#heathen black metal

[mariajoseignacia666]

Graveland

[triste-guillotine]

MORRIGAN "Anwynn" CD 2022 ("...Black towers of stone, Gruesome and bold. I feel my life pass onto way back home. I just close my eyes, As I follow the ravens call...")

1. Anwynn (Intro) 2. Herald of the Sleep 3. White as Snow 4. Blind Witch 5. Feoladaire 6. Taech Duinn 7. Rome 8. Ivy 9. Arawn (Outro)

[vinterravn]

My solo project

[sid-onmyface]

[spilladabalia]

The Soft Pink Truth - Black Metal

[msgexymunson]

Rumour Part Three: Roles

Description: as you and Eddie establish your relationship, it seems like no one can get in the way of it. Or can they?

Warnings: NSFW minors DNI or I'll poke you with a sharp stick, a trifecta of angst, fluff and smut, male oral receiving, fingering, slight switch dom!older!pierced!eddie x slight switch sub!fem!reader, unprotected sex, slight pain kink

A/N: I'm so glad you lot are enjoying this as much as I enjoy writing it, makes me very happy to see all your comments and reblogs, thank you!! Also I apologise to anyone called Estelle or Matt ;)

❤ If you enjoy this, please reblog the hell out of it, pretty pretty please! ❤

5.6k words

Masterlist     Part 1  Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

Lying in bed with Eddie was everything. It was two in the afternoon, and neither of you wanted to get up just yet. A warm glowing bubble had settled over the both of you and you were loath to break it. Eddie's wearing a pair of black trunks, you're in an oversized t shirt and no pants, since Eddie had pulled them down three times last night and it seemed an exercise in futility to put them on again.

Your legs were tangled together comfortably, like a pair of puzzle pieces finding their perfect match. Stroking your hand over his chest, you were tracing the lines of his tattoos.

"How many do you have? Tattoos I mean," you clarify, circling a devils head and horns just by his mass of chest hair.

"Pass. I've no idea sweet thing. Dozens. A hundred? I dunno." His hand travels to yours, helping you trace around a scorpion on his abdomen, muscles flexing underneath your touch.

"Well, which ones the oldest?"

He shifts to show you his arm. "See these bats?"

You nod, fingers whispering over his skin to rub at the flock of faded bats on his forearm.

"Got them when I was 17. No real reason, just thought they looked metal." He snorted a little laugh at his past self.

You smile at the glimpse of the past he's allowed you to see. Gazing up at him, you ask "what's your favourite one?"

He grins and winks at you. "Oh that's easy. Shift over a little?"

You move backwards a bit whilst he switches positions to lay on his side away from you, displaying his completely tattooed back.

It's the only tattoo he has in colour. A full back piece of a monstrous dragon with five heads, wreathed in flame. The art is incredible, so intricate and beautiful. You run your hands over it, marvelling at the details.

"Its pretty awesome Eddie."

He rolls back over to face you, fingers fluttering over your figure.

"I love it. Its Tiamat, the five headed dragon Goddess, from Dungeons and Dragons."

You laugh, shaking your head. "You nerd."

He chuckles back. "Yup, 'fraid so."

Nuzzling his face into your side, you hear his muffled voice "what time is it?"

Nearly 2:15."

"Urgh, I need to be in the shop at 3:45." He sighs into your shirt, then sits up.

"I'm gonna take a shower." After pecking you on the cheek, he swings his muscular legs off the bed and makes his way to the bathroom.

You sigh in contentment at the empty room, then pad your way out to the kitchen area to make some coffee for the pair of you. Once the pot is done you pour one for yourself.

Busying yourself in the kitchen, seeing if there were enough ingredients to make pancakes, you hear Eddie's voice from the doorway.

"Oh you made coffee, thanks sweets."

"No problem baby- oh."

Well fuck me.

There he stood, completely naked, roughly rubbing a towel through his wet mane of hair. Body glistening, steam rolling off his skin, tattoos darker and gleaming wet. His muscles shone in the light, taunt frame perfectly on display. Damp chest hair dripped deliciously down to his happy trail. Your eyes were inevitably drawn to his impressive length hanging between his legs, slightly pink and heavy looking, piercing glinting, inviting you over.

Glistening in front of you, so effortlessly, he looked like some sort of heathen God. You'd happily get down on your knees and worship him forever.

"What you staring at? Something you like sweet thing?" Eddie tips his head at you, smug smile creeping across his face.

Your mouth is hanging open. Snapping it shut, cheeks glowing, you walk over to him.

"We had sex like, three times last night and you still blush at me naked? You're too cute." He chuckles at you.

He stops laughing when you reach him and drop to your knees, hands trailing up his thighs.

"Woah, pretty girl, what are you doing?"

You take his member into your hands, running your palms over his length, feeling it harden quickly from your soft touches.

"I wanna, I wanna give you head."

He smiles softly at you. "Sweets you don't need to do that."

You keep running your hands over him, one dipping to cup his balls, rolling them gently in your hand. He lets out a shaky breath.

"You always take care of me, you never let me." You frown. "But I want to. Please Eddie?"

He moans, eyes rolling back. "Always so fuckin' polite. Shit."

Running your tongue up the length of his fully hard cock, you cover it with open mouthed kisses, licking and gently sucking at his shaft. Eddie hisses; you hear the towel he was holding flump to the floor, large hand coming to rest on the back of your head, engulfing your hair.

Taking his tip into your mouth, you trace around each cold steel ball with your tongue, swirling around either end of the piercing, swallowing pre cum. Eddie groans loudly, thumb rubbing the back of your head with encouragement.

Rubbing your tongue back and forth over his slit, you use your hands to work his shaft, dribbling spit to help glide across him. His slippery hard length is pulsing in your hands.

"Holy shit, pretty girl, that's- fuck, that's really good."

You moan around him, humming at the praise, doubling your efforts. You need him to come. He makes you feel so good all the time and you need him to know.

Trying your hardest to please him, you take him into your throat as much as you can. Granted, it's only just over halfway down his dick, but from the noises he's making it's enough. You feel the strange bump of steel at the back of your throat. Using your hands for the rest, you stroke him firmly. Each movement conveying just how much he means, how much you want to worship him.

"Oh sweet thing, God that's- oh fuck, hmm." Eddie's lost the power of speech which you take as the highest compliment. He's listening to your prayers.

Releasing him from your mouth, you stroke him with your hand and gently take one of his balls in your mouth, suckling gently, running your tongue all over it. Eddie was clearly not expecting it; you feel his legs shudder and a high pitched whine expel from his mouth. You smirk, taking the other in your mouth for the same treatment whilst firmly stroking his dick, endeavouring to show him your devotion.

"Oh fuck I'm gonna- shit, please- let me cum in your mouth" he's breathless and twitching, flushed red, practically quivering at your reverence.

You take his cock back into his mouth and hollow your cheeks, bobbing up and down his length quickly, squeezing his balls in your hand.

"Oh fuck, I'm, fuck-" as he shoots his load into your mouth. You swallow and swallow around his length, not stopping until he's whimpering, empty, his fill of your worship well and truly taken.

Halting your movements you behold him through damp lashes.

"Was that ok?"

"Fuckin' hell sweet thing, it was a little bit more than ok. Jesus H. Christ, I've got to go to work. Fuck, how am I this lucky?"

You blush and stand up, placing a kiss to his full lips.

"You want your coffee now?"

"Yeah, and a cigarette, before I do anything else." He crumples onto the couch, grabbing the towel to hide his modesty.

You get his coffee, add sugar and creamer, and bring him his cigarettes. Beaming at you, he takes you into his lap.

"What's this all about? Being all sweet to me."

You hide your head in his chest, suddenly shy. No matter how much confidence you portray in the world, the minute you get a look from Eddie it dissolves.

"I dunno, I just, I wanna take care of you Eddie."

He flashes an soft grin and holds you close, planting a sweet kiss on your forehead. "You already have sweet thing."

********************

Later that evening you're wiping down tables at the bar and collecting stray glasses.

"Hey, you may as well go, I'll finish up tonight, it's dead anyway." Your manager shouts over to you.

"Thanks!" You deposit the glasses in the dishwasher, hanging up your apron.

You check the time, 11pm. I wonder if he's still at the shop?

Eddie works late sometimes, he never wants to get up before noon so his client base tended to be night owls like him. Deciding to take the risk, you throw on your jacket and march into the chilly night air, walking the couple of blocks over to the tattoo shop.

Turning the corner, you see the shutters are down but the light is still on upstairs. You give it a minute, stopping to smoke a cigarette that Eddie had pre rolled for you. As you smoke, you hear voices, and a woman's laugh, clear as a bell.

Your stomach drops out from under you. Feeling your heart skipping a sick thud, then rushing blood, faster; faster than should be possible whilst standing still.

Ok calm the fuck down.

You take a breath, trying to calm the anticipated anger that's buzzing in your system and clouding your brain. It's stupid, you know, entirely unwarranted. It doesn't stop your mind leaping to the worst possible outcome.

Suddenly the door swings open and some Hollywoodian goddess swans out the door, all blonde mane, bust and teeth. Eddie walks out with her, giving her an embrace.

"Thanks Eds, you're the best!" She keens; shooting you what can only be described as a Look, then sways off on her too high heels.

"See you sweetheart!" He waves. The nickname forces an angry blush to the tips of your ears. Eddie turns to go back inside, then sees you and looks surprised.

"Hey pretty girl! What you doing here?" His grin is sugary and warm at your unexpected presence, settling the angry rolling feeling in your stomach. The rage is still there; no longer an explosive boil, but a simmer.

"Came to check, see if you were still working. I got off early."

"Come in then sweets, I gotta tidy up before I leave." He takes large strides back inside and you struggle to keep up with him.

Making his way back to his workstation, he's throwing away leftover bottles and paper towels covered in ink splotches, whilst you try and act as normal as possible.

"So, who was that?" Voice quivering ever so slightly as you take your coat off.

"Oh that's Estelle, finished her lower back piece today." He says, not even looking up, removing his gloves.

Ah, tramp stamp, I knew it.

"There's a band playing tomorrow night, at a bar not far from here, she said. Not too heavy, you should like it. What do you think sweet thing?" He looks up at you, eyebrows raised.

"Huh? Oh sure, whatever. Sure she's got great taste,"  Shrugging at him, you look around the walls of the shop at the various artworks hanging up.

"Woah, you being a bit judgy pretty girl?" He smirks.

"Why? She a librarian or something?" You bite back, eyes narrowing.

He laughs, "no she's a stripper."

"Oh course she fucking is," you mumble, cheeks burning.

He perches on the leather chair, arms out. "Hey, c'mere."

You huff, but move closer, allowing yourself to be hugged, arms pinned at your sides.

"What's up, sweetheart?" He brushes your cheek and you flinch, jaw clenching. Concern fills his eyes, brows heavy with confusion.

"Don't call me that. You just called her that."

You see realisation dawn on that stupidly handsome face of his, and his gaze grows softer.

"Oh, pretty girl, are you jealous?"

You look down at your own hands sandwiched between the two of you, unable to meet his eye. A firm grip holds your chin, pulling you to face him, smooth smile with a hint of smirk pervading his features.

"Listen, you have nothing to worry about. That woman's got more silicone in her than a Barbie doll. Not my thing." You giggle slightly, a small smile threatening to push your mouth corners upwards. "I call everyone sweetheart, it's nothing."

You pull away from him, eyes narrowing. "Yeah? Why call me sweetheart then?"

He holds his hand to his chest, miming being hit. "Ooft, you got me there. Force of habit."

He grabs your hand, kissing your knuckles.

"I don't call her sweet thing." He pulls you closer, "or pretty girl." His hands begin stroking up and down your sides. "Those are reserved for you." Slow, soft kisses are planted on your neck. "I don't call her my good girl. I don't call her my girlfriend."

Girlfriend.

He's not asked. And why would he, what are you, twelve?

"I'm your girlfriend?" You look at him with wide eyes and a wobbling lip.

"Well I fuckin' hope so, I've said you are to everyone I've seen today. I think Estelle was pissed at me for not shutting up about you to be honest."

You can't help but giggle triumphantly at that. Staring at him, you look at his neck, the side untouched by tattoos. Mischievous look adorning your features, you bend and kiss into his neck. Softly, at first, so he melts into your touch, then you grip him, and suck.

"Pretty girl, oh fuck, what are you doing?"

You release his neck with a wet suck, looking pleased with the purplish mark that's beginning to blossom.

"Marking my territory."

He puffs out a laugh "oh my little jealous girl," and strokes your head.

Somehow that's makes you madder. You're not a jealous girl. You're a woman.

You shove him a little. "Lie back."

He smirks at you, but he listens, lying fully in the reclined tattoo chair, eyes trying to work out your next move.

Clambering on top of him, you tug at the hem of his t shirt. He pulls it over his head, exposing his torso. You run your fingers down, finding spots to suck bruises into, taking small mouthfuls of whatever exposed, ink free skin you can find.

"What you doing sweet thing?" He chuckles.

"I'm trying to find blank bits to hickey!"

He laughs out loud at your frustrations. Until you sink your teeth into his soft flesh.

"Oh pretty- oh fuck!" He practically yelps, hips thrusting upwards.

You gaze down at him, taking in his flushed cheeks, round eyes and heaving chest.

Oh.

"Wait, does that turn you on?" You raise your eyebrow at him, fingertips ghosting his sides. 

"Is it that much of a stretch to think I've got a thing for pain?" He says it confidently, gesturing to his inky body whilst cockily smirking; yet this appears masked, false. Looking in his eyes you can tell how much you've affected him

Not saying anything, you merely pinch one of his nipples and twist it lightly. Eddie's mouth falls open, pretty little moan escaping those full lips, eyebrows knitted.

Grinning deviously, you bend over him and take the other nipple into your mouth, rolling your tongue around it, before nipping at it and pulling with your teeth.

"Jesus H. Christ! Fuck."

You look up at him. Eddie's flushing the prettiest pink colour, mouth practically drooling, eyelids heavy with lust. You've never seen him like this before, losing control. Wait, that's not it. He's relinquishing control, giving himself to you.

You stand up and he huffs at the loss of contact, until you begin stripping off your clothes. He hurriedly pulls his jeans and boxers down, not even bothering to take them off, just bunching them at his ankles. His dick looks painfully hard, almost dribbling, angry red at the tip. Swinging your leg back over you straddle him, sliding your pussy over his length, back and forth. Your nails drag harder down his chest than you ever would have dared before, leaving scarlet paths joining up his inked frame. He bucks, shaking underneath. You continue to glide your sopping heat over him, grinding over the shaft, relishing the tingle of his piercing when it flits over your clit.

"Please, sweet thing." His whole demeanour has changed, begging you, pleading with you. An idea pops into your brain.

Leaning forward, you whisper low and quiet in his ear, "are you gonna be a good boy for me?" The low groan he releases resonates from his chest and into yours, firm hands coming to settle on your hips.

You take his hard length in your hands and guide him into you, slipping gently onto him inch by inch. No matter how many times, it still feels like the first time. Your face scrunches up, discomfort evident.

"You ok sweets?" Eddie's rubbing your hip in consolation.

"Yeah, just... really fuckin' big baby."

He smirks, as always. "Never get tired of hearing that."

Stroking your hands down his chest, you hold onto his sides firmly, possessively, rocking into him. Each movement, each flick of your hips produces a ripple of pleasure. You grind down, rocking hard, back and forth, building up the rhythm, the pressure in your stomach building, your throbbing want intensifying.

Once you start bouncing up and down Eddie's done for. You see his face, desperately trying to keep some measure of control whilst he stares at your tits bouncing right in front of him, at his dick being swallowed up by your hungry cunt.

The noise of squelching sex surrounds you, moans and whines adding to the pornographic soundtrack. You can tell Eddie's barely holding it together, as he quickly reaches for your clit, rubbing almost vicious circles, eager for you to come before he does.

The tell tale tingle grips hold of you, a buzzing through your core and up your spine. The shattering of nerves; a delivery of white hot light spills from his fingertips and into your being, filling you to the brim with his rapture.

You throw your head back at the intense feeling, letting out whimpers of devotion to him, rocking back and forth, willing the moment to continue. You're barely aware of his own release, only realising when you finally snap your eyes open to see his slam shut, tensing beneath you, letting go in a gun shot, tension ripped from his body by your gripping walls.

Leaning forward, hot panting breaths mingling with each others, you press your lips into a searing kiss.

In between pants, Eddie manages, "not that I mind, but fuck, what's gotten into you today, pretty girl?" He chuckles, stroking your cheek with a rough thumb pad.

"You're mine." You simply say, protective hand laid onto the middle of his chest, over his heart. He grips your hand in his, and smiles.

********************

The next evening you're perching on a stool at a moderately busy bar, twisting a napkin in your hands. Nerves have you in their grip whilst you wait for Eddie to arrive, bubbling away in your tummy. It seems strange, but this is technically your second date, the first being when he took you to lunch. Eddie hadn't exactly courted you, he claimed you. If you were honest with yourself, you were his the first time he laid eyes on you.

Still wanting to impress him, you'd decided to dress up. Kitted out in a short black dress with a cute cherry pattern, lower cut than you would usually dare, fishnet hold ups and ankle boots, you were confident he would be pleased.

You had certainly attracted the attention of a few men dotted around the bar, lone sharks circling. Paying them no mind, you sipped your drink and waited on Eddie.

It was a pretty decent looking place, certainly nicer than the dive where you worked. The ceilings were high, with huge light fixtures hanging almost like art pieces, letting out twinkling light, bathing the crowd in spots of colour, sparkling on the red linoleum floor. The atmosphere was buzzing with anticipation for the upcoming band, people smiling, waving at friends, rushing back and forth to the bar to get drinks. You sat on a stool at the end of the bar, neatly tucked in a corner. The light was good here, and it was opposite the main entrance, perfect for spotting Eddie when he eventually got here.

Looking up to check the door again you lock eyes with another man. He smiles and starts walking over.

Well that's typical.

You roll your eyes, but as he gets closer, you breathe a sigh of relief. It's one of the regulars at your bar. At least you may not have to wait for Eddie alone.

"Hey Matt!" You smile as he walks over, giving you a brief hug.

"Hey darlin! Never see you in here, you're always working!" He grins at you. Matt always chatted to you when you were on shift, checking how you were doing. Objectively, he was a handsome guy. Broad shouldered, with a mop of messy ashen blonde hair and perfect teeth. He looked like he was around his mid twenties, and definitely a former jock judging by his physique.

You usually saw him with his girlfriend, an almost frightening replica of him in female form. In your head you'd nicknamed them the Cheer Clones since they reminded you so much of the cheerleaders in your high school.

"Where's-" don't say cheer clone, don't say cheer clone, shit what's her name-

"Jessie? We broke up." He frowns, looking down for a second, then waves at the bar tender.

"Oh, so sorry to hear that, you ok?" You pat his arm in consolation.

"I'll be ok, really. You want a drink?"

"Sure, bourbon and soda please."

He orders and pays for the round, sitting on the bar stool next to you.

"So, hot date?" He asks, waggling his eyebrows.

You giggle, hiding your face in your hands, "yeah how did you know?"

"Er, girl, you live in jeans! He must be pretty special." He grins at you.

You flush at the mere thought of Eddie. You can't deny, these past few weeks had been pretty spectacular.

"Wow, you've got it bad, huh? Pleased for you." He says, sipping his beer, looking just over your shoulder and flashing a small smile.

Before you can turn, an arm is thrown over your shoulder; rough stubble and soft lips touch your forehead.

"Sorry I'm late, sweet thing."

"Eddie!" You smile, looking up at him, but his stony glare is cemented on Matt.

"Baby, this is Matt, he comes to my bar. Matt this is Eddie, my boyfriend." You gesture between the two.

Matt sticks his hand out. Eddie looks at it briefly as if it offends him, before staring back at Matt's eyes.

"Pleasure to meet you." Matt puts his hand down but still flashes a winning smile at Eddie.

"Yeah, nice to meet you too Mike." And he motions his hand at the bar tender, immediately getting his attention and ordering a beer, arm never leaving your shoulders.

"Its Matt, actually-"

"Yeah, sure thing champ." Eddie says dismissively, slaps a note down to pay for the beer, and nearly drags you to your feet.

"Bands about to start, let's go my pretty girl."

You move, being pulled by the wrist, and mouth a 'sorry' at Matt. He just smiles and salutes you as you go past.

Eddie stops once you are free from Matt's gaze, stepping back to pull your arm in the air above you, making you turn for him so he can admire your outfit. You cannot help but admire his.

Eddie's dressed up for you. The first thing that grabs your attention and refuses to let go is the fact that your very sexy boyfriend is wearing eyeliner. That fact alone has you weak at the knees.

He's wearing a black button down, undone to the point of unholiness, exposing his chest tattoos and a thin silver chain just kissing the tops of his pecs. His black jeans are tight, hugging every muscle, leading down to chunky army boots. There's no other way to describe it; he exudes sex. It's as if every fibre of him was made to ooze this animalistic aura; you could nearly smell it in the air.

"You look really great Eddie."

Meeting his eyes, you see his pupils are blown, drinking in every ounce of your figure with blasphemous intention.

"Sweet thing, you look incredible." He pulls you close to wrap his arms around you. "Remind me never to let you wait for me inside a bar again." 

You laugh, love drunk eyes roaming his face, "you jealous Mr Munson?"

He kisses you full on the lips, a fiery kiss, hot and messy in its delivery, tongue chasing yours. When he breaks away, you lean forward in hope, missing the contact.

"Why should I be? I already have you." He winks, then pulls you so your back is flush to his chest, manoeuvring you both to face the band who have just come on stage.

The band are indeed decent, and pretty soon the heady atmosphere, the bourbon, and the warm glow of Eddie's arms around you have you grinning and swaying to the music. You're moving your hips, ass against Eddie, enjoying the moment.

Eddie's large hands never leave you. If he's not wrapping his arms around your neck, he's holding you protectively by the hips, keeping you close to him. If anyone in the crowd got too close or rowdy, he was there, keeping you safe.

The band takes a break and Eddie whips you around to face him, hands rubbing up and down your sides, predatory gaze fixed on you.

"If you're gonna keep dancing like that pretty girl, I may just have to take you home." He smiles, biting his lip.

"Hmm, I think you can wait a couple hours." You throw your arms around his neck and press a kiss to his lips.

"Ok, I'm gonna go to the bathroom," he fishes out a note from his pocket and hands it to you, "go grab us some drinks on me."

You take the money and peck him again, scooting your way back over to the busy bar.

The crowd has merged and flowed, making their way to the bar, dam about to burst with the influx of people wanting the same thing.

You queue, waiting for service, when you notice a friendly face next to you.

"Hey Matt, how's your evening going?" You say, touching his arm.

"Great thanks, the bands really good. Look, sorry if I upset your boyfriend there."

You giggle and roll your eyes "don't worry about it."

"Seriously, I didn't mean to offend him I just-"

Suddenly, Matt has disappeared and you are staring at Eddie's torso.

"Come here sweets. Say goodbye to Mark."

You here a small voice say "it's Matt, actually-"

"Whatever kid" Eddie growls, leading you away from the bar.

"Eddie, what are you doing I haven't even got drinks yet-"

"Just come with me."

You allow yourself to be lead, pulled helplessly by the wrist. Eddie snakes around the crowd, leading you past the backstage area and into a small bathroom. It's strange that he seems to know the layout of the place so well. You stop him in his tracks, annoyed by his behaviour.

"Eddie, seriously what's up with you? You know I'm not just gonna leave you right?" Soft eyes meet his.

"I know sweet thing," and he presses you against the wall so fast it makes your head spin.

"I just need everyone else to know that."

Without further warning his hand is stroking up your thigh, fingers grazing your clothed pussy. Given his urgency, his clear need for you, his touch is soft. His other hand snakes to the back of your neck, forcing eye contact. The eyeliner only focuses how intensely he looks at you, dark circles drawing you in.

"Can I make you feel good sweet thing?" Fingertips fondling your heat, hot breath asphyxiating. Eddie overwhelms you, exuding heat, passion making it difficult to breathe.

"Yeah" you manage breathily, devastated by his presence, trying to keep some semblance of self. It's so difficult to when Eddie tears you apart by simply being there, in your space.

Rough fingertips pull your underwear aside and massage across your slit, finding your clit immediately. Your breath catches in your throat, shock of delectation pervading your senses.

Eddie slides two thick fingers deep inside you making you gasp. He rocks them into you, setting a ruthless rhythm, eyes never leaving yours.

"Now, I'm going to make you come pretty girl, twice in a row, and you're gonna enjoy it, ok?"

You mumble some semblance of yes, ability to concentrate considerably lessened by the sure movements of his hand. He curls his digits into you, hitting the spot inside you that makes your toes curl inside your boots.

"Eddie, fuck, yes" you keen and writhe against the wall, eye contact stripping you of any modesty, any thought.

Eddie's relentless movements continue as he sucks bruises onto the tops of your breasts, purple colouring blossoming against your chest, a blooming floral display of blood soaked skin.

"Oh my God Eddie," you moan, his sure hands coaxing pure bliss from your core, sopping wet noise of your arousal echoing through the small space.

"That guy out there, your friend, what's his name?" Eddie's eyes bore into yours, hand not stopping.

You're pulled out of the pleasure pit he's thrown you into, visibly confused. "You- you mean Matt? He's just-"

Eddie doubles his efforts, curling his fingers into you harder, palm rubbing hard against your clit, reigniting the fire in your belly.

"Oh my God Eddie, fuck-" you grind yourself unabashedly against his thick fingers, immense feeling towering over you, threatening to topple at his very command.

"You gonna come pretty girl? My pretty girl?" He says, dark eyes piercing into your very soul, "come then, come on my fucking fingers."

His gravelly voice and confident manoeuvres are pushing you over that edge, emphasis on his swear word singing through your nerves and into your cunt. Unable to process such feeling, such unbridled ardour, you moan loudly into the air without a care of who could hear you.

Your release pushes through you with all the force of a natural disaster. Whipping through your soul like a hurricane of sensation, cunt throbbing with the complexity of feeling. It rips away any insecurities, making you moan as loud as your body needs without fear of repercussion.

But it doesn't stop, not yet. Eddie's not through with you. His movements continue, coaxing you through the orgasm and into the other side, relentless and unabating.

"Fuck Eddie, please, its too much-"

Eddie's free hand grips your chin, forcing you to make eye contact with him.

"Do you want me to stop." The question is real, but your commitment waivers, enjoying the relentless hold he has on your pussy.

"No, please-" you moan, your flower continuing to open to him, flesh yielding and soft as putty in his hands. A fuzz settles over your brain; you mind clouded, filled with Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Your eyes roll back, unable to control your gaze. Eddie shakes you lightly by the chin, forcing you back to reality.

"So what's that guy's name?"

You look at him through damp lashes, tears building in the corners of your eyes, utterly incapable of speech.

"I said, what's that guy's name?"

"Eddie, fuck I- wha?" Words a slur, body limp against the wall; the only thing keeping you upright is the burly hand firmly between your legs, fingers deep inside; your Eddie's marionette.

"Good girl. That's what I thought." Eddie smiles smugly, running his thumb over your clit in swift motions, fingers continually hitting that spot inside you.

Your second release feels even more powerful than the first, ripping a passionate whine from your throat. The noises you're making are incomprehensible as your whole body seizes up and your slick shoots out, coating Eddie's hand, your thighs, and even the floor.

"Jesus fucking Christ you are the devil." It comes out as a rush, almost one word.

Laughing deviantly, Eddie moves his hand and you nearly crumple to the floor. He catches you, pushing you against the wall with his body. Your eyes are drawn to the deep v in his shirt, to his inky muscled chest.

"Eddie?" You look at him and he stares back, faces impossibly close.

"Yes sweet thing?"

"You've ruined my underwear."

He laughs deeply. "What can I say, it's a talent. Can I take you home my little super soaker?"

You flush with embarrassment, hot cheeks aflame. "Eddie!"

Straightening your clothes and attempting to sort your hair out, you look down, taking in your love bitten chest for the first time. Purple red welts adorn the swell of your breasts in a low necklace of ownership. You'd be mad at him if it didn't make you throb inside.

He leads you back to the bar and towards the main entrance, attempting to get you home as quickly as possible to finish what he's started, when you're stopped in your tracks by cloud of perfume and blonde hair.

"Hey Eds!"

"Hey Estelle, you good? This is my girlfriend I told you about."

You smile at her dutifully, and spot a familiar face yet again, hovering by, his eyes trained on the marks on your chest.

"Estelle, nice to meet you! Hey, have you met Mark?" You gesture at him to move closer while Eddie snickers next to you.

He sticks his hand out to her "it's Matt actually."

Oops. 

Masterlist

Tag list part 1- rest will be in the comments

@angelsarecallin @cutiecusp @pxrxcxa @spencerinmydrawls @munsquinns @sillypurplemurple @tiannamortis @walleloveseve @sinczir @biblichornerd @frogers @lauraasiain @madiisixx @leftdonkeygothgoop-blog @rafestarkeysblog @kittykatvenom @southside-serpent-bae @psychedelicsandsunsalutations @biblichornerd @angelina16torres-blog

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

talk | myg | nyangnyang au

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Your husband Min Yoongi declares that he needs to be more of a whore. Nyan?!

warnings: discussion about sex life; husband!Yoongi x wife!reader with their pet white cat Nyangnyang; heavy make-out session; domestic + fluffy; nyangnyang!au but can be read alone tbh it's just a husband and wife chatting about their sex life + the antics of their peanut gallery lol

--

You didn’t quite believe in soulmates or fate, but you were sure that Min Yoongi was the love of your life.

“I think I need to be more of a whore.”

Precisely why.

Wait, what?

You looked up from wiping down the coffee table and stared at him.

“What?”

“Nyan.”

Your husband was sitting on the sofa. An attempt to rest, except the furball you both affectionately called cutie had immediately rocketed into his lap and began rolling around, loudly demanding pets and leaving white fur all over your husband’s black sweatpants. Nyangnyang the cat had zero concept of personal space. Your husband had a problem with saying no to those he loved. Her head was in his large palm as the other rubbed her belly. White fur was getting everywhere. Loud purrs punctuated the silence.

“Do you think our sex life is boring?” was Yoongi’s follow-up on his previous declaration.

You folded up the polishing cloth and left it on the glass table, figuring this was going to be more than a yes-or-no conversation. Strands of black hair fell past his temples, framing his black metal glasses and sharp dark brown eyes. He looked at you with a calm expression as if he was talking about the weather and not about how he thought he needed to be more of a whore.

You paused. “I don’t think so, but I figured the slowdown was because you worked on that important album. You said it was very emotionally draining.” Your husband was a music producer. He wasn’t allowed to talk about what he was working on, which was why he told his wife everything. Hey, his primary loyalty was to his wife. That and you weren’t going to tell a soul anyway. That would require social interaction. Ew. “You’ve been sleeping a lot and watching TV all day even after you wrapped it up.”

Nyangnyang rolled around and covered Yoongi’s thighs with more snow-white cat hair. You used to keep a lint roller in the living room until Yoongi realized the cat had been knocking it down and licking the sticky paper like an adhesive heathen. Then you switched to other types of lint-and-fur collectors. The cat still licked the tacky parts. Sigh. Now they had to be kept in the closet. You and Yoongi just accepted that you both would be covered in cat hair twenty-four-seven.

Welp.

He accepted the fluffy tail smacking his stomach and scratched behind Nyangnyang’s ears while watching you carefully. At least his baggy t-shirt was white. You stayed kneeling on the floor, curiously tilting your head, positioned on the other side of the smoked glass and black marble coffee table.

Finally, Yoongi sighed. “I think I need to try harder. I’m feeling outdone by you lately.”

You frowned. “Sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”

For some reason, the cat stood up, circling Yoongi’s lap again before flopping down. You noticed his pale hand hover over his nuts before Nyangnyang threw herself down again with a dramatic princess floof. You could relate.

Heh.

His eye twitched. “Watch it,” he muttered, casting his eyes downward.

The cat gave no fucks and shoved her pink nose into Yoongi’s palm.

“What about last night?” you continued. “You came four times. Your dick felt great.”

Your husband gave you the side-eye. “You know, there’s a person attached to this dick.”

You grinned.

He scoffed. “Just because you were into the dick doesn’t mean you were into me.”

Your grin disappeared. “What are you talking about? I only think about you during sex. There’s no one else I want to think about.”

But as soon as the words came out of your mouth, you could tell that wasn’t what Yoongi was getting at. He stuck his tongue into his cheek and his brows furrowed, glancing away for a moment to collect his thoughts. His hand on the cat’s belly stopped. Nyangnyang, being a little shit, kicked his wrist with her back paws. His hand started moving again without looking. The furball went back to purring up a storm. Your husband winced and tried not to show it. Despite his longer, lustrous hair and slender frame, Min Yoongi was a manly man at heart that enjoyed woodworking, basketball, and UFC as much as he enjoyed music, fashion, and picking out aesthetic living room pillows.

“I’ve been relying a little too much on you being sexy and leading everything without contributing myself,” he finally said, sounding a bit rueful in his deep and raspy voice.

You heavily restrained chiming in that all he needed to contribute was an open mouth and a hard dick. Good commentary, wrong timing. It was pretty clear what he was saying and it was pretty clear that you should shut up for now and listen.

Difficult for a smartass, but you’d manage.

“I don’t feel that you’re having the same experience I am. Just because you like being in charge doesn’t mean I should step back,” he went on, verbally working through his thought process and letting you in on it. You were a bit surprised hearing those words, as it was word-for-word something you mentioned before, although that was years ago when something similar happened. It had been you to bring it up then. He listens, huh. Yoongi ticked his head, his glasses reflecting light. “I feel I’ve gotten a little lazy. And, with it, been too in my head recently. I don’t like this feeling. I’m not performing well. I need to be more into it.”

It was a first for him to be so direct about this. Usually, you would bring it up for some reason or the other. He was always willing to talk about it, but, well. You had always had a more… intense… libido compared to Yoongi and, although some would argue it was a good problem to have, he often had to rise to the occasion (pun intended). Something he wanted to do and did so without hesitation, but that also meant that he was more sensitive to his own intrusive thoughts whereas you were too absorbed with fucking to notice any. Sex was when you were free, yet Yoongi had reasonable worries that interfered sometimes. You had sensed the tension last night and figured some fucking would help relax him. But it turned out the issue related to sex itself. Welp. Still, it was nice to hear him communicate with you.

“So… how would being a whore help?” you asked.

Another bombastic side-eye. “I meant being more actively involved into the sex. Acting like one.”

You raised an eyebrow with a straight face even though you were cackling inside. “Do you even know how to act like a whore? You’ve never been slutty in your entire life.” Added a little dismissive hand wave with your act. Just to be extra infuriating. “You think acting like a slut is so easy? Darling, being a whore is a way of life.”

Yoongi stared at you.

Blank expression.

“You’re so freaking annoying.”

The tip of your tongue grazed the edge of your smirk.

“Naow…”

Your husband rolled his eyes behind his glasses. Hot. Nyangnyang seemed to sense the kind of tension a cat wanted no part of and promptly abandoned Yoongi’s lap, marching off to laze somewhere else. Not that her parents noticed because they were too busy making googly eyes at each other.

“It’s the middle of the day,” Yoongi said quietly.

“Time of day never stopped a whore,” you countered.

His expression was a mix between pained and irritated. Perfect. Heavy sigh, halfway lifting himself off the couch before you started laughing, breaking the tension.

“I’m kidding,” you chuckled, flippant, standing up as well. “Have you gotten a little lazy? Hmm, maybe. But maybe I’ve been overbearing too, since all I think about is enjoying your dick until I’m worn out. I probably shouldn’t go that far, hah… Yoongi?”

He grabbed your wrist.

You paused, fixating your gaze on him. His direct stare. Dark eyes shadowed behind clear lenses. Gleaming porcelain skin. You were both in casual clothes for lounging at home. Your lavender sweatpants with a matching crop top weren’t exactly screaming sex. But, of course, you would confess that you always made sure to cress cutely for yourself.

You frowned. “We haven’t showered yet.”

He shrugged. He had reasonably broad shoulders for such a pretty face. Fucking sexy as hell. You were allowed to think that because you were his wife. “You don’t have to go down on me.” Then he let go of your wrist to reach behind your head and tilt it back, the base of your skull against the heel of his palm.

“What?”

Then you sucked in a tight breath as you felt the tip of his hot tongue slide up your neck.

His warm breath spread over your skin, sending a wave of chills throughout your chest.

“Didn’t you tell me sex is more than just the orgasm?” he murmured, heating the saliva clinging to your throat. “I completely agree.”

Under normal circumstances you would have had the smartass comment ready, was this the right situation to admit that the wife was always right, but you didn’t even have a chance to glance at him before his lips started feathering up the side of your neck, his deft hands in your hair, licking, kissing, his familiar scent invading your nose, his soft black hair against your cheek, every action tantalizing your senses.

It was then that you realized, yes, you did miss this.

As a married couple that lived together, you both had the luxury of skipping steps. You could get into the action any time and that was exciting in its own right. You also had the natural tendency to immediately get into it, using everything in your arsenal all at once. Speed, accuracy, precision, multiple sensations all over, forcing all of your past lovers to chase to keep up with you and not giving them time to react or prepare themselves. There wasn’t much time to pull on the leash, so to speak.

A whore always wanted to have sex, right?

So, acting like one meant…

Your hands slipped under his t-shirt and pulled him closer by the small of his back.

His teeth nicked the space under your ear and you shivered before moaning, feeling the tingling sensation of sucking skin and soft lips. It really was delightfully pleasant to be caught off guard by your favorite person.

“You… You’re saying I act like a whore…?” you gasped, still playing around.

His lips grazed your ear. Voice low, direct.

“You’d be one if I didn’t catch you and shackle you with a ring.”

Touché.

“What’s wrong with that?” you bit back.

He moved his head and you gazed at each other with one eye, lashes framing dark orbs that were the window to knowing each other far too well.

“Nothing. That’s why I’m trying to be more like you,” Yoongi purred.

Your lower halves collided. Layers of clothing and heated friction, his hardness pressing against your thighs, and then his lips caught yours in a fervent kiss. No different in the level of passion but you could tell he was different from last night. More mindful depth. Only focused on the moment. Tongue against tongue. His hands all over, sliding up into your hair and down your shoulder, gasping into your throat as your fingernails turned inward, scratching down his back mid lip-lock.

“Nyao!”

There was a flurry of wild flailing sounds and then a thud.

You both stopped kissing to stare into the bedroom. The door was open, as it usually was. A whizzing snow-white blur shot out of sight. The bed was partially visible from this angle. The right lower corner of the covers was messy and pulled out. You stared at it, trying to make sense of what the fuck just happened, still clutching your husband in your death grasp.

You blinked slowly.

“Nyangnyang, did you…”

“… Fail to jump onto the bed?” Yoongi finished for you with just as much disbelief in his voice.

Absolute silence.

“Hasn’t she made that jump hundreds of times?” you wondered out loud.

Yoongi grumbled. You turned your head back. He shrugged.

“Maybe it’s a sign to move to the bed.”

Hmmmm. You didn’t miss the want in his otherwise bland tone. “Why rush?” You let go of him even though your husband’s eyes were narrowing to death glare status. “It’s the weekend. We have all day. Besides, the rice will be done soon, so we should eat lunch.” As a very devious wife, you could tell Yoongi did not want to play this game but he also wanted you to give in first. He kept a firm hand on your waist.

“Hm, you’re right.”

“Yup,” was your chipper reply.

He gave you this look.

You grinned. Waved your finger as you chided him. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you dessert is after your meal? You can’t spoil your appetite with suga beforehand.” You bared the brunt of a criminally offensive side-eye. Worth it.

Then, Yoongi smiled.

Uh oh.

You had been with Yoongi long enough to know that behind that simple smile was a lot of cunning.

“But of course, my love.”

Well, a lazy Saturday just got a lot more interesting.

--

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

[morganbritton132]

Oh my god! How have I never thought about this? Your Steve is a teacher! He’s probably used to trying not to curse.

Now I’m imagining him at a metal concert, everyone decked out in black with a heavy bass pounding and he’s saying words like ‚fiddlesticks‘

Oh man, these guys have been touring for months like absolute heathens and then here comes Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington for the summer stretch of the tour with his ironing board and his clean polos. Steve, off the back of teaching second graders for an entire school year, steps onto the CC tour bus and his shoes stick to the ground because they never cleaned up the beer they spilled. He says without thought or irony, “Jiminy Crickets, guys.”

Steve and Eddie are not-to-subtly making out in his bunk when they hit a pothole the size of Manhattan and Steve cracks his head against the bunk above. He mutters, ‘Cheese and rice’ and every single member of the band that they thought was sleeping starts laughing.

The worst is when Steve slips into his teacher voice with fans because wrangling second graders into an orderly fashion isn’t that different from trying to get overzealous heavy metal fans to listen. Steve’s trying to tell the line waiting for the CC meet & greet that the band is running behind and they’re just so loud. He sticks his hand in the air until people quiet down and then is like, “Hand up, mouths shut. Let’s form a line and use our inside voices.”

[lulublack90]

Prompt 8 - Headphones

@jegulus-microfic February 8 Word count 940

Previous part First part

CW- Blood, cuts, the aftermath of torture.

Time slowed as they descended the stairs. Each step took an age. By the time he reached the bottom and stood at the door to the cellar, he was certain that an hour had gone by. In reality, it had been less than a minute. 

Sirius reached around him and opened the door. 

“Come on, James. He needs us.” Sirius urged him, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. James nodded and walked through the door. 

He was immediately hit by a strong, metallic smell—Iron—Blood! It was too dark to see clearly, but he could make out a figure slouched on a chair in the middle of the room. 

Sirius muttered a charm. A floating orb appeared, illuminating the small room. 

James gasped at the sight before him. Regulus’s head was lolling back, his face swollen and bruised. His body was covered in thin slashes, slowly oozing blood. James looked down at the pool of red collecting on the floor around the chair and grimaced. 

This was his fault. Regulus suffered because of him. 

He rushed forward, determined to help him. He yanked at the ropes, binding Regulus to the chair. Regulus groaned weakly at the movement. 

“It’s alright, love. I’ve got you.” He murmured into Regulus’s ear. Sirius had pulled open the slim cupboard in the corner and started rummaging through the collection of glass vials. 

“What do we need?” He shot over his shoulder at James. 

James looked Regulus over again. 

“Blood replenisher, pain potion and dittany if they have it.” James heard the clatter of vials being moved aside, and then Sirius was beside him, ripping the stoppers out with his teeth. 

“Reg, sweetheart, I need you to open your mouth so we can give you the potions.” He carefully lifted Regulus’s head upright and tried to pry his jaws apart. But Regulus chomped down, refusing to cooperate. 

“Regulus you absolute prat. Open your damn mouth, and let us help you!” Sirius butted in, taking a different approach to James. 

James stared in wonder as the younger man shot daggers at his brother but opened his mouth just wide enough for the potions to be poured in. 

“That’s the blood replenisher. The next one’s a pain killer, okay, Reggie. You’ll start feeling better in a minute.” Sirius assured his brother as he tipped the second vial into his mouth. 

James started using the basic healing charms that he knew. At least nothing seemed to be broken. He could heal cuts and bruises alright, but bones were another matter. 

Soon, Regulus’s face looked almost back to normal. The bruises would fade completely in the next day or two.  

James decided it would be easier for Regulus and themselves if he laid down, so he transfigured the chair into a cot and helped Sirius to lie him down flat.  

Sirius pulled out his headphones and carefully placed them over his brother’s head. 

“What the fuck have you just put on me.” Regulus’s hoarse voice croaked. He seemed more alert, so the potions must be helping.  

“Headphones,” He said as he pressed play on his walkman. “Brand new muggle technology. Thought it might help you relax while we fix the rest of you.” James had already started healing the cuts along one of his arms. 

“Ugh, fine. Who’s singing?” Regulus didn’t have the energy to fight his brother, and the music blocked the sound of his healing skin. 

“Bowie,” Sirius answered simply. 

“Bowies shit,” Regulus complained through gritted teeth. 

“Only because you’re a heathen. Bowie is magical. Do not dis, Bowie!” It took James a few frustrated moments to realise that Sirius was deliberately bickering with Regulus to keep his mind off what they were doing to him. 

He healed the last cut on Regulus’s left arm. His fingers brushed against the ugly black brand on his forearm. How different their lives could have been if Regulus hadn’t joined Voldemort. He drew his eyes away from the mark and started healing the next section. 

They healed every cut, and Sirius had the bright idea to add the essence of dittany into his body cream to make it easier to get it on all of Regulus’s sore body. 

When they were finished, Regulus cracked open an eye. 

“Can I go to sleep now?” He asked quietly. James and Sirius looked at each other, knowing they needed to get something from him, or Moody would come straight back down here, and they wouldn’t be allowed back down again. 

Not yet, love. We need some information. Something important that we can give to Moody.” He stroked his cheek delicately with the backs of his fingers. 

“Was this the plan all along? Bad Auror Moody, and then you two come in all, ‘let us save you, Reggie.’” He looked hurt like they were playing with him. 

“What? No, of course not. We had to plead with Mad-Eye just to be allowed to come down here.—”

“We’re trying to help you, you git. Do you really think James would try and trick you like that?” Sirius butted in, trying his more direct tactic again. 

Regulus looked up at James sadly and nodded. 

“Okay. I’ve got something. But I get to keep these things.” He pointed at the headphones. Sirius looked outraged. 

“I’ve only just got them. Plus, you don’t even like Bowie.” Regulus gave him a small smirk. 

“He’s growing on me.” 

“Gah. Fine. Keep them. Now tell us the information you have.” Sirius gave in quickly. This was more important than a walkman. Regulus swallowed hard and stared into James’s eyes as he told them.  

“He’s going to attack the Ministry.”

Next part

[mariajoseignacia666]

[triste-guillotine]

TARANIS "Taranis" LP 2007 (The first album of excellent Epic Heathen Heavy Black-Speed Metal from Flandriae)

1. Honour 2. Father of Storms 3. Blessed in Fire 4. Teutonic Invasion 5. Lost Fatherland (Anno 1830) 6. War is Here 7. The Chain of Wotansvolk 8. Night in Carpathia 9. The Last Goth's

Taranis | Taranis (bandcamp.com)

[vinterravn]

Follow me 🤘🏻

[sid-onmyface]

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Midnight Masquerade - Wolffe

Chapter Summary: The bottle chooses Wolffe, and you get more than you bargained for. Not that you're complaining.

Chapter Warnings: wraith!Wolffe x gn!reader; kinks: exhibitionism + humiliation; reader is called some derogatory names (mostly 'whore'), please do heed the 'humiliation' warning, slight praise kink, Dom/sub dynamics, consent implied but not explicitly discussed beyond establishing safewords, begging, orgasm denial, temperature play sort of, masturbation (m & gn), reader is called derogatory names (mostly 'whore') but is not outright insulted, light slapping (once and it's not hard), ghost? sex?, gaping (if you squint), unprotected penetrative sex (can be read PiV or PiA), aftercare with some soft!Wolffe

Word Count: 3.0k

A/N: idk where this was going to go when I planned it in September, but here we are. enjoy, you heathens (affectionate).

...Wolffe. 

As the rest of the table cheers, Cody and Fox banging on the table and making glasses rattle, you draw a steadying breath. Turning to the commander in question to your left, you fight to suppress a shudder at the sight of him. 

Atop his head rests a black iron crown, glistening in the strobing lights. His face—his entire body—has discorporated into roiling gray vapors; his facial features, shoulders and chest seem nearly solid, but the rest of him is partially translucent, ephemeral. When he meets your gaze, his eyes are pinpricks of light, one milky white, the other near-black obsidian. A shiver breaks through your self-composure. Wolffe’s eyes drift to peruse your seated form, one gaseous eyebrow lifting to convey interest.

Whatever he sees, it seems to amuse him, as his lips quirk up in a knowing smirk. Leaning into your personal space, he tilts his head so his lips rest next to your ear. You shiver again, but this time it’s from the immediate way the temperature drops when he crowds against you. His new form is frigid; you realize that the vapors drifting off of him aren’t just part of the aesthetic. He’s practically sublimating.

“Don’t think I forgot your little stunt with the olive, cyar’ika,” he husks into your ear. His voice has an echoic quality, like it’s coming from the end of a long metallic tunnel. “It was quite the show you put on. Because it was a show, wasn’t it. You like being watched.” 

Despite his coldness, your body flushes with intense heat at his words. You draw back enough to meet his eyes, those cold flints of steel, and bite your lip almost without conscious thought. A single nod dips your head. 

Wolffe withdraws with a knowing smirk, then rises to—well, not his feet exactly, but rises to his full height. You trip over the legs of your chair in your haste to follow suit. Wolffe reaches out to steady you; his hands, to your surprise, are solid enough to catch you, though you feel like you’ve been doused in ice.

“Thanks,” you mumble. 

He merely grunts in acknowledgement, then gestures for you to lead the way. You acquiesce, winding through the packed dance floor, muttering sorrys and excuse mes that get lost amidst the chest-rattling bass of the music. Anticipation, anxiety, and arousal all bubble in your body, aware of Wolffe’s burning gaze on your back as you walk. Anticipation because you’re curious: is he going to be able to touch you? Really touch you? Anxiety because it’s Wolffe, for kriff’s sake; he’s one of the most intense, focused men you’ve ever met. And arousal because, well, it’s Wolffe. Even before tonight, he could set your blood alight with just a hardened glance.

After what feels like an eternity struggling to get through the crowd, you emerge, breathless, on the other side. Stepping through the door that leads to the rest of the building, you glance over your shoulder to make sure Wolffe is still there. 

And damn near trip over your own feet as shock jolts through you.

Wolffe is, indeed, still behind you—and behind him float three more figures. The Wolfpack. Comet, Sinker, and Boost, all in similar states of incorporeality, but only Wolffe bears a crown on his head. The Wraith King, your brain whispers. For some reason, that idea only intensifies the arousal pulsing through you. 

Your knees threaten to give out. “W-Wolffe?” 

“Problem?” he says with a dangerous smirk. 

“I- I—” You swallow around the sudden dryness in your throat. Gaze darting between the other three men, you shake your head. “No.” 

“Good,” he says. “Open the next door on the left.” 

Doing as you’re told, you reach for the doorknob, a plain thing made of brass, and twist. The door swings open silently. Inside, your eyebrows raise in surprise at the plain, cozy bedchamber furnishings. It doesn’t escape your notice that there are multiple places to sit in this room. Electricity buzzes beneath your skin as you hold the door open for the Wolfpack, only allowing it to swing shut once the last of them has crossed the threshold. 

Comet, Sinker, and Boost drift toward the bed, leaving you to have a semi-private moment with Wolffe. Every inch the commander, even in this form, Wolffe dominates the space, his cumulous figure drawing your attention as he hovers before you. He reaches one hand up to cup your face. Goosebumps prickle across your skin as you again feel like you’ve been plunged into ice. But the sensation of his smoky form against your skin is nevertheless soothing. Intoxicating. Alluring. Kriff, what have you gotten yourself into? 

Wolffe ducks his head to catch your gaze. “Safeword, cyar'ika?” 

“Meiloorun,” you supply without hesitation. “Yours?” 

He chuckles. “Ours will be ‘Republic’.” 

You nod in understanding. Ignoring the spectral forms of the other three in your peripheral, you reach with tentative hands towards Wolffe. One of your hands connects with something semi-solid where his shoulder is, and you smooth your thumb over the muscled swell of the joint. Your other hand cradles his face, the most solid part of him. He leans into your touch for just a moment, eyes sliding shut. His lips press into your palm where he turns his head. You shudder in delight. 

“Surprised you’re willing to share,” you say. 

A short laugh rises from one of the others. Comet, you think, shakes his head. “We aren’t here to share.” 

“Oh.” A frown creases your forehead. Wolffe’s mismatched eyes are faintly amused when you glance back at him. “Then why—” 

“They’re here to watch,” Wolffe says, voice low and rumbly. “Since that is what you like, isn’t it, you filthy little thing?” 

Wolffe’s words pulse heat directly to your core. Breath hitching, you blink at him. “Y-Yes.” 

“Yes, what?” 

“Yes—” You swallow thickly, body nearly singing with anticipation. “—Commander.”

With a rakish smile, he yanks you towards him and crashes his freezing lips against yours. You groan against his mouth, hands flying to find purchase, to stabilize yourself. One hand bracing against his chest, the fingers of your other hand curl around one of the points of his iron crown. The metal is colder than cold—but you don’t pull away, don’t dare move an inch. Wolffe’s arms, half-corporeal, encircle you in a tight embrace. 

You’re surrounded by cold, yet all you feel is the blazing inferno of desire raging within you. Core throbbing with need, it’s all you can do to stand there and let Wolffe kiss you. His lips are insistent against yours, demanding and needy at the same time. When he pulls away, you gasp for breath, head spinning. 

“Get on the bed,” he orders. 

Walking on wobbly knees, you manage to make it to the soft, plush surface of the bed in one piece. Four sets of eyes burrow into your back as you move. You wonder if you shouldn’t feel more embarrassed by the three additional clones watching you fall to pieces for their commander. But when you turn, Comet, Sinker, and Boost each have intense expressions on their faces, their eyes burning with a dark fire. They’ve apparently shed whatever clothing they’d had, because you can see the faint, shifting outlines of their toned bodies and, at the apex of their thighs, the shadowy lengths of their cocks. 

A moan drags from deep in your chest. 

“Hear that, boys?” Wolffe says, stepping close to you once again. “I think our little whore likes having an audience.” 

A chorus of chuckles echoes in the room. Your attention, so focused on the way that Boost grips the base of his cock, is brought rudely back to Wolffe. His hand clamps around your jaw, forcibly turning your face to look at him.

“Eyes on me, cyar’ika,” he commands, voice stern and gruff. “They’re here to watch you, not the other way around.” 

“Yes, Commander,” you whimper. His grip on your face, squishing your cheeks, muffles your words a little. Judging by the way his lips twitch into a sultry smirk, he likes it. So you continue, “Sorry, Commander.” 

“Such a polite little whore,” he purrs. 

Kissing your puffed lips once, he releases you with a small, harmless shove. You plop heavily onto the bed, bouncing on the mattress. Wolffe hooks his hands into the waistband of your pants and tugs them down around your legs. The fabric pools at your ankles, trapped by your shoes, but he doesn’t seem to care as he taps the underside of your thigh so you shift higher on the bed. 

Knees falling open, you rearrange yourself to lay half-supported by the nest of pillows on the bed. Your chest heaves, though Wolffe has barely touched you. In the corner of your vision, you’re aware of the rest of the Wolfpack taking a step closer, each of them lazily stroking their hard lengths. 

But you keep your eyes on Wolffe, as instructed. He quickly sheds whatever ghostly clothing he’d had on, yet remains standing at the edge of the bed, just out of reach. Even as a wraith, his body sets your mouth watering. Toned abs, a prominent Adonis belt, and flexing, powerful thighs, you wish you could have it all under your tongue. And maybe you will, when this is all said and done. 

For right now, though, you draw deep breaths to keep yourself grounded. Your eyes lock on where Wolffe’s large, scarred hand cups his balls, a moan chafing from your throat. 

“Wolffe,” you gasp. 

“Touch yourself,” he orders. “Show us how filthy you really are. How fucking dirty your mind is.”

Whimpering pathetically, you trail your fingertips over your exposed skin toward the juncture of your thighs. Your core, aching and ignored, throbs in anticipation of receiving stimulation. A gasp tears from you as your fingers dance over the heated skin of your core. You set a lazy pace, easing into the pleasure the same way you’d lower into a hot bath, inch by inch, bit by bit. Sweat already begins to dew along your body. 

“Fuck, look at that,” Boost mutters from somewhere near your feet. 

“So kriffin’ hot,” Sinker agrees. His voice sounds strained—blissed out. “Such a good little pet, following directions so well for the Commander.” 

You whine through your teeth, the praise shooting straight to your core. Brow furrowed in concentration, you force yourself to keep your eyes on Wolffe. He smirks like he knows how much you’re struggling, how desperately you want to look at the others and watch them come apart at the sight of you. Kriff, Wolffe had read you for filth with such ease, and here you are, whimpering and whining and writhing before him when all he’s done is kiss you. 

“Wolffe,” you plead again. 

He ignores what you’re silently asking for. Instead, he cocks one eyebrow. “Faster.”

Your body obeys before your mind fully registers what he demanded of you. Hand playing against your skin faster, you tense, pleasure surging within you. Your toes curl in your shoes as your back arches off the bed, hips jerking up against your hand to meet your ministrations at the source. Moaning loudly, you screw your eyes shut to stave off the impending orgasm that builds in your lower belly. 

A light, freezing slap to your face has your eyes snapping open. 

“Eyes. On. Me,” Wolffe grits out. “I won’t say it again.” 

“Yes, Command-errrrr.” You whine as you continue working your body up to the cliff’s edge. Pleasure presses against you from the inside, building steadily in temperature and volume until it pushes against your brain in the most shattering way. You’re hanging on by a thread, body ready to hurtle over the edge—but Wolffe hasn’t given the go-ahead yet. 

“Please!” you keen. “Please, can I cum? Please, please, please!” 

“What d’you think, boys?” Wolffe says. “Think that’s allowed yet?” 

Three matching voices answer: “Not yet.” 

“Not yet,” Wolffe repeats, voice thick with the smirk on his face. When you whine, frustrated tears blurring your vision, Wolffe tuts. “Oh, poor thing. Don’t be silly now, cyar’ika. The only place you’re cumming tonight is on my cock.” 

His words nearly shove you over the edge. You rip your hand away from your center, chest heaving with gasping, ragged breaths. Forcing your body to relax, you grit your teeth against the near-blinding pleasure that threatens to shove you into orgasm. After a few long moments, your heart begins to beat slower, your legs cease their quivering, and you sigh, slumping against the bed. 

“Sit up,” Wolffe orders. 

With shaking limbs, you manage to push yourself into a sitting position, legs still awkwardly stuck in your pants and splayed at odd angles. Wolffe settles into the bed behind you, but the only way you can tell is the cold, biting air that brushes over your heated skin as he moves. The bed doesn’t dip under his weight like you would normally expect. 

“Here,” he says, gripping your hips with frigid fingers. You hiss at the contact, his spectral form an unwanted balm to the blazing fire of desire coursing through you. But he ignores the sound you make and instead helps hoist you up and back, into his lap. Bracing yourself on the bed—your hands go right through his thighs—you hesitate before reaching down. 

“Are you—” Your voice cracks. “Do you want me to— Can I—?” 

Wolffe chuckle rumbles against your back pleasantly. “Aw, poor baby, can’t even talk right. Take your time, cyar’ika.” 

Embarrassment flushes through you, the stinging heat of self-consciousness clashing with the cozy warmth of arousal and mixing with it until your chest feels tight with need. Licking your lips, you take a deep breath and try again. 

“Can I ride you?” you finally say, enunciating every syllable. 

Instead of answering, Wolffe releases one of your hips and reaches between your bodies to line his thick length up with your entrance. Dimly, you wonder how this is going to work. But then he’s pushing into you, and your mind is wiped. 

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. He doesn’t prep you at all—doesn’t need to, because his cock is only sort of there. Even so, you’re being stretched open by something, something simultaneously glacial and volcanic, but when you look down there’s just barely the outline of his cock pressing into you. Your mind swirls with dizzying lust.

When Wolffe returns both hands to your hips, his fingers dig into your skin, likely to leave bruises. But you don’t care. Eyes screwed shut from pleasure, you roll your hips experimentally. Five separate moans bounce around the chamber; you can only imagine the view that the Wolfpack has right now as you seemingly fuck yourself on nothing. Wolffe grunts behind you, his hips rocking up to meet your movements halfway. 

“F-Fuck, Commander,” you moan. 

“Such a good fucktoy,” Wolffe grits out. “Take my cock so well.”

Your core clenches at the way he simultaneously praises and demeans you. In response, he punches his hips up, stealing your breath as the phantom tip of his cock presses right against the spot deep inside you that has you seeing stars. 

“Need you to cum, cyar’ika,” he mutters. He sounds absolutely wrecked, voice hard but cracking, starting to show just how much this is affecting him. 

You reach down to play with yourself once again, sighing as your fingers find purchase at your heated core. With rough, jerky movements, you bring yourself right back to the edge of shattered bliss as Wolffe continues to fuck into you. Pleasure pulses through you, hot and slick and desperate, and you barely have enough time to moan, “I’m cumming!” before your core clenches impossibly tight around his length. Every nerve in your body screams with ecstasy, your orgasm ripping through you so violently that you’re only held up by Wolffe’s strong embrace. 

“Oh fuck,” one of the others groans. Your eyes flutter open in time to watch as Sinker’s face contorts in pleasure and a white, gossamer substance spurts out of his cock, shining like ectoplasm. In the next instant, his body resolidifies into his human form, and he stumbles back into a chair, chest heaving. 

Wolffe snaps his hips up against yours once more and goes absolutely still, his grip on your hips painful, as his phantom dick swells and pulsates inside you. A choked moan claws out of your chest as you feel the cold ectoplasm convert mid-way into hot ropes of cum. Wolffe’s body reverts, coalescing into something solid, warm, and human. You slump back against his sweaty body, his cock still buried in you, filling you to the brim. 

Dimly, you’re aware of Comet and Boost both cumming with strangled shouts before they, too, return to normal. Your entire attention is devoted to Wolffe, whose breath heaves below you. His hands wrap around your middle to squeeze you to him. Lolling your head back, you press your nose against the crook of his neck and inhale his warm scent, pine and blaster residue. 

“You okay?” you murmur. 

His embrace tightens minutely. “Yeah. Yeah, just need a minute.” 

“Take your time,” you reassure, mouthing gently at his skin. “You did so good.” 

He snorts. “Pretty sure I’m supposed to say that to you.” 

You hum noncommittally. “Scenes can be rough on all parties.” Raising your head, you glance at the other three where they sprawl over various plush chairs, their own bodies slick with sweat. “Boys? You good?” 

Boost merely raises a thumb in your direction, his eyes closed. Comet calls, “All good,” while Sinker lets out a breathless laugh in response. 

Dropping your head back, you nestle into Wolffe’s warmth. “Commander?” 

“You don’t have to call me that now,” he says, thumbs stroking over your skin. “Just Wolffe is okay.” 

“Wolffe,” you say with a smile. “This was perfect.” 

He hums, tucking his chin down to press a chaste kiss to your shoulder. “I’m glad. Now, be quiet and let me hold you.” 

With a small chuckle, you readjust yourself so your spine isn’t bent at an awkward angle, then burrow down within his embrace. “Sir, yes, sir.”

Ragu: @the-hexfiles @thorsterstrudle @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @dreamie411 @bobaprint @imarvelatthestars @originalcollectionartistry @droids-you-are-looking-for @goblininawig @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @9902sgirl @jedi-hawkins if your name has a strikethrough, I can't tag you so check your settings! (if you'd like to be added or removed, click here!)

[umber-cinders]

Title:  Incubus

Pairing: Attuma x Okoye, Incubus!Attuma x Witch!Okoye

Story Summary: Okoye works hard for her coven. She's loyal to her coven sisters and patient with her students. But—on her night off—she gets an urgent call from one of her senior students about the summoning of a demon. Not knowing what mess her students have gotten her into, Okoye has to find a more creative way to send the creature back to where he came from.

or

Okoye's meddling students summon an Incubus from another dimension and now she has to contend with its hunger.

This is my contribution to @theattoyearchive's 2023 Attoye Kinktober Event 💖💙 Warnings:  🔞EXPLICIT SEXUAL !! 🚨READ THE TAGS !!🚨Teratophillia, Terato, That means Monsterfucking, Human/Incubus Romance, Sex Demon Shenanigans, Cunnilingus, Inappropriate Use of Magic, Explicit Language, PIV Sex,

🦇Happy Halloween Fellow Heathens!👻

Angry wasn’t the correct word for what Okoye was currently feeling. Something more eloquent and violent like ‘furious’, was much more accurate. She gripped the steering wheel with enough force to make the leather creak as she slowed to turn left into a few rows of warehouses. When Inyanga—one of the intermediate members of her coven—had called to enlighten her about the situation at hand, she was told that the location she was looking for would be the warehouse on the right, closest to the harbour.

Okoye was going to kill the obstinate young witch! And Aneka, Shuri and Riri too! They would all be reprimanded for this based on the inconvenience alone!

Okoye had finally gotten time to herself for the first evening in nearly a month, and in the middle of her freshly drawn bath and soothing candlelight, Inyanga called with an emergency. Okoye had let the calls go through to voicemail the first two times, but a third call meant it was urgent. The recounted tale had her up and out of the water in an instant, hurriedly urging the younger witch to stay put and not call anyone else.

Especially if that ‘someone else’ turned out to be Madame Ramonda.

If the sharp-eyed coven mistress heard anything about what was going on tonight, it would be more than just a few young witches with their asses on the line. As the priestess overseeing their tutelage, Okoye would also be held responsible for any of their mischief.

As her car slowly swung a right and pulled into the fenced-off area around the harbour, her headlights hit the four young witches huddled together near the gate. The light gleamed off the metallic sheen of the various jewellery they wore. It caught the frightened shine of Riri’s eyes when Okoye shifted her car into park. She turned the engine off, and the area was immediately blanketed into darkness. There was no moon in the sky and the streetlights were far and few between. However, Shuri was holding her phone’s flashlight; it cast an eerie silver-blue glow on the limited area it could reach.

Okoye took a deep, slow breath. She was incredibly angry, but she was still a priestess of the Dora Coven. She was here to provide protection and guidance—she needed to stay level-headed. She rose from the driver’s seat with a straight-backed grace and turned her unhappy focus on her charges. All four of them flinched when the door slammed closed behind her. It had shut soundly with an absent wave of her hand.

As her two senior students, the priestess’s eyes honed in on Aneka and Inyanga first. “What have you done?”

⇈ Read The Rest On Ao3 ⇈

[writeshite]

I'm back, back, back, back again *in Alyssa Edwards voice*

I was wondering if you could do a part 2 to Lord Have Mercy, where Thor really backs up his flirtatious ways and he just pounds the male reader into the mattress

Send Me To Heaven

Summary:

“Blessed be I,” Thor mutters on your skin. He held you up against the wall and tracked his mouth along your neck, “To have such divinity in my arms.” You’re still air-headed from the make-out session, but his words cause you to look away; he chuckles, “I look forward to the day we become more intimate.”

Pairings:

Thor x Black Male!Reader

Tags:

Shy Reader | Smut | Flirty Thor | Soft Sex

Words: 1062

Author's Note:

Welcome back, per your request, Thor Odinson smut, for you and all the other Heathens, we need more Thor fanfic 😭

Lunch with Thor was nice; you spent most of it feeling flushed and hiding your face behind your hands. Thor’s arm was a constant around your shoulders, as was the flirting, “I do enjoy seeing you dazed,” he said, thumb wiping off the cream from your cheek. Your dazed stature was caused by his insistence on feeding you desert and then cleaning any mess on your face with his tongue - correction, his mouth. All the messes seemed to be concentrated around your mouth; he licked his lips, the dessert now gone; your hand came up to your lips, softly touching them. There’s a slight buzz around them.

The sky has gotten cloudier, and Thor escorts you back to the office; you are reluctant to see him leave; when you express it, he tilts your chin up. “Not to worry, my prince, we’ll see other again.” He departs with another kiss and a light drizzle.

Your coworkers are very intrigued about you and Thor; you give them a few details and leave it at that; the more nosy ones are left unsatisfied. But you don’t care about that. Thor kept to his word, he returns almost every day, twice in one day if he can, and things escalate. Short kisses become long ones; his touches go further south, as does his mouth. 

“Blessed be I,” Thor mutters on your skin. He held you up against the wall and tracked his mouth along your neck, “To have such divinity in my arms.” You’re still air-headed from the make-out session, but his words cause you to look away; he chuckles, “I look forward to the day we become more intimate.”

“I–I’d say this is already intimate,” you reply, turning back to look at him; his eyes are a deeper shade of blue now; often, in these moments, there is a buzz in the air that tingles your senses. 

“True, but I’d like to experience more.” He pecks your lips again, hand settling on the hem of your shirt, it drifts beneath, and he brushes his thumb on the skin of your hip, “If you’d allow me, my prince.” 

You nod, and he moves away from the wall, still carrying you in his arms; he carries on with the kissing. The world tilts as he lowers you onto the bed; your shirt is tossed aside, Thor’s hands graze your nipples, and he takes one in his mouth, biting it lightly as he twists the other. Your back arches, a mewl erupting from you, Thor’s makes a low snicker, the pads of his thumb charge a little electricity, and you feel it brush against your skin. Your eyes peek open, barely able to do so; your focus zeroes in on his expanded pupils. The soft cold metal of his armbands sends a shiver up your spine as he winds his arm around you; he gently holds your face when he comes back for another kiss. You buck up, and he responds in kind, one leg between yours; he moves accordingly to create friction.

The feel of your pants is too much, and you fumble to take them off too. Thor stops your hands and does it for you; he sheds his attire, and you marvel at the hairy expanse of his torso - hair trailing down to the v-shape peeking from his pants. You feel a breath almost leave you when the pants come off; you assumed Thor was a big man in all aspects; you just didn’t realize how much. He grins, “You needn’t worry,” he assures you, climbing back on the bed; he turns you over, mouth on your back, he mutters, “I am well adept at using my tools.”

He holds you by the waist, elevating your ass and lowering you to your elbows; his mouth travels along your back, and when he reaches the rear, he bites your ass. You glance at him over your shoulder, then lower your head again when he licks your hole. The buzz returns; he spreads your ass, dipping his tongue and grinning at the sound that draws out from you. Thor swirls his tongue around, goes deep, and you nearly buckle at the sensation. He massages your dick, hand stroking lazily from tip to base, sometimes switching to caress your balls. The tingling buzz travels down your legs, and they tremble as Thor eats his fill. His fingers travel deeper than his tongue; they’re huge - one is enough to fill you - but he goes for more; you manage three, but he reduces it to two when you’re well and truly shaking. You cum at that.

“Am I your first sweet thing?” he asks, cock settled in between your asscheeks. You shake your head and hear him chuckle, “Then I shall be your most memorable.” The tip goes in easy, but the rest of him, not so much; the length alone was staggering, but the girth had you whimpering and painting. Halfway in, he paused, leaning over you, “You’ve done so well, sweet thing,” he tells you, rubbing circles on your stomach; he waits until you nod to carry on moving, “Such a good boy.”

You whine in response, hands clutching the bed sheets; when the last of it all goes in, Thor pauses, and you take a moment to bare in your surroundings. Thor moves you down, stretching your legs, “This will be more comfortable for you, my prince.” You turn your head, and he kisses your cheek, hands smoothing your skin, “I’ll start moving now,” he informs you. 

He draws out, moving until the tip is almost out, before going back in. He moves slow, rocking into you without haste; he avoids laying any of his weight on you but hovers close, “Th–Thor….”

“Good boy, taking me in like this,” he kisses the shell of your ear, he puts his arm by your head, and you hide your face in the crook of it; your spine tingles, and the electric energy buzzes in the room, and outside you hear the clap of thunder. The rain is slow, and when Thor comes, a flash of lightning accompanies him. His dick slides out, and you whine at the empty feeling, “There, there, sweet thing, there’ll be plenty of time to fill you up again.” He lies beside you, pulling you close, your back to his chest, “For now, rest.”

End Note:

Sanitize me in holy water 💀 Stay Hydrated