In your touch does Dante find himself complete. Your gentle breaths of sleep swiftly taking you sweep him into the lulls of rest too.

There isn’t much in life he asks for, but just these warm little heavens makes all the labor and hardship more than worth it.

#rodeo listened to heaven by Clairo while writing this.#devil may cry #devil may cry imagines #devil may cry headcanons #dante #dante x reader #dante headcanons

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unfinishedslurs · 2 years

Text

prophetic nightmares of the dead (steddie)

Eddie’s been dreaming of dying.

It started his first round of senior year, some kind of prophetic fuck-up from his brain. No one knows except Wayne. Wayne gets it, kinda, from his time in ‘Nam. Knows how vivid nightmares can get, knows all the tricks to waking up and remembering you’re alive.

“It’s that damn music,” he mutters to make Eddie laugh through tears, after Eddie’s woken him up again with his shrieking and stumbling out of his room. “Or that game. Your imagination is vivid enough without you feeding it, boy.”

“You’re right,” Eddie responds unsteadily. “No more of that devil shit for me. I’m going on the straight and narrow. From now on it’ll be…fucking church hymns and songs about the Lord.”

Wayne hums in absent agreement, still rubbing Eddie’s back. The glass of cold water sits heavy in his hands. He takes a drink.

It was practically routine.

He got better at waking up silently, at not running to his uncle after the fourth, seventh, twentieth nightmare in a row. Avoided sleeping at all, showed up to school with bags under his eyes and cranky as all hell. His grades dropped lower than ever, Wayne got more and more concerned, and Eddie kept dying every night.

The Queen of Hawkins High wasn’t the person he was expecting to understand his predicament.

“Do you ever feel like you’re losing your mind?”

“Um, you know, just... on a daily basis.” He smiles, tries to make her laugh. Every day until I get out of this damned town.

Slowly, he wheedles it out of her.

“I keep having these dreams,” she admits. “Nightmares. Every night, for years. It’s always…it’s always the same.”

A chill goes down his spine.

“I’m sorry, I sound crazy.”

“No, no, no,” he scrambles to reassure her. “Keep going, it’s okay. Safe space, right? It’s just me, you, and the trees here.”

She nods, unsteady. “There’s…a monster. And he…he’s after me. And when he catches me, I always…the dream always ends with me…” She raises a trembling hand to her eyes, not bothering to wipe away her tears. Almost like she’s checking if they’re still there.

His blood runs cold.

“Dying,” he whispers. Chrissy lets out a sob. “Every night, since ‘83, you’ve dreamed of dying.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because it’s me, too, Chrissy.” He jumps up, pacing in circles. “I…every single night, since that Byers kid went missing. It’s not the same as yours but this is…this is fucking crazy, what are the odds—oof!”

Chrissy has barreled into his chest, clinging to him with her arms around his neck. He can feel the collar of his t-shirt getting damp.

“Uh,” he stammers as she sniffles into his shirt. His hands hover around her, not sure what to do until he settles them around her back. “There, there?” He tries to soothe. It’s not very soothing, with the way his voice shakes. “It’s okay.”

“Something’s wrong with me,” she gasps. “It’s following me. I keep seeing things when I’m awake, my mother and a clock and a monster—“

“Shit,” he says, a sinking feeling in his chest. He’s not exactly superstitious, but he has a feeling there’s more to this than dreams. “Hey, listen, Chrissy, you’re gonna be okay. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

She just shakes her head, burrows in closer like she can worm into his skin if she tries hard enough. He’s never been hugged like this in his life, and he has no idea what to do with the scared teenager in his arms.

“Here, hold on,” he says, and carefully removes her arms from his neck. She wipes her eyes, looking away.

“I’m sorry, I just…”

“No, no, it’s cool,” he says. “Promise. I just wanted to give you this.”

Fumbling, he drapes his leather jacket over her shoulders. Her cheerleading jacket can’t be very warm, especially combined with the skirt she’s wearing.

She pulls it tight around herself, even though it probably sticks like weed and cigarettes and Eddie’s BO. He’s a little too preoccupied to be embarrassed about that right now, though.

The bell rings, signaling the end of class. Chrissy startles like a scared rabbit, dread coloring her whole face, and Eddie makes a decision.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

Looks like Hellfire’s getting postponed after all.

They make a stop at Family Video, partially to rent a movie or two, but mainly because Henderson never shuts up about Steve fucking Harrington so now Eddie knows exactly where he works. Why the little rich boy is working a dead end job with Keith as his manager is a mystery, but it’s not one he’s interested in uncovering. Hopefully he’s on shift today.

All of Eddie’s shit luck must have worked to make the stars align, because there he is at the counter, in all his ex-kingly glory. He doesn’t look up as the bell rings, apparently focused on whatever he has in hand.

“Welcome to Family Video,” he calls, chewing on a pen. “Let me know if you need help finding anything.”

“Is that Blue Jeans?” Eddie asks, walking up to the counter as Chrissy goes to look through the shelves. Harrington jumps, slamming the magazine shut.

“Hi, what can I get you—Munson?”

“Harrington,” he grins, reveling in the frown he gets in response. Harrington meets his eyes for one startled second before his gaze travels down to his Hellfire shirt, over his vest and bare forearms, and taking in the belt and ripped jeans. Eddie smiles wider. He oh so loves intimidating the jocks and moral majority of this town.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” Harrington finally asks, eyes jumping back up to meet his gaze.

“That’s actually why I’m here, I need you to pass on a message for me. We’re skipping, and—“

“We?”

“Hey Eddie,” Chrissy says, appearing behind him. She lays three movies on the counter. “I picked some out, I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course,” he says as Harrington’s eyebrows jut up. Chrissy is still wearing his jacket, and he realizes exactly what this looks like. Shit, is Harrington friends with Carver? They probably have some jock bro code that’s totally going to end in Eddie getting beat up, shit—

“Hey Chrissy,” Harrington says agreeably. “Finally dump Carver?”

She blinks, startled at the insinuation. Her cheeks flush. “Oh, no—“

“It’s not like that,” Eddie breaks in, laughing to cover up the panic he feels. Trying to walk the delicate line between not a queer and not stealing a jock’s girlfriend. “Chrissy here just needs some company.”

Harrington nods, clearly not believing them.

“Seriously,” he presses. “I mean, can you really see a girl like her with a guy like me?”

Chrissy frowns, but Harrington looks him up and down again.

“I mean, yeah,” he says. “But it’s really none of my business, I don’t get paid to care who dates who.”

Eddie blinks. It almost sounds like Harrington was calling him hot or something.

Before he can figure out what Harrington actually meant, he starts scanning the tapes. He pauses on the last one, brow furrowing, before he looks between Eddie and Chrissy with understanding in his eyes. Eddie doesn’t know why the sudden change of heart.

“Rocky Horror Picture Show?”

Shit.

He has to clear his throat. “You have that here?”

They don’t. They shouldn’t. It’s not exactly small town video store material. Eddie had to go to Indianapolis to find it again, he knows damn well it’s not at Family Video in fucking Hawkins.

But the cover stares up at him anyway.

“I found it on one of the shelves,” Chrissy says. “It looked like it doesn’t get checked out a whole lot. Is it any good?”

Eddie braces himself for the slurs. For the bored retail worker to disappear and the Bible thumping, red blooded American to come out. It’s not Chrissy’s fault, she didn’t know any better, but if Harrington knows this movie and now he knows that Eddie knows this movie, there’s some bruises in his near future.

“It’s pretty good,” Harrington says easily. Eddie blinks his eyes open to see him smiling warmly at Chrissy, handing her the tapes. “For a, ah, certain type of people.

Well color him surprised. This is an interesting turn of events.

“I own it,” Eddie blurts out without meaning to. Harrington’s eyes snap to him, widening at the confession. “It’s, uh, hard to find, I had to go out of town for it. That’s why I was surprised.”

“Oh, I guess we don’t need to rent it, then,” Chrissy says, completely unaware of the staring contest that’s happening between him and Harrington.

Harrington looks away first. “Right,” he coughs, and goes to cancel it. Chrissy pulls cash out of her pocket.

“Oh, Chrissy, you don’t need to—“

“Don’t be dumb,” she says. “I picked the movies, I’m paying for them.”

He shrugs, unable to fight the logic in that. He’s not exactly in the mood to spend money right now, anyways, since he’s definitely giving her a discount on the drugs after this.

“What was it you needed me to do?” Harrington asks as he prints the receipt.

“What?”

“You said you had a message.”

“Right,” Eddie says. He completely forgot about that. “You’re going to the game tonight, right?”

“How did you know that?”

“Sinclair said you go to all his games.”

“He talks about me?”

“Dude, those kids never shut the fuck up about you,” Eddie says. “Makes me want to pull my hair out.”

“It’s mutual,” Harrington snorts, looking a bit touched. “Henderson already phoned me to ask to join the campaign, man, I’m not filling in—“

“He asked you?”

“Yeah? Wait, if this isn’t about that, then what is it?”

“Tell Henderson he got his wish,” Eddie says, putting his hands in his pockets. “I’m postponing the campaign.”

“Wait, really? Lucas is going to lose his mind, he was gonna be so bummed if he missed your nerd game—wait, why are you telling me?”

“‘Cause we’re ditching, Harrington, catch up.” Sinclair was excited for the end of his campaign? It makes him feel a little bit guilty, somewhere deep in his nonexistent soul. Oh, well. He’s postponing now.

“I’m going to wait in the car,” Chrissy says, and takes the tapes and Eddie’s keys with her.

“I see what this is,” Harrington says, leaning closer to Eddie and pillowing his chin on his hand. “You got them all riled up, and now you want them to shoot the messenger.”

“You caught me.” He grabs his chest, pretending to be shot. Then he leans forward with a grin. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Maybe I won’t tell them, make them wait for the entire time for you to show up. Henderson’ll do it, you know. Then who’ll be in trouble?”

Eddie laughs without meaning to. He doesn’t believe for a second that Harrington will do it, which surprises him. But it seems like Harrington is full of surprises this afternoon.

“So she really hasn’t broken up with him yet?”

“Huh?”

Harrington nods behind him, to where Chrissy is in the van. It seems like she’s playing music, nodding along with a small smile.

“I told you, man, we’re not—“

“That’s not what I meant, it’s just…” he grimaces. “She’s way too good for him. And she’s never seemed…you know. Happy.”

“Really? I’d have thought you and Carver would get along, you know, jock bonding or something.”

“The only jock I’m friends with these days is Sinclair, and he’s as much of a nerd as the rest of ‘em. Anyways, even if I was still on the team, it’s like…I dunno. He sounds like a preacher.”

“The devil knows scripture, too?”

“Something like that.” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. How’d you two end up hanging out anyway?”

“Oh, you know,” Eddie says lightly. “Shared visions, strange dreams, things like that.”

He waits for Harrington to laugh it off, to roll his eyes and go back to his girly magazine. It doesn’t happen. If anything, Harrington grows sharp, gets a cutting edge Eddie’s never seen on him before. Not even for the time he spent as king, looking for peasants to push around.

“Visions? Did you see any weird dust, or animals? People acting weird? Or anything else like that?”

“What?” Eddie blinks, startled. “No? They’re just nightmares, dude.”

Actually, his dreams do involve weird looking animals. A bunch of ugly bats, with teeth that hurt. Whoever said you can’t feel pain in dreams was a fucking liar.

They’re not just nightmares, Eddie knows. At least, not for Chrissy. Not if she’s outright hallucinating. There’s something wrong with both of them, and Eddie’s of half a mind to just drive them both down to Pennhurst and get it over with. But that’s their business, and he’ll be damned if he tells King Steve Chrissy’s secrets. Even if he doesn’t seem that bad, now, out of the fluorescent lights of their school.

“Right, right, of course.” He laughs, dragging a hand down his face. “Sorry, I’m just…on edge, I guess. Didn’t get a lot of sleep.”

“I know the feeling.”

“Right,” he says again. “Well, have a good day, I guess. Tell Chrissy her tapes are due back in five days. And, uh, thank you for choosing Family Video.”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Eddie says, feeling equally unsteady after the weird turn their conversation has taken. He heads for the door, only pausing when Harrington calls out.

“Oh, and, uh, Eddie?”

“What?” He pauses, one hand on the door.

“If anything…weird happens, let me know, all right?”

He has no idea what that means. “Don’t worry, Harrington,” he says, throwing a smile over his shoulder. “I live weird.”

When he gets back in the van, Chrissy studies him closely.

“What?”

“What did you and Steve have to talk about? I didn't know you were friends.”

“We’re not,” he snorts. “Me, friends with the King? Can you imagine? Nah, we share custody of some of the freshmen in Hellfire.”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I feel like…” she trails off, biting her lip raw.

“Like what?” He encourages.

“You called me a queen. Does that mean we can’t be friends?”

“Uh…” Eddie says, stumbling a bit. He does want to be friends with Chrissy. Even without the fact that they’re probably going to end up at the same cell in the nuthouse, she’s sweet and quiet in a way that makes him want to ask if anyone’s ever told her she can be loud. Her eyes are big and sad, but he can see a smile glancing along the edges of her mouth when he looks at her. She’s clever, he’ll give her that. He’s been caught hook, line, and sinker. “No, I’d— I’d like that. To be friends with you.”

Her smile feels brighter than the sun.

“Then what’s so weird about being friends with Steve?” She asks, glancing towards the Family Video window. Harrington looks like he’s back to reading his magazine, but glances up like he can feel them watching him. Eddie looks away and starts the van.

“Well, for one thing, you’re not one of the assholes who called me names and pushed me and my friends around.”

Harrington’s not either, really. Too busy standing around and being self obsessed to bother. His friends did all the pushing around for him. Wouldn’t do to get his hands dirtied with the freak. The familiar bitterness rises in his chest, and he tries to push it down. Looks at Chrissy out of the corner of his eye as he pulls out of his parking spot.

Her smile has faded, and he could kick himself. “Jason is, though,” she says quietly.

“How long have you guys been dating, anyway?” He asks, eager to change the subject. He pulls out of the lot, all too ready to leave the video store and the man who resides in it behind.

“Three years.”

Eddie chokes, not expecting that answer in the least. “Three years?”

“We got together when we were fifteen,” she says, a grimace pulling at her mouth when he glances at her. Shit, maybe Harrington was right and there is trouble in paradise.

“How do you stand him?”

“He loves me,” she says. It’s not an answer.

“Yeah, but Chrissy, he’s like, a major dick.”

“He loves me,” she repeats. “He wants to go to college together. He wants to live in Hawkins, and have a pretty white wedding, and a job that pays and a wife that’s pretty and sweet and doesn’t have nightmares about dying every night. A wife that’s not crazy. And she’ll have his kids, all two and a half of them, and she’ll always smile and stay at home and never do anything with her life because she gave up all her dreams for him—“

He pulls onto the side of the road. “Jesus,” he breathes, twisting in his seat. “Chrissy. That’s not love.”

“He’s safe.” She looks at him imploringly, eyes wet. “I just have to make it until summer. He can have his pretty little girlfriend, his pretty little life. He can have whatever he wants. I just have to make it to summer.”

He swallows back bile. “What’s summer?”

She looks down. “I got an early admission. University of Chicago. I have scholarships. I’ll pack everything, and run away there, and I’ll never have to see him or my mom or anyone else in this fucking place ever again.”

“I used to hate Steve,” she whispers. “Even if he was nice to me, I used to…just wish he didn’t exist.”

“Shit, Chris, so did I. He was an asshole.”

She shakes her head. “No, because it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t because of that. I was just…jealous.”

“Of Harrington? I think everyone’s been jealous of him at some point.”

Her face screws up. “You don’t get it,” she says. “I didn’t want his house, or his money, or his car, I just wanted…”

“Him?”

“No!” She pulls her hair in front of face, looking at him desperately. “I wanted to be him, because he was…”

He really doesn’t know where this is going. “Because he was…?”

“Nancy,” she breathes with a sigh. “He had Nancy Wheeler, and she was pretty, and smart, and I…I wanted it to be me.”

Oh. Oh. Holy shit, Chrissy Cunningham is coming out to him on his ratty couch. He’s safe, she’d said about Jason, and he’d thought she was talking about all the other ways he was convenient, but… there’s safety in a shield. Easier to hide behind a boyfriend then have people asking questions you can’t answer. He’ll eat his shoes if Jason knows, but at least he’s good for something.

She’s turning pale. “I’m—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—I don’t know why I thought—“

“Woah, woah, woah,” he says, grasping her hand as she tries to flee. “Chrissy, I—Chrissy, wait. Me too, okay?”

She freezes. “You too?”

“Yeah, Chris, me too.”

“Like you had a crush on Nancy too?”

The look he gives her speaks volumes.

“Oh.” She settles back down on the couch, her too-thin wrist trembling in his grip. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He asks, just to make sure.

“Okay,” she says.

“Good.” He sighs, lets go of her hand to run his fingers through his hair. “So, Wheeler, huh?”

A flush blooms across her face.

Steve breaks the surface again, looking panicked, before being dragged back under.

Immediately it’s chaos.

“Steve?” Nancy calls, looking over the side of the boat frantically. “Steve?”

Robin jumps in.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Eddie says, as something determined flashes over Nancy’s face. “Let’s think about this—“

She takes a deep breath and dives in after her.

“Shit!” He looks at Chrissy, eyes wide with dread. “We’re not going in there, are we?”

Sounds echo from the shore. Shit, the police.

They’ll probably die if they go down there. But if the cops find them, they’ll take Chrissy’s Walkman, and then she’ll definitely die.

He sees the same resolve settle over her face.

“This is crazy,” he mutters. “This is crazy! Dammit, dammit, dammit!”

She takes his hand. “On three?”

He lets out a hysterical laugh, gripping her hand tightly.

Chrissy counts to three.

They jump.

He spits blood. It dribbles down his chin, and Eddie follows it down, down, watches a few drops land on that glorious chest and thanks every god there is that he’s too scared for the frankly impressive boner that wants to form.

Chrissy elbows him.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“You’re drooling,” she whispers.

“Can you blame me?” He hisses back. “Look at him! That was some fucking Ozzy shit right there!”

She gives him a look.

He toes one of the dead bats by his foot. Ugly little fucker, with sharp teeth. It’s almost familiar.

He doesn’t get too far with that train of thought.

“Sense of humor still intact, that’s good.” She chuckles nervously. Then she shakes him.

“Ow, Rob!”

“You have to stop doing shit like this! ‘Hur, dur, I’m Steve, I’m going to go into the highly dangerous portal and get eaten by bats because I’m stupid—“

“I don’t sound like that!” He bats her hands away from his torso. “Also, you seem to be forgetting the part where I was dragged against my will.”

“You can’t take any more concussions, Steve!”

“No concussion,” he says, and takes her hands in his. She pauses to breathe. They look like they’re in their own little world, and something bitter twinges in Eddie’s chest. “No rabies, no concussion, I’m okay.”

“You’re definitely not,” Nancy says as she moves in to wrap his injuries. He grunts in pain.

“I’m fine,” he insists, and Eddie snorts. He gets a scathing look in return.

“We are not fine,” Eddie says. “We’re in some sort of hell dimension, shit, I…” he turns in a circle, finally taking in the world they’re in. Everything is grey and barren. Red lightning cracks across the sky.

It looks exactly like his dream.

He lets out a nervous laugh. “What the fuck,” he says. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck—“

“Eddie?” Chrissy grabs his hand, and he turns to her with wide eyes.

“Chrissy, it’s just like my dream. This world, those weird fucking creatures, it’s exactly like…”

She turns pale.

“Dream?” Nancy asks, sharp. “What dream?”

“It’s crazy,” Eddie says weakly. He’s starting to believe it less and less.

“It’s both of us.” Chrissy straightens, raising her chin. “It’s always the same thing. For me, it’s a monster. He takes my eyes, snaps my limbs.” Mercifully, none of them point out the similarities with the recent killings, although all three of them straighten. “For Eddie, it’s…”

“Bats,” he says. “Ugly fucking bats, with sharp teeth. Everything is grey and desolate, and there’s this kid—“

The other three exchange what can only be described as a look.

“I’m crazy,” Eddie pleads, trembling. Please, for the love of God, please tell me I’m crazy. Stick me in the loony bin, tie me up and leave me on the front steps of Pennhurst. Please.

“You’re not crazy,” Nancy confirms. It feels like a death sentence.

“So, what’s the story there?” Eddie asks, tripping over a rock. “How’d you figure out the whole ‘Prophetic Nightmares mean death’ thing, anyway?”

Steve furrows his brow. “You’re taking this surprisingly well.”

“I’m not.” Eddie lets out a laugh. “Trust me, I’m not at all. But I think some part of me had always known, you know? Like, it was too real to be just my imagination.”

Steve nods. “As far as we can tell, it’s only people who die from the Upside-Down,” he tells Eddie. “Has to be directly from it, no second-hand murder or anything.”

“Great.”

“Yeah.” He grimaces. “And it can change, you know? You might be having nightmares one night, and then you do something significant enough to change your…fate or whatever, and they’re gone. Or maybe something happens, and you start having them. It’s not always set in stone, you know?”

“Well, good,” Eddie breathes. There’s a chance they get out of this. “That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know all this? Like, do people just come up to you and tell you their nightmares? Do you go around asking everyone in Hawkins what they dream about?”

“As far as we can tell, it started with Barb.”

“Barb?”

“Yeah, uh, Barbara Holland?”

“The one who died from the chemical leak?”

There’s a heavy silence, where Steve looks at Nancy. There’s regret in his eyes.

“She had a nightmare, the night Will disappeared. Told Nancy a monster took her, something with no face and lots of teeth. Nancy told her to lay off the horror movies.”

Something sinks in his stomach.

“That night, they came over to my house, you know? We were messing around, being stupid, and Barb cut herself. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, we told her to go home and went inside. The next day, she was missing.”

“Shit,” Eddie breathes. “The chemical leak?”

“Bullshit,” Steve confirms.

“Shit.”

Steve blinks, eyes jumping back up to his. “What?” He asks, sounding breathless. Poor guy. Those bites must hurt like hell. “Sorry, I didn’t hear that.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie says, even though his mood sours a bit at the idea of Steve not listening to him. “I was just saying, you and Wheeler looked pretty cozy. I think you’ve got a chance.”

Steve stares at him. “…what?”

“Christ, Harrington, your ex-girlfriend! Nancy Wheeler, who leapt after you without a second thought and was giving you eyes the whole time she was patching you up. I’m telling you to win her back.” Sorry, Chrissy. She'd told him she was over that particular crush, though, so he figures it's fair game.

“Nancy? You want me to date Nancy again?” He asks, as if the idea is so far out of the realm of possibility that it’s baffling.

“Do you not?”

“Not really.”

“Why?” Eddie asks, because if there’s anything he’s learning about himself these days it’s that he’s a bit of a masochist. “Isn’t she the perfect girl for you?”

She is. They fit so well, Eddie could see it from space. Nancy Wheeler, with her determination and fearlessness, guns in her room and fire in her heart. Steve Harrington, the hero, the protector, standing at her side where he belongs. It’s so storybook it practically writes itself.

But Steve’s shaking his head. “We weren’t…good together,” he says haltingly, as if he’s debating on whether to even tell Eddie this. “I wanted to ignore it all. I was scared of what I’d seen, scared of the government guys whose NDA’s I signed, just…scared. I wanted to pretend like it never happened, like everything was normal. Nancy couldn’t do that. She lost Barb, and I…told her to forget. I told her to just put out the story the Feds were selling, because I was a coward. Barb’s parents sold their house to hire an investigator for a girl we knew was dead, and god, Nancy’s face…”

Eddie doesn’t know if he wants to hear this. He looks back up at the girls walking ahead. Nancy looks as fiercely determined as usual, but for the first time, he wonders what’s behind it.

“I hurt her, and she hurt me,” Steve continues. “I…shit, I really thought she loved me, you know? I thought we would get married, have kids, the whole nine yards. Realizing it was all…well, bullshit, that was almost worse than any concussion I’ve had, but I don't blame her. I wasn’t what she needed.”

“And now? I mean, you’re clearly a different guy than you were back then,” Eddie says, because he’s kind of nosy at heart. Steve’s being all introspective and shit, just giving up all this information for free, and he wants to know more. It’s not at all because something in him turns smug when faced with the fact that the world’s most fated couple aren’t fated at all. Are actually kind of terrible together, if Steve’s to be believed.

“It’d just be the same thing all over again. I’ll always love her, but we want different things. Different priorities and stuff. I wouldn’t be able to keep up, and she’s not going to slow down for me.”

It doesn’t mean he has a chance. Eddie’s got, like, negative chances with Steve Harrington. Still, the little peacock in him preens.

“What does she need, then?”

Steve’s face is almost wistful. “She needs someone like Jonathan. He’s got…drive, or whatever. He’s someone you know you can trust to do what needs to be done. The two of them made sure the stuff about the chemical leak was published, you know that? Nancy needed closure, and Jonathan made it happen. He’s cool like that. And he’s good to have in a fight, too. Throws a mean punch.” He smiles wryly at that, touching his temple like he’s lost in a memory. “He’s passionate, and caring, and he’s so stressed all the time, but he still manages to be, like, soothing. And he’s got those eyes, you know? They’re big and sad and like, wet all the time. He always looks like he’s about to cry, but it works for him. He’s just…he’s good at making people feel safe.”

Eddie barely processes the words, too busy staring at Steve in confusion, jealousy churning in his gut. Which is to be expected, given that he’s been pushing said jealousy down for this entire conversation, but he doesn’t know how they went from Steve’s relationship with Nancy to how pretty Jonathan Byers’s eyes are.

He’s good at making people feel safe. God, he had it all wrong. In the wake of finding out they’d lived through three world-ending apocalypses, that might be the greatest confession of love he’s ever heard. And it’s from King Steve, about a boy that humbled him so bad he drop-kicked his crown straight across the country.

Steve catches him staring and shuts his mouth with a click. Everything has a washed, gray tinge to it, but he swears his cheeks flush.

“I’m rambling,” he laughs, looking slightly panicked. “I was just trying to say that Nancy and I don’t fit together. Not like that. I don’t really know if we ever did.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, “I’m starting to see why.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he squeaks. Well, in for a penny, out for a pond, right? He’s already in hell, might as well try and sus Harrington out while he’s at it. “Just…Byers? Really?”

“I don’t—“

“Didn’t he kick your ass?”

“Not you too!” Steve groans. “I already got the third degree from Robin. I was asking for that beatdown. Shit, some of the stuff I said was so nasty it makes me want to take a shower when I think of it.”

His eyebrows fly up at how easily he’d given up denial. “Gotta say, I didn’t think he’d be King Steve’s type.”

“He—I—he’s not—“ he stammers. Never mind, then. Denial still firmly in place.

At least until Steve lets out a sigh. “I don’t know why I’m trying to deny it. I can see that hanky in your pocket.”

Eddie’s eyes widen innocently. “Oh, this?” He asks, tugging it a bit for emphasis. It stays firmly in place, because he’ll be damned if he doesn’t pin it. He learned after the first three he lost to miscellaneous chaos.

“Don’t play dumb, that’s my job,” Steve complains. “Shit, I can’t believe I said all that. That’s fucking embarrassing.”

“I mean, I just tried to get you to win back your ex-girlfriend when you’re in love with her boyfriend,” Eddie says mildly. “I feel like we’re both embarrassed here.”

Steve’s flush would be visible from outer space. “I’m not in love with him.”

“Who are you trying to convince here?”

“I’m not!” He protests. “Like, yeah, I used to be, but I’ve moved on. Firmly moved on. I love him in the same way I love Nancy, you know? Like, she’s the first person I ever loved, and he made me realize that I like both. They’re always going to be part of me. But I’m not in love with him anymore.”

Eddie’s heart takes off without his permission.

“Don’t tell Lucas,” she pleads.

“I won’t,” Steve promises.

Max hesitates.

“You don’t have to tell me if—“

“I’ve been having Nightmares.”

Eddie sucks in a breath.

“What?” Steve sounds…shit, there’s not a way to describe how broken Steve’s voice is with just those four words.

“Ever since Billy died,” Max says. “I can’t…it’s Vecna. I know it is. He gets me.”

“Max, why wouldn’t you tell us? We could have—“

“I thought it would be easier,” she tells him, voice cracking. “If I just pulled away, I thought maybe it would hurt less when I finally go. And I think—I think I wanted to—“

She cuts off with a sob, and Eddie’s heart fucking shatters.

“Max,” Steve says helplessly.

“I’m sorry,” she cries. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, and I’m sorry I haven’t been here, and I’m sorry for thinking I wanted to die but Steve I don’t, I don’t, I’m not ready to go. I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to, Steve, I don’t know what to do—“

Steve pulls her into his chest. She curls her fingers into his shirt, and he meets Eddie’s eyes over her head. Eddie sees tears streaking down his face before he ducks his head back down.

“I’m here, Max,” Steve promises. “We’re gonna figure this out, okay? I’ll do everything I can to fix this. You just keep that Walkman on.”

She nods into his shoulder, still crying. It’s violent, her sobs shaking her entire body. She looks smaller every time Eddie sees her, like she’s retreating into herself, and now she looks tiny. Looks all her fifteen years, clinging to the only adult in the vicinity she trusts like he’s her lifeline. And Eddie sees the resolve settle on Steve’s face, knows without a doubt that he’s going to do something stupid.

“Yes, we do,” Max says quietly. Even from here, Eddie can see her trembling.

“No,” Steve says. “No, no, no, no, no.”

She’s got a whole plan though. Outlines it with steel in her voice, confident enough that everyone nods along. If Eddie didn’t know better, he’d believe in it too.

Steve looks damn near apocalyptic. “Max,” he says through gritted teeth, “can I talk to you in the other room?”

Lucas stands up with her, but Steve stops him with a look. Still, he doesn’t sit back down until Max puts a hand on his arm.

“It’s just Steve,” she tells him quietly. “We just need a minute.”

No one says anything as they close the door to Max’s room behind them. A deafening click of the latch in the silence.

As soon as the door is closed, Dustin and Erica have their ears pressed to the wood. Chrissy isn’t far behind.

“Guys,” Nancy hisses, even as she creeps closer, “really?”

“This should be a private conversation,” Robin whispers, wringing her hands as Lucas tiptoes across the room to join them. “Like, you know how Steve gets about you munchkins, obviously he wouldn’t take this well. Honestly, I’m not taking this well, and I’m not your guy's babysitter-slash-big brother-slash-dad. But it’s the best plan we’ve got, unless we want to just let Vecna-slash-Henry-slash-One to give up and find his fourth victim somewhere else and we wouldn’t know who it was and then he really will open the gates and kill everyone we know—“

She’s shushed by four different people.

Eddie gives in, crossing the room as silently as he can to join their little eavesdropping party. Robin follows him.

“—said you weren’t ready,” Steve is snapping, voice barely muffled through the door. Thank God for shitty trailer soundproofing. “I told you all you had to do was keep the goddamn Walkman on, and that’s what you’re going to do! We’ll find another way.”

“There is no other way, Steve!” There’s a light thump that Eddie thinks might be the stomping of a foot. “It’s our only shot at winning this. It has to be me.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“What are we gonna do? Wait for him to target someone else? Wait for them to die, because I was too selfish? Because I’m a fucking coward?”

“Yes!” Steve hisses, clear as day. Their little group of eavesdroppers look at each other with wide eyes. “Fuck, Max, if that’s what it fucking takes to keep you alive. He’ll find another target—“

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“I’m not letting you die on my watch, Mayfield. I’m not letting you die, period.”

Max sounds close to pulling her hair out. “You’re not letting me do jack shit. I know the risks. I’m willing to do what it takes.”

Eddie’s heart twists. Jesus, she’s a fucking kid. He’s with Steve, on this one.

“Well I’m not,” Steve replies harshly. “And if those guys out there knew, they wouldn’t be so gung-ho about it either. You know damn well if you told them you were having Nightmares—“

Dustin loses his balance, and falls on the floor with a thud that seems to echo in the sudden silence that follows. Everyone freezes.

When Steve opens the door, he’s glowering. Eddie can’t help but notice the tears in his eyes.

“Seriously?” He demands.

“You’re having Nightmares?” Lucas asks Max, heartbroken.

Max’s face is thundering. “That was a private conversation.”

“If you wanted privacy, maybe you should have better soundproofing,” Dustin snarks. “We could have heard you from the living room.”

“Sorry for assuming we didn’t have to ask after closing the goddamn door,” Steve growls.

Max pushes past them all, heading straight for the back door.

“Max, wait—“

“Max!”

“Hold on—“

Steve starts after her, stopping them all in their tracks with a glare when they try to follow. He doesn’t say anything, just lets out a derisive huff before slamming the door shut behind him.

They stand there, crowded in the tiny hallway, frozen.

“I think we may have fudged that one up,” Robin says quietly. No one disagrees with her.

By the time they come back inside, everyone else is scavenging for apology food. Max is wiping her eyes, and Steve’s hands shake like he needs a cigarette.

“I’m the bait,” Steve announces. No preamble, no room for debate, just laying it down and expecting everyone to go along with it.

Obviously, he was hoping for too much given the kids they hang out with.

“Will that even work?” Erica scrunches her nose.

“Yes.”

“Wanna elaborate on that?” Robin asks quietly, moving into his space. He gives her a look, but lets her close the distance between them until she’s taking his arm and dragging him to the couch. He sits obediently, and Max immediately moves to the side Robin’s not on, leaving a bit of distance between them like she wants to be close but is scared to touch.

“Nope.”

“How do we even know if it’ll work?” Dustin asks. “You can’t just decide Vecna will go for you instead, that’s not how it works. That’s not how any of this works.”

“He’s right, Steve,” Nancy says apologetically. She backtracks at Steve’s deadly look. “Obviously, we won’t use Max anymore if she’s having Nightmares, but we have no way of knowing if Henry will come for you.”

“I could do it,” Chrissy offers quietly. Bile floods Eddie’s mouth, and he swallows it back with his protests. “He might still come for me, since I was cursed.”

“You’re not cursed anymore,” Steve reminds her. “You don’t even need the Walkman. Plus, he wants someone El knows. We don’t know that he’d come for you.”

“We don’t know that he’d come for you, either,” Lucas says.

“He will.”

“He will,” Max affirms quietly. When Eddie looks at her, she’s staring at her own hands.

“How do you know?” Erica asks.

“Because I had my first vision while we were outside,” Steve says.

That shuts them up.

They’re distracted by Robin standing up abruptly enough to knock over her chair, yelling something incomprehensible at Steve about his “stupid box,” and where he can shove it, whatever that means, and storming off. Steve stays sitting exactly where he is, head down, looking defeated.

Eddie and Dustin exchange startled glances.

Chrissy creeps up to Steve cautiously. “Are you going to go after her?”

He shakes his head. When he raises it, Eddie notices his eyes are rimmed red. “You should,” he mumbles. “You’d probably help more than I would, right now.”

She nods and slips away. Eddie sends Dustin in the Sinclair’s direction, and plops down in Robin’s empty seat.

“She not doing too hot with all this?”

Steve grimaces. “I told her where my will is.”

“Ah,” Eddie says, genuinely at a loss for words. “Well, fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“You not leave her anything?” It’s a shit joke, one that he kicks himself for making, but he laughs. It’s hoarse and cold and all too fake, but it’s a laugh.

“Like, almost everything I have. To be divided as she sees fit.”

“Making her do all that? No wonder she’s pissed.”

Steve’s snort is real this time.

#prophetic nightmares of the dead au #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #steddie #how does chrissy survive vecna? i was going to figure that out #i think my original plan for this was some robin/chrissy as well or maybe nancy/chrissy/robin #btw that jancy speech that steve gave? biased as FUCK #when they got together steve convinced himself it was inevitable bc they're obviously made for each other #in reality they have reached granola bar levels of falling apart #eddie who has outsider pov to the whole thing and can see nancy twitch every time someone mentions her bf is like hmm. doesn't sound right #but i don't know enough about either of them to dispute it #steve gets vecna-ed

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stuckymonkey · 1 year

Text

Kinktober Day 1: Car sex

Steve Rogers x reader

word count - 0.5k

a/n - baby's first kinktober!!! i hope you like it!!

Steve was a good man, perfect in the eyes of the media as Captain America. Behind closed doors however? The man was the devil. Bending you over any surface he could, all day everyday. The kitchen counter, couch, bed, bathroom counter, on the floor, hood of his car, you name it, you've been bent over it.

Today was no different, you and Steve were heading back from a mission in London, it was just past 2 am and you were both getting restless. A week of no sex due to the stressful mission had both of you pent up and in need of releasing a shit ton of sexual energy.

"Fuck," Steve cursed, causing you to look up from your phone where you had been reading, trying to distract yourself from the need growing between your legs.

He swerved to the side of the gravel road, unbuckling his seatbelt and leaving the shitty rental car. "Steve?!" Before you could fully comprehend what was going on, Steve had made it to your side of the SUV and undid your seatbelt. "Baby, what's going on?" You asked, panic evident in your voice.

"Need you," He growled, tugging your shirt up to let him see your hardened nipples. "There they are," He keened, twisting and pinching at the buds. You moaned at the feeling, arching your back and pressing your chest further into Steve's rough hands.

"You ready baby? Know you need me just as much as I need you. Open up for me, there you go," He continued to praise you as you sucked on two of his fingers while his other hand slowly helped you out of your pants.

"God damn baby, such a pretty sight, so wet for daddy, hm?" You moaned at his words, "Need you to fuck me daddy," "Good girl, I will, I promise," His pants came off next, much faster than yours.

"Ready love?" "Please!" You started begging and babbling before his cock was even close to your weeping slit. "That's it baby, let me in, come on now...there we go, so nice and wet for me, yeah?" "God! Yes, yes daddy! Please!!" "Good girl, that's it, I got you,"

Steve started to fuck you at a brutal pace, not allowing you any time to adjust to his long cock. Every time he stretched you out, no matter how many times he fucked your tight little cunt. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed on the deserted country road as he continued to plow into you.

You ass slid on the leather of the SUV with each thrust, fighting his strength to try and grind your hips on his own. Your hands went to his soft blond hair, tugging and pulling as he destroyed your heat. "Daddy, feels so good, so so good daddy," "I know baby girl, doing so good for me, squeezing me so tight," Sloppy kisses were littered all over his neck, biting and sucking at his smooth flesh.

"Love you daddy, makin' me feel so good, so good around your fat cock daddy!!" Your hands moved to his ass, squeezing the flesh, leaving half moons from where your nails bit into his skin. "Harder daddy! H-harder! Gonna cum, gonna cum for you daddy," His thrusts started to speed up, shaking the car with his power.

"That's it good girl, cum all over daddy's cock, make a mess all over me honey," "Gonna make a mess daddy-" His thumb came down to rub against your clit, bringing you to your first orgasm of the night. "Good girl, such a good fucking girl," His beard scratched your neck as he buried his face in the brook of were your shoulder met your neck.

He was moaning like an animal now, using you to chase his release, "Did so good creaming all over daddy's cock, fuck, gonna make daddy cum so hard honey." His thrusts grew short and sloppy as he neared his edge, "Gonna cum bunny, be daddy's good girl and take it! Fuck!! Take all of daddy's cum!! Ahhh!" With one last cry and thrust of his hips he came in your cunt, making his spend leak out and onto the seats of the SUV.

"Thank you daddy," you purred, kissing his cheeks and jaw in appreciation. "Did so good for me baby girl," "Mmm," "Aww, you tired baby?" "Yeah, fucked me so good daddy."

"I'm glad sweetheart. Let's get you cleaned up, okay?' You nodded and reluctantly let go of Steve, letting him use an old shirt to clean between each of your legs. "Good girl, gonna get some rest now, that sound good?" You hummed in agreement, letting him pull a pair of sweats over your legs along with one of his huge hoodies over your torso before slipping your seatbelt back on and getting on the road again.

Thank you for reading!! Any and all support/interactions are appreciated, I do not have a taglist but feel free to turn on notifications!

#marvel mcu #marvel fanfiction #mcu #kinktober #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut

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belokhvostikova · 1 year

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𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, vaginal sex, and use of safe word (playful nature, not graphic).

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

Fucking flowers.

If not for the reason of being gifted to you as a sign of unconditional love, what good are they for?

By the coming month of April, humid warmth had suffocated Hawkins, Indiana to no avail, compelling a moody metalhead to become a sweaty, moody metalhead; the universe’s disastrous attempt of combining homeostasis with leather and chains.

On the bright side, the muggy atmosphere had a beautiful tendency of trapping hot girls, like yourself, into obtaining skimpy outfits of tank tops and short shorts that were surely in no complaints to the wandering eyes of boyfriends, Eddie Munson alike.

Although, the blissfulness could only be something of a short-lived experience, when suddenly his eyes would water, vision too blurry by the fault of a fucking flower to see you prancing around in practically nothing. It was times like these he hated his eyes for being so big; wider diameter meaning bigger target- or whatever the hell made sense in his Eddie Munson Doctrine under the section of allergies.

And look, Eddie wasn’t one to necessarily care of bullshit schtick of traditional masculinity, but it sure as hell bruised his ego facing the reality that a speckle of yellow dust on a Marigold could wipe him out. That’s like having a peanut allergy, the fuck?!

The trailer was supposed to be his safe haven—where buzzing bees, blistering heat, growing plants, and an environment swallowed by nefarious pollen couldn’t get to him—but when the air conditioner hit its celebratory age of becoming geriatric, windows were forced open for the hopefully possibility that the night could bring a small zephyr cool enough to dry sweaty skin.

Especially when nightly activities brought on more sweat than usual…

“Oh- fuck!” Eddie knew it was simply uncomfortable perspiration, but the way your skin glowed like you were glazed with glimmers made his cock spur, particularly more when cheeks were exposed by cutoff denim, and tits were bouncy free without the support of a constricting bra.

Eddie Munson had prowled onto you like a predator catching its prey. “So fucking tight- mm, shit, baby!” Positioned onto your side, Eddie took the liberty of raising your thigh open, your foot playing its part to secure itself behind his leg to hold in place.

“H-Harder, please, Eds!” Not one to disobey, Eddie’s pelvis had slammed against your backside, letting the bush of curls tickle your ass as your grinded back in seek of release.

His movements were enough to drool out your arousal, letting his tightening balls of heavy cum become coated in your juices, as he drilled into your pussy. A snaked arm under your neck had led to his grabby hands squeezing down to your boob, your perked nipple rubbing against a callous on his palm that had your mewling with new sensations.

“Fuck, yes! Back that ass into me, sweetheart! Fucking do it- so fucking delicious!” Eddie was becoming delirious from the grip of your cunt, letting his mouth fall open with gasps of ecstasy, so vulnerable to the yellow devil that awaited him outside.

And it struck with an onslaught of no mercy, riding the warm breeze as a means to weak sinuses, ready to cock block a desperate metalhead, who four hours ago was wishing death to all pollen and pollen-things alike.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum! Don’t stop, ugh, keep going!” Having your pussy pulsate with tightening clenches was enough to bring your boyfriend to brink of stuffing you full. But a tickle in his nose had suddenly snapped some coherency to the reality of his sensitive nasal cavity, and Eddie knew it was a losing game.

“Princess! Mm, oh my god, oh my-” Ever the gentleman, Eddie head quickly maneuvered his head away to save you from the sprays of snot. A guttural sneeze of ear-splitting volume had startled you in the midst of sex, constraining you to look back at your giggling boy toy.

Movements of thrusts surely halted, you laughed. “Bless you.” A groan of embarrassment, yet amusement, was all you were met with, as Eddie pulled out against both your wishes to lay back in defeat.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Stuffed to oblivion, his voice and chuckles had been tainted with mucus. You’d turn to face him, ready to soothe his aggravated nose bridge, but stubborn as ever, he refused. “No, don’t look at me, I’m all gross!” Eddie whined, shoving your face away with no real force.

You beamed. “No, it’s okay, let’s keep going.”

“Nuh-uh! Ozzy, I’m calling my safe word, can’t do nothing about it now. No, no!” He incoherently laughed, as though he got the last one. The notion of another man being your safe word was a conversation for another day.

“Eddie!”

“I ruined it, ugh, I ruined everything!” He dramatically wailed. “I sneezed, got the sniffles, now my ears are- fuck,” a big yawn ripped from him, “I’m yawning now, fuck! I’m humiliated.”

Refusing to accept his pity party, you turned his chin to meet his lips with a savoring kiss that had him groaning with want. “No-” *kiss* “No, baby-” *kiss* “I just sneezed-” *kiss* “I probably have snot all over-”

“You don’t.” You swallowed his lips, leaving him to whine.

“Okay, good.” He chuckled against you mouth. You hoisted your leg over his hips to straddle him, and line his cock to the clenching entrance of your pussy to finish what he started.

“Uh- fuck!”

Pollen: 23,738

Eddie: 1 *ding ding ding* (a very lucky one)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Inspired by this audio! Had to Eddie-fy it, of course. Sounded too much like an Eddie Munson situation, lol.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader

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iamqueenpotato · 1 year

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I Hate That I Love You- Final Part

A/N- Hiiiii, I am back finally! It has been a rough summer to say the least. And writers block decided to stay around the entire time. Which was the cherry on top of everything. But I honestly appreciate you all for waiting so patiently while I took this time. This is the final part! Took me quite a bit to decide how I wanted to end it. There will be an epilogue of sorts. But this is the end! Thank you so much for sticking around for this. It has been the longest series so far, I hope you enjoy! Word count: 4.1k Warnings: Character death

Azriel pushed himself past his limits, your words ringing in his ears. He felt your body go limp and that beautiful light between the two of you was fading into nothing. He tried his best to blink his tears away, but the constant flow began to blur his vision.

Azriel had to make it, he had to get you to Madja before it was too late. But his thoughts overwhelmed him, that nagging devil on his shoulder telling him that he had run out of time, that there was no point in trying anymore.

But for you he would do anything.

He saw Velaris on the horizon, and your breathing had slowed down next to nothing. His hands shook as they held on to your body, he only hoped Madja had received Rhys’s message. He noticed how your blood painted his dark leathers with a crimson hue, something he never thought he would ever experience.

His wings grew tired as he approached the house of wind he spotted Madja and a few of her apprentices waiting at the entrance. “What happened?” Madja questioned, but Azriel could not speak, his words were drowned out by the pain of reality. But Madja could tell without any words and signaled the other fae to grab you. Azriel watched as your body fell into their arms, Madja giving him a short nod before rushing inside.

It wasn’t until you had disappeared from his sight that the exhaustion kicked in and he broke down. Tears streaming down his cheeks, the phantom touch of your hand still lingering across his cheek, he knew you were in good hands but Madok’s words taunted him. You can’t save her now. But you had Madja, and she would do whatever she could to save you, Azriel knew this. A part of Azriel wanted to know what the bastard had put you through, but that other part didn’t want to know that pain, to see or feel what you went through, knowing it would only make him more unhinged. And right now that isn’t the part of him you needed.

He stood from his kneeling position, shaming himself for wasting another second of not being by your side.

But once he entered, Azriel wasn’t allowed in when he caught up with Madja to your bedroom, yet your door was on a swivel as different faces rushed in and out, each one of them covered in more blood than the last. And could only catch a glimpse of what was occurring past the barrier that kept him from you, though as much as he wanted to disobey Madja, to burst through those doors and hold your hand through all of this, but he knew he would be getting in the way of the care you so desperately needed.

So he bit his tongue, keeping his feet planted a few feet from the door.

Hours went by, slowly the rest of the inner circle trickled in, Azriel did not speak to any of them, yet each one brought him in for a tight embrace that he did not refuse.

They remained sitting in silence as they waited. Feyre held Azriel’s hand tightly, his eyes fixated on the door in front of him. The time felt as though it wasn’t moving at all. He wasn’t even sure if he was blinking, any second now Madja could come out and speak the words that Azriel did not want to hear, but he needed to know something, anything at all. The silence deafening his ears made his skin crawl.

Why hadn’t they come out yet?

They sat there for what felt like an eternity before the door opened and Madja stepped through. Everyone stood to their feet, eagerly awaiting the woman’s words.

“This is the worst case of faebane poisoning I have seen in my entire life.” Madja finally spoke, looking around at each member of the inner circle. “Her wounds are easily fixable, but Madok had injected that cursed serum one too many times into her bloodstream, I am surprised she is still alive.” Madja paused, looking directly at Azriel. “I am not certain she will survive much longer.” Azriel froze, and he felt the eyes of his family fall onto him, each one lined with tears.

“What about the cure? Like I did for Rhys.” Feyre stated, her voice shaky as she clung to her mate.

“This faebane is not like the one the highlord was hit with, whatever it is- it prolongs the effects, making it harder to combat, Y/N is in a constant fight because her body cannot produce any sort of healing internally because the faebane gets to it first.” Madja finished and Azriel could hear Feyre break down, but he stared at the ground, his tears dripping onto the ground by his feet. “Her healing is trying its hardest, but there is so much in her system that it is killing her, but also prolonging the inevitable. Making it one of the worst forms of torture.”

“That bastard.” Cassian cursed, knocking over a vase near the entrance. The collection of cries that followed echoed in the hallway.

But Azriel watched as Madja approached him, resting a small hand on his shoulder. “Spend time with her. As much as you can, don’t let her go alone.”

“I don’t want her to go at all.” Azriel whispered, holding back his emotions as he looked around the room. “Madja there isn’t any way to save her?”

“Unless her own healing kicks in, we have done all we can.”

“This isn’t fair.” Azriel stood, removing Madja’s hand from his shoulder. “She should be here with me, if only we didn’t fight. If I was just honest with her from the start, none of this would have happened. She never would have gone to Windhaven, Y/N wouldn’t have to suffer for this family. None of it is fair.”

“Do not blame yourself for what has happened, this is not because of some fight, nor is it because you couldn’t keep her from leaving. This is because of a grudge held against our Highlord, Y/N did her job as a loyal soldier. She protected this family because she cares for all of you deeply. It is something that you would have done as well.” Azriel knew Madja spoke the truth, but it was something he did not want to accept. As much as he blamed Madok and his men, he also blamed himself. For it all. For letting you slip through his fingers one too many times, for never giving you a chance, for letting you deal with this pain alone. “Azriel. Nothing could have stopped what had occurred, fate can work in our favor but there are times that it works against us. It brings us hope but with hope there is also sorrow.”

“Can I see her now?” Azriel took in her words, and he knew exactly what Madja was telling him, but he would grieve later.. If it came to it.

Mother knows he hoped it wouldn’t.

He pushed past Madja slowly, his arm shaking as he reached for the handle. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see you, but he was terrified to see the state that you were in. The wounds that he wasn’t there to stop. He was used to seeing your smile, the glow that surrounded you, without that it would feel abnormal, it was a fear he never knew he would face, he felt the pain in his heart from thinking about it.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, or how long his family waited for him to open the door. But it was enough time for a small figure to appear next to him. Somehow without his shadows even noticing, but he could only assume they were distracted.

“What do you want Elain?” He questioned, not moving his gaze from the door.

“Can we talk? Please, it is important.” He hated the look she was giving him, she was on the verge of tears but yet her eyes looked so empty, like she was faking the emotions she tried so desperately to feel.

“I don’t have the time for this Elain.” His voice was bitter but he didn’t care.

“Azriel please.” Elain begged, placing a hand on his forearm. He immediately retracted from her touch, clenching his fists before nodding.

“Make it quick.”

Azriel followed Elain into a room down the hall. His hands were still shaking, and he couldn’t look anywhere but the door. He needed to get back to you, to be by your side.

“Azriel?” Her voice was so soft, he barely heard her. He glanced at her, waiting for her to speak. “I know what happened is serious but can we talk about us?”

“Us? There is no us.” Azriel couldn’t believe the words she spoke. “You pulled me away from my best friend who is currently on the edge of death. To ask me such a stupid question?”

“I didn’t realize the two of you were still friends.” Elain crossed her arms, ignoring the fact that the situation at hand was serious.

“She will always be my friend Elain. Y/N helps me in more ways than you ever could.” Azriel repressed the tears that threatened to fall once more. The image of your still body engraved in his memory. “And I am terrified of losing her,” Azriel took a deep breath, realizing what he had to do. “Elain I can’t do this anymore. If you wanted to talk about us, I am done. If I didn’t make it clear before. I am done with all of it.”

Elain inhaled sharply. “Azriel you can’t mean that.”

“I do,” He paused, imagining the days it was just you and him, the things he would do just to go back. To relive those moments, maybe then he would make the right choice. “If you didn’t believe me the first time I said it. Y/N is my everything. My mate. I should have been honest with her from the start. I am truly sorry Elain, I tried to be the male you needed but I cannot when the one I love needs me. And I curse myself for only now seeing she needed me this entire time. My only hope is that I can make it up to her when she wakes.”

Elain was crying but Azriel felt no sympathy for her. “Burn in hell.” She screamed at him. Swinging her arms at him. He took each hit, unphased at her tantrum.

He softly grabbed her arms, pulling them away from him. “Let that be my fate if Y/N is taken from me. I would rather burn than lose her.” He released his grip, walking past her and back out into the hallway.

“I am truly sorry for what happened to Y/N. If I knew it was going to be that bad I would have said something sooner.” Elain spoke up.

Azriel stopped in the hallway, his shadows freezing alongside him. He noticed his family walking toward him, but his mind raced as he narrowed his eyes at Elain as she stepped closer to him. “What are you talking about?” He questioned, clenching his jaw as he spoke.

Elain recoiled from him, fidgeting with the skirt of her dress. “I had a vision of sorts, a gut feeling that night of our engagement party, the second I smelled her all over you. I saw that she would face troubles on that mountain. But my mind was foggy and I didn’t know.”

“Your mind was foggy? You’re telling me that the night she left, three days before she was taken, you knew?” Azriel lashed out, slamming her against the wall behind where she stood. He heard Rhys yell his name but he paid no attention to them.

“I was angry. My soon to be spouse messed around with a stupid whore, why would I want to keep her safe? I know I made a mistake but you have to understand-”

“Understand? How dare you think I would ever be okay with that choice.”

“Azriel what is going on?” Cassian asked from behind him, Rhys pulling him away from Elain, and he watched as she hid behind her sisters.

“Elain knew.”

Nesta turned to her sister. “Knew what?”

“She knew Y/N would face troubles on Windhaven but decided it wasn’t important and kept it to herself.” Azriel blurted out, making everyone’s eyes fall to her.

Azriel watched as Elain shrunk away from her sisters, as each of them turned fully to face her. Cassian released his grip that he had around Azriel’s shoulders, silently cursing to himself.

“Say it isn’t true Elain.” Feyre spoke and Azriel could tell she was holding back tears, he understood the emotion, he would be heartbroken if his brothers did something as selfish.

“Feyre, it was an honest mistake.” Elain defended, but by the look on everyone’s face, they did not believe her words.

“An honest mistake?” Azriel cut in, Cassian’s hand found its way back to his shoulder. Azriel understood his concern, but he would not harm her. It wasn’t worth it. “Risking the life of someone within this family, the life of someone who means so much to everyone, to me. There was no honesty in the choice that you made.”

“I never wanted to her to get hurt Azriel, I-”

“Enough!” Azriel snapped. His wings pulled tight behind him, his shadows whirling around in anger. “I am done hearing your pathetic apologies. Leave before I make you myself.”

“Fine.” Elain whispered before disappearing down the hall, no one moved an inch to follow her.

But he watched as Feyre and Nesta’s eyes followed Elain’s small figure as it dashed out of sight. Azriel could only sigh before heading for your door.

With a deep breath he opened it.

And to his shock when he opened your door, you laid there staring at him. A broken smile across your face. If he wasn’t so eager to be at your side he would have dropped to his knees right at that moment.

“Y/N” He cried, rushing over to the bedside, wrapping his arms around you so softly, afraid that you might break if he held you too tightly. He kneeled next to you, his hand firmly gripping your own.

“Hi Az.” Your voice sounded so harsh, your eyes were barely open, and the hand that was entwined with his felt so cold, lifeless. Even though you were awake in front of him, it did not feel right, as if the two of you were living on borrowed time. And something within Azriel told him that something wasn’t right, but looking into your eyes once more, while they were still bloodshot and bruised, he did not want to think of the negatives, you were awake, and it seemed the cauldron was giving him a second chance at a life with you. He would not take advantage of it this time.

“How are you feeling?” He questioned, rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

“Like absolute garbage. I am pretty sure I will not be able to move for the next three years.” You joked, and Azriel could only stare at you, he felt the tears slip down his cheeks, but he did not take his eyes off of you. “Azriel, what’s wrong?”

“I thought I lost you, the bond was so weak. Y/n. I thought you died in my arms. I have never experienced such fear before.”

You squeezed his hand with whatever strength you had. “It was not my intention to scare you Az. But I am fine.” There was something in your voice that Azriel could not decipher but he was too focused on the way your eyes met his.

“Do not worry about that, all that matters is that you’re okay.” Azriel choked out. “I love you so much, Y/N. I am sorry I did not say it sooner.”

Azriel felt his soul light up when you smiled at him, though your bruised cheeks limited you, you were still the most beautiful thing he has seen. “Never thought I would hear those words from you.” You whispered.

Azriel leaned closer to you, resting his head on yours. The two of you closed your eyes as you sat there, soaking up the presence of each other. Azriel could breathe fully once more, each inhale that matched yours soothed the wounds he thought would remain if he lost you.

He would have stayed there for hours if you hadn’t flinched with the sudden movement. “Let me go find Madja, and tell the others you are awake.” Azriel placed a soft kiss on your head before exiting the room, Madja waiting outside, Azriel offered her a small smile before watching her close the door behind her.

He saw his brothers first, a wide smile across his face, fresh tears down his cheeks. “She’s awake.” His words felt like a blessing as he spoke them out loud.

“When can we see her?” Mor asked, her tears matching his own.

Azriel turned to face your door again, excited to live this new adventure with you, to have all he had ever wanted, his family, you. A life he thought he’d never deserve.

Azriel tried to speak but no words fell from his lips. He stared blankly at Mor as he again attempted to respond. It was as if the words were stuck within his throat.

Suddenly coldness washed over Azriel, a piercing, numbing feeling that he could not describe. His words were cut short as he stumbled onto the ground. Clutching his chest as if the pain came from beneath his skin. His breath had become shallow. His brothers came to his side, Azriel could see they were speaking to him, but there was no sound. The ringing in his ears cut out all noise. But slowly Azriel’s hearing returned, only to hear Rhys’s voice.

“Madja what is it?” Rhysand questioned, his voice heard over all the commotion. Azriel looked up to see Madja standing there, her hands placed nervously in front of her. Madja stared at each one of them, her silence creating a certain tension within the hall. She took a deep breath as her eyes landed on Azriel. “I tried my best, I promise. But I couldn’t save her.”

“Madja what are you saying?” Azriel forced out, afraid of the words that would follow.

He could see the slight build up in her waterline. “Y/N is dead.”

Azriel’s eyes widened, Madja’s words sinking into his mind like poison. She had to be lying, there was no way he didn’t make it in time but that feeling in his chest remained, the aching pain that spread across his body.

He struggled to stand, his limbs not quite feeling like his own. The room spun around him, each pair of eyes on him as he ran toward your room.

When he opened the door he saw you. Your lifeless body laying against the pillows, your pale hand that draped over the side. The one he just held.

Azriel dropped to his knees and screamed.

His bloodcurdling roar shattered the windows. The sobs that echoed after it filled the deadly silence he felt in his soul. He was unable to lift his body off the ground as he dragged himself to your side, his limbs shaking as he reached for you. His screams were muffled as he buried his face in your chest, the anguish reverberating across his body. “No, please, you can’t leave me.” He held your still body tightly against him, his hands overcome by an uncontrollable tremble as he took in your lifeless features, brushing your hair from your eyes that he adored, the ones that always looked at him with love and affection. But now they were cold and empty, mirroring the feeling he felt within him. Another scream ripped through him, he tried to pull on the bond, but there was nothing, it had disappeared into the darkness. And he was left with the memory of what could have been. “She was o-okay, she was here with me, I felt her.” He cried out, but no words could bring you back.

You were dead. And his world had gone painfully numb.

He didn’t feel anything, except the dead weight he held so tightly in his arms.

Azriel hadn’t let go of your body, not when Rhys or Cassian tried to pry him off of you. This could not be your fate, your story did not end here.

There was so much he wanted to do with you, the life he had dreamed of always had you at his side.

“But how is this possible? She was fine a minute ago.” Azriel heard Mor speak, acknowledging the way her voice broke halfway through.

Madja stepped forward, placing a small hand on your cold cheek. “ I don’t think she was ever fine. With the last of her strength she kept herself alive to see Azriel one last time. She knew she wouldn’t have made it. And instead of fighting, she decided to let go.”

“She told me she was fine, Madja. Why would she lie, why wouldn’t she share that pain?” Azriel spoke, still not releasing his grip around you.

“Even on the edge of death, she cared for you shadowsinger. You. It was only you she worried about, she put your feelings above her own.”

For as long as he knew you that is all you had ever done, you cared too much for your own good, you always were the one to take care of others. But now it was his turn to take care of you. “She has always been there for me, it's time I finally return the favor.”

“What are you talking about brother?” Cassian questioned. And if he were being honest, Azriel did not know what he meant either, but something was telling him to not let go just yet.

And as his brother reached for him, without warning his shadows wrapped around the two of you, a small cocoon forming across your bodies. And his shadows did something he had never seen before.

They glowed.

Like the night sky of Velaris, decorated with stars and the bright moon that highlighted the horizon. Azriel had always known his shadows to be darkness, the embodiment of death itself, but now they glowed with life, yet it wasn’t the brightness of the day but the luring glow of the night. Azriel’s entire body felt light, like he was flying for the first time again but yet he knew his feet were still planted firmly on the ground. He could not hear the voices around him, nor could he see the faces of his friends anymore.

He begged to the mother, to anyone who would listen as he held onto you, to give you back the life that was so wrongly taken from you. He knew playing with death was dangerous, he knew there would be consequences.

But this time he did not care, when it came to you, nothing else mattered.

His shadows moved from his shoulders to yours, caressing your face, swarming your body until only the lids of your eyes were visible through the cloud of night.

His shadows had helped him throughout all these years, he could only hope they would help him one last time. Whatever they were doing he only prayed it was something good.

Azriel cradled your body against his, his arms tightly around you, he closed his eyes as he rested his head atop yours. “Please, I don’t want anything more than her, I don’t need anything else. Please.”

And maybe he had finally done something good. Perhaps the mother had heard him, decided he was worthy.

Because he felt your chest rise and fall against him, that life filling your lungs, he felt the bond reignite, the thread between you stronger than it was before. Azriel had never moved so quickly before as he did in that moment. When he pulled back, his shadows had made their way back to his body. The light from the room around him seeped in.

But he looked down at you, he would have to thank the mother for the rest of his life. Your eyes stared up at him, alive, moving. Your lips parted slightly as you inhaled deeply, desperate for the air that was taken from you.

“Azriel.” You whispered. He watched as your eyes focused on him, as if you saw him for the first time again.

And hearing your voice was all it took to make him break. The tears fell with no sign of stopping. But he could not have been happier.

He had everything he could ever need in front of him.

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@honestlywtfisgoingon @fanfictioniseverything @marina468 @positivewitch @maviee @blurredlamplight @bookslut420 @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @elle10 @dragonstoneprincess @holywolfsstuff @reiincarnatiion @valeridarkness @feiwelinchen @sv0430 @kennedy-brooke @emturtles @nightcourtwritings @zephyg-06 @chantalleke91 @katherinereid @loulou0101 @shadowsingersmate24 @tcris2020 @shadowsinger-654 @nobody00sthings @lucyysthings @turkishgirlslife @rachelnicolee @mich0731 @tobifeemo @kristeristerin @sinnful-darling @hannzoaks @zoe2 @strangersunghoon @bangtanbecks @juneangel21 @hanatsuki-hime @acourtofmarvels @cmay25 @its-sam-allgood @a-frog-with-a-laptop @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @kazbrkker @sstanbarnes @j-pendragonx @naturakaashi @yakoxshadow @whorefortim @goradgirl @cuethedepession @azriels-mate123 @patdsinner33 @fanboyluvr @changing7 @cassan1306

#azriel fanfic #azriel #acotar #acotar fanfiction #reader insert #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #acotar fandom #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #shadowsinger x reader #shadowsinger #azriel x y/n #azriel angst #a court of thorns and roses #azriel spymaster

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violetpixiedust · 9 months

Text

thinking about being the object of gator’s desires, and knowing it. gator travels solo to minnesota to stake out nadine for roy, and ends up in the city well past the family’s bedtime. he’s dressed low key for once. tight black tee, black leather jacket, black jeans, black combat boots. however, he does have his sheriff grade handgun hidden in the inner pocket of his jacket, on the account of having been trained to never put trust in the people around him.

gator mimics a fly on the wall as he crosses state lines. no bullet proof vest, no camo pants, no thigh holster, no large white lettering indicating “sheriff” across his shoulder blades and right pec. he wasn’t that man in minnesota. he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be that man at all sometimes..

he’s stalking the streets in his shiny black truck, scoping out the places the family would inevitably roam tomorrow. wayne’s dealership, scottie’s elementary school, the local grocery store nadine would shop at. the wheels below him grind against the salt ridden roads before he comes to a rolling stop, noticing the first parking spot large enough for his vehicle for miles. peering around, gator realizes he’s made it to downtown. a loud laugh turns his attention towards the opposite side of the street, watching as three boys shuffle out of a dimly lit bar. rosy cheeked from boos rather than the nipping wind, accompanied by the fluffy snowflakes currently falling from the night sky.

gator takes a breath, watching it leave him from the sudden temperature drop. he gets in quite easily, flashing his license to the nonchalant bouncer out front, and again begrudgingly to the hipster looking man behind a small podium. he’s quickly given a seat at the end of the bar, past the long counter and at the end of the curve, secluded and away from rambunctious laughter and awkward first dates. the establishment is narrow, deep, modern, and unlike anything he had ever seen in fargo, let alone north dakota. people of all different races, ethnicities, and appearances, bounced off the walls as they spoke and fraternized, beers and cocktails in their grasps. until he saw you..

you’re sitting in the middle of the bar, dressed in a shiny ivory slip with a lace bodice, complete with spaghetti straps that reveal the serenity of your complexion. the hem of the garment rides up the bare length of your thighs from how you’re sat on the stool, causing gator to pick at the skin of his thumb unconsciously. your matching translucent stockings inch below your knees, disappearing into a pair of glimmering, scarlet leather boots. the cherry red and warm amber lighting from above shines down onto you like a halo. roy would say it was a sign that the devil resides within you, but gator could already tell by the way you idly rub a maraschino cherry to your pillowy lips, painting them rouge as your date drowns on about something or other. he watches intently as one of two bartenders’ interrupts the one sided conversation, and gator feels his pulse race as the brightest smile takes refuge on your now sweet expression. gator half consciously orders a whisky on the rocks, eager to keep observing you.

he hasn’t seen you in years, not since high school graduation. sat on folding chairs in the middle of a scorching fargo field, dressed head to toe in table cloth quality gowns. he remembers you better than anyone. a+ student, cheerleader, sweetheart to seemingly everyone around you, but you had a wickedness about you. he had heard it from his teammates. your lips tasted like cheap vodka and cherry cola. your pussy- your doe eyed gaze squints, slicing through gator as he all but flinches, half nodding his head to the bartender in thanks before downing his whisky on the rocks in two sips. it goes down easier than the bitter recognition on your angelic features, burning down his throat like acid.

it isn’t until his second whisky arrives that the space beside him is occupied. he knows it’s you without even turning his head, recognizing your scent, hazy with familiarity. it’s just as it had been when he would pass you on the football field, flipping your cheer skirt up like an asshole much to your chagrin. your hair would flip, a pom pom held up as threateningly as you could. you smell like lily’s of the valley, sunshine. clean and serene.

“bit far from home, huh deputy?” your voice, your fucking voice. saccharine and divine, dripping with sticky honey and stained scarlet. a light shiver runs down gator’s spine, skin prickling. he doesn’t look at you. another sip.

“still’ witty as ever. even as a city girl.”

“i see you still haven’t worked on your staring problem.” that turns gator’s attention to you in record speed, eager to tell you off, maybe even scare you off, but instead the poison immediately dries upon on his chapped lips. you’re gorgeous. somehow even prettier than you had been back in high school, in fargo. he hadn’t been able to see the pink cosmetic layered against your cheekbones and the tip of your nose from where you were previously sat. or the gloss on your plump, petal soft lips. you flutter your long lashes, something you used to do for every boy on the football team except him, all-state quarter back. he was the one to watch out for. he was the best. he was a winner, and you never- “and you’re still using an entire bottle of gel on your hair every morning too, hm?” your tone was playful, but he could garner the subtext. you were making fun of him. teasing him. returning the favour after he wouldn’t give you a moments peace in high school. constantly toying with your pretty little outfits. tugging on your hair as he sat behind you in every class you shared- threatening violence against anyone who sat in his unassigned assigned seat. cornering you against a row of lockers in the hopes that he would wear you down. that you would finally say yes to him. let him take you out.

god, were you a right bitch.

“don’t speak cosmopolitan, princess.” gator’s large brown eyes flicker to the sugary pool of red at the bottom of your cocktail glass, lips curled in a mocking sneer. he watches as your eyes wander across his ensemble, wicked smile growing with every passing second.

“it’s funny. that you think you’re considered such a big man back in fargo-“

“don’t-“ gator hisses after a stinging gulp of whisky. you don’t listen. you never did. women like you were the type his father frequently reprimanded throughout gator’s childhood. never knew when to quit. never knew when to shut up and listen. never knew when to obey.

your manicured nails swirl absentmindedly along the bar as you continue, conjuring white hot fire within the gaps of his fragile mind. “all-state quarterback, dream shattered when he suffered a ‘career ending injury’. thinks he’s a big man because his daddy pays him to play cops and robbers. to keep everyone on a tight leash until he gets reined back in like the feral little dog he is.” gator could feel his grip gradually tightening around his empty glass, rage beginning to seep through his veins like ink to paper. only, your sticky lips touch the shell of his ear, and his brain goes static.

“because no one knows he’s the boy who would hide underneath the bleachers during cheer practice. cock in his grasp, hand trembling, slick with sweat and spit, like his very own pocket pussy.” gator releases a shaky gasp, eyes glazing over as your manicured nails run over the back of his skull, fuzzy grown out strands tickling your fingertips. your voice is only a hair louder than the thrum of the bass emitting from the corner of the space, just enough to get through to gator’s brain. past the blood rushing through his ears and down to his pelvis. “you were so naughty. such a little pervert.” gator can feel how hard he is, numb in the toes as you scratch the blushing skin at the back of his neck, saliva just managing to quench the sahara desert at the back of his throat. “i still remember your eyes. hooded, lustful, gone in broad daylight. you didn’t even care if anyone saw you getting yourself off to me..”

it wasn’t as if anyone was looking at them now. it was a friday night, and they were in low lighting as it was, however gator’s eyes snapped open. in a millisecond, your arm is enveloped by his large grasp, tight with an iron grip as he looks down the pointed bridge of his nose at you. you’re admittedly surprised, a sliver of intimidation even coursing through you. however, a serge of smugness peaks upon your soft expression at the shaky waver in gator’s speech. “you tell anyone that, and i’ll make sure you don’t see the light of day ever again, sugar.”

gator couldn’t help but let his gaze falter downwards as you innocently bite along the plush skin of your bottom lip, eyelashes fluttering so close to his face that he could feel the breeze against his cheekbones. “last i checked.. your daddy isn’t the sheriff of minnesota.” gator swallows back a groan at that word leaving your lips. itching for his vape before tightening his grip on your angelic figure, pulling you impossibly closer. the cool skin of his leather jacket bites into your sleeveless arms, causing goosebumps to erupt beneath the thin fabric of your dress.

“i’ll see to it myself that you get taken care of.” you were so close that you could smell the bitter whisky on his breath, unfortunately not enough to overpower the foul stench of watermelon vape juice, but nevertheless, it reminds you of a time easier than this. he was still roy tillman’s son back then. still causing a shit storm wherever he went, cleaned up by the sheriff himself before any real damage could be done. when everyone went away however, you included, he was left to his own devices. you think that’s when he convinced himself that he was a good liar. that he was a winner. “and believe me, darling. you need to be taught a lesson or two.”

you can’t help the sinister desire that courses through you, gator’s dark eye contact never wavering. your judgement is clouded, limits bending. except, the sugary saliva of your mouth only continues to pool onto your pink tongue- before landing across gator’s cheek when you spit. taunting him.

you’re over his knee in the backseat of his truck in 45 seconds flat.

#this would not leave my mind #sooooo here you go #gator tillman #gator tillman fic #gator tillman x reader #fargo fx #fargo season 5 #fargo s5 #joe keery #pixie’s works * ੈ✩‧₊˚

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sky-kiss · 10 months

Note

M Reader getting caught by Raphael (or Haarlep) in the HoH and being absolutely SHOCKED that "it isnt actually theft until i've left the building" is not swaying the devil's heart

A/n: Thank you, babe! Hopefully this works!

________

Raphael/Haarlep/M!Reader: 18+

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Hindsight being what it is, you do realize you’ve made a mistake. It just takes a while to sink in, your shock and outrage overwhelming the softer, dawning horror. How could Raphael treat you this way? Betray your trust?

And then you remember two things in succession: he is a devil. You are in his house. Still, the protest bubbles forth all too easily, a touch of offense coloring your tone. There’s something else, not unlike a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Not guilt, per se. Something in that neighborhood. Haarlep caught you. Not in the act of stealing, no, that would have been a mercy.

You’d slipped off after fucking Raphael’s incubus. The blissful soreness still lingered in your muscles; the tight clench of them around your cock a ghost of sensation you can't shake. Haarlep wore you down to the bones. In the afterglow, they struck. You struggle to support their weight, tired as you are, and they are not insubstantially sized. Haarlep had dragged you before your master, settled you on your hands and knees, and taken their seat upon your back. Their tail winds around your throat, a warning note of pressure whenever you attempt to look anywhere besides the Master of the House.

You try again, voice hoarse. “I didn't take anything.”

Raphael tips his head towards your tunic. A neat assortment of rings, gemstones, and baubles line the table. Everything you managed to slip in your pockets before you'd been caught. “Did you not?”

You swallow, shifting in your bindings. The leather cuffs chafe against your wrists. Haarlep utters a dismissive noise, tail tightening around your throat. “Intent isn't…it's not the same. Didn't leave, did I? You still have everything.”

“Oh-ho, semantics, is it? Delightful.” Raphael chuckles and the sound shoots straight to your cock, as effective as any touch. He drags two fingers around the rim of his wine glass. “I'd applaud the bravado, pet, but fear your argument rings hollow. You've already taken something from me.”

He snaps his finger. The incubus rises. Haarlep moves behind you, movements smooth as any circling predatory. When they move in front of you, they’ve shifted into your form. Bare and lovely, dried sweat and cum smeared across their abdomen.

“My virtue.” They flutter their eyelashes, snickering as they approach Raphael.

“The Prince of Lies would struggle giving voice to that falsehood, pet,” Raphael says, and his incubus shrugs, slipping to their knees before him. “But the principal stands. You availed yourself of my hospitality. Hospitality I might have freely given…if only asked.” He hummed, tapping his chin. You watch, fear and arousal pooling in your belly, as the devil reaches out. He brushes the backs of his fingers down Haarlep’s throat, and the ghost of sensation, of heat, registers on your skin. “A shame.”

Haarlep grins, practiced hands smoothing up their master’s thigh. You feel the flex of muscle under your palms, the scratch of fabric as they drag his trousers down just enough. They shuffle nearer, licking Raphael’s half-hard cock, and the taste of him fills your mouth. You swallow, shifting.

“We can work something out,” you try. You struggle not to shift as Raphael’s tail slips between Haarlep’s legs. It curls upwards, stroking between his legs, up to push at their hole. You choke; Haarlep pushes back, even as you struggle not to react to the phantom pleasure. “Please. I didn’t know.”

“Pretty falsehoods. Pretty excuses; I deal with the tangible, sweet boy.” He rocks into Haarlep’s mouth. You feel the weight of him on your tongue. And there is something else, something torrid and delicious, about watching him fuck your mouth, watching the lazy thrust of his tail into your body. The incubus groans with your voice. You screw your eyes shut, struggling against your bindings, achingly hard. It wasn’t fair; you hadn’t known, hadn’t thought.

“Haarlep,” the cambion's voice chases through you, low as a lover's, tinged with faux intimacy. The pleasure fades somewhat as the incubus leans back. Raphael’s claws sweep over the incubus’ cheek, featherlight, back to tangle your hair. You wince at the tableau, hunger warring with your sense of self-preservation. “Be a lamb, won't you? Show them how we treat the unwelcome guests.”

#bg3 raphael #bg3 haarlep #raphael x reader #haarlep x reader #haarlep x raphael #asks #my writing

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discocholforever · 1 year

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Okay imagine that Harry comes back to work post-Martinaise dressed in the most whorish non-RCM outfit for the skill boosts. Pissfaggot jacket + skin tight black leather trousers + a shirt with three missing top buttons. The whole precinct are like ‘what. The. Fuck’. Jean tears him a new one and it turns out he forgot that there is very much a dress code when on the job, even if in plainclothes.

He starts trying to wear more ‘normal’ clothing (so not really ‘normal’ at all. Very disco) and idk fails a few checks and starts getting kind of agitated. Kim notices and Harry eventually tells him about how the voices in his head are affected by the clothes he wears. Kim’s a little nonplussed but understanding and lightly suggests Harry focuses on clothing not normally seen at work (underwear, socks, etc).

Kim is probably thinking socks with funky patterns on. Or maybe a pair of novelty underwear (not that he pays Harry’s underwear much thought or anything). But Harry is Harry. Like yeah he’s got those but he buys at least one g-string. +1 Electrochemistry: saucy devil -1 savoir faire: REALLY tight around the crotch. A sock found on the side of the street that reunited with its twin after Harry found it in a dumpster two days later. He shows up to work wearing bras and sexy lingerie beneath his clothes and nobody’s the wiser. Except from when he wore a push up bra and the vein in Jean’s temple almost exploded with mindfuckery.

#disco elysium #hdb #harry du bois #kimharry #kind of #jean vicquemare #long post #kim kitsuragi

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seren1tyhaze · 1 year

Text

Grenade

PAIRING: toxic!mark x afab reader (ft hyuck)

WORD COUNT: 3.1K

SUMMARY: he's the worst person for you but you keep coming back to him, night after night, desperately hoping that he will love you back after more time spent in your arms

THANK YOU: sorry to @strwbrysunday who I definitely broke with this :) ilyyyyyy

WARNINGS: explicit smut, weed smoking, profanity, emotional manipulation, heavy angst, mark is not a very nice guy in this (sorry)

PLAYLIST: Grenade by Bruno Mars, Love on the Floor by NCT 127, Faster by NCT 127, 2 Baddies by NCT 127

This was very much inspired by a Love on the Floor fancam, particularly minute 3:20. Enjoy.

Tell the devil I say hey when you get back to where you're from

It’s raining softly and big droplets are falling off the awning of his front step as you furiously send another text to this asshole who better not have fallen asleep in the five minutes it took you to drive over. You look up to the leaking sky just as a particularly large droplet hits your forehead, dripping down your eyebrow and into your eye. He told you not to knock, as he always did, because he thinks Johnny looked at you a little too long that one time he answered the door before Mark could run down the stairs. You might not be his but that didn’t mean someone else could have you.

The door suddenly swings open and he’s standing there, baggy black sweatpants hanging low and a crisp white tee hanging perfectly on his broad shoulders. He has a smug smile on his face as he leans against the door jam, sleeve riding up on his arm to show his nearly completed half sleeve of dark ink. His shirt peaks up too, showing skin on his hip and the Supreme logo at the band of his boxers.

“I’m getting soaked out here, bitch,” you mumble as you push past him harshly, stepping out of your shoes and hanging your jacket on the hook you always use. There’s something weirdly domestic about draping it over Mark’s leather jacket he wears when he takes his motorcycle to work.

He rolls his eyes at you and ruffles the longer black strands of hair in his eyes before turning without another look at you to walk up the stairs. He takes two at a time and you get the first (but not last of tonight) look at the reason you’re here - his deliciously thick ass.

He flops down on his bed and is scrolling through his phone, head propped up against his headboard and one leg up on his thin comforter. His shirt is hiked up on his waist and his tight ab muscles are on display as he draws lazy circles over his stomach with his other hand.

Turning away from him, you drop your hands to your waist, pulling your oversized hoodie over your head, leaving you standing in your leggings and cotton bralette. You move some stuff on his desk to put your bag down, taking a swig from your water bottle before approaching the bed slowly. The door is cracked open, another habit you’ve noticed from him in the times you’ve visited the house. He liked to have an audience, if only to just hear Jaehyun comment how good you look naked later or witness the awkward moment when you locked eyes with a nervous Jeno as he used their shared bathroom in the hallway while Mark pounds into you in doggy style.

If someone had told you six months ago that you would be desperately driving over to spend the night with the rude but incredibly hot cashier at your local gas station, you would have laughed in their face. You first met when he had helped you with the finicky air pump for your tires one afternoon after work, bending down to unscrew the caps and giving you an unreal view of his tight pants. The band of his boxers rose up high on his slim waist and his round ass cheeks were prominent under the denim, straining at the plush muscle. You had felt your cheeks heat in the moment, a loud gulp building in your throat as you forced yourself to look elsewhere.

He had let you take the gum you were buying for free and grabbed your phone when you reached under the plexiglass, adding himself as “M” and handing it back with a devious smirk.

Later that night you were moaning his name loudly in the backseat of your car after he asked you to pick him up from a bar downtown. You knew you were done for when he shoved his slender fingers, covered in your own arousal, into your mouth, swirling them around and almost making you gag as he brushed the roof of your mouth with the pads of his fingertips. Yeah, this guy was going to be a really big problem.

Everything was on Mark’s terms, especially when it came to getting off. Edging was his middle name and he rarely let you have multiple orgasms in one night. He was rough, dragging you down to your knees by the back of your neck, kneading your skin harshly as he pushed his cock deeper into your mouth.

He especially tortured you when it came to touching your favorite part of his body. He knew you were obsessed with his full and perky ass, feeling your eyes on him every time he walked away from you. Sometimes he would even walk backwards with a huge grin on his face and a shake of his head.

On the rare occasion he would be relentlessly railing into you in missionary, you would feel your hands instinctively come up to grope him and he would pin your arms down, harshly grunting out, “Only good girls get rewarded with cake.”

Tonight is nothing different, he’s actively ignoring you with just a hand on your thigh, dangerously close to the crotch of the thin athletic fabric clinging to your legs. He’s tracing what feels to be an infinity symbol and you can feel goosebumps start to prick up on your arms. You chalk it up to being shirtless in the cool, stale air of his bedroom rather than any sort of physical (emotional? fuck.) response to his touch.

You take a long drag from your dab pen before tossing it on the table next to the bed, feeling him shift as he finally sets his phone down.

Without any words he leans over, mouthing at your bare shoulder before stretching his arm out to steal a hit from your pen and letting it carelessly drop to the floor. You sigh and push your hand aggressively into his sweats, finding him half hard and a damp spot on the front of the material covering his cock. So he was horny. Of course he was.

He continues to kiss down your neck, dragging his teeth against the thin strap of your bra, moving it out of the way to kiss underneath. You moan lightly at this, pushing your voice to make a little more noise than it naturally did for effect, refusing to let him have the satisfaction of hearing the sounds he actually produced from his touches.

He doesn’t kiss you on the lips much anymore, despite having made out with you for hours at a time when you had first started hooking up. Granted, there isn’t much of an opportunity for you to lock lips with him as his fingers are usually shoved in your mouth as his other hand slaps your exposed pussy or his full palm covering the lower half of your face, restricting your breathing.

A few minutes later he’s between your legs, mercilessly flicking his tongue against your embarrassingly wet folds, gripping your thighs tightly while you rut against his face, desperate for more friction.

You don’t know if it’s the rain or the fact that he definitely bought the same body wash you have in your shower and you can smell it radiating off him, but you want to kiss him so bad even as he’s going to town on your clit, almost as if he’s trying to overstimulate you before you’ve even had a chance to feel him inside you. You rip him up by his hair and drag his face to meet yours and he’s crawling eagerly over you, crowding you as he slips a knee between your spread legs.

“Yes?” he half groans, half sings in a low timbre, dark eyes darting between yours wildly, looking for an explanation to why you stopped him from eating you out.

“Stop edging me,” you state bluntly, sliding a hand down to cover his ass cheek, squeezing gently at first as you instinctively arch your back slightly and bring your lips closer to him.

“Aw, that’s cute, you think you deserve a kiss,” he replies back in a cruel tone, almost laughing at your desperation.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” he adds, firmly removing your hand from his bare skin and trapping it between your chests where you’re sure he can feel your heart beating fast under your breast.

Despite everything and because of everything, you find yourself irrevocably in love with him. You hate every fibre of his being but would do anything to have him hold you in his arms tenderly like the couples you see wrapped in a back hug on the subway. You would pay any amount of money to have him circle his thumbs over the hem of your t-shirt, digging his chin into your shoulder while reading your book over your shoulder and murmuring parts of sentences out loud.

He knows this, he’s not stupid. He sees the way you look at him after you come all over his hand or mouth or cock. He sees the way you look at him when you think he’s not paying attention, eyes dragging across his features before settling on his big brown eyes. He watches as your eyes drift to fantasies of the two of you together on the off chance you share a meal or drink in his kitchen. You instinctively clear his cereal bowl and take the crumpled napkin directly from his hand, letting your hand drag up his bicep as you walk to the trash can.

Because of this, he will leave you on read for days at a time, knowing you are losing your mind and only checks your Instagram story from a burner account because he knows you check that shit religiously. He knows that hearing you moan out his name and clench around his achingly hard cock once he finally hits you up will make it all worth it.

He doesn’t want a relationship, he never has, and truly believes he never will. The scars on his knees and the way his eyes glaze over when he’s super high tell so much more than he could ever say out loud. Commitment was never in the cards for him and he knew from the first time he saw you that you would fall for him easily. It’s why he had quickly put his number in your phone and called you later that night for a ride he didn’t actually need. He had trapped you from that very first moment and spent each day since then manipulating you into falling more and more in love with him.

It was cruel and your friends that knew your dirty secret chastised you about it frequently, but something about his dark hair, lean muscles and dark ink covering large swaths of his body kept you coming back for more. The way he never says your name during sex, despite you moaning every variation of his, combined with his terrible after care are all the biggest red flags you’ve ever seen, but you can’t stop.

You’ve seen glimpses of the softer side of him, the human side of him. His voice would pitch up when he got excited about an expensive car parked in the street or when his favorite Spongebob episode queued up next on his small laptop monitor you were sharing. One time a small kitten was hidden under the hood of a car in the parking lot of the gas station in the dead of winter and while he never admitted it, you know he took it home that night to help it warm up before letting Jaemin pick it up a few days later to take to his apartment with his growing cat family.

Then there’s the moments of confusion that help feed your delusional fantasies that the two of you could actually work. He will occasionally show up at your work, shamelessly flirting with the front office lady, moving her pen cup around her desk and twirling the cord of her desk phone around his long and slender finger while leaning down to speak in a loud whisper.

Once he showed up wearing a white tank top you swear you recognized as Johnny’s and his leather jacket had slipped off his shoulders and everyone was ogling him as they walked by. You marched to the front and barked his name to get him to follow you back to your cubicle where he leant seductively against your desk, crossing his arms across his broad chest.

“What’s wrong? Jealous, sweetheart?” he purrs under his breath as you sat down on your uncomfortable desk chair with an eye roll. You shuffle a couple papers and bang them aggressively against your desk before holding your hand out for the binder clip he was fiddling with, clamping it repeatedly on his fingertip.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” came Hyuck’s voice loudly from the next cubicle over, causing Mark to cackle, feign a look of fear and clutch his chest dramatically.

“Donghyuck,” you hiss, eyes darting to your boss’s open office door, her eyes peering inquisitively at the loud laughter.

“This is a place of work, where you know, people with jobs work,” Hyuck continues, tapping loudly on his keyboard on a blank document that you know isn’t actually a work assignment.

“Mark, you should go,” you say quietly, feeling embarrassed at how your cheeks are heating at the interaction. You can feel Hyuck’s gaze on your back and don’t need to turn around to know how disappointed he is.

You move to stand before a hand is on your shoulder, pushing you gently back into your chair. Mark places his other hand on the arm of your chair, caging you in as he brushes his knee against yours to step between them. He dips down, pushing your long hair from the side of your face and brushes his lips gently right at the corner of your eye, moving his lips to your ears to speak softly to you.

“You know he wants to fuck the shit out of you, right?” he teases, letting his teeth graze against the shell of your ear, eliciting a quiet whimper from your lips.

“I bet he wouldn’t even satisfy you though, my little whore likes to be bruised up when the night is over,” he continues, hand moving achingly slow to your lap and toying with the hem of your short dress. At this moment you desperately wish you had worn pants today but your heart is pounding so hard you can barely focus.

You gulp loudly, wanting to scold him for making a scene in your office, but your mouth is bone dry. Hyuck clears his throat loudly from behind you, the typing on his computer having stopped completely and you know he is sitting wide-eyed staring at the two of you.

“Maybe a nice boy like that is what you really want though,” he finished, hand getting dangerously close to your soaked underwear before he’s suddenly leaning back against your cubicle again and you’re left with laboured breathing and a red face.

“See ya, Hyuckie,” he sings before turning on his heel, tossing his leather jacket over his shoulder, putting an extra bounce in his steps knowing everyone’s eyes (and especially yours) are watching his ass jiggle with each movement.

“I fucking hate that guy,” Hyuck mutters under his breath as you turn to give him a look, shaking your head with a deadpan look on your face. Hyuck’s face is flushed and when he stands to move to the copy machine, you swear you can see him half-hard in his pants.

“Yeah, you and me both,” you mutter under your breath as you return to your computer, seeing a message in the corner of your screen from your noisiest coworker, asking if Mark is single. You fire off that he’s not available, and definitely not to date them before pushing away from your desk angrily and practically stomping to the coffee machine in the back of the office.

You loudly manoeuvre the machine, inserting your favorite roast and preparing your cup with sugar and a little creamer. Your core is still throbbing and you try to think of anything that will distract you from the filthy thoughts flying through your mind, images of Mark pushing you up against the shelves of the supply closet with rolls of paper towels crashing down around you as he pounds into you.

You’re pulled back to the present as he suddenly slides into you without warning, not having heard him pull away from you at the edge of the bed to slide on a condom or remove his clothes.

He towers over you for a moment before dropping to his elbows in a smooth motion, arching his back to thrust up into you, gripping the small of your back to lift your ass off the bed, his hips colliding with yours with each thrust.

You feel your eyes roll back at the feeling of him pounding into your g spot and can’t help the incoherent ramblings that tumble from your now chapped lips. You drop your tongue down to wet them, accidentally making eye contact with him as you do. The look in his eyes shifts briefly as you feel yourself clench around his cock, rolling your hips as a particularly whiny moan erupts in your throat.

Before you can move again, he dips down, capturing your lips in his, causing your breath to catch in your chest in surprise. You barely have a chance to close your eyes and notice his eyes are wide open as he kisses you, a blank look held there, without an ounce of intimacy or lust.

You pull your eyes shut at this severe red flag as you angle your head to deepen the kiss, reaching up to brush your fingertips against the buzzed hair at the back of his head. He lets your tongue push into his mouth and warmly caress his while he grips your ass, leaving handprints. You know this moment won’t last and you know it will be weeks before his lips even brush yours again so you try to burn the feeling into your memory.

The push and pull, the struggle for power and the upper hand - it’s something you dread but equally something you crave. You’ve found something dangerous and evil in Mark Lee and you’re playing with fire every moment you open your legs and heart to him. But you can’t stop yourself and he knows that you would do anything for him at this point. He has you right where he wants you and you willingly let him take every shred of dignity you once had. You’re a desperate, horny, moth drawn to the flame.

That is, if the flame drove a souped up two seater and had a bubble butt.

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